"I Used to Be Beautiful..." -- Strasbourg, France

My Flixbus arrived in Strasbourg at around six o'clock pm on May 22nd. A young Brazilian chap had agreed to host me for my two nights in the city, and had even offered to meet me at the bus station and walk me home. 

Which is a big deal for this lady. 

Brazilian's couchsurfing profile was mostly empty, but he had about twenty references from guys and girls, so he seemed safe enough. 

Although I don't much like the bit where he says his occupation is "World Traveller." And that he can teach philosophy. People like that tend to be full of themselves. 

"Hello!" I kissed the Bald Brazilian on both cheeks. 

Only three more days of kissing! Woohoo! Then back to handshakes and hugs for two months. 

We began the twenty minute walk back to Brazilian's place, and it immediately became apparent that my host was a talker. Which is fine, as having a host who can happily chat for hours takes the onus off of me, an introvert, to supply discussion topics. 

But still... it does feel a bit frustrating, I thought as he adeptly commandeered one of my few attempts to interject. I don't like the kinds of conversations wherein people walk all over me. Because of a need to be right or say it first or whatever. Seems like a battle, not a connection.

Bald Brazilian, who had taken two yoga classes in his life, spent an inordinate amount of time lecturing me, a yoga teacher, about how to practice yoga. 

So, I kept my thoughts inside my head as he blazed on. And on. So... when it comes to love, I feel like it's more important to give what the person needs to receive and not what you, the giver, would like to receive. That feels narcissistic. To assume that everyone wants what you want and needs what you need. And when it comes to teaching, I feel like good teachers a) only teach what they know, and b) only teach what the other person needs to know. I know that two plus two is four, but I'm not going to tell a math professor that two plus two is four. 

I feel like this guy just needs to teach. And he doesn't care whether or not people already know what he wants to share. He's gonna, gotta share it, boy howdy. He'd probably be okay lecturing the Dalai Llama about the benefits of meditation. 

"I used to be beautiful," Bald Brazilian reminisced. "I used to have hair. I was handsome. I would walk into a room and people would stop what they were doing to look at me, and you could tell they were thinking, "this is a handsome guy!" But I'm about to start traveling, and I want to do what's easiest. And having no hair is easier than having hair. So I shaved my head... and now I'm not so handsome. But I am not vain." 

"Yeah, I understand. It's hard to -- "

"I used to be so beautiful..." Bald Brazilian sighed. "But now... now I am not so beautiful... but I am not so vain." 

Yeah. Uh. You said that. 

We dropped off my bags in Bald Brazilian's flat, then walked over to meet some of his friends for snacks and company. What was supposed to be a one hour visit turned into two hours, and the golden sun melted into red behind historic shuttered buildings on one of my two nights in Strasbourg.

I mean... I'm happy to hang out with these people. Bald Brazilian's friends are lovely. Drunk, high and lovely. But... I would have appreciated going out and exploring. Since I'm here for such a short time.

"We should go out," Bald Brazilian said two hours into the stay. Then smoked another joint. And didn't go out.

This is Couchsurfing, I guess. 

Never stay with a "World Traveller/Philosopher" again. They just stay indoors, get high and talk bullshit. 

"We should go out," Bald Brazilian murmured through the haze of smoke. An hour later.

"I'd love to!" I said, leaping to my feet and slipped into a sweater. It was after ten o'clock and this party girl was beginning to fade, but I desperately wanted to see a smidgen of this famous Christmas city before ending my first day.

"I used to be beautiful," Bald Brazilian beat the very dead horse, "but I don't want to focus on my vanity. To be so superficial."

"You know," I spoke quickly as to not be interrupted, "I went through a similar situation. In 2014, I decided to get rid of everything I wore or did simply for my vanity's sake. Because I was curious. I wanted to know who I was outside of that. Who I was on the other side of expectations. This included not shaving my legs or armpits. But for the longest time, I just had to explain my body hair. "Oh, I'm doing this vanity experiment," I would say to my hosts. I would never just allow myself to be. Unexplained. Unjustified. Enough as is. And then I realized that by always telling everyone about my vanity project, I was, in fact, being quite vain. A different, more insidious kind of vanity. I was a vain hippie. And there are few things worse than a vain hippie."

