Further Miss Adventures In Europe Part One

FURTHER MISS ADVENTURES IN EUROPE PART ONE It is only my second time away. This time I am more nervous from expectation than from fear of the unknown. I can only hope the expectation will be fulfilled. Still waiting to board, I am too excited to read and am unable to put down my exact feelings about leaving again. At the moment I am feeling very self-conscious about what I write whereas the last diary just blossomed without me thinking about it. It s good to see other passengers nervously fingering their boarding documents while I am here nursing a beer. All I hope is that my flight is not due for tomorrow’s headlines. The service on Singapore Airlines looks like being good. Hot towels to refresh the hands and face before we even leave the ground Have been talking with a Chinese student who has completed university study, going back to Beijing for 3 weeks holiday before returning to work in Sydney She manages to down 2 beers to my 1. But that is it, she has 2 beers and I have 1. Almost a teetotaler!

SINGAPORE AIRPORT The usual freaky sight of children walking around in uniforms carrying machine guns I have a problem with the ATM machine where I cannot read out the sums of money to be withdrawn, pressed what I have thought is the TRANSACTION OF OTHER AMOUNT and 1000 Singapore dollars pop out. Promptly took the money to get exchanged where I may, or may not, have got ripped off. Singapore dollars are approximately the same as Oz dollars and I get back 490 euros and a 50 Singapore dollar It’s all too much for me. I may have made a profit but I doubt it. We board the plan and I am exhausted. This is the equivalent to me staying up till 3 am on a Sunday night. I want to go to sleep but I am interrupted by services for water, a coffee and a light meal. I wake to find there are still 7 hours to go to Roma.

23.9.03 TUES Roma Feeling quite the international traveller calmly gliding my way into Rome but then ......... .........total shitfight getting from the Rome to the camping ground. Took about 3 hours getting from the airport instead of the expected 1 and a half. Will have coffee at the airport next time instead of doing peak hour with a backpack at Rome s main station. It was like the pictures you see of people getting on the trains

in Tokyo. (Later that afternoon, unable to buy a ticket, I was happily doing the train system without paying the fare) Some of these Metro stations (all over Europe) are difficult to understand - you follow signs to Line B all the way only to find yourself on Line A, or on the right train but in the wrong direction. Decided to town where Vatican. I Metro too.

make the most of this early arrival in Rome ( 6 30 am) and head into I find I haven t got the energy to climb a set of stairs up to the turn around and head back to the campground. Had some problems with the Throw jet lag in with that and a beer seems like a good alternative.

So, haven t got to any tourist spots yet but have been saddened by the acres and acres of high -rise blocks of apartments. They just go on for miles. A bit like me about women. I m sitting here at a suburban rail station and it is just filthy with litter. Buildings almost totally covered in graffiti. And ugly buildings at that ! Maybe this makes Italians less neurotic than Aussies with the Anti-Litter campaigns. I don t know. I feel a bit like an older female friend of mine who only seemed to remember how " dirty" Europe was. I thought it was funny at the time. Back at the campsite I m having a beer when a person I met last year almost at the end of my journey walks into the bar area on the first day of my latest. He just seems to go on and on, traveling endlessly. I d always wondered where he got the money from as he doesn’t t appear to be rich. He has a nasty stutter I did not notice before , or remember. He tells me he has Parkinson s Disease. He s done Busabout every year since it inception except for 2. About 8 years I think. It s unlikely I'll run into any "old" young friends as most of them only do Europe once after graduating and do not return, unless when they are much older. I d been having doubts about this " diary " shaping up to the last but already with the arrival of Bill, things are happening already. I told Bill I was unable to do anything when I got to town and he says it s a miracle I went in at all, only 4 hours after getting off the plane. That makes me feel better. ( Here I make the comment that Bill is approximately 70 years old. I find out later that he is only 10 years older than me, 63.) NOTE Trying to find where to buy a train ticket this morning I asked a young woman if she spoke English. The answer was No but I managed to say the right word ( biggliterria ?) for ticket and she directs me to a newsagent. She was also beautiful. We have very many beautiful Italian women in OZ but all I can say is that we are getting the Rejects. NOTE : Bill has brought his wife, Adele ( Della), this year as opposed to last year when he travelled with his daughter. He had spoken of his wife last year but I was too polite to ask if she was ill or dead. 24.9.03 WED Three days in a Roma and already I smell of a Sin. I have been naughty or, at least, I have been trying. Started into town with Old Bill ( Switzerland 2002), his wife Della, and a young French couple called Muriel et Sebastian. We split up and, as I have no exact plans, Muriel et Sebastian invite me to tag

along with them. Muriel is from Toulouse and has just finished Electronics at Uni. Sebastian is from Bordeaux and is in Computers. They met at some tertiary institute where they were students together I have an echo from a day in Amsterdam ,where I separated a brother and sister in order to go to the Anne Frank house. The brother wasn't interested. This time Muriel wants to climb St Paul's but Sebastian is afraid of heights. I could have done without the trip myself i.e. a lift took me and Muriel half-way up but there were still 320 steps to be negotiated - narrow, steep, long stairways ( and wells). I was fucked halfway up. Fucked, as in tired. At the end of the day me, Bill, Della, Muriel et Sebastian have a beet together at the camp.......Bill and Della toddle off at first and, then, Sebastian.........it's just me and the girl, 26 year old from Toulouse. The whole thing is hopeless because even though she is not model-attractive, I ( Mr. Superficial) warm to her looks and , especially, to her largish lower lip and she begins to morph into the unrequited episode from Arkansas......so, I'm figuring I know where this will all end, don't I ? Qui ? We don't talk much to begin with. We are both just doing our diaries, mine in Sanskrit and hers in Advanced Calligraphy. We end up, though, having a good conversation that I could not ( again !) have had with an uptight, Anglo-westerner. My thoughts are, of course, racing while hers are, probably, in neutral. Whatever is in the water here, I'd like to take it home. 25.9.03 THURS So today I am on my own ( and even lose the map ) but I don't care as I am more confident. Even is Muriel et Sebastian hadn't decided to drive into Roma I wouldn't have tagged along again, even though they don't appear to be a regular boyfriend and girlfriend. ( As they are camping I presume they are doing this so they can do lunch and then drive on down to Napoli, as one does. Back at the camp I having a beer and pizza with Bill and Della when SURPRISE ! SURPRISE ! in walk S & M. They have not gone to Napoli. The connections into town are not good but, for me, not bad enough to want to drive in. Those crazy French kids ! Bill and Della retire and most of the ensuing talk is about S & M being just friends. They live in different towns but when they travel, or are, together, they sleep together. And, sleep is all. Do not feel like Robinson Crusoe, none of their parents or friends can understand either . I , especially, cannot understand because Muriel, who has been just wearing jeans and stuff, is wearing a dress that she is " falling out of" and she is simply STUNNING ! ...........and 2 hours later Seb gas gone to bed and we are alone again and if anything happens, I might tell you.... It's midnight and we get " hosed" out of the top bar. Muriel isn't tired but not thirsty, doesn't want to go to bed and doesn't want to dance, when I offer. So, we talk more, for about an hour or so. We have our most " complicated" conversation, according to Muriel. In the end I shake her hand and I give her a French kiss, Charles de Gaulle-style, and..................we exchange email addresses (she asked!) and photographs (I asked!) 26.9.03 FRI Muriel Simone Augusta Mangis has rented some space in my head. At least Lissa won't quite feel so alone - a big relief I'd say.

Sebastian is either a man of steel, very shy or gay. To me he seems to be shy. I am passing through Bordeaux and I have his phone number. I'll have to have strong words with him but not TOO strong. One must look after oneself as well as others. Whatever happens with Muriel,

I have enjoyed her company.

If it all ends here I will be quite happy. As a certain author might have said to the wife he never had - " I'm not feeling very well". Florence

26.9.03 FRI Firenze It appears as though I have been pick-pocketed or just my usual forgetful self. Anyway, it was only about AUD 50 in Czech money and the same amount in Singapore dollars. MURIEL'S HAIR Is sand blonde, cut short to the head and is very thin. Fine thin curls so thin that you can see her scalp - very unusual. She looks a bit like those cherubs in ancient religious paintings. With a face like pink-tinged marble. Beautiful. When we stop for a breakfast meal on the bus I am not hungry. I have had my cane of tuna and bread roll for breakfast. I am not hungry and trying to break the habit of eating for the sake of it. 27.903 SAT Firenze I do not feel like going into Firenze to see more old buildings and statues, imitations of David, imitations of the Doors of Paradise. I am lying in a cabin in a camp, thinking, resting and writing. I am alone and in the Antarctic. I am with you and I am with her. That is enough. I do not need to go into town but I will. A moment after this I am reading the Kafka biography and of his need for silence and privacy i.e. his bedroom was a passageway his parents used to get to their bedroom. There is an ongoing connection between me and K. OK, sounds crazy, then I discover that, at some point, he had ridden a motorbike. Doesn't sound very Kafka to me but it's true. I have splurged. I have spent EU 20,00 on a bus tour of the city, something I have not done before. It's a hop-on, hop-off, 24-hour deal so it's not a bad deal ( even though I do not use it more than once but was worth it for the view over Florence) I see a blind tourist with his fairly attractive girlfriend and I wonder what she sees in him. Can he smell the city ? Feel the vibes ? Touch the feet of St. Peter better ? Maybe he has stronger orgasms. I also wonder if this note is crass or not. It certainly ain' t funny ! American hunger is well catered for, apart from Maccas. Seen a couple of places selling cookies, bagels and home-baked apple pie. I get a bit lost today but not totally. Just when I decided to backtrack a million

metres I stumble across the bus I am seeking. I am wearing some heavy work boots and they have, so far, resulted in only 1 blister. Have worn heavy boots as I am here for the winter and did not want to pack a light pair of runners as well. I didn't really break them in properly either. I end up drinking with a yobbo from Victoria. When he seats himself next to me I am reading my Kafka biography and he wants to know who Kafka is. I tell him Kafka used to play fullback for the Czech Republic back in 1910. He asks me if I am serious. I’d love to tell him yes. He hadn't even heard of The Trial. We proceed to have a meaningful discussion about football grand finals in Australia. Then, thank the great lord Fuck, he fucked off. ( An 800-page book about a Czech fullback ? This guy was a true OZ !) * I do go into a spiel with him about who and what Kafka was and, as he knows I am a garbage truck driver, he is probably very confused. I hope. It should do him good. My meal for the evening in Bruscetta Campagnole ( kidney beans on toast) and Spaghetti Carbonara, my favourite pasta meal. The Carbonara is the best I've ever had, the pasta very al dente and chunks, not slices , of bacon close to prosicuitto, slightly salty and dangerous ! Carbonara with testicles ! I have been observing some OZ/NZers who, I know, will be the same at the end of their European experience. They are just so isolated from where they are, translating everything into their own cognizance. Very saddish. The person serving me beers looks like she expects me to fall down. Maybe I should. Just to keep her happy. I could do with being on my knees at the moment.

28.9.03 SUN Firenze Slightly overcast this morning. And so is the weather. It rained briefly during the night and I woke this morning to NO electricity and I had to have a cold shower as my self was remiss in that department yesterday. ( Later to find out that there was an electricity blackout all over Northern Italy). Had a dream last night that Lissa is there to meet me in Prague. For some reason she has a face like a South American bird, a long pointed nose like an upside-down canoe. She tells me she has flown to Prague because I have not told her I loved her lately in my emails. But is doesn't work out as usual because I can't get to her face for that Toucan nose of hers ! NOTE TO L : Sorry about this being in the 3rd person but have been in my head so long now you have become a fictional character, who I just might love anyway. I see an Aussie girl this morning that I have talked to before. She has a bright personality and looks like a little bowl of jelly on legs. If only I could find a spoon big enough I could.......and here the text is illegible but I am sure it is obscene. On a side-trip to Siena I meet Rob & Mel ( from NZ) who I keep running into at bus

stops. They are going to Siena via San Giacomo while I am just going to Siena. A side-trip for me is brave enough without doing a side-trip on a side-trip. And Mel doesn't my arouse " interest" enough to "tag along" with yet another couple. " Other People's Wives" could be a sub-title for my life ! I also see the identical twin of Michael Conroy, only she is 5 ft nothing and has pointy little nipples. ( Sorry, Michael, but it's true !). If I get the opportunity for a photo I will snap it up ( but it doesn't happen!). Siena is often featured in calendars of the Tuscany region. It is also where they manufacture that reddish-brown paint. It's funny though because I can't see the Dulux factory anywhere. Dreamed last night ( also !) of a few young nubile girls playing with themselves and give me the big invitation. Oh dear, this is probably my most erotic dream ever. I've got to get out of the place if it's the last thing I ever do. Dang me, dang me, they ought to take a rope and hang me. * (* Believe it or not, I have actually toned this passage down - in the real dream I am handing out " dos and don'ts " in tablet form from a mountain somewhere in the Sinai desert in close proximity to ( another) burning bush. God forgave me.) ( As He always does). Siena ( and Florence) are more like the Italy I expected - non-industrial and very little traffic compared to, say, Rome. I go into a Maccas in Siena and pretend to read the menu while all the time I just want to use their toilet. I do not actually object to paying for a WC but I have not seen any public ones. At one point, having lunch, I manage to walk away and leave my this notebook behind on the ground. I manage to back track through these small alleyways and I find what I have left behind. Talk about heartbreak, if I had lost it ! On my way back from Siena on the bus a Southern Californian clinical psychologist strikes up a conversation with an Australian Human Resources person and his Marketing spouse while I am trying to read. You try it ! From Kafka's Biography : He complains of being much lonelier than Kasper Hauser ( a famous recluse / hermit of the time) - he is in fact as lonely as Franz Kafka. Know the feeling. Take the bus all the way into Florence to, ostensibly use up some un-used time I have at an Internet place. But, do you think, I can find it ? End up finding the bus I need to get back to the camp but do you think I can find a place to buy a ticket ? No way. All the trekking about I realize I am getting blisters but only on my right foot. Another spectre joins the parade. There is a young English guy travelling with Busabout who is the spitting image of FK and if he is not a writer I'll eat my hat. Bill and Della have arrived at the campsite. They said they would catch up but I didn't think they would. We end up having a meal with a lesbian couple B & D have befriended. We have a pretty good time, telling jokes and stuff but one of the lesbians is a bit of a downer but the other, Frances ( not me !) , is OK. At the end of the night the conversation turns to my " girlfriends". I give B & D some poems to give to the " girls " because they ( the girls ) have to go to bed early.

Er, hmmm, as he cleared his throat. As I leave the bar the girl with the Jelly Body is having dinner with Stuart, the Franz Kafka look-a-like.

EXCERPT FROM THE FK BIO : Kafka has to tone down his fiction to what he feels will " ever " be publishable. Forget about being published now, Frank ! 29.9.03 MON Nice There is an Australian on the bus who could be my father except that him and I are the roughly the same age and my father hasn't aged (49) since 1976. Ah, the Life Preserving qualities of Death. At our short stop in Pisa I am walking along the street back to the bus when I pass by a jolly, fat German-looking gentleman who obviously thinks I am the same. Morgen, he says. Morgen, I reply. We wave the salute as it is politically incorrect nowadays. Again a dream of Arkansas last night but at least she has her old face back. ............... The hostel at Nice is a six-bedder dorm with an en suite ( but no double garage ) that is a lot better than the small shower stalls I have had in Roma and Firenze. Only problem here is there is no communal bar and no drinking allowed in the cooking area. This has upset my routine which is to walk around town for 4 or 5 hours and then chill -out in the communal drug area, writing occasionally, and having conversation with my fellow travellers. On my first night I tried to find the Nice beach, got lost *, found eventually, wrote the preceding et bon huit !

my way home

( * Asked for some directions en Francais - " Ou est le Gare du Nice, s'il vous plait ? " and got directions via the works of Baudelaire and Proust at a machinegun rate. I didn't understand a word but luckily, him, being a Frenchman, he was able to use his arms and fingers in such a way that I soon found my way there. In fact, I was just around the corner !) With any luck I'll see L again tonight. It's certainly cheaper than airfare and roses ! ......................... EUROEM # 42 Muriel et Sebastian. Qui sont ils ? Ils sont jeune ! Ou vont-ils ? Muriel, mon dieu, c'est magnifique !

I could love her ? Oui. I could love her how she wants ? Je ne sais pas. Je suis desole. I cannot ask Sebastian. Non. Nice

30.9.03

Do not be impressed avec moi Francais. In Nice I just happened to be rooming with a French-Canadian called, funnily enough, Jean Sebastian who did most of the translating for me. I did not do this to impress Muriel but simply as a politeness. In fact, I told her I had help ). The lines involving the word COULD I did not want to trust to rough translation. ............................ MEETING PLACE A man has to be hard. A woman has to be soft. And probably the reason for pubic hair, no less. Nice 30.9.03 EMAILS # 1 It is important for me to include these emails for you to understand why I think some things I do. And do do. Particularly, do do. HE WROTE ( 29.0.03) : Just testing to see if I have

your email address right.

Also to tell how much I enjoyed your company AND the dress you wore the last time I saw you. MURIEL WROTE : i am actually at firenze, we are coming back in france. we didn't really like napoli, but it worths it to see pompei and also to climb the vesuvio !!! we did it! and i cried (of joy) because to climb a vulcano was one of my dream !!! we were stolded in napoli (all papers of sebastian and my 2 pictures machines) when we was changing a wheel in napoli. i'm very happy to announce you that i have my engineer diploma !!! i was very happy to met you and i must confess that you did not let me

indifferent .... (this is one of my favorite dress whitch give surely my real age (not 21)) i will wrote you longer the next time because i'm not home yet ... HE WROTE : What are your picture machines that got stolen ? Your cameras ? Congratulations on becoming an engineer . Meanwhile, here is a poem I wrote in Nice. EUROEM # 42 Muriel et Sebastian........ ..........etcetera..... ........................... I cannot ask Sebastian. Non. ............................ Bon soir bon nuit bon huit As you can guess, I had help with the Francais; ..................................................................... FOOTNOTE : Anything you say will be taken down and used against you. By-Law 15, The Author's Handbook of Morals

EMAILS # 2 SHE WROTE : ( 2.10.03) hi ! thanks for your poem, i didn't know that you like me so much ... i really appreciate what you said about me ... and your french was correct !! congratulation ! About the problem in napoli, yes it was my 2 cameras (sorry i didn't know how to say it in english) I'm ill because i get cold during my trip under the rain at Pompei and when I climb the vesuve (did i said that i cried of joy ? yes i think so ...) HE WROTE : I liked you from the start but it was your dress that won me over. I had help with the poem from a French-Canadian I was staying with. My francais is not that good. I thought you would appreciate it being in your own language. I hope you get better soon. SHE WROTE : I'm very touched to hear that you like me from the beginning and also to see the effect of a simple dress ! (laugh) I must confess that this evening I wore this dress specialy to show you that I'm a

women and not a girl. Because I was upset to hear that I looked 21 years old. (I must admit there's not much difference between 21 and 25) I just regret not to have stay longer ... It warms my heart to see that a man like me. Muriel ps: i'm already better.

HE WROTE : You ARE a woman and should be treated like one. When you are as old as me, it doesn´t matter whether you are 21 or 25. I do NOT understand how MANY men would not like you. I am passing through Bordeaux from Spain on the 19th October. I am not sure where Toulouse is. Would it be possible to see you somewhere ? Would you like to see me ? I have 2 or 3 days free. Maybe, this is not want you want ?

