How the time seems to just keep on slippin’, slippin’ into the future. Maybe Melanie can break into that for her next karaoke breakout. Being as we have now been on the road for now 40 days, and 40 nights…40 is just a number and in reality it’s almost a full 6 weeks. With that milestone ’40’ is also celebration of my 40+ posts with some real content, although celebration is a bit of an overstatement in that this is more now of a personal goal than something truly culture changing. Those of you dedicated readers, all 10-15 of you, I appreciate the reading because other than the few of you that read this…the only audience I can really write for is Melanie. Call it sappy, but she still likes what I write. That’s what she tells me anyways. Not every post can be equally engaging, and maybe after whipping up 100 posts one of them might actually be captivating, similar to a million monkeys typing for 10 years creating a masterpiece. Am I a monkey?
It’s also 40 days of eating foods our bodies haven’t adjusted to, after all…how many days in a row can you eat pizza, caprese salads or spaghetti pomadoro? It’s 40 days of managing bathroom breaks, since you never really know where the next one might be. Do you have sufficient change of the correct denomination to insert into the door? Are the cleanliness levels are sufficient to quell that urge? How long is that line, and is this a co-ed water closet…really? We really are spoiled back home. For a dose of reality, there must be a gas station restroom along an Albertan stretch of the TransCanada to offer up some relative similarity for you readers to identify with. I know, it’s a huge step up from some of the facilities in India or China, but I am not complaining…just noting it.
In addition…40 days of observing other turistas and exactly what not to do. I have mentioned before our attempts to blend with the locals, and our efforts seem to be completely lost on anyone native to the area. We did well in France, Germany and Austria, but not so well here. I am guessing it’s the one syllable conversations on our end which definitely show we’re a little lacking in Italian lingual prowess. Maybe it’s the distinct lack of color in our cheeks from a short Vancouver summer. The few we are able to convince we’re local, are those with the slow aimless dawdle down the streets with huge digital SLR’s swinging from their necks. This is likely whom those ‘Beware of Pickpockets’ signs are directed towards, however it doesn’t hurt to be vigilant with our own personal items.
I can’t say I have ever spent close to 1000+ continuous hours with any specific individual and we are quickly approaching just that. Certainly there has to be times where a little personal space is required without losing your mind, and currently that personal space consists of a 5 minute shower or short excursions to find gelato while the other waits and watches the luggage at the bus or train station. If anyone is wondering, we’re doing just fine and not at each others throats…as long as there are pee breaks and moments to keep the blood sugar up.
I’ll keep the writing up, even though many could care less. Considering neither of us are now pulling a paycheque, maybe traffic to this site can slowly build to the point where clicked ads can support us (if I ever find the widget to add on). This writing gives me something cathartic to do in the morning while Melanie’s getting ready to face the day, and an excuse for me to suck back a couple instant coffees when no authentic caffeine source is available. Maybe I can catch a whiff of a neighbour smoking to give me that now needed nicotine fix. Is it really possible to become addicted to second-hand smoke?