The impostor's hangover

2010 - 2017 I had the time of my life and that's not just a Dirty Dancing song. Wednesdays Karaoke, Saturdays - the regular night out in Oldies pub. You start off with a beer or two and you continue with tequila shots, Jagger shots and if someone offers, you'll take a whiskey too. 

You could catch me and Honey attempting some seriously questionable dance moves on stage, or if you looked close enough, you might even spot me busting a move on the tables.

Those days were pure freedom, with zero responsibilities weighing me down.

It goes without saying that we would return home long after midnight. Sometimes there was a feeling of guilt, especially when Honey's mom was around. I somehow suspected that maybe she was not my biggest fan because, seeing I was younger, she probably thought I was encouraging Honey to waste weekend nights out, keeping her away from her duties. I don't think I ever brought up the subject with her (so, Honey, if you read this, please confirm if my suspicions were correct).

2024 - I seem to always lose when I negotiate with my partner over who plays the dedicated driver when we go out. Living in the countryside has its perks, but the main disadvantage, in our case, is that there is no bus going to the top of the hill where we live. Therefore, we carefully strategize our outings. One of us has to pick the other one up or, if we both go out, either one has to drive or we take a taxi back. Last night we both went out separately and I offered to drive back. 

Even though I could legally sip on a beer or a glass of wine, thanks to Austria's laws (0.5ml/100ml is the limit), I choose to stay completely booze-free. I don't have the confidence of an experienced driver so why risk it?

Five or six ginger beers (*alcohol free) later, followed by picking up my partner and making the obligatory stop at McDonald's, I ended up going to bed at 1:30am. Add to that the hour change and here I am this morning, with an unexplained headache and hangover feeling. How can this be?? Am I getting that old? Have I lost my partying mojo? And most importantly, is it even worth to fight this? Oh, 39, I can’t even say you’ll catch me by surprise!

From parking purgatory to driving delight

I've got this daily commute.  Ten whole kilometers of highway, just to shuffle back and forth to work. But the real kicker is when I get past my little town and hit that twisty countryside road. Oh boy, the sights! It's like stepping into a postcard. I live for that part of the drive.

Every single time I'm behind the wheel, I'm counting my lucky stars. I mean, who would've guessed? Me, driving! After a lifetime of struggles, I finally snagged my license in my mid thirties. Talk about being a late bloomer!

Let me take you back to my first attempt at the driving test, here in Austria. I failed miserably from the get-go. First exercise: reverse parking. Parking?? HA HA HA...But hey, after a small fortune spent on extra lessons, I aced it on round two.

My driving school days? Oh man, those were the days. I fell head over heels for that manual transmission car. Somehow fate smiled upon me, because now I own the same car. Well, me and the bank, that is. But who cares? The universe had my back!

Fast forward to today, coming back home, whispering some sweet words to the "no indicator" car in front of me. Feeling important like a true driving queen as I elegantly take each turn. Out of the blue, reality check! My beloved car? Automatic. I'm no Formula 1 ace (unlike my "Nicky Lauda" partner). Oh dear, oh dear...My crown fell for a second!

But you know what? I'm absolutely rocking this whole "accelerate, brake, indicate" gig, and it feels fantastic!

Like the not so famous German song goes: Wie heißt die Mutter von Niki Lauda? Mama Lauda, Mama Lauda 😂

Silly aha moments

Behold the mystical phenomenon known as the "aha moment"! It's like the universe playing a game of peek-a-boo with your brain. You're just minding your own business, and bam - it hits you like a ton of bricks, or in my case, like a ton of "sh.t, I'm an idiot but... whatever."

I used to think these “epiphanies” would come to me during deep intellectual pursuits, you know, while pondering the secrets of the universe or decoding the meaning of life. But oh no, fate has a crazy sense of humor. It prefers to deliver these moments when you least expect them, usually in the form of hilariously absurd realizations that make you question your entire existence.

Forget about having deep insights while reading a profound book or watching the news. Nope, my aha moments prefer to crash the party uninvited, just to spice things up a bit. And let me tell you, they're more unpredictable than the weather in Salzburg.

