(R.H. Herron)
But I suppose it’s good she didn’t fly out last night. Reader Sara sent me this link:
What They Call Weather Out There.
Now, I’m off to the airport, to see if Lala really will land, 3:30pm, almost 24 hours after originally planned, more than 48 hours after she left Belgium… Poor sick thing. Will keep you posted.
I am sure that title is completely unoriginal, but it is new to me, therefore mildly amusing. It would be better were I not so mad.
Chicago, give it a rest, will you? I got up at 4am today to work an off-day — I was excited ALL day because Lala was coming home at 5:15pm. We were going to get burritos. Then the flight got delayed. Until 8pm. Then 11pm. Then 1am. Then she sat ON THE RUNWAY for three hours, watching the rain, before they unloaded them again.
Her flight is now cancelled, nothing leaving until 2pm tomorrow! And the hotels are now full, so they’ve given her a cot. I could barely hear her for the blaring announcements, so I’m sure she’ll rest well there.
She’s sick as a dog. When she called, I didn’t recognize her voice, it’s so far gone. She rarely gets sick, and when she does, she’s SICK, so this is awful.
All because Chicago is having something called "weather." What, you can’t fly in the rain? Come on, don’t go all L.A. on us here. You people are supposed to know what to do in "weather."
And I know my rights. I went to the Weather Channel to see if a hurricane had hit, and sure enough, there was RAIN listed with 16mph winds. Sixteen. Okey-dokey. So I clicked on further info, for Warnings and Watches, and I was only told, "No warnings in affect for this location."
Effect, Chicago. It’s effect. Buy the right vowel, okay?
Actually, it’s not even Chicago’s fault, when it comes right down to it. It’s American Airlines janky-assed attempt at running an airline. If I pay $875 for a ticket, and you charge me $5 for a dry turkey sandwich, with no apologies? You get me home on time. All I’m saying.
I’m at work, and while I would love to finish up the Venice
Chronicles, I don’t have the technology to do so, the pictures being at home. But
I DO have the pictures from the end of my trip.
bursts of organization and lists, so you’ll get a very small dose here.
Brussels (blogged, check)
Venice (you saw some, not all, but really, that might be enough)
Back to
So I’m skipping ahead to number four. Just watch me!
about travel is not only BEING there, but SEEING differently. I see it once
with my eyes, and then again with through the camera lens. Framing things makes
them different, doesn’t it? I can sit in a square that I’ve spent hours in
before, and then I hold the camera up and see something that I never noticed.
Lala and our jointly-owned camera in the band house, everyone still asleep. I
had a full day extra, having pushed back my ticket a day, and I wasn’t going to
hang with the band anymore. I saw their first gig in
I can see as many shows as I like while at home. But I was in Belgium, for
the first time ever and I intended to see more of it. By myself. I love
traveling by myself.
back. I walked in the direction that Ludo, the girls’ driver and soundman, had
pointed when I asked about a bus that could take me to the train station. Oooh!
Really, I was just out and about in a small Belgian town (Herentals), and it
wasn’t very exotic at all, just people driving to work and wheeling prams, but
to me it felt so foreign and exciting.
failing miserably. I can fake it in Italian, to a certain extent. I can’t fake
ANYTHING in Flemish or French. I know how to apologize, though, and isn’t that
the most important part of communicating in a foreign language?
The weather is perfect. It’s that dry, autumnal windy
warmth, the kind that always makes my blood stir, to write, to move, to love.
If I were at home in this weather, I’d want to be someplace like this,
somewhere, traveling in a foreign land, so it’s good I’m here.
train and ended up in Brugge. It had taken longer than I had thought it would
to get there, almost three hours, not the simple hour and a half, and while I’d
enjoyed the travel immensely, knitting and staring out the windows, listening
to music, watching the green unroll, when I stepped off the train, I was
suddenly very, very tired.
Lala, in this far-away country, and maybe I should have stayed with her, and it
looked like it might rain, and what did Brugge really have, anyway?
my suitcase in a luggage locker, go find a square and have a coffee, and then
maybe I would just get on the train and head back to
traveling, had all added up.
out the map that I was given at the Tourist Info Center.
No point, really.
I got out the slip of paper upon which I written the name of
the only yarn store in town that I could find info about online. I found its
address on my map. Yes, of course. The train station was at the very south of
town. The yarn shop was at the very north tip of town. As far apart as they
could be.
Well, I suppose I could take a cab…..
flying around town. I would cop out and catch a cab, look at yarn, and get the hell
out of dodge.
and it was glorious. Such a gorgeous old lady of a city, all cobblestones and
canals (strange, how they smelled so much like the Venetian ones, that smell
that I love).
I marched into a store and bought a disposable camera. Click for bigness.
Look at that sky!
I love windows.
You can take the bus, or the horse.
And of course, Stikkestek (Walweinstraat 3. Tel: (050) 34 03 45.)
