From mulled wine to a closed cave
In the Netherlands, there is a tradition of holding Christmas markets on weekends, probably copied from Germany. Even so, locals say the markets in Germany are better and travel over there. But the local stuff is plenty for us. The next evening, we scooped up another friend and hit up one of these markets. It was super cute: little stalls, lively dancing, mulled wine, which they call here, traditional local dishes—croquettes, and, of course, sausages with braised sauerkraut. Our Christmas spirit levels instantly shot up so high that we went and knocked back some mulled wine in a noisy tavern.
We took a trip to another town that has a big cave where they apparently also celebrate, but we didn't get into the cave—I forget why now. Apparently it was closed because a carnival procession was happening right in the town center. We caught only a passing glimpse of it because we were starving and scouting around for something to chow down on. All the restaurants were booked solid, so in the end we scarfed down some fried mushrooms and croquettes from a temporary wooden stall.
We had a wonderful time, and I was glad I stopped by, even though getting back to the airport was a massive hassle.
Adventures of an early traveler on the brink of caffeine madness
My flight was in the afternoon, but I still had to somehow get to it. The thing is, my friends live right on the border between Belgium and the Netherlands. From there, catching a bus to Eindhoven is quite a feat in itself. Two-plus hours, with a transfer. In the end, I decided to ride with them by car in the morning. The problem is, they hit the road around six, if not earlier. I hate waking up early with a burning passion because my sleep is crap, and I almost never manage to fall asleep early. But what can you do.
In the morning I felt utterly wretched, as always happens when I don't get enough sleep. Everyone reacts to this differently, but those who just get a bit brain-fogged and slow on the uptake have a hard time understanding those whose spine feels on fire, with a mood of: I want to off myself.
I arrived so early that there weren't many options for where to hang out. I had to go to the Starbucks at the bus terminal. Its rating is abysmal, unlike the local craft cafes. Abyss corresponds to the Russian bezdna, meaning it can roughly be translated as bezdonny (bottomless). This is an interesting example of a word that is hard to translate in this context, because bezdonny isn't used that way in Russian. The usual translation would be "disgusting" or "terrible," but then you lose the nuance that the rating is extremely low, below the lowest floor of rock bottom. Have I ever mentioned how much it pisses me off when people believe that English is poorer than Russian, or that Russian is the richest language of all? It's such an ignorant perspective that it becomes hard to talk to the person afterwards, kind of like if they believed in a flat earth.
In any case, the word is used idiomatically, since a rating can't literally be below rock bottom, it's just a number. But there's no equivalent idiom in Russian—unless I just don't hang out enough on the internet. While writing this, I realized that the closest equivalent would be provalny ("disastrous" or "abysmal," literally "sunken in"), meaning, once again, below ground level. And so, the agonies of good translation are happening right before your eyes, and you now understand just how tough a job it is.
As for Starbucks, I drank my coffee, sat around for a bit, and headed to MediaMarkt for a new laptop charger to replace the one I forgot in the gate waiting area. That was a total bummer, because it was a genuinely great charger: gallium nitride, meaning super compact, yet packing 80 watts and 3 ports. If you don't have one of these, I highly recommend it—it's super convenient. After some searching, I found the exact same kind, but at 100 watts, meaning you can charge a laptop and phone simultaneously. A tiny bit larger in size, but still absolute fire!
Prayer, meditation, and a phone apocalypse
I arrived at the airport ahead of time. There was an extra hour before boarding. I grabbed a coffee and headed into the prayer and meditation room to write a post for you, my beloved subscribers. Not everybody knows this, but some airports actually have a room like that. For example, in Warsaw. There was one here, too. It looks pretty amusing. On the wall hangs an indicator pointing toward Mecca. On a little shelf sit various translations of the Bible, the Quran, and the Bhagavad Gita (in several languages, including Russian), while another shelf holds a pile of prayer rugs. There are even Buddhist figurines and a couple of texts: something or other from the Dalai Lama and the Diamond Sutra, I think.
