ICH BIN EIN BERLINER
PODCETRTEK, Slovenia – Sometimes my job takes strange turns. Like today, which consisted of:
1. Hot-oil massage
2. Tippling with a Father Ernest, a Jesuit monk during an interview (ahem: sampling medicinal liqueur, that is)
3. A chocolate wrap
I smell like a donut.The things I suffer for art...
***
Earlier, I'd interviewed the spa director. “You must take all your clothes off when you visit the Terme Olimia,” Sabina warned, probably anticipating some Puritanical fit.
“No problem, travel writers get used to that,” I replied. “You know, show up for work, get nude...”
“How lucky you are!” she exclaimed.
I hadn't seen it as that much of a perk, but why not?
***
Naked – but for the de rigeur paper g-string – smeared in chocolate and encased in a waterbed, I am just so Trumpkin ab-fab that I fall asleep.
Really, I blame the 32-hour train journey. A personal jet would solve all these problems, I know.
Maybe after tax-refunds...
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