Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - ruminations in Germany

I haven’t written for a few days – we seem to spend all day walking and then fall into our beds exhausted. The hostel has a kitchen, so we’ve been cooking our evening meals to save a bit of money. Niki was a bit hung over the first night so I did the dinner. I had learned a few German words and was desperate to try them out. I decided the local deli might be the best place and tried to time it so that it wouldn't be too busy, but it seems it is always busy. I couldn’t bear trying out my newly learned words in front of so many locals, so I waited by the door a bit while I practiced my lines and tried not to look like I was waiting. Finally the shop was almost empty so I screwed up my courage and walked up to the counter where a shiny, red cheeked woman beamed down at me.

“Gooden alben. Haben sie butter?” I said in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner.

The lady answered “Ya” and then a whole pile of other words I had no idea about. I must have looked completely alarmed because she tilted her head for moment while considering me, then smilingly moved her hands to show small or big. I motioned small and nodded when she got to the right amount. She looked at me expectantly so I tried round two.

“Kahn ik ein I?”

“Ein?”

“Ya, danke.”

“Bitte.”

“Danke. Auf Vedersang.”

Outside again I felt so proud of the egg and butter I’d purchased. The whole experience filled me with a strange sort of elation. The power of words! What must it be like to speak many languages? I must find out. Maybe I should become a French or a German scholar instead. Or maybe even Latin. That would help me read some of my older maps.

During the day Niki and I eat in pubs, trying different beers or wines. The beer makes us burp, which I try to cover but Niki displays proudly. She’s been trying for days to get a whole phrase out with one burp: ‘Walla, Walla Washington’. She’s got the ‘Walla, Walla’ bit, but fades during the ‘Washington’. A bit more practice and she’ll have it. My mother would be horrified, and I can’t believe that we are really 18 years old, but it feels great to act immature and silly sometimes. I am laughing a lot on this trip.

We got to see the mechanical clock in the central Marianplatz at noon. Everyone says it’s famous, but I don’t think it was worth the build up. I persuaded Niki to see the State Museum, but we only got to see a small portion because it closed early that day. We did see a collection of armour in the original city arsenal but that was kind of depressing. The most important thing for me was getting to see the largest science museum in the world, not because I'm any good at science or know much about it, but because it's the biggest in the world. I wanted to know what that felt like so that everything I see in the future can relate to it contextually. The most interesting thisng was a terrific film and photo section in the Municipal Museum. I got kind of involved at that one until I saw Niki out of the corner of my eye sleeping on a bench and I knew it was time to go. Niki is always telling me to slow down and just sit awhile, “Why do you have to try to see every single museum, every area of the city, every monument? Most of them are exactly the same as the others and extremely boring. And your obsession with looking at new maps and old books is just plain bizarre. It’s like I’m travelling with some boring old professor.” She didn't think much of my latest purchase either, despite the fact that it was as far from an old book or map as you can get. But who couldn't resist a metal duck on a tricycle with a propeller on its head? Maybe I am a little eccentric. I decided not to let her words hurt but instead take them as a compliment.

We’ve taken a couple of day trips to villages, passing fairytale castles, houses with painted frescoes and monasteries that make sickly sweet liqueurs. We were most disappointed to find the black forest is neither black nor a forest. At least not a forest like the ones I grew up with in B.C., dense evergreens and spooky shadows. It didn't even look like the snowy logs on the top of a black forest cake. I usually get a say in what we do in the daytime, but in our evenings after dinner we do what Niki wants and go from pub to disco. Sometimes she goes off with a guy and sometimes she comes back to the hostel with me. If she comes back with me we drink Halbtrocken wine, perfect for late night talks. It’s so great having someone to talk to about issues and ideas. Niki’s not really that way inclined but when we get off the boy topic and she gets inspired she does have some interesting ideas.

“What is it about meringues? I mean, who knew that egg whites could whip up that much? How did the first person think to try? And mushrooms. How do they know which ones were safe to eat? I guess there’s only one way really. Can you picture it? ‘Oops, Johnson’s gone. I guess the red and white spotted ones are on the ‘no’ list.’”

“Have you noticed how some mushrooms grow in a circle? A fairy ring I’ve heard it called.”

“Circles are powerful symbols. Circle of life. Wedding bands. Holding hands in a séance.”

“Have you ever been to a séance?”

“No but I read a book on how to read palms.” Niki sat up. “Here, give me your hand. The left one. Palm side up. Wow, you have a really long lifeline. That’s one of the longest I’ve seen.” She flipped my hand away. “Lucky bitch. Mine is short and is crossed with tons of lines. That means I’ll have lots of short term relationships and then die young.”

I looked at my hand. I didn’t see many lines crossing my lifeline.

Niki went on, “My Mom has almost no lines at all. It is so freaky. I mean, almost none! I thought it was maybe because she is Japanese, but my Grandmother’s hand is all lines and she’s Japanese. Real Japanese. Born there. Mom only had three boyfriends in her entire life. I think Grandmother was a bit of a party girl in her day I hear, so maybe I get that from her. If so, that’s the only thing she’s ever given me.”

“She gave you her feet too – you both have tiny feet. Were they bound when she was a girl? Do they still do that in Japan?”

“I mean like cash. She never gives me cash. She’s so mean. She keeps it all hidden away saying I’m not ready for it. Not ready for it? I was born ready! Even at Christmas, her gifts are so cheap. Even cheaper than my parents’.”

I squirmed a bit. This kind of talk always makes me uncomfortable.

Niki took hold of my hand again and looked at the back of it with a look of shock. “Ye gods. Look at your nails. They’re terrible! You’re a biter aren’t you? Come on, I‘m going to give you a manicure. What do you mean you’ve never had a manicure before? You’re a baby! I’ve got a cool orange shade that will work for you. Now pay attention. Then you can practice what you learn on me."

She opened up a small bag and spilled its contents on my bed. I was amazed to see a cascade of clacking pots of nail polish. What was I thinking, that her fingernails suddenly turned different colours of their own accord? How is it that I am really observant about some things and totally blind to other things right there in front of me?

"While I’m doing this tell me what you were working on in your notebook all day.”

“Calligraphy. There are some really interesting scripts in my new exploration atlas and I thought I would learn how to write like that. Not all the time. But for special things like birthday cards.”

“Well, my Dad always says no talent, however weird, is without value, or something like that.”

“That’s an interesting notion. I never thought about it like that, but it makes sense. I mean, think about all the advances in geographical knowledge that came in the 18th century. Did they just happen? No, it was only because of all the scientific advances and equipment that was invented in the 17th century.”

“Hmmm. Whatever. Nothing starts at the top but a hole.”

“I like that. Hey Niki that’s really good. ‘Nothing starts at the top but a hole.’ Did you just come up with that?”

“No, my Dad did. He’s full of crap like that. Now, do you want your nails rounded or squared off?”

Despite their new and rather bilious orange colour, our nails looked so good that we took them out for the night. Well, mine looked good, Niki's were a little messy but she said I'll get the hang of it in time. Another cheap night out too. We have scored a lot of free drinks and food thanks to Niki. She’s good at flirting, able to get what she wants without having to give anything away that she doesn’t want to. She calls it “not taking shite”. It’s great fun just to watch her in action, although I am getting tired of hearing her repeat the same stories to each of her conquests. Especially about her name. Every time someone asks what it is she rolls her eyes dramatically and goes into the same, long story. Half the guys don’t even know what Sputnik was, and others think it’s weird to be named for it just because she was conceived the night after it was launched.

I don’t like to think of having been conceived, especially by my parents.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - Munich

At the Munich train station we ate a huge pretzel to help us decide which direction to walk. It was delicious, piping hot, salty and soft and only cost 50 pfennigs, so our spirits rose right away. We chose the hostel as it’s modern and has showers, even if it’s a huge barracks of a place. Now off to see the city.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - like living in a nunnery

There are a lot of old towers and church spires, cobbled streets and frescoed gray stone buildings but even so, Zurich strikes me as a modern city. It’s clean, prosperous and sophisticated, very Swiss. At night the streets are covered with strands of tiny white lights. Every turn brings a new delight in light or sound, from intricate old buildings all picked out in lights to ringing bells on endless clocks to little night markets selling trinkets and snacks that are within our budget.

