One Year

For almost as long as I have been in London, I have been someone’s girlfriend. I spent a mere month in the running for the International hook-up cup, before bowing out. I can barely remember what it’s like to rush into class, detailing my latest exploits with, Ireland, England, Jamaica, (insert country here). It took one weekend or in my case a hat trick of the UN variety, before I was the clear leader. But then I had to go and fall in love…

It’s not like I’ve never been here before, I have, 3 times in fact. I have run the gamete between love, lust, and even luke warm a few scars over. I’ve dated puppies, party animals, and most frequently the ones that don’t fit into any category other than What was I thinking? There have been serenading All-americans with freckles, Division 1 athletes, uniform toting jugheads, over confident frat boys, Philadelphia’s finest, men of match and of course more than a few questionable beer goggle finds. I’ve been woo’ed and wounded with words, almost as much as I have woo’ed and wounded others. Before him, there has been puppy love, fun love, and even a fake love or two.
But puppies never stay puppies long enough, their faces change, their hot breath turns stale, and they never have as much energy as in those first months. He was classically trained by rom-coms with flowers, candies, trips, and even poems were an ideal jumping off point to my love life. But that was until my puppy grew a beer gut and bit the hand that pet him.

Then there was the fun love, the kind that starts and ends with a beer pong. Our dates consisted of pimps and hoes parties, TGI Fridays, and binge drinking. But he was sweet, adoring and great with a guitar. It was perfect until I became the girl that not even a sweet boy could love.

Those shaped me just as much as the fake loves. The men that just weren’t that into me. The ones, I hoped would change. And even the one that loved his dick enough to immortalize it in latex. But without them, I wouldn’t be ready for the serious love.

Things have been challenging since the moment we met, since the moment he stared right through me and I watched him dance through the crowd, wondering how I could manage a snog away from the eyes of my date. But like most things, he took the plan right from under me, pulling me from my path to the bathroom and kissing me passionately enough for both of us. And since that kiss, my planning has been pointless. My plan was to sample the international buffet of men. To spend a year erasing each disappointment, fully realizing my inner Samantha or Carrie. My time of liberation and independence was interrupted with passion, comfort, and adoration. And no girl, even armed with an itinerary, can ignore that. We all want to be someone’s princess….

And I am his, one title I am comfortable with. Even at the eye of my storm, he can still find it in him to look at me with amazement (its probably because of the volume of my rants) and love. I wake up to words of adoration and tender kisses, even hours after those battles. He makes what is his, mine. He thinks it is his job to take care of me, financially and emotionally, yet still finds plenty of time to call me lazy when I litter his room with clothes or sleep past 10. Some days our challenges and differences seem impossible. And in those moments Glasses have been smashed, pictures cracked, and jealous words have been spoken at a deafening volume. We have never been perfect, our words don’t always translate and our actions can be misunderstood. But then tensions break and before I know it, I am back to the place we both feel safe, the nook.

And just like I thought following our first date, there is still something about him. Maybe it’s how he dances around in his underwear singing songs in Albanian, Turkish, or Greek. Or brings me coffee in bed and calls me to say good morning every time we wake up in separate beds. But mostly it’s the way he looks at me…

I don’t know where we will end up, maybe this will be just another great love in my story, maybe we will cross countries in defiance of visa battles, or maybe we will be exactly what each other needs to save us from ourselves.

PRAHA: Part 2

With beers to a variety of beers to pregame with we headed back to our hotel to clean up for a night out. Distracted by exhaustion and reports of turmoil in Egypt, we moved slowly through our beers and primping. Knowing full well, that this was not the time to watch news in bed (not that anytime really is), we rallied with a half ass power hour. Finally we were ready to brave the cold again…..


