A Good Day
The bells woke me up around 7 in the morning. The room I had in Venice was stocked with furniture that all locked with those old brass keys. It reminded me of my Nana's house. Being woken by the church bells in Venice is surreal. Like falling through a wormhole and ending up in the renaissance.
I got up and packed all my bags, showered so I could hit the streets. I was going to buy a necklace for my next girlfriend. I was also determined to actually get lost in Venice, because apparantly it is inevitable. I had found that all roads seemed to lead to exactly where I wanted to go.
I was looking for the local carb + mozzarella dish that was eaten on the streets and eventually found a pizza place. What I couldn't find again was the store where I had bought my necklace. I ended up virtually canvasing the entirety of Venice. Passing the same streets 3 times trying to remember where that mystical little shop was. I was contemplating reluctantly buying a poor substitute for my next girlfriend, or taking it as a sign from on high that I wasn't going to have a next girlfriend.
But this was Italy, where work hours did not follow any convention. And on my seventh pass of a particular street there the store was, I bought the necklace and as if fearing the store would disappear again with the tide, grabbed one of the dudes business cards to convince myself it wasn't some mirage.
Then to stall the awkwardness of having a bike in Venice, the least practical city for cycling in the world, I grabbed a gelati and figured out I'd only have to climb 4 bridges minimum to get my bike onto what I hoped was a road.
Then I went back to my room 4 let and changed into my cycling gear, loaded up my bicycle. Returned my keys to the landlady who was perhaps the only unhappy person I ever met in italy then I simply shut the world out and concentrated on lugging my bike in and out of Venice proper.
I am pretty used to getting stared at for doing stuff that's actually really boring, like wearing knee high socks, and Venice is mostly tourists so its not like I actually respected anyone that was judging me. nevertheless I wanted it over with quickly.
When I finally got to the bus depot 30 minutes later it was 2pm in the afternoon and I had precious little daylight to get to Padua with. Suddenly from amongst a crowd of Italian students a girl emerged and made an 'awww' noise when she saw me pushing my bicycle across what must have been a bunch of bridges. And it made my day. I laughed at myself. Then I got on my bike and rode out onto this:
And that was a good day.
Yesterday, I overcame my recent fear of exercise and got out on the bike and rode down to brighton. Then I headed back to town and really needed to eat something. So I went to KFC because these exercise fueled hungers are rare excuses to eat really poorly (albeit having the money to buy bad food is a pretty good and pretty frequent excuse).
But the guy behind the counter was just so enthusiastic, he reminded me of the girl in Coco's in Takematsu when I was having a shitty time. He was so thorough that I was moved and just didn't stop smiling. It was what I imagined people thought they experienced in Thailand with customer service.
Then I got on my bike to visit Zaman. He watches 'Deal or No Deal' every day wondering why I'm not on the show winning free money. It was a great show because the contestant won absolutely nothing in the end.
He just got out of hospital having his leg fixed which was funny. I was able to give him advise on how to scratch his itches beneath the plaster. Then he told me his family got accepted to come to Australia and immediately stuck his hand out to shake mine. And it will be one of those million dollar handshakes you only get so many of in your lifetime. It is great to be on the periphery of this amazing man's life.
I mean people talk about how hard their parents worked to provide for them growing up, and in most cases that's bullshit. I mean my dad worked 'hard' in a western sense, went to uni, got a good job, paid for private tuition of all his offspring.
Zaman on the other hand dealt with religious persecution in Afghanistan, fled to Pakistan with his family, got shipped to Jordan, Iran, Dubai, back to Pakistan and so fourth until he said good bye to his family 6 years ago, got on a people smuggling boat, went to Australia, got shipped by thearmy in Nauru. Lived in a tent on Nauru for 6 months, got admitted to Australia, issued a TPV, told to wait 5 years. Battled with depression and suicide, got a shit paying job, recovered sent money home to his family. Got happier. Studied English with a shitty volunteer tutor (me), got his visa after waiting 5 years to be acknowledged as a refugee, waited another year till now when he finally has clearance to bring his family out. And all that went into one handshake and a smile at me and I'm sure anyone else he has met. The struggle was over and I found out yesterday. That's a good day.
For some reason Miki's decision to stay over must have been spur of the moment. And now she was asking to borrow some clothes. Recognizing a rare opportunity to play dress ups with this porcelain doll of a girl, I immediately picked out a set of impractical clothing. A plain white shirt, my Orlando Magic Shaq 32 jersey (it hugged my curves and was obviously a junior size so it fit her pretty well) some baggy basketball shorts, a headband and my white with pink star knee high socks.
She obliged for more incomprehensable reasons, but was dissapointed to discover that as an early riser I had taken the time to place all her makeup out of reach.
It was then up to me to persuade her to go for a walk. My green plastic Seijoh high-school slippers that had earnt me much derision over the years were described by her as 'perfect' to wear.
She was chicken shit about going out in public dressed as Shaq, which i found adorably ironic. Fortunately Liam backed me up by talking about how 'awesomely cool' she looked.
She relented and we went to the bakery remarking that she 'better not meet anyone I know' which she did, almost immediately when we arrived at the bakery. Her Japanese friend gave her shit by greeting her 'hey, yo yo!' in all her homeboy gear.
She got over her embarassment quickly though and went back to being the usual enthusiastic misaki we all know and love.
We bought muffins and some drinks. It was like 40 degrees that day, and we went to sit in Princes Park. There were no ducks to behold because the pond had dried up to its concrete banks.
We hung out for a while and then took a walk home via Royal Park. Where Misaki both panicked at seeing the corpse of a dead bird "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!" and was one of those highly amusing overreactions, and then proceeded to almost faint from heat exhastion. I eventually had to buy bottled water and wet my hat in its entirety before forcebly slapping it on her head and she finally relented that covering her jet black hair with a hat sure did cool her down a lot.
Then we went home and she sat in front of the fan for most of the day. We ventured out and bought something for dinner. Probably chicken. It was a sunday. It was possibly my favorite day so far.
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