Social media is a goldmine for triggering these "breakthrough" moments. Like today, when I stumbled upon an ad for a cleaning company on Insta. This guy was preaching about starting cleaning from the easiest (less dirty) surface to the heaviest, comparing it to taking a shower and starting with your face. And then it hit me like a ton of cleaning supplies – I've been doing it all wrong!!! I mean, who knew your face deserved more attention in the shower than just a quick rinse between brushing your teeth and slapping on some makeup?

But that triggered a memory! I remembered that time when I called my mom to complain about my ex washing my white bra with his colored clothes. Oh, the horror! I was ranting about it as if it was the end of the world. And then my mom dropped the bomb – at least he didn't toss the underwear in with the kitchen towels. 

Aha...hmm! Talk about a reality check delivered with a side of guilt.

So, my friends, embrace these aha moments. Laugh at yourself, shake your head in disbelief, and then carry on with life because at least it's never boring! 

Resolutions are not only for New Year's

They say that a big event can shake you to your core. But does it really? Do you truly lose a part of yourself when something significant happens in your life?

I guess I've been through my fair share of trauma, if you count being in a car accident. It was a dramatic incident, sure, but I came out of it with just a few bumps and bruises. I remember after getting out of the hospital, I slept for a solid 26 hours straight. Two days later, I was back at work, carrying on like nothing had happened.

But then, slowly, it started to hit me. I couldn't shake off the images of the accident – the man from the other car, the ambulance, the voices of the policemen and paramedics, the rumors about the trapped mother. And then, in the ambulance, it all caught up to me, and I found myself crying. The paramedic asked if I was in pain, but how could I explain that my tears were of relief? I remembered a radio ad about how ambulance sirens symbolize saving lives, and I felt grateful to be inside that ambulance, hearing that sound. Instead, I just nodded and said something hurt.

In the midst of it all, I realized I was alive, and that alone was something to be thankful for. I made plans to change, to be a better person – not that I was bad before, but we all have our flaws. I started reaching out to people, apologizing if I had ever hurt them. I made plans for self-improvement, trips I wanted to take, goals I wanted to achieve... it was like making New Year's resolutions. And like most resolutions, once my injuries healed and the pain faded, I forgot about them. Nothing really changed. I didn't go out more, didn't socialize more, wasn't a better friend, didn't read more, didn't better myself. I just stayed passive.

Then 2023 rolled around, bringing with it a new challenge that I would only conquer in the current year. Another event that made me reevaluate my life and ask myself some tough questions. Am I a good person? A good partner? Am I excelling at my job? Am I a good daughter? Am I focusing on the right things? Am I taking care of myself properly? What new things can I learn? What do I truly enjoy?

And amidst all this reflection, I realized something – I love telling and writing stories. So if I love it, why wasn't I doing something about it?

Fortunately, while I may not be certain about whether I am a good friend, I am certain that I have wonderful friends by my side. These are friends who uplift and motivate me, friends who encourage me to strive for more.

So this time I did change a little. I took a small step towards not living passively.

Challenge me!

I must confess, I don't hold the title of a culinary virtuoso, and it's no wonder why. My upbringing shielded me from the kitchen until I reached adulthood. Even then, as a young adult, I relied heavily on the convenience of student cafeterias. Later, I found myself employed in a hotel, granting me unlimited access to the kitchen, further perpetuating my culinary laziness. Upon relocating to Austria, I "acquired" a housemate with exceptional culinary skills. Oh, the marvels he prepares! His cooking skillfulness transcends ordinary dining experiences, whisking me away on sensory adventures. On our second date, he treated me to a lavish three-course meal, complete with a homemade cake. How could I resist such decadence? Once again, I found myself lost in indulgence and pampering. Regrettably, my own culinary ventures are sporadic at best. In the absence of someone attending to my needs, my diet revolves around an assortment of tuna sandwiches and frozen pizzas. Rice, of course, remains a steadfast staple; I have even been accused of being seen having Pringles for breakfast. But seriously, have you ever tried the Salt&Vinegar flavored chips? Anyhow, now that I am home alone, what would you challenge me to cook? 👀

Thirsty? Think again...

Moving to another country brings the joy of diversity, and sometimes, the hilarity of cultural collisions or associations. Case in point: WhatsApp groups with names like EuRoPol (because, you know, Romanian-Polish unity under the EU banner 😂) or Magyar-RO-UK (pretty self-explanatory, right?).

