Withdrawal. Again. (Or “In which I kindly, with the patience of a saint, refrain from exploding and injuring all the imbeciles that seem to surround me”)

Posted on September 22, 2008 by Hails

Hey Hayley! screams the irritatingly enthusiastic message from Facebook. Now you can throw a spaghetti cat at your friends!

Isn’t that marvellous?

I have been up since the early hours, on train after bus after train and all but strip-searched at the airport by a possible witch (with PMS). I have been shaken around inside one of those fluroescent tin cans that Ryanair call planes, with my knees somewhere near my ears and my right ear so severely popped that no amount of swallowing is prompting a return to a normal level of hearing. I have only vaguely recovered from my food poisoning incident, and so the ridiculously-priced sandwich I attempted to eat earlier is now lurching around quite dangerously in my stomach. I have in my hand a ticket from Riga Airport to Riga Coach Station to Tallinn Coach Station – only it appears that there is no bus to Riga Coach Station, despite the fact that I have paid for it, and so now I must find a bus into the city and do all the ridiculous Excuse me, do you speak English? nonsense again. And probably pay more money, too. There is also a small child running up and down the airport lounge screaming blue murder, and his parents appear to be deaf or just defeated.

I may also need to mention that I have not had a cigarette since approximately 10pm last night, and I want to kill the small child, its parents, Facebook’s Superpoke team, Eurolines bus company, hotdog vendors worldwide, Michael O’Leary, and the Swedish airport shuttle driver who tried to draw it to the attention of the entire bus when I accidentally tried to pay him in Slovakian money, not really seeing the difference in the notes. I will not, of course, kill any of these people, because underneath it all I am actually a really nice person. Not quite Julie Andrews, but perhaps at least a little bit Marge Simpson.

And then I log into Facebook and see a new notification. Ah, I think gratefully, a little note or message from someone who loves me, is thinking about me, or just wants to say hello! But no. It is a message that proudly explains my new ability to throw spaghetti cats at my friends, as if it is something I have been longing for, and indeed something that will genuinely improve my life. I am disgusted with everything in general. I have just purchased a vodka at the bar. I do not care that I can’t afford it. It is the only way I am going to survive.

And it tastes crap without a cigarette. As does the world.

Filed under: airport, anger, cold turkey, complaining, decisions, mental health, rage, rant, smoking, tiredness, travel | 8 Comments »

Smoke gets in your mind

Posted on September 17, 2008 by Hails

Ah. I didn’t know Vienna was the self-proclaimed Coffee Capital. Marvellous.

Following my fourth delightful caffiene treat of the day, I strolled happily through the Museum Quartier. I was stopped by a woman in her thirties, who looked exremely distressed. She was babbling frantically in German and rummaging in her bag with the jumpiness of someone not all that well balanced, but she looked genuinely upset, so I chose to believe that she was not searching for a firearm.

I’m sorry, do you speak English? I asked in some concern. She switched languages immediately, her hand emerging from her bag, now holding a purse. I need to buy a cigarette from you, she said urgently, fumbling to open the purse. I laughed, relieved. Don’t be silly, you don’t need to buy it! I said as I opened my bag. She shook her head, looking determined, and pressed a Euro into my palm. It must be penalised! she insisted dramatically.

Erm… the cigarette? I asked, removing one from my pack. She nodded, her eyes never leaving the cigarette. Yes, she said edgily, I have quit, so I cannot buy my own packet. But today my boyfriend broke up with me and I lost my job, and if I do not have a smoke I will have to kill myself. Buying one is better than buying twenty.

And almost as good as killing yourself, I agreed with the genuine sympathy of one who has experienced these things, although admittedly not both on the same day. Hastily I gave her the ciggy and lit it for her. She inhaled deeply and almost collapsed at my feet, an expression of relief and ecstacy on her face. There’s a sort of unwritten rule amongst smokers, saying that if someone begs you for “just one” cigarette after they’ve openly admitted that they’re quitting, you must not give in, no matter how much you feel for them. However, I’ve added a sort of sub-clause, because I’ve been at the point of desperation that this woman had reached, and I know that sometimes “just one” will significantly improve matters. Buying that full packet is the clear indication that you have, once again, failed miserably. You want to put that off for as many months as you can, just to prolong the self-delusion and general misery.

