Last Words

Clocking in at just past 12:30 am every night, the garbage collectors of Salamanca hit the streets. The first evening of my stay I could've sworn there was a minor earthquake ricocheting down Calle de Don Bosco, but since then it's become a familiar fixture. Tonight, curled in bed, scribbling by candlelight and the ruddy orange glow from the streetlights, getting dripped on by the various drying garments which form a canopy overhead, I can see the windows trying to leap out of their metal frames. The juddering of the engine in the street below is dislodging droplets of condensation which run races through the variety of joyous words I've written in the steam.

Mostly, I'm packed and ready to go. As always, it has come as a surprise that I have so little with me here. After I throw out the various odd bits of paper and pack away the sealing wax and the stamps and the traveling umbrella, there's really not much left. My shoulders are fairly grateful for this fact, as tomorrow marks the return to impermanence once more. I'm catching a train very early in the morning and will be settled (if one can call it that) for my first night in Rome by 9 pm. However, as the journey is on its last legs and money isn't bursting from the seams of my backpack, I'm couchsurfing once more -- and it seems I couldn't have picked a better country to do it in.

Something in the Italian spirit really seems to spark to the Couchsurfing Project. This probably doesn't come as a surprise to most, as Italians are known for being exceedingly friendly and vivacious -- therefore marking them as obvious candidates for welcoming nomadic strangers into their homes simply for the sake of enjoying their company and showing off their beautiful city. It does mean that I'll be moving about a fair bit, but it's cheap and, more importantly, allows one to see Rome through the eyes of all its lovers and madmen. I'm preparing myself for many nights full of sparkly things and the sound of bells and the taste of pasta and wine -- and I don't doubt that the world will deliver.

Salamanca is wet and chilly, trying to decompress after a weekend of festivities. The flat has been colonized by various siblings and friends these last three days -- each night bringing new and more bizarre costumes for the assembled company prior to heading for the nightlife of downtown around 3 am. Feeling the need for a little peace and quiet before my departure, I've stayed in. However, excitement tracked me down nonetheless. Friday evening, arriving home, I was met by Paula and Julio in the midst of some sort of argument. After being convinced that I wouldn't have to get involved/decapitated, I went to put purchases away. Unfortunately, it seemed that my bulb was out, as the switch on the wall did nothing to illuminate my room.

Sensibly, I made sure the switch was off before I dragged a chair over to take a look at the situation, but apparently that wasn't enough to stop the vicious shower of sparks which exploded from the bottom of my Chinese lampshade when I attempted to remove it from the bulb. I immediately (Reflexes of a cat) uttered a violent stream of expletives and fell backwards off the chair and onto the bed, smelling more than a little of singed hair. After making sure nothing had caught fire, I realized that the entire apartment had been plunged into darkness. Many tipsy giggles from the living room, Paula threatening people with a crank-action flashlight, and Julio tripping over things in the hallway trying to find the breaker panel. Once power was restored to the rest of apartment, we gathered to assess the situation.

Gingerly, in case of further unexpected pyrotechnic displays, we managed to unscrew the bulb and investigate the wiring. We didn't have to investigate very closely. Both copper wires had been blown apart by the force of the current, although it probably didn't take much, as they were both frayed and corroded beyond all reason. We left it hanging there, melted bits of wiring hanging from the ceramic, and decided that we'd handle it in the morning. Luckily, Ann was able to lend me her desk lamp, and I'd bought some tea lights a few weeks earlier, which explains, more or less, the situation at the beginning of this installment. The dripping clothing has more to do with the terrible knowledge that I'm probably not going to have access to a washing machine for the next two weeks, and therefore decided to launder everything -- Merino be damned.

In the department of difficult things, I've lost my wallet. This is inconvenient, but not the end of the world. The only real challenge will be figuring out how I can manufacture more Pope cards. In the meantime, much cancelling of bits of plastic and applying for new student ID's, as well as a bit of nostalgia, as I'd been carrying the thing for at least seven years. Perhaps it will yet emerge from some unlikely hiding place in my room, but I'm not hopeful. I am, however, alive. This puts things in a nice sort of perspective.

Basically, this has all been the fabled Last Hurrah before I descend once more into crypticism (Not a real word, you say? It hasn't stopped me before.) and anonymity. I will, of course, do my best to update frequently in the coming two weeks, but I doubt it's going to come close to the products of unlimited computing time here in Spain. If all else fails, there will certainly be (more) postcards and letters on the way to all quarters, along with a great deal of love. Rest assured, I will be enjoying myself prodigiously.

So, until next time, ciao bellezze.