Okay all ya fooks, I’m out of here. And by here, I mean Europe.
Listen, I know I spent the last 8 months here.
I know I did a masterful job of traveling around a place was splotched in yellow-and-black caution tape, a world that was cold and hostile towards a poor little wanderlusting American boy like me.
I know I could stay here and “wait it out” for the corona to dissipate, be vaccinated, to stop killing people like that old court bitch that just died, whatever her name was.
But I’m not staying. And you wanna know why? Because I am sick and tired of these
GODDAMNED masks.
And before you cross your arms and say “well that’s ridiculous,” let me tell YOU something. You might not agree with my reasons, but surely you CAN agree that Avatar is a pretty damn good movie? See, you’re agreeing with me already.
Okay, so maybe it’s not just the masks–it’s kinda also the fact that I need to go to Mexico and live there for awhile, because over there they don’t have to wear the ma–
OMG… it IS just the masks! I just realized!
But I didn’t even want to mention Mexico, I wanted to give a proper farewell to Europe, my home for the past 2 years. 2 years that could not be more unalike.
2020 has been a wretched year for our planet. As a traveler, trying to “live it up” while the rest of the world is being ass-raped by a flu pandemic, it would not be an understatement to call such an endeavor “challenging.” Perhaps even “foolish.” “Foolhardy.”
I don’t even know what that last word means, but by god I typed it, and that should count for something.
Traveling during the corona-era was occasionally rough, but frequently rewarding. People are more receptive to you if they’re like “how the hell did you get into this country?” The world doesn’t stop being fun when people get sick, but you may have to get super-creative with ways to have fun. 2020 has been an unpredictable year, and although the unpredictability can suffocate you with its consequences–i.e. not being allowed to board an airplane–the unpredictability is never not interesting.
In the 10-or-so countries I’ve been in this year, I’ve witnessed the entire spectrum of corona-countermeasures. On one end of that spectrum is Belarus, where daily life did not change one single iota. On the other end is Spain, where you would be only allowed out of your house for one hour a day, and wearing a mascarilla on the street is still mandatory. And somewhere between those two you find places like Poland, where masks are required only on public transportation, and Germany, where you have to sign a waver anytime you enter a library or a museum.
When I contrast all of these rules and restrictions with the freedom I had back in 2019, well, it’s a no-brainer: it’s time to go. No festivals means no fun. And no fun means what the fuck are you doing with your life?
I will look back at Europe fondly, and with remembrance for the highest of highs: from the festivals of Spain, to the people of Serbia, to the food of Italy, to the park benches of everywhere that I had sex on one. I will not hold this past year against any part of the world, let alone this tiny continent jam-packed with so many languages and cultures.
To my friends, lovers, hosts, and mothers that I gained over the past couple of years, I thank you for your genuineness, your warmth, your weirdness and your lessons you’ve imparted upon me, ones that I will hold close to my heart until my final breaths. This isn’t goodbye forever, but this is probably goodbye for an interval divisible not by days or months, but by years.
Then again, who knows? If there’s anything this year taught me, it’s to expect the unexpected. So see you guys… whenever.
