Saturday, August 21, 2010

My New French Sidekick

Anyone who knows me will undoubtedly know that I always have a French sidekick. They may not be thrilled to learn that they're the sidekick and not me, but hey - WWII.

First there was Morgane. Ah... lovely Morgane. Morgane La Fey, Morguse La Balayette, ma amie de le scatologie. Unfortunately, continents do take their toll on friendships, but every time I flush a toilet, I think fondly of you...

And then there was Thomas, whose life was a 1970s kung fu dream. I never meant to hurt you or your so easily sunburned soul. It was the burden of being a superhero - don't you know the masks weigh so heavily upon us? I hope you're content in your exile, in your jungle paradise of rituals and romance.

Thus, it came to pass that I was Frenchless for the first time in a decade. What was I to do? Should I pass out croissants at the French embassy and smile provocatively? Or maybe starte spelling alle my importante wordse withe the lettre "e" at the ende? No, no, no substitutes for me. It was clearly time to find a new French sidekick! Without a moment to spare, I broke up with my girlfriend (all my stories start this way, if you hadn't noticed) and went off in search of a noveau ami!

The first place I looked was Bulgaria. Sofia is dirt cheap, relatively lawless, and full of women of loose morals. Therefore, you can usually find a Frenchman or two wandering around on the streets. And what do you know? I found one! Unfortunately, he was already taken.

My search took me next to southeastern Serbia, to the city of Nis. I didn't find any Frenchmen there, but I did find a pleasant Serbian man named Dimitri. He told me that his grandfather lived to 100 by starting each day with a spoonfull of honey, a Turkish coffee, and a shot of Slivovitz. We decided to give his grandfather's diet a try, but quickly found that if you start the day with liquor, the day never gets very far...

So, from Serbia I continued westward to Kosovo. For those of you who don't know, Kosovo, like pretty much everyplace else in the Balkans, used to be a part of Serbia. As my Bulgarian friend Ivo is fond of saying, "What do Serbia and Nokia phones have in common? Every year they come out with a slimmer model!" Of course, this is in direct response to an oft-repeated old saying in Serbian, "if you have nothing to do, attack Bulgaria."

Anyways, following the fall of Yugoslavia, the region of Kosovo, despite being a generally pretty poor and crappy place, decided that they preferred being poor and crappy to being poor, crappy and full of Serbs (a pretty common attitude in these parts) and declared independence. After some good ol' ethnic cleansing, the UN rushed in, starting throwing around a bunch of Euro for some reason, and the Kosovars fell to their knees in thanks. They were so happy, the even built a statue of their new national hero... Bill Clinton.

You know, you'd think with the fact that their country exists solely because of the goodwill of foreigners, they'd be some of the friendliest people around, right? Well, sort of...

In the bus, on the way to Macedonia, I found myself sitting next to a nice, beautiful young lady named Fitore. She was an Albanian Kosovar, going to her friend's birthday party in Skopje. She was soooo excited, because it was her first time abroad! When she realized that I was American, she could barely conceal her delight! Her, Fitore, on an international bus trip, speaking English to an American! We had a fantastic conversation all the way from Pristina to Ferizaji. Here's one of the highlights:


Fitore: Aaron.
Aaron: Fitore.
Fitore: Sky. Very good.
Aaron: Yes, good. Sun very hot. Good.
Fitore: Yes, good.

When we arrived in the Ferizaji bus station, the driver announced a 15 minute break. I said to Fitore, "you coffee?" She replied, "yes, coffee". So with that, we jumped off the bus. While Fitore was looking for a coffee, I was approached by a nice young Kosovar boy of maybe about 16 years, who said,

"Give me cigarette!"

Now, thinking that his English was perhaps quite poor, I assumed he meant, "Excuse me, could I please have a cigarette?", so I smiled and gave him one.

"Give me light!"

With my smile faltering slightly, I produced a lighter and lit his cigarette.

"How much money do you have in your pocket?" he asked. I briefly considering willfully understanding this as, "do you have sufficient funds for the rest of your trip, because I'd be happy to help in any way possible," but I'm not an idiot.