We shared a couple of quiet moments together, smoking in solidarity. We are both women. We are both smokers. We have a bond. Then she smiled gratefully at me and moved on, leaving me staring miserably at the cigarette between my fingers. Is it a coincidence that this poor girl approached me on the very day that I had held up my cigarette packet and determinedly declared After this pack, I quit? She really didn’t inspire me with much confidence, in any case.But the decision was already made, and so there are only three more cigarettes to go.

Sigh.

I’m intrigued by the idea of selling to quitters, though. At that rate, I could make a profit of €15 for every pack I bought, rather than a loss of €5! All I’d have to do would be start targeting stressed-looking people on the streets. I bet at least 50% of them are ex smokers, who’d kill (or pay €1) for “just one” cigarette. In days when income is uncertain and the budget is tight, it’s certainly an idea…

Filed under: coffee, conversations, decisions, smoking, stress | 6 Comments »

Big wheels keep on turnin’…

Posted on September 10, 2008 by Hails

Oi! Someone prodded me and woke me from my dream about a comfortable bed and a shower that didn’t have clumps of hair in the drain. This is the last stop!

Drowsily, I uncurled from the foetal position in the back of the van where I’d been sleeping for the last hour, and slid out of the door on autopilot in a most undignified manner. The hostel’s shuttle driver looked at me in amusement as he reached me my bag and took a leisurely puff of his cigarette. Do you need directions, or do you know Amsterdam? he asked kindly, watching me attempt to adjust to being upright. I looked around at the masses of tourists and clouds of marijuana smoke. I know Amsterdam, I replied gloomily. With a thank you and a goodbye, I left the excellent Flying Pig experience behind and let the crazed Amsterdam crowd suck me in and push me along. I was very nearly run over by a tram, which didn’t help my already less than favourable feelings towards the city, especially as the driver watched me pausing and checking him out to gauge whether he was stopped for a while or ready to go, and then launched forward with an evil grin as soon as I was in his path, getting my bag’s wheels stuck in the track as I tried to leap out of his way.

I grumpily lit a cigarette outside the train station, and was immediately and predictably accosted by a homeless guy. I reached him my cigarette before he could even begin his story, and lit another for myself. He was very keen to talk, and I was impressed by how polite I managed to force myself to be, despite the gloom, the rain, the noisy construction work all around, and the depressing crowds of ignorant, drunk and stoned tourists all around me. Halfway through the cigarette, he began his appeal, complete with background story and request for money for a hostel (and not, of course, for drink or drugs). I used to be a sucker for this sort of thing, and gave to every beggar I passed on the streets, until a woman at St. George’s Cross tube station in Glasgow called me all the names under the sun one day because I didn’t have any change – despite the fact that I’d given her 50p every day that I saw her for about 4 months.

I’m sorry, I explained to Amsterdam homeless man, I’m travelling around, and I’m broke. I don’t earn a lot of money, so I don’t really have any to spare. Just the cigarette! I’m sorry. His demeanor changed, and he scowled at me. His next sentence was in Dutch, and probably not very nice. And then he walked off in a rage – but not before he spat at me. Spat at me! And still holding my cigarette in his hand! I resisted the urge to swear loudly after him, and instead stubbed out my cigarette and marched very determinedly to the ticket desk.

Utrecht, please, I said to the bored looking guy behind the desk. One way or return? he asked. I smiled.

One way, I said firmly.

Filed under: anger, charity, conversations, ingratitude, insults, smoking, temper, tourists, trams, travel | 4 Comments »

A Ballymena Girl in Amsterdam

Posted on September 3, 2008 by Hails

Well. Yesterday was certainly an eye-opener. I’m not entirely sure about Amsterdam, you know. I feel a bit out of my depth. Everything’s very fast-paced and it all feels a bit mad and dangerous, somehow.

