I hate it when stress starts building up on. For me it has a damn snowball that builds into an avalanche. Something starts lagging behind, it keeps nagging in my head and then it gets harder to focus working on the next thing, that might start lagging behind as well. Been a bit behind on everything lately as things pile up. So, it’s Friday night, I’m sitting at Mi&Mi’s computer, somewhere near the city centre of Tampere, typing this while there are drunk people around me talking about love and relationships. Yes, I know I’m being lame, but the party’s been over for a while and I have the time to write now.

It’s a very bleak and cold Saturday a few weeks ago. After a damn busy day of shopping, carrying bags, moving furniture around and whatnot, I’m psyching myself to go somewhere. I mean really forcing myself to get into the mood of going out. It’s not really working well. I’d rather just relax a bit. I know I still have some stuff to do, but sis had called me earlier and made me promise to go get some drinks and have fun with her after we’re both finished with our regular days. The clock booms 8 p.m., I decide that I’m almost done and give her a call.

“Oh, I think I’ll be okay to go around ten or so, is that cool with you?” she asks

“Sure, I’ll get a cab when I’m done here and will head to your place then.”

Half an hour later than planned, the taxi arrives at her house.

“I’ll be out in a sec. Just give me a minute!”

The meter is running. The taxi driver asks if I’ve ever considered a career as a singer. There is snow falling slowly from the sky. Dum-de-dum. The driver’s telling a tragic story of some Greek singer who reminds him of me. Damn. It’s not going to be one of those nights when the weather is warm. I wonder if I should have worn something else tonight? Where should we go? I wonder what’s the meaning of life? The tale the cabbie is telling sounds tragic. Something about a fan getting killed by accident. Why is he telling me this? Who is this guy? Oh, he’s a news reporter for some foreign channel, who has a second job as a taxi driver. Makes sense. Wait… I decide to ask more, when sis runs out from her house, looking all exhausted and ready to go. Finally.

“Sorry it took a moment! I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to go or not, so I wasn’t really ready when you called that you were almost here!”

“Wait, you weren’t sure either?”

“I’m so totally hungover from last night you don’t even want to know. Wait… What’s your excuse?”

“Been running errands for mom all day. And when I was about to head out I got rewarded with one of her ‘small’ meals. Feel like I just want to roll into bed.”

“Sheesh. I feel your pain. So? We have a taxi, so we’re not backing out anymore. Tiger? Cuba?”

“Cuba! We went to Tiger just the other week and I know you hate the place. We’ll have the best night ever. Family night out and all that shit!” The enthusiasm in my voice is 100% fake.

We get to Cuba. I like the place, even if it’s a bit out of the way. Upon entry some random drunk guy tries to pick up on my sis with a pick-up line that, from what I can hear, sounds pretty much like “brewwwghmn?”, she tells him I’m her boyfriend. The cute girls next to the guy hear this of course. Naturally. What else.

One thing I like about Cuba is the music of the place. Usually it’s a positive soundtrack with latest hits combined with classics, with emphasis being on the classics side. Now it’s even better. There is a live saxophone player alongside the DJ, bringing a fluid, organic, and most of all, strange atmosphere groove. 90s with a twist. We make a passing pop culture reference to an old animation we used to watch as kids and then Ay (I have to call her something else than “the sister”, or it gets annoying in long posts like this) starts.

“So. First things first. I’m not going to drink anything tonight. I’m feeling way too nauseous. Was puking my guts out a few hours ago. How about we go take over the dance floor, family style?”

“Oh joy,” I take a deep sigh, “Well, that means I’m not going to have much to drink either. No fun in only one of us being a complete fool. And didn’t you hear a word I said earlier. I am not going to move anytime soon, let alone dance. Mom had some meat stew thing. that I just had to eat or else I would have offended her.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want that, momma’s boy.”

“Why you little…”

“Ooh, look, free chairs!!” she heads to safety from my reach.

Now. We’ve had awesome nights together out and about. New Year’s comes to mind. No additional people required. But it looks like neither of us are really in the mood. No matter how nicely the music beats in the background – Madonna or something else light, with the addition of the saxophone. This could work on a different night. This would be awesome on any other night, really. I’m just tired, and I think the sis is in a bit of a bitchy mood even if we both try to keep up appearances.

“We’re having fun!”

Silence.

“Party?”

Silence

“Yay, party?”

“Yay.”

