03
Jul
09

A fantastic fling. the end?

I’m home in Halifax after spending ten days in BC with Bali Boy, and it is hard to know where to start with writing this post. I guess I’ll summarize first, by saying that we had an absolutely wonderful time together but we didn’t fall in love. In that sense, everything went to plan.

The last ten days were a whirlwind. I had all these crazy travel assignments to do, so we were staying at beautiful high end hotels and getting treated like kings, while being romantic and having a fine old time. It wasn’t real. It was a perfect combination of situation and emotion that at times felt like there could potentially be something beyond friendship or a fling , but it simply never developed. However, because we are human, ie flawed, insecure, over-analytical and emotional. (Or to quote Aerosmith F.I.N.E. as in F***ed up, insecure, neurotic and emotional) there were moments in the blissful ten days when things got awkward. Like when he got smashed, told me he loved me and proposed.

We’d gone to spend an evening at the mutual friend’s place, which was really fun, except we started drinking gin (which usually makes me feel violent but that night made me just giggly and silly). At the start of the night we were barely touching, playing it cool and all that, but as the night progressed everyone got a bit rowdy and Bali Boy kept referring to me as his girlfriend. I was drunk and happy, so didn’t correct him. After we went back to his place, he became a poet, telling me all about his love for me. I told him to go to sleep. Two hours and many proclamations of his true love later, he finally did go to sleep.

The next morning I left before he woke up (because I had to go to Whistler with a girlfriend on another assignment, not because I was running away or anything!) and later texted him to tell him what he’d said last night. He was mortified, couldn’t remember any of it. It was funny, and being me I couldn’t resist teasing him whenever I could about his proposal.

Anyway, that was right at the start of my visit. Once I got back from Whistler, Bali Boy and I headed off to Vancouver Island for a little working vacation. We spent two days in Tofino staying at the Long Beach Lodge, which has to be the most romantic place I’ve ever been. Our room had a balcony that overlooked the crashing surf, there was a fireplace and a huge bath-tub made for two.

View from our room at the Long Beach Lodge

View from our room at the Long Beach Lodge

It really was incredible. The first night we were there, we went for a long romantic walk on the beach and talked and talked. Bali Boy was great to travel with, perfect fun and very witty. We really did enjoy each other’s company. Then we spent a fantastic 24 hours in Victoria, before heading back to East Van to spend a last night together at his place.

Everything was going absolutely fine until that last morning, when Bali Boy said something stupid that really pissed me off. I kissed him, looked in his eyes and smiled, then he said to me: “Now don’t you go falling in love with me.” I think I just said something like “There’s no fear of that” and walked away, but I was just furious. What an incredibly egotistical thing to say. I seethed for a while, and thought I just had to say something more. He was dropping me off at a meeting (I scored a job when I was in BC, which means I’ll be traveling back a little more often) a couple of hours later and I brought it up, the whole not falling in love with him thing.

I told him point blank that there had been no love connection for me, and I was puzzled and slightly pissed that he thought I was there wishing for him to fall in love with me. I also said something mean, which I instantly regretted: “I’m hardly looking at you and thinking you have husband potential.” Then I told him why, because he was a 38 year old kid and I’m looking for a grown man. And I think it stung. Not because he wants to be my husband, but I think ultimately he wants to do the whole married with kids thing. I went to my meeting still feeling angry and then feeling like a complete bitch.

When I saw him later it was weird and I didn’t want it to be. We made friends I guess, and he was super complimentary and lovely, which made me feel even worse. I think we just had a little misunderstanding that I probably blew out of all proportion and we both misread shit and it almost soured what had been a pretty much perfect week together. As I left he said that he was really pleased I got that job so we’d see each other again soon, and I said maybe, but only if he promised not to make any douchebag comments. I think we will see eachother again, as friends, whatever, who knows, but I’m not in Vancouver again until September and really, who knows what could happen between now and then?

