Chapter 44: Part II of My Trans-European Odyssey
Friends, get the margaritas ready, because the Tinderland roller coaster just made a crazy U-turn, and crashed, as always, straight into a concrete wall of silence.
Here is part two of my trans-European odyssey.
Ten on the heat scale, zero on the speech scale
He stood there in the doorway, flesh and blood. The door opens, and I realize the profile didn't lie. He's masculine, he's handsome, and my internal thermometer immediately jumps to a 10 out of 10. Something about his presence, in that stoic silence, felt sexy at first, intriguing, almost hypnotic. Clint Eastwood has arrived in Cascais.
But then, friends, communication difficulties presented themselves.
It turns out there's a huge difference between a guy who doesn't like to write scrolls on WhatsApp, and a guy who just... doesn't talk. At all. I sit across from him, using my best media, copy and communication tricks, throwing anecdotes, questions, conversational prompts and nada into the air. The man is introverted, closed, very reserved. His silence, which in the first few minutes seemed like a masculine passivity, turned out to be like the Berlin Wall. Not a single wrinkle on his face moved to signal to me that there was someone in the house. No opening for penetration, no emotional crack.
As if that weren't enough, dinner time arrived and the depth of the disaster became clear: the guy doesn't like bugs. Here I am, in Cascais, facing the Atlantic Ocean, surrounded by seafood from my dreams, having to think about what's left for us to eat. If there's no communication and no bugs, what on earth are we doing here?!
The geopolitical confusion and panic
Slowly, I felt myself starting to get tangled up in myself. My inner monologue, the one you know so well, started working overtime. What was he hiding behind that silence? I wondered. Is there something dark going on there, or is he just naturally like that and am I not a part of this story at all?
My usual doubts flooded me, and with them the painful realization: I'm not built to "flow" on the basis of nothing. I need words, I need humor, I need connection. A hug wouldn't hurt either.
And while I was immersed in existential angst in a room in Cascais, the gods of Tinderland decided to add some international drama to the plot. Suddenly, in the middle of nowhere, the Torah "banquet" that Bibi and Trump had organized for us there in the background erupted. Rumors began to circulate online about flight cancellations, and my eyes went dark. What's going to happen now?! What if the airspace closes and we really are stuck together, in one room, with deafening silence and no seafood?!
Fortunately, Trump had no patience for this matter, almost as much as I did, and the matter calmed down and settled down very quickly. The flights remained as usual, the danger was removed.
Connection, summary and what is between them
When I realized that communication was simply dead, and that there was no point in locking yourself in a room just because it was part of a fantasy that didn't really happen in reality, I decided to cut it off elegantly. I looked at him and threw him a lighthearted jab: "Say, you don't really know Lisbon... So go. Travel, get to know the city, have fun, and from there you can take your flight back to Israel."
He took the bag and left.
I'm now sitting alone again in front of the breeze of Cascais, wishing him nothing but happiness, sincerely and without a shred of cynicism. He's a good man, he's just not for me. And I'm probably not for him either.
And me? What I wish for myself, I will keep for myself today. How much more can I ask for? All I wanted was a character in a book, and I forgot that in books the main characters don't really have to answer when you ask them something.
See you next time, friends. I promise that this time I'll check the chatter level in advance. 🥂
Next!
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