After a boat trip on the Zurichsee, I went wild in an English bookstore, buying replacements for things I've already read. Niki got one book, what she called a ‘beach book’. I got four, including a copy of the “World Atlas of Exploration” that I had put on my birthday list, but can’t wait for. I am starting to get worried about how everything is going to fit in my pack. I wonder if I can buy another bag and if so, whether or not I’ll be able to carry two of them. We were only in the book store for twenty minutes and Niki was already flirting with the guy at the till. I can’t believe it. She’s amazing.

The hostel in which we are staying is a sort of waiting house where many families of sick people stay. It’s run by nuns who are all extremely kind and helpful. Our room is actually one long hall with each bed section curtained off from the others. Very quiet but full of sadness. I feel guilty when I laugh out loud at something. Even Niki is a little subdued. Or maybe it’s because there are no men here.

I also bought a Swiss army knife today. I’d been pricing them for awhile, trying to be more responsible with my money, or rather Dad’s money as I have spent all of mine and am using his credit card all the time now. I guess I should add up the costs of all my purchases in case I’m close to the limit. That would not only be embarrassing but dangerous to my future as when I have to face Dad he might kill me! I’m really trying to not spend on things that aren’t necessities, but I find too many necessities. The knife I bought has two blades, a cork screw and a screwdriver - even a nail file. I wonder why a Swiss soldier would need a nail file. I would think that might be low on his or her priority list.

Niki went out with her bookstore boy tonight and I stayed in and read, not really minding being left behind.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - swiss moment

We had a nice breakfast of muesli, yogurt, tough sourdough bread, tea and jam. Breakfast seems to be the one meal that’s really different in every country. At home it’s full of sugar, with muffins and doughnuts and syrup on pancakes and waffles. In Holland and Belgium there was cold meat and cheese on thin breads and in France it was all crusty rolls and coffee, severe and sophisticated. Switzerland is healthy, in a rustic kind of way.

We decided that we want a real ‘Swiss moment’ and Interlaken sounded like a good bet for finding it. All the pictures we’d seen of the place were filled with quaint wooden houses, cows with bells around their necks and pots of cheese fondue. On the way there we passed lakes and high cliffy mountains, healthy men scything hay in fields and more healthy men piling hay on wagons and open sheds. Niki was salivating.

In the end Interlaken didn’t inspire us, but we had a few hours before the next train so took a boat trip on Thun Lake. A steam operated paddle wheeler slowly did the circuit, stopping at various scenic landings to let people on and off, blowing its whistle continuously. By this time the sun was hot, lighting up that amazing electric blue water. Such a colour! I got one of my ‘beauty pains’. Does anyone else feel pain when they look at something beautiful or am I just weird that way?

We rushed back through Interlaken to get the train to Grindelwald, a pretty town at the end of a high curving track. After looking around and not seeing any signs for ‘pensions’, we stopped at a little grocery store and tried to ask the woman there where we could stay. Our French wasn’t much help – everyone speaks German here, and we didn’t think she understood what we wanted at all because she kept pointing to the ceiling. Finally the shopwoman, looking exasperated, grabbed Niki’s hand and dragged her upstairs.

I was convinced the woman was going to lock her in a room and steal her money, so I followed right behind wondering how on earth I might prevent it. I had just decided that the most effective deterrent would be to hit her with my lumpy, heavy backpack when she led us into a large room with two beds made up. Ahhh, she has a room to rent! That’s why she had been pointing to the ceiling. The relief we both felt was enormous. After much nodding, smiling and hand shaking I think the shopwoman felt relief too.

We went back downstairs to put together a picnic: a loaf of bread, a bottle of white wine called Niersteiner, which Niki said was really good, and some Swiss Cheese called Emmenthal. Our landlady obviously found it amusing that we called it ‘Swiss Cheese’, sort of like when we asked for ‘French Bread’ in France. We hiked along a track following a gurgling stream and ate to the sound of cow bells and the sight of wild flowers with the peak of the Jungfrau just visible. We found our Swiss moment! I closed my eyes to savour the feeling, knowing I will always remember it.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - dreamy duvets

We never want to leave our Bern beds! Sandwiched between two enormously thick layers of white, light as clouds, warm as cats, crisp as frost - they are like upholstered marshmallows. While I lay there in bliss I could hear Niki masturbating, her breath coming in short gasps. Now that I know what masturbation is thanks to Niki and her educational talks on the train, which I know are designed to shock our seat mates as much as inform her travel mate, my cheeks started to get hot with embarrassment. I turned over, and tried very hard to focus my thoughts on what it would be like to float on clouds in the sky, which must have worked because I slipped asleep in duvet bliss.

Three hours later we regretfully arose to see Bern properly. Old and clean I think is how I’d describe it. We passed by the famous bear pits and had a huge Italian meal. Meatballs. Niki didn’t see the irony after our train incident. I bit into my meatballs with gusto.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - from mustard to meusli

After spending all yesterday walking around Dijon choosing which place we would go to for our coq au vin, and then eating it too late, we were too full to sleep. We must have dozed off at some point though because we woke up late and had to rush to get to the train station only to find our train was late as well, which wasn’t such bad news until we heard it wouldn’t be leaving for another four hours! By the time we got moving, the clouds hung heavy and hot and we were claustrophobic in our carriage, crushingly full. We didn’t dare go to the washroom for fear someone sitting in the aisle would take our seats. I’m sure glad neither of us has her period right now! I wondered what it would be like if there was suddenly an emergency like a fire, and I tried to work out the French wording on the window so I could get it open if I had to. Dreadful to end your life crushed against a window in a train. We did not have any food with us, and worse, nothing to drink, thinking we’d be able to get something on the train, but even if there was a food car there’s no way to get to it.

We missed our train connection in Lyon and finally pulled into Geneva seven hours late, and with another long wait in front of us. Niki went off to get something to eat. I was too hot to eat and felt a little sick. We slept a bit on a bench, then awoke with a start to find our train was leaving in five minutes. Just barely made it running with our heavy bags to find ourselves in another full train, this time with us standing in the aisle. There were two Italian guys who started to press up against us, pretending there was no room except in our direction. I feel their hands moving around my hips, that's four hands! Niki turned to face one of them and started to flirt but I just pretended they didn’t exist, looking out the window and hoping they'd get bored with me. In such a crowded train I was sure they couldn't rape us, but my imagination had them robbing us, leaping out the window and getting away. I decided to conjure up ‘Fakira the brave’, who is still sometimes useful, and made what I hoped was a fierce look, when I noticed Niki was allowing one of them to kiss her neck. Actually kiss her! Fakira the brave instantly vanished. Oh my goodness, what was going on? It was like a bad movie. My heart was beating so fast and my mind was whirling with fear.

Everytime I start to feel this way my mind goes back to that terrible time I had in London so many years ago, when I had to run away from a guy who I am convinced was a rapist, and I get breathless and panicky. I don’t think Niki is totally blind to temptation because suddenly she slapped the face of the guy kissing her and pushed him away. Both guys laughed and then pressed past us to move along the aisle. My knees went wobbly with relief and I realized I’d been gripping the window rail so hard my hand was dented. She told me ‘her guy’ made her rub his balls all the while he pinched her on her bottom, which hurt, but the real end came when he called her a "delicious whore" and she decided not to take the relationship further. She seemed kind of proud at the same time to have flirted with an Italian. How on earth could she have found that situation seductive? Is there something wrong with me? Will I ever understand this whole sex thing?

We finally arrived in Bern early this morning. What a relief! I had no idea it would take so long or that we’d have to change trains as much as we did, but picturesque scenery made up for it. Immaculate fields of lush green, full of extremely happy cows. Little houses that looked like they had been sprinkled over the hills at random, some on flat land and some at precarious angles on steep slopes. They all had overhanging roofs and shutters and window boxes filled with pink and red geraniums. Church bells rang through the valleys. It was magical, like part of some fairy tale. I half expected to see Heidi with her goat gamboling along. It's like a surreal painting, especially after our fraught journey.

