My One Night Stand with Ms. Florence Italy

     The trio consisted of Sean, Corinne, and I, a devilishly laid back group of travelers. And it was a good thing. This trip would have its tribulations. On our way out of Garmisch, Corinne suggested a long series of jumping photos. of course. of course. Thinking we were smart and efficient we decided to stop by the US base in Vencenza in order to buy gas at American prices. However, the effing GPS lead us through narrow winding mountain roads, hoarded by intimidating trucks and speedy Italians. Through a series of small miracles, we finally made it to base. Tired of car tripping, we decided to stay the night at the hotel. In so many B words, the night went like this: Bar. Bowling. Bar. Billiards. Bar. Bed. Bathtub. Bed. It was Brilliant and totally worth the extra time and money it took to get there.
     Breakfast the next morning was not so awesome. Cheapest continental breakfast ever. After recollecting the nights events and stuffing our pockets with juice boxes we piled into the car and drove to Florence, taking awful pictures of awesome castles and reacquainting ourselves with sunshine, something we hadn't seen in Germany for some time.
     Driving into the city was awesome. Everyone was riding mopeds and the streets were compact and there was a man playing an accordion on the street corner and I thought, "How cliche, how perfectly cliche." I half hung out the window, photographing and incidentally offending the Italians, but whatever.
     Getting into our hostel proved to be quite the feat. We parked the car, repeatedly rang the doorbell, called a couple of numbers a couple of times, all to no avail. So we decided to mosey into the jewelry shop next door and ask the owner if he knew what was up.  One simple game of charades later, the jeweler pulled out the code to the hostel door, walked us next door, and let us in. No one was there. No front desk. No housekeepers. No signs of explanation. Just keys lined up on a table. So we improvised. We threw our stuff in a room, took the appropriate key, wrote a note, and went back into the street. Sean wanted to contact his cousin (a fashion student studying in Florence) and we were hungry so we went in search of internet and food.
     Having posted a message on Libby's (the cousin) wall we wandered. Some man standing on the steps to a resturant told us somthing in Italian and from our dead confused faced he switched to english and told us about his fire baked pizza. Sold. We were seated inside and handed menus. Corinne was the connoisseur in the group so she picked the wine. My individual sardine pizza wasnt so individual, but I managed to chow down the whole thing. It was the best sardine pizza I have ever had.
     Next on the agenda: sunset at the Michelangelo Plaza. The waiter gave us directions and told us to hurry, as the sun was setting. Fully satisfied we stepped into the street. As we walked out from the shadowy narrow street and onto the sunlit sidewalks running along the Arno, I was overwhelmed by a great sense of peace. It was perfect and absolutely impossible to describe. It was a half hour of absolutely no want. Our hearts were as full as our stomachs, and time moved at a perfect pace. Nobody had much to say, the walk was quiet and complete. We made it to the plaza on time and watched the sunset and took plenty of jumping photos. It got kind of cold so, pulling ourselves from perfection, we headed back to the hostel to change clothes and pre-game before we met Libby and her friend, Emily, at the Duomo for an insiders tour of Florence P.M.
     Charged on Crown Royal and doned in a few more layers, we found our new friends sitting on the steps of the epic Duomo. They took us to a bar that took American money and we bought some cheap wine and sat outside, pulled out a map, and planned the night. First we went to a plaza, featuring a dozen or so sculptures. Persaus, holding the head of Medusa, was inspiring. On the way to Florence, in the car, I had read up on Edith Hamiltons version of the ancient myth, unbenownst to the fact that I would soon be obsereving the hereld sculpture. It was an epic coincidene. After observing all the statues we stopped in at another bar to pee and drink. Emily and I went outside to smoke and I talked and talked her ear off about Annias Mitchell's Hadestown and then bought a big ass lighter, not for the proposed 5 Euro, but 3. We ordered nachos and here, things start to get fuzzy. I remember going to another bar where some guys were playing jazz. I drew pictures in Corinnes travel journal. Next (I think) we went to a club were I danced on some Italian's shoes (bad idea) and got a short loud lecture because of it. And then home. Libby and Emily went their way and we went back to our beds.
     The morning wasnt exactly happy. Hangovers...I slowly pulled myself out of bed and into cleaner clothes and after watching a distant parade from the window, we hunched out of the hostel. Espresso shots at a coffee shop and then we were off. That day, we were genuine tourists, toting our travel bags and taking too many pictures. We went to an art gallery, where we saw Damien Hursts "For the Love of God". Its a human skull adorned in thousands of diamonds. One of the sexiest, saddest things Ive ever seen. We roamed around the seemingly endless isles of art and history for a couple of hours. Later we got bombtastic gillato and obsereved the Duomo by day light.  While eating pasta at a street side resturant I proposed that we never go back to Germany, but find jobs teaching English somewhere and live together in a cheap apartment. Brash, but brilliant, the idea wasnt shot down instantly, but we reluctunantly got our smarts together and decided to head home. Leaving the resturant we passed a woman sitting alone outside the resturant. She was in her mid fifties, enveloped in a massive fur coat and smoking a cigarette. Classy. Cultured. Confident. "I would make love to that woman in a heart beat" and Corinne nodded. For me, she was the personification of Florence. Older, wiser, and wealthier, but still very capible of sexy soul swelling encounters.
 