"Yes," Bald Brazilian agreed absent-mindedly. "Now I am not beautiful... I was SO beautiful... but now... now I am not vain at all."

Strasbourg is magical at night. Glowing, yellow light illuminating the river Ill and the ancient wood and stone buildings on its banks.

"This is how Germany looked before the war," Bald Brazilian informed me. Then turned to his GoPro and said something similar in Portuguese for his youtube channel.

We stopped in a small park beside the Ill, and to my chagrin, Bald Brazilian and his friends pulled out yet more beer and rolled more joints.

Well... there goes my chance to explore the city by night.

"Anyone want to try acro yoga?" I cheerfully asked my drunk, high friends.


"I'll try acro yoga!" Bald Brazilian enthusiastically hopped onto my feet. "Make sure you are recording for my youtube channel!" he told one of his friends.

These are the people who make me never want a youtube channel. The people whose real lives begin to revolve around their online lives. 

We played around on the banks of the Ill until midnight. When I finally worked up the gumption to say, "Hey, I'm feeling really tired. Would you show me the way home? I need to go to bed." 

"You're tired?" my host's face dropped.

"Yes. I'm exhausted. I say on my profile that I'm like Cinderella -- I only last until midnight."

"Okay, I'll take you home," Bald Brazilian promised. As he puffed a joint.

...

"Hey, I really am very tired," I irritably interrupted a conversation half an hour later, shoulders slumping and eyelids drooping.

WHY won't people just let me fucking sleep? 

"Let's go," my host stood up. 

YES!

"We're taking a different way back. It's more interesting," Bald Brazilian led me across a wooden bridge, lamplight glistening on the rippling water below.

"That's fine," I sighed, too tired to argue.

All I want is bed, I thought of Bald Brazilian's two cushion couch longingly.

But Bald Brazilian proceeded to lead me on an hour and a half long tour of Strasbourg.

Strasbourg's Notre Dame

It's all beautiful. But this is what I wanted to do three hours ago. Now all I want is bed. And that seems impossible for me to get. 

Bald Brazilian was either blind or deliberately ignoring the fact that I was falling off my feet with fatigue. 

"You have to see the oldest restaurant in Strasbourg. I used to work there and can get us in."

"Uh-huh," I didn't bother with another no.

I'm so glad I only have two nights with this person. Gosh. Is he so focused on how not vain he is that he can't tell that I'm having a horrible time? 

 We explored the restaurant. Which was stunning and unique, but not what I wanted.

I would rather be dreaming right now. 

Finally, Bald Brazilian began to lead me in the direction of home. And the couch. On which I would pass out before my head hit the armrest.

"Have you tried martial arts?" Bald Brazilian asked as we walked the final, empty street.

"When I was a kid. Like, nine or ten. I got a yellow belt in Jiu Jitsu. I liked it back then."

"I've practiced for twelve years," Bald Brazilian demonstrated his prowess with a high kick to a telephone pole.

"Nice."

"Hold out your hands."

I kept my glare inside out and held out my hands.

"Now, try to get away," Bald Brazilian held me firm.

I hate this, I hate this, I hate this. 

"Now punch me," Bald Brazilian demanded after he'd taught me how to wriggle free.

"No," I finally said, my body beginning to malfunction at the threat of violence. Even violence that I was about to commit to a willing... victim?

"Come on, punch me," Bald Brazilian put my hand on his abs.

"I don't want to," I shrugged my shoulders and withdrew.

"Punch me!"

I reluctantly directed my fist to Bald Brazilian's torso, alarm bells ringing wildly in my head.

"Not like that," Bald Brazilian laughed at my hesitant punch. "Punch me hard."

"No," I insisted, feeling a bit queasy. "I. Don't. Want. To."


"Why not? It won't hurt me," Bald Brazilian rubbed his abs proudly.

