Massage for Money

THE ESSENCE OF VULNERABILITY

Walking, walking, dressed all in white carrying a white chair under one arm, a small poster in the other. It reads: "Need a back rub? how about a... Massage!! Pay as you wish". The path I have trodden up to this point, that of a shameless attempt to provide massage services in exchange for some form of profit, is an intricate path. Sprouting from the need for money, and getting momentum from my sense of silliness, I thought why not? People should get more massages anyway. But shame is an interesting thing, halting us along the way with whispers of disapproval... Were it not for a stubborn impulse to experience what I dream up (as much as possible!), I surely would have given up on the project; instead I devised a ten-point plan, structured carefully to ensure my sense of self-worth (read: ego) would not get in the way of the final objective. So it went: type flyer in computer... print and photocopy flyer... pick up cardboardbox in supermarket trash... draw a sign on cardboardbox.... etc. I gain a brief insight into how men are able to accomplish military objectives - by focusing on specific tasks one needs not fathom the ultimate disgrace of their actions.

The idea may not seem wholly unreasonable from the outside, but everytime I stopped to think I began to laugh - self deprecating humor is enviable, isnt it. So I consciously halted the thought process, arriving at the center of the old town, where literally thousands of wandering tourists, pretty girls, and other performance artists congregate, and stroll about. To actually put the poster up on the wall to advertise my availability as a masseuse was like jumping off a 40 foot cliff into an undisclosed depth of very cold water. It took me the greater part of an hour to do it, breathing heavy. Meanwhile, this guitar player by the fountain was singing such awful music I was sure it was intentional for comic relief - how could this clown get up there and play his gig, while I sat huddled like a frozen cucumber?? No matter he was inebriated with liquid confidence, most likely in the form of beer; i knew I had to do it alone. What is shame, but being afraid of exposure to vulnerability. It compels us to keep our clothes on while in public, and uphold such noble concepts as integrity and decency; yet it also keep strangers from talking to each other in a grocery store. Plus, it is that much harder when you lack company, and in your aloneness there is no friend to push you along, and laugh together when things fail. This insecure shame kept me teetering...

When I stepped off the cliff the freefall was pleasant, as expected. Ironically, everyone was too embarassed to actually sit down and be massaged- all I got where some girlish giggles and strange looks. Perhaps this is why people spend $50/hour on a massage, to get a guarantee that this isnt just a display of eroticism. I crashed into the water - ie, the shit hit the fan - when I glanced over to the clown by the fountain and a solid crowd had gathered around his dissonant sounds, magnetized by a histerical group of drunk Italians who decided to sing along. And I learned my first formal lesson in public dynamics: you are only as popular as the amount (or kind) of people which give you attention. So I packed my bags, so to speak, in composed failure, and walked the long way home.

A few days before I had made a similar jab at getting work at the marina, where hundreds of yatchs and sailing boats converge. I thought, surely someone seeks the companion of a charismatic, robust young man as myself - and besides there are some really rich people here who might actually pay money for me to cruise the Mediterranean. Like the a royal prince from Oman, who reportedly has two mega-yatchs (one for him and many wives, and one for their acquisitions) and sends $1000 each day on flowers. However, I was at a loss when it came to approaching boat owners, most of whom spoke no word of english. When I asked for help at the main office I was nearly chased down by the receptionist saying, how dare you try and steal the jobs of young unemployed Croats, who are still struggling after the wartime? I remembered this that night when I walked back home dressed all in white, with my chair and massage poster, and I felt like a soggy dumpling which has been dipped in milk too many times. Frustrated, because I imagine perseverance is the only way in succeed in unconventional ventures; but I just didnt have the necessary kind of extrovert energy to make it happen. The energy is powerfully inwards, like a vaccuum in my mind being filled by bubbly gas; so I decided to rid myself of this external stagnation and bail out, leave Dubrovnik. The next day I met a French couple on vacation; we ate dinner together, they offered me a ride north tomorrow. My aim now is to send off most of my baggage to an undisclosed post office in France, where I can pick it up in a few weeks; hence I may travel light, camp in scenic beaches, and hitchhike across Europe.

Dilemnas continue

DUBROVNIK, CROATIA

Dober Dan... Salut... Guten Tag... Ni hao...
i find myself mixing up these silly languages more and more; changing from one to another feels like rubber, stretching your minds crevices and when it snaps! ahhh...  you run with it. 

