Chapter 5 - Southern Europe - exploring Madrid

I slept soundly for 11 hours - 11 hours! I had a beautiful dream – a mediaeval romance of a dream. You were on a large grey horse, standing over me, then you picked me up in a cloak of dark green velvet and we rode up the skies to spend eternity together. Delicious thrills went through me and I felt utterly at peace upon waking, lying there looking myopically at the chandelier. Every romantic bone and erotic place in my body was alive. I felt like a beautiful nymph, my hair all tousled and my eyes sleepy, the sort of creature depicted in great paintings or written about in delicate poems. Words you wrote once to me repeat themselves: “My day is rewarded when I awake, for you flower in my eyes. Sunlight streaming through the curtains to touch you, setting your outline afire.”


Of course that image shattered the minute I got up and looked in the mirror at the limp, brown creature that looked back at me. A cold shower brought me back to cruel reality. I am alone and will probably always be alone. Spending eternity with myself.


My mood lightened outdoors. It had been dark last night when I arrived, so Madrid now presented itself to me as if whisked into existence during my sleep. The busy streets are broken frequently with “Plazas” and wide, treed boulevards, fountains, parks and bakeries in equal profusion. A new prime minister was elected less than a year ago and everyone feels optimistic. My steps took me to the Naval Museum to see the maps, especially Juan de la Cosa’s world map from 1500, which I had been wanting to see since hearing about such an early map of the complete world, as it was then. Why was there never any map legacy from that voyage he took with Columbus in 1492? One of the great mysteries. There’s no visual record of Marco Polo’s voyages either. Of course having a map is not always enough to prove anything. Take Atlantis. And Lemuria. And Verrazano’s Sea. People really believed he saw the Pacific Ocean across the outer banks of North Carolina, convincing enough for mapmakers to copy it again and again. And it wasn’t even him, but his brother who mapped it in the first place. Oh dear, I suppose my teaching years have made me into a bit of a fact bore, even to myself.

Chapter 5 - Southern Europe - the rain in Spain

It was raining as Spain rattled past my window. Landscapes blended into vistas - jagged mountains, rolling meadows, scraps of garden, lines of rocks serving as fences, sheep, shimmering green and yellow trees following twisting brooks, more sheep. Lots and lots of wet sheep. The water on the windows mirrored the tears that constantly covered my eyes. The only way to clear my mental fog was to look at landscapes and try to think about the things that must have happened here or that will happen here, the people, the cultures, the generations of sheep. I would imagine looking down on myself from the roof of the train, watching and thinking about what I saw. Thinking. Much better than feeling. Thinking allows for detachment. Feeling is a precipice.

I have made it to the country that launched so many magnificent voyages, and savagely destroyed so many peoples and lands. So many goodly cities ransacked and razed; so many nations destroyed and made desolate; so infinite millions of harmless people of all sexes, states and ages massacred, ravaged and put to the sword; and the richest, the fairest and best part of the world topsiturvied, ruined and defaced for the traffic of pearls and pepper…oh base conquest. Well, that’s what you get for studying mankind, Montaigne. I have never seen a greater monster or miracle than myself.

And yet what courage Spain showed, too! Encouraging exploration, sending men and ships into the unknown, without maps, sometimes without even rumours or legends. The world has never been the same. Other countries have never been the same. Some thrived, like Belgium and Italy making maps and charts, and others didn’t, like Mexico and Peru, gold lost to Spanish greed.

I’m feeling a bit dazed, my brain clashing from thought to thought. It seems like I just landed in Paris and then left, needing to escape northern intellectual climes and see places known for passion and heat. Places that launched ships into the unknown, not those that charted the results. I shifted luxuriously in my seat. Travelling by train allows me to daydream or look out at the scene presented to me and think. There is so much to look at and think on that I got caught up in the pace of unfolding scenery and was surprised to find myself arrived, in Madrid, ensconced in a pension bedroom containing a lavish chandelier and the most comfortable bed. I can’t quite remember how I got here, but then I have been existing in a sort of muffled bag for weeks now, moving and thinking without registering.

