The Rare European Malicat, Part 1
Before we joined Zoë’s sister Cali and her boyfriend Matt in Nice, France, we thought it best to have a few day buffer between their arrival and our emotional experiences in Greece. We contemplated arriving in Nice a few days early, but eventually concluded than an immediate change of company, from the warmth of the Greek people to the much cooler Fench, would be a bit like chasing warm milk with a shot of fireball. We decided the always smiling, but never touchy, Austrians would prove to be a nice cultural lubricant (weird metaphor, but its staying), so we headed off to Vienna.
After arriving at the Hotel Amadeus and taking a quick jaunt around, Vienna was able to convince me that America is a second world nation. Or Austria is a zero-ith world nation. In either case, there is a large quality gap between Vienna and any metropolis the States has to offer. Promenades (a word that wasn’t firmly estalished in my lexicon prior to my arrival in Europe, to my point) make up the entirety of the city center, providing Vienna with the exhilirating pulse of omnipresent life unique to large cities, while excluding the negative extranalities of one (horns of traffic, smog, crowded sidewalks, etc). The metro ran so frequently it seemed to be timed with our arrivals on the platforms. The Austrians also seem to be living in some post-trash era where even trash cans glimmer.
Our two and a half days were spent sipping Spicy Devils at JOMA (a restaurant near our hotel) and walking aimlessly while admiring gigantic, palace like buildings we never learned the names of. Oh, and being very, very cold.
Up to this point in the trip, we had only encountered the type of cold that allows you to layer fashionably. I quite enjoy that temperature, as it allows my overweight body to give the impression that it might be slim under that scarf and jacket. Alas, there is a bell curve to this effect, and the next layer provides me with a look that can be described amptly as snowball-esque. The pain in my ears, toes and fingertips told me it was time to transform into the aforementioned snowball, so we set aside a day for shopping. After selecting outfits that we both concluded were “amazing” at a nearby ‘Peek and Coppenburgenstein’ (not the store’s real name, but it was something very German sounding after Peek), our credit card was declined, our phone died before we could rectify the situation and the store closed, leaving us out in the cold for at least another day. Warmth would have to wait for Nice.
The Airbnb we had booked in Nice was located on Rue Massena, a promenade that boasts a number of luxury boutiques. I made the mistake of looking for some shoes in one. The price tag on a pair I particulary admired simply read “$Ha”. Another said “$Getout”, as did the look on the owner’s face after watching me check prices, an action I concluded was rare in this part of town. We ended up finding the closest proximate to Nordstroms nearby and soon became the proud owners of winter coats, beanies and gloves.
Malicat, as I (and only I) lovingly refer to Matt and Cali, arrived the next day. After a trip that had been defined by one to two week stays in small towns like Chania, Molyvos and Positano, Zoë and I were excited to kick this trip into overdrive and show these two as much as possible on their first European adventure! I was also equally excited to break some of the stereotypes that Americans undeservingly attribute to Europe. Namely, it’s full of pickpockets and it’s currently dangerous to travel in due to the recent attacks in Paris.
Within the next few days we would witness an explosion at a train station and I would be pick pocketed. God. Damnit. More on that later.
Nice was a blast, and a great town for Malicat to acclimate in, as there is much to explore, but very few must-sees. We hiked Castle Hill, which served the dual purpose of providing expansive views of the beautful blue Cote d’azur coastline and reminding me that I should set some fitness goals when I arrive home. As we trotted through old town, Zoë and I took joy in Cali and Matt’s observations to the small differences that we had slowly become accustom to. The tiny cars. The trams. The tight cobble stone streets that seem to be for pedestrians until a moped nearly runs you down. It brought magic back to the little things, and we became tourists again.
On their second morning, we embarked on Malicats first European train transfer for a day trip to the tiny country of Monaco. We hit the castle and aquarium in old town before heading to the famous Buddha Bar and even more famous Monte Carlo casino. Matt heroicly broke even while playing blackjack with the Queen of Liberia (unconfirmed) and an Asian gentleman that was absolutely determined to lose large amounts of money. The fact that the man clearly had no understanding of the game didn’t deter him from playing at a thousand euros a hand rate. This led to an exchange I’m sure I will never see the likes of again.
With a 19 in hand, and the dealer showing a 6, he inexplicably chose to hit. By the grace of whatever god looks down upon him, he was given an Ace, giving him 20. Instead of staying, as any sane player (or even a small child capable of rudimentary math) would choose to do, his hand hovered over the table, preparing to call another hit. Before he was able to tap the table, the dealer spoke in slow yet forceful English “You have 20". He then said the same phrase, even more forcefully in an assortment of other languages and did everything short of amputating the man’s arms to stop him from asking for another card. The dealers sympathy for this fool had overpowered his duty to act in the interest of his employer. Eventually the man relented and stayed on 20. It was at this point I understood what type of individuals people speak about when they say someone “has more money than god”.
We would be departing from southern France the following day, and Zoë and I were ecstatic about the itenirary we had planned for our friends. We would depart in the early hours of the morning on an 8 hour train ride to Venice. After a couple of gondola-filled days in the magical city, we would head onward to Rome, Malicats final destination, with pit stops in Florence and Pisa.
In an effort to avoid making large financial decisions in the daze I usually spend my mornings in, Matt and I headed over to the station to buy tickets and check departure times to Venice. As we jumped of the tram, we discovered the train station completely roped off and guarded by uniformed men of various organizations. Some were clearly police, others military. Everyone held large guns. As I took a step towards an officer to inquire about the situation, a huge explosion rang out from the station.
The crowd gathered around the barrier screamed in horror. Matt jumped so high that he would have undoubtedly been offered a 10-day contract if an NBA scout had been present. I, on the other hand, reacted with cat like reflexes… if the cat in question had died last week. That is to say, I didn’t move at all, frozen by the sheer magnitude of the noise. Luckily, by freezing in place, we stayed long enough to recognize the lack of reaction by the officers. Whatever was at hand, it was controlled by the authorities. As this became more clear, the screams were replaced by nervous laughter. Matt and I decided to skip the rest of the show and retire for the evening.
We found ourselves sprinting, suitcases in tow, at five the next morning. We had been slow getting out of the house, but our tardiness didn’t reach code red levels until we realized that the trams we were relying upon to transfer us to the station wouldn’t be in service until six.
With legs throbbing, I arrived at the ticket kiosk with 10 minutes to spare, only to find Venice, and every other Italian city for that matter, absent from the menu. They remained absent even after I implemented my ‘bang on the kiosk and scream at it’ strategy, much to my chagrin. After the first departure time had come and gone, a living, breathing human arrived at the customer service desk. She was insufferably French (as soon as I uttered my first word in English, her eyes rolled to such a degree I feared she might detach her retina), but I was able to eventually gather that the Italian railroad workers had decided that today would be the perfect time to go on strike. The trip would need to be rethought.