29
Jun
09

The glove is off: Louise on the death of Michael Jackson

So there I was, minding my own business on, what was it, Thursday when Michael Jackson died? When what appeared in my inbox but a request for a radio interview with yours truly, about my thoughts on the death of the singer. What could I say? Being ever hungry for publicity of any kind, I said sure.

By coincidence, my ex Louise called that night. In fact I was talking to her when the email arrived. When I told her, she got super-excited. Nothing seems to get her going more than the possibility of me humliating myself on a public forum. She’s an avid reader of this blog, for example. And the other time or two I’ve done something for radio, she’s tuned in, and roundly critiqued every word.

So after I got off the phone with her the first time, she called back. This time she had suggestions of what to talk about:

Louise: Maybe you should copy someone else’s report. Don’t speak ill of the dead. Maybe you should practice. Record it first and then play the recording. They’ll be asking questions, “So, what do you think about his music?” and you’ll be saying “So anyway, I think that he was a very bright man, and he danced a lot.” So you’re answering the wrong question. Tape yourself in advance. That’s the dumbest thing ever. Try taping yourself and see what you sound like so then you can change it.

SC: Thanks for your confidence.

Louise: When you’re talking smile then it’ll sound like it’s coming out happy. I’m gonna say a sentence, I’m gonna say the sentence twice, and tell me if you can tell when I’m smiling, okay. “Do you know I joined a Scrabble tournament?” “Did you know I joined a Scrabble tournament?”

Me: First time you were smiling.

Louise: No. Fuck. You’re bad.

Me: Why would I be smiling? Michael Jackson died. What’re you, crazy?

Louise: Oh yeah, that’s right.

Me: Thanks for your advice!

Louise: Are you going to say it’s a blight to music-dom?

Me: Yes, that’s right.

Louise: But I joined a Scrabble tournament, did you know that?

About an hour later the producer of the segment calls and puts me on hold during a commercial. Then I’m talking to the show’s host, Jon McComb. (the reason they called me, though I don’t know where my email address came from or who suggested me, was probably because I’ve been writing “music journalism” for the last 100 years or so.) So I did the best I could, considering I’d already had a couple of glasses of wine, to string a few sentences together and make some sense of the whole thing. Mostly what the host kept coming back to was Jackson’s legacy—whether he would be remembered for his music or his other, less savoury proclivities (whatever they may have been).

To me, this is one of the least interesting aspects of the situation, mostly because, who the f*** knows? it’s impossible to say how history will judge him or, at this point, what new horrible facts about his life we might discover (and even then, those will probably only be the tip of the iceberg thanks to all those non-disclosure agreements). What interested me more is the idea of communal mourning, and how we now have all these social networking methods to connect on this front.

But that never came up, and I did the best with the questions I was thrown. No sooner had my five-minute segement ended then the phone rang.

Louise: [Imitating me] ‘I just don’t think we’ll ever know the true Michael Jackson. Look at Elvis Presley. Will we ever really know? Will we ever know the real Michael Jackson? I don’t know, you know. Who knows Michael Jackson. Maybe, who knows, you know.’ [lets out a loud, ear-shattering guffaw] No I’m kidding, I’m just bugging you. It’s better than last time.I wouldn’t have known how to answer some of those questions boy. Then I thought, “Louise look, you don’t know about that kind of music, so of course how could you know.” So I was trying to think positive thoughts at you so you would be able to answer them because I was really stymied at some of that.

Me: Like what?

Louise: At the beginning, one of those beginning ones. Did he say something about how Michael Jackson has affected the music industry? Or your life?

Me: Yeah, my life.

Louise: Well, nothing. I don’t really like Michael Jackson really, actually.

Me: You would have been a bad person to go to.