Oh Andrew, I am so very conscious of the fact you are not here – we should be doing this trip together. I feel resentful of everyone I see who looks happy, and so piteous of myself. Talking about you helps, but I have no one to talk to about you, and if I did I know I would do it so constantly it would drive the other person crazy. This way is better really. I can write, describing the places I go so you see them with me, even though you are far away.

I had a pounding headache when I arrived but thought food might help. Figuring it must be late when I emerged from my sixth floor eyrie because there were so few people about, I hunted for a little place that might be open. I found a nice looking place but it was totally empty and I felt embarrassed going in. I found another but it looked a bit rougher. A third was also empty and kind of dark. So I went back to the first place and looked in, trying to pretend I was looking for someone. It was still empty and I didn’t know what to do. Before I could decide, the waiter saw me, opened the door and gestured me in. I couldn’t say no at that point.

I seem to have turned up in the country without having taken in more than three words from all the pages I studied in my Spanish phrasebook. After I’d verbally trashed his language trying to order food, the waiter just put his pad down, gave me a long, slightly pained look, then turned on his heel and returned shortly after with lots of little plates of delicious things and a small carafe of red wine to go with it.

Ok, so first thing I have learned about Spain - eat late. When I left the café it was packed with people. The streets were thronged too. Bands played and people danced in between strings of others out shopping and meeting friends and lovers. Food stalls and outdoor bars interrupted the flow of bodies eating and smoking. Everyone was either in couples or groups, chatting and laughing and even singing. I continued to imagine about this person’s poverty or that person’s hunger or the other one’s despair as I walked back alone to my room. I know in my head they all can’t really be miserable, but my heart is resentful of the happiness of others.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - boat home

It was a bit of a rush getting all our stuff packed up in time to catch the overnight boat to England and our flight back home. What a job! I had no idea we had collected so much stuff. My poster roll is full, there are all our gifts to take back, books and masses of new clothes. And all those clothes that we packed and never even wore once! I decided to dump out half my old clothes and tell Mom they got stolen or lost or something. I will never wear them again anyway, now that I’ve discovered my new style.

Our boat cabin is tiny. I took the top bunk, thrilled to see enormous duvets. We treated ourselves to a posh dinner in the dining room. Niki was on the hunt to find someone dashing for a last European fling, but everyone seemed to be with someone else and way over 40.

We talked about going back to university and how we were going to manage the transition. I found I was actually looking forward to it more than Niki was, despite the fact that I have only a tenuous idea of what courses I'm going to take. She sacked out early, but I lay on my stomach facing the foot of the bed, from where I could see out the microscopic porthole. The view consisted entirely of sea and sky, a most perfect view in my opinion.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - sleeping next to the dead

Crossing Jutland we discovered how very flat and windy Denmark really is with its yellow fields, old villages and windmills. We saw stork nests occasionally but no storks. A few forests of beech and oak, pine and lime trees. Clouds shifting as the air grew humid with the passing hours. Niki spent the entire bus trip talking to three Swedish guys who are going to the same place as us.

When we arrived, the boys went one way (place already booked and full) and we strode off to find out own digs, which we did quite easily. Our pension landlady called us ‘the two ladies’, told us what we should see in town and assured us of an excellent breakfast. This was said with a vocabulary of five English words, two of which are ‘two’ and ‘ladies’.

Our room overlooks a picturesque churchyard with lopsided gravestones but the inside demands more attention, if not sunglasses! It has a plastic shower plunked right in the middle of it, curtained with a hot pink pastic sheet. the room also contains orange drapes, green bedding, red plastic roses and silk violets in purple vases, a bronze sea-faring scene on the wall, a gilt edged mirror, multi-flowered wallpaper leaning prominently towards the pink end of the colour spectrum, and a cut glass chandelier in the middle of the ceiling that gets knocked every time the shower door is opened. When the sun shines it kind of hurts just to look at it.