“Party.”

Silence. Awkwardly long.

“We’re not really having that much fun are we?”

“Nope. Not really. No. Not at all.”

Once we start realizing we’re not having fun, the mood starts getting tedious. We start squabbling in no time at all, and then just sit there, annoyed at each other like we were 5-year-olds or something. Eventually a danceable song that we both like starts playing and without a word we head to the dance floor. Not that you can really call it a floor, there is barely room to move there.

Way too many people here tonight. I’m too full from the food still. Or maybe I’m just not in the mood. And could use a break from Ay and her grumpyness. Bloody family sometimes.

“I’ll go to the bathroom, be right back.”

“Sure. Whatever. I’ll stay dancing.”

If you’ve never been to Cuba, the lines to the bathrooms are legendary. Truly. Unisex toilets, 2 small stalls. Long queue. People being drunk so they take their time in the stalls. It’s funny how the need to be urinating is a great conversation starter sometimes. I chat with the girls from earlier (the ones who think I have a girlfriend) on while we wait in line. I’m actually starting to have some fun and find myself slipping to a more social role, forgetting about the sis and the stupid fight and all that. Don’t know how long we actually keep talking.

And I notice Ay sitting at a table, looking a bit gloomy. She’s been a bit off all evening, come to think of it. A quick priorities check later, I ditch the group and head back to her.

“Ok. Tonight’s not a night to party. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Yeah, sounds like an idea.”

We walk to the taxi line.

“What’s up? You seem a bit bummed.”

“Nah, nothing,” she claims

“I know you’re lying, but since you passed on your shot to go first with the whining, I’ll start. Might take a couple of hours. You can tell me your problems after that.”

“Bah. You’re supposed to ask at least twice, you jerk!”

“Okay, okay. What’s up?”

It’s one of these days. Friday morning, I’m driving through the traffic and the snow to go to a Very Important Meeting. Sometimes it feels like that’s all I’m doing these days. At least on these few days a month they seem to be all clustered into. Yesterday was like this, today’s going to be too.

I’d rather just be doing my job, not talk about it with clients. If I liked customers, I’d be doing customer service jobs to begin with.

I survive the meeting, and 3 hours later, I’m grabbing a sandwich for lunch and finally getting to do some actual work. Well, at least until I have to head to the next Very Important Meeting. As said, it’s one of these days.

During that later one, I get 3 texts – Mi (the girl one of Mi&Mi) is in Helsinki and asks if I have time to see her after work; There is an album release gig of a former roommate of a friend of Kat’s later in the evening and I should go; And my sister is heading to Baker’s with some of her work buddies after work, and I absolutely need to be there.

Combine these invitations with that the fact that Pens is having a house party (the legendary sort that you’d be a fool to miss), that there is a house-warming party at another friend’s new place that I’ve sworn I’d be going no matter what comes up, and that I’ve sort of convinced myself to go to eat properly after work.

Yeah, I can already see that I’m going to have a very tight schedule today. Quick look at the time. It’s three in the afternoon. All should be manageable if I don’t spend too much time on one thing. And at least, thinking map-wise, all the places where I should be at are quite near to each other.

Eventually my eight hour work day is over. Time to go grab some actual food (one ham sandwich just isn’t enough for a full day) at the nearby restaurant. The very same where there was that one waitress that my sister thought would really be my type. There is a sort of a perfect moment for it, so I find myself asking her out. She declines. Crap. For some reason “Crash and Burn, Live and Learn” feels like a good motto to adopt right about now. At least I have the perfect answer the next damn time my sis asks “Have you considered asking that waitress out on a date?”

I head out the restaurant (Note to self: Figure out a new lunch place. Also, think of excuses to tell work buddies on why you can no longer go there) and call Mi, who is just heading out from Kiasma.

She tells me, sounding extremely weary, how she’s been to a lot of meetings during the day as well (some important art people maybe? Dunno? Mi is a painter who has sold her works internationally. So my best guess on what’s she’s doing at meetings in Helsinki would be her agent or some future client) and now, according to her words, is “far too tired to see anyone.” She lets out a dramatic sigh (something that would suit a flapper perfectly) and tells me how it would have been delightful to see me again, but that it will just have to wait. She has style. I admit that. I let her know that it’s okay, I’ll live.

And don’t tell her that once the call is over I’m letting out a sigh of relief as my schedule seems to be getting so much easier. Only 20 hours of people to fit into some 6 hours or so remains.