It was raining heavily when I arrived, so I didn’t venture very far, other than a short stroll around the immediate area. I’m staying a couple of minutes away from Central Station, which puts me right in the heart of everything. This particular street is chockablock with eateries, “coffee shops” (they really do have inverted commas!), bars and – sadly – tourists. I don’t like it. Maybe it’s a bit hypocritical of me to say that I don’t like tourists, but I really, really don’t! They are noisy and drunk and rude. And when you enter a tourist-infested area, you just know that everything there is geared towards them, and therefore nothing like how it was before. You’re getting an artificial experience.

Anyway, trying to be open-minded, I headed out during a break in the rain and walked quite a long way down the street. It was a never-ending chain of coffee shops, sex shops and fast food shops, with the sickly sweet scent of dope hanging in the air and fusing with the greasy aroma of Turkish and Indian fast food. I don’t know what made me think that it was all a lot of hype – that it couldn’t really all be about cannabis and sex, could it? I observed an elderly man ogling all manner of bizarre sex toys and magazines through a shop window, and sidestepped a dismal-looking middle-aged guy who was loitering aimlessly in a doorway, smoking a joint. Yep. Cannabis and sex. Sex and cannabis. It was rather depressing.

Eventually, tired and bored of the throng of tourists and endless coffee shops (I must actually look to see if any of them do indeed sell coffee!), I decided to employ a trick learned when exploring the Old Town in Tallinn – I picked a random side street, which looked quiet and very Road Less Travelled, and went that way instead. This tactic doesn’t work quite so well in Amsterdam. And so you can perhaps imagine my surprise when I found myself in the middle of a sort of mini Red Light District. Large, buxom women squeezed into skimpy red and black slips. Breasts everywhere. I didn’t know where to look. They sat in their windows with their legs apart, like they were waiting to be bought. Which I suppose they were. Some lounged in the doorways, having a smoke, and made leering noises and exaggerated kissing gestures at any man who walked past.

I don’t get it At All. Why is this such a tourist attraction? People getting high 24/7, half-naked women trying to entice bored businessmen to cheat on their wives? Disheartened, I returned to the hostel for an early night, which turned into a sleepless night owing to all the afore-mentioned drunk tourists outside on the street. You’re only in Amsterdam once! exclaimed an overexcited Brit in a very spaced out voice at one point, no doubt before going off to hire a stranger for sex. He said it in the same way as someone might say You only live once! or You’re only young once!, both of which are true, but I don’t think there’s actually any limit on the number of times you can return to Amsterdam. I expect that the Happy Brit will be delighted when he realises that he can, in fact, be in Amsterdam for the rest of his life if he so desires.

For me, though, his sentence probably rings quite true. I’ll give it another chance, of course, and go see all the things I’d planned to see, but it’s the first city I’ve been to that has made me long to be elsewhere.

Filed under: coffee, contemplation, drugs, Holland, smoking, tourists, uncertainty | 10 Comments »

No. of mice required in room: please check box

Posted on August 25, 2008 by Hails

So, finding somewhere to stay in Amsterdam when you’re as disorganised as me is great fun!

My head really hurts. I’ve successfully arranged to couchsurf for a week in Rotterdam (I wonder if you can train to do this in the Olympics?), and in Utrecht for a couple of days – I think. In between those, however, is the Amsterdam Homelessness Experience. Turns out that Amsterdam is actually quite a popular place for backpackers, wouldye believe, and there is no room at the inn. Or at an apartment, a house, or anything of the sort. Onwards I went, using my now expert Google skills to combine words such as “hostels”, “cheap” and “Amsterdam”, and have now successfully spent a large whack of the money I’ve spent the last week earning, just for the joy of sharing a room with a dozen smelly drunk people and a couple of mice. Still. I’m sure the weed will help – apparently they make you smoke a joint as you check in, so that you’ll be sufficiently stoned for them to take all your belongings without you even caring. [Note: Mum, I am JOKING. I hope.]

