So, I'm in St. Augustine, FL. The train ride down was a good bit of training--19 hours. It was nice to find that American trains are just as efficient as their European cousins, though so much less social. I should have been doing shots of homemade Absente by the second hour with some Romanian hippies; instead, I sat next to some fat guy who drank Miller Lite and pretended to be asleep just so that he didn't have to talk to his wife or daughter. They were on their way to Disneyworld. Oh, the American dream in action!
I stayed at Sweigart's for a while, but it didn't really work out. Philosophical conflicts, as it were. He insists that the nature of the universe is ύλη, but I insist that it's more of a verb, like αρχή τής κίνησεος. After hours of arguing, we realized that the friendship would have to end, and I left.
So, now I'm at a funky little hostel called the Pirate Haus. It’s a decent place in downtown St. Augustine, with free pirate pancakes in the morning (and yes, Conrad, the owner, does dress up like a pirate while serving them). Besides, it's fun to be able to wander around the hallways muttering "arrrr..." without anyone looking at you strangely.
Anyway, it's confirmed - my ship leaves for Portugal on April 10th. The Legend of the Seas is the name. Yeah, it's a cruise ship. I know a freighter would have been much more romantic, but for some reason, a ride on an oil rig is like 4 times the price! I guess there are a lot of rich people who'll pay a lot of money to forget the fact that they're rich. Now, how much sense does that make? I don't know if there'll be internet or phones on the boat, so I may not talk to anyone for a while - rest assured that I'll be too busy enjoying Bermuda and the Azores anyhow.
So, in the interest of not being completely worthless for the next few weeks, and in order to
offset the cost of the boat ticket, I basically went door to door downtown looking for a job. It was actually easier than I thought. Now, I figured that most Americans wouldn't give me a part-time job for 3 weeks, what with all the paperwork and stuff, so I was lucky enough to find a nice little French cafe called La Belle Epoque. Yes, that is pronounced "Belly Poke." Michel, the owner, has no problem paying me under the table (silly Americans and their rules). I just stand in the kitchen, dish out quiche, and try to look superior to the customers (I'm trying to blend in).
You know, I don't know the best way to live life, but I do know that, at the very least, I want to go to sleep every night being excited to wake up in the morning. And I know that, for the first time in years, I am.
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum.
I stayed at Sweigart's for a while, but it didn't really work out. Philosophical conflicts, as it were. He insists that the nature of the universe is ύλη, but I insist that it's more of a verb, like αρχή τής κίνησεος. After hours of arguing, we realized that the friendship would have to end, and I left.
So, now I'm at a funky little hostel called the Pirate Haus. It’s a decent place in downtown St. Augustine, with free pirate pancakes in the morning (and yes, Conrad, the owner, does dress up like a pirate while serving them). Besides, it's fun to be able to wander around the hallways muttering "arrrr..." without anyone looking at you strangely.
Anyway, it's confirmed - my ship leaves for Portugal on April 10th. The Legend of the Seas is the name. Yeah, it's a cruise ship. I know a freighter would have been much more romantic, but for some reason, a ride on an oil rig is like 4 times the price! I guess there are a lot of rich people who'll pay a lot of money to forget the fact that they're rich. Now, how much sense does that make? I don't know if there'll be internet or phones on the boat, so I may not talk to anyone for a while - rest assured that I'll be too busy enjoying Bermuda and the Azores anyhow.
So, in the interest of not being completely worthless for the next few weeks, and in order to
offset the cost of the boat ticket, I basically went door to door downtown looking for a job. It was actually easier than I thought. Now, I figured that most Americans wouldn't give me a part-time job for 3 weeks, what with all the paperwork and stuff, so I was lucky enough to find a nice little French cafe called La Belle Epoque. Yes, that is pronounced "Belly Poke." Michel, the owner, has no problem paying me under the table (silly Americans and their rules). I just stand in the kitchen, dish out quiche, and try to look superior to the customers (I'm trying to blend in). You know, I don't know the best way to live life, but I do know that, at the very least, I want to go to sleep every night being excited to wake up in the morning. And I know that, for the first time in years, I am.
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum.
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