So, next stop. Baker’s. I have mixed feelings about this place. It’s really a wonderful place to go to during the evenings, but gets dreadfully overcrowded and loud once the dance floor opens. Today our table is full of my sister’s work buddies who are celebrating a good week of well-cloned sheep or whatever unethical research it is that they do at the lab. A moment later Mitch joins us. Apparently miraculously cured from whatever it is that was bothering him on Wednesday.

A former co-worker of my sis opens up the subject that I keep talking about a lot these days - Finns feel awfully close to their stereotypes once you’ve spent some time abroad. You just don’t get into conversations with strangers here. He’s been to South America for a year and I find myself agreeing with his points a lot and providing my support for his claims with the experiences I’ve had lately.

My personal sad example on Finns being unapproachable comes from a small party a couple of weeks ago.

I go there because I was invited by one of the Finns I met in Norway last year and was told that it’s going to be a fun event with music, drinks and dancing. Event with a lot of friends, and friends of friends present. So, I mosey there, still fresh from the amazing openness that I’d gotten used to enjoying while abroad, and am greeted with what? Room full of people, huddled in groups of three or four, talking amongst themselves, about the same things they always talk about.

I’m perplexed.

I try to approach. First the few people I sort of know. And then others. While I claim success in the end, I find that it’s actually hard work to get to talk with these people, people who are supposed to be friendlies. Everyone is in their comfort zone with the group they’re there with and a “stranger” just doesn’t fit in.

I have this sense of being the ultimate outsider, the one who has lost the Finnish ability to sit around a table and not say anything until you’re too drunk to say anything intelligent. It really starts to get taxing on my nerves and psyche. I actually feel physically exhausted because of this after the party.

We talk about this sort of experiences for a while at Baker’s and after that I bid the people there farewell and I head out to the neighboring club to listen to the gig with Kat. She’s there with some other friends of her already, and I end up having the same discussion with one of them who has just come back from Miami. Everyone agrees, Finns are very closed and hard to approach and you can’t really talk about anything real with them.

Yeah, it’s paradoxical to keep talking about that with strangers who are Finns. It’s not lost on me.

It sort of feels good to find a peer group of others who share the view.

The band starts to play. I head to the floor. They’re actually damn good.

More talking after the gig. The DJ playing one of my favorite dance tunes of the moment, so dancing. Enjoying the music. Talking with strangers. Talking about strangers. Talk of Singstar. Ah, karaoke, the secret Finnish weakness. I allow myself to enjoy the moment for a while. I still have lots of time.

I get a text message from Pens: “A party of legends! You really should have been here! Where were you?”

I look at the time. It’s 3 a.m.

I look up from my watch. I’m standing outside in the blistering cold, somewhere a few dozen miles North from Helsinki.

Wouldn’t be hard to imagine a wolf howl in the distance right about now. The wind is picking speed.

I suck at making plans. I really do.

Live and learn…

It’s last Saturday. I’ve somehow survived the trip to listen to the gig of the friend of the friend of Kat‘s and I’m staring out the window. Maybe feeling a bit tired, maybe worse. It’s time to get ready for the trip. I text confirmation messages to all the people who I’m going to Tampere with and go plug in the car heater.

When, half an hour later, I get back from the shower, my cell is filled with missed phone calls and text messages.

“I’m sick.”

“I have way too much work to do.”

“omg rofl, I liek totally forgot.”

There is a H.R. Giger Exhibit at Tampere Art Museum that we were planning on going to. It seems like a serious case of “the typical” has happened and people are bailing out on the last minute with no good reason (ok, there is one actual case of the flu, but mostly). It would have been nice to fill the old blue (I have a wonderful old blue Mitsubishi that I drive) full of buddies and take a road trip. And as it’s not really so much about the art for me as it’s about going, so I call the whole thing off and tell them that “we’ll go some other time then, ok?”.

This leaves my Saturday wide open, so I do what any reasonable person would with the sudden free time – absolutely nothing. It’s fun to just lean back and watch TV, especially after I realize how I’ve had only one evening without plans the past week and I spent most of that one working. I look out the kitchen window and realize there is another good reason out there for me not doing anything – it’s snowing horizontally. A damn blizzard.