Louise: Yeah, because I wouldn’t have known what to say, because he’s such a loser. I like the way you kept saying, “Back in the day,” so you kept clarifying it was back at that time. ‘Cos back at that time he was really big, I guess. It kind of, then it helped say, well today he’s a jerkoff, so that was good, in a round about way. And I liked the way you got in that bit about when records were records, they were real tangibles. And the guy understood what you were staying. He wasn’t like a goof. I would’ve let that slide but he laughed.

Me: I had more to say about—

Louise: Well you should have said it because you sure said the same sentence over again like a loop! “You know, I mean, you know you know–”

Me: Well, he was asking the same question over and over again–He was trying to get in something about Michael Jackson’s private life. I don’t know if he did what he was accused of doing.

Louise: That’s what I was wondering, that’s what I was going to say. I lost track of the interview because I was trying to tape it on my mom’s voicemail so I missed bits of it. All I could do, I kept hearing you say, “Well you know, I mean, you know”, and I thought maybe he kept on asking the same question.

Anyway, I’m afraid that’s all I recorded of our conversation. But there’s nothing like doing something in public and having your ex call up with a point-by-point critique. Thanks, Louise!

27
Jun
09

Meeting Bali Boy

So, I’m sat in the Opus Hotel in Vancouver, waiting for Bali Boy who went out on a food run. Things are going good, really good. He picked me up in his red convertible at 1pm yesterday and we went for Thai food. I was so nervous I hadn’t managed breakfast (nervous about handing my daughter over to her daddy for ten days, because I’ll miss her not because she is in any danger, as well as nervous about finally getting together with Bali Boy), so I was pretty ravenous by the time we went for lunch.

Its funny how I can have so much confidence at times but then be so chicken at others. As soon as I saw him I became incredibly shy and hardly knew what to say. He was cocky and more confident, until we were alone and then he became the shy one. It took us a while to relax in each other’s company, but once we did, it was brilliant. Bali Boy is an excellent kisser. Making out with him was divine.

Its been two days together and so far we are having a lot of fun, just hanging out, smooching, being silly. We went and watched Star Trek together, and went for a great lunch, which was (I guess) our first date. We had a fantastic dinner at Elixer, the restaurant in the Opus hotel, last night then got drunk and watched South Park episodes. Hanging out with him is so fun. I really do like Bali boy, he is everything I’d hoped.

That said, we have discussed where this is going and are on the same page. This is a fun diversion. A really fun diversion. He can be my Vancouver friend with benefits until either of us meets someone else and isn’t single anymore. Oh, here he is with food, gotta run.

19
Jun
09

Boys are confusing

I thought that I had finally met someone worthwhile in Halifax, but I very quickly discovered that I was wrong. Thankfully nothing had really happened and I wasn’t too heavily invested in this thing, so I got over it pretty fast. This new boy, lets call him ‘Sailor’ because he owns a boat, was someone I met last Friday night at a party. In all honestly, when I met him I didn’t think much of him because he acted like a bit of a doofus, thought he was much funnier than he was and was was leering at me. But, the drunker I got (and the more time I spent in his company) the more I liked him.

I ended up spending all night on his boat, because I was too drunk to leave, and the next morning we spent a few pleasant hours together. He seemed quite interested, and as I got in the cab to leave he asked me to email him when I got back from Finland (I was flying there later that day). Although in the cold light of day he was quite cute, and had a pretty tattoo, I still wasn’t convinced I was interested. So I told him I didn’t have his email address. “Facebook me,” Sailor called over his shoulder. “I don’t know your full name, I’ll never be able to find you,” I said, closing the taxi door. I impressed myself at how cool I was being. But then I wasn’t expecting to start liking him.

I get on the plane to Helsinki and look through the photos on my camera, and there were all these fantastic pictures of me and Sailor together. He looked very cute, and extremely happy with his arms wrapped around me, I was grinning ear to ear. I started to think that maybe I should cut the guy a break, perhaps he wasn’t such a doofus and just acted like one to cover up his loneliness or fears or whatever. He had said some lovely things to me that night….