I found what seemed like a really good deal, and had the booking form all filled in when, as an afterthought, I deided to check the TripAdvisor reviews. I hastily closed the booking window when words like “faeces”, “mice”, “bed bugs” and “possible rapist” began leaping off the screen at me. I mean, come on. Prison sounds more safe and comfortable.

Lesson learned and lucky escape duly noted, I set about checking room availability in hostels with rooms under €20, weeding out the select few with internet access, and then cross referencing with the Real Reviews on TripAdvisor. It was seriously depressing. No sooner do you finally find somewhere that looks affordable and clean, than you find out that a guy sits at the end of your bed, watching you intently as you (don’t) fall asleep.

Happily, after about three hours of searching and several stomach-churning reviews, I have booked myself into a cheap but apparently clean, quiet, friendly and Eddie-free city centre hostel for a few days, and the famous Flying Pig Beach Hostel for the weekend! I was just curious, and its weekend rates were cheaper than anywhere else, so, y’know, party time, dudes! I kinda wish I still had my guitar and long hair. Bring on my first real backpacker experience…

Gulp.

Filed under: advice, bugs, contemplation, decisions, disorganisation, Fear, fun, hostels, Netherlands, smoking, travel, uncertainty | 3 Comments »

Pancakes, ‘Art’ and… erm, sex shows.

Posted on June 1, 2008 by Hails

Whoop-whoop! I’ve found another pancake place. I should really make some effort to take control of this situation before I get to France, or Crêpe Land as I suspect it’s also known. Otherwise I’ve probably developed an obsession that’s going to have just as great a hold over me as smoking is capable of having. Pancake Dependence. Not good. I think I’ve consumed more pancakes since moving to Estonia than I’ve eaten in the rest of my entire life until this point.

Anyway, my main reason for mentioning Kompressor was not to rave on like a madwoman about the joys of savoury filled pancakes (mushroom and blue cheese saturated with garlic, though… mmm…. and I never told you about the mashed potato, onion and bacon one I had in Bann Cook the other week…), but by way of introduction to more things I’ve spotted that could rightfully fall under the heading of Rather Odd. Over the page from the pancakes on the Kompressor menu, for example, were the drinks and other extras:

I wondered aloud if it would count as smoking if I ordered the cigarettes from the menu and treated them as a dessert. According to Riho and his raised eyebrow, it would. Anyway, all thoughts of cigarettes disappeared from my mind when we passed an art exhibit in the street. Unfortunately I didn’t get a picture of one we saw the other day, which consisted of two life-sized dummies dressed in black and wearing scary masks, suspended from a crane of some description. And a bored woman in the corner of the room, apparently supervising. Art, you see. I’ve no idea what this one’s meant to be, or do, or say. I couldn’t ask anyone, because my Estonian still isn’t quite fluent enough. To me, it looks like a large model made of drainpipes, adorned with cups.

It is, however, Art, and therefore must be respected. What do I know?

And let’s not overlook this poster for The X Club, which happened to catch my eye as we passed it in the street. I looked at it in some concern. “What?” asked Riho, realising I’d stopped walking. I continued to stare at the poster. “This poster just gets more and more alarming the further down it you read,” I said nervously. I have decided not to visit The X Club. Despite the fact that ‘ladies’ apparently get in for half price, I’m not sure I want to know what a Bizarre Show or Water Show might involve.

Filed under: Art, confusion, contemplation, culture, Estonia, marketing, pancakes, smoking, strange | 1 Comment »

Ma olen haige.

Posted on May 22, 2008 by Hails

(I am ill.)

It’s nothing serious, but I do feel like death not even very slightly warmed up. So, what to do when you fall ill in a strange land where you still can’t speak the language? Determinedly, I googled my symptoms. Aches and pains, insomnia, very sore throat… it’s like I have the flu. But good old Google pointed me to a more accurate diagnosis, and one which I had completely overlooked.

