Vol. 1 Issue 28
Another week, another not knowing what to write. What’s up with
that? Well, I’ve finished half the rough draft of my screenplay Omophagia, and apparently I only have
so many words in me per week, so…
I’ve been trying to think of more bad travel situations. What I
would really like to write about were the times I got robbed, the times I got
arrested, the times I got kidnapped, or the times I saved the King of Thailand’s
life. Unfortunately for my story writing, none of these things ever happened. I’ve
been tons of places and realize, boringly, that I never really got into any
serious trouble in any of them.
I did see the King of Thailand once. Well actually it was just his
motorcade. Ok maybe, now that I think of it, the King of Thailand’s motorcade
would probably not have been composed of a lone dude riding a motor scooter
naked down Sukumvit in Bangkok, yelling “I am the King,” but, in retrospect,
there is just no way to know for sure. It is literally impossible to be
certain.
When I was backpacking in Europe, before I got kicked of the train
in Genoa, I almost got arrested in France. I was riding a bus in Versailles,
which is just outside the city limits of Paris, at least as far as transit is
concerned. I had an unlimited metro card, un Carte Orange, and of course, I did
not want to pay the fee upgrade for the Versailles bus, so I didn’t.
Some cops came on the bus, found out I didn’t have the ticket, and
told me I had to pay a fine right then and there, or else. I pretended not to
understand what they meant. My French was even worse back then, but they didn’t
believe it. Either I pay, or I get off the bus and go with them somewhere. To
jail I guess. I didn’t have my passport or any ID. It was back at the hostel,
so I was willing to take my chances. I thought, “Suckers. They can’t charge
someone without a name!” My plan was so foolproof, so totally flawless, that I
still truthfully believe that had I been able to enact it, I would have become
rich and famous in the country. France cherishes intelligence.
One of my fellow hostel companions had accompanied me on the trip
from our Montmartre hostel to Versailles, and before the cops could slap the
cuffs on me and take me away jail forever, my companion forked over 50 Euros.
The cops took it, and left the bus without taking me to jail. This pissed me
off, because even though it was a very sweet gesture, I was obligated to pay
this girl back, and so the cops ended up getting their 50 Euros from me in the
end. Les bâtards! Really I was just being a bastard myself, a cheap one, but in
retrospect I have no idea how I traveled so much with so little money. I had
like 1200 bucks and lasted almost 3 months. I did do a lot of couch surfing and
once slept in a park in Madrid, so maybe I wasn’t being a cheap bastard, but
just a one of a more regular nature.
I once slept outside in the middle of winter in Calgary, so
bastard or not, sleeping in a Spanish park was like the Four Seasons compared
to that.
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