Temporary Everythings

Well, what do you think? It's was my first. I was 18 and I picked it off the wall of a tattoo parlor in Hampton Beach. It's two characters supposedly, life and be present....a Carpe diem a of sorts--I don't know, that's what the artist said, and that's what others have told me. I can't read Chinese. It might as well be Korean.
In my more radical days, when everyone had half their head shaved and we'd all walk around in shorts patched with dental floss,  I would tell anybody who asked that  it was Kanji for "cultural appropriation."  They would laugh indulgently at the imprudence of youth and go back to their kale and quinoa burritos. It seems to me now that our our towers were much more ivory than we imagined because regular people don't know what cultural appropriation is and Kanji isn't even a form of Chinese.
Flippancy  has long been my way of saying I don't walk to talk about it.And I don't either. I was so impetuous I nearly got the character for rain written on my body.

It's tribal, so whatever.

For awhile I  felt guilty because I wasted a great tattoo location for a language I don't speak from a culture with whom my familiarity extends only as far as the understanding that their New Year is different than my own.  And for a long time this was a sufficiently humorous punishment. But I'm too busy mispronouncing every French word I know to think too long on it, these days. 

Yet even here in France I've remained in pretty fair contact with the United States. Obama or one of his minions sent me an email ever three or four days up until his second inauguration. Apparently they need a lot of help or money, or maybe just something for the interns to do--so they send me emails. It isn't the life I would have chosen for them, but it's the cards they were dealt
I've been dealt a new hand myself- DHL delivered a package yesterday with a letter from Obama and he wanted to talk about Kennedy's legacy and commitment and, the Peace Corps. It was signed with the fattest permanent market possible or had been photocopied to the point where his signature no longer resembles the original. Very exciting stuff.
Yes, mis amigos, we've finally got our destination and it's finally time to tell you that we expect to be moving to China to teach English at a University. We'll not know where exactly or when exactly until they feel like telling us. We've got visas and vaccinations to attend to, miles to go before we sleep and a whole lot of promises to keep.  I think we could not have done better in terms of comfort and as some of you may recall I planned to live in China at some point in my life anyway. I'm excited for a fresh chance at adventure.  Best of all, we will be trained in Mandarin--so I may learn what my tattoo says after all.  


Anything could still go wrong and knock us out of the running--it's been quite a process. But that's life for you. Carpe Diem, indeed.

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the law firm of Buda and Pest

Traveling is a lot like getting a tattoo. You have an idea, you spend the money and suddenly you want to do it again. It keeps happening until you are looking a the spaces between your knuckles going, "I could totally fit the state of Florida there..."

And that's not even the worst of it. Honestly, the more pleased you are about traveling the more likely you are to meet someone remarkably more well traveled than yourself. There you'll be, having a friendly backpackers contest over the  different color combinations of other countries' flags, or deluging well planted insights into what really turned the tides of the Arab Spring, when you'll accidentally say something so unwittingly common the other travelers won't even bother laughing. They'll just take the conversation where you can't go. As though it were some place you've neer been. And if they were tattooed, they'd suddenly look like this guy:

Oh, you've still got blank spaces on your passport, how quaint.

Even if you as clever as me and know to keep your mouth shut, or call in for air suport when you're quite literally outclassed, you still can't help but glance down at your arms and think, "Here *should* be dragons."
But when this happens, and even when it doesn't, we are--at least, presented with a chance to understand humility, at best--the chance to comprehend our own limitations, or at worst,  the opportunity to come to grips with the fact that we are seriously overlooking the space behind our ear as a rocking new lo-cal to get tatted up!

It's totally tribal. No but really, it means something.

Budapest was amazing. For me, it had everything a vacation needs: Cheap, delicious food, excellent exchange rate, perfectly sunny weather, and good places to get wet. 

The streets are wide boulevards which rarely reek of piss. (Unlike mon ami, Paris, on both counts.) One can speak only English and never feel misunderstood. There are very few homeless people and a great bicycle culture.
The food is thick and creamy. They eat lots of soup and sausage. Big hunks of white bread at every meal and they can pound donuts like champs. 

Compared to Paris, Budapest is sprawling. People stop at cross walks, because they probably couldn't hoof it in time. No one  came up to me and hit on me in a rude way. Ok, well, one guy did--but I was starting to miss it ;) Street art is alive and kickin your face in, round Budapest way.

So you're sitting there thinking, "ok, Erin, artery clogging gastronomy and writing on the walls, I'm so impressed--Budpest is in in central Europe, that's basically Eastern Europe with a boring in front of it. What kind of what could there even be?"

Well, it just so happens that Budapest sits on top of natural thermal springs that the Turks turned into public baths. 

 The best part about them is how sexy they seem to make us both look.

And, no thermo, but they're pretty sexy themselves:

Watch that water glistening, flaunting its curves.

Visting them on the two days that we did were pretty much the most decadent thing I've ever done. But then again, I feel decadent when I drink a mimosa...or take a bath with scented candles lit.

Oooo, vanilla!

Can you believe I actually got a massage? I did not expect to be naked. Honestly? They always have towels across their bums in the vids. (Ok, not THOSE vids) But some Grandma giving my tummy a tickle was almost too much!  I kept squirming away like a slick fish....I still don't know if I was supposed to tip.

Wait, let me get my tourist cap on.

The time I spent alone with Sebastien on this trip was a paragon of placidity and languidly luxurious in every shade of sunshine and chocolate. Laying on his chest in warm bath water, outside, under the sun,

 Sipping an icy drink or hiking up Gellért Hill and gazing out over the surround areas of Buda.

Long walks on both sides of the river danube. Having drinks AND dessert. Talking about whatever felt good.
Reading together alone in the grass. Knowing our best friend feels the same way as we do. 

Sebastien is the best tour guide ever devised. He actually tried to speak Hungarian and marched me off to all the places he kept finding on the maps. If I had gone alone, my greatest and daily ambition would likely have amounted to finding a nice place to read and later on, a good spot to get loaded. Oh and ice cream, but that would have hardly taken substantial planning.  (Yeah, I'm kind of exciting.)

If you go to Budapest durring the summer, the indoor-out-door baths and wave pools are easy amusement and all the museums make for good sport as well. The food will fill your belly and the drinks are cheep. But nothing compares to kerts.
These are garden parties that get set up in abandoned spaces and turned into the kind of establishments I would like to run. The furniture, the lighting. PERFECTION. If you end up in Budapest, find a local on couch surfing and get them to take you to one. It will be like no bar experience you've ever had. There aren't even lines for the bathroom!

Obviously, I've taken a million more photos and you can check out a slide show of them here:

I guess the part where the tattoo/travel image falls apart is, after a trip like the week we spent in Budapest, I find I'm all tatted out. But hey, there's no such thing as a perfect metaphor ;) Hmm, on second thought, maybe I can squeeze a few stars in between my toes...

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