At this point I started acting like a girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

So I find him on Facebook pretty easily, and we become friends. I see that he has posted that he had “The Best Weekend Ever” and smile. I see that another chick says “Thanks for a great night Sailor” the day after I saw him but I think, whatever, its okay, doesn’t mean he screwed her. We communicate back and forth and talk about getting together when I get home.

I get off the plane in Halifax and see that he’d messaged to ask when my flight got in because he might be able to see me there (he works at the airport so its not that big a deal), I message back to say I’ll just see him another day (I’d been flying all day and looked like shit, the last thing I wanted to do was see anyone). I walk through customs and there he is waiting for me. That’s showing an interest, right? I was impressed.

So, my ride had forgotten to pick me up so I was sat there for ages talking to Sailor, and it was fun, flirty and we talked about when we’d see each other again. I went home with a smile on my face thinking that I might have finally met someone cute in Halifax.

We emailed a couple of times that night, he said he was looking forward to hanging out and that he was off work on Thursday. Last night when I emailed to ask when we’d be getting together he totally brushed me off, said “I already have plans Thursday night, but if things change I’ll give you a holler”.

WTF?

Seriously, WTF?

After a day of questioning myself (was it because I looked like shit getting off the plane? Because I have a kid? Because there is another girl? Did I say something? Because I mentioned on my blog that I’d met someone?) and feeling like crap, I snapped back to reality. This guy is totally not worth my time. I didn’t think he was worth my time until I saw pictures of us looking happy, until I projected something that wasn’t there on to an entirely inappropriate person.

Sailor is hot, sure, but he is a 40 year old man living like a teenager, on his boat, getting drunk and high. Very fun, but that’s not my life. It might have been fifteen years ago (without the boat), but not now. I took him off my Facebook, because he isn’t a friend (my friends treat me better than that) and even if he suddenly regained interest there is no way I will ever go there again.

17
Jun
09

boys are like buses

When I was offered this blogging gig, I was a little concerned that I might not have enough material to write about. My dating life wasn’t that exciting and I hoped that the fact that I was going to have to write about it would mean that I’d put more effort in to actually searching for a man. For whatever reason, suddenly my dating life has got a bit exciting and I’m really not sure how to handle things.

I am not good at this whole dating a few people at once thing. I feel like that kind of dating has a whole different set of rules of engagement, and I don’t have the playbook in my possession. Suddenly, there are a couple of interested parties in my life and it worries me. Thrills me and excites me as well of course, but is a tad stressful. I met someone last week that made my heart flutter, and he is totally interested, but I’m flying out to BC to spend time with Bali Boy on Monday.

I’m also worried because obviously whatever I write about my love life is fairly easy to find online, so I’m forced in to a position of being totally honest and upfront with people. But then, that’s kind of how I am anyway.

This is a rambling post, with no real point so I should probably end it. But I have a really awesome post I want to write about what happened with this new interest, I just have to work out if I’ll shoot myself in the foot by doing so.

On another unrelated note, I just spent 24 hours in Finland on assignment and feel compelled to mention that the Finnish men almost knocked the Montreal men out of the water looks wise. If you are attracted to 6′5 blonde Nordic God types. Which, I kinda float my boat. I came close to getting intimate one with a very hot Finn this week, but decided that two boys messing with my mind was enough. Sigh. My love life feels just like waiting for a bus, none in sight for ages and then three come along at once.

14
Jun
09

Newsflash: the Internet is great for hookups

What’s a guy (or girl) to do in the modern age of dating? Especially if he/she doesn’t have a computer?

Yes, such specimens exist. Specifically, I’m talking about a friend of mine who, over the years, has steadfastedly refused to join the technology revolution.

Which is fine, up to a point. I mean, whatever his reasons—maybe he’s worried he’ll have too much easy access to porn, or online bingo—he’s still living in a mostly analog world. He doesn’t have a cellphone, either. I almost have to grudgingly admire him for this.

