FROM THE "ROAD NOTES OF MAVEN": Road To European Union

FROM THE "ROAD NOTES OF MAVEN": Road To European Union, originally uploaded by mavenimagery® Officially Away....

FROM THE "ROAD NOTES OF MAVEN": Road To European Union
Image: Canon 4MP-self-portrait- 2002
Jpeg enhanced with IRET.

If there is a country that saves money on road, street, residential or any sign for any purpose, is Bulgaria. If you’re in residential area and driving to find your friend Evdokiya or Fidanka, you’ll have to ask direction orally, personally from street walkers who may or not speak any other language but Bulgarian, Russian and even Turkish but not any of Anglo-Saxon languages.
I stop and puke not because I saw the sign that says,‘ Sofia 350km’. But, I’d been trying to Google map my destination for almost an hour and found nothing! And I’ll find no sign of sort until the end of the 350km.

I buckle up and slam on the accelerator, tires spitting pebbles backwards, and I laugh, “Is this this the rough road? Oooh, the gravel road of death! Overlords! You screwballs almost got me. Rough road! Hahah!
Roll back to Cyber Internet Zone.
Chris throws his fine Italian leather briefcase on one of the empty chairs and heads to toward the bar, I call out to him for a Heineken, not that out of love this brand but I know they don’t have what I want, beer or liquor-wise. This is a Café, but let me make this clear: this is a café in Frankfurt. I’ve been to so many and I’ve learned a lesson at my own expense. Russian Tea Garden. Japanese Tea Garden and the list goes on. You’ll be offered a variety of herbal tea the first five minutes of your arrival and by five-minutes-twenty seconds, a hard body Russian blonde or an Estonian, Romanian Pamela Anderson will materialize on the bar-stool next to you. “Hey, there handsome,” she will say with an almost flawless English. “Wanna buy me a drink?” Dumb and naïve the person that you are, you’ll be knocked off of your feet, and you’ll blurt,” A chamomile tea for Mein Fräulein, bitte,” The Dyke-Face (very seldom a male) bartender will say irritably, “Have to buy her a drink not a tea. OK? Have problem, you talk to him”. She’ll gesture to grotesque looking-grew-up-near-a-nuclear-plant-man so-called “Order and Maintenance”. “Sure. No problem. Not at all. What would you like to drink…Miss?”
“My name is Petra. I’ll have a Krupnik,”
“A Krupnik?” Cool, yet odd name. You’ll think of a Russian Space Shuttle of Sputnik, and this is where’ll you realize your ass is strapped to a Space Shuttle Krupnik and the Launch countdown has begun…
“Yes, dear,” Petra will explain in a sweet tone and accent. The hard-body is trained by a freelance ex-KGB scooter. “It’s a Lithuanian cocktail. Krupnik is a sweet vodka made from 40%-50% alcohol, honey and up to 50 herbs. Krupnik is usually mixed with vodka, champagne or other liquors”.
“Sounds like a killer,” You’ll stammer.
“56.90 Euro, bitte” the dyke-Face will ask up front, and her raw, tobacco and alcohol-ridden hoarse voice will snap you into reality. “Credit card or cash?” As she glare you in the eyes, a shiver runs down your spine.
You freeze, her beady expressionless and menacing eyes locked with your baby day’s-out-innocent-eyes. She’s the beast in the Beauty and The Beast; not necessarily, you’re the ‘beauty’, but, say, a bit more appealing than her even if you have Mick Jagger’s ‘Horse face’. She’s the witch in Cinderella; She’s the Freak creation of Dr. Frankenstein…You? Just another unexposed to reality bites of life who grew up with a nick name ‘Infant terrible’, and not because you were a trouble child done nothing more than terrorizing gutless kids during your childhood then have become a CEO in a fast food chain management, growing a paunch and a double chin. The last time you’ve got laid was five Sabbath or Christmas Eve. Now, you’re in ‘Fool’s Paradise”; in the Whore n More Capital of Deuchchland, Frankfurt…where the ‘F’ stands for ‘F***k’.
“You take Amex?”
Amex? Dumb ass! It’s like asking a Wolfe whether he accepts a baby sheep for a dinner.
Now, she, The Hoarse-Voice, is in possession of your credit card…this is where a vague voice in the back of your head will tell you, You’re screwed beyond reparation.
After a few sips (those goddess-looking Vampires are trained to a perfectionist time trackers and you don’t want to waste their time) Petra, her not-fake-tits half-exposed, her blue eyes penetrating, will say, “Let’s go get more private…in the back”. Your ass is at a final countdown …5, 4, 3

Will continue...