Travel is full of extreme moments and the fact they can follow on from each other so quickly makes them all the more unforgetable. I think about Magellan and Cook and Columbus and all sorts of other early explorers that didn't have train schedules go wrong because they didn't have trains to take. No one had been to where they were going and each journey was brand new. They would have met with storms that blew them off schedule, and foreign peoples who caused them discomfort and entered delightfully and unexpectedly picturesque surroundings just like we did. Even though our explorations are nothing as important or world changing as theirs, I can't imagine that each person on those long ago ships didn't go through some of the same kinds of emotions and revelations about the world that Niki and I go through on this trip. And each person must respond slightly differently according to their characters, just as Niki and I do. I feel very connected to those people I've read about, humanities' ancestors, my ancestors. Are we all reincarnations of people who lived and died centuries ago? Are we just reliving the same explorations and voyages again and again but in different eras and throught different means? Do we humans actually learn anything new about ourselves or our place in the universe or do we just go round and round like hamsters on a wheel at night, doing what we do without thought or insight, passing on our findings that mean nothing to anyone else because we have to see things for ourselves to really learn them, to feel them. On a science level we might learn more but on a personal level maybe we don't, and perhaps we have to somehow break through and really learn on a personal level in order to move on to the next level of life, which might be moving to a different kind of solar system or dimensional plane or something. Is it God that oversees all this and makes the call? Or maybe there is more than one God, or some force that we call God but is really something else entirely. Or perhaps it's not some entity or entities at all but something within us, that has to pass through the chain of generations, representing some form of internal knowledge, something that replaces instinct perhaps but isn't so leisurely as faith. Perhaps we must arrive at a point where we don't have to travel anywhere because this sense of knowledge is inside us all the time. That would mean no desire to physically travel, no yearning for movement.

Well, I'm sure not there yet.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - Dijon

We had a long wait for our train to Dijon, so I offered to sit by the bags while Niki went off to do a final bit of shopping, as a sort of way to make up for last night. I read that Dijon is where the dish Coq au Vin comes from, so we decided we just had to go there and try it. She was gone a long time, but I read my map and watched all the people pass by and made up stories about them until she came back looking satisfied with her purchases. Once on the train she went on and on about Marcel before finally changing the topic. Then we talked about our futures.

Niki has always determined to be a lawyer. She’ll be good – she has strong opinions, she likes to talk and she likes to win. She’s also vowed never to be poor and being a lawyer will help with that. Sometimes I wonder how it is we are friends. I would far rather find something I love to do instead of something that pays well. But I can’t decide what that will be. Mom and Dad are dead set for me to go into ‘one of the professions’ as they call it, medicine or law, ‘respectable and secure careers’ that they can be proud of. Why do such things have to be measured by how they look to other people? I’d rather sit by myself in a room reading maps. I wonder if I could get a job reading atlases, or making them. That would be cool! After all, someone has to make them, but I suppose I'd better do some research on it before suggesting it to Mom and Dad. The time I told them I was more interested in becoming a cartographer or a travel agent instead of a lawyer or doctor, my Dad looked like I’d hit him. Mom wailed “A travel agent? You are in university and you want to be a travel agent? Do you know how I longed for the opportunity to go to a university? How your father and I sacrificed our own dreams to bring up three children so that they could have the opportunities we couldn’t? And this is how you repay our sacrifices? A travel agent? You’ll spend your life going off to dangerous countries where you’ll get horrible food and even more horrible diseases.”

“You can still travel in your vacations,” my Dad added. “Doctors and Lawyers (he always says them like they start with capital letters) get three or four weeks off every year. That’s more than enough time to go off holidaying.” I wanted to say being a travel agent wasn’t necessary the thing I wanted to do - I just want options - but I didn’t say anything.

“The person who spends the money gets a say in how it’s spent,” Mom added.

“With dedication and hard work you are bright enough to handle Law and Medicine if that's why you're concerned. Don’t bring this up again. It upsets your mother.”

I don’t think I’d ever heard my Dad say anything like this before and it made me uneasy. He usually leaves this sort of discussion to Mom, who likes to have the last say. Well, yes they are spending some money on my tuition, but Babby gave me the same amount. And I pay for my own books and clothes and room and board and transportation. I have two part-time jobs. And I’m the one who has to live the result. I do enjoy going to university, where I can be more anonymous than I was at high school, but I don't want to go there just to come out with some piece of paper and job security in something I cannot bear and that I will feel obligated to do for the rest of my life. I want to learn about so many different things, and maybe discover what my life passion was. I haven’t found it yet; it’s only my first year.

It's so unfair. There were no fireworks when Sidney decided not to go to college but to work in an office so that she could find a husband. She even said so right out loud. All she wants out of life is a husband and a house. Over and out. And Sam wants to live her entire life living with a big bunch of dogs, somehow, and that seems ok with everyone too. Why does having to do something ‘respectable’ fall on me? Just because I’m the only one that wants to go to university? Why is it about what they want for me and not about what I maybe want for me? Babby quietly tells me that whatever I decide to do is ok by her as long as I do something. She tells me how proud she is that at last someone in ‘this damned boring, stupid family’ has any sort of ambition at all. And this from a woman whose son is a scientific researcher! Maybe she was referring more to the boring and lacking ambition bit and less to the stupid bit.

Mom has always treated us all differently. She is always talking to Sidney as if she’s her best friend. Of course Sidney tells her everything and always asks Mom for her advice and Mom loves that. But Sam never asks Mom anything, just tells her what she has decided to do, or when she is going to get home, or what she is going to wear, or who she is going out with, and Mom seems to love that too and acts all easy-breasy and casual with her. “I have such a special relationship with Sam,” she tells everyone. “Our communication is on a deeper, emotional level. ‘Off to the arcade now dear? No, we won’t wait up. Have a lovely time.’ ” With me she fusses and hovers. She hangs by my bedroom door and is always looking for an excuse to come in but hardly ever does, except when I’m not there. I can always tell she’s been in my room while I’ve been out, but she denies it if I ever say anything and makes it sound like I'm the untrustworthy one. Everything I say gets corrected. Everything I wear is critiqued. Every book I read is questioned. Everyone I spend time with is discussed. It’s suffocating. Maybe that’s why I don't go out on dates or hang out with friends. It’s bad enough to feel shy about the whole dating thing, but to have someone analyze every last detail would be unbearable.

I guess that’s just the way she is; Mom treats most everyone differently, not only us. She is charming, I’ll give her that. She’ll link arms with a complete stranger and confide all sorts of terrifying things about other people until either she gets confidences in return or the other person doesn’t play the game and she moves off to find another confidante. She always seems to be part of a group but I've noticed she never seems to have a real friend. I think she’s too needy. Niki says it's because she’s so beautiful. People are attracted to beautiful people and beautiful people have special powers over others. Niki would know I suppose. I certainly wouldn't.

Sometimes it’s hard having a beautiful mother when I’m so obviously not, and especially when I’m the only one in the family who even barely favours her with us both having brown hair and eyes. It's like I let Mother Nature down as well. My sisters can smile and toss off the other stuff or throw it back to her, but I can’t. I always feel stuck in the middle. I know Mom’s parents didn’t support her singing career, or even her continuing to work after she got married. And I also know that she is probably petrified my desire to travel will take me to Madagascar or Botswana or someplace and I'll die of fever, like her brother, and tell myself to be more sensitive, but she seems to have forgotten that she did what she wanted to do against her parents’ advice and won’t allow me the same freedom of choice.

I’m sure they both hope Niki will sway me in the direction of law, but I expect her influence will be felt with more earthy matters. Niki is now contemplating becoming a sex therapist instead. “There’s good money in that. And think of the fringe benefits!”