Almost. Because, the guy’s single—and the Internet is probably the single greatest matchmaker ever invented. Without it, you’re left to use other means of trying to get a date.

For instance, this computerless mook, whom I’ll call Dale, joined a friend and I at the bar of a lounge-y restaurant the other night. My friend and I had been talking to a couple of other people sitting at the bar, including a girl I’ve know for years, whom I’ll refer to as G. She’s a yoga instructor, which may have some bearing on the story I’m about to tell.

Anyway, I guess at some point Dale and G got into a conversation that Dale quite enjoyed. So the next day, yesterday, I get a phone call. It’s Dale, pumping me for info re: G.

Not that I blame him. G. is a very attractive girl, not to mention someone who knows her way around a yoga mat. But she’d been sitting with a guy at the bar, and later they had been joined by another male friend. So this girl is not hurting for male companionship. Unless you’re Brad Pitt or Zach Galifianakis, or have something special to offer—like disinterest, say—you’re probably going to be standing in a very long line. And everyone else in that line is going to have email access and a Facebook profile.

I didn’t go into any of this with Dale, though. He already knew he was at a disadvantage vis-a-vis the computer thing; as we were saying goodbye, G. had said something about getting in touch via Facebook. Dale didn’t say anything. “What could I have said? I don’t have a computer?”

So I answered his questions—is she single, where does she work (!)—as best I could. After all, I’d been that guy, awkwardly calling up a friend or acquaintance after failing to get a number from a friend of theirs. But I also have enough experience to know that something good rarely comes of putting yourself in that kind of near-desperate situation.

But there was no point in going into any of this with Dale. I also knew from experience I’d just be wasting my breath. So I told him what I could—that the last time I’d seen her she’d been with a boyfriend, that she used to work at a yoga studio downtown (as if a guy whose idea of exercise is watching the Canucks lose is going to take a yoga class). Clearly, he was looking for a way to get in touch with her that didn’t involve a computer, but I wasn’t about to offer up a phone number, even if I had it. But, I reminded him, she had said she was going to be at such-and-such a concert, why didn’t he come to that?

“But by then a week’s gone by, and it’s just a joke,” he said.

I sighed. There’s just no reasoning with some people. Still, if the computers ever take over the planet, he might have the last laugh.

12
Jun
09

montreal boys

I know that I already confessed my adoration of the French-Canadian male, but I feel that this is a topic that deserves

No, really, I was just taking a picture of my daughter.

No, really, I was just taking a picture of my daughter.

further attention, especially as I actually took a few pictures to use as evidence of how gorgeous Montreal boys are (you will notice that my toddler is in some pictures, as I didn’t actually want to be caught taking pictures of hot strange men).

In Montreal, it really did seem like there was a disproportionate number of attractive men. They were everywhere. My friend joked that it didn’t matter where we were, in the Metro, a restaurant, any store, there were at least three attractive men in our sight. The young men were gorgeous, as were the old men and everything in between. It wasn’t just that they were just naturally attractive, it was also that they took good care of themselves. Montreal men dress well, even if they were wearing a Ramones T-shirt and jeans, dressed like a hippy or in a suit, they could carry off their look better than other Canadian men can.

The sexual confidence that Montreal men display is dead sexy. They are not afraid to flirt, hold your gaze and even talk to you. Then of course the accent drives me wild too. I am a sucker for that sexy French accent and could have someone read me the news with that purr and get turned on.

Doesn't my daughter look cute? Oh and look, there's a hot boy!

Doesn't my daughter look cute? Oh and look, there's a hot boy!