But the real fun starts at home, where my household is also a small melting pot of different backgrounds. 

Last night, someone went rummaging through the drinks cabinet, craving a Captain Morgan and ginger. Lo and behold, a bottle of rum appeared!!! But surprise, its contents leaned more towards Romanian schnapps than Caribbean delight. How that happened, we'll never know...

Suspicious, the thirsty soul pinged the Magyar-RO-UK group for "answers". Within seconds, a photo popped up: a classic Borsec bottle filled with none other than "țuică" or palinka. Then, as if by magic, my "better/worse half" unearthed our own little stash of Borsec bottles filled with "vișinată" (sour cherry schnapps).

Now, the burning question: how did this tradition of disguising spirits in water bottles come to be? I mean, who among us, Eastern Europeans, hasn't mistakenly sipped on what was thought to be innocent H2O, only to end up in a tipsy haze? 🤣 This bottle, a timeless enigma, transcending generations and borders... 

Do I dare carry on the tradition ?

6 years in (a) life

6 years today. 

I spent my last night in Sibiu at the hotel, with my parents. I was already renting out my apartment and my GM was kind to let me use one of the hotel suites. 

It felt incredibly awkward to be there for the last time. That hotel was my life. My only constant besides my friends. The only real, palpable thing. The place that fed me. The place that paid for my mortgage. The place that gave me sleepless nights yet Incredible satisfaction. Sheer joy.

I remember when we were finally opened for business and we were two F&B managers. I was the one with no hospitality experience whatsoever. The colleague who was training us told me: I see him dealing with the paperwork and you as the lady of the house.

And that's what I became. At least in my own eyes...

I had 2  fully packed suitcases. I had carefully selected what mattered most to me. The rest went away. In the end, my parents kept only my books. 

Fast forward 6 years, I yearn for my friends and family with the bittersweet guilt of having found other people who became my friends, my support in difficult times, my joy in good times, my confidantes... With the bittersweet guilt of living in a country that takes better care of me than the one I left behind...

I am slowly growing roots here. 

To many more!

Romance and gratitude

A couple of weeks back, I started writing down stuff in this gratitude journal. It's a pretty good one, makes you see life from a different angle.

Now, don't get me wrong, it's not like you suddenly appreciate everything and start imagining rainbows and unicorns everywhere. But you do notice the silver lining, and that's kinda cool!

Don't overthink it, though. My life's not falling apart; I'm still the same happy camper. This gratitude journal thing is a nice practice, even when you're already wondering what else to be grateful for. Somehow, you always find something new.

Now, usually, I'm the storyteller, but today I'm thankful for a colleague who shared how he proposed to his girlfriend on New Year's. It was a sweet, thoughtful, and low-key proposal—no flashy stuff or clichés, just genuine love for his partner.

Romance ain't dead, and I'm grateful just to know stories like that.

Mexico. Part 3. The naughty bit...

This is intended to be on the verge of scandalous. 

Here we are, round two in Mexico. Same spot, same sand, same crash pad. It's supposed to be eerie, and it is. Picture Zipolite beach: 2km of perfect blend between those who dare to bare and those who are wrapped tighter than a burrito. And at the end of this sandy heaven – Playa del Amor.

Now, you might think, at first sight, that Playa del Amor is exclusively for the LGBTQ crew, but if you squint hard enough, you'll spot some straight couples lost in the beachscape.

So, there I was, trying to chill under the shade of a massive rock on this scorching day. Truth be told, I wasn't on top of my game emotionally or physically. Yes, it was that time of the month, hence the burrito bikini. Let me tell you, that piece of fabric was more uncomfortable than a cactus pillow. It took ages to dry and on top of that, when I was laying on the sand, close enough for a wave to gently brush my body when I was elegantly performing no.1, I would get up with all of the Sahara sand in it. 

A million gloomy thoughts per minute, most of them crash-landed in negativity. I get those a lot lately, and I know their source. But airing it out is difficult. Long story short, I felt like a shipwreck. Joy was a no-show.

