Lisboa

Exactly one month ago one of my travel fantasies was finally coming true and, like most fantasies, it was even better in reality. In my fantasy, Lisbon would be fabulous. In reality, it was love at first sight. Not the irrational, life-changing love story I had with Warsaw but rather the kind of intense summer fling which you assume will be over come fall. And then, by the end of summer, you realize you've been blown to pieces and it's the only thing on your mind. I can only hope there is not a limited amount of love when it comes to cities, otherwise I think I might have spent mine on Warsaw and Lisbon.

The city is relaxed and joyful like a perpetual vacation, cheerful without being annoying and user-friendly without being too organized, filled with small, family-owned restaurants and bars where after half an hour you feel like home, cakes are decadent and fruit tastes like real fruit, the shops are still open after midnight and so are some of the art galleries, men are incredibly cute and incredibly friendly, a world of adventures opens here and an amazing sailing history is there to prove it, yet there's a sweet sadness to it, a kind of resignation from something I couldn't really grasp, much like a woman who's aged gracefully but lost her beauty, walking barefoot in the narrow streets of Bairro Alto and singing her heartbreaking fado.

I've had a thing for Portuguese writers a long time before having a thing for Lisbon or for the language. And so this trip was the perfect opportunity to have lunch with one of my favorite characters in the history of literature. Needless to say, all of his heteronyms were there.

On my way back from the Fernando Pessoa Memorial House, I was pleasantly surprised to discover this in a station of the metro:

And a few days later, at the train station in Porto:

But the most amazing thing happened one lazy afternoon near the monument celebrating Henry the Navigator, Vasco da Gama, Pedro Alvares Cabral and other navigators who played an essential role in Portuguese maritime discoveries.

In a city filled with the presence of some of the men I admire most, in the place where adventures and discoveries started, I realized just how much I missed home, and just how at home I felt in Warsaw. It was the first time ever that I was in a new city which I happened to be fascinated with and still had the feeling there was something missing. I also believe it was the first time I missed home, a feeling so new and strange it was almost shocking. I've always missed people, I've missed places, too, but I've never missed home. I think I've become faithful without even noticing it. Acknowledging this change is one thing, dealing with it is something I'm not ready for, at least not until I've sailed my very own, fictional seven seas.

Glimpses of the weekend

On the way back from London I got to thinking about relationships. Mainly because a lot of things have changed lately, but also because I've come to terms with the thought that sometimes it's a good idea to let go. And then I found a quote that's rather embarrassing and tacky, yet highly appropriate, so I have to mention it:

There comes a point in your life when you realize who matters, who never did, who won't anymore and who always will. So don't worry about people from your past, there's a reason why they didn't make it to your future. I'm not convinced I could tell, at this point, who won't matter anymore or who always will, this is all very relative. But the sad truth is that no matter how much I cared about some people, they seem to not fit in the picture anymore. And even though I'll always think of them fondly, I realized I don't have the energy to lie to myself that common memories, no matter how wonderful, are enough. On the other hand, there's always the excitement of discovering new people or rediscovering some of the old ones and that has got to be one of the best things I've ever experienced.

Back to my short and intense London trip, here's a few highlights:

• a non-touristic tour of a very touristic part of London with one of my new friends, replacing pictures and maps with coffee and chats about books, couch surfing, movie scripts and horse races
• cherry flavored beer at Tate Modern and a great discovery, Juliao Sarmento, an artist so amazing I'm actually planning a trip to Portugal in autumn to see his exhibition. Tate was twice the fun because I was there with one of my best friends ever, who I suspect knows everything about modern & contemporary art. Needless to say, it felt like taking a private tour spiced up with inside jokes and harmless gossip
• Thames Clippers at dawn
• living in Shepherd's Bush, just like the characters of the first novel I translated
• Hello Kitty temporary tattoos
• meeting one of my older friends, who has always been an inspiration to me due to his energy and unbelievably positive outlook upon life and who has always encouraged me to carry on with my plans, no matter how silly or implausible, because they're great
• overdosing on Reese's Pieces, thus ending the gummy bears episode, hopefully for good

London calling

I was about to finally write the story of my perfect Portuguese vacation, although it feels like it's been ages, not three weeks, since I was happily discovering Lisbon, when I noticed something very disturbing.

I'm meeting Big Brother for the weekend in London and as usual everything was planned a long time ago in the tiniest detail. I did, however, mix some details up (this happens a lot lately, I wonder if it's age related) and so half an hour ago it dawned on me I booked my flight to London from Poznan and not from Warsaw (my return ticket is from London to Warsaw). Which means I'm already out of time and I still have about one million things to take care of at the office, a train to catch and hopefully make it to the airport.

