Rituals

Trust me, because I have the mentality to try everything at least once, and twice to check if I like it, I have found myself in some odd situations. Sometimes I manage to have an out-of-body experience and then I try to observe myself, then I ask, “what on earth am I doing?”

Which brings me to a ritual which I have depended upon in cold countries; trips to the sauna. In Russia the saunas are segregated and they have different classes. Men might be envious, but it is a matter of taste. I have been sat next to Russian shot-putters, models, gold digging mistresses and greedy banker’s wives, and possibly female KGB spies. Who knows?

The saunas are so hot, that for once wearing a burka seems like a good idea. Exposed skin is likely to evaporate into Sahara dust. It certainly looks like a cult when you enter the sauna; everyone is swathed in white sheets and wearing tinker-bell hats. Then even stranger, some of these women pay to be hit with twigs. I understand the science behind it, but it must sting like lighting.

However a few weeks ago, I had an OBE (Not from the queen) in the dampfbad. The Austrians are keen on Finnish styles saunas, so when in Rome, do as the Romans do. Naturally, I’m not prudish, but I didn’t understand the norms when it came to sharing the jacuzzi. Every two hours a body treatment was handed out to customers for usage in the sauna. The previous week, the treatment was salt, but on this occasion it was chocolate. So, there I was, sandwiched between approximately thirty naked men and women, there was no personal concern about this. It was when the sauna master appeared with the chocolate body treatment that the situation became surreal for me.

Suddenly, a stranger started to put the chocolate mud all over my body. Likewise, I was then expected to do the same. The scene looked like a minstrel reunion gone wrong. I can’t describe what it looked like on the floor of the steam room. One experience to register for life, thankfully none of my colleagues were sharing the experience with me.

A few wise men

I have been fortunate. I’ve always been surrounded by clever men, living with them, dating, going out, flirting, learning from them and studying under them.

I had a tenant live in my house for a few years, let’s call him Dr. X. He worked at a local university teaching science to master’s degree students. I never found out how old he was, he never said. Nor did I find out his birthdate, because he simply didn’t believe in birthdays. However, hailing from the north, everything he said was just funny. He told me all about his experiences of working for the MOD. Matters that should be super-complicated, he made it simple. For example, how to survive a ‘dirty bomb’. Thanks to him, I know how to survive a few extra days after a radio-active attack before my skin falls off.

Another wanted to save the world by stinking out my kitchen with a waste bin (a career eco-warrior), which I always ended up cleaning. But, it was easy to forgive him as he often walked around the house in only a towel. A night out with him revealed the only downside; he couldn’t dance, unless it was the funky chicken. Another guy I lived with could fix anything; he was a super-practical genius. It is going to be odd living in an all female household when I move to Japan. I can plaster (not whole rooms), change a plug, light bulbs, and paint, follow IKEA instructions, seal bath tubs; I’m woman of many skills. I hope these chores won’t fall into my lap when I live in a women-only-domain.

The prize for the smartest man I have ever met has to go to a past lecturer. Ok, I will admit to a crush, albeit not entirely sexual. Most of the time I sat in fascination as to how anyone could become so smart. My crush had a lot to do with my desire to emulate him, rather than physical encounters. He could teach aspects of theatre, romantic poetry, postmodern criticism, film studies........For once, unlike my behaviour with some smart men I’m attracted to. I actually talked and got involved in everything. I never intended to dominate, (the classes were full of zombies) but across three entirely different degree strands, all of which had some 60 -90 students, everyone knew who I was. I intended to study his courses for a second time, but the intake was too low, therefore the course was dropped. Then, sadly he died. After this sad occasion, I considered that I should do my best to race against time and LIVE. Maybe one day I will be just as smart in memory to him.

But first, I’m hoping perhaps one day I will be able to screw my head on right. Then I will remember what time I am due to catch a flight and remember my passport. 

A place of learning

I have been to a lot of museums, sometimes I can’t absorb all of the information on offer and leave, imagine being at the Hermitage for too long. Naturally, I always go to a sex museum, if there is one in the city. More interesting than that was the palace in Florence with a rich display of navigational equipment. Being quite a traveller, or a gypsy, my interest was not as shallow as a visit for visit’s sake.

I remember I wore red and it was rather hot that day, there was sweat on my collar bones. As I looked up from a display I looked up to meet someone’s eyes. A man dressed all in black, he looked like he might be the fourth member of Green Day. At first he smiled at me, merely in a friendly manner. The setting was marvellous, but as I walked from room to room, there he was, unshakable, and each time I looked up, there he was. Only his smile changed from friendly to suggestive, suggestive to sexual. I thought at any moment, Tinto Brass would pop out and say “cut”. There he followed me, from glass case to glass case. I felt myself attracted to him, though he was an unusual looking man. I am not so sure I have ‘type’, beyond intelligent or adventurous, the one can be greater than the other, so long as his reserves of either are greater than mine. (I am only as good as my audience).  I fell asleep in the gardens, and he sat close by, but it was only a silent flirtation, silent men are sometimes the best kind.

The other museum was bizarre in that all the places in the world to have the largest display of Rolls Royce’s, it is in Dornbirn. It is strange that this British institution is not in England and that an Austrian was the car’s biggest fan. Every Phantom and Phantom II was cleaned, polished, oiled, dusted, spat on, rubbed and leathered, it was a dizzying experience. Perhaps this is closest I will ever get to being artificially high. I was a very good girl, I never had time to get drunk, or try soft drugs. I had two jobs and was rehearsing for a musical whilst I was still attending school. (I worked so hard that I made myself susceptible to glandular fever.) In the first hall, I thought I might be in heaven with every inch of metal gleaming like angels’ halos. At St Peter’s gate, the Andrew sisters were singing. In reality the songs were played out over the tannoy. Unfortunately, the real joy of the cars is bound to each platform they are displayed on. The most fun you can have at the museum is to have a dinner party surrounded by the cars.  It is shame to view the cars as only trinkets and not out on the surrounding roads, like birds of prey kept on a string, the best of their beauty is clipped.

I told you it is small world, I need to take my own advice

After finishing one contract here in Austria, a well done meal was the order of the day with my colleagues. I think we were all shattered and needed to relax, during which time conversation about funny and unusual characters come out of the box. I pledged that 2008 would be the year of hedonism and indeed I managed to have some fun. I met and I had a lengthy flirtation with a colleague of mine at the time, but I kept it quiet because we had to take a training weekend together. I knew that after several meetings in Moscow (we both happened to be in the city at the same time, that it wouldn’t go any further). I didn’t need a call or an e-mail to announce it, I wanted the situation to end as naturally as it did. Trust me, it is not easy to apply the avoidance strategy that I am currently using else where. So it was with some surprise, having nearly forgot all about the period of time, that it was brought up by a colleague of mine at dinner. “Oh yes, once there was this couple in the hotel.........” He didn’t know who the perpetrators were of course.

Damn!! It could not be avoided, my face went as red as a smacked bottom and I think that was indication enough for my colleague at dinner. I had managed at that point to push sex out of my mind during my travels throughout Austria. There was no escaping the presence of this particular activity in my mind after that. To make matters worse, the rest of the afternoon was spent talking with my female colleagues all about sex. The good, the bad and the funny, but after the above lesson, I nominated myself for the listening role. Apparently some 40% of people meet partners at work, I am certainly sticking with the 60% that don’t.

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