I'm sorry I haven't written in so long. It's just...well...if you want to know the whole long drawn-out story, I'll tell you: I went to Europe for six months to wrestle for my college. I'm sure you're thinking, what the fuck, she wrestles? Since when? Well, hey, if you ever listened to me you'd know how much I love wrestling...how much wrestling is, in fact, my whole world. I'm sorry for the outburst...it's just...sometimes I feel like I'm invisible! Even though I have this blog where I often divulge my deepest, darkest secrets (like how much I love Lifetime movies featuring out of control teens), I still feel so alone--and so misunderstood.
But back to my story: about six months ago, I was commissioned by my school to go on this wrestling fellowship (I'm sure you're thinking, wrestling fellowship? Is that even a thing? Yes. It is. It is a thing. Stop questioning me!!). I was incredibly excited to go because I've never traveled and I love to wrestle. And I'm really, really good at wrestling. I get a lot of accolades for it--a lot of pats on the butt and free pasta dinners. So it's cool. Plus, I found out I was going to one of the most beautiful countries in all of Europe: Slovakia.
The people in Slovakia are so kindly!! They're always offering you meat on a stick and a mug of brew or something else great. Any longtime reader of this blog knows how much I love meat on a stick (or meat on a plate, in a bowl, or even in a glove compartment for that matter (Hey! Meat is meat. As long as it's mostly cooked, I'm game)). Because the people of Slovakia are so wonderful, I didn't think twice when a haggard old greasy-bearded Slovak wearing dirty overalls and carrying a rusty bone saw offered me a ride in his beat-up van when I missed my train to Poland.
He held out his hand for me to shake and said loudly, "Thems calls me Ctibor." When I grasped his hand in mine, I could feel the jagged bones beneath his paper-thin skin. His bones made me think of cemeteries and crows and garbage-can fires, so I was immediately put at ease. Plus, it was adorable how he was attempting to speak English! Having already spent a few months in Slovakia, I answered him in Slovak (the official language of Slovakia): "Mám ťa rád, Ctibor! Hovoria mi Liz. To je ale krásny zimný deň. Milujem túto krajinu. Je to tak pustá!" Loosely translated, this means: "I like you, Ctibor! They call me Liz. What a beautiful winter day. I love this country. It's so desolate!"
Ctibor nodded and grinned while digging around in the large front pocket of his overalls for what I assumed to be some sort of treasure. He produced a hand-rolled cigarette and I knew I was right--treasure. He lit the cigarette and leaned past me to look down the train tracks (We were on a wooden train platform. I was there because I had been trying to catch that train to Poland. I never asked Ctibor why he was there). He took a long slow drag and then said, an evil gleam in his eye, "Train to Poland no come. Dark come soon and you are like lost sheep's baby."
Darkness was beginning to fall, and there was a pervasive silence that hung in the air--an eerie wintry silence. I was getting so cold, all I could think of was curling up beside a crackling fire in Ctibor's cottage, if he would be so kind as to invite me. I had already worn out my welcome at the village inn (but that's a whole other story).
"Ja som vydesený a chladená až na kosť! Potrebujem miesto na pobyt, a nevadilo by mi jedlo malých knedle zo zemiakového cesta s bryndzou a slaninou preliate miešanými," I said. This means: "I am terrified and chilled to the bone! I need a place to stay, and I would not mind a meal of small dumplings made of potato dough with sheep cheese and topped with scrambled bacon." It might sound like I was asking a lot of Ctibor, but believe me, Slovaks love to cook and entertain overnight guests.
Ctibor finished his cigarette and threw it onto the train platform, mashing it into the wood with the toe of his work boot for a few long seconds. I watched the embers glow and die and waited anxiously for him to speak. When he finally looked at me and grinned, I noticed he was missing quite a few teeth, which I found charming. "I love help lost American girl."
"Ctibor, jsi bomba!" I said, which in English means: "Ctibor, you're the bomb!" I followed him off the train platform and climbed into his old van. He let me sit in the very back on the floor, and I enjoyed the bouncy ride. Ctibor played the music of his favorite band, the Gypsy Devils, at top volume and chain smoked the whole way to his cottage. Being in that smoky, loud environment reminded me of my nights of debauchery with my college friends in the States and I felt a pang of homesickness. I thought of asking Ctibor to drop me off on the side of the road, but I really wanted those potato dumplings.
The last thing I remember before waking up on a Slovak hospital gurney four months later was the long dark dirt driveway that led to Ctibor's cottage. It was lined with black barren trees which bent and shook with the howling wind, branches scraping like fingernails against the car windows. Weird, right?!
So anyway, that's where I've been. I hardly even got to wrestle because of my "lost months" (that's what I've taken to calling the time I spent at Ctibor's). But don't worry, I'll be back on the mat in no time. Until then, I think I'll get back to blogging. After all, I've missed you guys.
Love,
Liz
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