Manifest Destiny (and the Fiddler's Elbow)

To whom it may concern,

Wow, this is late (Blog 3, BOOM!) As I've tried to make abundantly clear over the last several weeks, Europe and more specifically Florence, is absolutely beyond amazing; so much so that given to monetary security, I would live here indefinitely. Although I am not so endowed, others have felt similar, and some have even seized the proverbial notion of Manifest Destiny and made their dreams a reality.

There's a fantastic Irish pub in Santa Maria Novella Square called The Fiddler's Elbow. I am have become a regular patron of the non-alcoholic O'Doul's and shots of straight orange juice and have spent some time getting to know some of the bartenders there.

Simone is beautiful.

To elaborate, Simone is a beautiful bartender, a girl from Munich, Germany who has spent the last four years studying in Florence, and now that her tenure is coming to an end, she has decided to stay. Beautiful.

When I asked her what she was studying, her response made my heart skip a beat.

"I'm here in Florence painting."

Beautiful, cultured, and an artist? Marry me. She continued by saying that since Florence is literally the center of the art world, where else would be better for an aspiring painter? And I'll bet she didn't even expect to meet a handsome American cowboy like myself.

Theis is from Denmark, and after his study program ended, he decided to stay. For the last six years.

Is there hope for me yet? Doing the math in my head, the money issue seems the only thing impeding upon my dream. This time next year, I'll have my degree in journalism and political science, but when I ask my magic 8 ball if I'll still be bartending, it invariably displays the words "all signs point to yes."

Maybe I could bartend here while I write the next great American novel that will never be published.

From Oxford, With Love

Erich

Pulling of the Hat Trick (Vomiting)

To whom it may concern,

I should preface this story by saying that Croatia is the most beautiful place on our green earth and is populated by the most hospitable people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. The weekend spent there is easily the greatest trip of my entire European odyssey, but for the first twelve to thirteen hours of Friday's trip to Split, I found myself in nothing less than a hellish state, clinging to my last shred of life yet simultaneously wishing for sweet death as my only respite.

I hate train travel.

I'm going to say that again just to make sure it sinks in: I F&%#ING HATE TRAINS. The constant seizure-inducing shaking coupled with no sleep and even less air conditioning while being pressed into a small, disease-ridden tomb with half a dozen of the dirtiest people on the planet is not an ideal means of transportation. I have never in my life felt so physically depleted and ill.

The battery of prescription and over the counter medications probably didn't help. For the ibuprofen, I pretty much just took a swig from the bottle and however many pills stuck, that was the dosage. For the dramamine, I figured out how many it would take to actually kill me, and I backed off that number by one or two.

The next series of events might be better illustrated in a less formal writing style. Here was my day (bearing in mind there was an established equilibrium shared by pouring rain and an overall disgusting situation atmospherically).

6:15 am - Train arrives in Split, Croatia
6:16 am - After exiting the train, I tag the side of the car for about six feet with vomit
6:17 - 8:30 am - Unable to check into our hostel, we aimlessly wander the streets in search of food
8:45 am - Ate an omelet
8:58 am - Omelet made a second appearance down the side of a tree in a very public place
9:45 - 11:00 am - Sat outside hostel until we could check in
11:35 am - Went to a cafe for a cappuccino
11:55 am - Stomach wasn't having any of this cappuccino business and sent it back, all down the side of a door in a back alley

12:45 pm – Group decides on Mexican for lunch… more bad news to follow

1:25 pm – A chicken and bean quesadilla is set on the table in front of me (it would go untouched)

1:26 pm – The sight of the dish has me dry heaving outside the restaurant for nearly 15 minutes

I want to reiterate that this is the best weekend of this trip and possibly my life; so despite the fact that I spent half of Friday in crippling pain, that should only further my point that Croatia is heaven on earth.

Eventually around 2pm the weather cleared, and all it took was a bit of sun for my Superman-like Krytonian biology, powered by earth’s yellow centrifugal star to recuperate and come back stronger than ever. A day at the beach left me in a rejuvenated state, allowing me to experience the rest of my trip to the fullest.

Well over 250 words, but what is a number when it comes to making a point?

Croatia, I swear on my life that the prodigal son will return in the not-too-distant future.

From Florence, With Love

Erich