It was clear that we wanted to spend our last night here in different ways. Niki and I parted, saying “See you in the morning.” What a feeling of freedom to go out alone, wherever I wanted! I started by finding a concert by a string quartet in a little church hall, then went to a local disco where I drank a few beer and danced by myself in a crowd. I even got asked to dance by a couple of really good looking guys. It felt good to be asked when it was just me and I knew they weren’t doing it to get closer to Niki or because they felt sorry for me. I could even flirt a bit, but not really get myself in trouble. I would never have had the confidence to do this two months ago. It was one of the best nights of my life. But I have to say I’ll die happy if I never hear another Abba song ever again.

I wandered back under a sky filled with stars and sliver of a moon woven between wraiths of cloud. The air was hot and heavy and I flung myself onto the bed, too hot to crawl under the covers. A thunderstorm started a few minutes later – great flashes of lightning and more wind than usual whipping at the trees. I didn’t dare look outside, because I knew I’d get freaked out if I saw the headstones in the graveyard across the street, so I just lay there in the dark until it was over. What a way to spend my last night in Denmark, very ‘Hamlet’!

I must have fallen asleep quite quickly, because I awoke with a start when I heard Niki return. The sun was just beginning to hint at rising and my friend was silhouetted in the grey predawn. She didn’t look at me but simply collapsed into bed after throwing her clothes off all over the floor. I kind of smiled and turned over to try to get a bit more sleep.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - fashion style

We have seen a lot of Jens and Ana while in Copenhagen. They've taken us to bars and jazz clubs where we finally hear something other than Abba songs. We saw the palace and the little mermaid statue from Han Christian Anderson’s fairy tales, which was a lot smaller than I’d imagined. The best was Tivoli, where we drank cocktails and saw a show on the stage with its amazing peacock curtain that opens out like a fan. One afternoon I left Niki and took a bus to see Kronberg Castle in Helsingor, or Elsinore as it is in Hamlet. I don’t think Shakespeare ever actually saw this place. Imagine that, I’m one up on Shakespeare! The days are longer here, but then I guess we are farther north. The light is different, too - purer, cleaner, sharper.

We'll be heading home soon and I have bought a ton of stuff; Ana knows all the best stores. Niki and I each got thick brown and white Icelandic sweaters and velour lounging outfits. Mine is a navy two piece with loose trousers, a long zip up the jacket and two pockets that slant out from the bottom. It’s really stylish. I don’t really lounge, but it looks good. I also got a Boda crystal heart-shaped pendant at the Permanent Exhibition of Danish Goods. Ana nodded approval saying she liked my fashion style. Wow! Someone thinks I have fashion style! We tried to take them out to a fancy restaurant to thank them but they refused. Ana told us to save our money and “just pass it on to someone else.” I like that idea.

I have mixed feelings about heading home. On the one hand I am keen to tell everyone about our trip and show them my photos and new clothes and to give them the presents I have bought. And it will be awfully nice not to have to figure out where I'm going to sleep or eat. On the other hand it means I have to get serious about school and the direction my life is going to take. It's been lovely wandering around having fun and thinking about things in an abstract way and talking about things to other people who don't really know me and won't pass judgement and learning about things as they pass in and out of my path, but without having to actually make any sort of decision or take any sort of action or even to work very hard at anything.

Travel is a seductive and I don't mean in the Niki-you-are-good-looking-let's-have-sex kind of way but in the fact that everything's here and laid out for you to see it and try it. The efforts of so many generations and centuries is done, complete and here for me to experience without adding any real effort of my own. It's easy. Sometimes so easy I take it all for granted and forget that it's not mine to keep forever, that I'm only passing through, that I haven't made any real contribution. And I do want to contribute somehow, somewhere, but am stymied and stessed about how and what. The architecure, the art, the music - everything here, whether dynamic or staid, is already built or painted or composed. It's daunting to think I have to start from scratch and make something out of life that isn't framed by anything yet. I might botch it up or not have the patience or talent to see it through. What is the best thing for me to devote my life to doing? The decisions I take now are going to affect my whole life. What if I make the wrong decision? What if I waste my whole life trying to do something that ends up being the wrong thing?

