Quite a party

I hardly know anybody in this city but my brothers and very few friends, perhaps.

Wrapped in a long overcoat guiding a bunch of strangers through the streets, sightseeing, drinking, eating out. It is awkward, I'm so focused I cannot find a moment to relax.

Quite a party, right? — the general asks once he's signing off my expenses.

3521 British Pounds. Yeah, quite a party, just why it seems I missed it?

Flashback

It's 4 am. Lights are on, telly in the background. Just chatting with someone on the other side of the planet. Drinking ice tea, eating cookies. I'm to go to work in a few short hours, I guess.

It's all flashing in front of my eyes. Just Jim Beam is missing from the picture.

She'll be gone soon and I'm condemned to insomnia again until she's back. Or until there's another one.

iPhoniosis

I always knew it wasn't right. To message while driving. To chat on Google while driving. To email while driving. Normally it works. This time it didn't. What can I say? Being stuck in the traffic seemed to be a good excuse to work.

It wasn't. Couple of hundred euros later I know. And hopefully I'll remember it.

Promotion

I'll have latte and a bottle of still water, please, I'm saying slowly and politely to a waiter in a fancy café. Today is Tuesday and it's my second informal chat since I was promoted last Friday.

Talking about squash, golf, traveling and women. Makes me laugh.

Only I have to deal with a slightly nervous babe waiting for me at home once we're done. And a presentation to be prepared for tomorrow morning. And over a hundred emails waiting to be answered. And, and, and!

Sorry, mister, I have to run.

Love is in the air

They got to know each other 20 years ago and were part of the same circle of friends since. She used to be popular, not by being the sexiest but by being herself, funny and outgoing. And he loved her, oh yes, he loved her from the very first sight.

She's been with few boyfriends who came and went while he was always around for her. As a friend, confidant, companion, a soul mate. She would probably never realize he was the one if he didn't look elsewhere. The possibility of losing him finally made her act.

They got married surrounded by the same bunch they've been a part of for two decades and settled in the city.

It seems like an ordinary story until now, doesn't it? Yet there's a twist. She's a flight attendant. Living abroad, hardly ever coming home to see her husband. She still feels like flying as she's approaching her mid-thirties. No urge to have kids. No urge to be at home.

He's patient and humble, not taking it lightly but able to cope. She's coming for Christmas, he says and tries to avoid talking about it any more.

I can sense what's in the air. He may consider looking elsewhere again. They hadn't spent proper time together in years. He's overlooked and bitterness is slowly rising from within.

I guess we learn after Christmas. Fingers crossed, their love can make it.

Interview

Getting old enough to have clear priorities and goals. Where, how, with whom. General direction is no longer acceptable, I can sense the anxiety raising from within.

Sitting in a decent restaurant, having dinner; I'm not looking at her — I'm observing, scanning, scrutinising, watching her perhaps too closely, studying her too attentively. I cannot help it. It's necessary.

I'm staging similar meetings with a number of them. Doing the maths with no emotions. If I choose, I have to choose right. Once I get the answer for this question, I'll fill in the other two easily.

New York is fine

It's my last night around. It's quite late but this city truly never sleeps. Having beers in B Bar with a bunch of random friends, pub-crawling for few hours, then taking a cab to mid-Manhattan and slowing down. A chat in a lobby and leaving for Times Square, just for a short moment. Very late supper in a local Yoshinoya, it reminds me of the good old times. A photograph, then off. Off to Harlem, that is. Such a great neighbourhood! I'll miss it here.

JFK at noon. I'm home by the next morning, happy and sad at the same time. How was it, they keep asking me; and I just answer fine. New York is fine.

Ontario, East River & co.

It's late after midnight. Sitting at the bank, sounds of a water splashing and a young blond kitty bursting next to me are mixing together. Ego masturbation; I can still make these misses laugh. I need another gulp and avoid looking at her. I can't let my insticts rule. If only I could...

Few days later, sitting at a different bank, sounds of a water splashing and hundreds of people bursting are mixing together. It's not my fault, blame Big Lebowski from the silver screen. I wish for a gulp and a kitty, I'm conveying to myself sadly. If only I could!

And then — I'm giving up to my instincts: Six donuts for $3.99? Can't help it!

Decisions

I often don't know; chained by vague priorities, faint directions, indistinct hints. And by habits, circumstances and conditions. And much, much-much more.

And then coming home, and the same again — I do not know.

Still; I have to make decisions, today, tomorrow, always. I guess one thing I hate more than making decisions is not to make any.

Eat alone!

Never eat alone, said Keith Ferrazzi some years ago and I tried my hardest to do so.

Yet there's exceptions. Two weeks without privacy, at the most unimaginable non-private places of all. Tranquil Himalayas.

Eating with and talking to total strangers every day or rather every few hours at breakfasts, tea stops, lunches, dinners, smoke stops, pot stops and more; to people walking in one's direction or the opposite one, to the ones sitting next to a trail, falling behind, not to forget overtaking ones. All of them. Greeting and yakking about weather, mountains, trails, home, tourism, politics, economy, about any subject one can come up with. When they're bored or when they feel they're having the time of their lives. Whatever reason they can find. Their choice.

Seeing them again and again as trail winds up and then being unable to escape as it rolls down. Up to the point when one wishes to be locked up in London Tower to enjoy solitude.

Then suddenly it is over. Civilization, God bless it with eternal life, brings privacy back. Boarding the plane in Jomsom and landing in Pokhara, it's over in a blink. Or rather in about 17 minutes. There's crowds here — but crowds are good. Crowds mean anonymity. And quiet, if one wishes so.

