Ham and Cheese (Den of Thieves)
So on a backpacking trip, one has to expect to be eating on the cheap-Dan and I proved this false on our travels, “treating” ourselves to one dishy meal for every country/city. That was easy to do when we were being housed by friends in Amsterdam, Belgium, and Lüneberg, but when we actually spent our time in actual hostels, we found ourselves going back to that classic sandwich combo: the Ham and Cheese.
With free breakfast, comes responsibility, I feel-and with free breakfast comes buns, cold cuts, and inevitably, cheese.
Now, after twenty-two years of developing myself into a “foodie”, this was a bit weird. Ham and Cheese? Bit bland. Bit uncomfortable. But still satisfying; getting the job done, so to speak. And in a weird way, that’s how I ended up thinking of my travels with Dan.
Oh, come on-don’t take it that way. I know I just walked into that one, but traveling with Dan was nothing close to bland or uncomfortable. Trust me. Allow me to elaborate...
...by talking about myself, and how I felt during the trip-my growths, as I am loathe to say. (It just sounds so damn hoakey...)
All throughout my vacation-taking life, I’ve mainly been with my family, never alone, never setting the agenda myself. I end up feeling like I have no idea what to do, too much responsibility, too much freedom, too much too much! Yet years with my family made me think I was a casual holiday-er. I like to partake in activities, but unlike my father (whom my teenage self often thought of as over-enthusiastic), I’d enjoy spending some days inside, couching in front of the television, using the native commercials as a way of exploring the country’s culture. (Hey, my mother would be the one on my side here! I’m definitely her daughter...)
But no more, it seems!
With the exception of Vienna (it was so hot...), I pretty much felt the impulse to do something every single day we were in each city. I demanded tours, I wanted museums, I commanded walking around aimlessly. I was my father! It was weird, to suddenly realise that I was, you know, a man. But kidding aside (no seriously, still got my ovaries, promise), it felt, and still feels like a huge personal growth (oh god, what wording...), and as I look toward the rest of my time in Italy without dear ol’ Daniel by my side, I find myself in a bit of a panic, while knowing that aside from the permanent fear of asking strangers for directions, I’ll Be Fine.
Fine, but without a constantly amusing, constantly talking companion. No one to tease, no one to poke fun at, no one to boss around. Which leads me to...
Another discovery: I’m bossy. Well, that’s not big revelation to those who know me, but wow, Dan really became a sort of lap dog for me during this trip. For example...
Gillian: Oh god-where are we again?
Dan: Uhh...
Gillian: Oh wait, I see where we are on the map-go find out what that street is, will you?
(Dan scampers off to find out, reports back)
Gillian: Hmm...this isn’t right. Go ask someone what direction the [generic Europe tourist attraction] is, ok? Ok. Go, go, go!
(Dan runs off, asks a local for directions. Doesn’t get an answer)
Gillian: Oh god, come on-go ask that guy, he looks like he can speak English!
(Dan tries again)
Gillian: Finally. Ok, let’s go.
Or how about...
Dan: Man, going to that museum will be great, I can’t wait.
Gillian: Sunblock Stop! Come on, let’s find somewhere to sit and re-apply. I’m not burning and neither are you.
And finally...
Dan: Ok, well, I want to go out for a small walk before bed.
Gillian: Oh! Get me a Quick burger/fries/sundae on your way back? Here’s the money. Now can you help me turn up the volume on the TV?
Seriously. The words may be changed slightly, but...pretty accurate. I’m terrible! And it doesn’t make it any better that I can admit it, but for some reason, Dan either didn’t notice, or was fine with me assuming the role of Mother. Which is weird, but it does explain the moments of frustration I’d feel towards him when he’d suddenly be lagging behind, or I’d look up to find his face covered in food. Hmm...
If you’ll permit me to rewind a bit? Thank you.
Now, back at the EFC, Dan and I shared and still share roughly the same circle of friends. We wouldn’t necessarily seek each other to hang out and chill, it would normally just happen by proxy: I’d be with Andrea and Fiona, Dan would join, and voila, we have chillage. Every morning we’d discuss Canadian news, and when the Olympics were going on, we’d update each other on the hockey results (clearly the most important sport. Ever.). We would talk, but not in a Best Friend way. A very good way, a very nice way, but not in a Best Friend way. Which is fine to admit, because I’m pretty sure even Dan doesn’t consider me one of his “besties”. A very good friend (I better be this one!), a very fun friend (this too!), but a friend nonetheless.
So when the idea of a trip was broached, and it ended up being just Dan and me, I was a little unsure. Would we still get along? Would there be awkward silences? I wasn’t sure, but I was very pleased to find out that like Ham and Cheese, we got along just fine.
