Tales from Croatia
the secret origin of bobert:
Day 02
Today (really not today because I'm not gonna send this until we find out the hotel phone rates, so I don't know how often I'll be in contact, and hopefully I'll send this tomorrow that being Friday. But anyway.) I traveled. That's right after a 14 hour trip I found out that the next day that we were going to Split (the resort town in Croatia), which was an 9 hour car ride with no AC. Yet it turned ok because its actaully a pretty cool place in fact when Croatia was part of Yugoslavia, it single handedly produced 10% of the gross national product. When we went to dinner though, there were hardly any people. I was told that this was because of some war nearby (like 200 miles away Dosovo or Wosovo or something). But come on these fucking Europeans should grow some cajones, but hopefully the beach and boardwalk should be packed tomorrow, as a lot of Europe vacations here.
And talking about the beach, before I even left the car when we arrived, I was told (I get told a lot of stuff) not to go on the beach at night because on the beach there are junkies. My idea was to have a rumble you know NDI (national democratic Institute, one of the international wings of the democratic party. And the company that my mom and some other people here) versus the junkies. You know the americans and two canadians (but what can they really do) can clean up the beaches of Eastern Europe.
In other news, over dinner raves came up. A guy explained what they were, and another woman shared her experience of going to a club and seeing all these big guys sucking on passivfiers. Though never having done the drug myself you understand, I shared my knowledge of why they had them, i.e. explain to them not only what ectasy was but its effects and so on. To no one's surprise, not a person (my mother including) asked where they could get the wonderful stuff from. But luckily someone (I) quickly changed the subject.
Yesterday (i.e. Wednesday) my mother told me about the stereotype of black men. To my surprise it was neither Urkel (for once) or Gangsta rap, instead it was the thing called the mandigo idea. Which is the idea of big, midnight black, male slaves dripping in this exoctic and erotic passion and pheromones. Having only fullfileld a third of one of the requirements (more like one ninth I guess) with me being more of a caramel than dark chocolate, I found this really funny. Until she told me about the other half of the story. Women/girls here have one objective, marriage. They wear tight jeans, tank tops, see-thru skirts and black panties and the like so that they can attract a man and marry him. The only thing better than that is finding an american, getting close to him, and then marrying him. So that when he goes back to the states she comes along also. I'm told that I look like an American, though some kids did ask me if I was from Zaire, but I have no idea why. To add to this is that when families believe that their daughter/sister/niece has been taken advantage of, or somehow made less attractive for marriage, death often follows. And follows quite often. So since my return ticket is only for one and I doubt my dad will support his son and his new daughter-in-law. In this new lite I will sadfully be returning home alone.
Croatian showers suck. That's because to begin with there is no shower curtain. Reason number two is that they aren't hung high. Instead they are dangled from atop the bath top faucet, and are of the hand held model. You have to move it all around manually and instead of you just doing a little circle in the shower. But for those you, whom use it for additional purposes I'd guess you're missing out. And so are a lot of people here in Croatia, because as I walk by, I sometimes get whiffs of horrible b.o., belonging to people who either have no idea how to use it for any purpose besides the extra one, or just don't' do it at all.
But my window does overlook the beach. I think. It was dark when I first checked in but I'm pretty sure it's the right direction so tomorrow the beach should greet me. So until I wup some junkie ass or I meet Mrs. Bobert Kenneth Jenkins III, its me signing off.
-Bobert the Croatian Correspondent
PS: I've tried calling those of you in other European countries but I have no idea how to make international calls, and there are not such modern conviences as telephone operators.
And talking about the beach, before I even left the car when we arrived, I was told (I get told a lot of stuff) not to go on the beach at night because on the beach there are junkies. My idea was to have a rumble you know NDI (national democratic Institute, one of the international wings of the democratic party. And the company that my mom and some other people here) versus the junkies. You know the americans and two canadians (but what can they really do) can clean up the beaches of Eastern Europe.
In other news, over dinner raves came up. A guy explained what they were, and another woman shared her experience of going to a club and seeing all these big guys sucking on passivfiers. Though never having done the drug myself you understand, I shared my knowledge of why they had them, i.e. explain to them not only what ectasy was but its effects and so on. To no one's surprise, not a person (my mother including) asked where they could get the wonderful stuff from. But luckily someone (I) quickly changed the subject.
Yesterday (i.e. Wednesday) my mother told me about the stereotype of black men. To my surprise it was neither Urkel (for once) or Gangsta rap, instead it was the thing called the mandigo idea. Which is the idea of big, midnight black, male slaves dripping in this exoctic and erotic passion and pheromones. Having only fullfileld a third of one of the requirements (more like one ninth I guess) with me being more of a caramel than dark chocolate, I found this really funny. Until she told me about the other half of the story. Women/girls here have one objective, marriage. They wear tight jeans, tank tops, see-thru skirts and black panties and the like so that they can attract a man and marry him. The only thing better than that is finding an american, getting close to him, and then marrying him. So that when he goes back to the states she comes along also. I'm told that I look like an American, though some kids did ask me if I was from Zaire, but I have no idea why. To add to this is that when families believe that their daughter/sister/niece has been taken advantage of, or somehow made less attractive for marriage, death often follows. And follows quite often. So since my return ticket is only for one and I doubt my dad will support his son and his new daughter-in-law. In this new lite I will sadfully be returning home alone.
Croatian showers suck. That's because to begin with there is no shower curtain. Reason number two is that they aren't hung high. Instead they are dangled from atop the bath top faucet, and are of the hand held model. You have to move it all around manually and instead of you just doing a little circle in the shower. But for those you, whom use it for additional purposes I'd guess you're missing out. And so are a lot of people here in Croatia, because as I walk by, I sometimes get whiffs of horrible b.o., belonging to people who either have no idea how to use it for any purpose besides the extra one, or just don't' do it at all.
But my window does overlook the beach. I think. It was dark when I first checked in but I'm pretty sure it's the right direction so tomorrow the beach should greet me. So until I wup some junkie ass or I meet Mrs. Bobert Kenneth Jenkins III, its me signing off.
-Bobert the Croatian Correspondent
PS: I've tried calling those of you in other European countries but I have no idea how to make international calls, and there are not such modern conviences as telephone operators.