living with parents

Last night few of my brother’s friends came over for a drink before we were supposed to go out to town. Just after seven the boys showed up with some beer, sausage and few DVDs. The sauna was already hot.

After one in the morning the first ones called a cab to take them home. The last one, half asleep on the sofa decided to take the first bus home. I told him to transfer himself to the other guest bed – the not so nice one as the one I was sleeping in.

When I woke up, there was beer bottles scattered all over the place. Luckily my parents were only coming back in the evening. As I threw all the bottles into a plastic bag for my brother to take to the supermarket and made up the other bed as nicely as I could I started laughing. What an image? I then took the half empty bottle of fizu (an absolutely disgusting drink that is made by letting two bags of fisherman friends melt into a half a litre of vodka) into my brother’s room, away from the kitchen I could no longer deny the déjà vu.

Since we were kids we have been allowed to bring over who ever we want, whenever we want. Also, they were away, so we were not disturbing them, or being on the way. And I think we are starting to be old enough to buy our own drinks. (Even though one of the guys had been asked for his ID when he tried to buy a lotto ticket – the age limit is 15) And why am I trying to justify the fact that we had few friends over?

That’s what you get for staying at your parents place…

Ps. they both read this blog

nothingness

I managed to tag along to the athletics EliteGames as a VIP. I was listening to one of the runners (I would call him a sprinter…800m is a dash) explaining his training rhythm – once in the morning and again later in the day, six days a week. Running was his only occupation, even if theoretically he was still a student. He also had an army of coaches and medical professionals around him, watching his every move. What a dream – running for your life. How amazing would it be just to concentrate on training instead of trying to squeeze a sneaky run somewhere between school and work?

We didn’t stay and watch the games. Instead I went to see my brother who was refereeing his first 2^nd Division football match. I was very tempted to shout and scream and jump – “excellent whistle!”, “what a great judgement” but instead I was told to be quiet in my seat. I do think that if I had made the slightest sound I would have had to prove I am faster then a 22year old athlete and two football teams. But still, he was the best in the game.

Yesterday I did nothing the whole day. I was left alone to my parents place with nothing to do. I was supposed to benefit from my day off and just relax. After few hours of nothingness, I went for a run – sprint day. I came back, turned on the new, enormous TV (don’t quite see the point of it as the programmes it shows are as bad as in the old one). I rearranged the living room into my private gym. Then stretching. Later a hot shower.

What next? I switched off the TV and switched it on again – Oprah. That should do. Boring. I phoned my bother. Nothing. Back to Oprah. Extremely boring. How do people do nothing?

Maybe if I studied and did sports or worked and did sports?

Oh and a TV…What a waste of money and space.

boats, beer and some sweets

To get from Tallinn to Helsinki we were obliged to get on board a ship, as until now we have not figured how to drive the car along the sea bed. The trip across the Gulf of Finland is an experience. Bags and trunks full of alcohol a long queue of more or less inebriated Finns wait to get on board. The two hours that it takes to get from one capital to the other provides and excellent opportunity to have a few drinks and buy some more beer.

We started off with a cup of coffee but I didn’t make it half way through my cup before the voice next to me started its slow chant: ”can we now go to the tax free and gamble? Can we now go to the tax free and gamble?” In fact I was not sure whether we were supposed to go to the tax free or gamble but at any rate we started moving.

The first round through the shops was cheap – we didn’t buy anything. The second time we got few small chocolates and some liquorice. The third time around my brother and I decided to buy some sweet for the last drive (after all it would last a whole of 1hour). 1/4kg of chocolate and half a kilo of sweets should do the trick.

Then we hit the slot machines. I invested all my cash into the machines and lost it all. I did double it at first (hit an impressive sum of 3€40c) but then lost it again. My brother on the other hand left the spot five times riches than he was when we arrived. Oh, so annoying.