But I pray to the god of Facebook, so I cracked open my laptop and started typing. Less than ten minutes later, an older lady trotted in. I felt a bit awkward, but what can you do—once you start a project, you gotta finish it. I kept on typing. The lady began meditating, and I asked her what her deal was. As it turns out, she was from my very own Goenka Vipassana sect. For those unfamiliar, let me clarify: it's a ten-day retreat (sort of like a workshop, an isolated meditation course). You aren't allowed to do anything there except sleep, eat, and meditate. No phone use, no leaving, no talking, no sports, no writing, no reading, and you can't even entertain lustful thoughts. That last rule almost killed me!
Anyway, the lady went back to meditating, and I tried my best to type as quietly as possible. Thank goodness my portable keyboard isn't mechanical, otherwise it would have been total kaput. Nevertheless, meditation was simply not in the cards: just a couple of minutes later, the woman's phone started loudly shrieking with some sort of siren. I was pretty dumbfounded, considering it's only logical to mute your audio during meditation. Apparently she felt the same way, because another couple of minutes later she leaped up and bolted out. Either her gas ran out, like in that Stierlitz and the mouse joke, or I simply drove her nuts with the clatter of my keys. Be that as it may, another minute passed and my own phone started shrieking, which caused me to sit there dumbfounded a second time, only with much sharper focus.
This incident teaches us not to hastily judge things we don't completely understand. As it turned out, the phone was blaring like a siren because the Dutch government was running a test of the emergency alert system over the cellular network. So now I know what to expect if a tornado of Russian tanks ever swarms down on Latvia.
Apple revelations and bike transportation secrets: chasing caviar and clean living
And so, at last, the trip is drawing to a close: I landed in Vilnius. This time I decided to do something just for kicks, and sprinted for the train. I had never done this before, but I just discovered that you can travel from the airport to the main station by train, not just by bus. To do this, you need to walk out the central doors, walk one block, and there you'll find a tower with an elevator leading down to the tracks. I barely made it in time, and even then, only by running. Online tickets can only be purchased in advance, so I ended up with the wrong ticket. Nevertheless, the conductor let me slide and simply pretended that I practically had a ticket.
Late in the evening (around ten) I reached the oft-mentioned Turmantas station, located right on the Latvia-Lithuania border. My dad picked me up there by car, and I'd forgotten to remind him to grab the key to my apartment. So we also had to swing by my parents' place to get the key. Foresight and planning rule, as usual.
I suppose it's time to sum things up. Overall, the trip was a success. I did plenty of cycling—pretty much every weekend. I blew through a good chunk of cash, though not an outrageous amount. As my friend says: 'Your arms and legs are intact, and that's all that matters; you'll make more money.' I got to properly catch up with my buddy in Valencia and some old pals in the Netherlands, which is always awesome.
I certainly came away knowing a little bit more about life in Spain. About how warm and relaxed it is there, how cool the trains are, and how rapidly housing prices are climbing. I picked up more practical knowledge on working remotely, as well as fighting with landlords. Experienced it on my own hide, as they say. I reaffirmed for myself that Airbnb truly has its drawbacks, and these days a good old hotel isn't a bad alternative at all—especially an aparthotel with a little kitchenette.
I figured out the different varieties of apples, and realized just how varied they can be.
I learned a lot about how to transport a bicycle around Europe and Spain on the cheap. Sure, I wish I weren't traveling alone, but it's a sin to complain. Otherwise, the Great Macaroni Monster might hear me and make us all pack up and bail out of Latvia together. There's a war all around us, and many people are totally stripped of shelter and livelihoods, while here I am with red caviar instead of black.
I rediscovered my love for travel, cycling, and a healthy lifestyle, and I hope to keep it rolling this year. As Zwift now constantly prods me: Ride On!