Je ne sais pas . Gary

I have arrived at a title - FURTHER MISS ADVENTURES IN EUROPE - PART 1. The reason for this title will become more obvious as we go along. There will be a very short, but obvious, break in transmission between Parts 1 and 2 and in which there will be no intrusive advertising commercial. ............................................ 30.9.03 TUES Nice But, getting back to the holiday.......c'est bon matin and I am going for a walk to find the beach. Or the bitch, whichever comes first. Merde ! I do not get out of the room till Midday because I have written a poem for Muriel and got some of it translated by the late, great Jean Sebastian of Room # 207, Hotel Antares, Nice. Beggars every 100 metres, worse than the plague in Prague. For breakfast / lunch I get a small bread roll ( petit pain ) to eat with my tinned tuna. I think I pronounce it perfectly but the shopkeeper points anyway and gives me a good smile. As I walk into a small park I overhear a North American couple talking. She is saying " I know you don't want to talk about it but NOW we HAVE to !". He just stares, silently, at the ground. they are obviously have a " relationship " moment. Attendez-vous ! I am on the French Riviera, little Gary Frances from Frances Avenue, Enfield, 2136. It's not summer holidays, so it's not crowded.

There is a woman sur la plage, totally naked tanning herself, legs akimbo, wide open at 45 degrees. I hear the sea breeze is lovely this time of year. ( I thought I may have imagined this, that she had on a really small bikini bottom, but I later talked to some fellow travellers who saw one woman taking a dump on the beach. Sacre blue, no relief in sight !) The water looks great but I have no one to " tag " swim with. This is the method for tourists - one personne has to stay sur la plage while the others frolic on the froth d' Azur. Valuables are not safe on the sand. I heard a story that supposedly happened last year where a woman, swimming naked, had everything taken while she was in the water and had to be escorted back to her hotel room by the police. Just prior to this I was walking passed a cafe and a woman broke into a smile looking at me. I returned the smile with grace and humour. This is what happens when you are wearing an ( imitation ) Giorgio Armani t-shirt and the rest of you clearly isn't. I see a beautiful kiss. Maybe only the French could do this, a la Rodin. He looks like he is enjoying it and not simply performing a tonsillectomy. Walking further on I cannot help myself ; I have to go down and shake hands with the Mediterranean. It is like bath water. Maybe l'eau de Muriel. I come away wet anyway. The beach is not sand but layers of smooth stones . And I am wearing the right shoes, steel capped work boots. There is a fenced-off area on the beach designated for children. Aire de Sable ( sandpit for children). None are visible. I'll leave the punchline to you. Je suis fatigue. L' ennui, c"est roi. FOOTWEAR / HISTORY : The word Nice derives from the Greek word Nike when the Ancient Greeks were doing le Grande Tourismo here in 3 or 4 BC. The buggers ! There is a park on top of the headland between the beach and Nice boat harbour that is a steep climb but well worth the view or even if you just want to hide in the bushes and regardez le femmes. EUROEM # 43 Florence prices had me in a Frenzy but when I got to Nice I wanted to call the police ! Nice, 30.9.03 There is a souvenir shop on the top and as I walk past a woman exclaims, in an Omi-god accent - " I hate it when I want something and can't have it. I can't even get it shipped home to the States !". Omigod, at the top of her voice, to no one. Migod is definitely not listening. It's providence that le biche de Arkansas has a soft, beautiful, Southern drawl. Y'all. I find Matisse's grave. As you would expect from someone who is a) dead, b) looking ill or c) making bad jokes.

Walking down to the Promenade via le Ville de Vieux Nice. There is hardly a passageway wider than a truck. Mostly just a rabbit warren of bars, restaurants and fruit shops. I have been walking for 5 hours and by the time I get near the hostel ( and lost again !) I decide to reward myself with a beer at a little bar that is not much bigger than about 4 metres square. I only manage to pay for 1 beer before I get adopted by a drunken Frenchman called Jerome. He's a public servant ( ticket seller) who has had the day off because today is his Name Day. He ends up buying me about 3 or 4 beers because I am Australian while the girl behind the bar buys me a Pastis so, she tells me, I can say that I have had Pastis in a bar in the south of France. The whole afternoon only costs me about EU 10 and my only bad experience was being asked about Aborigines and Migrants.. It was all too difficult because Jerome wanted to know these things and we had to have the bar-person translate as her English was better than his but not great. Later, when I get onto the Internet I get an email from Muriel. She has passed her final exam that was in English usage. I find it surprising because while her Oral English is very good her written seems very ordinary. It must be a very basic exam. 1.10.03 WED Nice FOOTNOTE TO YESTERDAY : At the bar with Jerome it was the United Nations : A black man from Sweden, a woman from Denmark, an Australian and 2 French people. Someone comments that it is like the United Nations except that there are no Americans. This , of course, makes it very true..( The Danish woman spoke German and English but this didn't stop Jerome from hassling her about learning French ). Examples everywhere of younger women with older men. Have noticed this particularly in Nice. This has, of course, been on my mind lately, if not before ! I may not be an old perve, just a European. ( Of course, in a lot of the Nice examples money plays a part ). Went to a Laundromat to do my washing and had to get change for the machines. Was going to go to the " phone booth" bar but ended up getting a couple of bottles of a Vodka mix at the local grocery store. So, I end up doing my weekly washing with a rinse of Vodka and Kafka. Earlier in the afternoon, tired of walking, I went to see Kate Beckinsale in Underworld. I had expected it to be in English with French subtitles but no. Still , who cares, it was Kate-baby with fangs - you need a language for this ? Buying some groceries this morning I was wondering if it is diet or the pace-oflife, eg. slow service, that has Europeans less prone to Heart Disease. Bill and Dell arrive and we go shopping together. Dell buys food, Bill gets a bottle of wine and I grab a bottle of Pastis. Bill is pissed off with something the hotel has done to him and, in the end, he wins. Feisty old bastard he is ! Enjoy my Pastis and a little chocolat, Cote d'or Noir Orange ( tastes like Jaffas !), The dormer who I thought might be gay because he is so friendly and good-looking with an French accent is readying himself for a night with some sweet young 007

girl. Good one, Pierre ! I am having a quiet Pastis in the common room when a bunch of kids come in and takeover with their laughter and card games. Arseholes. They insist I stop reading and, all up, we have a pretty good time, telling jokes about the universe. EMAILS # 3 SHE WROTE : Thank you for your words Gary. Some men like me, but surely not like I want. I didn't have a real serious love story for a long time ... and I miss that. But, in despite of all, I know it will come to me one day, soon perhaps. I miss that, but I don't really mind, because I trust in my "good star". (why am I telling you all that ?? (laugh)) Where are you actually ? What are you thinking about ? I like to know a little bit more about you ... if you want to tell me ... And you? Do you want to know some things about me? Just ask. Toulouse is located at 200 kilometers on the East of Bordeaux. I think it's possible to see you, and I think I want it. Even if I'm shy and a little bit afraid to see you again after that we know we thing about us. But I know that in few months you will be on the other side of the planet ... so it would be idiot not to see you again while you're not far from me ... (what are you suggesting? Do you have already an idea to propose ?) I think I would like to know what you are thinking in general, or all that you want to say to me... It's a strange feeling ... Muriel ps : I took a picture of you, but my camera has been stolen ...

HE WROTE : I am in Barcelona until tomorrow and then to Madrid. I am planning to live in Europe permanently or, alternatively, 6 months in Australia and 6 months in Europe. I own an apartment that I could rent out that would allow me to live in an East European or Asian country without having to work. I would just write poem and stuff. I became interested in you because of your relationship with Sebastian. It is unusual and I like unusual people. I have made a note that Seb must be a man of steel ( like Superman), gay or very shy. I decided he must be very shy. I too am shy ( mostly, sometimes not!) but I could not be in bed with a woman who I liked without wanting her physically. I recently met a girl from Arkansas, USA, in Prague and I fell in love with her. We had much humour in common, she likes me but that is all. She is cute but that is not why I like her. That was the problem with my marriage - I married somebody for their appearance rather than because I liked her. This WAS one of my faults.

I also drink too much but not when I am happy, I was surprised to find that you were not indifferent to me because I did not try to impress you, I am a lot older than you and not good looking. It is difficult to impress someone in another language. WHAT AM I THINKING or PLANNING. Je ne sais pas. I would be happy to catch a train or bus to Toulouse to see you. The closest I get to you on my bus tour will be either San Sebastian or Bordeaux. I have heard some good things about Toulouse and would like to spend some days there, getting to know you. ( We have, after all, only known each other for a few hours). I would like to kiss you ( but not a greeting, Charles de Gaulle-style), touch you, hold you and sleep with you.) It is all a strange feeling. I am shy , in these matters especially, and the only reason I am saying what I am saying is because I really like you, find you attractive, and if I don’t say anything now I will never see you again. There were a lot of BIG questions and I’m not sure if I have answered them all. Maybe I have answered too much. Je ne sais.... Gary 2.10.02 / 5.10.03 THURS / FRI

Barcelona / Madrid

New feelings happen to me all the time in Europe. Last year I dreaded losing my precious diaries, more than my passport, credit cards or money. Not long after boarding the bus I realized I had lost THIS diary. And I couldn't have cared less, couldn't have been calmer. I actually came to the conclusion that, maybe, I didn't want to be me anymore. But 3 days later, shades of Berlin last year, a young girl walks into the hostel, she has my diary in a plastic bag and somebody has scribbled my name on it. ( It's still a mystery, sort of - apparently on the way to my room I was talking to someone, a girl , in a stairwell and I have dropped the book. Good thing she was sober otherwise she might have taken advantage of me.) These notes are from memory and, therefore, short. (

Lucky you !)

We stopped in Avignon briefly, visit the walled city, the Pope's Palace ,and I finally get to talk to Stuart. I ask him what I have suspected - yes, he is a writer but devotes most of his day to advertising. I can see the weariness in his eyes. And I also have time on the bus to drift away into..... EUROEM # 44 Roads off the highway trail way to domestic sympathy a quiet thought works to Toulouse growing old with other children cherries with the pigeon a warm blanket and bed. 2.10.03 Avignon Coming into Barcelona, and all the way from Nice, I begin to realize the High Density house ( I was repulsed by) is the norm and not an aberration of Italy's. I

suppose it's better than miles of suburbia. ( The Size of the Apartments in Barcelona is enormous and goes for miles and acres). I am actually travelling with Bill and Della on the bus instead of just running into them at hostels and hostel bars. This proves to be unfortunate. I never, normally, go into the cities at night but certainly not on the first night. Bill persuades me to and I get pickpocketted getting off a Metro. Bill feels bad but I tell him that it could have happened anytime, even the daytime, which, in Barcelona, is right. The whole episode had its up and downs 1) I got a phone call to say that someone had found ( what remained of the wallet. 2) I got my credit card back, also pictures of my children and the Homecoming Queen of Prague, 2002 3) It took me 2 long walking sessions to get the photos / cards back. 4) The fact that someone found what remained of my wallet and bothered to contact me actually helped me get over the horrible feeling of the theft 5) I actually admired the technique of the crime. 6) It's since made me very paranoid and afraid of human contact. Actually run into the first person who is both Chinese and Gary. We regularly call each other Gazza. Horrible name that it is. I was very " down " about Barcelona until I discovered the works of Gaudi, his Familial (?) church and his works in Guell Park. Works somewhere between art and architecture. As brilliant as the Sydney Opera House is, it is child's play compared to this man's achievements. If Gaudi had done the Syd Op it would have been a Luna Park with taste. At one of our stops on the road I found a roadside cafe with poker machines and had fish and chips at another - but the fish was red salmon ! Bill and Dell left the bus at Valencia. I have enjoyed their company ( except for some argument they have been having for 40-odd years of their marriage !). It's just good to be my own man again. Madrid looks Ok but it is very crowded i.e. the streets at 10-11pm look like Sydney in peak-hour, midday. There are beautiful " Marias " everywhere. Only staying here 1 night and for 3 after my journey around Spain and through Portugal. The Madrid Hostel is very central. ( In fact, there are hot-and-cold running genitals right downstairs.) There are some hostels that are so far out-of-town it is not funny. Barcelona, for example - you had to walk close to 2 ks to get to the edge-of-town and, ergo, public transport. On the other hand though, it was right next to the beach and served a fair paella. Internet here is free but there is a 20-minute limit which is cool as some people stay on forever, or nearly that. After a shower and a "go " on the net I drop into a bar where with my beer I am given olives, peppers and onions. It is apparently a tradition to get some sort of free snack with your alcohol in Spain. I am not sure what I get with the next beer as I have ordered Anchovies in Vinegar. Anyway, it is pretty good and I find out later on that there are 2 kinds of anchovies - the kind in OZ on yer actual pizzas and ones that actually look like a fish. And, eating with my fingers which is traditional here makes me feel young again, about 2. 6.10.03

MON Costa del Sol

I have just communicated with Muriel yesterday by email. It's a funny world here.

I thought she was lonely without a lover. At one point I'd imagined saving her from a life of celibacy. It is the other way around. Spent a few hours contemplating the fact that she has got " lovers" . Her grammar is wrong ? She has HAD many lovers ? In the end, I decide that, even if this is the case, that it is a French / European thing and not for me to judge. It does hurt me, though, to think of her being treated badly, casually. I see a female Busabout guide I remember from last year. The only sex I easily remember. She does not remember me, so that's fair. Only thought she would because I am in the "old " category with Bill. Kafka's thoughts about transforming into a snake or whatever seem to be incredibly close to things I would think about as a child but was confused about and wondered why I thought such things. I used to wonder what use was there. I certainly would not have thought about putting them on paper. Only a small percentage of what I think makes it to paper. . Back to the Travel Log : Some years ago in Spain they passed a law to ban roadside advertising billboards. Great idea but the people objected to ones that were in the shape of a bull, advertising who-knows-what (!), and today scenery-destroying ads for chainsaws or sunglasses, but these big, black bulls, without ads, can be seen dominating the hills. I am happy ! Why ? Or, as she would exclaim - ! ! Sitting on the bus thinking about visiting Muriel I am physically moved. Physically. Moved. This has not happened in a long time. Well, sitting next to a certain Southern Belle last year.... My Spanish is negligible but, at a roadside stop, I manage " Ola. Aqua grande, perfavore. Gracias " and it gets me a big bottle of water. It's very little but it makes me feel good. Not physically moved but good. Passing through hills and hills of olive trees, stretching for miles, thousands of green dots on brown hills. As the Belle would say, Awesome. ( I have not seen this before, obviously, but I am told later that they are in this plague proportion in Southern Italy, and I have really only been in the North.) Lunch is Lamb with Garlic, chunks of lamb, on the bone, scuba-diving in small sea pf garlic-infused olive oil. Burp. After which I have a conversation with a lovely, little blonde girl about music mostly and she says she regrets we are not headed for the same town. Regrets ? I've had a million, quite Frankly. After Granada stop-off there are only 5 passengers on the bus. Where we are heading is very quite. It's a chill-out hostel with just a quiet stretch of beach, 3 restaurants and 2 ATMs. No man-made monuments to Gob ( sic), only its sand and sky. Welcome to the coast of the Sun. It's raining. Once again, bad weather is dogging me this year. I've been wondering all day what Muriel's decision ( to visit) will be. I'll be dying to Toulouse the moment I hit Bordeaux. The hostel we are staying at is clean and not cramped, 3 beds to a room, no bunks, a decent sized bathroom - and, most important, a bar with the Mediterranean just below. A half-million dollar view at hostel prices. Brilliant. It's the best

hostel I've stayed in, bar Lauterbrunnen. But, bad luck strikes again. Just as I am sending an email to Rob, there is an electricity blackout. I have just had an email from Muriel headed GOOD IDEA. I think she has made a good decision, for me anyway. The answer is YES. It's frustrating now, having to wait, nearly two more weeks before I'm scheduled to be in France. ( I didn't know alcohol floated to the bottom. Or can't remember ! I am told this in relation to Sangria. It has a fairly high alcohol content anyway but when you get close to the bottom of the barrel it is capable of launching rocket ships. Briefly.)

EMAILS #4 MURIEL WROTE : So, you're in Spain ! Do you like it ? I wish you do ! About my relation with Sebastian, in fact, at the beginning ( years ago) there were physical attraction, but during few week. After, you became friends with nothing else. So, Seb, is not of steel, gay or shy neither !! He's really not my kind. Well, in fact, he's the opposite of what I like in men. I think that attraction between some people is a feeling affair ! I don't know if it is clear in english ? ! But old, physic and language are not important when you have a good feeling with someone.....that was the case with you. And, most of all, I like " out of the ordinary " people !! And you are ! But, the bigger problem is that I don't know if that feeling about you ( or between us) is enought to spend a few days with you and to have, perhaps more with you.....I really don't know and I'm afraid of that. I don't know if you see what I mean ? It can really great and also the opposite, how to know ??? Thank you for your answers, it's a kind of way to know you a little but more....You can do the same with me, I don't have anything to hide...Even if I'm still asking myself a lot of questions. HE WROTE : I thought I only had 1 night in Bordeaux but NO - I could get down to Toulouse and we would have an afternoon, night and morning together .

ALSO SOME QUESTIONS Are you a good cook or do you hate cooking ? Do you watch tv a lot ? Are you lonely all the time ? Do you have lots of friend ? but are still lonely ? What are your interests beside electronics ?

MURIEL WROTE : I'm an excellent cook and I like it ! ! For example, this week-end I was with my parents and some family, and I cook for all ! ! I really like to invit some friends and prepare some cook for them ! I like when this silence install in the room when people eat the foot ! ! I like that ! ! I never watch tv, or just a few. I hate this kind of false informations..I prefer to listen music ( I listen a lot) and read papers, books.. I'm not lonely all the time. I must confess that I've got some " lovers", just to do not be alone all the nights...not things very serious.... Lonelyness is not a choice. Sometimes I like it, sometimes not.I don't have serious opportunities, that's all. I've got friends, but I prefer to have few and good quality !

!

I listen a lot a music from classic to hard rock and not commercial things. I like bikes. I want to to buy a monster600 ducati or 750 ZR7 kawa....When I was young, I liked trucks. At my parents house, the walls of my room have a lot of pictures of american trucks. AND I'm practicing archery since 10 years ! ! In competition, i've got good level in france even if since few years I don't time to practice. Tell me what do you want to do about visiting me in Toulouse ( about 2 hours in train from Bordeaux)...What would you prefer...Do you have proposition to do...or wish to tell me...I still do not take a decision yet... i'm lost about it...Tell me when I must make a decision !

HE WROTE : I don´t care whether you can cook or not. It was just a question but I am glad to hear that you enjoy it. Some people in electronics and computers just seem to be involved in only that. I am glad you don´t like tv.. I wish I had lovers to relieve my loneliness but it is more people I can really talk to that I want. I too listen to music all the time, everything classical ,electronica, modern rock, avant garde - so much, I cannot tell you. I would like to visit you the afternoon of 19th October for a meal and, hopefully, stay with you for the night. You can make a decision whenever you like...you have 2 more weeks. . MURIEL WROTE : I know that it was only questions, don't worry! I just answers to it. And you can ask me more if you want to. It seems to be a good idea to visit me the 19 october in the afternoon, I can show you Toulouse as I like it (if you want to), discuss with you like we did in Roma and don't care about what could happen ...