My blissful state of inactivity comes to a halt later in the evening when my sister calls and tells me how she’s going out with her friends tonight and how I just have to join her since she still owes me from New Year’s Eve. And how we haven’t seen in ages. And how I’m being a bad big brother for ignoring her and not sending her a postcard from Dubai. And <insert guilt trip here>. So, I suit up and grab a cab to her house.

Few hours of catching up with sis, getting to know her friends (where does she keep meeting these awesome people?) and general pre-partying later, we decide to head to Jenny Woo. My sister is determined that I need to find a girl again, and that she’ll be the one arranging this. Something to do with the fact I managed to help her hook up with her boyfriend a couple of months back and she hates feeling when we’re not even.

So, the evening is an interesting mix of me trying to enjoy myself on the dance floor and her asking “so, what do you think of that girl over there?” or her dragging someone over to the bed (Woo has these weird bed-like things you can lay on, they’re really quite nice) we’re lounging at “So, this is Pirjo, we met at the ladies room, you and her have so much in common. Pirjo, this is my big brother, he’s single.”

I get home around sunrise. It’s been a good night, but I’ll have to sleep for a few hours before I can do anything more.

At 11:00 my phone rings.

“grhmnm?”

“Hi, it’s Dee! Are we getting breakfast as planned?”

Dee is an old friend, I’ll probably tell you more about her at some point. Not to be confused with Dī, who lives somewhere in Actual Europe instead of the Peripherals known as Finland.

“ghm.”

“Great, meet you at the usual place at noon, gotta run, see ya!”

“ghrmn!?” but the line is closed already.

I’m standing in the middle of our regular café, but it’s full. So full in fact that people are sitting in the tables of strangers to be able to have their cup of coffee. Something that just doesn’t happen in Finland unless it’s really desperate times. Or there is damn good coffee involved.

Dee comes in and agrees that we should probably find some other place to go to. I suggest a sushi place that’s nearby. It’s not open. The blizzard from last night might have cleared, but it’s still cold and windy, so we decide to walk to the next possible place with food, no matter what it is. Turns out there’s a restaurant right around the corner that’s open.

We catch up, the usual. She’s complaining about academic endeavors, I’m complaining about how I love my work these days and how it’s totally unlike me. I get to tell her the story of my trip to Athens that changed my life (come to think of it, I haven’t told you that yet, have I?)

“You’re staring.”

“Whuh?”

“The waitress. You’re staring.”

“Oh, was just uhmn… what? No I wasn’t!”

“Well, she is your type.”

“What is it with everyone trying to find me a girl these days? And what do you mean, she’s my type?”

She tilts her head a bit and looks at me like I’m a simpleton.

Monday eventually comes, with the promise of an actual free evening. All the stuff I have to do is starting to take its toll. But, as Pixie Lott said it: “I don’t even care, I don’t even care, never wanna say, I wish that I’d been there”

Ram calls me that he has secured a ticket for the evening’s Rammstein and since I’m the guy who is always going to these things and blogging about it, I should buy it from him. I say I’ll consider for a moment, check if I have cash and let him know.

“Never wanna say, I wish that I’d been there.”

How was that again for a motto?

That moment, my sis texts me that she needs a shoulder if I could see her after work today.

“Hi Ram, sorry. I don’ t think I can make it. Family stuff.”

We decide to go to the same restaurant I was at yesterday. Which is a nice coincidence, I really loved the food.

“So, what’s wrong?” I put on my caring-big-brother face and get ready to listen to some problems of her.

“Ah, nothing, just had a bad day at work. All better now. You do realize that the waitress over there is really cute and she’s checking you out?”

“You’ve been talking with Dee, haven’t you?”

She grins.

Saturday afternoon. The digital display of the clock in the kitchen tells me I’m eating my breakfast when it would be a bit late for lunch.

One of the downsides of living on the literal edge of Helsinki (like there was some upside to it) is that if you use the public transportation system to get somewhere, you’ll need at least 40 minutes. If you have a car, it’s half that, even less.

Friday night becomes a problem with this setup – it takes forever to get to the city and even longer to get back (as the rate of buses decreases over time). Or you take the car, get in and out fast, but do not take a single drop of alcohol. Not really a problem. Fun if you’re in good company. I did that yesterday. A sober Friday night.

Besides the “I can get home whenever I want in 20 minutes”, not drinking on a Friday night has plenty of other advantages. The mood on the following Saturday afternoon really should be one of them.

