Europe 2002 - The lost Journal entry. Sorta

Its been a long time since I wrote anything in this blog of mine.  Of course the times have still remained strange. Times always seem to remain strange anyway.  I'm back in Cork at the moment and once again the future is a terrifyingly open book. 

I was tired, so I came home for awhile; I brought along a pile of old journals, they sit alongside me today as I type.  Travel Journals specifically.  The idea was to do something with them at last.  All those words I've scribbled over the years, they ought to be good for something.

But first I decided to boot up the old desktop computer in the box room of my home in Cork.  Buried in the infested rattling old hard drive I found the document reproduced below.  It is an account of my first ever travel entry, it makes reference to later events so it can't be a reproduction of the original diary entry (lost long ago in Kilkenny) but I quite like it.  I can't remember why I wrote it, but still. Names have been altered, and some things have been edited.  But here it is, my first step into a wider world, 13 years ago.

Annotations will be in blue.  Like this: Blue 

Changes will be in Purple. Like this: Purple.

That blue book there? That's the now lost journal. If you see it, let me know.  The video camera is present as I insisted on making possibly the most cringe worthy film ever of the trip.  Lots of talking to myself, too much youthful exuberance, and the occasional random toilet.

Saturday 20th of July 2002

 "And so the adventure begins, I felt totally like Indiana Jones setting out at seven this morning"  that’s how I start it, sounds good to me, course I don’t know yet how such words will come to define me in the eyes of practically everyone who will know me in a couple of years.  I don’t know it though. So here we are, either I was clairvoyant or this document was created from my original journal.  Of course it appears to assume that the reader has access to the original document.  So, the reader would have to be me then.  Why one would wish to read both the journal and a dramatised version of it after spending time writing both versions in the first place is beyond me.  The only person who could have any idea what the hell I was playing at is again, me.  And I don't...  Oh, and I'm referring to my habit of dressing as Indiana Jones for years.  Obviously

  I’m sprawled across the tiled floor of Rome’s Stazione Termini, my exuberance brought to an abrupt halt by the reality of train schedules.  As I write the above I have two and a half hours to wait in this drab way station.  Two and a half hours to reflect.  I’m in Rome, I can still hardly believe it, I’ve dreamed of setting foot in this city probably longer then I’ve dreamed of going anywhere else, even Giza, though now even reaching that seems possible. See a future issue of 'Jeremiah's strange times' true believers! I’m also amazed how quickly I got used to the place, and how much I feel at home among these extravagant earthy people.  The reason I’m here in the first place is to .. redacted.. Ahem.. a family wedding basically.. he'd better not screw up. (The Groom)

 Anyway, Rome.  Over the last few months I've tried to learn Italian, and its actually pretty good. It was on the cusp of conversational, hardly 'pretty good', but still But I won’t need it for much longer. I’m here, on the cusp of something both terrifying and exciting.  Something that makes me really feel, for all my nineteen years, like a man.  You see, then we have statements like this which seem to indicate that this is indeed a copy of the original journal entry.. Theories on a postcard please. 

 

 Of course the only reason I’m doing this is because of Identity redacted, though shes probably not reading this. Lets call her.. looks around room for inspiration.. Crawford.  One day, I wandered into the Picasso, and lets say its a courgette store, as I’ve done far too many times this summer. Gotta love those courgettes! Then again, that’s because of the Alchemy incident.  So I’m not to blame, I mean, redacted not even I wish to read this moonstruck palavar Anyway, I wandered in with a guide to Europe, and boasted that I’d travel back from Rome overland, kinda just said it to get a reaction you know? Anyway, she thought it was a great idea, I was terrified at the prospect, and was until last night, when I finally decided. 

It didn’t hit me until this morning when I left The family at breakfast, left them to get their flight home.  It only hit me then , it hit me how excited I was.  And suddenly, here I am, waiting for a train to Venice, VENICE, can you believe it? And on one of those real old fashioned compartmentalised trains, you know, the kind from the movies.  God, and somehow, I don’t mind waiting, it lets me soak all this in.  This big anteroom, glass ceiling, modern art strewn about, the place was built by Mussolini I think, and its definitely got that white sparse look so associated with 1930s modern architecture, through two huge square gates ways on either end of the wall ahead of me is the huge central terminal itself, a big square passageway, stark and functional, with shop fronts along one side, and track portals on the other.  The floor is broken up by the silver glide of escalators down to a labyrinth of shops and connections to Rome’s metro.  I’ll spend hours down there while I wait, transcribing maps of Paris to find sites from the movie Amelie.

 My favourite part of the Stazione though is the huge notice board with spinning signs for each latter and number, every couple of minute the air is filled with a swishing sound as the letters and numbers spin into position.  But that’s not the cool part, whats cool. Mindblowing to me. Is the range of destinations, Venice, Paris, Bucharest, Istanbul, Vienna, Berlin, the whole world it seems.  From here you could go anywhere, anywhere at all, and that has excited me since the first moment I stepped into this busy concourse.  And I’m definitely glad about that. Despite regarding it as my own personal Mecca I've only been back to Stazione Termini twice since 2001, the first was when I was on my way to Beijing 3 years ago, the building punched a smile into my face so powerfully I almost staggered.  I was there again this year on my way to a wedding down south, sadly the spinning signs are now gone, digital displays flash silently in their place.  Jesus did that make me feel old. 