7.10.03 TUES Costa del Sol Muriel and I are a pair, in some ways. Our thoughts and habits criss-crossed each other all morning on an Instant Message conversation, about 2 hours worth. There are similar tastes and thoughts on music. She quoted me some CDs that she has and I liked them all and had CDs by the bulk of the artists she named. She also says she likes my sense of humour, a difficult thing when most of my jokes are based on subtle word-meanings and general misunderstanding of English language (and human nature for that matter!). Where will it all lead? Somewhere different, I hope, from the horrible life I am living back in OZ. I do not think I have spoken of the Spanish habit of siesta - most businesses close for the afternoon roughly from 1pm to 4pm. In the bigger cities you will get the occasional supermarket or whatever open but down South it is very serious. Everything here is closed with the exception of a little bar on the beach. Even the hostel bar is closed. I still cannot believe that Muriel and I have " connected ". She is a young, beautiful, intelligent girl who tells me that " age, physic " do not matter to her. There is somebody for everybody in the world. I have difficulty, at home, meeting someone to be with, to be happy with. Last year I was able to enjoy L's company, if nothing else. This year I have met someone with whom I have even more in common with and who does not object to my age. To be fair to Arkansas, she did say, even if I was her age, I wasn't her type. So what if I'm sitting here, drinking beer, just off the Mediterranean, next to a ticking grandfather clock. I can just barely make-out the North African coast, Morocco. These conditions could lead to serious alcoholism. ................... NEXT DRINK is a beer at the bar on the beach, managing the transaction in bad Spanish. My big problem is saying ALO instead of OLA. Silly amigo. Back to Muriel. I was in love with L after only a few days. Muriel is different. She is attractive and we seem to have a lot in common and I definitely want to have sex with her but I could not describe myself as being in love with her. As I have said, Lissa is still much in my mind, crowding it. It is a vast improvement on me falling in love with women for their looks, although both are beautiful. This trip looked, to begin with, a bit slow, different, not as exciting, as sunny or funny, but its hero is being enriched again. I am almost at the stage where, like in Prague last year, I wanted to cry for joy. Literally. 8.10.03 WED Costa del Sol Went down to La Linea to see Gibraltar. It's about a 30 k bus trip for just under EU 2,_. Bargain! Took a tour of the The Rock for EU 20, _. Saw some monkeys, did some shopping, saw some Bobbies and had fish and chips for lunch, with vinegar (when in England!). Signs everywhere in English seem strange, as does the word Governor. Ange or Angela, not Ann, is a nice Sydney girl whose looks aren't great to begin with but, as the morning goes on, I begin to warm to her looks and.............and, I'm only joking and proving that I am not a TOTAL slut but then, seriously, she is a very nice looking girl! (Hoping that this will be published and she will read this!) Ange and I meet an American guy (Andy has split for lunch) on the tour up to the

top of The Rock. He is an American chaplain in the US Navy and........ this is good as I have already dropped a few, but that not many, " fucks" and a blue joke. He has most likely heard my language before. He is actually a very good "bloke" from the mid-West and him, Ange and I have a great time discussing the differences between American, Australian and English *. - * Ange has been working in the UK for a while. Apparently the last thing in the UK is greeting someone with " Are you OK?" All 3 of us have a great time with this one! Back at the hostel I brush my teeth (not my shoes) for the first time in a week (basically lacking the tools) and shave. 9.10.03 THURS Seville We have all had a late night at an Indian restaurant. Me in about 1.30 am, Ange at 2.30 am and Andy at 6am. (He has been skinny-dipping and I have forgot to mention that he is very good looking and has had 2 blonde OZ girls chasing him. Maybe they caught up with him.) It was a really big night, there were 12 of us, and the owners were so pleased at our presence that a number of beers were had for free and 2 bottles of complimentary champagne were proffered. I had a running fight with a little girl (just under 5 ft, about 17), who insists on dropping the F word. I find her use of it totally unnecessary and attentiongetting and she tells me that her parents at home. I get her point but I am more concerned that the F word is becoming slightly over-used and is becoming quickly the vocabulary of 4 year olds! She doesn't see my point as I have my trousers done up very tightly and I prefer Older Women anyway! Really full with Indian food from last night and this morning all I can manage is coffee. Apart from little Emily, I have had a running joke with a girl called Linda who comes from Avalon. I keep insisting she comes from 7 Hills, not of Roma but near Blacktown. She takes it a lot better than Emily does about the swearing but there is still some aggravation. I attempt to explain to Ange that the joke is that I have family who come from 7 Hills and that to me it is not a big thing. I wish Linda were here so I could explain but I tell Ange as they seem to get along and maybe she will catch up with her. (This turns out to be true because Ange and Linda both end up travelling together at some point) We get into Seville about 2.30 pm. Ange, Emily and I have lasagna at a wind-blown place called Tarifia. The surf there is big, due to the wind, and probably has more surf shops than the average seaside Sydney suburb. Went for a walk to email Diane and maybe try to catch Muriel on Yahoo Messenger but all to no avail. And big trouble with the keyboard! Room 5 we are staying at and is just 5 single beds but JAMMED together. Another weird thing is the toilet and shower. They are in the vestibule as you enter the room, and only separated by plastic curtains. Two males and three females at the moment where every tinkle can be heard. 3 Australians (1 male), a South African girl and an Englishman in doubt, Andy. (He is " in doubt " because even though he is good looking I have yet to see him yet go off with any of the women. Maybe, he is just fussy!) EMAILS # 5 ? MURIEL WROTE:

Sorry, I regret to having wrote this letter because today I feel better. I think I just wanted to tell someone my sadness and it was you. Today I’m better, I’m still jealous of the happiness of the others but I want to have fun!! I will go out tonight, dance, drink and stuff ... I want to and I need to! to let off stream ... Thanks you for your words! But I don't want you to be sad!! Because I’m not now. What do you mean when you say that you hope you find me? I don't want you to make to much dream about me... I don't want to hurt you, never. You're too adorable for this. I don't think that you're crazy, I like this. But I don't think I'M so crazy. HE WROTE: I said that a dream was what I am looking for and I think that you are that dream. I sent you the poem to show you that I do not just want to spend a night with you and have been thinking about it for a while (not just in response to your sad letter) This is what I thought about after a long walk I have a number of suggestions. The first is - if you could learn to love me and I could make you happy, in and out of bed - I would like to marry you. How to live? We could live in OZ where I own an apartment and could look after you on my wage. And you could, probably, get work. Or, as I have said before, the rent from my apartment would allow me to live in an Eastern European or Asian country. These are only rough ideas. I do not want you to live the life of a mistress anymore. I would like to love you how you should be loved and how you want. You may not want to hurt me but I do not like to see you get hurt either. Gary 10.10.03 FRI Seville Some time later I have proposed to her in an email and she has all but said no. (We have spoken on An Instant Message) but she is a bit confused and also happy that I have asked her. She has still to see me in Toulouse, hopefully. There has been a major language problem and she, now, realizes it. (I have, obviously, re-read these emails and I am still not sure what was being said. Perhaps if I had been " cool " enough to just " sleep" with her things may have turned out different. I cannot see, though, how doing this, pissing off to Prague and thence to OZ would have led to any better result Prague 11.11.03 Remembrance Day) EMAILS # 6 HE WROTE: I am confused with some of the things you say. Maybe, it’s because of the language. Sometimes you say you want somebody to love you - and you say you would be happy if it was me - but, then, you say you don’t want to hurt me, like when you say you

don’t want me to dream about you. It has already hurt me to think of men just using you. Even if you would not be prepared for me to love you, I would still like to see you again. I have offered you everything I have - take what you want! I get excited thinking about you............Gary. SOME OF MURIEL'S EMAILS HAVE BEEN WIPED AND SO THE COMPLETE RECORD OF EMAILS IS INCOMPLETE. HOPE THIS ALL MAKES SENSE. HE WROTE: (She has said that I do not know her very well, still trying to understand why an almost complete stranger has asked her to marry him, no doubt) These thoughts came after you said that I did not know much about you. Here goes: you are shy, gentle (except you wanted a Ducati Monster), generous in your love, kind to small animals (like Sebastian), intelligent, you love your family and deep within you is a person that nobody knows except yourself but you would like for somebody else to know. These last few words are probably true of everybody but it is the first time I have ever cared. This morning I feel tres bien even though you have said no. I have had regrets before at not asking for something I want. The torture of uncertainty is worse than the small pain of rejection. My life has been a series of regrets. This is only the 3rd time I have asked anyone to marry me - to a girl I was engaged to, one I was married to et vous. I just want you to know that I do not do this on a regular basis. I am also happy in the knowledge that, whatever happens, I think you will never forget me. 10.10.03 FRI Seville NOTE: After the last emails I have had a discussion with Muriel on Instant Message. To be fair to Muriel (I don't know what she was thinking!) but she sounds really sorry, shocked; he normally good English seems to have fallen to pieces she sounded seriously frazzled.) (I have rocked " out " of a tapas bar that the Walking Tour Guide had recommended.) There are only tables for 4. I am only 1 and the place is getting crowded. I am not being served and getting uncomfortable, socially. I leave and end up at a Tex-Mex place where I leave with a stomach full of pseudo-American fat. It was my first real meal of the day and don't feel too bad about " pigging out ". Back at the hotel, Ange and a new girl are there and I need a shower to wipe off the sweat. It is very warm and I have done a lot of walking. I ask the girls if they need to use the toilet. When they say no I say " well, if you want a shower, just follow me!" No takers. (I realize I have broken Roommate manners by this

joke. For the rest of our travels, Ange goes a bit cold on me. This lesson I will remember, if nothing else!) Linda. from Avalon, and a blonde girl, who are staying at another hotel, come by and want to know if Ange can come out to play. I tell Ange this when I see her in the room but she is not feeling. Linda and the blonde girl go away, looking sad. (I had seen them earlier when they had turned up late for a Walking Tour and had blown EU 10. 11.10.03 SAT Seville Bad night's sleep, thinking of Muriel. Get up about 10 to visit the Alcazar, not that impressed with the palace but love the garden. I feel good today. Now I have said what I have said to Muriel I have no regrets. Maybe it is because I have found the " third hand" of Saint P and no longer need any help. Excuse me while I get religious. Or superstitious, wherever those 2 meet. It's a strange calmness that comes over me in Europe. Serenity. Even if I can only do 6 months in OZ and 6 months here, it will be life-saving. I could not handle another year totally in OZ. As I walk out of a cafeteria into the garden, I have help with my feelings, just from the greenery. There's a fountain in the garden that reminds me of Gaudi - it's man-made but it looks part of nature. I get on the Internet but there is no Muriel. I have sent her a message but no reply. I am told by a street gypsy selling me a handful of herbs and reading my palm that I am going to meet my Grand Amour but not in Espana, as she says. It's all in Spanish but I seem to understand most of it. Maybe, I think, Muriel will change her mind. Also, I am going to live forever. I have spoken to Muriel about liking " unusual" people. All people are unusual it is just a matter of how you disguise yourself. To be totally yourself would be to be " out of control" or complete madness. I have told her that I would like to meet her " inner" self. It begins to rain very lightly and the local citizens are running for cover or cheap umbrellas. ................................. I RECEIVE AN EMAIL FROM HER AND......... Well, I've fucked it up. She doesn't even want to see me, even for the 1 night! She has uninvited me to Toulouse. I could have had a beautiful young woman but I stuffed it up by caring too much, my usual complications. There is so much I don't know about woman I could write a book. 2 volumes at least. Maybe 10 editions with copious footnotes. I really feel like crying. I get some really expensive soup (EU 8) at a restaurant and to make it even worse, when I still have a little bit left, the waiter says something to me and I politely nod Yes. The last few delicious drops of the soup are immediately taken away. You can't always get what you want, especially when another language is involved.

There are beggars in this city like no other - some aren't even limbless. It inspires me with the idea that I could get down in the street with either " American" or " Al Queda" written on a board, around my neck, saying I NEED FUNDS. I am sure somebody would feel sorry for me. Seville is really great. It's what I always thought the streets or back streets of Paris would be like. Unfortunately, it is where I killed me and Muriel. I am not going to chase her. The more I chase her, the more she will be scared, and run away. (As it is, I think she may even prefer to be alone or is afraid of any commitment, despite what she says. GF 13.11.03) I am hoping for her to change her mind and, therefore, have written... 12.10.03 SUN Sevilla / Lisboa EUROEM # 45 (a letter of alliteration for some time in Toulouse) ............and, when I'm finished with your front, I'll turn you over to taste your back, behind and beyond. My deep voice in your head. My absence in your bed. Seville 12.10.03

EUROEM # 46 Our street in Madrid paved with hearts of gold boys and girls who can (maybe) no longer play. I remember this now when I see a mystery on a wall. Seville

12.10.03

As we are getting on a bus this morning a fellow (male) traveller, who I don not know from Adam or Eve, tells me that Matt " Somebody" is 380. My first thought was that " this is old", the second that I feel much better about my own age. I have to explain that I do not DO sport. (It finally comes to me that he has been talking about cricket, my least favourite sport. Especially when you are Australian do complete strangers feel the need to talk about Sport without even imagining you have no interest. Europeans are the same when they find out you are Australian i.e. they want to talk about Rugby. eg. Last night in a bar a totally drunk Spaniard wanted to talk about Rugby. Apart from the fact I don't follow it,

his English was almost as good as my Spanish, negligible. Not long after we enter Portugal we stop for breakfast at a tiny village. It's only 9am but already seems like siesta time. They, of course, like the Spanish, don't start early either! Even the " ghosts" in this town appear to be sleeping! Our guide on the bus is Paul. He is gay and, because there are so few of us on the bus, spends most of the time reading and swapping gossip and gossip magazines with the girls. But usefully, he tells us that drinking the tap water is safe as it is in most of Europe. (Personally, I am not so sure about Venice Island or Amsterdam.) We are given a few lessons in Portuguese (3rd (?) most spoken language in the world) and we are old that it is totally unique in Western Europe in that it doesn't derive from Latin. The word Obrigado (for thanks) is similar to Japanese, as are other words, apparently. Also, it is better to speak English than Spanish, as there are long-time enmities. Having my first Portuguese meal, I am barely able to describe the contents but it is about the first time in weeks I have had vegetables, so it must be good for me, eh Mum? Most of the flavours are familiar but some not! There is only 1 thing I leave on my plate - two strips of something that just looks, and tastes (a small nibble), like pure fat. Sunday morning is strictly observed in Portugal. There is little, or no, Internet places to be used. And only for a short time on Saturdays. This, to me, is a good thing compared to the 24/7 life in other major cities in the world. There are trees (and grasses) by the roadside that are of an unusually bright green colour. If you saw them in a painting you would think that the artist was inexperienced and had used the wrong colour. " There's trouble at mill " when we get to the camping ground. Paul, it seems, has informed on a driver for drinking (1 beer) on the job. He may be allowed by Portuguese law but it is a strict Busabout policy. Anyway, the sacked driver is angry and waiting for Paul, abusing him and seemingly wanting to tear strips off him. If I were him I wouldn't be doing any dark alleys tonight, looking for a " beat ". The camp itself is great. Spacious cabins with verandahs, distanced well from the other dwellings, cooking facilities, inside toilet and shower, and cable TV. Fortunately, the TV doesn't seem to have a good signal and my new girl roommate and I don't care anyway! But there's a drawback - I have to do some washing and there are only 2 washing machines and 1 dryer in the laundry block, all being used. I have no desire to go into Lisbon tonight, so I wait. In the cabin with 2 boys and Kylie. We are in 1 room in a single bed and a bunk bed while Kylie has a double bed to herself. The boy's names escape me. And it doesn't matter how long I look at Kyle her face seems unwilling to morph into anybody I love or care about. Maybe, I'll just love her for herself. An interesting concept. At the marathon washing/drying session I speak to a couple of Western Australians, Laura and Josh, who both look like (for all the world) they are Spanish. All in all we have a very good conversation. They talk of being mistaken in Spain (and Greece) for local inhabitants while I tell them of my recent history of invading

Poland, etc. I had seen the female part of this equation, about an hour before I got to speak to her, and wanted to hang her little body out to dry somewhere and then, slowly, lovingly, re-moisturize her..... 13.10.03 MON Lisboa Not a bad night's sleep. Have not been thinking about Muriel. I have bought in an old replacement, Lissa. (Hopefully, for her sake and sanity, to be replaced by my " grand amour " the Gypsy Lady has warned me about!) Had breakfast. Waiting for peak-hour to pass. My first experience in Roma has turned me off getting into town before 11 or 12, anyway. My shoes, work boots, have finally broken in. (Next time, I might get it right.) Still getting blisters but not as bad as last year which is a blessing. It's only about 7 or 8 am but already there is a cabin with the cable TV happening. Me and Kylie have yet to turn ours on; and as she slowly morphs into........ nobody. This is just a joke on myself as I really do have a great affection for Lissa and Muriel. They are not just anybody. I do not want to believe the Gypsy fortune telling, but I do : one more storm, one more moonbeam. I think this because MAYBE I'll see Maria ( from Berlin 2002) in Madrid. Unlikely, it's a big city. EUROEM # 47 She has sat next to me many times on a bus to C. The partner I never asked or explored the mother of another's children. 13.10.03 Lisbon NOT a good morning ! I get fucked around on the bus and end up catching 2, costing me double. When I get to town I cannot find the 'Net cafe ( recommended ) street on the map and, as it is, most of the map's printing is really small. In fact, quite a few of the streets are unmarked, a bit like Athens. When I finally get to the street ( that wasn't on the map !) it is a street that changes its name halfway down. It's really a miracle I find it at all and then I find it's fairly expensive. I find it mostly with the assistance from some bookshop owners ( knowing some English) who were able to help where the map couldn't. Perversely, I have Lebanese for lunch. It is the first time I have had Sharwarma with chips. Must be catering for the tourists - chips seem to get dished up with everything. Rest of the day is cancelled as far as I am concerned. Lisbon is too hilly and steep to walk and I am not in the mood for a " public transport " adventure. No message from Muriel hasn't helped. Despondez-vous ?

Portugal is not bad, it's just me. The feeling I get from the streets is relaxed. Going back to the camp feeling good because I have managed to find the right bus but missing the right bus stop pisses me off. One bus, # 50, seems to have 3 destinations; bus stops aren't marked properly; to get a day pass ( cheaper) you have to travel to certain spots. But then, it is cheap - EU 1 for 1 trip or 3, 80 all day, unlimited travel and the whole greater area of Lisbon seems to be covered thoroughly. Sydney Public Transport, please take note : The buses are not halffull because people are using them to the max for cheapness and availability.. Just now, smiling to myself because, even though I killed the Fleur that is Muriel from too much watering, I am having a great holiday. A night with M would, though, have been the cream on the cake. Or somewhere. First time I have cooked in Europe ! There seem to be only huge packs of rice at the camp mini-market and that puts paella out of the question. I end up doing Sopa de cozidoa a Portuguese. * I toss in a small can of tuna and it's beginning to smelling OK.. I have it with some dry bread ( to soak up the goodness of the Anti-oxidants and ingredient # 302) and it should be a fair meal. * from a packet.. K ( Kylie not Kafka ) is back really late and she has had a hard day as well. Problems with postage, a rip-off apparently, and trying to see as much of Lisbon as possible in 1 afternoon. I would get her her pipe and slippers but this would involve a sex-change and we just do not have this much time together. The scars would barely be healed. She doesn't feel like cooking so I escort her down to the camp's restaurant and the poor girl ! after such a rough day - chooses a really bad meal : a sort of casserole consisting of salty cod smothered in mayonnaise. She has a few mouthfuls but is unable to finish it. Back at the cabin she settles for bread and some leftover sausages. After that we just sit reading and writing, and then the morphing begins again.....but this time it is me, not the girl I am with, as I begin to change into........my pyjamas. My non-fantasy side tells me that there will be no more to write of this evening. ( I do, though, have a strange dream where one of my arms is bitten off. By what, or who, I do not know ! ) 14.10.03 TUES Lisboa Omigod ! At breakfast time, Kylie is beginning to look cute. Thank God, it's our last night. ( A TRUTH : Old grey men will fall in love with young women, especially when propinquity is a factor.) My heart is still at the repair shop. No more damage needed, thank you. We are travelling together this morning ( a side-trip) to Sintra and, after yesterday's public transport fiasco, I'll be holding her metaphorical hand. I regale K with the story of how my diary was returned to me in Barcelona from Nice ( and also my YHA card from Berlin last year, almost miraculously .). She likes, too, the stories of Maria ( who dispatched the lost YHA card ) with whom I

fell in love with last year. ( Women even love an " almost " love story.) A bit later I tell her of the person on the bus in Lisbon, who returned a O,50 coin I dropped as I was fumbling for money. She is amazed that I have so many good stories to tell. She seems to have had a few bad travel experiences but, still, she does not seem too be badly affected by them. She is quite a cheery little thing. We have to wait for the boys from another hut. We are travelling with them to Sintra. One of them has had " trouble " with the " intricacies " of a washing machine. To be fair, I had problems with a laundromat in Nice but this boy clearly needs his mum. Interesting public transport manners. Yesterday an old woman sat next to me on a bus when it was crowded, is still sitting next to me when the bus is nearly empty. ( Maybe, she could tell I was just cheap meat.). In Sydney she would have moved in split second. I am contrasting this with the behaviour of the 3 boys - Jason, Michael and Paul - who constantly change seats on the train we are travelling on, according to their social comfortability. Despite various factors, like pickpockets , there is less fear of human contact in Europe. ( A further example is a very recent conversation between M and myself on Instant Message : She tells me that in France they like to kiss a lot. My solemn reply is that that is the problem ! Spoken out of envy, jealousy, that I am " missing " out ! ) Portugal was a poor agricultural economy before joining the EU. There is plenty of evidence of that on our journey to Sintra - villages / communities that have suffered obvious economic decay. At out destination the fortress we visit is mostly in pieces but it is still impressive. The old Moorish castle ( there is another kind ? ) next to it is even more so. It is the first one I have seen , close-up and inside. I have been a very slack tourist. Penny-pinching, sometimes, but generally I don't like the crowds or the queues. The group I am with - Kylie, Jason, Michael, Paul and myself - sound like the Australian Bobbsey Quins. Kylie ( or Kyles as the boys call her) is a real nice girl ( and cute ) but she is not the girl for me. She seems to be too well adjusted and, to be truthful, I like them at least a bit mad. We come back from Sintra at about 5. It's peak hour but it's not too bad. It's about enough for me for today but the Young'uns are going into town to paint the town red. When I say that ( old saying ) they look at me as though they have no intention whatsoever of manual labour. I get some beers ; then it's just the pine trees and me. Too hard to read, so I fix the TV. It has had a poor reception and unwatchable. I add a piece of wire to the antennae and away we go, visual crap in Portuguese. 15.10.03 WED

Portugal / Madrid

General girl talk on the bus the morning is about boys. They are not very organized, the girls exclaim.. Their poor mothers, the girls say. Their poor wives, I think ! Are we headed back to before The Burning of the Bras ? Have missed out on " cheap " Salamanca ( a cheap University town ), as I did on Granada. Would like to do smaller stops. Maybe next time ? I have a certain

schedule

to follow.

