Some more travelling

As I am now abroad, I'll try to update this whenever possible. Chances are it will be copied from rushed notes, hence a bit erratic in the dates.


Sunday 3rd of August, 3:32 am

I am now on the coach to Stansted (sounds vaguely familiar, in fact, so familiar that once in the terminal, I'll be able to go straight to the toilets with my eyes closed).
On the coach, miraculously enough, since I am not quite sure how I got here in the first place.

Friday night was every bit as fun as I thought it would be; major piss up with the Usual Suspects around the pubs of Liverpool Street, followed by six hours of hardcore up and down jumping on DJ Fresh at fabric.
I went to bed at 8 on Saturday morning (don't you love taking the tube in the wee hours with six junkies in your carriage to keep you entertained, and a couple of liters of vomit splattered on the floor to remind you that at least your sense of smell is still intact?) and woke up at 2pm, quite confused.

I packed, coloured my hair, made bloody marys with the Housemates, and drank them on the balcony, enjoying the rare warm evening.
The original plan was trying to stay awake until 3 by watching baby kangaroos on youtube, or anything equally random. The thing with bloody marys, is that they always get me inspired.
I knocked at Italian Neighbour's door, and 20 minutes later, we were downing sambucas at the Notting Hill Arts Club. Funk night, yes please!
We danced with what we thought were two gay guys.
It looks like I'll have to revise my claim to fineliest tuned gaydar in London since they actually became way too interested for gay people.

They were fun nethertheless. In any case, we both had true excuses for once; her regular shag-buddy was coming to pick her up, and I had to go to the airport.

Drunkennes was in the air by 2am when we left the club, but I still managed to make it home, swap high heels for comfy shoes, and finish the stach of weed hanging in my room ( since I knew that, with the "people traffic" in The House, it so wouldn't remain there, unsmoked for a whole three weeks.

Seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, but obviously it wasn't since next thing I knew, I had lost - yes lost!- the coach stop in Marble Arch, and spent a whole forty minutes looking for it up and down oxford Street with a suitcase twice my size. Hmm...



2:05pm, some Italian train, local time

The staf in Stansted decided I looked very much like a terrorist and took a very long fifteen minutes to empty my handbag in full view of everyone, handbag which, incidentally, had just been stuffed with random things from my overweight suitcase at the check-in desk. By random things, I mean all my lacy underwear which has been making so many public appearances recently it needs an agent.



My destination was Florence, where I will be starting a three weeks course tomorrow, but (oh, the joys of flying Ryanair!) I landed close to Pisa and decided to stop there for a few hours to see the famous slanting tower.
It is still there. Well, if it wasn't, you would have heard about it I guess.



Thursday 7th of August 7:30pm, Firenze

So, I am well settled down in Florence. My flat is a bit, erm, sweaty (Florence, because of its geographic situation, is supposedly the hottest city in Italy and I am on the fith floor with a massive window facing South) but very cosy. Not that I've spent more than the strictly necesary time to sleep there so far.

I share it with a Japanese piano teacher with whom communication is virtually impossible, so we smile at eachother whenever we're in the same room.
Fortunately, people on the course are way more fun.

There's the Mexican girl who with I get on like fire. She was supposed to go back to Mexico about a month ago but decided to stay a bit longer because the guy from the internet cafe she's sleeping with happens to have -her words, not mine- the biggest one in the world. No, you don't need more details.

There is the Spanish Geek who doesn't drink but shares my passions for Michel Angelo, Rafael, Puccini and tall Italian guys.

There is the Austrian girl who always wears funky tights and must be dying in the heat but loves as much as I do the live music scene.

There is the pure Hungarian Hunk who unfortunately doesn't speak anything but Hungarian. Actually, who cares, every girl on the course, teachers included is actually much more interested in his potential body language.

And there's also the very arrogant German student whom I can't help but provoke. Damn, I love arrogant guys way too much for my own good.
And I know for a fact that they love being provoked. I'm telling you, it works everytime.
Actually, I've already been asked for a drink tomorrow after the classes.
I said I wasn't sure. Which is true. He's attractive enough, but... Well, I don't know. But there's plenty of time to decide.

Well, sort of, especially since my timetable has been pretty busy since Monday; classes from 9am to 4pm, usually followed by a visit either with Mexicana, Austrian Tights and Spanish Geek, either on my own.
So far, culture wise, I've walked through the beautiful residential area on the hills, the South of the Arno and the Boboli Gardens, visited the Academia museum, the Uffici Gallery and the Museo Nazionale, until 10pm, closing time.
Each time it was followed by dinner/drinks with a small roup of students or a few randoms Mexicana and I met on the street.

No, I don't have time to sleep, but I am fucking loving this!
Actually, I have to go, I'm going for drinks in fifteen minutes. I'll raise my glass to Michel Angelo!