    

A toast, in memory of Marlboro Reds.

My decision to quit smoking did not arise primarily from health or financial convictions. Rather, I didnt want to walk to base to buy a fresh pack. To Laziness, I attribute this sacrifice. By the time I had the energy to pursue some smokes I had been off nicotine for a whole day, and considering that a significant head start, I decided to run with it. I was up for a fight. The first couple of days I confined myself to my room, sleeping through most of the physical withdrawals. If I wasnt sleeping I was crunching through a carrot or an apple and reading "Still Life with Woodpecker" by Tom Robbins. The book is, "sort of a love story that takes place inside a pack of Camel cigarettes." so I found it fitting.

Robbins writes, "Three of the four elements are shared by all creatures, but fire was a gift to humans alone. Smoking cigarettes is as intimate as we can become with fire without immediate excruciation. Every smoker is an embodiment of Prometheus, stealing fire from the gods and bringing it on back home. We smoke to capture the primordial spark, to feed on the marrow of the volcano. Its not the tobacco were after but the fire. When we smoke, we are performing a version of the fire dance, a ritual as ancient as lightning. Does that mean that chain smokers are religious fanatics? You must admit there's a similarity. The lung of the smoker is a naked virgin thrown as a sacrifice into the godfire."

I can see those words etched into the headstone of my dearly departed addiction. But before I am tempted to revive it, Robbins continues,

"You found a key to wisdom in the Camel pack...I mean, it spells it right out. CHOICE.  A persons looking for a simple truth to live by, there it is. CHOICE. To refuse to passively accept what we've been handed down by nature or society, but to choose for ourselves. CHOICE. That's the difference between emptiness and substance, between a life actually lived and a wimpy shadow cast on an office wall."

Im not quite sure why I quit smoking. Cancer and cost are two logical reasons and sure, I wasn't up for a walk across town for the cheap American cigarettes, but something else is there, something deeper and cleaner. I think I just wanted to change up my life, to shake my world, to prove to myself that I was alive and capable of change. and now that I think about it, thats probably why I started smoking in the first place.

I was having a strange dream about crayfish communities in the air vents, eating away at our kiwis. Sneaky little bastards. But finding myself intrigued, I hit the snooze button one, two, too many times; so I woke up with forty minutes to get to my drivers license test. I ran out of my room, suppressing the sound advice of teachers and mothers everywhere, "Eat a good breakfast before a big test." The walk was brisk, leaving no time for casual observation, just bee-line determination. Charging into Head Quarters I realized, "I forgot my checkbook. and my keys." sigh. But the teacher, an old German man with all black clothing, a gold guitar necklace, and sorta feminine boots, reassured me that all would be okay. I could pay later. The class consisted of me and the teacher. My co-worker, who is also required to get his license, was a no show. Probably hung over.  We watched a couple of videos. One was about winter driving in Michigan, and the other was about driving in Europe, narrated by a delightfully hokey German Police Officer who often pointed at the camera and stuttered while reading the English prompts. We then went over traffic signs. Then he vaguely gave me the answers to a few of the difficult questions. Score. The test was taken, passed, and filed so I headed home to grab my check book, praying that my roommate didn't lock the room.

On the way home I passed a man chopping wood in front of his house. Anyone who doubts the artistic value of hard work should take one look at a Bavarian wood-stack.  Organized by size. Painstakingly level . Simply speaking: perfect. I can't decide if these piles of fire wood should be considered sacred or insane. Maybe its both.

My roommate didn't lock the room. He must have seen my keys sitting on the table. Having an hour before I have to be back at HQ, I kick off my shoes and open the fridge. I cook up an Eggy in a Basket (I feel four every time I say it) and read some Moby Dick, sitting by the window of course.

Lets talk Germany

I just had breakfast on my windowsill. Stretched out on the spacious ledge I balanced a bowl of oatmeal, a cup of coffee and a cigarette.  I try to take most of my meals beside the open window. The sky is clear and the trees are bright and the air is cool and I know that winter is on its way and soon I will submit to the cold enclosed life of the warm blooded. But for now, I stock up on the sun and establish warm memories in my mind.

Ive gone from Big Sky Country to No Sky Country. The mountains invade the sky.  They are tremendous, nearly terrifying, but they have been conquered with hiking trails and ski lifts, muting their natural majesty. The other day I was on my way home from work and the sight of them suddenly sprung upon me. I stopped in my tracks. "I am in Germany." I shook my head in disbelief and went on my way.

Its a two mile walk to work. Two miles: three parts cement sidewalk, two parts gravel path, one part covered bridge, one part cobblestone road. Sometimes my commute takes place in the early hours, when the world has yet to hit its alarm clock and the cows aren't even anxious to get to their fields. Everything is so quiet. The clean compact homes. The high and mighty bell towers. The narrow empty streets. Its awesome; its honestly more invigorating then a cup of coffee.  The day hikes are good too. When everyone has their windows open, defending their gardens from the cows lumbering back to their barn.  My walks serve as a transitional time of day, when I can take my bearings and clear my mind.  I don't know why I ever drove to work in Bozeman.

I have to wear a suit to work and Ive been bestowed with responsibility. So my job is obviously different than any other job Ive ever had. Being a Security Officer is awesome. I've always wanted to fight crime. I think they selected me for the position because I'm such a burly intimidating person.