Life and Times of AlieMalie

So we flew to Munich. On the way, one of the girls, we’ll call her Shrooms (to be explained later), managed to leave her cell phone, camera and entire bag of toiletries at security in London after they’d done an extra search. She’s a smart one, I’ll tell you, just like the rest of the bunch. Not only did she leave it in London, but she managed to leave it at the worst airport possible to fly out of – Stanstead. That airport bites. Majorly. It’s halfway to Cambridge. You might THINK you’re getting a dirt cheap fare out of London but just wait ’til you have to pay for the shuttle or for the taxi or the coach. Not cheap, I tell you, not at all.

We arrived in Munich … la la la … rented some bikes and went cruising around town. There’s this great fountain on the west end of Old Town which the Texans decided to ride through. Right. To the dismay of everyone watching. Now I’ve gotta make a disclaimer here: if you haven’t caught on yet, I am not a member of the Texans, so don’t go thinking I did all this crap, I only really embarrassed myself once Texas-style so when you see Texans, just go ahead and picture me standing off on the sideline wishing that the trap door beneath me would finally freaking open. Most of the time, at least. The second and final night in Munich it was decided that we’d all go on a pub crawl. Earlier that afternoon we’d picked up the final member of the baby European tourists who had flown in from Iraq for her two weeks of R&R. A pub crawl sounded like a bit of fun to me, I’d never been on one previously, so I figured what the hell, it’s only €15 with an hour and a half of free drinking at the beginning, why the hell not?! Bad idea. It was the one, and only, evening where I unleashed the very rare AlieMalie-is-originally-from-Texas part of me. I normally pretend this person doesn’t exist, and for all intents and purposes, she doesn’t. Honestly. She appears – maybe? – once every few years or so.

Anyhoo, long story short, I ended up totally missing a curb while running across a street in the outskirts of Munich and managed to grab myself a large slice of asphalt pie. Nice. Got myself a nice little bruise too. Anyway, I was running because I’d fallen behind the Texans while chatting with two girls who actually possessed moderate amounts of intelligence and I was wondering where the Texans had made off to. I found them in the next bar and as I entered, right there, front and center, was one of the Texans sucking face with some random boy. Not even a member of our pub crawl. And we’re not talking about just making out, no sirree, we had a runner on second base looking like he was headed to third – and the sounds, yuck, wow, we’re talking full on, go get a room sort of action; right at the bar. Well, I suppose there WAS some sort of competition between the Texans as to who could get the most action on the trip. What lofty goals our little European tourists had. How many people notches could one person acquire in a three week period? I didn’t want to know. And geez, I forgot a story about London and inviting random boys into your bed and blah blah blah, oh well, I’m sure you can use your imagination.

So, yes, I was more than a little drunk as we found out the next day. I don’t know if I killed my tolerance level and raised it a couple of bars, har har har, but I’m no longer a cheap date. Pisses me off. Anyway, I managed to find our way back to the hostel, while drunk, in the dark, from somewhere in the middle of nowhere, to this day I cannot figure out how I did it. We were scheduled to go out into the country the next morning to visit Neuschwanstein Castle and take a leisurely bike ride in and around the countryside, but on the entire bus ride out there, I was sure I was going to be deathly ill. It was NOT fun. Christielli, I commend you on looking forward to your upcoming pubcrawl, that word now makes my stomach turn.

The highlight of the afternoon out in the Bavarian countryside was definitely the luge they have set up near the castle. Does it make me sound like a tourist to say that? Let’s put it into perspective: the castle, while absolutely magical from the outside, leaves a lot to be desired on the inside. That might be because the king who built it mysteriously died – was murdered? – before the interior was completed and the government decided to leave it as is. So, we took a couple of spins on the luge. I can officially say that people who do the skeleton are completely insane. Or maybe that’s just because I’m a really big wuss. Mmm, probably.

By this time on the trip, I was becoming more comfortable with running off and leaving the Texans to their own devices and as we were taking the bus back into town to catch our train to Paris, it occurred to me that I could run a sort of experiment with them regarding housing in France. I hadn’t booked a hostel, not even for myself, so I figured, when we get off the train in Paris, I’ll just let them find us a place to stay instead. I’ve gotta say, watching these morons trying to navigate one of the most confusing metro systems in the world – in my opinion, the Paris Metro it makes me think of someone taking coloured spaghetti noodles and throwing them at a map of Paris and saying, “There! That is where we shall build the metro lines!” – without speaking a word of French before any of the tourist information booths or hotel bookers opened was great. After a while, I took pity on them and started walking down roads where I knew there’d be a slew of hotels, but all the while muttering under my breath and occasionally laughing. The best part about it was that the first 10 hotels or so were all booked because – guess what?! – the tennis junkies were all in town for the French Open.