We followed the arrival to Helsinki through the font windows. Being silly me I opened my mouth and commented that the ship yard and industrial harbour were not the most beautiful side of the city. Apparently the harbour was moving further away from the city centre. As I continued the conversation by commenting that surely the ship yard would stay where it is I was told that in fact it was going to move to Lahti, a city far inland. The Caribbean cruisers, when finished would then be transported to the sea with big trucks. Surely I had seen the ships on the high way when driving from my parents place to Helsinki.

I was saved by the announcement that told all car owners to move to their vehicles.

By the time we go to the passport control, half of the sweets were gone.

But I do wonder how they get the boats under bridges…

choking

On Monday we started the last long stretch to Finland. I felt ill. I hadn’t really slept the night before. First I couldn’t fall asleep and then I woke up too early. Something was troubling me but I didn’t really know what.

Every kilometre made me feel worse. I felt like something was slowly choking me.

Later I started to think that maybe I was homesick. I don’t really know what it is like to be homesick but I was missing home so that must be it. It bothers me that somebody else is living in my flat, sleeping in my bed, drinking from my coffee mug, waking up with the sun shining on to my balcony and riding to work with my bike. I miss my running route through the misty wood in Buttes Chaumont. As strange as it was, I was terribly missing Paris and my life.

I heard it was raining in Finland. Every hour in the car saw the temperature drop – no more blue skies and heat the hugs you as soon as you open the door in the morning. Holidays were almost over.

I try to be positive. I will soon start my internship and it will be interesting and new. We are organising a huge barbeque for my birthday – that should be utter debauchery and a lot of fun. I have my marathon in no time and soon after the big white bird will take me to the sun.

Two months is not that long. Surely the time will just fly by and before I even notice I will be in Africa.

But it is two months without home. It is two months in somebody else’s world. It is two months in somebody else’s life.

It is so easy to go on, move forwards, move on, create something new. But going back…there is no going back.

rolling over

Yesterday we decided that we had had enough of sitting in the car, when it was sunny and hot outside. Seriously, it would be a crime to miss the +40C and over temperatures and a clear blue sky.

As soon as the swimming pool, in the small Hungarian town we were in, opened we were there. We established ourselves on a small ledge in the middle of the first pool. After 30minutes we rolled over and again in another 30minutes time.

After a while I got bored and moved to the more sporty pool that reached 50meters across the grass and paddled back and forth in the sun. I don’t think there are many things more relaxing then a comfortably passed exercise, in the water on a hot day. It was amazing.

After an hour I reclaimed my place in the sun. Turned around and continued baking.

Later in the afternoon it was time to start the car again. My brother resembled a crab and I looked more like half cooked chicken – not quite red but not properly brown either. And I got freckles. I always get freckles. Due to some odd mistake of nature I have in me enough red head genes to give me freckles, without any of the benefits of this particular breed. So unfair.

Later in the evening some of us had trouble getting changed…I think I prefer the look like a featherless bird…

belgrade

I judge cities by the feelings they create in me. Apparently, after my first visit to Paris I swore that I will one day live there, in a roof top apartment. Well, I wasn’t too far of.

After Germany and Hungary my travels took me to Serbia. I had already been told that I would like to country and this proved to be true. And I fell in love with Belgrade. The city had something. I really think I could live there. Maybe it was the beautifully renovated buildings or the buzzing bar life and funky bars or maybe it was the +42C and sun. I don’t know what it was but I did get the feeling.

My brother thinks that it was not the city but the police man who flirted with me, or who I flirted with (which is not possible because I can’t flirt to save my life) but there was something more.

It is a rare feeling I get sometimes. It starts of as a small tinkle and then grows stronger. It is impossible to explain or to fully understand. But it is impossible to ignore.

It is a beautiful city and the people are friendly – I am sure I would like it there.

I wonder…

runner's paradise

Just when I began to feel comfortable behind the wheel, the backseat started moaning – “watch out for that bike”. “Don’t go too fast.” “Watch, jump, run, turn, slowdown, speed up”. As the car takes her time to get to a decent speed I decided to ignore the advice. As far as I could at least.

