Five years. Five years since I've worn a dress. Five years since I've had my feet in a shiny new pair of girl shoes, standing next to a crazy French man in a funky pinstriped suit with a pink ribbon in his hair. Five years since we stood there next to one another, in la mairie du 18éme arrondissement in Paris, listening to some very official-looking guy who rattled on in French. I barely spoke any French at all then, but it seems that very official-looking guy was jabbering on about wedding vows. I didn't really understand any of it, but apparently, we got married that day.I've read that the typical gift for a five-year anniversary is wood. Fucking wood? Sure, wooden things are nice, but, um... no thank you. Usually, on our anniversary, we'll go away for the weekend, or pick a really nice place for dinner because Olivier and I really dig a nice quiet atmosphere where we can be alone....
It was almost midnight when we jumped on the bus at the airport in Athens. The ride from the airport to the city was long, but the bus moved fast, whooshing us past hundreds of signs written in Greek that we couldn't understand. A little while later, we reached the terminus and stepped out on to the street. Standing there to greet us: a man in a suit with a soul patch. The silvery-metallic sheen of his hair, the same as his suit. His purple shirt was unbuttoned way too low - like, Bee Gees low."Taxi?" He leads us across the street to his car, throws our suitcase in the trunk. I crawl in the seat behind him. Olivier gets in next to me. Soul Patch gets in and his seat is reclined so far that he's almost laying down. Thanks a lot, Soul Patch. We tell him we're going to the Apollo Hotel on Achilleos street. He lights up a cigarette...
It seems that most people, when planning a trip to France automatically plan a trip to Paris. I suppose that's because if you're going to come to France, you just HAVE to see the Eiffel Tower.Yawn.For many people, Paris IS France - there is nothing at all worth seeing that exists outside of Paris, so they spend their vacation strolling on the Champs Élysées & gawking at the Arc de Triomphe.Snore.Of course, standing around in museums, staring at a painting of a bowl of fruit is a really good time. Shopping for over-priced clothes is a real kick in the ass, too. Right?Ugh. Whatever.There are some other people who comprehend the fact that there is a France outside of Paris. Maybe those people are taking bicycle tours through Provence, are sunning themselves on the Mediterranean coast, or are taking wine tours through Burgundy. Good for them.Maybe they're history nerds on the beaches of Normandy.Olivier & I have been to Normandy...
"No vacation goes unpunished." ~Karl Hakkarainen"No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old, familiar pillow." ~Lin Yutang"The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one's own country as a foreign land." ~G.K. Chesterton * * *When the guy across the aisle from us began discussing stabbings & which mixture of drugs enabled him to best endure such an incident, I knew that I had had enough of fucking Greyhound.We arrived at the Greyhound station in Denver after our brief stop in Amarillo. We had 2 hours to stand in a line in front of the door where the bus would arrive. Sucking down our mediocre & over-priced nachos, Olivier & I observed that while the bus station in Denver was larger & cleaner than what we'd grown accustomed to, being forced to watch Fox News on...
So, there we were, a frozen December night in Tulsa, with our faces pressed against the cold, dirty glass, staring at our empty bus. The Greyhound station was small. The movies had gotten worse - instead of Billy Bob Thornton, we were now trying to avoid looking at the screen as an estrogen-soaked Lifetime movie cackled in the background.Olivier & I went outside while I shivered & cursed. The Greyhound employee inside had informed us that we would be stranded until 3:30am, when the next bus for Amarillo, TX was due to arrive. If we could get a seat on that bus. We tried to come up with some sort of plan to get ourselves out of Tulsa. What we came up with was... jack shit.We went back inside & ran into the kid with the Hari Krishna hair. "I saw a bar down the street," he said. "I really like beer. I make my own brews at home."Olivier &...
When Olivier & I arrived at the Greyhound station in Erie, PA, we were giddy. It was 3pm on Saturday, the day after Christmas. We'd had a big pile of Arby's earlier that day, so I had gotten my fix after craving their delicious, cheddary slop for the past 2 years. We were leaving behind the stress of a Festivus gone bad & were looking forward to a week at home in Colorado.We had our bus tickets, 200 lbs. of luggage & a box of chocolate donuts. We were ready to voyage across the country for the next day & a half. We would have to change buses several times, but still... it was only a day & a half.A day & a half. No sweat.The first thing that we figured out was that there was no dicking around when it was time to board the bus. If you're traveling with someone, it's next to impossible to find 2 seats...
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