So here I sit, once again, sipping a bloody mary at the Mesa Verde Bar and Grill in Denver International Airport. I have the pleasure of spending the next 24 hours of my life travelling from here:
I’ll be spending the next two weeks or so in Schwandorf, Germany. Yet another little town in Germany that I’ve never been to, and that I know nothing about. I’m actually kind of excited about this trip, as it’s become incredibly apparent to me that I’ve spent too damn much of my life travelling to really like being at home any more.
It’s been 3 weeks since my last little adventure to Germany, and frankly, I wasn’t all that happy at home. There were some considerable extenuating circumstances; the girl isn’t the girl anymore, she’s just a girl again, and that stung pretty bad. But I’ve come to realize that those sorts of things come with the territory. Relationships, romantic or otherwise, are virtually impossible with this little lifestyle of mine. And I suppose living in Colorado, working all over the world, and dating a girl in Kentucky was probably doomed to fail before it started. Still, not much fun. But even without that, the empty apartment and quiet evenings got old and quick…
So after a tumultuous stint in the cubicle and in the bottom of various bottles of Jim Beam, I’m looking forward to getting about as far away from home as I possibly can without enlisting help from the Russians. The good news is that I’ll be back working my ass off in Germany, which will definitely be good for me. The bad news is that I’ll be a long ways from my stomping grounds out there. I normally spend my time in western Germany, within 20 or 30 miles of Cologne, and I’ve made a lot of friends in that area. I probably have more friends in Bergheim than I do in Denver.
But this trip is going to take me to extreme south-eastern Germany. The heart of Bavaria. I’ll be about an hour’s drive from the border of the Czech Republic, and 4 or 5 hours from any place familiar. The work is going to be tough this time. We have 11 days to get done what our schedule aggressively predicts will take us exactly 11 days. So barring an act of God or another unforeseen Carnival celebration, we won’t be getting so much as a single day off.
I’m set to come home on March 30th, but I know better. I tried to make a friendly $50 wager with my boss that we wouldn’t be making that flight, and he wouldn’t take it, so I have a feeling he’ll come up with a reason to keep me out there for a while longer than advertised. But who knows, I’m sure I’ll make some new friends in this little town too…. So, wish me luck, and hopefully I’ll get a chance to see some pretty shit and take some pictures….
Happy Saint Patrick’s Day from DIA.