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - life lessons

This morning we shared a typical Danish snack, which were open-faced sandwiches on thin slices of dark pumpernickel bread with toppings like scrambled egg, ham, and chopped up tomatoes. We also had fresh strawberries and pastries. I guess I can’t call them ‘Danish Pastries’ – it would be too much like the ‘Swiss Cheese’ and ‘French Fries’ thing. Jens also filled small glasses with something dark that smelled disgusting. Everyone had one and we were told to swallow it whole. It’s called bitters and apparently every Dane worth his salt starts the day with a shot. It left us gasping! So pungent and strong. Surely they don’t do this every day! Niki said it tasted like tar and I said I thought it resembled turpentine more and she said I was being too persnikety and I was always too persnickety and maybe I should become a teacher after all because I’m a know-it-all who likes telling everyone when they are wrong. I ignored the sting and took it as a compliment. Maybe we have been travelling together a little too long.

The Danes were very direct. After breakfast, we walked along the train carriage corridors while Ana peppered us with questions about ourselves before ‘counselling’ me. “You know you should really look people in the eye. I know you are shy, but looking at the ground is so antisocial. People will think you are rude. And get better glasses. They aren’t the right shape for your face. You know, your eyes are really lovely. Have you thought of contact lenses? That way people could see your eyes and you would not hide away behind those thick glasses. And don’t be afraid of being small. Your height is your height. Walk proud and for goodness sake keep your arms away from your waist. It looks like you are trying to keep your stomach from falling out of your body.” She never says anything like this to Niki - probably because Niki is already perfect.

We talked about what parts of our bodies we like best. Even Jens. I didn’t know guys felt as sensitive about some things as girls did. It's a revelation. Niki likes her boobs and hips. Someone complimented me on my ears once and of course I was still thinking about Ana’s comments about my eyes. I wish I had inherited my Mom’s hands. She has lovely hands, and doesn’t seem to know it. Even when she is complimented on them she tosses it off dismissively. I feel sorry for those hands, so beautiful and so unappreciated. If I had hands like that I would cherish them. Maybe I should tell her sometime that I think they are beautiful. I wonder what she would say. I get kind of embarrassed just thinking about it. Ana loves her shoulders and Jens favours his long athletic legs. He bicycles everywhre he tells us which is why his legs are brown and muscular. I was too shy to really look, but Niki bent down and felt his calf muscle. Right there in the middle of the second class compartments! She whistled her appreciation and I blushed while the others laughed. I think I should really try to follow Ana's counsel and maybe I'd feel less like an outsider.

Chapter 4 - Northern Europe - found!

Woke up to glorious sunshine and the most delightful surprise. Niki had resigned herself to purselessness, but when we checked out of the hostel, there it was! On a shelf at the back of the hostel office! She just screamed. Every blessed thing was intact, right down to the last Deutschmark. It sure restored our faith in human nature. My guess was it was the hostel card inside that hinted where we were staying, but what impossible luck!

It was a lighthearted day despite having to lug around our bags. When we got to our evening train, in lots of time, we were thrilled to find an empty couchette, but just as we settled down an impatient German conductor chased us out. We found another one with two guys in it. Niki was keen but I put my foot down. Sleeping in a train with two strange men was just too worrying. I’m learning that if I pick my moments to say ‘no’ it’s more powerful and Niki has no problem with it at all, merely shrugging her shoulders. And I know she’s not so stupid as to have sex at any cost. After wandering down long aisles with our bulging packs mashing through narrow doors, we found another couchette with a young couple in it. They seemed really pleasant. When the same conductor came by he scowled at us and said some things which I’m sure weren’t very nice, but the couple spoke back and he left with a stormy look. I got the feeling the couple didn’t think much of him either.

They are brother and sister on their way back home to Copenhagen. What a coincidence, that’s where we’re going! As soon as Niki found out they weren’t married, she got her glittery lion love eyes on and chatted almost exclusively with the guy, Jens. I wasn’t sure about him yet – he had a tattoo, an earring and a distant attitude, but his sister Ana was friendly in a forceful kind of way. The first thing she said to me was my handshake was too limp and I’d better learn how to do it properly or I’ll never get ahead in the world. I am a little cowed by Ana. We thanked them for their help and took the top bunks, lying in hot, airless discomfort, but at least we were horizontal and safe from marauders.