Such a nice owner, and I came out with all SORTS of goodies. Well, okay, only two different kinds (can’t remember which, since I’m at work and can’t go run to the yarn room to check) but have since seen BOTH yarns at my LYS. Damn. Oh, well, they were way cheaper there.
Then I left the yarn store, rambled out, and took a strange little side alley that looked promising. (I learned that from my mother. Who is not, as it sounds, a hooker; she is just adventurous that way.) And DUDE, did it pay off. The little alley led into a wider alley, and then into a tiny pocket-sized park with THIS in the middle:
Strangest thing ever. Really, it was a park, with benches and trash cans and families playing and a woman strolling through looking like she was on her way to work, and SHEEP in the middle. I believe all parks should have this. And free yarn, while we’re at it.
Imagine that strange, warm, dry wind while you look at the above picture. Those leaves were scrit-scritching as they swirled.
Good window.
Good water.
Me, happy as hell I went to Brugge.
And quickly, because I’ve written enough already, the end of the trip: I left Brugge and trained to Brussels, got a hotel room with a BATHTUB and then got tired-of-travel again. I almost took a bath and went to bed, knowing I’d have to get up early to catch another train to the plane.
But I made myself move. No copping out. I went to the gay district (north-west of Grand Place), and had pasta on a sidewalk outside a leather-bear bar. I was joined by a group of kids who were loud and crazy and nice. One of the guys introduced me to another girl who walked up, and I understood enough French to know she said, "How do you say bon apetit in English?" I said, "Bon apetit." She laughed and said, "Bon apetit!" I raised my fork to her.
I left, and trolled the streets looking for a girl-bar. Doesn’t that sound bad? But honestly, trolling for girl-bars in Brussels is like looking for an apple in the library. Kind of hard to find, but someone has one somewhere, and it’s pretty darn innocent. When I saw the girl crying out front on the steps, another cradling her head and whispering things in her ear, brushing the hair out of her tear-streaked face, I knew I’d found the place. I had a beer with my people and just watched. I just liked being there. The only person I spoke to was a straight guy who offered me a cigarette. I walked back through the square, where groups of people sat on the ground, singing and eating and hanging out.
It’s good to push past that Don’t Wanna part of yourself, isn’t it? Proven again.
Thus endeth my Belgium-alone section.
The Whoreshoes continue to take Belgium and Holland by storm:
I don’t know who took these, but these pics are great, aren’t they? What a hot banjo player they have.
Camilla IS that cute.
Ain’t they just the cutest?
I can tell you, though, I’m ready for Lala to get home. I’m suddenly this single mother to all these animals. Poor things, I’m gone for 15 hours at a time at work, and then when I get home, I go to bed. They’ve really done remarkably well for all that. Only one shredded newspaper so far, and one Miss Idaho accident. I expected worse. Now that I’ve said that, when I get home, I’m sure I’ll find worse. Yipes.
of Venice for you today. (Sorry they’re lo-res — best I can do from where I am.)
Don’t you love the scenery in Venice?
So you think about it.
You glance at it.
You glance away.
You look back, looking harder.
You think, why, that looks just like…..
Yep.
A cruise ship. Wow.
Hey, I’m knitting Italian yarn! Thought you should know. I’m making another Debbie Bliss Lara, because I loved the last one so much — what incredible construction instructions! — and I finished that super-quick cashmere one. I even took pictures, although it may take me a while to get the pics up. Still want to finish telling you about the trip, and I’m working too much to do so right now. But soon, dearest-darlings.
Now, shut your eyes. It’s 0441hrs, and you should be sleeping.
I have heard from Lala! God bless the internet. She says all is well, that the gig at Antwerp Prison (really) was awesome, and they were on Belgian TV. I haven’t really told you how it works: They got booked by this company that brings talent into the Benelux area. They were set up in a house in the country, and they are given food and drink. They have a driver named Ludo who comes about 5pm every day. He picks them up, drives across the country for two to four hours (because you can get to Holland in about a minute from Belgium). He takes them to the gig, and then he transforms into their sound guy. Since I was at the first (really, really fun) show, I’m here to attest that anyone who can set up sound that well on the first night, using plugs and amps normally used in another country with different voltage, now, that’s cool.
They make 30% of what the company makes on the shows, and they get the full proceeds from all sales of swag and CDs (they have a new one out that they took all copies of with them — I’ll let you know when it’s ready for distribution here). They have been playing every night, and they’re kicking ass. Three nights ago they played with the legendary Wanda Jackson. Dude. They’re rockstars.
And she emailed me (Lala, that is, not Wanda Jackson, although that would have been cool), which was good. Because I miss her. And having never really missed anyone in this way, in the shared-house-life way, I’ve decided it’s for the birds. No fun for Rachael.
