Been on my mind a while...

The first night I ever spent in Europe was in a hotel in Milan. The hotel itself was easy to miss; the entrance was packed tightly and inconspicuously alongside the rest of the shops and cafes laid out along the strip, their signs being the only indicator that this block wasn’t just some massive single entity. There was a sign for the hotel, white and black with a lion in the center crying out at the letters above its head. I don’t know the exact name for that type of sign…it’s the type you see advertising Heineken of Amstel beer outside of bars and pubs, the ones that look as if they’d light up at night but often don’t.
The sign was to the right of the doors, painted nonchalantly to match the dark color flow of the buildings on the block, really just one big mass of construction with the individual businesses nestling into each separate crevice. Past the doors, however, was to a spacious open area leading to the entrance or, further past, the courtyard. Being my first experience with lodging in another country, I was clearly taken up with “How cool is this! I’m in Europe! At a cool hotel! And I’m going to eat Italian food made in Italy by real Italians!”
My enthusiasm, unbridled but neatly restrained to the observing passerby, continued long into the day while I checked into the room, while I walked around the city, while I ventured out to by my first coffee, beer, glass of wine in another country, as long as it seemed when in reality it was less than two hours before I got back to my room, messenger bag starting to form a comfortable groove in my shoulder, turning on the TV and not recognizing a word or product advertisement, keeping that idealistic high shared by first time traveling youth. Then I looked out over the balcony (oh, right, “I had a cool balcony!’) below into the courtyard.
Directly in the center stood a solid black table occasionally interrupted by small white coffee cups, surrounded by three women cloaked in European fashion smoking cigarettes and casually conversing. Had I still been on that rush of excitement the scene would fit in perfectly—three beautiful women smoking over coffee in a courtyard. Almost cinematic, really. Something had changed, however, in the moment it took to open the doors, step out and look down. My sense of everything went from excitement to an odd calm. It wasn’t cynicism, and it wasn’t fear or intimidation. I didn’t realize it at first, but in retrospect I think it was acceptance.
I’ve been undeniably lucky the past few years in what I’ve done and seen, where I’ve traveled and whom I’ve met. After some breathing room with each experience I had a reoccurring notion that the me from a few years ago, just starting college or considering future employment for a classical guitarist, would never imagine this. I remember there were moments where Europe seemed an impossibility, that movies and books were the closest I’d ever come Italy or Spain. Now that I can say I’ve been there, and I’ll be going back in the coming months, I’ve come to realize that life is much more attainable than I once thought it was. Notions of “impossible” are based out of laziness or fear or just not thinking hard enough. Money and time may be concerns, but ability is essentially perseverance and desire. Luck as well, perhaps.
Those three women I saw from the balcony that day were a bit of a wake up call. They were (probably) not movie stars, they were (probably) not famous—they were (probably) just three completely ordinary women drinking coffee in a courtyard in the middle of the afternoon (probably…jet lag sucks). I suppose that has nothing at all to do with learning any lasting lesson, but the image was striking enough. Sort of a postcard image, but in real life. Curious. Glad I got to see it in person.

Side note: last night I got a cocktail napkin from a passenger requesting “Free Bird.”





Bastard.

Transatlantic crossing: end. Europe: begin.

Life Lesson: If you go into the right place and order a beer, you get free food.

I was wondering in Almeria today and I found a café in a side street. The entrance was nearly blocked by all the construction work being done to the sidewalk, but from the outside I could see the tables filled with little old ladies arguing with impassioned faces and manically gesturing hands in front of tables with glasses of beer and littered ashtrays. Obviously, a good sign. While I’m well aware that cafes are all-too common in Europe (not a bad thing), I’m pleasantly surprised to find two beers on tap, free baked potato concoctions, and a wireless signal. Cheers!

As for things actually interesting to read about….
The transatlantic crossing (eight days at sea!) wasn’t nearly as bad as anticipated. There were enough guest entertainers to play for, and the band is working out far better than anticipated. I’ve heard horror stories about well-seasoned players who don’t take too kindly to youngins on the bandstand, but everyone seems kind and supportive. Plus, it’s almost like a U.N. of musicians: Romania, UK, Australia, Philippines… well, maybe not a U.N., but not too shabby, either.

Once again, cheers, y’all. Stay intrigued.

Last time I'll do this?

I had a notion in the back of my head that starting this contract would be sort of a balance between my other two contracts. On one hand, I already know the Noordam; I’m accustomed to the way things work, I understand the layout…it’ll work. Then again, I’m signed up for seven months, so in a sense I have no clue what I’m getting myself into. This contract will last literally the length of both my past contracts, plus two months. Like I said, balance.
I suppose then it should be a comfort that the day before I jump on the ship was a bit of a “gong show”, my favorite new term I’ve learned since working for Holland America. However, “gong show” can just as nearly be defined as my own term, a bit of “fuckery,” if you will. (Sorry, mom…but, hey, it’s creative, right?)
Before I even left for the airport I found out that my first flight was delayed an hour, giving me about half an hour to catch my connecting flight to Ft. Lauderdale (airline speak for “not gonna happen”). Thankfully, a graceful angel at the U.S. Airways desk booked me a new itinerary through Philly. All signs point to victory! Except the second flight was severely overbooked, delaying departure for another hour as they powers that be sorted through this segment of (look away, mom!) fuckery. (Side note: on the flight to Lauderdale I was surrounded by children, little children, equipped with cell phones. Really, now. Is that necessary? Do they need the hook up that badly? I digress…) I was lucky enough to escape the airport with my luggage (after waiting a heart-attack inducing length of time waiting for my guitars), only to take a $50 cab ride to a Quality Inn hidden far better than any government-based alien research facility you or I will ever speculate about.
But, hey, I’m here! And I had my good luck Guinness! And I’m in a lovely little Indian restaurant! And I’m going for another Guinness afterwards! I’d say this clearly redeems the day at hand. The flights actually happened, guitars are in solid condition, the ship will reimburse me for the taxi fee, I had my Irish nectar, and I’m being well-fed at 9:30 at night. All smiles, I suppose, right? The ends justify the means? Thank you, Cleveland, goodnight?

Cheers. Everything’s going to be alright.