European Summers

“In the middle of summer the fields are golden, the forests thick, and the air heavy with the scent of hay and wildflowers.”

Leo Tolstoy

We are up early to avoid the heat. Today’s forecast high is 32 °C.

Under a blue sky, we run a quick 5 km—the Danube on our left, the parliament on our right.

Home for a shower and then to Zërgë Coffeeshop. We have no plans today—a possible trip to the National Gallery. The exhibition: Habitat. Nature and Landscape Constructs has Shell interested.

The Art Gallery is crowded, we can see it from the bridge. Shell does not do crowds, not even for art. Today, I don’t feel like it either. Is it too much to ask to have the National Gallery to ourselves?

The solution is an early lunch and an Aperol Spritz in the courtyard of our apartment. The adjoining bar, Secco, starts pouring from noon. At 12.02, we have our first Aperol.

We read in the shade and drink. Finally, exhausted from chewing ice and eating orange slivers, Shell decides to retire to the room for a nap.

“Sleep is the interest we have to pay on the capital which is called in at death; and the higher the rate of interest and the more regularly it is paid, the longer the debt is deferred.”

Arthur Schopenhauer

Dinner tonight at Mozel Tov.

I finish Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch. This is my favourite work from Miller. Self deprecating and honest, his time at Big Sur before it was overrun by the beats and all that followed is superb writing.

I have decided to go back to philosophy. In a bold move, I am going to attempt Phenomenology of Spirit. By all accounts, one of the most difficult books to understand in the realm of the great philosophers.

I will never forget the day I found out wrestling was fake. Hit me harder than Santa.

“Hulk Hogan is dead”

“What? Crocodile Dundee is dead?”

“What?”

“Crocodile Dundee”

“Not Paul Hogan, Hulk Hogan”

“Who?”

“Nevermind”

A conversation with Rachelle on the death of Hulk Hogan

Great wrestler, shit person. I loved him as a kid.

Mazel Tov was not bad, the food was good, and the service was attentive.

We ordered a mezze plate, chicken shawarma, and lamb tagine.

A few beers and a couple of local whites.

I don’t understand how tipping is expected in countries with a minimum wage. Even more confusing is a surcharge of 15%, which we are told is for the kitchen staff. And then the waiter asks for a tip.

An awkward finish to a good meal.