I really do have to decide something for myself soon. Our second year starts in only a few weeks and I have to pick electives that fit into my major and I still have to choose the major. While we sat on the train, Niki dozed and I looked out of the window. In the next compartment there was a group of little kids. They were all talking at once and I couldn’t help smiling to hear them. Maybe I could become a teacher, to start with anyway. Mom and Dad would probably be satisfied – teaching is a perfectly good, respectable profession. Maybe I could be a Social Studies teacher, then I could justify buying all the maps and charts I want. The idea of standing in front of 30 kids and talking all day is a little scary though. I must have been talking out loud instead of to myself and Niki snorted awake. “A teacher? Standing up in front of a bunch of ankle biters all day long? I can’t think of anything more repugnant. Just listen to that racket in the other compartment. Someone should say something. They are causing a disturbance.”

“But listen to them. To what they say. It's always so fresh and original and honest. Don’t they make you laugh?”

“Only when they get smacked.”

“That's harsh! I think children are fascinating. The way they think and work things out.” I slyly added, “and children are the future of the world.”

Niki rolled her eyes as I knew she would. “Not my future! Ye gods, what a horrible thought.”

I sighed. “The only horrible thought is what do you do with them all day every day? All those eyes and expectations on you all the time.”

“Well I guess teaching would be one way of getting over that shyness nonsense of yours. It’s really annoying you know. It cramps my style, and it’s so immature.”

I said nothing in reply and just looked out the window, hoping I wouldn’t start to cry.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - Niki fulfilled

I just love shopping with Niki. She tries on everything. There are mountains of clothes outside the changing rooms and she makes me try on everything too. She tells me her opinion, but sometimes I disagree. She just shrugs her shoulders, no big deal. Totally different than shopping with Mom who won’t allow me to buy what she doesn’t like. Mom always buys me tons of clothes, but they are never things I like. Or that I think look good on me. The clothes I buy here are totally different than the clothes I have at home. Niki and I both felt a bit geeky in our wide legged jeans and platforms among the stove pipes and stilettos here. Paris is really progressive. I bought a pair of bright green high heels and can barely stand up in them let alone walk. I kind of dread Mom’s reaction to the new me, but I also kind of look forward to it.

Over a lunch of Croque Monsieur and an orange presse (really just a ham sandwich and an orange juice but it sounds so classy in French), I asked Niki about her parents’ jobs because they sound interesting. I’m starting to think about things like jobs more now that I’ve finished my first year of university and have to consider my future. Niki seems to know virtually nothing about what her parents really do. Nor care that she doesn’t know.

“Oh poo, they just go out and do things for people who they don’t even know or build things that don’t do anything really practical. Big deal. It’s not like they save lives or anything. Well, Mom does sometimes but not every day for crying out loud. What I want to know is what got your Mom into that cool job?”

“Singing for a funeral parlour? She says it was either that or the opera. And the stage is all very well to visit, but it’s not a very respectable profession. In her opinion anyway.”

“You go on the stage. What does she think of that?

“Hardly go on the stage! Playing in an amateur youth orchestra is not exactly the same thing, but if I ever wanted to take it up professionally or go into something like acting she’d probably freak out. I don’t know if it’s because she doesn’t want to see me act or if it’s because I don’t have enough talent to act well and then she’d be embarrassed seeing me up there in front of an audience.”

“How do you know? Why don’t you just do it? I would.”

“You forget who you are speaking to! You are a confident woman of today, but I am not. I couldn't possibly get up in front of a bunch of people and pretend. I'd be mortified, but my mom would be devastated!

“I think you make her out to be worse than she is. Ok so she kind of hovers around us and tries to get into our conversations. But she’s always nice about it, at least when I’m around.”

“That’s because you know the right things to say.”

Niki laughed. “I always know how to get around grown ups.”

I asked Niki about her brother. “Every time I see him he has a different girlfriend.”

“Oh him. He’s like you, in love with being in love. The minute he’s not, pfft, that’s it, he finds another girlie.”

“Maybe he hasn’t found ‘the one’ yet.”

“You don’t believe that garbage about there being just one person out there for each of us do you? Ye Gods and little fishes, it’s utter crap."

My romatic image was stung but I kept it to myself as Niki carried on. "Mom and Dad of course go all psycho-babble about why he always goes out with the same kind of girl.”

“Why? What do they think?”

Niki sounded like she was reciting some often heard and memorized book passage. “He has not truly matured as a person and that’s why he goes out with girlie girls who are always so much younger and stupider than him. He's a metaphor for their older brother or father and he’ll only find true happiness if he goes out with someone who was his intellectual equal. Mom's take is he finds it hard to live up to the example set by his 'brilliant' psychologist father and so goes out with girls who won’t challenge him or confront his imagined sense of masculine inadequacy.” Niki shrugged. “I think he’s just a guy who wants a lot of sex with a lot of girls. What’s wrong with that? Besides, who cares about brothers? Unless they bring home studly friends, what’s the point? You're lucky only having sisters.”

“Why do people always think it’s lucky to have something they don’t have, without knowing anything about it?”

“I’m tired of talking about my boring old brother. Go on, tell me about your sisters.”

“Well, we share the same mother.”

“No, I mean, what are they like?”

“Well, one’s like Lady Macbeth. The other, um, more like Medusa. But in a good way. We get on ok.”

She laughed. I always feel good making her laugh. Just then a group of guys came into the café, saw Niki and came to sit down at our table, sparing me more conversational bon-mots about my family. The guys were French and we started to chat with them. Well, Niki did. I tried, but I always get mixed up with my French verbs. It’s much easier to avoid making embarrassing mistakes by not saying anything at all. Niki doesn’t care, she just barrels along making tons of mistakes. I wish I was like her. After awhile she said we had to go, but not before we were asked out this evening. Niki was all excited about getting a date in Paris. Even though it was only 3 o’clock in the afternoon we went back to our place to get ready. I never realized how long it can take to get ready for a date! Niki is so much more experienced about these things. She did my makeup and put a whole lot more on than I usually do, but it did make me look older and more sophisticated.

At 7pm three guys showed up at our meeting place and we went to a club where we had a couple of drinks and a couple of dances. One of the guys asked if we liked Abba. Did we have a choice I wondered? It’s all we’ve heard anywhere since we arrived in Europe! I mean I do kind of like them, but I am getting a bit tired of hearing the same tunes. Niki said she prefers Rod Stewart. I’ve always been a fan of Joni Mitchell but none of the guys knew who that was. We went outside and walked around, sort of in couples even though there were five of us and I tried not to favour one guy or another so that no one would feel left out. I always feel sorry for the odd one out. Probably because it’s usually me. The most handsome one, Marcel, latched onto Niki. She has taken to talking English with a French accent, which I think sounds affected but no one else has said anything. “Come zis way. Ze river is so beautiful in ze moonlight.”

One of the others, Pierre, poured himself over me. He couldn’t speak any English, but I got the feeling he wasn’t too worried about speaking at all. It felt like he had a lot more than 2 hands. After awhile the other guy, Jean-Marc, just sort of wandered off. Niki and Marcel went to sit under a tree and Pierre and I sat under another tree. Pierre obviously wanted to do more than just kiss but this is not where or how I want to have sex for the first time. I thought I always wanted to try sex no matter what but now that the opportunity presents itself I realize I want to have it at a certain time and place and not just randomly with some guy I don't know. Besides, I don’t know what to do. Of course I can’t tell Niki I haven’t done it yet. Or anyone else. No one would believe me, or worse, they would believe me and snicker about it. Learning how to kiss is enough for me right now. Pierre and I kissed a lot. Even though the taste of his cigarette smoke was disgusting, I finally get what all the fuss about kissing is. His lips were soft and moist and we made a bit of a vacuum with soft sucking sounds, and my heart sort of jumped inside with excitement. I could feel a sort of ticklish, damp, warm feeling right down inside my deepest insides. Pierre kept saying “Je t’aime, je t’aime.” over and over. I said it too because it’s foreign and it didn’t feel like I was really saying “I love you”.

