Strange Days
Despite repeated promises to myself to catch up with recent events on my journal, I still haven't managed a thing. Tonight would have been the night I'd have done so, but yet again I find myself distracted.
I'm currently in Lausanne, Switzerland, after what's been yet another crazy few weeks. I spent last week working here too, and the weekend inbetween in England (helping Yukai out with a music video project). As usual I'm not entirely sure what's up or down, recovering from the standard manner of weirdness. Sat in my four-star come two-star hotel (hint: Never, ever go to the Hotel Continental in Lausanne. It sucks.), I'm picking at a wildly overpriced (yet thankfully company-funded) Chinese takeaway and wondering quite why it is I'm here.
Of course, I should know why I'm here. I'm here to work, and, given that flying home for only 2 days is a royal pain in the arse, the company put me up and let me loose on Lausanne for the weekend.
I spent today carving down Lausanne's many winding streets on my Flowboard, sitting in parks and staring wistfully at the mountains on the other side of Lake Geneva. It's truly breathtaking here, with much to do and explore - yet somehow I find myself again craving companionship, pacing around yet another faux-classy* hotel room.
* Real hotels have taste. And facilities.
Speaking of company, I can't say I didn't find it either - I met a lovely lady named Anna (somewhere in her thirties) with whom I spent a couple of very pleasant hours walking around the city, chatting and exploring the walkways and backalleys of Lausanne's town centre. We exchanged phone numbers, yet it was only upon parting that I realised I may have entirely misread her intentions. I've been invited back for dinner this week, a fact which strikes me as highly unusual for merely a friendly chatter. I'm feeling distinctly uneasy in that I may have to explain that I'm not just gay but also engaged.
In a bit of a daze from my afternoon with Anna, I wandered down some steps to my hotel, to be greeted by the crash of a red wine bottle by my feet. A random turkish guy began to shout in French, aggreived that I had trashed his drink - with which he'd been juggling, poorly. Demanding money for his bottle, he and his friends jumped me, trying to pull me into a backalley. Only twenty metres from the hotel, I decided it was better to try to make it to safe ground, taking a punch to the jaw and carrying said simian's girlfriend on my back a lot of the way. After dragging myself (and by the feel of things, several others) through the hotel doors, I thought I was safe. What followed was pure farce, as the hotel manager stared blankly at me while I demanded the police were called, trying to fend off an enraged moron. Eventually he backed off. The police were never summoned. It's for this reason that I shall break with convention and name a certain Jannis Geramiddis for his sheer failure to be a hotel director/manager or even a decent human being.
What did I learn from this? Well, for one I shall never again spend the weekend away on business. Secondly, friendly conversation can lead to embarrassing consequences. Finally, idiot Swiss-French turkish guys punch like girls*.
* An unfair statement, since I know several girls who could easily knock me flying.
I've calmed myself down and I won't be marching around the corner to introduce someone to Mr. Skate Tool. I'm better than to do that, and I'm certainly better than street slime like I encountered - yet somehow I can't help but feel a little defeated. What part of being male demands that violence and revenge can be recompense in any way? Judging by the truly wimpy smack on the jaw, I'd have torn the guy apart had I given in to my baser instincts. Yet, what would that have earned me? A night in jail and some macho sense of self esteem? Why is it, then, that I can't feel a sense of pride for having risen above common idiocy?
Of course, there's no universal answer to that one. As is usual for odd days like this, I'll feel a tingle of regret and mystification at the day's events. What's not usual is that tomorrow I shall be up early, on a train to Les Diableres (a local glacier), strapping on a snowboard and getting ready for some sheer mentalism. The snows are here early.
It's dark now, but when I get up tomorrow I know I'll be greeted with another scene like I photographed this morning;
To be honest, I can't help but grin like a bastard.
I'm currently in Lausanne, Switzerland, after what's been yet another crazy few weeks. I spent last week working here too, and the weekend inbetween in England (helping Yukai out with a music video project). As usual I'm not entirely sure what's up or down, recovering from the standard manner of weirdness. Sat in my four-star come two-star hotel (hint: Never, ever go to the Hotel Continental in Lausanne. It sucks.), I'm picking at a wildly overpriced (yet thankfully company-funded) Chinese takeaway and wondering quite why it is I'm here.
Of course, I should know why I'm here. I'm here to work, and, given that flying home for only 2 days is a royal pain in the arse, the company put me up and let me loose on Lausanne for the weekend.
I spent today carving down Lausanne's many winding streets on my Flowboard, sitting in parks and staring wistfully at the mountains on the other side of Lake Geneva. It's truly breathtaking here, with much to do and explore - yet somehow I find myself again craving companionship, pacing around yet another faux-classy* hotel room.
* Real hotels have taste. And facilities.
Speaking of company, I can't say I didn't find it either - I met a lovely lady named Anna (somewhere in her thirties) with whom I spent a couple of very pleasant hours walking around the city, chatting and exploring the walkways and backalleys of Lausanne's town centre. We exchanged phone numbers, yet it was only upon parting that I realised I may have entirely misread her intentions. I've been invited back for dinner this week, a fact which strikes me as highly unusual for merely a friendly chatter. I'm feeling distinctly uneasy in that I may have to explain that I'm not just gay but also engaged.
In a bit of a daze from my afternoon with Anna, I wandered down some steps to my hotel, to be greeted by the crash of a red wine bottle by my feet. A random turkish guy began to shout in French, aggreived that I had trashed his drink - with which he'd been juggling, poorly. Demanding money for his bottle, he and his friends jumped me, trying to pull me into a backalley. Only twenty metres from the hotel, I decided it was better to try to make it to safe ground, taking a punch to the jaw and carrying said simian's girlfriend on my back a lot of the way. After dragging myself (and by the feel of things, several others) through the hotel doors, I thought I was safe. What followed was pure farce, as the hotel manager stared blankly at me while I demanded the police were called, trying to fend off an enraged moron. Eventually he backed off. The police were never summoned. It's for this reason that I shall break with convention and name a certain Jannis Geramiddis for his sheer failure to be a hotel director/manager or even a decent human being.
What did I learn from this? Well, for one I shall never again spend the weekend away on business. Secondly, friendly conversation can lead to embarrassing consequences. Finally, idiot Swiss-French turkish guys punch like girls*.
* An unfair statement, since I know several girls who could easily knock me flying.
I've calmed myself down and I won't be marching around the corner to introduce someone to Mr. Skate Tool. I'm better than to do that, and I'm certainly better than street slime like I encountered - yet somehow I can't help but feel a little defeated. What part of being male demands that violence and revenge can be recompense in any way? Judging by the truly wimpy smack on the jaw, I'd have torn the guy apart had I given in to my baser instincts. Yet, what would that have earned me? A night in jail and some macho sense of self esteem? Why is it, then, that I can't feel a sense of pride for having risen above common idiocy?
Of course, there's no universal answer to that one. As is usual for odd days like this, I'll feel a tingle of regret and mystification at the day's events. What's not usual is that tomorrow I shall be up early, on a train to Les Diableres (a local glacier), strapping on a snowboard and getting ready for some sheer mentalism. The snows are here early.
It's dark now, but when I get up tomorrow I know I'll be greeted with another scene like I photographed this morning;
To be honest, I can't help but grin like a bastard.