Asking those important questions.
Like where does narcissism end, and solipsism begin?
And what do either of these words actually mean?
I went for a trip, vacation, call it what you will; and prior to setting out, I'd put together a few projects for myself. And then, midway through, I decided to add another one: record the meaningful social interactions that I had. Herewith, be some of those same.
I was told it was 'the place folks come to live their dreams'. After all, 'The war had brought so much death', but 'the immigrants, so much life'.
Yes, there is no doubt, the girl that told me this, I wanted to kiss.
And the pictures I took of her, mysteriously disappeared, erased, as if she were a ghost, my camera full, she a vampire, the lens cap never removed, or yes, a revenant, a dazzling creature from the beyond, most likely... clearly, the most likely.
Perhaps, it is for the best, we did not kiss.
Still, I cannot escape a certain feeling of loss... and mourning... regarding those lost images... and a kiss that never was.
a dying breed...
At 6,50€ for 200ml, it was the most expensive rubbing alcohol I'd ever bought (easily 10x what it would have cost in the states). Still, after I managed to communicate what I wanted (go figure, at darn near $20/pint they don't sell much of the stuff), the rest of the conversation was quite delightful:
The local economy was in the tank. This one needed to know.
And only a duly licensed pharmacist can own a pharmacy, which is where one needs to go to buy rubbing alcohol and pretty much everything else that might be sold over the counter in the states.
Anyway, I had great fun dropping €34 on a few sundries. And if the proprietor had simply smiled and said the price was so high because he could speak English (and I, the local language, not a lick), well, what would I have done? I needed the stuff and would have happily paid €50 or more by that time.
Far and Wide
Was I rude for taking the picture? Or not taking the picture, veering away at the last, not to include? Perhaps, more importantly, had I given them enough time to fix their hair?
The tour guide was holding a flag to designate the meeting point, bored out of his skull, amiable to a conversation, waiting for his group to return. Without a doubt, he was a nice friendly sort, down to the core, and we chatted about the places we had been. He was much better at the game than I, having travelled much farther... and for far longer in time.
The fog, it was like walking through a thin runny soup... or maybe it was my cold; and the ethereal congestion, all in my head.
And then, I prayed at the alter.
Which is to say, I took a selfie.
Euro Selfies are the best!
You can't beat Euro Selfies!
Just can't be done.
Unless it's some group picture,
wave to the camera,
wave to the crowd...
© copyright 2016 Brett Paufler