I spoke to a few Montreal guys about the sexiness they had and they were both surprised, they thought that it was very hard to be a man in Montreal because the women were snooty and did not appreciate them. “It is hard to be a single man in Montreal,” said one young hottie, “there are not enough women here and it is hard to meet someone special.” I felt so bad for him, I wanted to move straight to Montreal and address the imbalance!B1IMG_0510

10
Jun
09

the un-date date

I am in Montreal for a couple of days, and being here has me wondering why it was that I moved to Halifax. There are hot men everywhere. Beautiful men that make eye-contact, smile at you and touch you gently on the arm with a ‘pardon’ if they bump in to you. I swear I haven’t stopped swooning since I arrived. Of course it helps that they all have sexy accents too. I am here for a job, I’m writing a story on ‘hippy Montreal’ for a women’s magazine, and I’m traveling with my daughter and a lovely friend, who is offering babysitting back-up, which allowed me to go for an evening out with a very handsome man.

I met this man, lets call him Francois, on a press-trip a few years back when I was six-months pregnant and thought him the most charming man that I had ever met. When I walked in to a room he would stand, he opened doors for me, and was incredibly chivalrous. I was totally enamored with his behavior, and loved his flirtiness. Francois and I stayed in touch thanks to Facebook, and when I knew I was coming to Montreal, his hometown, I asked to meet for drinks because I knew he would show me a side of Montreal I couldn’t discover alone.

We had a really lovely time together. He was just a charming as I remembered, told me half-way in to out first beer that he had never found pregnant women attractive and then met me, “You were there with a big-belly, chubby, and very sexy” he said. I think the word “chubby” was meant as a compliment and took it as a lost in translation kind of thing, because obviously its not an entirely flattering word! Anyway, we drank more, he was fantastic company and I had the best night out that I’d had in ages. Here comes the catch.

Francois has a girlfriend. A beautiful, young girlfriend who he is madly in love with. So, our evening together was not a date, even though it felt a lot like one, especially at 1am with three beers and a couple of rum and cokes in my belly.

A picture Francois took on our un-date. Yes, I am flirting through the camera lens.

A picture Francois took on our un-date. Yes, I am flirting through the camera lens.

We both laughed at how much fun it was to be on such a date like un-date and I cursed the fact that I don’t meet men like Francois who are single. Francois is quite a catch, I think that his girlfriend must be a very lucky woman (and have the patience of a saint considering what a flirt he is!) Being the victim of infidelity made it easy to draw very clear boundaries and know precisely what this was, and the fact that we were able to completely frank about so many things made the evening feel very mature and responsible, and I never felt like it veered in to anything inappropriate despite the fact that under different circumstances, I would for sure be falling for this charming man.

It was a fun and perfect evening. All the best qualities of a really perfect first date, with none of the expectations. I was reminded of how fun it is just to flirt, and realize that I should try to do so more often, which probably means that I need to drag my lazy ass off my sofa and go out in Halifax more often. Perhaps in the future I’ll just target French-Canadian men though, fortunately there are a fair few here in Nova Scotia so it shouldn’t be that hard to find some.

08
Jun
09

Weekend

UNICEF. How long has this organization been around for? It’s like the McDonalds of charities. Everyone has a UNICEF memory, from Hallowe’en. But what is UNICEF today?

IMG_8542

Publicist Marnie Wilson of artzbiz mans the decks at Unite With Art.

Well, the organization is concentrating its efforts on children in Africa with HIV/AIDS. That was the reason for the fundraiser Wednesday night, Unite With Art. A silent and live auction, with some live musical entertainment and food from a select group of Vancouver restaurants, the whole thing was held in the Storyeum building.

Which is a story in itself—the Storyeum was  a museum dedicated to BC history, and took up a vast amount of space in heavily-touristed area Gastown. However, the makers failed to take into account that BC history is, well, boring. And now the building, 40,000 sq. ft. or something, and in a prime location, is more or less vacant, and has been for a couple of years, awaiting new tenants.)

Anyway. So, Unite With Art. I went with a friend who’d recently broken up with his girlfriend, so he was definitely interested in meeting some new people. To his credit, he did—he circulated with the best of them. I hung out, after gorging myself on morsels from local restaurants like the Reef, So.Cial and Nubuwith, the event’s publicists. The art itself was a varied assortment, from abstract paintings to photographs, by local and international artists.

