Normally I'm an excellent sleeper. I have had many monumental naps, feats of such intense mental concentration that friends and colleagues have stood flabbergasted before me while I slumbered in situations that no other man alive could have possibly achieved. In 1998 I was in Amsterdam during the world cup soccer championship when the Dutch were playing Argentina in a game that was said to be one of the most exiting in the tournament. In a bar full of Dutch soccer fans screaming their heads off I decided to rest my head against the wall of the bar for a second or two. The next thing I knew an hour passed by and I felt refreshed. The Dutch won the game 2-1 incidentally, eliminating Argentina from the world cup that year.
However, the past two nights have been more akin to rest than sleep. I get to bed alright, usually tucking myself into my sleeping bag and snoring happily within a few minutes but then I wake up and cannot for the life of me fall asleep again. Totally unlike me.
Yesterday was a pretty uneventful day. Kind of like the day before. Shawn and I took the advice of our hosts, Alex and Kasia, to hit up a hookah bar called El-Mate, which was located to the right of a small flight of stairs in the nook of a hidden courtyard of a group of buildings a ten-minute walk from where they lived. If it sounds easy to get to then I am doing a poor job of confusing you because it wasn't. When we did end up finding it the place looked like it was closed. A small outdoor covered sitting area was overlooked by a "viva la cuba libre" mural to the left of which was a an inconspicuous red door. Half-expecting the door to be locked I gave it a quick tug to expose a huge Cuban flag hanging at the bottom of a small flight of stairs. The sweet smell of fruit-infused tobacco wafted up the stairs. Right away I knew we found the place.
Inside the decor was a mix of latin American art and communist memorabilia. The passionate nature of the Cuban art combined with the subdued and relaxed arabesque setting of a nargile cafe were matched perfectly. We sat down, ordered some mate, a nargile with peach flavoured tobacco and milk instead of water and a bunch of sushi, just for the audacity of it. Everything was perfect but the nargile was monumentally perfect. The owner kept switching out the coals every 20 or so minutes and every time he did so we expected the sweet peaches and cream taste of the smoke to be diminished. Wrong. We smoked that motherfucker for three hours and it only got better.
The owner of the nargile part of the business is a man called Adriano. He is a great man. He mixes and flavours tobacco to create combinations of flavoured shisha with a quality that I have never experienced. He is a great man. Very typical of great shisha master mixers, he is an Arab from Lebanon who moved to the Ukraine to pursue businesses aside from nargile cafes. But his passion for his art is extraordinary and I felt lucky that I was able to taste the fruits of his work. A great man.
Shawn ordered a few cappuccinos towards the tail end of our experience and I made my way to the cash to settle the bill. I use my visa whenever possible to save on exchange fees and cash advance fees that my bank charges me a criminal 5$ per withdrawal for. However, the machine wasn't working at the moment so Adriano suggested I sit down and continue smoking the same bowl of never-ending deliciousness. Surely he was joking. Over three hours of hitting this milk-filled water-bong hard was simply too much for any normal shisha bowl. But nay, the motherfucker kept on giving. Another half hour passed while Adriano and I exchanged pleasantries, facebook and skype info and promises to see each other the next day when he wasn't working, hitting the hookah all the while and feeling great. The machine finally took my payment and we were happily on our way back to our hosts' house for dinner and a movie. I cooked some split pea soup and we watched "Everything is Illuminated" before hitting the sac.
But sleep did not come.
I stayed up late, trying not to hate my ex for being such a bitch, writing about my experiences, chatting with friends online and being generally underproductive while trying to exhaust my body to the point of it giving up. At 4:30 in the a.m. I finally turned in again only to wake up earlier than everyone else. I kept at it and eventually the time passed. It was 2:30 before I left he house to meet up with Adriano outside our hosts' house for some more hookah at Linass cafe. It was clearly inferior. My body started to complain about its abuse and I was ready for a quick little nap. I tucked my eyes under the rim of my hat, rested my chin on my closed fist which was supported by the armchair's armrest through my elbow and bid farewell to the world. An hour later and Shawn was shaking me form my slumber. "Hey, I'm off to get Alex, here" he said, handing me the pipe. I slurped down some smoke and what was left of my espresso allonge and left with our hosts to eat some sausages in fried bread from a store-front fast food joint.
They were taking us to a cool bar with a clinical theme. "You'll like this place Pavlos" said Kasia as we were walking along at her second trimester waddling pace. "You can order very creative shots, some of which you have to take from between the waitresses' legs." "What? Really?" I replied, faking an interest that I knew was expected of me. "Yeah" added Alex, "There are other drinks that you can order where you have to wear a metal helmut full of alcohol which is lit on fire while you slam down three drinks in a row..." "Whoa! Cool!" I added, being slightly more interested in the place than I was before. As we approached we passed in front of a hair salon and I decided it was about time to trim my hair and beard so I stopped in for a cut.