They finally found us a relatively inexpensive hotel to stay in and were determined to get six people into a room meant for – maybe – three, but after being yelled at by reception, decided it’d be a better idea to book two rooms instead. Unfortunately for all of those in our neighbourhood, the second room was on the top floor and came with a balcony and the Texans proceeded to get absolutely drunk – surprise! – and yell obscenities at all the women passing by on the street. Now don’t think this was the first occurrence of this sort of behaviour. Oh no. The whole thing about how men think about sex every three seconds or so was confirmed for me on this trip. Not only did these two boys think about it every three seconds, they forced the rest of us to listen to it. They could not think silently. Nope. And they also had the notion that no person in Europe spoke anything but their native language. A German who speaks English?! You don’t say. The French? Bilingual?! Noooo! I never could quite convince them that I was pretty sure that quite a few of the objects of their affection knew exactly what they were saying.

So Paris was filled with another drunken double decker bus. We did manage to make it into Notre Dame and up the Eiffel Tower but that was about it. I think I pretty much gave up on trying to show them different things after I heard the line, “I only want to see things I’ll see in movies so I can say, ‘I’ve been there!’”

Ahh, I nearly forgot, or maybe that’s my defense mechanism kicking in, but I’d say the worst story about Paris was this, and it needs a bit of background. With this group, any food on the table was deemed to be community property and if you happened to order something that someone else thought looked good, they’d reach over and take a bit off your plate – more often than not with their fingers, who needs forks when god gave you fingers? One of the boys became quite a fan of European style pizza and whenever he had the chance, he’d order one. Unfortunately, since they only take about 10 minutes to make, his food was often times the first out and would be nearly half gone by the time everyone else was served. One afternoon, he grew tired of having his food stolen before he had the chance to eat it – amazingly, he was trying to be nice and wait for everyone else to be served before he started, a miracle in and of itself – and he decided that he’d try a new approach to trying to get people to leave his food alone. Spit. Yes, he decided that he’d make his pizza unappealing to his fellow diners by proceeding to spit on his entire pie. In public. In a restaurant. Trap door, my love, wherefore art thou? The absolute worst part to this? It didn’t even cause the Texans to hesitate in trying to grab a slice of his dinner.

So a few years back I switched from hotmail to gmail for a couple of reason, mainly because gmail freaking ROCKS as well as the fact that the only people who had my hotmail account who didn’t know about gmail were people who, say, I didn’t want to talk with anymore. I still occasionally check my hotmail address because there are certain people – like my mother, who might occasionally fall into the I don’t want to talk with you group – who forget that I almost never check it. Anyhoo, I signed in yesterday to find this:

From: Gay Guy I Dated A Long Time Ago
To: AlieMalie
Sent: Tuesday, 26/6/2007

I will be in town July 21st throughout the day. I was wondering if you would be in town and if so, would you be interested in some coffee, tea, drinks, smoothies? I would have called but your number is slipping from my head. I know [area code], i know [last 4 digits]. It’s the dang prefix that kills me everytime.

I haven’t responded, nor will I, but if I did, I’m pretty sure it would go something like this:

Sure, I’m totally interested in some coffee, tea, drinks or smoothie. Right after I gouge my eyes out with a spoon – nay, a fork, because that would be even MORE enjoyable.

Great, eh? Geez. How does one rid themselves of a pest such as this? Argh. At least he no longer has my number, phew.

So we’ll start from the beginning:

Once upon a time, a young woman named AlieMalie decided to embark an adventure that was new to her: traveling with a group of Texans through Europe. She helped them book their entire trip, found the cheapest fares, and even decided to add a layer of icing to the top of her own trip with a jaunt through Canada at the end. Anyway, in late Spring 2007, neither of the boys on the trip had their passports so the day before the group of Texans were supposed to leave, the boys drove down to the nearest passport agency and slept on the front steps of the building and in the morning, demanded to be given passports. Mhmm. As they all gathered at the airport, AlieMalie was pleased to note that her second flight, from Toronto to London, would not be shared with the Texans as they had another layover after Toronto and had decided to buy a bottle of whiskey at the duty free shop and were then told they’d have to drink it before security in Toronto or dispose of the bottle. Now, if you know any self respecting redneck Texans, you know that only way one disposes of a bottle of whiskey is by drinking it. But we’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves here.

As the flight from Houston to Toronto got underway, it was brought to AlieMalie’s attention that the two boys were in full charm mode – AMAZING, I must say, that anyone would be charmed by them – and had gotten the flight attendants to stock them up with a load of rye. Hmm, again AlieMalie thanks her lucky stars that she’s on the direct flight ALONE and that the other four travelers are connecting to another flight – a much slower flight as it’s on a 767 instead of a 777 that’s also stopping in Nova Scotia. Ahh, can you smell the sweet scent of 9 hours of Texan-free time? It was delicious. As soon as the group touched down in Toronto, AlieMalie hurried off in search of the BRAND SPANKING NEW, 3 day old Air Canada Boeing 777. You know how cars have that gluey, chemically new car smell to them? Mmm, this brand new 777 still had that new plane smell to it. Along with seat-back video with over 30 channels to choose from as well as lots and lots of XM radio stations. How does one take full advantage of such wondrous amenities when the flight is only 7 hours long? Must. Travel. More.