"I don't like violence."

"Come on."

"No, I'm not comfortable with that," I turned away definitively.

Do people just not hear me? Is it like I'm not even talking? Does my voice blend in with the breeze?

No. 

No. 

NO. 

...

Nothing.  

"Can I have a blanket?" I asked upon finally stumbling into Bald Brazilian's bedroom.


"Well, I can give you a blanket, but there are three sleeping options," Bald Brazilian started. And I grimaced, knowing exactly where he was going.

"The least preferable option is sleeping on a couch in the living room. It can get very cold in there. The next option would be sleeping on this couch in my room. The best option is sleeping in my bed."

And THERE it is. Fuck. Knew that was coming.

"This couch is fine. As long as I have a blanket," I said, motioning to the couch in his room, which was quite far from his bed.

"My bed really is the best option," Bald Brazilian insisted. "There's plenty of room and I don't move at night."

"I'm sure you don't, but I prefer the couch. Thanks, though," I conjured up my firmest tone possible.

"I think you're making a mistake."

"Maybe I am. But I love couches.

"I wouldn't touch you. In the bed."

"This isn't about you. I just don't like to share beds."

Lesson one of trying to stand up for yourself in a non-aggressive way -- make it all about you. They can't get mad if it's about you. Only frustrated. Don't piss off the guy who just demonstrated his martial arts skills by high kicking a telephone pole. 

"Are you sure you won't sleep in the bed?"


"I am, thanks for the blanket," I grabbed the comforter Bald Brazilian regretfully lobbed in my direction.

Jackass, I thought as I curled up on the couch.

Dawn came early, and I slid into my sandals and strolled down the street towards the Ill. 

I love when unpleasant hosts sleep forever. Gives me some much needed alone time. 

Because even a city as stunning as Strasbourg would be destroyed by Bald Brazilian's incessant "I used to be beautiful!" 
 

Poor guy. Must be so lonely and insecure. Which doesn't excuse him for not respecting my needs and my no. 

But still.  

With great regret, I walked back to the Bald Brazilian's flat at around noon. I'd promised to teach him a vinyasa routine for his youtube channel and to share a bit more acro yoga.

He's going to be NO fun to teach, I thought, remembering past students who would always disrupt the flow to chime in about how their teacher did the pose.

He's going to be like that. Even though he's only taken two classes. He's going to be like that. 

Bald Brazilian took me the long way to Orangerie Parc, recording for YouTube all the while.

Bald Brazilian set up his GoPro, and then I spent a tedious hour sharing a vinyasa routine.

After which, Bald Brazilian noticed that he had forgotten to push "record" on the GoPro. So asked me to do the routine again.

"No," I exhaled. "I don't think so."

Bald Brazilian knew some hippies who were jamming in another park that evening, so we walked down to join them. I stopped at a Carrefour to buy some cider and fruit for myself, and Bald Brazilian asked me to buy him a bag of peanuts. He'd forgotten his wallet, but promised to pay me back (he never did).

At the park, I started chatting with a few of the people who spoke English, and the French version of Cards Against Humanity came up.

"Oh, I played just the other day!" I laughed. "It was so much fun. I think my favorite match was when the black card was 'What do you give blind children to make them feel better?' and the white card I played was 'Candy Crush.'"

The others chuckled, but Bald Brazilian solemnly inserted, "Yes. But the worst kind of blindness is not the physical one."

Are you kidding me? All I want to do is punch him right now -- even though I hate violence -- and ask, "Is the worst punch the physical punch?" 

Blurgh. 

How do I always keep ending up with the crazies? 

I spent two glorious hours practicing acro yoga, watching jugglers and slackliners and listening to accordions and cellos. Then I told my host, "Hey, I need to go home. I'm tired. Can I have the keys? If you call me on whatsapp when you arrive, I can open the door for you and let you in."

Bald Brazilian handed me the keys, and I walked the forty-five minutes home. Thankful that I did not have the "physical blindness" and could enjoy the gorgeous city of Strasbourg by night.