Sending postcards, browsing through bookstores, reading H2G2, hanging out shopping for useless souvenirs, spending time on one's own. Not to be bothered by anybody; being alone never felt so good.

One learns to appreciate dry subtropical autumn in cafes, restaurants and gardens very quickly. This is the way holidaying means to be!

Hence I'm secretly planning the same in the Big Apple this summer.

Psst, don't tell anybody.

All about me

She told me all I needed to know. I'd have probably browsed the web or answered few emails, would she had gotten me the chance. She didn't. So I just patiently listened and tried to comprehend:

People do change, right, yet not too much… you're hard-working and agile… with a good job; and you're enjoying spending time there… and getting paid well… that's the appreciation of your skills… it's fine… and women, women are to cook for you, and to housekeep, and for sex, naturally… otherwise, you don't seem to be into small talk, or to like someone… which I see as you're not really interested in being with someone… perhaps, at most, to show off having a beautiful girl… sorry, am not trying to be beastly… it's kind of cool anyway, as relationships will never play a major role in your life… and the rest can be influenced by you… not so relationships… so it must feel fine, having the world at your command…

I haven't felt such a strong urge to fuck for ages.

Trainspotting

He's my Dean Moriarty, just eighty years younger than the original. Propelled by an internal nuclear power plant, he's unstoppable and invincible. In charge and loving it.

Enjoys trainspotting. Planes are cool, bulldozers are amusing but trains are great. They're the greatest.

Hey, it's a steamer, he yells at me and I must take a look. I watch him watching the wheels, amazed and diligent, until he gets bored. Sort of.

Let's watch YouTube, he suggests next, jumps on the bed, laughs and screams again. Knows them all, from the Glacier Express to the Shinkansen. And I have to go through it, too, otherwise it's just half the fun. And he definitely doesn't like things halfway.

I wanna go to Central Station, he pleads afterwards and there's no escape. Riding back and forth until he's satisfied. Passing out in the car, he's giving his personal assistant a short break. She smiles weakly and I smile back. We both know.

This is love.

Let me think

Airport, flight, taxi, hotel, conference, few meetings, taxi, airport, flight, home. The streets are passing by. I've never been to this city and it may take some time before I return.

"You're Flemish, right?," is about the only conversation I have with a local. The cab driver.

Classy hotel, top floor with excellent park views. Within few days I'm having my first job interview in two years. Smooth, maybe too smooth for my liking. Until I'm stricken with a question:

"Do you miss Sydney?"

"No, not at all," I'm laughing it away, feeling where it's heading: Aren't you gonna vanish Down Under any time soon?

I don't know. I really don't. Just let me think about it.

Freewheeling

I just don't know. Sometimes I have to come to standstill and take a deep breath to grasp the reality; or something slightly further off. Most time I'm freewheeling, events are unwinding around me and if I step in — it's purely automatic, without a need to think.

There are rare occasions when I come to realize myself, sort of Neo-like awakenings. Usually late at night, left on my own. Hotels, lobbies, elevators, cabs, airports; they all happen to be a proper background to reclaim consciousness for a moment.

Tonight, it's a night like that. And before I lose myself in everyday mess again, I'll rather put down a serious thought: Life without meaning is tiring beyond recognition.

And falling into decay seems like the ride of a lifetime.

Personal Jesus

Just few unimportant intimate thoughts passed through my mind last night.

Very late eighties; they release a single so dynamic and sexy that half of my classmates go crazy and nearly miss the Velvet Revolution. After nine months, the album is released, too.

It's difficult to argue today if it was life-changing, yet in those days, I remember rushing to a local department store to get an LP, or rather a cassette as soon as it was out. It was chic. March 1990, children.

Almost ten years later, late nineties: Hey guys, don't you wanna see them in concert?, they're in Prague tomorrow!

Crazy as ever, twelve hours on a train, lots of weed, cheap booze and hash. Rock dungeons, Lennon wall, World Press Photo and no chance to get tickets for the gig. Got high and wasted instead. Hangover and another twelve hours on a train back as a bonus.

Twenty ten. The chick next to me was born pretty much the same time as the song that is stuck in my head. I know this one, she notes with her innocent smile, only to walk away a minute later to savour more culinary delights. As long as she's happy, I'm too.

Reach out and touch fate!

Depeche Mode, Prague 14 January 2010

Main Set: In Chains * Wrong * Hole To Feed * Walking In My Shoes * It’s No Good * A Question Of Time * Precious * World In My Eyes * Insight * Home * Miles Away / The Truth Is * Policy Of Truth * In Your Room * I Feel You * Enjoy The Silence *Never Let Me Down Again

Encore: One Caress * Stripped * Behind The Wheel * Personal Jesus

Autopilot

This meant to be a decent restaurant. Classy interior, ritzy cutlery. Dignified waiters in fitting attires. Seemingly a great choice for a Christmas bash. Except for a steak that was a bit cold and Chivas Regal that felt slightly dodgy. Obviously that's the only reason I rather asked for a bottle. They didn't have one.

Sigh. Sigh. I had to settle for a bottle of Jameson. One litre of Jameson. With a little help from my friends, it was gone in two hours.

I recall neither singing vulgar folk songs nor asking the waiter to leave us fucking alone to enjoy the party. Had to switch on the autopilot on the way home.

Woke up somewhat hurt. Fucking autopilot! I crashlanded!