EUROEM # 48 Tourists, how we despise them ! But why ? I a a a a

am, like you, tourist here today tourist on the Earth tourist in your house tourist in your body.

Always getting some sort of souvenir. Portugal 15.10.03 It's a very misty morning as we stop for breakfast, about 9.30am. Changing time zones doesn't make it any clearer. Toilets for men are " Homens " which causes a few problems. I also see the toilets for the handicapped are labelled " Deficientes ". This is not the Politically Correct world of the West, apparently. A girl adjacent to me on the bus actually introduced herself ( she was out with Kylie last night). There is no significance ( I can't even remember her name !). She is obviously just friendly and polite to old folk. If it was a crowded public bus, she may have stood up for me. It makes me feel good, anyway. EUROEM # 49 Young French girls should never tell old grey men that they are lonely Silence is a language all on its own. Perhaps we should have spoken more. Portugal 15.10.03 I am either being helped by St. Paul or Peter but I am again feeling good and not caring either way about seeing Muriel, even though that would have been a pleasure, I'm sure. At a stop for lunch Kylie goes again for the toasted ham and cheese sandwich she was promised by the bus guide at our breakfast stop. Again, she is disappointed. We end up having our ham and cheese MISTA which, unfortunately for Kylie, is not the same as TOSTA ! ( I promise Kylie that when we get married the first thing I will buy is a toaster but she doesn't seem to understand a word I think !) We cross the border, so it's goodbye to Abrigado hello to Gracias. Overall, the group I am travelling with are older than last year, 2002. Jason looks 25 but he tells me he is 30. Kylie is mid-20's, I guess, and the girl who introduced herself to me on the bus was closer to 30. Most last year they were 18

to 23. A building I see in the Salamanca stop-over is amazing but, unfortunately, just another great European building ! I have been talking to girl I slept with in Seville is South African but I could not pick her accent. It's a hybrid. She admits she picks up on whoever she talks to. She is currently concerned about returning to Johannesburg with an Australia accent as she has been with so many people from OZ lately. Yes, it's a worry - at times the Bus Guide morphs slightly into L. It helps that she has glasses. If only THEY would morph their way into my arms it would save all this writing and dreaming. I get on the email and sent some poems to Muriel ( to impress or intrigue her into a positive response ) as there is nothing in my INBOX. Also, I ask her if she has made a decision on the " visit ". Almost instantly I get an E-mail from Lissa and she casually tells me she is OK, just being busy, not dead at all. This is in response to a few E enquiries about her well-being. Finally I get a freebie ( tapas) with my beer. The bar is off the main drag and very low-key. Get back to the hostel to find the computers closed for the night. Was hoping for an email from Muriel to brighten my otherwise ordinary evening. So to bed. 16.10.03 THURS Madrid Got an email today from Muriel over the decision, not to marry, just to visit. The answer is NO. I almost immediately think of REVOLVER and then A HARD DAY'S NIGHT but in the end I settle for LET IT BE, which is what she has suggested. Also, she hopes that I am not angry ( no ) and that she is sorry about the language problems. Muriel, don't worry. It happens to me when the other person speaks native English. I want to tell her not to write to me of her loneliness anymore. I want to suggest that she speaks to the ugliest girl in town, one who has no family, no close friends and, definitely, not " lovers ", if she wants to know what loneliness is. But I don't because it is too bitter and I do know that loneliness cannot be measured. If know that if you do not feel a deep " connection " to just one person, you can be lonely. ( And she is reading this now. I just did not want her to be sorrier than she was, at the time. GF 17.11.03 Prague ) She may even become a fictional character. C'est le guerre. C'est le gare. Le gare du vie. ..................................... The morning is great, sunny, and I discover one of Madrid's biggest secrets - the Tourist Office, no big i tourism sign to follow, just a tiny little office tucked away in a town square. I am setting out on a 3 Art Gallery tour. 3 art galleries for EU 7,60, not bad.

I see my most pathetic beggar yet, lying there with a freshly opened can of beer. No missing limbs, just a drinking problem. If it was me, I would understand. I briefly play with the idea of sleeping with Muriel, on the page, a pretense. Apart from the dishonesty, it would spoil anything that might happen in the future. I am not a natural-born liar..... ............but very unfaithful ( not a great combination ). I have already, this morning, fallen in love twice on the streets and once in a women's toilet ( WC signs can be confusing ! ). There is a lovely little Spanish lass giving out Manet pamphlets but she has other customers and there is only room for one nano-second of lust. I grab it anyway. The Manet exhibit is luckily included in the ticket I have bought. The first part is early Manet I have never seen before and his 2 major influences, from what I can gather, Velasquez and Goya. I have seen Velasquez before but not great examples. The " light " in all the paintings is incredible . Unfortunately, some of the subjects ( the rich or the royals ?) look like in-bred criminals Enough said ! Up with the barricades, down with your underwear, scare the bourgeoisie with your unwashed genitals. And, strike up the band for a rollicking good soundtrack ! Peanuts and popcorn available on the foyer. Mrs. Reuben’s little boy is here too. I am amazed at just how good this old stuff is. I had originally only planned to visit the Modern galleries. Only my sense of the good value of ticket has me here. How thoroughly gauche of me. I get also to see some OK Rembrandt. Giving up that day job was the best thing he ever did. I have been here for just over 2 hours. Normally I would sweep through in less than an hour, maybe half.. Visiting Madrid sometime soon ? Visit the Museo el Prado, or else you'll miss out ! Beer is the perfect antidote for all this culture I decide. With this I get served my second free meal, 4 green olives and a teensy-weensy piece of fish. The second gallery, the Sofia, is also too much. The first 2 floors I visit are extremely modern and I did not like it all. Was just about ready to leave when I discovered the Picasso, Dali and Miro sections. Most people are familiar with Guernica but it is magnetic to stand in front of it. I stood for 10-15 minutes in front of it and then kept returning to it as I walked through other parts. I have been to 2 galleries and it has taken me nearly 5 hours. One to go. It is just lucky I drink a lot or this sensory overload would do some serious damage. The third one too is great . As you might have guessed. It will seem like just a List but that's about the best I can do : There is a load of old Dutch masters ( one that actually looks like a photo ), but there is also Constable, Degas, Van Gogh, Renoir, Manet and Monet, Cezanne, Bonnard, Gaugin, Brueguel and Munch, all in a row. At one point I see a woman, looking depressed, with her head in her hands. She seems to be overwhelmed. Will she ever paint again? I think this is just about the end of the Pain but it goes on. Another section that begins with some Medieval gear (not bad ) moves on to Raphael, Bellini, Linguini, Spagettios, Cock, Frankfurt, Beer *, Caravaggio, Rembrandt again and Verytiring.....

* ( I am not joking about these neighbours on the wall.)

3 but some humourist with has made them

I am planning to knock-off the last section really quickly as I am drained and tired but it just doesn't happen because I find myself interfaced with more Picasso, Braque, Weber, Chagall and Magritte......and a last dally around Dali and that's my daily report. On the art scene here in Madrid, coming to you live. FOOTNOTE : Security getting into these places is as tight as airport security elsewhere. Metal detectors, the works. ..................... The street I am staying in is full of prostitutes, girls and boys and it's only 6 or 7.30 pm. It's colder here than the rest of Spain as it at a high altitude. All the pros are dressed warmly, jackets and jeans, very unappealing. Only one is wearing the regulation mini-skirt. She is older and needs to, I guess. What a job. There is a crackdown going on, no pun intended ( but it's not bad). The coppers come, the girls go and 5 minutes later it's back to the usual romantic scene. I step into a bar ( mainly for a piss ) and feel quite comfortable even though English is not a viable alternative. I'd like to say watching Seinfeld in Spanish is as funny as in English but it isn't. I get a little bowl of onion, tomato and olives with my first beer ; a Jamon mini-bageuette with my second and come to the conclusion that the Tapas life-style is good, better than drinking on an empty stomach. Culinary Note : The ham ( Jamon) is superb. It's cured and just hangs in the bars and shops for days, or who knows how long ? It's my first real taste. And, no complaints, the bread is fresh ! Almost right after this I go to an all-you-can-eat place with a half-litre of Sangria. It's cheap but the problem is that I can't eat much. On the way back home I find a little grocery store that sells beer. I have to hide it as he is not supposed to be selling it at this hour, for some reason. ( The machine that dispenses expensive small cans of beer at the hostel is empty ). The streets are very crowded. It's 10.30 pm and the place is jumping. It is difficult to find space on the footpath. It's comparable to Sydney at lunchtime. A few beers and the end of a good day. EMAILS # 8 MURIEL WROTE : I'm sorry for my silence but I needed it after that I realized the mistake I’ve done (about my language). I can't say nothing but sorry ... You've dreamed about things not true. That's perhaps why I prefer to let this like it is : a dream, a strange and sweet meeting far from our home. I'm sorry, you must be angry with me... HE WROTE : No, I’m not angry. And no regrets for anything I have said. Remember that. ( Only, maybe, that I missed out on at least one night with you).

I would like to keep in contact though. I would like to hear if, when and where you get a job. All the best, Gary 17.10.03 FRI Madrid If the loud German next to me at the breakfast table was from the US I would be thinking anti-Uncle Sam thoughts. Maybe I am prejudiced ? The American accent, particularly the volume, can be grating. They have no problem with informing the whole street of their opinions or discoveries. ( In Rome I heard an excited USA woman cry out " Omigod ! It's a Pizzeria " when she saw one.) I see the South African girl across the crowded room but I do not approach her because a) I do not feel like any more " adventures " at the moment and b) she is reading a book. I think we should just leave it at having " slept " together. This is apparently acceptable in various regions of Europe. ( Yes, my mother was a bitch, too ! ) Plan A is to got to Toledo today, as recommended. Maybe pick up a knife and cut my throat, at the source. But, maybe, not while I have money in the bank. I don't want to leave my children too much. Money can be such a burden. Despite wanting to avoid any more adventures the young German girls at the next table get my mind wandering over fields of skin and skimpy things. Shame on me. Lousy weather again today. Hopefully better in Toledo. Intriguing thing about the South African girl is that she does not " pair up " with anyone.( Like me, mostly, but not by choice. ) I have not seen her team up with anybody. TITLE FOR BOOK : Further Miss Adventures in Europe PLAN B is to get drunk, find Maria from Berlin ' 02, somewhere in Madrid's millions. She is probably still in Germany which is, still, a lot closer than Kate Beckinsale anyway. PLAN B ? Well first, like the tourism office, the Rail Ticket office is yet another Top Secret. When I do find it and take a Queue number, some Japanese girls, who I have a polite conversation with, point out that my train will not be leaving till 3pm. This is not my idea of a day trip. I say goodbye to the girls after a brief talk on the 3 Art Gallery tour and Pacific island prison camps, and mentally give back the underwear I have taken from them. It has been worth the walk down. The central hall of the Madrid railway station is a giant greenhouse. I have a photo to prove it. For the moment it's a warm beer ( in my pocket from last night ) on a wet park bench and then off for a walk.. Madrid traffic is as busy as Rome or Paris but more respective of pedestrian crossings. Of all major Western European cities I like Madrid the best. Before I get to the park I discover a row of wooden shops, not all opened, but all

seemingly selling second-hand books. There are about 25-30 of them but only about 10 are open. I am intrigued that all these shops could be selling books. I ask a lady bookseller if she " habla ingles ". She doesn't but refers to me a customer who does. He's about 70 - 80 years old and he's been coming here to buy books since 1962. We have a good conversation and, at one point, even discuss Australian films, the new International cultural currency. ( Muriel had, of course, see Muriel's Wedding ). We shake hands eventually and are pleased to meet each other. He's such a top bloke he could be Australian. The trails, not footpaths, in the park are not sealed and I love the sound of gravel crunching under my feet. There is a stream ( with a waterfall / fountain in the middle of it. Another joy to replace the idea of Toledo. There is a sign at the entrance to the park that says I must respect the squirrels therein. I would have anyway but it is good to be warned. It is amazing - there is hardly a person in the park. The park is easily 4 times larger than Sydney's Hyde Park but there would be lucky to be 30 - 40 people here, estimated roughly on the acres I have walked. I run out of film which is a pity because the photo ops. are many splendid things. ( Here I note that I have picked up on someone's broken english ). FUNNY NAMES DEPT. The park is called Parque Retiro. Obviously it is not just for pensioners but, maybe, people who just want to retire from the bustle of Madrid........Near where I am staying square is called Puerto de Sol which means " door to the sun ". Why can't they have real names like Martin Place, Victoria Square or Westminster Alley. Bloody arty foreigners ! Think seriously about getting a " service " on the street where I live. If you think this is too much information, just wait....... On my way back to the hostel I pick up some cold beers from my little Asian man ( the grocery store ) to have with lunch. I have the beers in my room and go back down to the street to give you.... EL GROSSE INFORMACION : I choose the best looking girl on the street and she is from Ecuador. I beat her down from 30 to 25 Euros. She takes me to a room and we get undressed - all she leaves on is her top just above her breasts. There is no kissing ( anywhere ! ) which pisses me off because that is what I like most. We do it all ways, dog-style, pussy-style, but nothing works. After 10 minutes the horse has not crossed the finishing line. I lay back while she tries to get me " off. " but I don't care anymore. And it doesn't happen. I am content just stroking her leg and looking at her little cupcake breasts, too afraid to touch them in case the pink icing drops off. Such was the affront to her profession that she asked me if I'd been drinking. Just from this I couldn't see the relationship not working out. The nagging bitch has no chance of a proposal now. I couldn't see it working out financially anyway, not at these hourly rates.. After we get dressed I shake her hand and thank her. I have been with a young girl and it was great. She is probably still wondering why. Realistically, I don't know why I bothered as it wasn't satisfactory 25 years ago either. I need to be romanced, much to the detriment of my circumcised enemy.

EL GROSSE INFORMACION # 2 : After that I took myself off to a strange little cinema called Sexcabin. All for only 3 Euros, so I am still 2 Euros in front. The movie may not have been Gone With The Wind, I do not know. Scarlet seems not to give a damn at all. Not only does she get the guy, she gets several ; so many in fact that 2 just stand and watch. The happy ending is all that matters. I was clearly getting moist with sentiment. Management had thoughtfully provided tissues for these emotion-filled moments. - - - - - - - -- - A few hours later, after a few quiet drinks around town I am on my way back home when I see The Girl from Ipenena, or Ecuador, and she calls out " Ola " from across the road and I call back " Ola ". Is it possible we are engaged ? ............................ It is an emotional city. I have just seen 2 women, soulfully, crying in the middle of the very public I find it to be a fantastic city . It is very hard Also, I was drunk when I made these notes and can

one young, one old, openly, street. It's nighttime now and to describe my feelings here. ( only read a half of them.)

.................. At the end of the night our hero can be seen leaving another small cinema with a smile and an almost-forgotten plastic bag of beer. Goodnight.

POSTSCRIPT : Do not be concerned . The story / diary doesn't get any worse than this. 18.10.03 SAT Madrid / Burgos Kylie and Linda say hello at breakfast. They obviously, do not know about my fiancée down stopping off at San Sebastian, so I tell her not giving out my home address. This doesn't sight of my begging gets even less response.

have been in Salamanca and, in the street. Or care. Linda is that it is her last chance as I am arouse her interest at all. And the

Kylie tells me I would have enjoyed Salamanca. She found a place that had an " open bar " from 11pm to 3am, for only EU 3. Ange is on the bus this morning and was with Kylie and Linda last night. Needless to say, they all feel like visiting a doctor. As the Busabout guide " chats " each young girl onto the bus, I tell him I don't expect him to remember me. He replies that he has never had me.. This is true. He's not gay, just being ironic or funny, whatever that is. I show Kylie the early Dali and Picasso postcards but she is not impressed - she says she's a " bowl of fruit " girl. Another girl is upset that she has missed out on the galleries I saw. The Busabout guide agrees that it is bon merde. The bus is full of beautiful girls and dreams. Enough to turn my hair grey. Er.

Looking back on the day of El Grosse Informacion, I did not have much to eat except breakfast a few olives through the day. This diary seems to be heading into questionable areas but I can't help that - I am the only character I've got. And there is only one plot. The Busabout guide who likes to " chat " is also a person of trivial pursuits. I am the only one who guesses that Adolf Hitler was Time magazine's Man of the Year, 1938. It doesn't mean much to me. Adolf Hitler is a cartoon character. John Howard is a cartoon buffoon. Each scene that passes by tells a story. I do not understand the stories. There is a lot I don't understand and the only reason I do not want to die. A common complaint, I suppose. EUROEM # 50 Stories, people. What I do not know can be comprehended by a child. In volumes.

EUROEM # 51 Autumn in Spain is a meditation through the glass and across the plain. I suffer an anxiety attack ( by just thinking about having one!) ( I have had these before, like a temporary, one-hour psychosis. My mind comes away from its moorings and drifts off, more than usual, and with little control .Everyone tells me they are anxiety attacks. I am not convinced. GF 20.11.03, Prague) Back home when I have had these moments of mental diarrhoea I am out of control and feel very bad. I feel, for some reason, more in control, and my mind feels as light as a feather. Why can't anyone see that I am insane? EUROEM # 52 My face, a plastic bag in EUROEM # 54 I do not go into the church but the service is slow regardless.

Burgos

Burgos 18.10.03 This is about the 12th time I have had these attacks in about 25 years, usually years apart but, once, two days running. I do not, at least feel like I am having a heart attack. I manage to vomit. All my poems have been heading towards this. Zero.