At about 1:00 in the morning Pierre walked me back to the pension. He pressed me up against the door to our room and I could feel a lump through his pants. It made me nervous and I wouldn’t let him in because I was afraid he wouldn’t leave so I kissed him one last time, really long and passionate with my tongue and everything and then quickly went inside and locked the door. Niki had given me the key because she wanted to stay out longer and I promised I’d listen out for her and let her in. When I got into the room, I was shocked to see the mascara on my eyes had smeared and my lips looked like I’d lost a fight with several ripe tomatoes. I looked like Alice Cooper! How embarrassing! Had Pierre seen me like that? Had Niki or Marcel? No one had said anything, but I was shocked and embarrassed. Maybe they were all outside right then laughing at me and how ridiculous I looked. And here I thought I was being sexy and sophisticated. I quickly washed it all off and turned out the light so I wouldn’t have to look at myself any more.

My heart kept beating fast as I lay in the dark and relived the evening in my mind. I could still feel the pressure of all those kisses and taste the smell of cigarettes and my face felt sort of rough, like it was sunburned. I guess it was from Pierre’s beard. My insides felt weird too, sort of restless, and uncomfortable, but in a way that also felt, well, interesting. Good interesting, not bad interesting. When I lay in bed and thought about Pierre, the good interesting feeling got bigger, then so huge I could hardly stand it. Like fireworks inside me going off in slow waves of heat. Terrible and wonderful. It lasted about a minute then slowly went away. I wondered if I could ask Niki about it without appearing totally ignorant. I feel like this whole sex thing is a mystery that I have only got little clues to work on.

It took a long time for my body to relax but once it did a wave of sleep started to wash over me. I tried to fend it off by planning tomorrow’s train route in my head, but I got confused and kept having to start over. I must have fallen asleep because I didn’t even hear Niki get back at 4:30am. She told me later that she had knocked as loudly as she dared, but when I didn’t answer she went down to the lobby and started to sleep on the chair there because there was no one around. A cleaner saw her and tried to throw her out, and she used all her language skills to convince the cleaner she was a guest but didn’t have a key. Niki can be very persuasive, and the cleaner finally let her in. It’s just as well that I didn’t wake up at that point because Niki was furious with me for falling asleep and might have used violence. At least that’s what she told me when we woke up this morning and talked over the evening. I was contrite and apologized over and over. I had no idea I was such a sound sleeper and promised it would never happen again and she could keep the key next time. She said she wasn’t as mad as she was last night and that she hadn’t realized she’d be out as late as she was.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - gothic beauty

Rainy today. We went to Les Champs Elysees and cashed some travelers cheques, dodging small cars that dashed about any which way, bicycles with bells that ting'ed and mopeds that coughed and rumbled like an old smoker. The view at the top of the Eiffel Tower was disappointing because it was so misty with rain and cloud. We fared better inside Notre Dame which filled me with gothic romantic thoughts. There were shadows sitting quietly and saying a prayer or two in tiny chapels that were like rooms filled with gold and paintings and candlelight. The place was filled with atmospheric whispers that echoed, and an invisible, haunting choir practicing, luminated with hundreds of white candles clustered in dusty, dark corners. I could just imagine Quasimodo on the top of the towers, and bought an English translation of ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’ to read on the train.

But my favourite was a little delicate church called Sainte Chappelle that was built in the 13th century. Not just gothic inspired but truly gothic! Amazing to think it is still standing after all the centuries of wars and revolutions. Inside it was columns and arches of blue and red and gold that stretched up into a tall narrow curve, filled with fleur de lis that looked like stars on an indigo night sky when seen from so far below. The architect must have been a smart person, man probably, given the times, to make something that inspired visitors to do exactly what the church owners wanted. It would be impossible to come in here and not look up in the direction of heaven.

There were no pews as such but one bench along the outside walls that was smooth and worn with hundreds of years of clothed bottoms sitting on it. The stained glass windows stretched up to the ceilings and I can't think how they managed to make them so tall and seemingly unsupported, with real glass, using the technology available more than 7 hundred years ago. 7 hundred years! That just blows my mind. North and South America weren't known about, Asia barely a rumour to Europeans. Is there anything built now that will last so long? And all the billions and billions of people who have lived and died since then, their bodies long dust, and yet this building still stands radiant and quiet. Even Niki liked it.

“Oooo, look at that gold shrine with what’s-her-name-Mary.”

“What’s-her-name-Mary?”

“What is it? You know. Virgin! That’s it. The Virgin Mary.

And I thought I was a religious ignoramus.

On our way home the Metro was crowded and we had to stand all the way. Guys whistled at us and rubbed up against us. Niki seemed to like it and flounced her hair at them, but I was really uncomfortable, especially after the feeling of calmness I had after seeing Sainte Chappelle. This behaviour seemed gross and lumpy and modern. I tried to stare one guy down to shame him or something, but he seemed to take it as an invitation and started to move towards me so I immediately looked in another direction and thankfully the train let more people on so I was able to shuffle away and avoid him. I sometimes dream about guys noticing me and it’s really exciting and romantic, but in real life it’s just plain freaky. I’d never make a good vamp.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - a rose is a rose

We didn’t get much sleep our first night in the ‘City of Lights‘ despite being tired. The mattress is really hard and lumpy and there’s only one cover that we have to share. It’s very noisy outside too, but there’s a really nice little café on the corner where we can get coffee and croissants for breakfast. I’ve decided that I like European coffee. It tastes nothing like the instant stuff Mom and Dad drink. I didn't think I would like it the first time I tried it, which was in Amsterdam. I got so dizzy I had to have a lie down for an hour until the caffeine wore off a bit. I wonder if I’m genetically sensitive to it. Sidney hates coffee because it makes her queasy and Sam tried it once and got sick all over the table. But she’ll eat coffee ice cream. Any ice cream really. Sam likes her food. Sidney is always on a diet and barely eats anything. I hope I'm not genetically indisposed to caffeine, but if I am, the coffee here is worth it.

Our goal today was the Mona Lisa at the Louvre museum. It’s actually quite a small painting, and surrounded by red velvet ropes that we were not allowed to step in front of, so our view was limited. There room was large and filled will all sorts of wonderful paintings, yet for some reason this was the one everyone wanted to see. I wonder who decided that.

I really wanted to see the original copy of Marco Polo’s book at the Paris National Library, but Niki rolled her eyes and told me Ye Gods, no way, not another museum and especially not one full of boring old maps and books and she’d meet me at a café instead. Marco Polo’s book is so intriguing to me. Niki didn’t know about it, but she doesn’t like reading much of anything except Cosmopolitan magazine and that’s only because of the quizzes. Marco Polo’s book was so famous right from the beginning that for centuries everyone believed exactly what he wrote about and totally ignored his mistakes. Christopher Columbus even took a copy on his travels, which is probably why he thought America was India. The book’s biggest mistake was describing this huge southern continent that nobody else could ever find. Even Abel Tasman, a guy who was so picky he wouldn’t even trust his own eyes, thought New Zealand was part of this southern continent just because Marco Polo wrote about it. And here I am in the same city as this old, old book that changed the way the world was seen for so, so long! I closed my eyes and breathed in the dusky scent of old paper, hoping some of its molecules would enter my system and make me part of the book in some way.

Niki was waiting at the cafe and motioned me with her usual mad two armed waving technique which embarrasses me to death. I quickly slid onto a rickety wire chair and we talked as if we hadn't seen each other in days. Well, to be honest Niki did most of the talking, but that's ok by me. She's entertaining. She's also curious about my family for some reason and asks about them a lot.

“Where is your Babby from? She has a weird accent.”

“Well, she was born in Denmark, but her father was Russian. Her family moved to the Prairies when she was small.”

“She’s a riot. And pretty cool, for an old lady. Is she your Dad’s Mom or your Mom’s Mom?”
“Dad’s Mom.”

“Oh my God, really? Your Dad is so quiet. He’s always reading the newspaper or out in the garden when I come around to your house. I don’t think I even know what he sounds like. And yet your Babby is so lively. Your Mom’s lively too, but in a different way. I feel a deep connection with your Mom. She seems to dislike children.”

I laughed at that. “No, not really. Just her own.”

“What’s she really like? As a person?”

“Chairman Mao’s widow.”

Niki rolled her eyes at my attempt at humour and mused. “She’s pretty. Your Mom. Pretty, but kind of hard. You know, forceful. Not really happy. She is so, I don’t know, quirky, but in a conventional way. Sort of. But she can’t be totally conventional because you all have such unconventional names. Why is that?

