My Epic Adventure

(written yesterday evening)

Well, I was kinda stupid today. But I do not regret it - on the contrary, I am planning to repeat things like this... only in a more sensible, gradual way.
The story did not start with Agatha and her connections to a certain tour guide; nor with Edrise and her totally beautiful district; not even with ASN and the stone lady with the palm tree branch. It started with 18-year-old me, full of expectation, entering the recruiting office. I was in a good shape, for I had been preparing myself for years, and expecting to get better - once the real training starts. But, as many times in my life, expectations failed. My father, 30-something years ago, blessed his fortune that he had the bad eyes that run in our family - and I cursed the same circumstance. The difference? He was in one of the obligatory generations, and I one of those who were not mandated to be „dead to the world“ for two years, but wanted it. Long story short, with a rejection letter and (from a different, more familiar place: my high school) an abysmal math score in my pocket, I left my frightening and restrictive home for an equally frightening but more lenient (or so I thought) big-town existence, to become a rather self-conflicted liberal arts major, and to sink into a half-workaholic, half-careless state of being, leading to the shameful fact that I did not do virtually any exercise for three years.
I thought there is no point. Once rejected, always unable; look what happened with the dyscalculia treatment thing; and so on - negative self-talk, that is what I did. But then I started to feel older, weaker, and I got friggin scared. When ASN took me around last Christmas to the Castle and the stuff in that area, it was great, but it required more effort than it should have. And it became only worse. So I wanted to do something.
And something I did indeed. Agatha told me about a tour group that regularly takes trips to the few mountainy regions of Hungary, and I immediately signed up. Our train left this morning; 16 people, 17 kilometres, 800 m level difference. However, when we got there, it started to dawn on me that this is not going to happen. I had to stop after approx. 2 kilometres on the very first section, and was sent back to the village we started out from. On horizontal terrain of course I am not that bad, but this was on average 30%, and it hurt like a bitch (I grew up in a perfectly flat area, so no surprise there). The shame almost hurt more, but the guide said he will contact me later and devise a gradual plan for me so next year I will be able to do this kind of thing (we will see if he does - but even if not, I have some sort of a goal now). But then came the bonus.
As always in remote villages, the bus back was due to get there three hours after I got back to the village itself. So, to kill time, I entered the local dram shop located conveniently right next to the bus stop. I ordered (as usual) a double Jäger - and the only other guest, a 60-something man dressed almost exactly like me, chatted me up. He was so different from city people - friendlier, more attentive and daring, and a lot more generous. I told him about my predicament - the tour fiasco, and everything that led to it -, and he invited me for lunch in his house. We knew each other for like 20 minutes! But I accepted, as I had plenty of time and was not really looking forward to the dry bread and honey I brought with me. And there I received a plateful of totally awesome bean soup, breaded-fried apple, potato and meat, and local high-quality red wine (and if I say that, it had to be high-quality indeed, because I do not really like wine). But not only that. We shared heart matters with each other (his being a widower of 5 years, my various attempts at dating girls, but also non-romantic adventures - well, the stuff men talk about ), which was surprising because these kinds of things get discussed with friends a lot (and my father even more), but not complete strangers. Maybe that is why it felt so good. But it gets better - we went down to a real, huge wine cellar (even more drinking, lol, and he was impressed how well I could stand it), and even had a brief shooting practice! (This was my very first time - compared to the US we are ridiculously restrictive -, and I did quite well ) And he kept telling me I should never give up. Now of course, everybody I know has told me that at least once, but I could see that this man meant it. He gave me two apples as a parting gift, and I was off to the bus, then the train, then the usual underground line - but I skipped the usual tram (line 52) and came on foot from Border Square. This may even become a habit. After all, the tour guide said that it starts with little, gradual, regular things.
As a result of the events, I lost some money, a knife, and perhaps some of my face (or most of it), but gained two apples, a deer femur (at least the locals told me it is a deer femur; I found it in the woodland), a great meal, and an astonishing human experience. The weird thing is that I instinctively expect strangers to be like this, every one of them, and get hurt really deeply when they deceive me or let me down. Surrounded by treachery and cold-heartedness, I almost forgot that there is another way. And now I have been reminded, for which I am grateful.
And another thing - I am as certain as possible that I will go back to that region because from the bus window I saw a sign in another village that advertised a private WW2 museum. You know me - I gotta see that; and when I will, I will probably visit my new friend too. There is one thing I will not do, however, and that is to forget.

Lesson learned: Undoing these three years (in which I did not gain any weight - which seems odd but not quite if you take into account that red meat has a lot more density than fat and stuff) will not be quick and/or easy (though it can be fun). But it seems that in my life nothing is quick and/or easy. Other people get math scores in the upper average range with no effort - I could reach the lower end of average with all my brain, time and money thrown at it; other people are sexually active in their teens - I lost my virginity at 21 and with my unpreferred gender; other people are not turned down by the army; etc. - but what other people can and can not do is none of my concern. (Logical brain got it a while ago - maybe one of these days the emotional one gets it too.) Compare yourself to yourself, not anybody else, because it only leads to feeling fucked. Now, that does not mean that I accept the notion that everybody has a right to exist - nah, that has to be earned (yes, that is my old national socialist self talking, but in this matter he is right). But sitting down and complaining about how you cannot earn it will not earn it for you, that is 100%. Anything else - might as well work. Or might not - but you cannot know until you tried.