FURTHER MISS ADVENTURES IN EUROPE PART ONE It is only my second time away. This time I am more nervous from expectation than from fear of the unknown. I can only hope the expectation will be fulfilled. Still waiting to board, I am too excited to read and am unable to put down my exact feelings about leaving again. At the moment I am feeling very self-conscious about what I write whereas the last diary just blossomed without me thinking about it. It s good to see other passengers nervously fingering their boarding documents while I am here nursing a beer. All I hope is that my flight is not due for tomorrow’s headlines. The service on Singapore Airlines looks like being good. Hot towels to refresh the hands and face before we even leave the ground Have been talking with a Chinese student who has completed university study, going back to Beijing for 3 weeks holiday before returning to work in Sydney She manages to down 2 beers to my 1. But that is it, she has 2 beers and I have 1. Almost a teetotaler!

SINGAPORE AIRPORT The usual freaky sight of children walking around in uniforms carrying machine guns I have a problem with the ATM machine where I cannot read out the sums of money to be withdrawn, pressed what I have thought is the TRANSACTION OF OTHER AMOUNT and 1000 Singapore dollars pop out. Promptly took the money to get exchanged where I may, or may not, have got ripped off. Singapore dollars are approximately the same as Oz dollars and I get back 490 euros and a 50 Singapore dollar It’s all too much for me. I may have made a profit but I doubt it. We board the plan and I am exhausted. This is the equivalent to me staying up till 3 am on a Sunday night. I want to go to sleep but I am interrupted by services for water, a coffee and a light meal. I wake to find there are still 7 hours to go to Roma.

23.9.03 TUES Roma Feeling quite the international traveller calmly gliding my way into Rome but then ......... .........total shitfight getting from the Rome to the camping ground. Took about 3 hours getting from the airport instead of the expected 1 and a half. Will have coffee at the airport next time instead of doing peak hour with a backpack at Rome s main station. It was like the pictures you see of people getting on the trains in Tokyo. (Later that afternoon, unable to buy a ticket, I was happily doing the train system without paying the fare) Some of these Metro stations (all over Europe) are difficult to understand - you follow signs to Line B all the way only to find yourself on Line A, or on the right train but in the wrong direction. Decided to town where Vatican. I Metro too.

make the most of this early arrival in Rome ( 6 30 am) and head into I find I haven t got the energy to climb a set of stairs up to the turn around and head back to the campground. Had some problems with the Throw jet lag in with that and a beer seems like a good alternative.

So, haven t got to any tourist spots yet but have been saddened by the acres and acres of high -rise blocks of apartments. They just go on for miles. A bit like me about women. I m sitting here at a suburban rail station and it is just filthy with litter. Buildings almost totally covered in graffiti. And ugly buildings at that ! Maybe this makes Italians less neurotic than Aussies with the Anti-Litter campaigns. I don t know. I feel a bit like an older female friend of mine who only seemed to remember how " dirty" Europe was. I thought it was funny at the time. Back at the campsite I m having a beer when a person I met last year almost at the end of my journey walks into the bar area on the first day of my latest. He just seems to go on and on, traveling endlessly. I d always wondered where he got the money from as he doesn’t t appear to be rich. He has a nasty stutter I did not notice before , or remember. He tells me he has Parkinson s Disease. He s done Busabout every year since it inception except for 2. About 8 years I think. It s unlikely I'll run into any "old" young friends as most of them only do Europe once after graduating and do not return, unless when they are much older. I d been having doubts about this " diary " shaping up to the last but already with the arrival of Bill, things are happening already. I told Bill I was unable to do anything when I got to town and he says it s a miracle I went in at all, only 4 hours after getting off the plane. That makes me feel better. ( Here I make the comment that Bill is approximately 70 years old. I find out later that he is only 10 years older than me, 63.) NOTE

Trying to find where to buy a train ticket this morning I asked a young

woman if she spoke English. The answer was No but I managed to say the right word ( biggliterria ?) for ticket and she directs me to a newsagent. She was also beautiful. We have very many beautiful Italian women in OZ but all I can say is that we are getting the Rejects. NOTE : Bill has brought his wife, Adele ( Della), this year as opposed to last year when he travelled with his daughter. He had spoken of his wife last year but I was too polite to ask if she was ill or dead. 24.9.03 WED Three days in a Roma and already I smell of a Sin. I have been naughty or, at least, I have been trying. Started into town with Old Bill ( Switzerland 2002), his wife Della, and a young French couple called Muriel et Sebastian. We split up and, as I have no exact plans, Muriel et Sebastian invite me to tag along with them. Muriel is from Toulouse and has just finished Electronics at Uni. Sebastian is from Bordeaux and is in Computers. They met at some tertiary institute where they were students together I have an echo from a day in Amsterdam ,where I separated a brother and sister in order to go to the Anne Frank house. The brother wasn't interested. This time Muriel wants to climb St Paul's but Sebastian is afraid of heights. I could have done without the trip myself i.e. a lift took me and Muriel half-way up but there were still 320 steps to be negotiated - narrow, steep, long stairways ( and wells). I was fucked halfway up. Fucked, as in tired. At the end of the day me, Bill, Della, Muriel et Sebastian have a beet together at the camp.......Bill and Della toddle off at first and, then, Sebastian.........it's just me and the girl, 26 year old from Toulouse. The whole thing is hopeless because even though she is not model-attractive, I ( Mr. Superficial) warm to her looks and , especially, to her largish lower lip and she begins to morph into the unrequited episode from Arkansas......so, I'm figuring I know where this will all end, don't I ? Qui ? We don't talk much to begin with. We are both just doing our diaries, mine in Sanskrit and hers in Advanced Calligraphy. We end up, though, having a good conversation that I could not ( again !) have had with an uptight, Anglo-westerner. My thoughts are, of course, racing while hers are, probably, in neutral. Whatever is in the water here, I'd like to take it home. 25.9.03 THURS So today I am on my own ( and even lose the map ) but I don't care as I am more confident. Even is Muriel et Sebastian hadn't decided to drive into Roma I wouldn't have tagged along again, even though they don't appear to be a regular boyfriend and girlfriend. ( As they are camping I presume they are doing this so they can do lunch and then drive on down to Napoli, as one does. Back at the camp I having a beer and pizza with Bill and Della when SURPRISE ! SURPRISE ! in walk S & M. They have not gone to Napoli. The connections into town are not good but, for me, not bad enough to want to drive in. Those crazy French kids ! Bill and Della retire and most of the ensuing talk is about S & M being just friends. They live in different towns but when they travel, or are, together, they sleep together. And, sleep is all. Do not feel like Robinson Crusoe, none of their parents or friends can understand either . I , especially, cannot understand because Muriel, who has been just wearing jeans and stuff, is wearing a dress that she is " falling out of" and she is simply STUNNING ! ...........and 2 hours later Seb gas gone to bed and we are alone again and if anything happens, I might tell you....

It's midnight and we get " hosed" out of the top bar. Muriel isn't tired but not thirsty, doesn't want to go to bed and doesn't want to dance, when I offer. So, we talk more, for about an hour or so. We have our most " complicated" conversation, according to Muriel. In the end I shake her hand and I give her a French kiss, Charles de Gaulle-style, and..................we exchange email addresses (she asked!) and photographs (I asked!) 26.9.03 FRI Muriel Simone Augusta Mangis has rented some space in my head. At least Lissa won't quite feel so alone - a big relief I'd say. Sebastian is either a man of steel, very shy or gay. To me he seems to be shy. I am passing through Bordeaux and I have his phone number. I'll have to have strong words with him but not TOO strong. One must look after oneself as well as others. Whatever happens with Muriel,

I have enjoyed her company.

If it all ends here I will be quite happy. As a certain author might have said to the wife he never had - " I'm not feeling very well". Florence

26.9.03 FRI Firenze It appears as though I have been pick-pocketed or just my usual forgetful self. Anyway, it was only about AUD 50 in Czech money and the same amount in Singapore dollars. MURIEL'S HAIR Is sand blonde, cut short to the head and is very thin. Fine thin curls so thin that you can see her scalp - very unusual. She looks a bit like those cherubs in ancient religious paintings. With a face like pink-tinged marble. Beautiful. When we stop for a breakfast meal on the bus I am not hungry. I have had my cane of tuna and bread roll for breakfast. I am not hungry and trying to break the habit of eating for the sake of it. 27.903 SAT Firenze I do not feel like going into Firenze to see more old buildings and statues, imitations of David, imitations of the Doors of Paradise. I am lying in a cabin in a camp, thinking, resting and writing. I am alone and in the Antarctic. I am with you and I am with her. That is enough. I do not need to go into town but I will. A moment after this I am reading the Kafka biography and of his need for silence and privacy i.e. his bedroom was a passageway his parents used to get to their bedroom. There is an ongoing connection between me and K. OK, sounds crazy, then I discover that, at some point, he had ridden a motorbike. Doesn't sound very Kafka to me but it's true.

I have splurged. I have spent EU 20,00 on a bus tour of the city, something I have not done before. It's a hop-on, hop-off, 24-hour deal so it's not a bad deal ( even though I do not use it more than once but was worth it for the view over Florence) I see a blind tourist with his fairly attractive girlfriend and I wonder what she sees in him. Can he smell the city ? Feel the vibes ? Touch the feet of St. Peter better ? Maybe he has stronger orgasms. I also wonder if this note is crass or not. It certainly ain' t funny ! American hunger is well catered for, apart from Maccas. Seen a couple of places selling cookies, bagels and home-baked apple pie. I get a bit lost today but not totally. Just when I decided to backtrack a million metres I stumble across the bus I am seeking. I am wearing some heavy work boots and they have, so far, resulted in only 1 blister. Have worn heavy boots as I am here for the winter and did not want to pack a light pair of runners as well. I didn't really break them in properly either. I end up drinking with a yobbo from Victoria. When he seats himself next to me I am reading my Kafka biography and he wants to know who Kafka is. I tell him Kafka used to play fullback for the Czech Republic back in 1910. He asks me if I am serious. I’d love to tell him yes. He hadn't even heard of The Trial. We proceed to have a meaningful discussion about football grand finals in Australia. Then, thank the great lord Fuck, he fucked off. ( An 800-page book about a Czech fullback ? This guy was a true OZ !) * I do go into a spiel with him about who and what Kafka was and, as he knows I am a garbage truck driver, he is probably very confused. I hope. It should do him good. My meal for the evening in Bruscetta Campagnole ( kidney beans on toast) and Spaghetti Carbonara, my favourite pasta meal. The Carbonara is the best I've ever had, the pasta very al dente and chunks, not slices , of bacon close to prosicuitto, slightly salty and dangerous ! Carbonara with testicles ! I have been observing some OZ/NZers who, I know, will be the same at the end of their European experience. They are just so isolated from where they are, translating everything into their own cognizance. Very saddish. The person serving me beers looks like she expects me to fall down. Maybe I should. Just to keep her happy. I could do with being on my knees at the moment.

28.9.03 SUN Firenze Slightly overcast this morning. And so is the weather. It rained briefly during the night and I woke this morning to NO electricity and I had to have a cold shower as my self was remiss in that department yesterday. ( Later to find out that there was an electricity blackout all over Northern Italy). Had a dream last night that Lissa is there to meet me in Prague. For some reason

she has a face like a South American bird, a long pointed nose like an upside-down canoe. She tells me she has flown to Prague because I have not told her I loved her lately in my emails. But is doesn't work out as usual because I can't get to her face for that Toucan nose of hers ! NOTE TO L : Sorry about this being in the 3rd person but have been in my head so long now you have become a fictional character, who I just might love anyway. I see an Aussie girl this morning that I have talked to before. She has a bright personality and looks like a little bowl of jelly on legs. If only I could find a spoon big enough I could.......and here the text is illegible but I am sure it is obscene. On a side-trip to Siena I meet Rob & Mel ( from NZ) who I keep running into at bus stops. They are going to Siena via San Giacomo while I am just going to Siena. A side-trip for me is brave enough without doing a side-trip on a side-trip. And Mel doesn't my arouse " interest" enough to "tag along" with yet another couple. " Other People's Wives" could be a sub-title for my life ! I also see the identical twin of Michael Conroy, only she is 5 ft nothing and has pointy little nipples. ( Sorry, Michael, but it's true !). If I get the opportunity for a photo I will snap it up ( but it doesn't happen!). Siena is often featured in calendars of the Tuscany region. It is also where they manufacture that reddish-brown paint. It's funny though because I can't see the Dulux factory anywhere. Dreamed last night ( also !) of a few young nubile girls playing with themselves and give me the big invitation. Oh dear, this is probably my most erotic dream ever. I've got to get out of the place if it's the last thing I ever do. Dang me, dang me, they ought to take a rope and hang me. * (* Believe it or not, I have actually toned this passage down - in the real dream I am handing out " dos and don'ts " in tablet form from a mountain somewhere in the Sinai desert in close proximity to ( another) burning bush. God forgave me.) ( As He always does). Siena ( and Florence) are more like the Italy I expected - non-industrial and very little traffic compared to, say, Rome. I go into a Maccas in Siena and pretend to read the menu while all the time I just want to use their toilet. I do not actually object to paying for a WC but I have not seen any public ones. At one point, having lunch, I manage to walk away and leave my this notebook behind on the ground. I manage to back track through these small alleyways and I find what I have left behind. Talk about heartbreak, if I had lost it ! On my way back from Siena on the bus a Southern Californian clinical psychologist strikes up a conversation with an Australian Human Resources person and his Marketing spouse while I am trying to read. You try it ! From Kafka's Biography : He complains of being much lonelier than Kasper Hauser ( a famous recluse / hermit of the time) - he is in fact as lonely as Franz Kafka. Know the feeling. Take the bus all the way into Florence to, ostensibly use up some un-used time I have at an Internet place. But, do you think, I can find it ?

End up finding the bus I need to get back to the camp but do you think I can find a place to buy a ticket ? No way. All the trekking about I realize I am getting blisters but only on my right foot. Another spectre joins the parade. There is a young English guy travelling with Busabout who is the spitting image of FK and if he is not a writer I'll eat my hat. Bill and Della have arrived at the campsite. They said they would catch up but I didn't think they would. We end up having a meal with a lesbian couple B & D have befriended. We have a pretty good time, telling jokes and stuff but one of the lesbians is a bit of a downer but the other, Frances ( not me !) , is OK. At the end of the night the conversation turns to my " girlfriends". I give B & D some poems to give to the " girls " because they ( the girls ) have to go to bed early. Er, hmmm, as he cleared his throat. As I leave the bar the girl with the Jelly Body is having dinner with Stuart, the Franz Kafka look-a-like.

EXCERPT FROM THE FK BIO : Kafka has to tone down his fiction to what he feels will " ever " be publishable. Forget about being published now, Frank ! 29.9.03 MON Nice There is an Australian on the bus who could be my father except that him and I are the roughly the same age and my father hasn't aged (49) since 1976. Ah, the Life Preserving qualities of Death. At our short stop in Pisa I am walking along the street back to the bus when I pass by a jolly, fat German-looking gentleman who obviously thinks I am the same. Morgen, he says. Morgen, I reply. We wave the salute as it is politically incorrect nowadays. Again a dream of Arkansas last night but at least she has her old face back. ............... The hostel at Nice is a six-bedder dorm with an en suite ( but no double garage ) that is a lot better than the small shower stalls I have had in Roma and Firenze. Only problem here is there is no communal bar and no drinking allowed in the cooking area. This has upset my routine which is to walk around town for 4 or 5 hours and then chill -out in the communal drug area, writing occasionally, and having conversation with my fellow travellers. On my first night I tried to find the Nice beach, got lost *, found eventually, wrote the preceding et bon huit !

my way home

( * Asked for some directions en Francais - " Ou est le Gare du Nice, s'il vous plait ? " and got directions via the works of Baudelaire and Proust at a machinegun rate. I didn't understand a word but luckily, him, being a Frenchman, he was able to use his arms and fingers in such a way that I soon found my way there. In fact, I was just around the corner !) With any luck I'll see L again tonight. It's certainly cheaper than airfare and roses !

......................... EUROEM # 42 Muriel et Sebastian. Qui sont ils ? Ils sont jeune ! Ou vont-ils ? Muriel, mon dieu, c'est magnifique ! I could love her ? Oui. I could love her how she wants ? Je ne sais pas. Je suis desole. I cannot ask Sebastian. Non. Nice

30.9.03

Do not be impressed avec moi Francais. In Nice I just happened to be rooming with a French-Canadian called, funnily enough, Jean Sebastian who did most of the translating for me. I did not do this to impress Muriel but simply as a politeness. In fact, I told her I had help ). The lines involving the word COULD I did not want to trust to rough translation. ............................ MEETING PLACE A man has to be hard. A woman has to be soft. And probably the reason for pubic hair, no less. Nice 30.9.03 EMAILS # 1 It is important for me to include these emails for you to understand why I think some things I do. And do do. Particularly, do do. HE WROTE ( 29.0.03) : Just testing to see if I have

your email address right.

Also to tell how much I enjoyed your company AND the dress you wore the last time

I saw you. MURIEL WROTE : i am actually at firenze, we are coming back in france. we didn't really like napoli, but it worths it to see pompei and also to climb the vesuvio !!! we did it! and i cried (of joy) because to climb a vulcano was one of my dream !!! we were stolded in napoli (all papers of sebastian and my 2 pictures machines) when we was changing a wheel in napoli. i'm very happy to announce you that i have my engineer diploma !!! i was very happy to met you and i must confess that you did not let me indifferent .... (this is one of my favorite dress whitch give surely my real age (not 21)) i will wrote you longer the next time because i'm not home yet ... HE WROTE : What are your picture machines that got stolen ? Your cameras ? Congratulations on becoming an engineer . Meanwhile, here is a poem I wrote in Nice. EUROEM # 42 Muriel et Sebastian........ ..........etcetera..... ........................... I cannot ask Sebastian. Non. ............................ Bon soir bon nuit bon huit As you can guess, I had help with the Francais; ..................................................................... FOOTNOTE : Anything you say will be taken down and used against you. By-Law 15, The Author's Handbook of Morals

EMAILS # 2 SHE WROTE : ( 2.10.03) hi ! thanks for your poem, i didn't know that you like me so much ... i really appreciate what you said about me ... and your french was correct !! congratulation ! About the problem in napoli, yes it was my 2 cameras (sorry i didn't know how to say it in english) I'm ill because i get cold during my trip under the rain at Pompei and when I

climb the vesuve (did i said that i cried of joy ? yes i think so ...) HE WROTE : I liked you from the start but it was your dress that won me over. I had help with the poem from a French-Canadian I was staying with. My francais is not that good. I thought you would appreciate it being in your own language. I hope you get better soon. SHE WROTE : I'm very touched to hear that you like me from the beginning and also to see the effect of a simple dress ! (laugh) I must confess that this evening I wore this dress specialy to show you that I'm a women and not a girl. Because I was upset to hear that I looked 21 years old. (I must admit there's not much difference between 21 and 25) I just regret not to have stay longer ... It warms my heart to see that a man like me. Muriel ps: i'm already better.

HE WROTE : You ARE a woman and should be treated like one. When you are as old as me, it doesn´t matter whether you are 21 or 25. I do NOT understand how MANY men would not like you. I am passing through Bordeaux from Spain on the 19th October. I am not sure where Toulouse is. Would it be possible to see you somewhere ? Would you like to see me ? I have 2 or 3 days free. Maybe, this is not want you want ?

Je ne sais pas . Gary

I have arrived at a title - FURTHER MISS ADVENTURES IN EUROPE - PART 1. The reason for this title will become more obvious as we go along. There will be a very short, but obvious, break in transmission between Parts 1 and 2 and in which there will be no intrusive advertising commercial. ............................................ 30.9.03 TUES Nice But, getting back to the holiday.......c'est bon matin and I am going for a walk to find the beach. Or the bitch, whichever comes first. Merde ! I do not get out of the room till Midday because I have written a poem for Muriel and got some of it translated by the late, great Jean Sebastian of Room # 207, Hotel Antares, Nice.