“Well, I’m not sure but I have a bit of a theory. You know her real name is Phyllis. She just calls herself Phil.”

“Yeah? So?”

“Well, Phil stands for Phillip too.”

“Ok, so Phil stands for Phillip too. Is that supposed to mean something to me? Omigod, did she have a sex change? Is your Mom really a man?”

I looked at her with amazement. “Of course she’s not really a man! Where on earth do you get such things? My theory is that she started calling herself Phil when she was a girl. Maybe… about 14. She had a brother.”

“Is this for real or another part of your theory stuff?”

“No, no, for real. She really did have a brother, who apparently was the one every one in the family adored most of all, even her. Especially her. He was quiet but very intelligent, ambitious, sensitive. At least that's what she said the only time I overheard her talk about him. But he died. Some illness, when he was 17. In India. She never talks about him, but my theory is she wanted to have a son to remember him by and to give him her brother’s name. Of course she only had girls. So we all got boys names.”

“Ye Gods! What an amazing story! So I guess her brother’s name was Sidney cause she’s the eldest, huh?”

“No.”

“So which one of you has her brothers’ name?”

“Um, none of us.”

“None of you? Well, what was his name anyway?”

“Leslie.”

“Wait a minute. You mean her brother had a girl’s name?”

“Well, yes,” I said, suddenly seeing the incongruity for the first time in my entire life. Why had I not seen it before? “Ok, it might not be the real reason. I only said it was a bit of a theory.”

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - electricity issue

We found the Paris Metro a little confusing but after standing to the side and casually watching others we got the hang of it and made our way to the Latin Quarter to find somewhere to stay. We both decided that the Latin Quarter was the only place to stay for two women looking for adventure and romance.

I thought our school French wasn’t too bad, but it turns out it’s terrible. No one understands us in Paris, or else they pretend not too. I used to think Niki was better at French than me for some reason but now I think she’s just more confident. She has taken to saying “Les dieux et les petits poissons”, which confuses everyone. It was getting late and we weren't having much luck - everyplace seems to be booked already. I thought sleeping on the streets in Paris might be kind of romantic, but Niki reminded me we need an outlet for our curling iron.

We did finally find a room, a square box on the sixth floor of a pension. The bed dips in the middle and there's ony one light in the entire place but if you stand on the toilet you can see the Sacre Coeur out of a tiny window in the roof. It's absolutely perfect!

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - don't understand quotients

We’re in Namur, a pretty university town. There’s a hill between the hostel and the main part of town, which we climbed before visiting the old citadel. This was all locked up and quiet but provided a terrific view. Not many students around, I guess because it’s summer. Just as well, I didn’t really want a repeat of our last night out. It looks like Niki won’t get her sex in Belgium either. She bought several pairs of lacy underwear in a tiny shop, all one size too small. “To help my sex quotient”, she said with what I’d describe as a leer. I wanted to ask her what she meant, but thought she’d act like it was something I was already supposed to know and I didn’t want to look any more stupid than I usually do so I kept quiet and tried to look knowing.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - therapeutic shoes

Niki looked terrible this morning and couldn’t remember anything that happened last night. She seemed really disappointed when I told her about James because she couldn’t really remember him. She was even more disappointed to think she’d passed up an opportunity to have sex. The idea of breakfast made her nauseous, but I was starving, so convinced her that toast and hot chocolate would make her feel better. It would also save me from having to go downstairs all alone in case someone knew it was us last night and said something. No one did but when we went outside, the stairs had all been washed down so I hope whoever cleaned the stairs thinks it was someone else.

We spent the day shopping. Niki felt much better after she bought shoes.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - sex for Niki (almost)

There’s an outdoor antique market with dozens of stalls selling everything from candlesticks to paintings to porcelain. Even though the sky spilled warm rain and some of the furniture seemed really good quality stuff, no one seemed to mind that it was getting rained on. The streets are a mix of old Flemish buildings and modern skyscrapers – not the most successful blend in my opinion, but we blocked out the ugliness and enjoyed window shopping along narrow lanes with all the little shops brightly lit and stuffed with gorgeous things. I have to be careful not to buy too much at the beginning of the trip or I won’t be able to carry it all at the end. I limited myself to one small book and some lace napkins for Mom. She’d like to know I got her something before I got anyone else something.

Niki and I talk a lot about our mothers and what infuriates us about them, which is something we both share. I think Niki’s mother is wonderful and worthy, being a doctor and all, and she thinks mine is ingenious. She’s always going on about how creative Mom’s job is, how daring her clothes are, how original the jewelry she makes herself is and how famous her cocktail creations are. Those things are just embarrassments to me. Especially when she showed up at one of my band concerts wearing silver lame from head to toe. She was like a walking roasting pan! We often wish we could trade mothers. We talk a lot about money, too. No one would enjoy being rich more than Niki. She’d wear her fake nails long and her designer dresses short. I see frosted hair, big jewellry, even a fur coat. She’d take her friends for elaborate lunches and never let them forget it.

What would I do if I had a lot of money? I never seem to have any. As soon as I get my paychecks I see something I just have to buy, usually things in the bookstore where I work. My money practically never even gets to see the outside world! I tried to save for this trip but ended up spending practically everything on guidebooks and maps and stuff. Thankfully Dad gave me his credit card in case I need extra cash. I know he told me it was only for emergencies but I’ve already put a hundred and forty dollars on it. Mostly food and train tickets and sensible things like that, but I did buy five metres of Belgian lace. I don’t know what I’ll do with it, but it was so beautiful I couldn’t resist. And the hankies and table linens don’t take up much room. The maps I put into a cardboard roll and it’s not heavy. I especially like the one of 17th century Belgium. I can’t read the language but it will look great on my wall. Oh and I also bought a little figure made of bronze. Now that might have been a mistake; I had no idea bronze was so heavy. But what can you do when you see something you can’t live without?

I had to buy a hair dryer too because the one I brought from home is useless. The plugs are different here. It’s a pain but I really need one, without a dryer I can’t style at all. I try to smooth out the frizz and flip my ends under like Toni Tennille's hair, but the back and the sides don’t seem to work and they flip out instead which is really nerdy. Niki’s hair is gorgeous and curly and black, and dries quickly even though it’s thick. Is there anything worse than frizzy brown hair? I don’t think so.

I wonder what Sidney would think of this place: all she wants these days is to find a husband so she can have a house. Not for love, but for a house! I sent her a postcard of Victor Horta’s art nouveau house. I sent another one of the flower market to Mom and Dad, one that pictured a beer stein to Babby, and one of a fountain called ‘Manneken Pis’ to Sam. It’s a statue of a naked little boy peeing into a pool. It will get Sam laughing, particularly as Mom will be totally unimpressed, something that never fails in its appeal to Sam.

Niki and I had lunch in a neat little café that used to be some sort of shop in a former life. Niki thinks it was a bookstore because there are lots of shelves and a long ladder on wheels, but there are so many little drawers all the way up to the ceiling that I think it must have been something like a hardware store. The best bit was dessert. Apricot pastries, a type of raisin bread called ‘cramique’ and some butter waffle cookies that just melted in our mouths. Niki worries about packing on the pounds but I don't have that worry - the opposite - I've love to be a bit more voluptuous.

The hostel curfew is really early and we decided to ask if we could get a late pass, using a concert as an excuse and if they ask to see our tickets we’ll say we’re picking them up at the door. We had our story all straight before going to the office, and Niki made me do the asking because she says I look less guilty and rowdy, but right away the manager said “No problem. Do you want one or two keys?” Ye gods! We celebrated by going to a pub and trying some of the local beers of which there seem to be hundreds and all with interesting names like Gueuze, Kriek, and Duvel. The pub was cobweb old with huge wooden ceiling beams and rusty tools around the fireplace, but there was pop music playing. Abba again.