We parked the car in front of a nice hotel, in a small town, surrounded by mountains and a river running through. Not too far away from Mannheim but not too close to any sort of civilisation. They even had a Nordic walking park (also known as dementia skiing, even though it is an awfully good form of exercise).

The following morning, after a breakfast, where I had eaten enough to take me through the whole day I put on my running shoes and headed off. After 30minutes of climbing my legs were singing hallelujah and heart doing cartwheels (normally my heart beats when it feels like and this does not happen too often). The sun was getting closer to the top of the skies and shining heavily. The heat made running heavy especially since I was not yet recovered after my killer cold. But I felt good. I felt absolutely horrible but so good. I rolled down the skinny pathway, through the forest and sprinted back to the hotel. I think I had found a runner’s paradise.

bored

I am bored.

I am sitting at the Köln airport and waiting. I have been sitting at the airport for the past hour and waited. I have no access to internet and there are no shops to be seen.

This morning I took the train to Brussels. I locked the door of my little flat for the last time for the next eight months, dragged my suitcase, my laptop, my back bag and my sports bag down the six flights of stairs, on to the street, into the metro, out of the metro, upstairs and into the train. In Brussels I took the bags out on to the street and into the car.

The next short stop was in Liege because we needed petrol. I was tired and hungry and I couldn’t speak and I still can’t because of my cold. So we had lunch. Made me feel slightly better and even more so after my desert chocolate.

Back into the car and on to the high way. I fell asleep. I woke up and fell asleep again. When I woke up the next time I could see the towers of the Köln cathedral. We didn’t have enough spare time to actually go into the town. But I saw the towers of the cathedral.

We got to the airport almost two hours early. There was nobody else on the road. And there is no one at the airport. We ordered coffee. We drank our coffees and we paid our coffees. We then walked to the other end of the terminal and the next terminal to see if we could find something interesting. We found expensive whisky and lots of chocolate. Better to turn around.

No we are sitting down in the middle of the terminal and hoping to see the plane land. We will have to hope for another 20minutes.

I am bored.

But afterwards, I get to drive. On the high way. In Germany.

Maybe the flight is early.

(ps. for the next two weeks my access to internet will be irregular so do not get puzzled by the time I post these stories. Now it is Friday afternoon.)

goodbye paris

In just under 2hours I will step on to the train at Gare du Nord.

Yesterday my alarm went off early, despite the late last night at work and everything that goes with it. I had my coffee, read the paper and felt disgusting – not because of the champagne of the night before but the killer cold I have gone down with.

I had so much to do. I thought. I got dressed and headed of to town. In little over an hour later I was back again, I took the laundry back and biked to the laundrette. I got home and started cleaning. Kitchen done. Bathroom done. Back to the laundrette and back home.

I checked the time. TEN TO. I was supposed to have lunch in only ten minutes. I jumped on my bike and rushed to the restaurant. I sat down to the table I had booked and took out my phone. 13h. And we were meeting at 14h. Excellent. No wonder I had run out of time.

I got back home and started packing. As the pile of clothes rose towards the sealing also the level of confusion in my mind increased exponentially. An hour later I was back in the restaurant and this time – so were my friends. I had a hot wine. It is supposed to be good for the cold - right? Well at least it was really good. And afterwards I could almost taste my lunch.

Few hours later I was back at home. It had started raining when we got up to go. I wonder…so I made a cup of tea and carried on packing. Then vacuum cleaning. Then had to wash the floors. Then write a note to the girl who will be moving into my flat to explain where the iron is and where to find all the linen from and how everything works and everything else she needs to know when habiting my little burrow. And then I had to leave again.

It only took me few minutes to get to the bar where I had my next meeting. My friend was at a hysterical state. Her hair was going frizzy because of the rain and everything else was just going horribly wrong. We ordered two white martinis and sat down. A bit later I watched her disappear around the corner and with her, my bike. She promised to look after it well. I am sure she will. But still.