Beggars every 100 metres, worse than the plague in Prague. For breakfast / lunch I get a small bread roll ( petit pain ) to eat with my tinned tuna. I think I pronounce it perfectly but the shopkeeper points anyway and gives me a good smile. As I walk into a small park I overhear a North American couple talking. She is saying " I know you don't want to talk about it but NOW we HAVE to !". He just stares, silently, at the ground. they are obviously have a " relationship " moment. Attendez-vous ! I am on the French Riviera, little Gary Frances from Frances Avenue, Enfield, 2136. It's not summer holidays, so it's not crowded. There is a woman sur la plage, totally naked tanning herself, legs akimbo, wide open at 45 degrees. I hear the sea breeze is lovely this time of year. ( I thought I may have imagined this, that she had on a really small bikini bottom, but I later talked to some fellow travellers who saw one woman taking a dump on the beach. Sacre blue, no relief in sight !) The water looks great but I have no one to " tag " swim with. This is the method for tourists - one personne has to stay sur la plage while the others frolic on the froth d' Azur. Valuables are not safe on the sand. I heard a story that supposedly happened last year where a woman, swimming naked, had everything taken while she was in the water and had to be escorted back to her hotel room by the police. Just prior to this I was walking passed a cafe and a woman broke into a smile looking at me. I returned the smile with grace and humour. This is what happens when you are wearing an ( imitation ) Giorgio Armani t-shirt and the rest of you clearly isn't. I see a beautiful kiss. Maybe only the French could do this, a la Rodin. He looks like he is enjoying it and not simply performing a tonsillectomy. Walking further on I cannot help myself ; I have to go down and shake hands with the Mediterranean. It is like bath water. Maybe l'eau de Muriel. I come away wet anyway. The beach is not sand but layers of smooth stones . And I am wearing the right shoes, steel capped work boots. There is a fenced-off area on the beach designated for children. Aire de Sable ( sandpit for children). None are visible. I'll leave the punchline to you. Je suis fatigue. L' ennui, c"est roi. FOOTWEAR / HISTORY : The word Nice derives from the Greek word Nike when the Ancient Greeks were doing le Grande Tourismo here in 3 or 4 BC. The buggers ! There is a park on top of the headland between the beach and Nice boat harbour that is a steep climb but well worth the view or even if you just want to hide in the bushes and regardez le femmes. EUROEM # 43 Florence prices had me in a Frenzy

but when I got to Nice I wanted to call the police ! Nice, 30.9.03 There is a souvenir shop on the top and as I walk past a woman exclaims, in an Omi-god accent - " I hate it when I want something and can't have it. I can't even get it shipped home to the States !". Omigod, at the top of her voice, to no one. Migod is definitely not listening. It's providence that le biche de Arkansas has a soft, beautiful, Southern drawl. Y'all. I find Matisse's grave. As you would expect from someone who is a) dead, b) looking ill or c) making bad jokes. Walking down to the Promenade via le Ville de Vieux Nice. There is hardly a passageway wider than a truck. Mostly just a rabbit warren of bars, restaurants and fruit shops. I have been walking for 5 hours and by the time I get near the hostel ( and lost again !) I decide to reward myself with a beer at a little bar that is not much bigger than about 4 metres square. I only manage to pay for 1 beer before I get adopted by a drunken Frenchman called Jerome. He's a public servant ( ticket seller) who has had the day off because today is his Name Day. He ends up buying me about 3 or 4 beers because I am Australian while the girl behind the bar buys me a Pastis so, she tells me, I can say that I have had Pastis in a bar in the south of France. The whole afternoon only costs me about EU 10 and my only bad experience was being asked about Aborigines and Migrants.. It was all too difficult because Jerome wanted to know these things and we had to have the bar-person translate as her English was better than his but not great. Later, when I get onto the Internet I get an email from Muriel. She has passed her final exam that was in English usage. I find it surprising because while her Oral English is very good her written seems very ordinary. It must be a very basic exam. 1.10.03 WED Nice FOOTNOTE TO YESTERDAY : At the bar with Jerome it was the United Nations : A black man from Sweden, a woman from Denmark, an Australian and 2 French people. Someone comments that it is like the United Nations except that there are no Americans. This , of course, makes it very true..( The Danish woman spoke German and English but this didn't stop Jerome from hassling her about learning French ). Examples everywhere of younger women with older men. Have noticed this particularly in Nice. This has, of course, been on my mind lately, if not before ! I may not be an old perve, just a European. ( Of course, in a lot of the Nice examples money plays a part ). Went to a Laundromat to do my washing and had to get change for the machines. Was going to go to the " phone booth" bar but ended up getting a couple of bottles of a Vodka mix at the local grocery store. So, I end up doing my weekly washing with a rinse of Vodka and Kafka. Earlier in the afternoon, tired of walking, I went to see Kate Beckinsale in Underworld. I had expected it to be in English with French subtitles but no. Still

, who cares, it was Kate-baby with fangs - you need a language for this ? Buying some groceries this morning I was wondering if it is diet or the pace-oflife, eg. slow service, that has Europeans less prone to Heart Disease. Bill and Dell arrive and we go shopping together. Dell buys food, Bill gets a bottle of wine and I grab a bottle of Pastis. Bill is pissed off with something the hotel has done to him and, in the end, he wins. Feisty old bastard he is ! Enjoy my Pastis and a little chocolat, Cote d'or Noir Orange ( tastes like Jaffas !), The dormer who I thought might be gay because he is so friendly and good-looking with an French accent is readying himself for a night with some sweet young 007 girl. Good one, Pierre ! I am having a quiet Pastis in the common room when a bunch of kids come in and takeover with their laughter and card games. Arseholes. They insist I stop reading and, all up, we have a pretty good time, telling jokes about the universe. EMAILS # 3 SHE WROTE : Thank you for your words Gary. Some men like me, but surely not like I want. I didn't have a real serious love story for a long time ... and I miss that. But, in despite of all, I know it will come to me one day, soon perhaps. I miss that, but I don't really mind, because I trust in my "good star". (why am I telling you all that ?? (laugh)) Where are you actually ? What are you thinking about ? I like to know a little bit more about you ... if you want to tell me ... And you? Do you want to know some things about me? Just ask. Toulouse is located at 200 kilometers on the East of Bordeaux. I think it's possible to see you, and I think I want it. Even if I'm shy and a little bit afraid to see you again after that we know we thing about us. But I know that in few months you will be on the other side of the planet ... so it would be idiot not to see you again while you're not far from me ... (what are you suggesting? Do you have already an idea to propose ?) I think I would like to know what you are thinking in general, or all that you want to say to me... It's a strange feeling ... Muriel ps : I took a picture of you, but my camera has been stolen ...

HE WROTE : I am in Barcelona until tomorrow and then to Madrid. I am planning to live in Europe permanently or, alternatively, 6 months in Australia and 6 months in Europe. I own an apartment that I could rent out that

would allow me to live in an East European or Asian country without having to work. I would just write poem and stuff. I became interested in you because of your relationship with Sebastian. It is unusual and I like unusual people. I have made a note that Seb must be a man of steel ( like Superman), gay or very shy. I decided he must be very shy. I too am shy ( mostly, sometimes not!) but I could not be in bed with a woman who I liked without wanting her physically. I recently met a girl from Arkansas, USA, in Prague and I fell in love with her. We had much humour in common, she likes me but that is all. She is cute but that is not why I like her. That was the problem with my marriage - I married somebody for their appearance rather than because I liked her. This WAS one of my faults. I also drink too much but not when I am happy, I was surprised to find that you were not indifferent to me because I did not try to impress you, I am a lot older than you and not good looking. It is difficult to impress someone in another language. WHAT AM I THINKING or PLANNING. Je ne sais pas. I would be happy to catch a train or bus to Toulouse to see you. The closest I get to you on my bus tour will be either San Sebastian or Bordeaux. I have heard some good things about Toulouse and would like to spend some days there, getting to know you. ( We have, after all, only known each other for a few hours). I would like to kiss you ( but not a greeting, Charles de Gaulle-style), touch you, hold you and sleep with you.) It is all a strange feeling. I am shy , in these matters especially, and the only reason I am saying what I am saying is because I really like you, find you attractive, and if I don’t say anything now I will never see you again. There were a lot of BIG questions and I’m not sure if I have answered them all. Maybe I have answered too much. Je ne sais.... Gary 2.10.02 / 5.10.03 THURS / FRI

Barcelona / Madrid

New feelings happen to me all the time in Europe. Last year I dreaded losing my precious diaries, more than my passport, credit cards or money. Not long after boarding the bus I realized I had lost THIS diary. And I couldn't have cared less, couldn't have been calmer. I actually came to the conclusion that, maybe, I didn't want to be me anymore. But 3 days later, shades of Berlin last year, a young girl walks into the hostel, she has my diary in a plastic bag and somebody has scribbled my name on it. ( It's still a mystery, sort of - apparently on the way to my room I was talking to someone, a girl , in a stairwell and I have dropped the book. Good thing she was sober otherwise she might have taken advantage of me.) These notes are from memory and, therefore, short. (

Lucky you !)

We stopped in Avignon briefly, visit the walled city, the Pope's Palace ,and I finally get to talk to Stuart. I ask him what I have suspected - yes, he is a writer but devotes most of his day to advertising. I can see the weariness in his eyes. And I also have time on the bus to drift away into.....

EUROEM # 44 Roads off the highway trail way to domestic sympathy a quiet thought works to Toulouse growing old with other children cherries with the pigeon a warm blanket and bed. 2.10.03 Avignon Coming into Barcelona, and all Density house ( I was repulsed suppose it's better than miles Barcelona is enormous and goes

the way from Nice, I begin to realize the High by) is the norm and not an aberration of Italy's. I of suburbia. ( The Size of the Apartments in for miles and acres).

I am actually travelling with Bill and Della on the bus instead of just running into them at hostels and hostel bars. This proves to be unfortunate. I never, normally, go into the cities at night but certainly not on the first night. Bill persuades me to and I get pickpocketted getting off a Metro. Bill feels bad but I tell him that it could have happened anytime, even the daytime, which, in Barcelona, is right. The whole episode had its up and downs 1) I got a phone call to say that someone had found ( what remained of the wallet. 2) I got my credit card back, also pictures of my children and the Homecoming Queen of Prague, 2002 3) It took me 2 long walking sessions to get the photos / cards back. 4) The fact that someone found what remained of my wallet and bothered to contact me actually helped me get over the horrible feeling of the theft 5) I actually admired the technique of the crime. 6) It's since made me very paranoid and afraid of human contact. Actually run into the first person who is both Chinese and Gary. We regularly call each other Gazza. Horrible name that it is. I was very " down " about Barcelona until I discovered the works of Gaudi, his Familial (?) church and his works in Guell Park. Works somewhere between art and architecture. As brilliant as the Sydney Opera House is, it is child's play compared to this man's achievements. If Gaudi had done the Syd Op it would have been a Luna Park with taste. At one of our stops on the road I found a roadside cafe with poker machines and had fish and chips at another - but the fish was red salmon ! Bill and Dell left the bus at Valencia. I have enjoyed their company ( except for some argument they have been having for 40-odd years of their marriage !). It's just good to be my own man again. Madrid looks Ok but it is very crowded i.e. the streets at 10-11pm look like Sydney in peak-hour, midday. There are beautiful " Marias " everywhere. Only staying here 1 night and for 3 after my journey around Spain and through Portugal. The Madrid Hostel is very central. ( In fact, there are hot-and-cold running genitals right downstairs.) There are some hostels that are so far out-of-town it is not funny. Barcelona, for example - you had to walk close to 2 ks to get to the edge-of-town and, ergo, public transport. On the other hand though, it was right next to the beach and served a fair paella.

Internet here is free but there is a 20-minute limit which is cool as some people stay on forever, or nearly that. After a shower and a "go " on the net I drop into a bar where with my beer I am given olives, peppers and onions. It is apparently a tradition to get some sort of free snack with your alcohol in Spain. I am not sure what I get with the next beer as I have ordered Anchovies in Vinegar. Anyway, it is pretty good and I find out later on that there are 2 kinds of anchovies - the kind in OZ on yer actual pizzas and ones that actually look like a fish. And, eating with my fingers which is traditional here makes me feel young again, about 2. 6.10.03

MON Costa del Sol

I have just communicated with Muriel yesterday by email. It's a funny world here. I thought she was lonely without a lover. At one point I'd imagined saving her from a life of celibacy. It is the other way around. Spent a few hours contemplating the fact that she has got " lovers" . Her grammar is wrong ? She has HAD many lovers ? In the end, I decide that, even if this is the case, that it is a French / European thing and not for me to judge. It does hurt me, though, to think of her being treated badly, casually. I see a female Busabout guide I remember from last year. The only sex I easily remember. She does not remember me, so that's fair. Only thought she would because I am in the "old " category with Bill. Kafka's thoughts about transforming into a snake or whatever seem to be incredibly close to things I would think about as a child but was confused about and wondered why I thought such things. I used to wonder what use was there. I certainly would not have thought about putting them on paper. Only a small percentage of what I think makes it to paper. . Back to the Travel Log : Some years ago in Spain they passed a law to ban roadside advertising billboards. Great idea but the people objected to ones that were in the shape of a bull, advertising who-knows-what (!), and today scenery-destroying ads for chainsaws or sunglasses, but these big, black bulls, without ads, can be seen dominating the hills. I am happy ! Why ? Or, as she would exclaim - ! ! Sitting on the bus thinking about visiting Muriel I am physically moved. Physically. Moved. This has not happened in a long time. Well, sitting next to a certain Southern Belle last year.... My Spanish is negligible but, at a roadside stop, I manage " Ola. Aqua grande, perfavore. Gracias " and it gets me a big bottle of water. It's very little but it makes me feel good. Not physically moved but good. Passing through hills and hills of olive trees, stretching for miles, thousands of green dots on brown hills. As the Belle would say, Awesome. ( I have not seen this before, obviously, but I am told later that they are in this plague proportion in Southern Italy, and I have really only been in the North.) Lunch is Lamb with Garlic, chunks of lamb, on the bone, scuba-diving in small sea pf garlic-infused olive oil. Burp. After which I have a conversation with a lovely, little blonde girl about music mostly and she says she regrets we are not headed for the same town. Regrets ? I've had a million, quite Frankly.

After Granada stop-off there are only 5 passengers on the bus. Where we are heading is very quite. It's a chill-out hostel with just a quiet stretch of beach, 3 restaurants and 2 ATMs. No man-made monuments to Gob ( sic), only its sand and sky. Welcome to the coast of the Sun. It's raining. Once again, bad weather is dogging me this year. I've been wondering all day what Muriel's decision ( to visit) will be. I'll be dying to Toulouse the moment I hit Bordeaux. The hostel we are staying at is clean and not cramped, 3 beds to a room, no bunks, a decent sized bathroom - and, most important, a bar with the Mediterranean just below. A half-million dollar view at hostel prices. Brilliant. It's the best hostel I've stayed in, bar Lauterbrunnen. But, bad luck strikes again. Just as I am sending an email to Rob, there is an electricity blackout. I have just had an email from Muriel headed GOOD IDEA. I think she has made a good decision, for me anyway. The answer is YES. It's frustrating now, having to wait, nearly two more weeks before I'm scheduled to be in France. ( I didn't know alcohol floated to the bottom. Or can't remember ! I am told this in relation to Sangria. It has a fairly high alcohol content anyway but when you get close to the bottom of the barrel it is capable of launching rocket ships. Briefly.)

EMAILS #4 MURIEL WROTE : So, you're in Spain ! Do you like it ? I wish you do ! About my relation with Sebastian, in fact, at the beginning ( years ago) there were physical attraction, but during few week. After, you became friends with nothing else. So, Seb, is not of steel, gay or shy neither !! He's really not my kind. Well, in fact, he's the opposite of what I like in men. I think that attraction between some people is a feeling affair ! I don't know if it is clear in english ? ! But old, physic and language are not important when you have a good feeling with someone.....that was the case with you. And, most of all, I like " out of the ordinary " people !! And you are ! But, the bigger problem is that I don't know if that feeling about you ( or between us) is enought to spend a few days with you and to have, perhaps more with you.....I really don't know and I'm afraid of that. I don't know if you see what I mean ? It can really great and also the opposite, how to know ??? Thank you for your answers, it's a kind of way to know you a little but more....You can do the same with me, I don't have anything to hide...Even if I'm still asking myself a lot of questions. HE WROTE : I thought I only had 1 night in Bordeaux but NO - I could get down to Toulouse

and we would have an afternoon, night and morning together .

ALSO SOME QUESTIONS Are you a good cook or do you hate cooking ? Do you watch tv a lot ? Are you lonely all the time ? Do you have lots of friend ? but are still lonely ? What are your interests beside electronics ?

MURIEL WROTE : I'm an excellent cook and I like it ! ! For example, this week-end I was with my parents and some family, and I cook for all ! ! I really like to invit some friends and prepare some cook for them ! I like when this silence install in the room when people eat the foot ! ! I like that ! ! I never watch tv, or just a few. I hate this kind of false informations..I prefer to listen music ( I listen a lot) and read papers, books.. I'm not lonely all the time. I must confess that I've got some " lovers", just to do not be alone all the nights...not things very serious.... Lonelyness is not a choice. Sometimes I like it, sometimes not.I don't have serious opportunities, that's all. I've got friends, but I prefer to have few and good quality !

!

I listen a lot a music from classic to hard rock and not commercial things. I like bikes. I want to to buy a monster600 ducati or 750 ZR7 kawa....When I was young, I liked trucks. At my parents house, the walls of my room have a lot of pictures of american trucks. AND I'm practicing archery since 10 years ! ! In competition, i've got good level in france even if since few years I don't time to practice. Tell me what do you want to do about visiting me in Toulouse ( about 2 hours in train from Bordeaux)...What would you prefer...Do you have proposition to do...or wish to tell me...I still do not take a decision yet... i'm lost about it...Tell me when I must make a decision !

HE WROTE : I don´t care whether you can cook or not. It was just a question but I am glad to hear that you enjoy it. Some people in electronics and computers just seem to be involved in only that. I am glad you don´t like tv.. I wish I had lovers to relieve my loneliness but it is more people I can really talk to that I want. I too listen to music all the time, everything classical ,electronica, modern rock, avant garde - so much, I cannot tell you.

I would like to visit you the afternoon of 19th October for a meal and, hopefully, stay with you for the night. You can make a decision whenever you like...you have 2 more weeks. . MURIEL WROTE : I know that it was only questions, don't worry! I just answers to it. And you can ask me more if you want to. It seems to be a good idea to visit me the 19 october in the afternoon, I can show you Toulouse as I like it (if you want to), discuss with you like we did in Roma and don't care about what could happen ...