After three beers in three different pubs Niki got confident and started checking out the guys. She pointed out which ones would be good kissers and which might be ‘better in the sack’. I blushed just to hear her. I can never talk about what guys attract me without feeling stupid when I hear the words come out. Of course I’m sure no one is really interested in my fantasies anyway. That’s one of the reasons I really like being with Niki. She talks about guys all the time. Although she obviously wants sex and I’m more interested in falling in love. Niki says love is too scary and sex is easier. I still want to fall in love.

She reminds me of a lion. Maybe it’s partly because of her golden skin and golden-green eyes, curved and slanted so gracefully like almonds with their skins on. She shakes her curls back all the time, then teases one over an eye so she can observe. That eye a beacon, sparkling, watching, assessing, registering. She even walks like a lion, slowly, leaning forward, her eyes focussed straight ahead. She sure got the best from both her parents’ heritage, occidental and oriental. I wish I was exotic like Niki. All the guys look at her as we pass in the street. I wouldn’t know what to do if a bunch of guys stared at me. Or talked to me. I know I’d get flustered and say something really stupid. Niki is good at talking to guys so I can stay quiet. I sort of put on a half smile to make it look like I know what I am doing and let her do the talking.

She started to flirt with a couple of English guys at the next table. They were kind of cute and Niki asked them to join us for a drink, which put me in an absolute panic. Anyway, they said they had a car and would drive us back to our hostel after a bit, so that’s all right. James and Charlie, that’s their names, were handsome, although kind of show-offy. Niki adopted James, but I didn’t really feel comfortable hanging on to some guy I didn’t know. Besides, Charlie didn’t seem that keen, so we just sat and chatted about soccer, something neither Niki nor I know much about, and drank our beers. The guys made a few jokes about how good it was that girls had breasts otherwise guys wouldn’t be interested in them because they don’t know anything about sports. The only sport they seemed to know anything about was soccer, so I thought that was a limited assessment on their part . Then the three of them all ordered scotch. I don’t like scotch so I stuck to beer. After awhile James and Charlie got blurry eyes and took drags on a joint, saying “Hey mannn” in a long drawn out way. Niki tried it but I was too shy. I don’t really understand men. What are they thinking about? It can’t only be sports and girls surely. I feel so inexperienced.

I now know what her older brother meant when he told me it was funny to watch Niki drunk. She was so goofy, giggling hysterically, talking way too loudly, yelling out “Ye Gods!” at odd times, and draping herself over James and feeding him peanuts one by one. It was getting really late and I was wondering if peanuts would become our breakfast. Finally they were ready to go and we left the pub to find the boys’ car. James had his arm around Niki. Charlie tried to do that to me, but I felt awkward so walked behind a bit and he didn’t try it again, thank goodness. He probably wasn’t feeling well, because he ducked behind a building and threw up. I just kept walking and hoping he was able to drive. By this time Niki was singing. She’s got a really good voice and was belting out ‘Fever’, kind of a suggestive song. She was singing it with gusto too and I hoped she wouldn’t get us in trouble.

James asked if we could all go to a park, but Charlie said it was too cold for him to sit there on his own which I knew was a comment directed at me but I pretended I didn’t hear it. Then James asked if he was ok to drive because he looked kind of green but Charlie said he got rid of all the alcohol when he got sick. Did it really work that way I wondered? I hope so. Thankfully there wasn’t much traffic on the road, because it felt like he was going way too fast and every time he turned the corner he was in the wrong lane, like he was driving in England.

I was just so relieved when he pulled up with a screech in front of the hostel. I thanked him hurriedly and got out, but Niki was smooching James in the back and I didn’t know what to do, so I just waited by the car. Charlie yelled at her to get out, and then James yelled back and then Niki started singing ‘Fever’ again. Eventually she got out and just fell onto the curb, curled up and went fast asleep. Just like that, fast asleep! The guys took off really fast, screeching around the corner while I tried to get Niki awake. Finally I got her roused only to have her barf all over some rose bushes by the side of the road.

I grabbed her arm and helped her up the pathway to the door telling her for goodness sake to stop singing or we’d be arrested. She told me I was the best friend she’d ever had and no one ever cared about her like this and she wished she was as good a person as me, which despite knowing it was just the drink talking made me feel rather good. Just as I got her to the door she barfed again on the steps of the hostel.

Finally inside and up the stairs. I can’t believe no one heard us, especially as I kept the lights off and tried to make it up the stairs in the dark. Bad idea. We kept missing the top stair of each flight before turning the corner to the next one so we’d go step, step, step, BANG. After a couple of those I decided to turn on the light after all, but it was a really weird switch. The light stayed on only a few seconds before turning itself off, usually in the middle of the next set of stairs and then it was step, step, step, BANG again. It seemed to take an eternity to get to the top.
I dropped Niki on the bed, yanked off her shoes and put the covers over her. She was out like a light. Nothing would wake her now. I quickly got undressed and then got the hiccups. Perfect! Someone once told me the best cure for hiccups is drinking out of the wrong side of the glass, so I went to the bathroom to get some water but I kept spilling it all over the floor, so just went back and lay in bed, holding my breath.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - moules + frites

Holland is as flat as everyone says it is and I started to get sleepy on the train to Brussels, which fortunately didn’t take long. I tried to follow the way using my new print of an old map by a guy named Abraham Ortelius. The original map was made in the 16th century. My country didn't exist for another 3 centuries after that! Well, it did exists of course, the land and tres and everything, but it wasn't a country as such, nor was there anyone who was in any position to make a map of it. This blows my mind.

Niki and I found a cheap place that was really clean with two bunk beds, two chairs, two cupboards and two sinks. We were exhausted and Niki had a nap. I tried to nap, but I’m not much good at it. I've never been able to nap. I either sleep for 6 hours minimum or else wake up all groggy and grumpy, and anything less than an hour and my mind is just whirling with what I could be doing instead. I was tired, though. It's amazing how just sitting on a train tires you out. Well, your body anyway. I sat up in bed and read all about Brussels and Belgium in the guidebook. I’m glad I brought my pocket atlas of Europe even though it’s bulky. I couldn’t imagine travelling without a map showing you where everything is. It’s not just that I have to see where we are, but where we are in relation to other places. And then it's fun to look at an ancient map like my Ortelius one and see how it's all changed since then.

When Niki woke up she decided we were both hungry, and I agreed with her. So we went out to find ‘moules frites’, which I had read was the national dish of Belgium. We got a big bowl of mussels and a mountain of French fries. I guess the translation for ‘frites’ would be just ‘fries’ and that makes sense. Calling part of the Belgian national dish ‘French’ would not be right. Niki asked for a spinach salad, but told the waiter she hated vinegar. When the salad came it was glistening and she looked alarmed, but the waiter hastened to assure her “Don’t worry, that is not vinegar making it shine, it is the bacon fat.” Well, having a salad that has so much bacon fat on it that it glistens would worry me more than a bit of vinegar, but then I am not on a diet of any kind, so asked for vinegar for my ‘frites’. The waiter looked at me as if he didn’t understand. Then it was obvious he did understand, but didn’t believe it. When he realized I was in earnest, he stayed by our table and watched with open-mouthed horror as I poured vinegar on the ‘frites’ and proceeded to eat them quite happily. My guess is that’s not commonly done in Belgium.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - culture

The Rijksmuseum was wonderful. And the Van Gogh museum. Wow. I should really try to learn more about art. Every time I see something powerful, my breath leaves me and I can only stare at it in awe. It’s the same when I hear wonderful music or read some wonderful poem.

I didn’t get to spend nearly as much time as I’d like at the museums as Niki made me promise to leave by one o’clock. She parked herself on a bench after only about half an hour and looked at me with mournful eyes every time I passed by. “Ye gods and little fishes! How much longer are you going to be?” she’d say as if she was in real pain. I suggest splitting up but she says she has no way of knowing where anything is without me. Oh well, it’s nice to feel needed.

I’d forgotten how old everything is in Europe. Niki says she prefers the idea of newly discovering someplace like being the first person to land in Tahiti. I'm surprised to find I like the opposite feeling, thinking of the millions of people who may have trodden the same path we followed today, or sat on the same place by the canal, or looked at the same spires. It gives me goose bumps on my insides. I wonder about those people’s lives, who they loved and what they did, how long they lived and what they feared and fantasized about. I wonder about what kind of life is up ahead for me, where I will go and what I will do, whether I will ever fall in love.