Art

Art

Thursday was Punk Rock Nite. I went and saw Rancid and Rise Against in an arena. Rancid was great, and so was the hospitality suite which, I have to admit, is really the only reason I went. I know, my punk rock cred’s completely shattered at this point. Sigh.

Do you ever work yourself into a tizzy about something, only to be disappointed? That’s what happened Friday, when I went to see a Scottish indie-pop band, Camera Obscura, at the Commodore. I loved the new record top-to-bottom (including the title, My Maudlin Career) but the live show was ho-hum. A friend in the audience, who had seen the band the last time it had come through town,  said she’d even seen the singer (Tracyanne) shooting dirty looks at the guitarist (Kevin). Just a rumour, though.

The best things about the evening were the opening band, Agent Ribbons, an all-girl trio from Sacramento playing Southern Gothic folk/rock… IMG_8660

and the electric guitar player dude standing in the doorway of a Granville Street store. Dude basically had a captive audience of people filing past as they left the Commodore, because the sidewalks are fenced in because the road is closed. (The city is constructing an underground train line from the airport to downtown in time for the 2010 Olympics.) He looked a little goofy like Jerry Lewis or Jim Carrey, but the weird thing was, he really rocked it on a James Brown tune.

Last night at a party I could hear myself telling the story about how I’d got my cat, Max. I knew then it was time to go but I still kept talking.

Today, checked out the Rembrandt/Vermeer exhibit at the Vancouver Art Gallery. What a rip! Only one (maybe two) paintings by Rembrandt and only one by Vermeer! The rest were second-stage (Dutch) Lollapallooza types. I call foul on marketing. However, the exhibit Apartment Ought is pretty cool. If you’re in Vancouver, you’ve got to check this out: it’s a six-level structure-in-a-structure (the VAG) where each level is an artist’s rendition of interior home design for the last 60 years. That is, the first level is decorated ’50s style, the second ’60s, etc, right up to the minimalist, cold ’90s. Quite a feast for the eyes, especialliy if you long for the shag-carpet-in-the-bathroom look. And who doesn’t?

03
Jun
09

Zurich photo essay pt II

IMG_8406When: Thursday night, May 21

Where: Bierhalle Wolf

Why: I loved the name of this place. We were coming home from somewhere, maybe dinner after looking at a place for the Twister in the Langstrasse area. (This was the day she’d lost her key; see previous entry “For a good time in Zurich…”) Probably a little drunk, at least drunk enough to duck our heads into this tourist trap. A few days before, I’d seen someone onstage playing an alphorn, which is like a Swiss didgeridoo.

IMG_8422When: Friday May 22

Where: Zurich street corner

Why: These giant plantholders, each customized by a different artist, were popping up all over the city. I liked this one because of the eyeball, and the American underground comix influence. Nerd alert!

IMG_8462When: Saturday May 23

Where: somewhere in Switzerland

Why: We wanted to get out of town so we took the train to Montreux. Naturally, we got on the wrong train at some point, and missed part of the scenic route. This is the part we didn’t miss.

IMG_8480

When: Saturday night

Where: Montreux

Why: Beats me. That is, it beats me why there’s a statue of Queen singer Freddie Mercury anywhere, never mind Montreux. But there it is. We will rock you.

IMG_8483When: Sunday morning, May 24

Where: the terrace of our Montreux hotel

Why: nice hotel, great breakfast, but what a view; Lake Geneva in all its glory, in perfect weather. Beautiful.

IMG_8504When: Monday May 25, a.m.

Where: the view from the Twister’s tiny apartment

Why: Feeling sentimental, sniff sniff, as it was my last day. This is the view I enjoyed often over the 10 days; that’s a grocery store, Migros, by the way. During the day, people sit on benches outside. Luggage on the cobblestones in the morning is noisy. This was a party street, so there was lots of drunken shouting at all hours of the night. I loved it.




 

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