7.10.03 TUES Costa del Sol Muriel and I are a pair, in some ways. Our thoughts and habits criss-crossed each other all morning on an Instant Message conversation, about 2 hours worth. There are similar tastes and thoughts on music. She quoted me some CDs that she has and I liked them all and had CDs by the bulk of the artists she named. She also says she likes my sense of humour, a difficult thing when most of my jokes are based on subtle word-meanings and general misunderstanding of English language (and human nature for that matter!). Where will it all lead? Somewhere different, I hope, from the horrible life I am living back in OZ. I do not think I have spoken of the Spanish habit of siesta - most businesses close for the afternoon roughly from 1pm to 4pm. In the bigger cities you will get the occasional supermarket or whatever open but down South it is very serious. Everything here is closed with the exception of a little bar on the beach. Even the hostel bar is closed. I still cannot believe that Muriel and I have " connected ". She is a young, beautiful, intelligent girl who tells me that " age, physic " do not matter to her. There is somebody for everybody in the world. I have difficulty, at home, meeting someone to be with, to be happy with. Last year I was able to enjoy L's company, if nothing else. This year I have met someone with whom I have even more in common with and who does not object to my age. To be fair to Arkansas, she did say, even if I was her age, I wasn't her type. So what if I'm sitting here, drinking beer, just off the Mediterranean, next to a ticking grandfather clock. I can just barely make-out the North African coast, Morocco. These conditions could lead to serious alcoholism. ................... NEXT DRINK is a beer at the bar on the beach, managing the transaction in bad Spanish. My big problem is saying ALO instead of OLA. Silly amigo. Back to Muriel. I was in love with L after only a few days. Muriel is different. She is attractive and we seem to have a lot in common and I definitely want to have sex with her but I could not describe myself as being in love with her. As I have said, Lissa is still much in my mind, crowding it. It is a vast improvement on me falling in love with women for their looks, although both are beautiful. This trip looked, to begin with, a bit slow, different, not as exciting, as sunny or funny, but its hero is being enriched again. I am almost at the stage where, like in Prague last year, I wanted to cry for joy. Literally. 8.10.03 WED Costa del Sol

Went down to La Linea to see Gibraltar. It's about a 30 k bus trip for just under EU 2,_. Bargain! Took a tour of the The Rock for EU 20, _. Saw some monkeys, did some shopping, saw some Bobbies and had fish and chips for lunch, with vinegar (when in England!). Signs everywhere in English seem strange, as does the word Governor. Ange or Angela, not Ann, is a nice Sydney girl whose looks aren't great to begin with but, as the morning goes on, I begin to warm to her looks and.............and, I'm only joking and proving that I am not a TOTAL slut but then, seriously, she is a very nice looking girl! (Hoping that this will be published and she will read this!) Ange and I meet an American guy (Andy has split for lunch) on the tour up to the top of The Rock. He is an American chaplain in the US Navy and........ this is good as I have already dropped a few, but that not many, " fucks" and a blue joke. He has most likely heard my language before. He is actually a very good "bloke" from the mid-West and him, Ange and I have a great time discussing the differences between American, Australian and English *. - * Ange has been working in the UK for a while. Apparently the last thing in the UK is greeting someone with " Are you OK?" All 3 of us have a great time with this one! Back at the hostel I brush my teeth (not my shoes) for the first time in a week (basically lacking the tools) and shave. 9.10.03 THURS Seville We have all had a late night at an Indian restaurant. Me in about 1.30 am, Ange at 2.30 am and Andy at 6am. (He has been skinny-dipping and I have forgot to mention that he is very good looking and has had 2 blonde OZ girls chasing him. Maybe they caught up with him.) It was a really big night, there were 12 of us, and the owners were so pleased at our presence that a number of beers were had for free and 2 bottles of complimentary champagne were proffered. I had a running fight with a little girl (just under 5 ft, about 17), who insists on dropping the F word. I find her use of it totally unnecessary and attentiongetting and she tells me that her parents at home. I get her point but I am more concerned that the F word is becoming slightly over-used and is becoming quickly the vocabulary of 4 year olds! She doesn't see my point as I have my trousers done up very tightly and I prefer Older Women anyway! Really full with Indian food from last night and this morning all I can manage is coffee. Apart from little Emily, I have had a running joke with a girl called Linda who comes from Avalon. I keep insisting she comes from 7 Hills, not of Roma but near Blacktown. She takes it a lot better than Emily does about the swearing but there is still some aggravation. I attempt to explain to Ange that the joke is that I have family who come from 7 Hills and that to me it is not a big thing. I wish Linda were here so I could explain but I tell Ange as they seem to get along and maybe she will catch up with her. (This turns out to be true because Ange and Linda both end up travelling together at some point) We get into Seville about 2.30 pm. Ange, Emily and I have lasagna at a wind-blown place called Tarifia. The surf there is big, due to the wind, and probably has more surf shops than the average seaside Sydney suburb.

Went for a walk to email Diane and maybe try to catch Muriel on Yahoo Messenger but all to no avail. And big trouble with the keyboard! Room 5 we are staying at and is just 5 single beds but JAMMED together. Another weird thing is the toilet and shower. They are in the vestibule as you enter the room, and only separated by plastic curtains. Two males and three females at the moment where every tinkle can be heard. 3 Australians (1 male), a South African girl and an Englishman in doubt, Andy. (He is " in doubt " because even though he is good looking I have yet to see him yet go off with any of the women. Maybe, he is just fussy!) EMAILS # 5 ? MURIEL WROTE: Sorry, I regret to having wrote this letter because today I feel better. I think I just wanted to tell someone my sadness and it was you. Today I’m better, I’m still jealous of the happiness of the others but I want to have fun!! I will go out tonight, dance, drink and stuff ... I want to and I need to! to let off stream ... Thanks you for your words! But I don't want you to be sad!! Because I’m not now. What do you mean when you say that you hope you find me? I don't want you to make to much dream about me... I don't want to hurt you, never. You're too adorable for this. I don't think that you're crazy, I like this. But I don't think I'M so crazy. HE WROTE: I said that a dream was what I am looking for and I think that you are that dream. I sent you the poem to show you that I do not just want to spend a night with you and have been thinking about it for a while (not just in response to your sad letter) This is what I thought about after a long walk I have a number of suggestions. The first is - if you could learn to love me and I could make you happy, in and out of bed - I would like to marry you. How to live? We could live in OZ where I own an apartment and could look after you on my wage. And you could, probably, get work. Or, as I have said before, the rent from my apartment would allow me to live in an Eastern European or Asian country. These are only rough ideas. I do not want you to live the life of a mistress anymore. I would like to love you how you should be loved and how you want. You may not want to hurt me but I do not like to see you get hurt either. Gary 10.10.03 FRI Seville Some time later I have proposed to her in an email and she has all but said no. (We have spoken on An Instant Message) but she is a bit confused and also happy that I have asked her. She has still to see me in Toulouse, hopefully. There has

been a major language problem and she, now, realizes it. (I have, obviously, re-read these emails and I am still not sure what was being said. Perhaps if I had been " cool " enough to just " sleep" with her things may have turned out different. I cannot see, though, how doing this, pissing off to Prague and thence to OZ would have led to any better result Prague 11.11.03 Remembrance Day) EMAILS # 6 HE WROTE: I am confused with some of the things you say. Maybe, it’s because of the language. Sometimes you say you want somebody to love you - and you say you would be happy if it was me - but, then, you say you don’t want to hurt me, like when you say you don’t want me to dream about you. It has already hurt me to think of men just using you. Even if you would not be prepared for me to love you, I would still like to see you again. I have offered you everything I have - take what you want! I get excited thinking about you............Gary. SOME OF MURIEL'S EMAILS HAVE BEEN WIPED AND SO THE COMPLETE RECORD OF EMAILS IS INCOMPLETE. HOPE THIS ALL MAKES SENSE. HE WROTE: (She has said that I do not know her very well, still trying to understand why an almost complete stranger has asked her to marry him, no doubt) These thoughts came after you said that I did not know much about you. Here goes: you are shy, gentle (except you wanted a Ducati Monster), generous in your love, kind to small animals (like Sebastian), intelligent, you love your family and deep within you is a person that nobody knows except yourself but you would like for somebody else to know. These last few words are probably true of everybody but it is the first time I have ever cared. This morning I feel tres bien even though you have said no. I have had regrets before at not asking for something I want. The torture of uncertainty is worse than the small pain of rejection. My life has been a series of regrets. This is only the 3rd time I have asked anyone to marry me - to a girl I was engaged to, one I was married to et vous. I just want you to know that I do not do this on a regular basis. I am also happy in the knowledge that, whatever happens, I think you will never forget me. 10.10.03 FRI Seville NOTE: After the last emails I have had a discussion with Muriel on Instant Message. To be fair to Muriel (I don't know what she was thinking!) but she sounds

really sorry, shocked; he normally good English seems to have fallen to pieces she sounded seriously frazzled.) (I have rocked " out " of a tapas bar that the Walking Tour Guide had recommended.) There are only tables for 4. I am only 1 and the place is getting crowded. I am not being served and getting uncomfortable, socially. I leave and end up at a Tex-Mex place where I leave with a stomach full of pseudo-American fat. It was my first real meal of the day and don't feel too bad about " pigging out ". Back at the hotel, Ange and a new girl are there and I need a shower to wipe off the sweat. It is very warm and I have done a lot of walking. I ask the girls if they need to use the toilet. When they say no I say " well, if you want a shower, just follow me!" No takers. (I realize I have broken Roommate manners by this joke. For the rest of our travels, Ange goes a bit cold on me. This lesson I will remember, if nothing else!) Linda. from Avalon, and a blonde girl, who are staying at another hotel, come by and want to know if Ange can come out to play. I tell Ange this when I see her in the room but she is not feeling. Linda and the blonde girl go away, looking sad. (I had seen them earlier when they had turned up late for a Walking Tour and had blown EU 10. 11.10.03 SAT Seville Bad night's sleep, thinking of Muriel. Get up about 10 to visit the Alcazar, not that impressed with the palace but love the garden. I feel good today. Now I have said what I have said to Muriel I have no regrets. Maybe it is because I have found the " third hand" of Saint P and no longer need any help. Excuse me while I get religious. Or superstitious, wherever those 2 meet. It's a strange calmness that comes over me in Europe. Serenity. Even if I can only do 6 months in OZ and 6 months here, it will be life-saving. I could not handle another year totally in OZ. As I walk out of a cafeteria into the garden, I have help with my feelings, just from the greenery. There's a fountain in the garden that reminds me of Gaudi - it's man-made but it looks part of nature. I get on the Internet but there is no Muriel. I have sent her a message but no reply. I am told by a street gypsy selling me a handful of herbs and reading my palm that I am going to meet my Grand Amour but not in Espana, as she says. It's all in Spanish but I seem to understand most of it. Maybe, I think, Muriel will change her mind. Also, I am going to live forever. I have spoken to Muriel about liking " unusual" people. All people are unusual it is just a matter of how you disguise yourself. To be totally yourself would be to be " out of control" or complete madness. I have told her that I would like to meet her " inner" self. It begins to rain very lightly and the local citizens are running for cover or cheap umbrellas. .................................

I RECEIVE AN EMAIL FROM HER AND......... Well, I've fucked it up. She doesn't even want to see me, even for the 1 night! She has uninvited me to Toulouse. I could have had a beautiful young woman but I stuffed it up by caring too much, my usual complications. There is so much I don't know about woman I could write a book. 2 volumes at least. Maybe 10 editions with copious footnotes. I really feel like crying. I get some really expensive soup (EU 8) at a restaurant and to make it even worse, when I still have a little bit left, the waiter says something to me and I politely nod Yes. The last few delicious drops of the soup are immediately taken away. You can't always get what you want, especially when another language is involved. There are beggars in this city like no other - some aren't even limbless. It inspires me with the idea that I could get down in the street with either " American" or " Al Queda" written on a board, around my neck, saying I NEED FUNDS. I am sure somebody would feel sorry for me. Seville is really great. It's what I always thought the streets or back streets of Paris would be like. Unfortunately, it is where I killed me and Muriel. I am not going to chase her. The more I chase her, the more she will be scared, and run away. (As it is, I think she may even prefer to be alone or is afraid of any commitment, despite what she says. GF 13.11.03) I am hoping for her to change her mind and, therefore, have written... 12.10.03 SUN Sevilla / Lisboa EUROEM # 45 (a letter of alliteration for some time in Toulouse) ............and, when I'm finished with your front, I'll turn you over to taste your back, behind and beyond. My deep voice in your head. My absence in your bed. Seville 12.10.03

EUROEM # 46 Our street in Madrid paved with hearts of gold boys and girls who can (maybe) no longer play.

I remember this now when I see a mystery on a wall. Seville

12.10.03

As we are getting on a bus this morning a fellow (male) traveller, who I don not know from Adam or Eve, tells me that Matt " Somebody" is 380. My first thought was that " this is old", the second that I feel much better about my own age. I have to explain that I do not DO sport. (It finally comes to me that he has been talking about cricket, my least favourite sport. Especially when you are Australian do complete strangers feel the need to talk about Sport without even imagining you have no interest. Europeans are the same when they find out you are Australian i.e. they want to talk about Rugby. eg. Last night in a bar a totally drunk Spaniard wanted to talk about Rugby. Apart from the fact I don't follow it, his English was almost as good as my Spanish, negligible. Not long after we enter Portugal we stop for breakfast at a tiny village. It's only 9am but already seems like siesta time. They, of course, like the Spanish, don't start early either! Even the " ghosts" in this town appear to be sleeping! Our guide on the bus is Paul. He is gay and, because there are so few of us on the bus, spends most of the time reading and swapping gossip and gossip magazines with the girls. But usefully, he tells us that drinking the tap water is safe as it is in most of Europe. (Personally, I am not so sure about Venice Island or Amsterdam.) We are given a few lessons in Portuguese (3rd (?) most spoken language in the world) and we are old that it is totally unique in Western Europe in that it doesn't derive from Latin. The word Obrigado (for thanks) is similar to Japanese, as are other words, apparently. Also, it is better to speak English than Spanish, as there are long-time enmities. Having my first Portuguese meal, I am barely able to describe the contents but it is about the first time in weeks I have had vegetables, so it must be good for me, eh Mum? Most of the flavours are familiar but some not! There is only 1 thing I leave on my plate - two strips of something that just looks, and tastes (a small nibble), like pure fat. Sunday morning is strictly observed in Portugal. There is little, or no, Internet places to be used. And only for a short time on Saturdays. This, to me, is a good thing compared to the 24/7 life in other major cities in the world. There are trees (and grasses) by the roadside that are of an unusually bright green colour. If you saw them in a painting you would think that the artist was inexperienced and had used the wrong colour. " There's trouble at mill " when we get to the camping ground. Paul, it seems, has informed on a driver for drinking (1 beer) on the job. He may be allowed by Portuguese law but it is a strict Busabout policy. Anyway, the sacked driver is angry and waiting for Paul, abusing him and seemingly wanting to tear strips off him. If I were him I wouldn't be doing any dark alleys tonight, looking for a " beat ". The camp itself is great. Spacious cabins with verandahs, distanced well from the other dwellings, cooking facilities, inside toilet and shower, and cable TV. Fortunately, the TV doesn't seem to have a good signal and my new girl roommate and I don't care anyway!

But there's a drawback - I have to do some washing and there are only 2 washing machines and 1 dryer in the laundry block, all being used. I have no desire to go into Lisbon tonight, so I wait. In the cabin with 2 boys and Kylie. We are in 1 room in a single bed and a bunk bed while Kylie has a double bed to herself. The boy's names escape me. And it doesn't matter how long I look at Kyle her face seems unwilling to morph into anybody I love or care about. Maybe, I'll just love her for herself. An interesting concept. At the marathon washing/drying session I speak to a couple of Western Australians, Laura and Josh, who both look like (for all the world) they are Spanish. All in all we have a very good conversation. They talk of being mistaken in Spain (and Greece) for local inhabitants while I tell them of my recent history of invading Poland, etc. I had seen the female part of this equation, about an hour before I got to speak to her, and wanted to hang her little body out to dry somewhere and then, slowly, lovingly, re-moisturize her..... 13.10.03 MON Lisboa Not a bad night's sleep. Have not been thinking about Muriel. I have bought in an old replacement, Lissa. (Hopefully, for her sake and sanity, to be replaced by my " grand amour " the Gypsy Lady has warned me about!) Had breakfast. Waiting for peak-hour to pass. My first experience in Roma has turned me off getting into town before 11 or 12, anyway. My shoes, work boots, have finally broken in. (Next time, I might get it right.) Still getting blisters but not as bad as last year which is a blessing. It's only about 7 or 8 am but already there is a cabin with the cable TV happening. Me and Kylie have yet to turn ours on; and as she slowly morphs into........ nobody. This is just a joke on myself as I really do have a great affection for Lissa and Muriel. They are not just anybody. I do not want to believe the Gypsy fortune telling, but I do : one more storm, one more moonbeam. I think this because MAYBE I'll see Maria ( from Berlin 2002) in Madrid. Unlikely, it's a big city. EUROEM # 47 She has sat next to me many times on a bus to C. The partner I never asked or explored the mother of another's children. 13.10.03 Lisbon NOT a good morning ! I get fucked around on the bus and end up catching 2, costing me double. When I get to town I cannot find the 'Net cafe ( recommended ) street on the map and, as it is, most of the map's printing is really small. In fact, quite a few of the streets are unmarked, a bit like Athens.

When I finally get to the street ( that wasn't on the map !) it is a street that changes its name halfway down. It's really a miracle I find it at all and then I find it's fairly expensive. I find it mostly with the assistance from some bookshop owners ( knowing some English) who were able to help where the map couldn't. Perversely, I have Lebanese for lunch. It is the first time I have had Sharwarma with chips. Must be catering for the tourists - chips seem to get dished up with everything. Rest of the day is cancelled as far as I am concerned. Lisbon is too hilly and steep to walk and I am not in the mood for a " public transport " adventure. No message from Muriel hasn't helped. Despondez-vous ? Portugal is not bad, it's just me. The feeling I get from the streets is relaxed. Going back to the camp feeling good because I have managed to find the right bus but missing the right bus stop pisses me off. One bus, # 50, seems to have 3 destinations; bus stops aren't marked properly; to get a day pass ( cheaper) you have to travel to certain spots. But then, it is cheap - EU 1 for 1 trip or 3, 80 all day, unlimited travel and the whole greater area of Lisbon seems to be covered thoroughly. Sydney Public Transport, please take note : The buses are not halffull because people are using them to the max for cheapness and availability.. Just now, smiling to myself because, even though I killed the Fleur that is Muriel from too much watering, I am having a great holiday. A night with M would, though, have been the cream on the cake. Or somewhere. First time I have cooked in Europe ! There seem to be only huge packs of rice at the camp mini-market and that puts paella out of the question. I end up doing Sopa de cozidoa a Portuguese. * I toss in a small can of tuna and it's beginning to smelling OK.. I have it with some dry bread ( to soak up the goodness of the Anti-oxidants and ingredient # 302) and it should be a fair meal. * from a packet.. K ( Kylie not Kafka ) is back really late and she has had a hard day as well. Problems with postage, a rip-off apparently, and trying to see as much of Lisbon as possible in 1 afternoon. I would get her her pipe and slippers but this would involve a sex-change and we just do not have this much time together. The scars would barely be healed. She doesn't feel like cooking so I escort her down to the camp's restaurant and the poor girl ! after such a rough day - chooses a really bad meal : a sort of casserole consisting of salty cod smothered in mayonnaise. She has a few mouthfuls but is unable to finish it. Back at the cabin she settles for bread and some leftover sausages. After that we just sit reading and writing, and then the morphing begins again.....but this time it is me, not the girl I am with, as I begin to change into........my pyjamas. My non-fantasy side tells me that there will be no more to write of this evening. ( I do, though, have a strange dream where one of my arms is bitten off. By what, or who, I do not know ! )

14.10.03 TUES Lisboa Omigod ! At breakfast time, Kylie is beginning to look cute. Thank God, it's our last night. ( A TRUTH : Old grey men will fall in love with young women, especially when propinquity is a factor.) My heart is still at the repair shop. No more damage needed, thank you. We are travelling together this morning ( a side-trip) to Sintra and, after yesterday's public transport fiasco, I'll be holding her metaphorical hand. I regale K with the story of how my diary was returned to me in Barcelona from Nice ( and also my YHA card from Berlin last year, almost miraculously .). She likes, too, the stories of Maria ( who dispatched the lost YHA card ) with whom I fell in love with last year. ( Women even love an " almost " love story.) A bit later I tell her of the person on the bus in Lisbon, who returned a O,50 coin I dropped as I was fumbling for money. She is amazed that I have so many good stories to tell. She seems to have had a few bad travel experiences but, still, she does not seem too be badly affected by them. She is quite a cheery little thing. We have to wait for the boys from another hut. We are travelling with them to Sintra. One of them has had " trouble " with the " intricacies " of a washing machine. To be fair, I had problems with a laundromat in Nice but this boy clearly needs his mum. Interesting public transport manners. Yesterday an old woman sat next to me on a bus when it was crowded, is still sitting next to me when the bus is nearly empty. ( Maybe, she could tell I was just cheap meat.). In Sydney she would have moved in split second. I am contrasting this with the behaviour of the 3 boys - Jason, Michael and Paul - who constantly change seats on the train we are travelling on, according to their social comfortability. Despite various factors, like pickpockets , there is less fear of human contact in Europe. ( A further example is a very recent conversation between M and myself on Instant Message : She tells me that in France they like to kiss a lot. My solemn reply is that that is the problem ! Spoken out of envy, jealousy, that I am " missing " out ! ) Portugal was a poor agricultural economy before joining the EU. There is plenty of evidence of that on our journey to Sintra - villages / communities that have suffered obvious economic decay. At out destination the fortress we visit is mostly in pieces but it is still impressive. The old Moorish castle ( there is another kind ? ) next to it is even more so. It is the first one I have seen , close-up and inside. I have been a very slack tourist. Penny-pinching, sometimes, but generally I don't like the crowds or the queues. The group I am with - Kylie, Jason, Michael, Paul and myself - sound like the Australian Bobbsey Quins. Kylie ( or Kyles as the boys call her) is a real nice girl ( and cute ) but she is not the girl for me. She seems to be too well adjusted and, to be truthful, I like them at least a bit mad. We come back from Sintra at about 5. It's peak hour but it's not too bad. It's about enough for me for today but the Young'uns are going into town to paint the town red. When I say that ( old saying ) they look at me as though they have no intention whatsoever of manual labour.