Look, the past few months have been very stressful, OK? I succumbed. Then I left the Cancer Sticks behind me in Ballymena, determined that they would not be a part of my new life. There was a brief blip at Dublin Airport, where in a moment of nervous panic I became beyond desperate and tried to buy a cigarette from a young girl who was smoking outside, but she turned out not to speak any English, assumed I was asking for money, and the whole thing was just very embarrassing so I just had to leave it. Anyway, I’ve been fine since then, despite the fact that (a) they don’t keep the smokes behind the counter here and I have to stand right beside them when in a shop queue, (b) a pack of 20 costs roughly 80p – £1, and (c) I have developed a much newer addiction of walking very closely behind smokers on the street, breathing in as much second-hand smoke as I can without them catching on and just offering me a cigarette. It’s all completely under control.

Apart from the fact that quitting smoking is apparently killing me in a much less subtle way than just smoking. So, it was off to the Apteek (chemist) to perform a very apprehensive search of the shelves, attempting to find something to ease the pain, something to soothe the throat, and something to fix me, in general. Nothing was in English, and my Estonian language skills, while undeniably excellent, still need a little tweaking, so it was basically a case of ‘study the packaging and see if it looks anything like products you’re familiar with’. Which is probably quite a dangerous method of choosing medication, but I was desperate. I came away with some valuvaigisti for the pain, some “most likely to be lozenges” for my throat (based on them having packaging similar to Strepsils), and some vitamiinid for the afore-mentioned general fixing of self. Who says I can’t cope in the Big Bad World, eh? I haven’t died yet, which gives me complete confidence that I’m not accidentally taking horrifically strong and inappropriate medication designed for stroke victims.

And until it fixes me/kills me, I shall lie here on the sofa, groaning and feeling sorry for myself. This is what quitting smoking does to you, boys and girls. I really don’t recommend it. It is very, very Not Fun. I suppose the moral of this story is “don’t quit”, but that seems a little irresponsible. I’m sure I’ll be able to see the true message once I’m through with the Agonising Pain and Unbearable Misery.

Woe.

Filed under: complaining, coughing, Estonia, foreign languages, irrational behaviour, pain, smoking, stress, woe | 4 Comments »

What the qwijibo?

Posted on February 20, 2008 by Hails

I seem to have become entangled in a whole big Scrabulous Tournament nightmare, and I have to say that I can only echo Nelly’s current sentiments.

Do you remember the good old days of, erm, last week? When you used to play the odd game of Scrabulous, making your move in a luxuriously leisurely manner during a spare minute?  When you had time to mull over potential material for your blog? When you could fall asleep without dreaming that you were on a giant Scrabble board, dragging letter tiles the size of a dining table around on your back, to form words you’re pretty sure nobody anywhere in the world has ever used in a sentence. Unless, of course, the sentence is “I didn’t know haji was a word”.

I swear, every time I go near a computer, there are lights flashing and messages screaming. IT’S YOUR MOVE! they go, relentlessly. I am playing approximately 2 million games at once, I have no blog material because my mind is so confused, and I’m also trying to hold down a full time job and a social life. Work has gone mental, and I’m ready to cry or hit someone (anyone) because, stupidly, I turned to an old vice a few weeks ago in a moment of stress and discouragement*. Then I realised I was getting hooked again, and have wised up and stopped. I cannot describe the intensity of the panicky, raging craving for nicotine, mixed with the madness of work, stirred up with the Scrabulous Chaos.

I Am Going To Kill Someone.

*This has been a Big Terrible Secret up until this point. I’m well aware that everyone will know my secret shame now, but I figure that a public confession will strengthen my determination not to go back again…

Filed under: cold turkey, confusion, decisions, freak-out, irrational behaviour, scrabulous, smoking, woe, work | 3 Comments »

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