I finally made it to Vienna after an excruciating night in the Dublin airport.
I thought I would save money on a hostel and time on the bus ride and sleep time (as I wouldn’t have to be up at 4, but could sleep till 5:30 instead) by crashing at DUB, but the fates were against me.
1. Everyone else had the same idea. Curled up on a chair I listened as more and more people arrived, spread out blankets and sleeping pads and rotated chairs this way and that. Everyone, it would seem, sleeps at the airport. Like, this is totally normal.
2. The first leather chair I confiscated I had to abandon due to having a bladder the side of a pinhead. Instead of trying to go back to that seat I found a new one and curled up there. Ten minutes later the guy who had been sitting next to me before had moved to sit next to me again. Weird and coincidental, but not much else. My pinhead bladder called again and I lugged myself to the restroom, finding a new chair upon exiting. Again, creepyguy (as I have now dubbed him) moved to be next to me. I have no idea what he wanted, but clearly what he wanted had nothing to do with me getting a peaceful night’s sleep. So I hopped up and acted like I was off to catch my flight and went downstairs to a different waiting area where I used the handy dandy bike lock I’d brought along to latch my backpack to the bench, used the carribbeaners to latch myself to my carryon, and subsequently fell sound asleep.
3. A crick in my neck and extreme cold woke me and I decided to relocate. The catch to this is that someone else took my spot and I found myself without a chair. All taken. So I relocated down a windy hall to a room just outside the bathrooms. There were a couple people sleeping on the floor and I took up residence on a gg-sized shelf outside the bathroom doors, where I slept for the next three hours or so. I need to take a vote: which is funnier, me sleeping on the shelf outside the restrooms or me sleeping in the luggage compartment of a moving bus? Let me know.
Anyway, you can see why I’d be totally shot by the time I reached Vienna, even after sleeping the entire plane ride here. Heinrich showed me around the city a while and I was struck by the character of Vienna. It is very unique and old and likeable.
During our walk in the city we turned down an alleyway/sidestreet to get something to eat at a little bar Heinrich knew (which turned out to be FANTASTIC, really) when we both noticed a man walking toward us. He was wearing a t-shirt and underpants (tighty blueys, you know) and swinging a plastic bag between his legs. Desperately trying not to laugh or look him in the eye we walked by, and as soon as he was past tears started rolling down my face. What the hell.
I laughed because it was ridiculous. I laughed because Heinrich seemed barely phased. I laughed because HOLY COW. The world has conspired to show me lots of male bodies as of late, eh? Italians, Austrians–the question only remains: will France and Ireland join the party?
Anyway, I was talking about the man later and called him “Mr. Fancy” which made Heinrich laugh and somehow stuck. So, Mr. Fancy, if you are out there reading this. I mean, if you know how to work a computer and understand made up words like tighty blueys and somehow managed to find this website in the first place–hello to you.
I dedicate this entry to anyone who has ever accidentally come across a Mr. Fancy. Or been one.
Cheers to the nakedness.
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