Armed with recommendations from fellow travelers, we headed for the Little Goat Bar but as fast as we were in, we were out to find the non-dinner crowd. On our way to the next stop we ran bumped into the bar crawl crowd. 50 tourists, in matching tshirts, overpaying for the comfort of other internationals and an American drink leader….that and a few cheap shots of vodka. But blind promises of the best night ever, were not enough of a reason for us to part with £35.…nonetheless, the leader took a liking to us and told us to follow along, sans matching t-shirt of course. We followed along, unimpressed by the group and the cheap shots of vodka, so we decided to make our on way when the leader urged us to follow to the next stop. After the bar was pretty cool, it looked as if it had been carved out of a tunnel system and the beers were cheap. As we left, we avoided the crisscrossing crawl crowd and headed to the Harley bar. It was, as recommended, crowded and wild. The bartenders donned in drag, were the first to serve us the burning that is absinthe. The taste of fiery black licorice lasted longer than it probably should have. Making friends with fellow Americans and the crowd around us, we spent the rest of the night there… With the help of another shot and one too many cheap beers we were stumbling lost on the streets toward the hotel by 2.…so much for a 5am night….

It may have been the dehydration that woke us but for the first time in our travels we were up early enough to take advantage of the free breakfast (even if it was just rolls and yoghurt). Even with an after roll nap, we were still out in plenty of time to seize the day. But first, we had a score to settle with the sausage cart…what kind of food cart closes before the drunks have a chance to stumble out and make questionable eating choices? Much to our disappointment we never got to take advantage of the glorious looking pretzels and sausages after our crawling. So before any sites were seen, we were determined to soak up the green, unfortunately it looked much more appetizing than it was. The chewy, hardness of it made me almost loose my cookies. With a quid wasted, we opted for the save bet of pizza. Greased up, we were off to check out Josefov, the old Jewish ghetto. Despite the Nazi occupation, a few synagogues, a cemetery, and town hall still remain, preserved on Hilter’s orders. In a twisted fashion, only Hitler could muster, Josefov was his planned museum of an extinct race. Much to my disappointment, virtually everything is closed on Saturdays during off-peak months. We peaked through gates to view the cemetery where one grave topples on top of another, the crowdedness of it all is disturbing. From there we tried out the trolley system to take us to Mala Strana to pick up the funicular railway for Petrin. The trolley dropped us at the Memorial to the victims of communism. I’m rarely one for modern art but there is something striking and eerie about it. A series of statues, standing on steps, each more broken and cracked than the previous. At the end, there is virtually nothing left of the man.

The railway climbs up the hill bringing small groups up to a large park area atop the slope. Home of the Rozhledna aka a mini Eiffel Tower is what draws the tourists. For only £2, you can climb the tower, 1/5 the size of the original, as see stunning views of the city. Descending back down the hill, we mapped our way to Wenceslas Square, Prague’s ‘New Town’ for dinner and trinket shopping. We found a traditional Czech restaurant and gorged on salads and goulash, comfort food after comfort food, we were stuffed to food coma status. As much as I wanted to crawl into a warm bed, we forced ourselves to enjoy some pints at a traditional pub,U medvidku, a beer hall dating back to the 13th century. It reminded me of a cafeteria, long wooden tables filled a big hall, nothing fancy, just budvar and a cloud of smoke. A beer called Olgott and an order of warm apple strudel was just about my idea of heaven….when I die, I want to wake up surrounded by strudel and a case of Oldgott! But just like the UK, pubs close way too early for my liking… tired but not defeated we followed the sounds of music and pint glasses clinking. We stumbled right into expat country…not ours but the Aussies….if there is one thing we have in common, its that Americans and Aussies are everywhere! We chatted a little with some Brits, had shots poured down our throat by some over-excited Aussies, signed our name to the collage on the wall, and sang to along to some classic live music, and we even said ‘no’ when pressured to stay and enjoy the last ever night of that bar. Afterall, we can’t have a repeat of Spain!

PRAHA: Part 1

I don't often win the currency exchange game but everyone is a winner in the Czech Republic. £1= 26 Kc, even if it's slightly deceiving, it's still a pleasant surprise when £60 turns into 1,600 Kc. I don't often get the chance to carry around a 1000 note, but I think I could adapt to this much cash. Cash stacked, Ashley and I boarded the plane for country 14. I've always wanted to go to Prague, despite my limited knowledge about the country or culture, I've heard only amazing things about the city and its nightlife.