"Not much," I replied.

"Why you talk that girl?" the boy asked.

Annoyed, I answered, "because she's on the bus". It was then that I noticed he had one hand in his pocket. My spider sense began tingling.

"Why you not talk girls your own country?"

"I'm not in my country," I said, and took a few steps towards the bus.

The boy followed me and shouted, "you go! I see you again, I cut off your head with my knife and I fuck your sister!" Well now, I knew that was an empty threat because I don't have a sister, but I didn't want to argue. I got on the bus and sat down in the front seat while the boy stood directly in front of the bus, glaring at me.

A short time later, Fitore returned with a defeated "coffee no," and sat down next to me smiling. I glanced at my feet awkardly. The boy stared threateningly. Fitore reached in her bag and produced a small photo album. "Photo good ok?" she asked. I grunted. The boy stared threateningly. Fitore flipped through a collection of what were mostly pictures of her pursing her lips at the camera or posing in a bikini. I shifted uncomfortably. The boy stared threateningly.

Finally, the bus driver started the bus. At this point, the boy decided he was just going to kill me anyways and jumped on the bus. I jumped out of my seat, prepared to fight to the death. The boy rushed at me. I steeled myself.

The boy made a semicircle with his hands and shouted, "Watashi wa anata o hakai suru!"

I threw my head back, levitated a few inches, and screamed, "Baka, watashi wa imōto o motte inai!"

Then, the attendant pushed him out the door, and we drove away.

Soon, I found myself crossing the border into Macedonia. 2 countries and 1 independent autonomous region later, I still had no Frenchman. Would Macedonia be different? Did I dare to dream? After saying goodbye to Fitore, I hopped off the bus in Skopje and began following the vague directions to the hostel that I had found on the internet. Thoroughly shaken from my encounter in Kosovo, I stopped along the way and picked up 4 bottles of wine. You know, to share.

When I arrived at the hostel, I plopped down on the picnic table outside, across from one of the other guests. "Man, you won't believe the day I've had," I began. "You want a glass of wine?"

The tall, bearded man replied, "but of course, za wine is good here, no?"

Nervously, I whispered, "Are you... French?"

"Mais oui, my name is Renan," came the reply, and I began to feel my palms sweating in anticipation.

But wait! How could I keep him? We were just travelers, ships passing in the night. He'd return to France, and I to Istanbul, with nary an opportunity for us to sip a cafe latte, or break a baguette together. I needed an angle.

"So, Renan, are you just traveling around this area, or what?"

"Non, I have six month. I will journey many place, I think." Check.

"Oh, really? You don't work?"

"But of course, I teach anatomy at universite. But I only work for the six month in a year. Then I journey six month." Check.

"Oh yeah, that's cool. Where are you going next?"

"I think I go to Istanbul next." Check.

"Oh really? I live in Istanbul. Here's my number. Why don't you call when you arrive? We'll go out for a drink..."

All the signs were looking good. I had him where I wanted him. Now, in order to truly make him my new French sidekick, I needed bait. How could I keep him in Istanbul? The wine is shit and the cheese isn't nearly stinky enough... I would need an angle.

When Renan arrived in Istanbul, I threw everything I had at him - İskender kebap, kokoreç, and a Turkish girl. Renan knew that he'd been beat. With a sigh that was half defeat, half contentment, Renan moved into my spare bedroom and spent the next 5 months in Turkey.

Renan quickly grew into the French sidekick that I've always wanted - the kind that will stare at maps with you for hours and brings over beer every night. The kind that sips espresso and talks equally enthusiatically about existentialism and excrement. Oh yes, Renan and I went on to have lots of legendary adventures throughout Turkey and Bulgaria before he eventually rode off into the sunset with a cry of "Have no fear, I'll be back next year!"






In fact, when last Renan was seen, he was even wearing a hat of his own.

1 comment:

Unknown said...

It seems you like travelling so much to get lots of experience, feeling so cool of you. But I am wondering why you like french people so much?Due to their lifestye? Or the enthusiastic living attitude?Haha, waiting to read more of you from your writings~