When Nick Comes to Town 

Soft winking clouds against a background of the sunniest midmorning blue waved hello at me as I trotted over to Jakominiplatz. It was a Saturday morning of electricity; dirndl-clad Austrians waltzed to a Accordionist as I passed the Rathaus, the Hauptplatz didgeridoo man was chucking away at his absolute finest, little austrian children spun around in awkward elongated circles to the group of four guitarists jamming in front of the church. I had almost never seen such an energetic Saturday in Graz. But it made sense. 

The Nick was coming to town. 

The long-haired ageless eclectic pal of brilliance Katie and I met whilst in Chefchouen, Morocco. It took one jaunt through the Rif Mountains before we were all quite hooked on each other; the feverish, fast-paced conversation and the ability to cover a plethora of exciting adventurous topics in very impressive time was addicting. 

One could never be quite sure on the age of Nick. Rumor has it that he had served as page boy to King Charles I of England. Others whispered that he had fought in the War of the Oaken Bucket on the side of Bologna. Whatever the case, he had about a lifetime of stories to satisfy our incessant demands for adventure. 

On his way from Vienna to Zagreb, the humble warrior graced Graz with his presence. 

After a bear-hug collision squashed the three months time since we had seen each other last, Nick and I peaced over to meet Katie in front of the Rathaus, the same gushing conversation velocity returning as craved. 

We all had an absolutely capital day together. 

We bought a variety pack of ice cream bars and explored the vast realms of chocolate and nut variations. We zipped to the Graz vs. Linz roller derby bout and watched my newly declared life heroes speed around the track. On our way from the bout, moseying rather aimlessly in our enjoyment of conversation, we ran into a street music festival near the Uni. Under the fading dusk of a beautiful Saturday, we listened to husky swing jazz and ate Gemüse Wok from cardboard takeout boxes. 

After this we grabbed beers from Hauptplatz and climbed up Schlossberg to stare at the stars and the city lights. The evening concluded with tea, chocolate, and pickles as we traded books and talked about writing until the Ramadan breakfast. 

             

Sunday was even better. 

Nick and I settled onto the balcony terrace of a cafe over a piece of Linztorte and spent a vast chunk of the day enjoying the weather and crafting a masterpiece story. 

Both of us have an insatiable, bubbling love for words and for writing them down. Per his suggestion, we embarked on the journey of crafting a spontaneous, rather improvised story based entirely upon letters. What manifested from this endeavor will be posted in entirety in a following blog post; I deem it too highly entertaining not to be shared. 

The conclusion of Nick’s time in Graz one could label as….memorable. It mostly featured an overconfident Josie repeatedly singing “oh, we’ve got loads of time” as we missed the train to the airport and the hurriedly acquired taxi depositing us at the airport bus stop just in time. 

The Hellö bus came and Nick boarded himself upon it. 

Im sure that the Croatian children were holding hands and skipping around guitarists in the Zagreb city center much the same as the Austrians were in Graz. I’m positive that there was a rising sense of electricity in Zagreb on Sunday evening. It would not surprise me in the least if Hauptplatz didgeridoo man took a sabbatical to follow the energy to Croatia. 

Because the Nick was coming to town.

Peace and Blessings,

Josie 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s