Which makes me wonder: am I tired and in desperate need for a vacation or the fact that I've been taking small vacations / long weekends lately has made me so relaxed that I can't even keep track of my own agenda?

***

I was too late to tell my Gran all those things that were left unsaid. I didn't even make it in time to say goodbye. But later that evening, she found the perfect way to say it, a sunset so amazing, so beautiful and calm it made all words unnecessary. As always, she knew how to be there for me, warm and loving and wonderful, and I can only hope she knew I wished I could have been there for her.

Cinderella @ Casa Gogol

My fabulous trip to Lisbon started in Milan, not exactly my favorite city in Europe, but a perfect location for a Gogol Bordello concert, as it turned out later on. Having seen Gogol perform in Bucharest and in Warsaw and being madly in love with them, I thought I was prepared for another night spent in the front rows. But I had no idea what was coming to me.

Italians are insane, no doubt about it. It took them about 15 seconds to get in the mood for punk rock parranda and after the first two songs half of the audience was shirtless and I was shoeless. And the one thing you don't want to try is barefoot pogo. Turns out I should have taken other things into account when putting my outfit together. Sure, it was colorful and gypsy and looked great, but next time I'm so not wearing slingbacks. If I ever decide to see Gogol in Italy, which is highly possible, I think I might have to wear military boots. Luckily, I was rescued just in time by a very nice Italian and recovered my shoe as well, and the whole thing could have been quite sweet if it hadn't been hilarious and idiotic before anything else. The fact that Eugene was screaming something about revolutions and his dick didn't help either, but once I reached a safer spot the night went on without any noticeable incidents.

Another thing I love about their concerts is that you're never alone, even if you are alone, that's why I'm not even slightly worried about not having someone with me to join the fun. Once again, Italians proved to be more friendly than the average, loud and joyful and inexhaustible, sharing drinks, joints, chocolate and chewing gum with anybody who happened to be around.

And as I can't seem to get enough of Gogol Bordello, I'm planning to see them in the UK and in Germany, not just for their wonderful and energizing music, but also because I'm really curious about their audience, wondering if it can get any better than in Italy.

In the morning, tired and bruised and happy as can be, I was on my way to Lisbon, where an epiphany was waiting round the corner.

25. The sequel

Because I very much enjoyed being 25, I decided not to turn 26 this year, but instead to celebrate my 25th birthday once again. It seems like this decision has been very confusing for my friends, and with very few exceptions most of them forgot about my B-day or simply ignored it (I still don't know what's worse). That kinda hurt, although I didn't think I'd make such a big deal out of this, but apparently I did, especially as I didn't expect it from the people I love.

***

Since I'm such a fan of traveling, I figured the best way to spend my special day was to stay on the road and on the run. So after a night train from Lisbon to Porto, I flew to London and from there to Poznan and with the very last drops of energy I dragged my tired ass on a train to Warsaw. By the end of the day, it felt a bit odd to enter the house without a boarding pass and / or ticket. Now the one thing I really hate when I'm tired and cranky (and when I'm tired I'm always cranky) is the sound of babies crying, and I had my fair share of that on both of today's flights, to last me until I turn 26, or 27, or 25 again, next year.

When I landed in Poznan I was hungry and grumpier than I usually am, and the vegetarian sandwich I bought turned out to be anything but vegetarian. The slice of ham which I didn't observe (I don't usually study my food, once I'm assured it contains no meat) tasted foul and it made me sick in an instant, then again it wasn't the first time I threw up on my way from London to Warsaw, so I guess it's becoming a personal tradition, although the reasons could not have been any different from one trip to another.

***

And then there was the phone call from my Mom. Who did not forget about my birthday, but she had other things to tell me, as well. This morning, they took my Gran to the hospital. All of a sudden, everything else faded. All I wanted was to be home, hold her hand and tell her how much I loved her and how badly I needed her to stay around. Over the years, we've had such a powerful bond, and I'm sure she knows all this, but I just want to be there and make sure I tell her. I'm sad in a way I haven't been sad for a very long time, I'm neither depressed nor heartbroken nor disappointed, it's pure sadness and it's very difficult to bear. I knew once I decided to leave Romania and settle in Poland, at least for the time being, that such situations might occur. But thinking about it is one thing, actually experiencing the whole thing is a whole different story. I'm going home. I'm not even considering the possibility that it might be too late.

***

And thus ended, in the worst possible way, the best vacation I've had in ages. I'll be back with stories about it once I sort the pics and clear my mind.

