Hold my hand...(or someone else's)

Akon's song is coming through my laptop's speakers - inspiring the title to this blog. I don't really need someone to hold my hand per se...it would be nice though ;)

I haven't written an entry in a while, in fact, I think the last one was in September 2010 - tsk tsk. I just finished watching a movie "The Girl With the Pearl Earring", but this blog isn't a movie review (although the movie was entertaining). The point, though, was that the painter was uninspired and couldn't paint his masterpieces...okay I'm far from a worldclass writer - but sadly, when I'm not inspired I cannot write. I get writer's block and I'm not even a professional write lol - go figure.

So what can I say about the last three months? I've been holed up in a small picturesque town in Rheine, Germany. Amazingly quaint and beautiful, especially with fresh snow! It truly is a postcard...an experience as unique as Cairo.

I live in an apartment at the top of a small, family-run hotel - I can see the local church from my windows and enjoy a panoramic view of the city centre. This is the sort of town where people go for evening walks, leave their doors unlocked, buy premium cuts of meat from the local organic butcher, and churn butter in their backyards (k I kid about the butter). You get the idea.

Germany is everything you think it would be - modern but classy, efficient, utilitarian, just enough. I can't say enough about the cars here - I am officially in love with Bimmers and Benzes...for all the drivers out there - YOU HAVE TO DRIVE ON THE AUTOBAHN. No one has experienced driving until they've taken a spin on the autobahn; pedal to the metal, weaving through traffic without so much as a glance at the speedometer. One of the best feelings I've had in my life.

Last week, Osama and I visited Rome for six days. We had time off during Christmas and decided we wanted to do the Vatican on Christmas Eve. Rome was aight, I would give it a 7/10 - I mean the city itself is full of Indians and Arabs - not Italians - and the ruins are well...ruined? Beautiful city but nothing as orgasmic as everyone makes it out to be. The pasta? Yuck. The pizza? Yuck. Ya ya, I've heard it before; "you didn't go the right place" - but fuck I'm in Italy, can there be a wrong place? I mean, if you land in Lebanon and eat hummus at any restaurant, it should at least taste as good as the hummus you get in the grocery store back home right? There is no such thing as the wrong place to get hummus in Lebanon.

Okay, getting back to the title "Hold my hand..." When one travels one gets to relish unique experiences that one wouldn't otherwise encounter. When was the last time you connected with a stranger in Toronto? When you travel you connect all the time, it's a really cool experience. Let me tell you a story:

Osama and I hopped on the city train from the Rome International Airport to the city centre. The train was crowded and smelled like wet socks - but we managed to grab a seat and ended up striking up a conversation with a really kind looking girl. She was from a small village in Southern Italy and was on her way back home from a Shakira concert in London...she had won it on the radio! I guess those contests do work!

35 minutes later we were standing on the main platform at Termini station. I pulled out a map to figure out where our hotel was - Google maps had said it was about a 15 minute walk from the station. While I'm poring over the map, Osama takes the building in. A girl walks up to him and mumbles something - I half pay attention, figuring she is asking the time or something. Osama looks and me and then her "sorry no Italian" he says. The corner of her lips tremble, her eyes well up with tears, and she walks away. What the fuck?

Now I'm looking at this girl walk away. She has two massive suitcases, well-dressed, long brown hair, with a heavy-set build. My curiosity (and humility) were on red alert - I needed to know what the deal was. "Yo what did she want man?" I asked Osama, he shrugged.

I do a wide circle around this girl. She is staring at the departures screen - a blank stare. She isn't reading anything. Tears stream down her face and she stands clutching her bags tightly. This is one of those times in life when you have to figure out what type of man you are. I had to make sure she was okay. I walk up gingerly and ask "hey, are you okay...are you safe?" She speaks English - her eyes look up at me and explains that she missed her train to her destination and she now had to spend the night in Rome as the next train was early in the morning. I look down at my watch, 9pm. She asked me if there were any hostels in the area.

"Listen, I'm not from here, but I know we're booked in a hotel that is 15 minutes from here...why don't you come with us and see if they have a room for you too?"

She hesitated - looked up and down at me, then Osama. I smiled and she nodded her head. I'm not sure if you guys have been to Italy, but there are fucking stairs everywhere. She fought to carry her own luggage for the first flight and then gave in - Osama and I used the muscles that God had blessed us with ;). We walked around for about 20 minutes asking people for directions. She was starting to feel a little more comfortable - telling us that she was in Italy for an internship. A 22-year old Brazilian studying Industrial Engineering in San Paolo, she was supposed to be in Italy for two months on a dream fashion internship - what a start to this dream.

We finally find our hotel and walk to the front desk. Luckily Marissa (the front clerk) had an extra room for our friend and even offered her a cheap rate. I invited Thais for dinner; after all she had had a rough start to her trip to Italy.

About an hour later, the three of us were drinking a bottle of wine and sharing pizza. She was laughing.

While we didn't hold her hand - we might as well have. Connect.