Saturday, November 8, 2008
Sex
Exactly 36 hours - two planes and three trains - after leaving Australian soil, Melbourne Train Girl arrived in Prague. She drank a beer and ate a spinach and mung bean meal in the basement of the hostel, then curled into bed to sleep. It was 7:30pm Prague time. At approximately 8:30pm she was woken by a rhythmic squeaking and low breathing. The noises got louder, and Melbourne Train Girl wondered if she should leave the room, but she was too exhausted to move. She lay awake listening as the female half of the noise had several loud orgasms, and after an hour the sounds stopped and she slept again.
Transit
Melbourne Train Girl was left at Frankfurt Flughafen Hbf by her helpful plane neighbour (whose shoulder she had unintentionally borrowed) as he ran for his train to Berlin. She negotiated the signage and found herself at the ticket office. In her most confident German she asked to change her ticket to Prague to an earlier train. The woman at the counter tapped at the keyboard and then looked up and poured a stream of incomprehensible German onto Melbourne Train Girl's travel-weary ears.
"Could you speak slower please," Melbourne Train Girl stumbled over the German, forgetting to use the polite "Sie".
"Would you like English or German?" the woman replied.
Dejected, Melbourne Train Girl carried out the rest of the transaction in English.
Making her way to the platform the sight of fresh, heavy German berad made all the stomach turnings brought on by airplane food disappear. She successfully negotiated a bakery and acquired in German two Bretzeln and a Knöpffler for lunch on the train. Then the discovery of a crepe stall provided her with breakfast.
"Your accent is strange", the Vietnamese man working at the stall said as he spread batter onto the hotplate.
"I'm from Australia," Melbourne Train Girl answered in German.
"Australian!" he cried, and muttered something fast and excited that Melbourne Train Girl didn't catch. He then spread almost half a jar of Nutella on her crepe, much more than the previous girl had been given. Melbourne Train Girl wodnered if there was something thjis man knew and she didn't about Australians and Nutella. She wolfed the crepe greedily on the platform and her stomach turned again. Her own fault.
On the train, which was very fast and very sleek, she struck up conversation with a travel companion of her plane neighbor. It was a jumble of English and German, and as all the lost vocabulary began to flood back to her she felt disappointed she was leaving Germany for Prague where she would neither speak nor understand anything. The landscape rushing by the train window made her feel ill, but still she looked to catch glipses of foreign backyards, some with attached hairdressers or tiny vegetable markets, street art along the edges of the track, and teenagers who should have been at school standing around stations smoking and drinking beer in baggy pants.
She should have stopped looking, but didn't and had to leave her companion to mind her bags while she threw up half a jar of nutella in the train bathroom.
"Could you speak slower please," Melbourne Train Girl stumbled over the German, forgetting to use the polite "Sie".
"Would you like English or German?" the woman replied.
Dejected, Melbourne Train Girl carried out the rest of the transaction in English.
Making her way to the platform the sight of fresh, heavy German berad made all the stomach turnings brought on by airplane food disappear. She successfully negotiated a bakery and acquired in German two Bretzeln and a Knöpffler for lunch on the train. Then the discovery of a crepe stall provided her with breakfast.
"Your accent is strange", the Vietnamese man working at the stall said as he spread batter onto the hotplate.
"I'm from Australia," Melbourne Train Girl answered in German.
"Australian!" he cried, and muttered something fast and excited that Melbourne Train Girl didn't catch. He then spread almost half a jar of Nutella on her crepe, much more than the previous girl had been given. Melbourne Train Girl wodnered if there was something thjis man knew and she didn't about Australians and Nutella. She wolfed the crepe greedily on the platform and her stomach turned again. Her own fault.
On the train, which was very fast and very sleek, she struck up conversation with a travel companion of her plane neighbor. It was a jumble of English and German, and as all the lost vocabulary began to flood back to her she felt disappointed she was leaving Germany for Prague where she would neither speak nor understand anything. The landscape rushing by the train window made her feel ill, but still she looked to catch glipses of foreign backyards, some with attached hairdressers or tiny vegetable markets, street art along the edges of the track, and teenagers who should have been at school standing around stations smoking and drinking beer in baggy pants.