I grown spoiled by quick, cheap flights, allowing way too many travel options! I almost from my ass-numbing 7 hour flight back home over Christmas. But an 1hr 20 min and £50 later, we were in the Czech Republic, a sunny new country! With each country, we grow increasingly comfortable with public transport, why waste money on cabs, when a bus and train can get you there for a 1/8th of the price! Because Prague is a cheaper city, that and January is considered off-off-off peak, we found a hotel for the same price of our usual hostel accommodations. £20 for real beds, with sheets included, and an ensuite bathroom….my travel dream!

From our hotel, we started off to Stare Mesto (Old Town) which was considered the medieval center of the city. It creates a maze of streets and alleys, filled with shops, restaurants. We navigated into the center of the square, church steeples seem to be entangled among brightly colored buildings with intriquly painted facades. The paintings as much a work of art as the churches themselves, each with a different story. We wandered into the gothic Tyn Church, its spires peek behind shops making the entrance seemingly hidden. With a quick look around, we exited to the sounds of trumpets. Wanting to see what the fuss was about, we walked towards the crowd and stumbled upon one of the most famous sites in Prague, the Astronomical Clock. Hundreds of people crowd around each hour to watch little figurines of the Apostles shuffle past the windows. Below are the four threats to the city (in medieval times) Death carrying an hourglass and tolling a bell, the Jew with moneybags, Vanity admiring its reflection, and also racist the Turk fit with a turban shaking his head. A costumed trumpeter bellows during the show from atop the tower. The clock face and figures are relatively low on the tower, making it easy for tourists to watch the show each hour. It is no wonder why people crowd around it, it is beautiful and old fashioned. We stopped next to the clock for some grub. We sat at an outside café under heat lamps for traditional Czech lunch and mulled wine, a perfect way to warm up before exploring the city.

Unlike many other European cities, there is no visible damage from Hitler's wrath. Virtually untouched, at least physically, the city has maintained its medieval layout, with an abundance of stunning Baroque architecture. We made our way through the old town to Charles Bridge, one of the most famous monuments in Prague. Originally only adorned with a crucifix, the Catholic Church commissioned another 21 sculptures to be erected across the bridge during the 17th century. It’s not the sculptures individually that are fascinating, its that each is different in material and design. Buskers, beggers, and people hawking chaciques line the bridge in between the marble, gold, bronze and stone figurines. Most have faded with the centuries, except for spots polished by the touching of travelers. We couldn’t understand the importance or superstition of tourists rubbing a certain statue. Once across the bridge, we wandered up the hilltop to Prague Castle. The walls surround the castle, a cathedral, a basilica, and a ton of other government buildings. We joined the crowd ignoring the ticket booth and head straight for the Cathedral of sv Vit. I’ve come to the point in my travels that I am rarely impressed by a church, after awhile the stained glass begins to blur and fade from one cathedral to another basilica. But for the first time in the last 4 countries, I was impressed. It wasn’t the height of the nave or the gold statues adorning the walls, it was the stained glass. It was bright and vibrant, seemingly more modern than others I’ve seen before. Personally in awe, we set our to find out what else the castle had in store. It felt like we walked around the whole perimeter without stumbling upon a castle, at least not a castle we have come to know. Maybe we missed it but the rest seemed a little too modern to impress us, well except the view from the top, that wasn’t too bad at all!

Along the way back we passed various Absinthe cafes and stores. I’ve only tried Absinthe once, the smuggled souvenir of a friend, entertained us for hours. A lot is said about Absinthe, mostly about its hallucinating power, all I can say about it is, that night the bathroom seemed far enough to make me take a break half way down the hall. So it was decided we were going green….

Old Balls

I've heard stories about my flatmate's tendacy to go after older men, but now I've seen it in all its bald, white bearded glory.  Her age is unknown but I'm pretty sure she is in her late 30s.  Her and I have been at each other's throat the last couple months, mostly because she is a rude, inconsiderate, bitch of a woman.  Yesterday, I had the pleasure of running into a 70 something man coming out of her room.  I would guess it was her father or uncle but then he fixed his pants the way only a man who just got blown does.  I don't know what is more surprising, the idea of his old balls or that a man (anyman) would in their right mind enter her room.  It overflows into the hall way, filled with dirty dishes, and piles of clothes fill her bed.  Where would she even have space for seducing grandpa?

I know 'age is just a number' but when you start going uphill, its also early bird specials, walkers, and senior citizen prices, actually that last one might be nice!