So AlieMalie sat back and enjoyed the ride. Yes, you heard that right, AlieMalie enjoyed the plane ride, a first, no doubt, but as the beautimous triple 7 cruised into London, AlieMalie found herself wishing that the smooth as buttah ride wouldn’t come to an end. Baggage reclaim was painless as she hadn’t checked a bag on this leg of her trip, and she sailed through customs with a smile, ran into Sarah Jessica Parker in the arrivals lounge and the found herself a nice cozy spot to chill out with her book for the next several hours.

Would it be wrong to say that she found herself hoping that perhaps, just on the off chance, the Texan boys had been denied boarding in Toronto due to intoxication? Hmm. It might be wrong, but it’d be a lie to say the thought didn’t cross her mind. So she whiled away the hours people watching – airports are great places to watch the entire gamut of emotions. Hugs, smiles, tears – you name it, you can see it in the airport. She even saw a man recently returned from summiting Everest greeted by his friends and family. Very touching.

The hours passed and still no sign of the Texans. Granted, this was Heathrow so even though the arrivals screen notated that the flight from Halifax had landed, it didn’t necesarilly mean they had a gate or had disembarked. But still, as another hour inched by, AlieMalie found herself thinking that the boys had, in fact, been stalled in Toronto. Remember the whiskey? Alas, just as she was about to ask if the rest of her group had made it, they came running out of the baggage claim like a bull out of the gates. A Europe trip without the boys wasn’t in the cards. Then again, a Europe trip without the boys probably would have been a lot less entertaining – the type of entertainment you can laugh at AFTERWARDS.

So they made their way to their hostel – apparently THE party hostel in London, where, since it was one of the girl’s birthday, virtually the entire Texas contingent proceeded to get absolutely smashed in the bar downstairs. Not much changed on the trip from there on out with regards to the sobriety of the Texans. Who cares about Big Ben or Buckingham Palace when there are bars and pubs galore to take full advantage of? And spend £500 pounds in in two days between two people?! And so it was, between the two boys, they managed to drink $1000 worth of beer and Jagermeister in two days. Bear in mind that these are professionals and do not try this at home.

AlieMalie tried encouraging this group of baby European tourists to take in the sights, after all, London is a city that can keep one occupied for weeks and they would only be there for two nights, but it was deemed that there was too much to do and the best way to see everything all at once was to spend an abominable £20 on the double decker tourist bus. And with a case of beer so they could all get drunk as they took in the Tower, Tower Bridge which they, of course, refer to as London Bridge, Big Ben, the Eye and Buckingham Palace.

The sun dawned at nearly 4AM on their second full day in Europe while the group was en route to the airport to catch their flight to Munich, nearly all of them either still drunk or nursing horrible hangovers from their indulgences from nights previous. It was about here than AlieMalie started considering ways to leave the group and set out on her own. It would be difficult though as they all had flights together to Germany and to Italy and it would be seriously awkward to drop them in Munich only to have to see them again at the gate for the next leg of the trip. Plus, there was always the entertainment factor – though that would quickly turn into the AlieMalie-wants-to-disappear-forever factor – for having been seen with the warthogs during some of their exploits.

Man, I am sooo excited to be flying into Canada today; I think I’m on excitement overload! Holy cow, it doesn’t help that I’ve had a humongous cup of coffee to start off the day. Gosh. Wow.

A quick note on Marrakech: I’m normally one for traversing the world alone and not being too concerned about being in other cultures, but I must say, I will never travel to Morocco or any similar country again without a male companion. It was just too overwhelming to be constantly groped and felt up. It was like being surrounded by 100,000 13 year old boys who just had their first wet dream the night before. Not my cup of tea. But it was mega fun to people watch. More later.

As I arrived in London late last night for my 8 hour layover ’til my flight to Morocco, the immigration officer who was handling – manhandling? – my passport, flipped through all the pages, counted out the UK stamps, including those from 2001, and declared that I’d spent too much time in his country on “holiday” and it was suspicious. He then went on to say that unless I had my boarding pass showing that I was leaving the UK when I returned here on Thursday to catch my flight to my top secret Canada locale, they would refuse me entry.

Since when are the Brits such hard asses? It’s not like I want to move to THEIR country. Hell, it’s Canada that needs to worry about me not leaving.

Anyhoo, I hope a copy of my itinerary will suffice ’cause that’s all I have and given that Air Canada only flies out of Heathrow and I’m at Gatwick and my flight leaves at a wonderfully early 6 or so in the morning, I’m not getting a copy of my boarding pass. So, I’ll either see you in Canada or, well, maybe I’ll be sent back to Marrakech. haha.

That’s not terribly funny, actually.