But here I am, looking out the window, knowing that it’s just cold and windy and snowy out there. And I don’t feel so good. Somewhere on the background, CMX is playing Vanha Talvitie.

I’m feeling a strange connection to that Finnish farmer all those decades ago. Alone in his cabin. Living off his land. Land that was swamp and rocks and snakes just a few years earlier. Dealing with the darkness every single day and night of the long winter months. Taking the horse and going to the town once a week to buy supplies. Otherwise surviving with minimal human contact.

When he gets to the town, he needs to live. Live for the whole week’s worth. He drinks, he dances, he sings, he gets into trouble, he fights, he tells tales, he hears stories, he barters, he trades, and he shows his crafts. He over-indulges in everything social he can think of. And then he returns home.

If he’s been smart, he gets home safely with his horse and the purchases from the town. And the next morning he’s looking out the window and there is only the snow and the wind and the cold out there. The unbearable desire to go back to the previous night is screaming somewhere in the back of his mind. The memories are warm, but they’re only that. Memories. He knows it’s impossible to go back. Even if he went back to the town, everyone else is stuck in their own world of cold and wind and snow for another week and it wouldn’t be the same.

And here I am, looking out the window. Surrounded by the wind and the cold and the snow. Like him, I’m knowing that even if I went out there tonight, it wouldn’t be the same.

Social hangover.

It’s a bitch.

Friday was awesome. I met half a dozen new people, some of them friends of friends, some total strangers. If asked now, I might know the name of maybe one of them. But even without that formal connection, I remember having that awesome feeling of being in sync with them and feeling as a part of the group.

Smiling when I recognize which song starts playing, and getting a smile in return. Laughing to a good vibe, getting that knowing grin back. Screaming out my lungs and seeing someone else do the same.

And now I’m here with a dislodged soul.

Suffering from an unidentified party injury that has left my spiritual essence a couple of centimeters away from that comfortable position it has to be at if I want to feel as if I’m a part of the productive society. Still stuck in the fun.

As the thoughts of impending work reel my spirit back into its proper place, I can’t feel anything but the need to go back to yesterday. I want to drag myself to the dance floor. I want to sing “What is love, baby don’t hurt me!” in the karaoke game. I want to walk on that the street where I mistake an old classmate for Ni and spend minutes talking with her about things she has no clue about.

At this minute I am understanding why so many Finns turn into alcohol. It would be easy to numb these feelings and get on with your isolated life. These are positive, nostalgic emotions, but because you know you won’t have a chance to experience again soon, they can become a bit overbearing. Especially if you don’t have anyone to share them with.

The snow and the cold and the wind take their price.

I consider calling someone and just heading out, leaving the work as it is. Who cares? A lone person walks her dog on the street in front of me, looking like she hates the chore. I know. I know. I should get some work done. Time to drag the soul back in and be a busy little worker bee.

Walking back to my computer, I take a look at what I’ve decided to have as my current playlist. And then roll my eyes. Yeah. Dark and gloomy Finnish music. I make an effort and toss on something else, something from last night. To soothe that dislodged soul.

The pop song starts to play. I smile as the beats start rolling along my spine. My back straightens, I sway for a moment. Grab and roll up the tie that is laid on the table. Put it in store next to the others. There will be new nights, just need to do a couple of days of work before I get there.

The phone rings. My sister, calling to want to know who the redhead was I spent the night singing karaoke with, and if there was something going on that she should be aware of. I honestly can’t remember the girl’s name, not even sure it ever came up. Sis tells me her stories of last night, I tell her mine. We chat for a moment. The need to be social eases. The hangover passes. My soul settles.

We don’t have to wait for a week anymore. Technology has done wonders to us.

Time to go to work.

Reaching the five posts milestone should probably mark a spot where the blog’s themes, if any, should be quite apparent. Looking at those previous four posts, I think the blog’s about nothing but being whiny about the weather. In fact, it’s a downright depressed ranting of someone who has a personal beef with snow and cold.

Is it too late to change the direction this blog is heading?

Probably not, but to be truthful, I still have a lot of reporting to do from the trip to Tampere and beyond to do, so I’ll stay the course and whine.

