Thirty-One: In Exile (08-31-2022)
Apologies for the unannounced and extended hiatus. I've now begun my exile. I'm writing this on a cool 23 degree morning with no air conditioning, bare feet on barely cool tile. The vast ocean between here and the glorious eternal empire of the United States is surprisingly unpresent, most likely because I did not see it while sleeping on the flight over, but less likely (more humorously) the result of the immense cultural and economic power of the United States here. The prevalence of English proficiency is not impressive considering its necessity on the world scale and the touristic leanings of much of this city.
So what is "this city"? I've chosen to do a bit where I say I'm in exile here and imply some sort of hiding by not saying publicly where I'm living now. Despite this forced mystique, it should be incredibly easy to deduce where I am from the jokes I'm telling, and, eventually, the iconic scenery I'm surrounded with.
I spent the last twenty-four (thirty-six?) hours in a jet-lag delirium, wandering a confusing street scheme while forcing myself to stay awake and avoid extending my incongruous circadian rhythm beyond the first days of arrival. This delirium, in tandem with hunger and thirst, led to poor decisions of dining and food purchases, and means I feel off on the wrong foot with this place, but gives a good benchmark of where not to eat and confirms the warnings many give about where to go and what to look out for.
I've also begun to notice how incredibly annoying a large portion of the native young people here are. The metrosexual, art-oriented class of American city dweller has done of fantastic job of botching the mannerisms and pompous attitude of Europe's young professionals.