I walked from the Marais to the canal and up. I had just enough time to get to the cinema on time. The canal was buzzing as usual. I had to wait for a bit so I sat down on the side of it and watched the little boat going between the two cinemas – funny.

On the way back the canal was still buzzing but the sun had gone down so we could see the light playing on the water. I said good bye at Republic and took the back alley way home. I climbed up to my little flat, closed the window and got into my bed.

Only four hours later the alarm went off again. I am drinking coffee and just finished reading the newspaper. My bags are close to the entrance, all ready to go.

I have a one way train ticket in my pocket. This usually makes me very happy. But I feel a bit sad.

shoes

I have been known to have many shoes. Several pairs in fact. Or I have several pairs of running shoes, not to mention the other shoes that I own as well. I am in no means an unusual girl when it comes to the number of shoes I have but as I live in small quarters they take up a lot of space.

I have had a friend visiting for few days and today he told me to pack the things I want him to take to Finland for me. And this would obviously be – shoes. I started going through my collection and noticed that there were many that had seen their best days. These are shoes that are so ready to retire that they could not even be sold in a second hand shop. Out. Into the rubbish. Out. Definitely out. Considering that I had earlier this year put several into the pile to be sold there were suddenly a lot of empty space in my cupboards.

I no longer own loafers. I have no black sandals (without heel and the ones with a heel I am saving for my birthday going out and then they are finished) and no brown ballerinas. Or any other ballerinas.

I have no shoes.

This obviously then means that I can finally go shopping with a good conscious.

I think that this is good news.

hair

Over the weekend I kept complaining about my hair. My fringe was too long; it was either in my eyes or going curly and looking silly. How annoying.

At work last night I kept pulling my hair. In between breaking glasses. « Oh, ce n’est vraiment pas mon soirée. » My friend cracked. Yeah, ce n’est vraiment pas TA soirée. I just could not concentrate on what I was doing, I felt like I was working on slow motion and not knowing where I was and what to do next. And my hair annoyed me.

My friend wanted to know what was wrong with my hair. I told her that I couldn’t see because my fringe was in my eyes. She laughed again and promised to cut it as soon as I find a comb. Tadaa – had one in my handbag. Excellent, no need to resort to a fork.

When it started to calm down we climbed upstairs, I wet my hair and sat on the bathroom floor with my face over the sink. She carefully combed my hair and started cutting with scissors we found behind the bar. Klip, Klip, Klip.

When I returned downstairs I got thumbs up – much better. And for the rest of the night I made no mistakes.

And the lesson is – when you have a problem: fix it.

moulin rouge

I had a friend over for the weekend. She was convinced that she has seen everything there is to see in Paris so we wouldn’t have to worry about doing touristy stuff but could have long lunches and drink cocktails. On Friday, over a cosmopolitan she remembered that she has never seen Moulin Rouge – the building. Nor Sacre Coeur and in fact there were several other things we just must must do. So no plans changed into full plan.

On Saturday we took the metro up to Montmartre, admired the view over the city and tried to get ourselves lost in the small swirly streets. When we eventually got to the red windmill it was a definite photo time. “You think we could get tickets to the show?” WHAT? We went to find out and it turned out that there in fact were two cancellations for the 23h show. In the spur of moment and due to a temporary moment of insanity we booked them.

On our way back to the flat we ended up into the middle of the gay pride parade. While watching the half naked men dancing on the slowly moving trucks we both sighed – what a waste. Oh well.

I had a manicure and equipped with long, red nails we moved back towards the Moulin Rouge. We followed the man with black trousers and a red jacket to our seats and soon were offered a bottle of champagne by the waiter all dressed in white. Classy. Or kitsch.

The show was amazing. We were stunned. It really was amazing.

In the metro on the way back we started talking and still at three AM we were talking. We were astonished and excited. That was so great. Really a must at least once in your life. Seriously.

And I think we finished the bottle of champagne.