Oh! Here comes a random mission statement 

I want love, freedom, truth, and destiny, but above all adventure, I don’t know what I mean, but it sounds good, does it? Destiny?? so I write it down.  The only thing is, in this age of certainty, is there an ounce of adventure left in all the world. Yes.  Yes there is. Why do I worry about such things. Because you're a pretentious idiot. 

The train is silver and blocky, with sides that look sorta like corrugated steel.  I don’t mind, it smacks of exoticism.  The compartment is filled with leathery faced old men with wiry frames and liver spots, they seem to be everywhere, this too smacks of exoticism, as does the compartment, unlike the orange clean airy ones back home it seems to have had the colour bleached out of it.  The compartment is blue, black, and silver, but not it seems, by design, it seems worn, worn away into how trains should always look.  Not plush and comfortable, but exciting, then again, today, everything is exciting.  Except finding a place to sit that is. Darting eyes on wiry faces push me away, my eyes hover uncertainly from seat to seat, I’m inexplicably nervous, when there, a familiar face, two actually, a girl, very attractive, with brown hair, a slender frame, and a big blue backpack hoisted on her back.  With her is a homely old woman, they glance through a door into this carriage, from its far end, then disappear back through it.  I follow, almost knocking another wiry old man into the laps of his brethren. I find them, sitting in the centre of the next carriage, in a table’s compartment on the right, there is one seat free opposite, I sit, muttering hellos. The train has barely left the scrap yard that seems to be attached to all train stations in the world when I finally pick up the nerve to introduce myself.  This is in itself a breakthrough for me.  As I said, I recognise this odd pair, they were the only quiet people on the trip Julie my sister and I took to Pompeii the day before, and this alone made them stand out on a bus full of load American tourists from towns like ’Paradise’.  Luckily, they recognise me too, and the girl, Emma, seems glad to talk.  And talk we do, for hours, the Italian countryside flashes by, and I forget all about Crawford, so easily enraptured I am with Emma.  She’s Australian, her Grandmother Nina was born in Italy, and its her first trip back in decades.  Nina takes every opening to tease Emma, to tease Emma about the handsome young man she seems so overjoyed to talk to.  But the handsome young man is overjoyed too, so it doesn't matter. 

We tear on, cutting through tunnels so narrowly cut that, creating a vacumn around the train, they periodically suck all the air out, taking newspapers, Styrofoam cups, and anything else with it, creating a periodic paper maelstrom.  The old men in this compartment (less wiry) take no notice at all, neither does Nina, Emma and I can only laugh.  About two hours in she pulls out some sandwiches, offers me one, insists I accept.  I have no clue whats in it,  but it tastes divine. 

 I can’t believe it, a few hours into my big adventure, and I’m infatuated.  While I’m aware this happens so easily, I don’t care.  Yeah, I can believe this 

The journey flies by.  At about half past two we reach Florence, Emma’s destination, Nina had drifted off during the last hour, so we chatted away freely, then they got off the train, a part of me wished I could follow, but with only five days to get home, I knew I couldn't. 

Some wiry old men took their place, and the Florentine clock tower slid out of view, as, for the first time in my life, I realised with certainty that, here was an instant friend whom I would never see again, she was as like someone dead. very morbid Jerry It wouldn't be the last time.  But it was the first, and it struck me with a certain sadness, and a freedom I had never before experienced. Bleurgh 

I had always taken a narrow view of personal relations.  What you did mattered, because you had to live with the consequences, other things mattered as well of course, but this one certainty kinda defined me.  Even with relative strangers, there was always a chance I’d see them again, and I was afraid to act, afraid to step out of line, as I would not be able to hold to my promises.

 Now here was a different sort of arrangement.  I would never see Emma again.  We could have done whatever we liked, and there would be no consequences, no responsibilities, and that in itself was a whole new deal for me. A decade and a half later and all I can do is raise an eyebrow at this

 Half an hour later, to the right of the train passes a narrow wave of river, winding off to the distant sea over a flat plain that I knew instinctively to be the Po Delta, the journey was taking far too long, I wasn't used to this, not enough good looking Australians to talk to. 

I had no idea of how far off Venice was, and with the sweat dripping from me, my own growing stink was proving to be an annoyance. Lovely. Man am I fickle, thinking about personal hygiene already, how quickly a woman can exit ones mind when all carnal hopes are gone.  How quickly I forgot about Crawford when Emma appeared.  I dash head first at any chance for love, and Dammit, at the moment I’m glad of it. This particular sensation proves to be intermittent 

 So from mountains with vacuous tunnels to a flat Delta, the train rushes onward.  On towards the Ocean, and Venice, city of the dead, city of pirates, city of wonder, beauty, mystery, and, well, of course, adventure.

Oooo Adventure! Fell off a cliff in Liechtenstein, stayed in a mouse infested room in Paris, it was fun.

This was me at the time. Yep.

So yeah, I found that bit of random prose interesting, though again, I don't know its provenance. That's it for now anyway.  I intend to write something more interesting and prose-like in the coming weeks, so stay tuned.  If you care for such things...