I am in Dubrovnik, a thousand year old town in southern Croatia, where the city walls still stand and the stone floors are worn smooth from the endless shuffling feet.  It juts out into the Adriatic Sea, on clear days you can evidently see the faint outline of Italy.  I am staying with an old lady (a friend of Paul Banicevic¨s uncle) for at least another week, at which time my finances will have dwindled to dangerous levels.  The options are clear: make some bucks quickly, or hire myself out to a yatch, and scrub floors for rich vacationers cruising around the Mediterranean.  huummmm....  

enroute to Bavaria

FROM BASQUE COUNTRY, TO PARIS, THEN BAVARIA

I am buggered, as they say in Aussie, having spent most of the night up with Paul during our spontaneous rendez-vous at a hukkah bar. Passed out on the car seat, my dad's driving us from Paris to Frankfurt at dangerously high speeds. Its curious the need for adrenalin in order to secure focus - whether its in fast cars, waves, or leaving a 10 page paper for the last minute. But that's another story; what happened on the drive to Germany requires more pressing attention!

I awoke from a pseudo-conscious slumber as we drove in the town of Reims, an hour east of Paris. In typical style, my father claims here is THE cathedral to see in Europe, and indeed it is absurdly fantastic. huge, ornate Gothic spires, skylights of stained glass illuminating everything. The stone is so heavy yet the feel is light. To think what this place represents is baffling: longing for divinity, hierarchies of power, all the wars in its name. The cathedral contains the spectrum of good-bad in humans, it is so thick with meaning. And these are thoughts of a 20th c. science-indoctrinated Brasilian/American; what would the peasants, nobility, monks of the time have thought??

When we visited the Bilbao Guggenheim museum in Spain I also felt some awe. The building is INCREDIBLE, an organic mix of titanium scales, stone, and glass. Like a curvaceous fish going through electric shock treatment. And inside is equally impressive, no right angles anywhere, the modern art exhibitions fitting in perfectly. But why build a $100 million craziness in an industrial, trashy city on the Basque coast? what better way to revive the economy than create a magnet for tourism, a focal point for creativity and wealth. Like the cathedral, the cost of this place to society is disproportionate, but what emerges is excitement and imagination. The medieval, institutionalized Church had its degenerate aspects, and wonderful sides; but isn't the tourism, science, the overall modern vision which binds society also somewhat degenerate? only with the luxury of hindsight do we indulge in criticism, but perhaps neither is worse than the other. Then again it might matter little compared to the stoke that people (like me!) get from seeing these monuments... as a wise man who never existed once said, the inconsequentialities of frivolity!

arriving in Frankfurt I realize I am due to begin work at Hotel Chiemgauhof very soon. And i am struck by a need for my own time, space, after these non stop 3 weeks - or is it 3 months? Though I hope to escape into the anonymity of youth hostel life for a few days, or perhaps a week, this is not to be. A friend is conveniently driving to Munich tomorrow, and once I arrived I found myself boarding a train for Lake Chiemsee, just like that. It felt like I'd been wading in a stream, but it vortexed into a fast river; I could have jumped out, but the view was beautiful all the rapids were swirling; and when the river dumped into the ocean there was a big storm, which uprooted many trees and threw things to Chaos. So I had a night to rest but already in the morning there was much clean-up work to do at the hotel, and pretty soon I was in the kitchen doing dishes.

For 10, 11 hours a day in the kitchen, I learnt how to say plates silverware pots pans in German, and eat yummy salads and ice cream of course. The work was disciplined, not sure if its the German ethic or the restaurant business, but the intensity was high. But outside was paradise, long swims in the morning, warm still sunshine enveloped by the Alps around us. On my day off I rode a bike (cruiser!!) around the 68km lake, charging through the forest in search of the next ideallic pebble beach to cool off in. energy begins to dwindle, however, when the whole workday is spent in one stuffy place washing dishes. I didn't want to leave, these were my parents friends working hard, so who was I to just bail out, and maybe a bit of post-college manual labor is what I need. But that compulsion for time, space, beckoned so strong, my own creativity and exploration. So I left, though the decision wasn't at all easy to make, and I still feel very confused and sad, though relieved. The ocean I'd been dumped into was too big and I had to keep going.

My last weekend at Lake Chiemsee was fantastic when out of sheer coincidence both Lauren Slater and Paul decided to visit me. Riding the ferry all day long, between isles with little castles, playing around the wooden piers; then in the evening drinks at the outside bar at the hotel, watching the piercing colors; and finally rowboat out to the lake for a nudey sunset swim. my friends all extended their stay at Chiemsee, and I was so glad to give them the chance to be here. Then the next day I left, feeling awkward but excited as I hop on the train to Vienna, where I'm staying with Lauren for several days.

She's in an internation dance festival, blowing her mind during the day with inspiring dancers and playing at night. I roamed around the city, the vestiges of Austro-Hungarian empire still standing, stylish coffeshops with smoooooth coffee. This is a transition stage though, as I'm riding another train this afternoon, this time with Paul and girlfriend Abby, heading to Croatia. Things are 'up in the air' like never before, but I see like sparks of opportunity in the horizon and I hope to grasp them.