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If
you have to wait long time at Barcelona
airport during summer, prepare windjackets: they make waiting room in big
refrigerator. Worse still, when you enter Novatel bus for Andorra, you’ll
be frozen meat. And there are 4 hours to this land in between skies and earth, France and Spain, KGB and MI 6, it’s forgotten
oasis, valley of eternal middleageness, so no one dies and no one gets older.
Or maybe it’s just hell for retired Western lower class?
I
had terrible experience during those 4 hours to Andorra, with my sweaters and
jacket being left in suitcace. First, the driver chose only one person whom he
didn’t help put his suitcase in the trunk. Me of course. After we drove off,
soon I felt something’s wrong. Then I saw figures on little display above windshield:
Inside temperature 15, Outside temperature 35. And it never stopped to decline.
After 2 and half hours, it was 12 degrees inside. The driver looked happy. One
passenger put her jacket on. The other one – later I discoered it was highest
rated player Thkalchiel /who looked like a Soviet gymnast though under French
flag/ - left in short sleeves.
Then
temperature sank to 10 degrees. I began to panik. I took a curtain from my
window, torn it off and used it as a
cape. I took socks off and used them as a scarf, whilst I put an Andorra
prospect into my tennis shoes. My teeths was clapping like castagnettes. When
we arrived, people from next hotel defrosted os with hair dryers. I looks
exactly as Eta Beta aka Eega Beeva, a Disney character from Mickey Mouse
series: Eta Beta was once wearing a big drum on his head as a hat, he had floor
scrubbers instead of shoes, around his belly he had cutlery – spoons, knives,
forkds…. And he was wearing garden hose.
Andorrans
use air condition insanly and savagely, like dr Mengele used heat and cold to perform
his experiments. Andorra
is ideal for preserving corpses.
Anyway,
I somehow arrived, and reception at my hotel was empty. Ghostly empty. Living
room was also wihout living soul, filled
only with tables on which I saw some children drawings. It appeared as if the
place was urgently evacuated, due some catastrophy. It turned out though that I
had to go to “main reception” in the “main building”.
At
the reception there was one blonde nice girl wh showed me the way back and the
elevator: without her I wouldn’t find it. No internet “in my block”.
Tourists,
coughing parents with their bloody coughing kids, expelling bacteria and vira
in all directions, not to mention unhuman noise and yelling. Caring
mothers-in-law, who spring over line in delis because they need to warm up food
for babies. Virulent youths with no empathy for other people’s needs, grampy
oldies who hate everyone younger than 50. Fathers of blossoming daughters,
jealous over each human with a penis. Sport teams on way back from a
competiions – all in same silly shortses, laughing as imbecils to their own
jokes. Old couples with their medicines. Businessmen with laptops on which they
rule the world. Everyone can fuck, except a decent middle-aged intellectual who
earns for living with honest work. If he
travels alone, he will be considered a pædofil or a general type of a maniak.
Screwing is for minors and rich oldies.
In
knæppevenlig Andorra,
safe sex is with fairies in the mountains. Of course, everything else except
sex isn’t safe: nature, bears, boars, avelanches, storms.
People
in Andorra
use drones as an advertising device to show pictures of their ready-for-marriage
daughters to public. Like in Albania,
driving in convertibles is dangerous due drones, which can all of the sudden
blind you. Old grandmothers curse a lot, drink whiskey with tap water a lot,
play poker in small circles, like Eurosong and adore latino soap operas.
Little
dogs are often mixed with little kids.
It
rains 4 times a day, since 17.00 til 23.00 sharp.
Nobody
speaks English. If you ask anyone in English, they will nodd as they
understood, but they understood shit. Be aware of that!
It
is amazing how little of Catalan and Portugese sticks to my ears, and after several
days I strangely enough grew nostalgia for English. In Netherlands on theo cable channels I
could watch Seinfeld, Louis C.K. and similars shows in English. In Rome, same as in Andorr –
when Omar Sharif died, RAI 3 showed Blake Edward’s spy film “Tamarind Seed” but
dubbed in Italian.
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