Niki surprised me by actually saying she wanted to go with me to the Anne Frank museum, located in the house the diarist hid inside during the Second World War. It's a powerful thought that one little girl’s diary became a definitive work of that period of history. I wonder if she would have been proud or embarrassed to have people from all over the world read her intimate thoughts. I would be embarrassed. Niki said it was really interesting and she would never have known about it but for me and that made me feel good. I like to think I might be a positive influence on someone else.

Everyone speaks really good English here. As well as other languages too. We heard someone our age talking in Dutch, then English, then French and then German all in the same conversation. I feel a bit inferior. I never thought about it before but it is kind of unfair that we English speakers seem to expect everyone else to know English. Travel is really opening my eyes to lots of things. I feel like a flower bud that’s starting to open out and realizing it is a flower after all and not just some useless bud.

In the evening we took a canal boat cruise. It took us an hour and a half to get dressed up because we thought it would be really sophisticated and there might be guys but it was kind of cheesy and full of old tourists and couples. The boat had a glass top so we sipped wine and looked up at the lights and the stars and tried to imagine we were older and more experienced. Niki has given up on having sex in Holland. She said it’s a cliche anyway and will wait until Belgium.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - red lights

Niki ordered a double scotch the minute we boarded, had wine with dinner and then a lurid green liqueur that smelled like mouthwash before promptly getting sick and spending the rest of the flight groaning. That’s ok though because I was well supplied with maps and guidebooks and wasn’t in desperate need of conversation. After dinner I saw the sun rise over Greenland. Such a calm, startling sunrise. Poetic. Niki was asleep at this point and I didn’t want to wake her. She doesn’t seem to get as worked up over sunrises as I do.

Amsterdam‘s slender buildings are lovely, with decorative plaster to differentiate rooflines. Canals cut across cobbled streets and there are bicycles everywhere. Not an easy place to get to know; each street looks a lot like the last and I had to pay attention, but after a couple of false starts we found the hostel. Niki wanted to see the red light district, but I made her promise first to see the Rijksmuseum tomorrow. There might be a few clashes on this trip. Niki has made no secret of the fact that she is here to meet guys – she wants to have sex in every country we visit. Nice to see she has ambition.

I am here to fill every crevice of my mind and soul. I want to know the history, the geography, the art, the literature, the language, the mannerisms of everywhere. I want to inhale the air of Europe and hold it in my lungs. I want to see it, devour it, satiate my hunger to know everything about everything. Niki says I should cool it and slow down, Europe will always be here and I say yes but I won’t be, I’ve already spent 18 years on this earth and have seen only a tiny portion of it. At my age, Marco Polo had already started out on his voyages and writing his narrative, probably the most influential European historical document from the first half of this millennium. He almost singlehandedly launched the Age of Discovery and all its consequences. I haven’t even had sex yet. Niki says some people are never satisfied. I say she’s right. But I know we are talking about different things.

The red light district was more interesting than I thought it would be. Women were sitting or standing or dancing behind large windows in their living rooms, wearing bored expressions and not much else. “Ye gods!” breathed Niki, rolling her eyes in that way of hers. Everything is always a bit of a drama with Niki. I wonder what it’s like for the women in the windows – do they shut down their brains and go through the motions or are they aware of everyone that passes by? How irksome it must be to be stared at by teenaged tourists like us, but it doesn’t seem to faze them. I guess they must be used to it. One of them even waved to us and gave us a thumbs up sign when she saw the Canadian pins on our jackets.

Despite jet lag we are trying to keep awake as long as possible and get used to local time. At about 4pm we went into a brown bar full of pale students all smoking hand rolled cigarettes and marijuana, drinking beers and talking earnestly while Abba songs played at full blast. I wish we could be part of such a group. We drank shots of genever, a kind of raw gin that scraped about six layers of skin off my throat, and breathed in second-hand smoke.

Even though we have different aims, I’m glad to be doing this trip with Niki. Ever since we met two years ago, I have envied her confidence. She does so effortlessly what I find painful to even contemplate. I know I hide my feelings with layers of protection, and am told I look like I don’t care, don‘t notice, but really I’m dying a thousand deaths every time the attention comes on me. Mom once called me cold and that hurt so much. She usually disapproves of my more adventurous friends but she likes Niki for some reason. Niki sure does know how to turn on the charm in front of adults, but I know she is really a rebel.

I don’t have the courage to rebel. And what would I rebel against? It's not like I was ever mistreated or beaten so I’d have some angst to write about, but of course I could never say anything like that out loud to anyone because it’s sounds so awful and they just wouldn’t understand. And I don’t really want to be beaten. I just wish I had something in my past to make me more interesting, a more tragic heroine. Instead of being a skinny spotty teenager, which is completely unromantic.

I hate the way I am sometimes. For one thing, I can't speak up for myself. Every time I try it comes out wrong. Mom wanted me to borrow her suitcase and her clothes for this trip – I mean, “Ye gods” as Niki would say - her clothes! They are not at all appropriate and they reek of cigarette smoke. I secretly wondered if it’s so she can worm her way into my room and try to get all chummy with me. She’d never dream of trying to lend her clothes to Sidney or Sam. Why does she always try it on with me? I tried to be gentle.

“I would hate to ruin them you know, and Europe is probably pretty dirty. We’ll be on trains and stuff. London was filthy I remember.”

“You don’t like them. Don’t lie to me. You don’t like my taste in clothes.”

“No, it’s not that. They are nice clothes.”

“This silver blouse will be lovely with the navy skirt and the plaid. Try it on. Let’s see how it looks.”

I took a breath. I want to take a backpack, not a suitcase. And a silver blouse and plaid skirt! I mean really. “Mom that outfit is so 1974. And it’s a little grown up for me. I think we will be spending most of our time in student places and these will look – um – a little too – good. You know. Why can’t I choose my own things?”

“Well, let’s see what you’ve got,” she said in that wry way she has just before she makes me feel like an idiot. “You have four old pairs of jeans and two swimsuits. No sweater, no skirt, no dress.”
“Mom. I haven’t finished yet. At least don’t rag on my choices until I’ve finished packing them.” A lame ending I know, especially as there was nothing else on my bed ready to go into my pack. I have a tough time making decisions.

“Right, I suppose you know best. You’ve always known best. I try to take an interest in the things you like to do, try to break into that shell of yours but everytime I do I get rebuffed. I thought you’d want to perhaps take a piece of me with you on this trip to remind you of me. Like part of me can be with you, watch over you. Did you never think that I never got the chance to go to Europe at your age? That I would have loved to? At least I can help you experience things I never could. Well, you’re young and headstrong and the only way to learn is to make mistakes rather than listen to the advice of others who know better.” Does she really know better, I wondered? How would she know what a student should pack for Europe? “I’m sure whatever you want to take will be stunning and turn the crowned heads of Europe in your direction.”

“Mom! I don’t want that.” Honesty started to creep in. “Listen, I just don’t want to look, um, geeky. I’m still young. I’d rather die than wear old lady clothes.”

Oops, wrong word to use. ‘Lady’ was fine. But ‘old’ was not so good. She looked at me with flashes in her eyes.

“You’d rather die? Well, I like that. You’d rather die than wear something I chose and paid for with my own hard earned money and that I wear proudly. No thank you. Wear your own things then. Stuffed into a grubby sack that makes you look like a pack mule. Just promise me one thing – one thing.”

“What is it?”

“You can’t make a promise without having to know what it is? I am only asking for one thing, one small promise.”

“Okay, okay, I promise.”

“Do not show me any degrading photos of you wearing ragamuffin attire in European capitals. It would be too distressing and I’d be ashamed of you.”

Huge relief. That was a promise I readily accepted. Besides, I have a feeling that travelling with Niki might produce photos I won’t want anyone to see. Secretly I hope so. I’m pathetic. When she left the room, I sat on my bed, feeling horrible. Yet another moment with Mom turned into a confrontation.