Across from me, lounging on a towel, was what seemed to be a woman. Long hair, tiny waist, fit as a fiddle. From certain angles, you could even catch a glimpse of her breasts. She rises, and surprise: she is a he. Or the other way round; they go for a swim, they return, plug in their headphones, and start to dance on their own. They kept at it, surrounded by a sea of people living their best lives. Joy, freedom, peace... all there. And I? I was in "Eastern European" shock.

I'm watching this human of pure energy, envying their zest for life. Meanwhile, I'm stuck in my sandy, grumpy bikini, afraid to strip down because of a tampon thread, the same one that shouted that I was the real deal – a prime, fertile woman. When did inhibition become my jam? Why was I wandering in the desert of self-doubt? Playa del Amor was screaming beauty, tolerance, and peace. It was time to rejoin that club... And I did. 

Bikini off.

Mexico. Part 2: How it all started

 We had big plans. A week in Zipolite, by the beach then renting a motorbike and going up the mountains all the way to Oaxaca City. 

So we spent two days in Mexico City and then flew to Huatulco, from where we took a cab (privado - you don't save that much on the colectivo and it's more comfortable) to Zipolite. 

Our first encounter with CAMP. As slightly mentioned in "Part 1", CAMP is this magical, quite unique lodging. You don't go there for the luxury. You go for the high chance of meeting wonderful people. If you look it up on Airbnb, you'll notice it has many "terms&conditions" in place. They're quite strict about them and once you meet Anthony, the owner, and he explains the concept, then it all seems like common sense: you're only respecting the nature. 

We were lucky, on our first stay there, to have met an incredible group of guests: an American from Austin, a Belgian lady who gave yoga lessons, an Australian living in Amsterdam, a Polish chick later on and the glue of this party, Anthony, the New Yorker owner (as my companion said, "don't hold this against him, he's very chill"). There were others, of course, but the smoking corner became like the "welcome committee" to all the others.

After a couple of days of doing nothing but going to the beach, eating tacos, doing yoga and having a very, very long morning coffee with the others, we decided to extend our stay by 2 days. Then by a week. The others, who had been staying there for months, were not surprised and actually warned us that it will happen.

 There went our motorbike trip and bye bye Oaxaca City. Nice to meet you peacefulness, spirituality, yoga, cacao ritual, extatic dancing and big whale in the ocean!! And the most beautiful, exciting and sought after moment of the day: the sunset. Seeing that magical ball of fire swiftly sinking into the ocean was out of this world! 

The village is not big and still has an original Mexican vibe to it. Little shops everywhere on the main street and plenty of restaurants for all tastes. It's quaint. People are super friendly and they take your "telenovela Spanish" for granted. I can say for a fact that my Spanish is a hundred times better than my German after 6 years in Austria 🤭 

There's (some foreign) investment and luckily, they all do their best to preserve the nature and stick to the local architectural design. Otherwise they would be kicked out by the community. 

Dusty roads take you to the sea or to the centre. Which reminded me of my grandparents' village, 30 years ago, and how unacceptable this would be now there. It's funny how we would still be considered just "poor", yet here it's called being one with the nature... 

To be continued...

P.S. No more AI tool this time, as you probably guessed:)

Stay safe!

Mexico. Part 1

Lounging under the blazing sun in the mystical realm of CAMP – not your typical camp, not quite a hostel, definitely not a hotel. It's like the love child of lodging options, and here I am for round two! CAMP is not for the faint-hearted seeking plush pillows... No no no...

This place is a magnet for "top-tier weirdos", and I say that with immense affection. Imagine sipping coffee with your newfound partner-in-crime until the sun decides it's time to stop being lazy and hit the beach. Or maybe you'll flex your muscles in some yoga on the mezzanine, or just bide your time until the afternoon shakes you into an ecstatic dance-off. It's like choosing your own adventure, with a side of salsa! Spicy salsa.

Now, let's talk about Zipolite, Mexico – the land where normalcy takes a vacation. It's like the cool kid compared to the overhyped East coast. Here, you get the touristy welcome without losing the authentic Mexican flavor. It's the place where your sun hat becomes your crown, and every day feels like a comedy show with a sprinkle of cultural insights. Zipolite – where beach days are mandatory and swimming a risky task. 

On a final note of part 1, don't be fooled by my exquisite literary writing. It was redone with THAT famous tool. If anyone is curious, I can send my original in private 🤭

Stay safe!