Time to go
The urinal has a starting line. Maybe it’s my history as a runner, but I immediately wondered what time the qualifying heats would begin, but there’s just the one porcelain arena hanging up there on the wall, so I guess it will be time trials?
This is all I’m able to talk about today, since all my photos (unless taken on my phone just now) are in a box in my sister’s garage as I prep for another overseas work shift, and every waking moment is scheduled with goodbyes and errands, last lunches and a new toothbrush holder.
In two days I’ll be airborne, flying to Amsterdam to begin seven weeks of hoping, straining, pushing (with the polite aggression that’s necessary if you want to get on the Roman subway) to help groups of Americans enjoy Europe. And if I do my job right, while enjoying Europe they’ll actually learn to love travel itself.
Seven weeks of long days, “on duty” from breakfast at 7:00 until dinner ends at 20:30, or the night walk ends at 22:30, or the wine is finished at 1:30, and a full night’s sleep is a distant memory. If I survive, my lady and I will be in Greece for a week after that, relaxing with ruthless dedication, then I’ll wander up through Macedonia and Bulgaria for a couple more.
But if I can, I’ll share some of the details we find, the nuances we step on, the mysteries of Europe we gawk at. The mysteries of the whole world! Of life on Earth. Like, for example, why would a urinal have a starting line?