Also, I’m a moron. I decided, the first night, to get into our bed on HER side. Just for the sheer FUN of it! Wild antics in the Hehu house. While the rockstar’s away and all. So I jump up, WHEEE! and oh, shit! I hit the bedframe SO hard that I have posted a picture, but made it a pop-up
, for the squeamish of you. It’s a damn good bruise, high upper thigh. Getting into bed. Lord. Bruise is here
Back to Venice! Because I’m dying to show you more photos.
This lady, defying her role as “local color in a Venetian window,” waved at us, making us see her as real. Which I loved.
There aren’t many cats in Venice anymore, not wandering the streets as they used to, anyway. Not too many years ago, they were all rounded up and placed on an island nearby. Now, most cat owners keep their cats inside, fearing another round-up, but we did say hello to this big brute.
Look who we found!
This is John and Alan, and they’re from Portland. And we heart them. John’s been a Dear Reader for YEARS and I was SO excited to get to meet him in person. We met up under the Accademia Bridge, at one of my fave outdoors eateries, and we wasted a great portion of an afternoon drinking and talking about yarn and cactus and all manner of wonderful things. I love it when two couples click, when the two Planners start teasing the two Spontaneous ones, you know.
Then, of course, we went on a mini-yarn crawl. As far as I’ve ever been able to tell, Lellabella is the only yarn store in Venice. I’d already been in once earlier in the day and learned that my limited Italian does indeed include almost everything one needs to know to have a conversation about the fashion industry in Italy. But when we went back, it turns out that John’s is even stronger, since he knows how to conjugate verbs. Fancy.
Because I will be asked, have been asked for years, here are the shop specs:
Lellabella
San Marco 3718
Tel: 041 522 5152
Oh, look! I just noticed, they have the CUTEST url ever: yarnshopinvenice.com
It’s such a nice little store, and they ONLY sell Italian yarn.
Directions:
Walk toward Campo Manin from the Rialto, and it’s just over a bridge on your right hand side, the block BEFORE you reach Campo Manin. It is technically on Calle della Mandola (aka Della Cortesia) but don’t expect that to help you. Addresses mean just about nothin’ in Venice. You’ll find it.
So we get there and start chatting Monica up. I want yarn, but they can’t find enough of a certain color so THEY OPEN THE STOREFRONT. Look, Lala and Alan were being boys outside and took photos:
Could you just die? We had the best time with the boys, and we’ll look forward to doing it again sometime…..
Also, while I’m thinking about it, you have to know that this season is about yarn, people. Thank goodness.
This is from a Benetton window:
Yarn tree. Yow.
And yarn boots-toppers!
There were other windows FULL of cashmere sweaters with huge cables as central motif, and lacy cashmere dresses, but did I get pictures? No. I’m a Bad Knitter. I was heading to coffee/wine/spritz/prosecco, no doubt. No time to spare….
This is a dark photo to follow, but it’s worth including. Trattoria da Bepi is just around the corner from my hotel, and I’ve loved it for years. A good place to go to avoid tourists (I love that I can say that and completely ignore the fact that I, of course, am one. I don’t count, thanks). This time, however, we were settled into the room I am usually settled into, and we looked around to find we were in The American Room. Augh! The horror! What where all these crude people doing near us?
You know how when you’re only eavesdropping on your countrymen, you just HATE them? Oh, we were so annoyed. We couldn’t help listening to these two couples sitting together discuss the state of their camera’s SD card. I kept rolling my eyes.
Then, as it goes, we got into some conversation with them, and it turns out that they were great. They weren’t couples, they were one gay male couple (Lou and Larry, from Brooklyn) and Larry’s mom and sister. They confirmed that yes, this place was now in Rick Steves’ guide, therefore the new American interest in it, and by the way, they thought we were from Park Slope, were they right?
That is why we were laughing so hard. We look like Park Slope dykes. I was immeasurably flattered. Brooklyn, represent.
And a real photo:
After this, we headed out for the uber-cool internet café I used to patronize, the one open 24 hours a day, with an attached bar and where all the cool Italian kids hung out. Mom, you’ll be saddened to know it now closes at 11pm, and there’s no bar, and it just looks like a big white room and a young nervous-looking guy taking photocopies of IDs. Very sad. So we went there, it was too late to use the internets, so we sat at an outdoor gelato place and drank spritz.
They must have been GOOD spritzes, because:
#1 – We are drag queens:
#2 – We are international models, seen here in our ads plastered in the vaporetto docks (plastered might be the right term here)
I actually think Lala does that very well.
Okay, I am off to take the dogs to the beach and start my 72-hour work week. I will be working from 6pm tonight (Tuesday) until 6pm Monday night, with short 12 hours breaks in between, on a three hour commute, which makes me sad for not only the obvious reasons, but because I can’t see when I’m going to get you more pictures! It’s not something I can do at work, because the pics are on my home computer, and as it is, I’m pre-posting this one on Tuesday afternoon to go up on Wednesday morning. And I’ve got to run, like, now. So, I’ll throw you more as soon as I can, okay?
Ciao, ragazzi!