She should have stopped looking, but didn't and had to leave her companion to mind her bags while she threw up half a jar of nutella in the train bathroom.
Kuala Lumpur to Frankfurt
Melbourne Train Girl woke to find her head resting embarrassingly on the shoulder of the German man next to her.
Transfer
Melbourne Train Girl hated Kuala Lumpur airport. It was all terrible food outlets and smoke-filled, neon lit bars that reminded her of the Casino in Melbourne. She was tired and hungry and menstruating and wanted to curl up into The Boy's bed instead of on a chair with her head on her bags waiting for the plane to Frankfurt.
Leaving
Melbourne Train girl sat outside Gate 8 at the international terminal of the airport. Only one other woman was waiting: mid 50s with orange lips, a novelty Christmas jumper and a newspaper. Melbourne Train Girl remembered the international terminal being much larger when she was 15. She remembered sitting nervous and jittering among hundreds of other passengers. She remembered looking at boxes of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts and wondering if she should buy one just so she could say she'd tasted a macadamia if anyone foreign asked her.
At 24 Melbourne Train Girl had tasted macadamias. And at 24 the airport was small and dingy and very empty.
Slowly, the gate began to fill. Malaysian girls with bags of duty free Tim Tams and Louis Vuitton purses, a man in a German t-shirt, the Greek girl who held up the check-in with too much luggage, wealthy wives emerging from the business class lounge and assorted lone travelers with magazines, books, laptops and crosswords for company.
Melbourne Train Girl had her own company of books, as well as pens pencils and assorted art supplies. She had smuggled both knitting and embroidery needles through customs, but the turning of her stomach gave her no appetite for any such distraction. Instead she looked at the duty free alcohol, bought duty free chocolate and a tin of Casltemaine Rock and watched the strange vending machine in the gate lounge as it dispensed Coke and Red Bull to the swelling crowd with its noisy, robotic arm.
Then, all of a sudden the crowd moved. The boarding call pulled it like iron filings toward the magnet of the gate and Melbourne Train Girl realised it was time. For the third time that day pain pricked the back of her eyes and she blinked them angrily. Grow up! She said that aloud and realised people were looking at her. The goodbyes with her mother outside the coffee place and with The Boy as he got on the train to work had brought the same tears but she hadn't let either of them see. Especially The Boy, who might think her overly emotional or obsessive after such a short time knowing each other. And besides, whe was the one who planned the three months of travel alone with such optimsm and unfounded confidence in herself.
So she did grow up, and stepped on the plane.
At 24 Melbourne Train Girl had tasted macadamias. And at 24 the airport was small and dingy and very empty.
Slowly, the gate began to fill. Malaysian girls with bags of duty free Tim Tams and Louis Vuitton purses, a man in a German t-shirt, the Greek girl who held up the check-in with too much luggage, wealthy wives emerging from the business class lounge and assorted lone travelers with magazines, books, laptops and crosswords for company.
Melbourne Train Girl had her own company of books, as well as pens pencils and assorted art supplies. She had smuggled both knitting and embroidery needles through customs, but the turning of her stomach gave her no appetite for any such distraction. Instead she looked at the duty free alcohol, bought duty free chocolate and a tin of Casltemaine Rock and watched the strange vending machine in the gate lounge as it dispensed Coke and Red Bull to the swelling crowd with its noisy, robotic arm.
Then, all of a sudden the crowd moved. The boarding call pulled it like iron filings toward the magnet of the gate and Melbourne Train Girl realised it was time. For the third time that day pain pricked the back of her eyes and she blinked them angrily. Grow up! She said that aloud and realised people were looking at her. The goodbyes with her mother outside the coffee place and with The Boy as he got on the train to work had brought the same tears but she hadn't let either of them see. Especially The Boy, who might think her overly emotional or obsessive after such a short time knowing each other. And besides, whe was the one who planned the three months of travel alone with such optimsm and unfounded confidence in herself.
So she did grow up, and stepped on the plane.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