Taczka Runners 6

Just when I was about to settle for less and deal with the fact that I'll be attending my first TR with a particularly ugly wheelbarrow, things took an interesting turn. It was a day to remember and I'm already looking forward to next year's edition.

10 a.m. - way too early for anything, especially when instructions are not quite clear. Magda and I did our best to fit together the parts of my brand new wheelbarrow, but our best was not good enough:

11 a.m. - after several failed attempts we have to call Przemek and ask for help. On the way to the tent, Pan Janek takes a detour and drives us closer to the first meeting point:

11.15 a.m. - with a little help from my friends, my wheelbarrow is finally assembled:

11.30 a.m. - two hours before the big meeting, I'm working on my masterpiece. Even though it was very last minute, my ladybird was quite successful:

1.30 p.m. - first wheelbarrows show up. Magda's tiny wheelbarrow will prove to be very useful later on, and so will the retro fire siren:

2 p.m. - and they keep coming...

3 p.m. - and we're still waiting :)

4 p.m. - next stop, El Popo. A much needed break, turns out pushing a wheelbarrow around is serious business

5.30 p.m. - Kompresor, one last stop before our final destination. And yes, Sznurek had a high-tech wheelbarrow which actually did play music

7 p.m. - the parking lot outside the tent, our last stop.

The dream shoes

It's been a few years since I've given up the idea that a girl can find the perfect shoes, the perfect dress or the perfect man, and it's made my life a lot less complicated. But yesterday the impossible happened. I bought my first pair of dancing shoes and I think I'm in love. They're lighter than most normal shoes, they're very flexible and seem to form around the feet, they put no pressure and the split leather sole appears to be the secret that makes ballroom dancing fabulous. Tomorrow night we're out to our first tango lesson and something tells me it will be amazing.

Apparently, finding the ideal shoes is easier than finding... a wheelbarrow. Maybe they're not so popular anymore, or maybe I'm just being too picky, whatever it is, this Saturday we're meeting back in Kato for the 6th edition of Taczka Runners and I still don't have a wheelbarrow. It's not like I haven't been looking and asking around, yet somehow I can't picture myself pushing around a wheelbarrow that weighs 25 kilos, especially as I'd have to take it from Warsaw to Kato by train. My frantic last-minute search reminded me of my friend C. who once dumped a guy after a first date, just because at some point he received a phone call from someone asking him if he had a wheelbarrow. She could not get over this and so she stopped returning his calls. Back then, we all decided it was a bit odd and rather funny - wheelbarrows were not part of our everyday life.

And here I am now, in a desperate situation, looking not just for a wheelbarrow, but for the perfect one - girlie, light, pretty and colorful.

My dancing shoes made me believe, once again, that it is possible to find perfection, however I'm wondering if it wasn't just a very happy coincidence, and in all other situations I'll have to settle for less.

Le Bourbon Kid

It's only about three weeks until the release of another sensational Anonymous novel, The Devil's Graveyard, a story about a singing competition, dead rock stars and zombies, featuring Sanchez the bartender, the Mystic Lady and the world's favorite serial killer, the Bourbon Kid. Looking forward to it, especially as I know for sure I'll have the pleasure of translating it. Oddly enough, in the meantime I'm working on another novel, Friend of the Devil by Peter Robinson - just to stay in shape. Add to that one of the first books I've translated, quite a long time ago, The Devil's Companions, and I think I'm slowly but surely becoming an expert in anything & everything Devil.

And that's not the only good news, as the French edition is to be released on June 3rd. The trailer made in France has become number 1 on my list. The Polish trailers were very good, as was the entire promotion of the book, the Spanish one was a huge disappointment, but the French is awesome and I'm looking forward to reading Le livre sans nom (courtesy of Big Brother, who also bought the Spanish edition, a lovely birthday present and a great contribution to my collection, which now has a shelf of its own).

In other Book With No Name news - well, rather book-inspired - El Santino (my bike) and I had our first fight. I told him so many times to stop window shopping especially if it's raining, I'm not wearing my glasses and we're speeding, but he just wouldn't listen. So today the inevitable happened and we had our first serious accident. Luckily, there were no other victims, but now we're both bruised and while I can hide my bruises his are really hideous and require new layers of paint. I'm considering painting him pink just to get revenge and teach him a lesson. The good part is I have two new fabulous dresses.

Cannes 2010

Being the movie freak that she is, my dear friend Ceci spotted this article and quoted it on her blog. Now I don't normally follow my friends' blogs because I'm looking for inspiration for my own, but this time I really really felt I should make an exception. So I did :)