I get some beers ; then it's just the pine trees and me. Too hard to read, so I fix the TV. It has had a poor reception and unwatchable. I add a piece of wire to the antennae and away we go, visual crap in Portuguese. 15.10.03 WED

Portugal / Madrid

General girl talk on the bus the morning is about boys. They are not very organized, the girls exclaim.. Their poor mothers, the girls say. Their poor wives, I think ! Are we headed back to before The Burning of the Bras ? Have missed out on " cheap " Salamanca ( a cheap University town ), as I did on Granada. Would like to do smaller stops. Maybe next time ? I have a certain schedule to follow. EUROEM # 48 Tourists, how we despise them ! But why ? I a a a a

am, like you, tourist here today tourist on the Earth tourist in your house tourist in your body.

Always getting some sort of souvenir. Portugal 15.10.03 It's a very misty morning as we stop for breakfast, about 9.30am. Changing time zones doesn't make it any clearer. Toilets for men are " Homens " which causes a few problems. I also see the toilets for the handicapped are labelled " Deficientes ". This is not the Politically Correct world of the West, apparently. A girl adjacent to me on the bus actually introduced herself ( she was out with Kylie last night). There is no significance ( I can't even remember her name !). She is obviously just friendly and polite to old folk. If it was a crowded public bus, she may have stood up for me. It makes me feel good, anyway. EUROEM # 49 Young French girls should never tell old grey men that they are lonely Silence is a language all on its own. Perhaps we should have spoken more. Portugal 15.10.03 I am either being helped by St. Paul or Peter but I am again feeling good and not caring either way about seeing Muriel, even though that would have been a

pleasure, I'm sure. At a stop for lunch Kylie goes again for the toasted ham and cheese sandwich she was promised by the bus guide at our breakfast stop. Again, she is disappointed. We end up having our ham and cheese MISTA which, unfortunately for Kylie, is not the same as TOSTA ! ( I promise Kylie that when we get married the first thing I will buy is a toaster but she doesn't seem to understand a word I think !) We cross the border, so it's goodbye to Abrigado hello to Gracias. Overall, the group I am travelling with are older than last year, 2002. Jason looks 25 but he tells me he is 30. Kylie is mid-20's, I guess, and the girl who introduced herself to me on the bus was closer to 30. Most last year they were 18 to 23. A building I see in the Salamanca stop-over is amazing but, unfortunately, just another great European building ! I have been talking to girl I slept with in Seville is South African but I could not pick her accent. It's a hybrid. She admits she picks up on whoever she talks to. She is currently concerned about returning to Johannesburg with an Australia accent as she has been with so many people from OZ lately. Yes, it's a worry - at times the Bus Guide morphs slightly into L. It helps that she has glasses. If only THEY would morph their way into my arms it would save all this writing and dreaming. I get on the email and sent some poems to Muriel ( to impress or intrigue her into a positive response ) as there is nothing in my INBOX. Also, I ask her if she has made a decision on the " visit ". Almost instantly I get an E-mail from Lissa and she casually tells me she is OK, just being busy, not dead at all. This is in response to a few E enquiries about her well-being. Finally I get a freebie ( tapas) with my beer. The bar is off the main drag and very low-key. Get back to the hostel to find the computers closed for the night. Was hoping for an email from Muriel to brighten my otherwise ordinary evening. So to bed. 16.10.03 THURS Madrid Got an email today from Muriel over the decision, not to marry, just to visit. The answer is NO. I almost immediately think of REVOLVER and then A HARD DAY'S NIGHT but in the end I settle for LET IT BE, which is what she has suggested. Also, she hopes that I am not angry ( no ) and that she is sorry about the language problems. Muriel, don't worry. It happens to me when the other person speaks native English. I want to tell her not to write to me of her loneliness anymore. I want to suggest that she speaks to the ugliest girl in town, one who has no family, no close friends and, definitely, not " lovers ", if she wants to know what loneliness is. But I don't because it is too bitter and I do know that loneliness cannot be

measured. If know that if you do not feel a deep " connection " to just one person, you can be lonely. ( And she is reading this now. I just did not want her to be sorrier than she was, at the time. GF 17.11.03 Prague ) She may even become a fictional character. C'est le guerre. C'est le gare. Le gare du vie. ..................................... The morning is great, sunny, and I discover one of Madrid's biggest secrets - the Tourist Office, no big i tourism sign to follow, just a tiny little office tucked away in a town square. I am setting out on a 3 Art Gallery tour. 3 art galleries for EU 7,60, not bad. I see my most pathetic beggar yet, lying there with a freshly opened can of beer. No missing limbs, just a drinking problem. If it was me, I would understand. I briefly play with the idea of sleeping with Muriel, on the page, a pretense. Apart from the dishonesty, it would spoil anything that might happen in the future. I am not a natural-born liar..... ............but very unfaithful ( not a great combination ). I have already, this morning, fallen in love twice on the streets and once in a women's toilet ( WC signs can be confusing ! ). There is a lovely little Spanish lass giving out Manet pamphlets but she has other customers and there is only room for one nano-second of lust. I grab it anyway. The Manet exhibit is luckily included in the ticket I have bought. The first part is early Manet I have never seen before and his 2 major influences, from what I can gather, Velasquez and Goya. I have seen Velasquez before but not great examples. The " light " in all the paintings is incredible . Unfortunately, some of the subjects ( the rich or the royals ?) look like in-bred criminals Enough said ! Up with the barricades, down with your underwear, scare the bourgeoisie with your unwashed genitals. And, strike up the band for a rollicking good soundtrack ! Peanuts and popcorn available on the foyer. Mrs. Reuben’s little boy is here too. I am amazed at just how good this old stuff is. I had originally only planned to visit the Modern galleries. Only my sense of the good value of ticket has me here. How thoroughly gauche of me. I get also to see some OK Rembrandt. Giving up that day job was the best thing he ever did. I have been here for just over 2 hours. Normally I would sweep through in less than an hour, maybe half.. Visiting Madrid sometime soon ? Visit the Museo el Prado, or else you'll miss out ! Beer is the perfect antidote for all this culture I decide. With this I get served my second free meal, 4 green olives and a teensy-weensy piece of fish. The second gallery, the Sofia, is also too much. The first 2 floors I visit are extremely modern and I did not like it all. Was just about ready to leave when I discovered the Picasso, Dali and Miro sections. Most people are familiar with Guernica but it is magnetic to stand in front of it. I stood for 10-15 minutes in front of it and then kept returning to it as I walked through other parts. I have been to 2 galleries and it has taken me nearly 5 hours. One to go. It is just lucky I drink a lot or this sensory overload would do some serious damage.

The third one too is great . As you might have guessed. It will seem like just a List but that's about the best I can do : There is a load of old Dutch masters ( one that actually looks like a photo ), but there is also Constable, Degas, Van Gogh, Renoir, Manet and Monet, Cezanne, Bonnard, Gaugin, Brueguel and Munch, all in a row. At one point I see a woman, looking depressed, with her head in her hands. She seems to be overwhelmed. Will she ever paint again? I think this is just about the end of the Pain but it goes on. Another section that begins with some Medieval gear (not bad ) moves on to Raphael, Bellini, Linguini, Spagettios, Cock, Frankfurt, Beer *, Caravaggio, Rembrandt again and Verytiring..... * ( I am not joking about these neighbours on the wall.)

3 but some humourist with has made them

I am planning to knock-off the last section really quickly as I am drained and tired but it just doesn't happen because I find myself interfaced with more Picasso, Braque, Weber, Chagall and Magritte......and a last dally around Dali and that's my daily report. On the art scene here in Madrid, coming to you live. FOOTNOTE : Security getting into these places is as tight as airport security elsewhere. Metal detectors, the works. ..................... The street I am staying in is full of prostitutes, girls and boys and it's only 6 or 7.30 pm. It's colder here than the rest of Spain as it at a high altitude. All the pros are dressed warmly, jackets and jeans, very unappealing. Only one is wearing the regulation mini-skirt. She is older and needs to, I guess. What a job. There is a crackdown going on, no pun intended ( but it's not bad). The coppers come, the girls go and 5 minutes later it's back to the usual romantic scene. I step into a bar ( mainly for a piss ) and feel quite comfortable even though English is not a viable alternative. I'd like to say watching Seinfeld in Spanish is as funny as in English but it isn't. I get a little bowl of onion, tomato and olives with my first beer ; a Jamon mini-bageuette with my second and come to the conclusion that the Tapas life-style is good, better than drinking on an empty stomach. Culinary Note : The ham ( Jamon) is superb. It's cured and just hangs in the bars and shops for days, or who knows how long ? It's my first real taste. And, no complaints, the bread is fresh ! Almost right after this I go to an all-you-can-eat place with a half-litre of Sangria. It's cheap but the problem is that I can't eat much. On the way back home I find a little grocery store that sells beer. I have to hide it as he is not supposed to be selling it at this hour, for some reason. ( The machine that dispenses expensive small cans of beer at the hostel is empty ). The streets are very crowded. It's 10.30 pm and the place is jumping. It is difficult to find space on the footpath. It's comparable to Sydney at lunchtime. A few beers and the end of a good day. EMAILS # 8

MURIEL WROTE : I'm sorry for my silence but I needed it after that I realized the mistake I’ve done (about my language). I can't say nothing but sorry ... You've dreamed about things not true. That's perhaps why I prefer to let this like it is : a dream, a strange and sweet meeting far from our home. I'm sorry, you must be angry with me... HE WROTE : No, I’m not angry. And no regrets for anything I have said. Remember that. ( Only, maybe, that I missed out on at least one night with you). I would like to keep in contact though. I would like to hear if, when and where you get a job. All the best, Gary 17.10.03 FRI Madrid If the loud German next to me at the breakfast table was from the US I would be thinking anti-Uncle Sam thoughts. Maybe I am prejudiced ? The American accent, particularly the volume, can be grating. They have no problem with informing the whole street of their opinions or discoveries. ( In Rome I heard an excited USA woman cry out " Omigod ! It's a Pizzeria " when she saw one.) I see the South African girl across the crowded room but I do not approach her because a) I do not feel like any more " adventures " at the moment and b) she is reading a book. I think we should just leave it at having " slept " together. This is apparently acceptable in various regions of Europe. ( Yes, my mother was a bitch, too ! ) Plan A is to got to Toledo today, as recommended. Maybe pick up a knife and cut my throat, at the source. But, maybe, not while I have money in the bank. I don't want to leave my children too much. Money can be such a burden. Despite wanting to avoid any more adventures the young German girls at the next table get my mind wandering over fields of skin and skimpy things. Shame on me. Lousy weather again today. Hopefully better in Toledo. Intriguing thing about the South African girl is that she does not " pair up " with anyone.( Like me, mostly, but not by choice. ) I have not seen her team up with anybody. TITLE FOR BOOK : Further Miss Adventures in Europe PLAN B is to get drunk, find Maria from Berlin ' 02, somewhere in Madrid's millions. She is probably still in Germany which is, still, a lot closer than Kate Beckinsale anyway. PLAN B ? Well first, like the tourism office, the Rail Ticket office is yet another Top Secret. When I do find it and take a Queue number, some Japanese girls, who I have a polite conversation with, point out that my train will not be

leaving till 3pm. This is not my idea of a day trip. I say goodbye to the girls after a brief talk on the 3 Art Gallery tour and Pacific island prison camps, and mentally give back the underwear I have taken from them. It has been worth the walk down. The central hall of the Madrid railway station is a giant greenhouse. I have a photo to prove it. For the moment it's a warm beer ( in my pocket from last night ) on a wet park bench and then off for a walk.. Madrid traffic is as busy as Rome or Paris but more respective of pedestrian crossings. Of all major Western European cities I like Madrid the best. Before I get to the park I discover a row of wooden shops, not all opened, but all seemingly selling second-hand books. There are about 25-30 of them but only about 10 are open. I am intrigued that all these shops could be selling books. I ask a lady bookseller if she " habla ingles ". She doesn't but refers to me a customer who does. He's about 70 - 80 years old and he's been coming here to buy books since 1962. We have a good conversation and, at one point, even discuss Australian films, the new International cultural currency. ( Muriel had, of course, see Muriel's Wedding ). We shake hands eventually and are pleased to meet each other. He's such a top bloke he could be Australian. The trails, not footpaths, in the park are not sealed and I love the sound of gravel crunching under my feet. There is a stream ( with a waterfall / fountain in the middle of it. Another joy to replace the idea of Toledo. There is a sign at the entrance to the park that says I must respect the squirrels therein. I would have anyway but it is good to be warned. It is amazing - there is hardly a person in the park. The park is easily 4 times larger than Sydney's Hyde Park but there would be lucky to be 30 - 40 people here, estimated roughly on the acres I have walked. I run out of film which is a pity because the photo ops. are many splendid things. ( Here I note that I have picked up on someone's broken english ). FUNNY NAMES DEPT. The park is called Parque Retiro. Obviously it is not just for pensioners but, maybe, people who just want to retire from the bustle of Madrid........Near where I am staying square is called Puerto de Sol which means " door to the sun ". Why can't they have real names like Martin Place, Victoria Square or Westminster Alley. Bloody arty foreigners ! Think seriously about getting a " service " on the street where I live. If you think this is too much information, just wait....... On my way back to the hostel I pick up some cold beers from my little Asian man ( the grocery store ) to have with lunch. I have the beers in my room and go back down to the street to give you.... EL GROSSE INFORMACION : I choose the best looking girl on the street and she is from Ecuador. I beat her down from 30 to 25 Euros. She takes me to a room and we get undressed - all she leaves on is her top just above her breasts. There is no kissing ( anywhere ! ) which pisses me off because that is what I like most. We do it all ways, dog-style, pussy-style, but nothing works. After 10 minutes the horse

has but leg the

not crossed the finishing line. I lay back while she tries to get me " off. " I don't care anymore. And it doesn't happen. I am content just stroking her and looking at her little cupcake breasts, too afraid to touch them in case pink icing drops off.

Such was the affront to her profession that she asked me if I'd been drinking. Just from this I couldn't see the relationship not working out. The nagging bitch has no chance of a proposal now. I couldn't see it working out financially anyway, not at these hourly rates.. After we get dressed I shake her hand and thank her. I have been with a young girl and it was great. She is probably still wondering why. Realistically, I don't know why I bothered as it wasn't satisfactory 25 years ago either. I need to be romanced, much to the detriment of my circumcised enemy. EL GROSSE INFORMACION # 2 : After that I took myself off to a strange little cinema called Sexcabin. All for only 3 Euros, so I am still 2 Euros in front. The movie may not have been Gone With The Wind, I do not know. Scarlet seems not to give a damn at all. Not only does she get the guy, she gets several ; so many in fact that 2 just stand and watch. The happy ending is all that matters. I was clearly getting moist with sentiment. Management had thoughtfully provided tissues for these emotion-filled moments. - - - - - - - -- - A few hours later, after a few quiet drinks around town I am on my way back home when I see The Girl from Ipenena, or Ecuador, and she calls out " Ola " from across the road and I call back " Ola ". Is it possible we are engaged ? ............................ It is an emotional city. I have just seen 2 women, soulfully, crying in the middle of the very public I find it to be a fantastic city . It is very hard Also, I was drunk when I made these notes and can

one young, one old, openly, street. It's nighttime now and to describe my feelings here. ( only read a half of them.)

.................. At the end of the night our hero can be seen leaving another small cinema with a smile and an almost-forgotten plastic bag of beer. Goodnight.

POSTSCRIPT : Do not be concerned . The story / diary doesn't get any worse than this. 18.10.03 SAT Madrid / Burgos Kylie and Linda say hello at breakfast. They obviously, do not know about my fiancée down stopping off at San Sebastian, so I tell her not giving out my home address. This doesn't sight of my begging gets even less response.

have been in Salamanca and, in the street. Or care. Linda is that it is her last chance as I am arouse her interest at all. And the

Kylie tells me I would have enjoyed Salamanca. She found a place that had an " open bar " from 11pm to 3am, for only EU 3. Ange is on the bus this morning and was with Kylie and Linda last night. Needless to say, they all feel like visiting a doctor. As the Busabout guide " chats " each young girl onto the bus, I tell him I don't expect him to remember me. He replies that he has never had me.. This is true. He's not gay, just being ironic or funny, whatever that is. I show Kylie the early Dali and Picasso postcards but she is not impressed - she says she's a " bowl of fruit " girl. Another girl is upset that she has missed out on the galleries I saw. The Busabout guide agrees that it is bon merde. The bus is full of beautiful girls and dreams. Enough to turn my hair grey. Er. Looking back on the day of El Grosse Informacion, I did not have much to eat except breakfast a few olives through the day. This diary seems to be heading into questionable areas but I can't help that - I am the only character I've got. And there is only one plot. The Busabout guide who likes to " chat " is also a person of trivial pursuits. I am the only one who guesses that Adolf Hitler was Time magazine's Man of the Year, 1938. It doesn't mean much to me. Adolf Hitler is a cartoon character. John Howard is a cartoon buffoon. Each scene that passes by tells a story. I do not understand the stories. There is a lot I don't understand and the only reason I do not want to die. A common complaint, I suppose. EUROEM # 50 Stories, people. What I do not know can be comprehended by a child. In volumes.

EUROEM # 51 Autumn in Spain is a meditation through the glass and across the plain. I suffer an anxiety attack ( by just thinking about having one!) ( I have had these before, like a temporary, one-hour psychosis. My mind comes away from its moorings and drifts off, more than usual, and with little control .Everyone tells me they are anxiety attacks. I am not convinced. GF 20.11.03, Prague) Back home when I have had these moments of mental diarrhoea I am out of control and feel very bad. I feel, for some reason, more in control, and my mind feels as light as a feather. Why can't anyone see that I am insane?

EUROEM # 52 My face, a plastic bag in

Burgos

EUROEM # 54 I do not go into the church but the service is slow regardless. Burgos 18.10.03 This is about the 12th time I have had these attacks in about 25 years, usually years apart but, once, two days running. I do not, at least feel like I am having a heart attack. I manage to vomit. All my poems have been heading towards this. Zero.