Now, in everyone’s mouth, there’s a tongue (oh god, I hope people without tongues aren’t reading this), and on that tongue, there are various taste sensors. It varies from person to person which sensors are strongest, so when eating a Ham and Cheese sandwich,
Yeah, sorry about that. I lost where I wanted to go with that whole taste analogy, and every time I tried to think about how it could work, it just. didn’t. work.
Rats.
Anywho, Ham and Cheese sandwiches. They come from your childhood. Or rather, they make you think they come from your childhood-most of my own childhood I ate peanutbutter and banana/jam, but the simplicity of Ham and Cheese makes everyone nostalgic for simpler times i.e. your childhood. Which brings me back to the Ham and Cheese-once you get used to them again, you feel weird without them. And suddenly, when the hostel you’re staying at doesn’t offer cheese and you end up only eating a ham sandwich, it seems wrong. What happened to the cheese? The cheese is needed! Without the cheese, the ham can’t even be capitalised! As they said in the 1930’s: “What’s going on here?!” (Dan will get this. I hope.)
Like White on Rice, Bill and Ted (cheer up, Keanu!), Dan and I were Ham and Cheese. Which yes, sounds like a television show Joey Tribbiani was once on, but it’s true. A cheese sandwich? Lame. A ham sandwich? Who knows what kind of perverts eat those. But Ham and Cheese? It just works. It’s not always harmonious, the cheese might sometimes be sour, and the ham might sometimes be sweaty and gross, but in the end, they still work. It’s a classic team.
(A note about the nostalgia aspect of the Ham and Cheese that I noticed? How being nostalgic makes you feel like a kid again...not just feel like a kid, but also act like one. With each other. In the most annoying ways. See:
Gillian: Pass me the camera.
Dan: (puts his bag on the ground) Yeah sure, go for it.
Gillian: Pass me the camera, please?
Dan: It’s right there, front pocket.
Gillian: Ugh! (bends down to get it at the same time when Dan moves-as she comes back up, his elbow collides with her head.) Argh!
Dan: Sorry!
Gillian: Fine. (takes the photo, and then gently bops Dan on the head with her own elbow)
Dan: What the fuck?
Gillian: We’re even now!
Dan: Oh come on!
See? Nostalgia ain’t always so good.)
Despite the bickering and the differences in opinion-it’s come to be my opinion that Dan and I? On the verge of becoming more than just ‘good friends’. You see, normally we’d have a couple of days in which we wouldn’t see each other’s faces and then voila, problem solved. On this trip though? In each other’s faces all. the. time. And sure, it doesn’t solve all of our problems or arguments, but when you don’t have the chance to de-compress, but don’t want to keep bitching, it changes something. It strengthens the friendship, and slowly, bit by bit, you become more and more accepting of the fact that those small arguments? Are idiotic.
And yes, most of them are started by me. (My mother once commented to me how Dan writes me out to be someone awesome and worth knowing, but...) But isn’t the cornerstone of every great friendship the fact that you can accept that your friend can sometimes be a complete idiot? And if they still stick around (or have to, in Dan’s case) despite this, this...this is when it gets Real.
We’re no where near being Best Friends, but I’d say we’re certainly on our way to becoming Better Friends.
And now, because Dan will be the one posting this, a little bit of comic relief, featuring all of our little one-liners and inside jokes.
Eh-hem.
Ode to Europe
They made a cake of us
And put it in a paddle boat
Tourists are lead by cake from Schlump
And have beautiful momos!
And have beautiful momos!
Momos!
I’d rather hit the wall than the children
Who have Benjamin Button parents
Who smash smash smash smash cut
Who smash smash smash smash cuuuuuut
To spelling “stupidest”!
We’re living in a kylling world
Finding answers on the street signs
We’re living in a chicken world
And it’s a beautiful momo
It’s a beautiful momo
Oh oh...
Oh right, and while Dan and I probably won’t be traveling together again any time soon, I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything.
I’d also like to add that while in my mind this whole post seems pretty harmless, it’ll doubtlessly go off and offend anyone it meets. Seriously. It can’t have been written by me unless someone reads into it wrong, or if it suddenly becomes a delinquent and starts wearing a hoodie and slouching around town, shouting out abuses to anyone who dares walk by.
It’s something I’ve come to accept, so just know-just know: no offense is ever meant in this. I’m writing this with all the love in the world, the best intentions possible, and I never bother with people I hate.
Signing out,
Gillian
p.s. I won’t go to Harlem in ermine and pearls, either.
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