It’s the evening of Christmas Day, I’m at Tampere after a spur-of-the-moment pact forced me out of the comfort of my home city. More precisely, I’m sitting in a pub called London, watching a group of guys dance to the beat of What is Love (or some other classic 90′s euro-dance song) and ripping their shirts off. Truth be told, this really isn’t all that surprising. It is something primordial that just happens when Finnish people are drunk and hear “good old dance hits” from the 90′s. I actually have a theory that any Finnish party out there can be saved by a well-timed application of Dr. Alban, Haddaway, 2 Unlimited or some other classic. This of course means that you accept “saved” meaning loads of drunken men on the dance floor.

And these guys are pretty much embracing the concept of drunken men on the dance floor, maybe even doing some more inappropriate things to it. So of course the next thing in the natural order of events is that they’re getting thrown out of the bar. You just don’t dance drunk and shirtless in a Finnish pub without repercussions. We are serious people.

Let me reveal to you a little secret, but handy rule that you should follow when confronted with a situation where a group of merry people are getting thrown out of a bar and you are sitting there, watching it go down: You should go and join them. So, I finish my drink as fast as I can, introduce myself and then me and my new friends are heading away from London and to the next possible party location. Their group consists of 3 Finnish guys, 2 Estonian girls and an Estonian guy. Awesome company. They accept me as one of their own in a second.

Ah, yeah, I didn’t talk the girls in this post yet, did I? Quick rundown. They’re the two I mentioned in the previous part as “A duo of surprisingly trendy girls is sitting in the corner”, and turns out they’re with the guys who were on the dance floor. One of them is the wife of one of the Finnish guys and the other is her niece. The Estonian guy is the boyfriend of the niece. And the two other Finnish guys are the husband of the sister of that one guy who is married to the Estonian and the other one is maybe this guy’s brother. I’m not really sure. And don’t ask me to repeat their names, I may remember like two. If forced.

It’s a real shame that the girls are Estonian, since they actually have some style and elegance. And this is a shame only because it would have been nice to write at this point of the story “and so finally I run into some stylish Finnish people on the trip”, but alas.

The girls decide that we should head to Gloria, a nightclub which is pretty much as far as you can get from London along the main street. Lots of slipping on the icy streets, singing and whining of “are we there yet” later, we are at the door, but since the wife and mother of three (as I later find out) doesn’t have her I.D. card with her, so the bouncer tells “Sorry, but you’re not getting in tonight.”

Don’t blame him, she looks young.

This isn’t the only bar we turned away from. The I.D. is a problem only at the first venue. Couple of the guys being too drunk turns out to be a big issue for  the bouncers. I think a sensible person would just ditch his new friends and go inside a nice and cozy bar after getting the second “Sorry, the rest of the group can come in, but he’s a bit too tipsy to come in” at a door. It just highlights how solid my brain is frozen at this point that I’m sticking with the group, that manages to end up at a random nightclub only after an eternity of walking in the cold.

The name of the place is eluding me because I really don’t care at this point, just want to get away from the chill. I think the feeling is shared by everyone in the group. You have to remember – it is nuclear winter out there. We do end up changing the nightclub/bar/pub we’re at a couple of times after this, but describing all that in detail would just be me repeating the story above a few times, so I’ll just let you know where we eventually decide to stay. A bar called Groove.

The hours fly by, and while I don’t tear my shirt off, I do spend a good deal of the evening on the dance floor, following the ultimate rule to male dancing: “if you dance, dance like there’s no-one watching.” Groove has a nice RnB/Hip Hop atmosphere to it and the DJ is playing everything great, from the current radio hits to older Eminem to real classics like Tricky. The Estonians start thanking me at some point (I’d say at the “handshaking phase of the evening” when you just have to shake hands with everyone and thank them for everything) for bringing them here – the music selection is just that awesome. I make a mental note to thank the receptionist for explaining the bars to me. By the morning I will have forgotten all about that note as I have other things to worry about.

I end up talking a lot with the girls as the guys are getting way too drunk to have a decent conversation with anymore. They’re originally from Tartu, one of the two Estonian cities I’ve actually been to. And I know my way around the place, so it’s fun to get a native view on what it’s really like. “Boring” seems to be the answer. But still, hearing stories of familiar places rekindles the flame I have for that city. I will have to go there again next summer for a couple of days at least. Road trip, anyone?

Eventually the night comes to an end and we part ways. I still have no idea what these people did for their living or what their names were. They hop in a cab and head home. I walk two blocks, smile and nod at the receptionist and head upstairs to the 14th floor to get some well-deserved rest.

I finally have the feeling that coming on this trip is going to be totally worth it.