The Honeymoon Part 2: The Last Happy Days

Lock we put on a bridge in Paris--we threw both of our keys to the lock in the Seine to symbolize our eternal love

Barcelona 

We arrived in Barcelona still in our sangria stained garbs from the San Fermin festival. A guy with a top hat opened the door of the cab for us as we arrived at our five star hotel. I can't speak for my husband, but I most certainly felt a bit out of place. We had just spent 4 days up in the mountains wearing the same clothes for the entire time. I had one giant dread in my hair after going so many days washing, but not brushing, my hair. Our white garb from the San Fermin festival was stained many, many times over with red wine and sangria that we had either spilled on ourselves, or someone else had spilled on us, during the festival. San Fermin was basically a big party with non-stop drinking 24 hours a day for as long as the festival lasted. For someone who loves to drink as much as myself, it was perfect!

However, eventually we had to return to reality, and that reality seemed almost surreal after San Fermin. This reality included me starting to detox after all the alcohol I had consumed over the weeks prior. I was getting cramps in my calves, getting the shakes, and getting very, very nervous. I had a few Xanax with me, so I started to cut back the drinking by consuming less alcohol, and using the Xanax when I started to feel symptomatic. I really didn't want to keep drinking at that point, but I was physically addicted. I never had a conversation about any of that with my husband. To this day, I'm not sure if he knew what was going on with me, or if he knew that I knew what was going on with me. It just seemed like a bad time to say, "Sorry, babe, I know this is our honeymoon, but I'm detoxing from all the drinking I've been doing."

Paris

Paris was amazingly Romantic. Garrett absolutely loved Paris. In Paris, we shared some of our most peaceful moments in months. One afternoon we brought a blanket, some food and some wine and had a picnic out in the gardens in front of the Louvre for a good portion of the afternoon. We relaxed, people watched, napped, cuddled--it was amazing. Another night, we bought some food and wine at the grocery store and ate a little picnic right on the banks of the Seine.

My detox continued in Paris. We actually had to go to the pharmacy once because I was getting such severe cramps in my calves and I was beginning to worry about my potassium levels and the effect that both the drinking, and the detoxing, were having on my heart.

But, I got through with the little Xanax I had left. I had to divvy it up into smaller doses to make it last longer, but that seemed far more comfortable and sensible than detoxing off of alcohol and Xanax in a foreign country.

In spite of my growing discomfort as a result of my detox, we were still able to do some fun touristic things. We went to the Louvre, and dashed out after seeing the Mona Lisa to go to Hemingway's favorite bar: Harry's New York Bar. I think we both agreed that it was the best tourist attraction we had been to in Paris. It was small, quaint and exactly like one would imagine "Hemingway's Bar" to look and feel like. I even got a picture of myself under the Ithaca College pennant that was hung on the wall there. We went to other Hemingway haunts, but that was by far the best. We also took our token boat ride down the Seine, climbed the Eiffel tower, and went to Notre Dame. At Notre Dame my husband told me that he was creeped out by the fact that I would actually pray when we went into the churches. I did not tell him the great peace it had brought me in my younger days, that I did it every day when I lived in Venice, or that it was a part of my cultural heritage that I deeply valued and to which I felt deeply connected. That would be an argument for another time.

At Harry's Bar in Paris under the Ithaca College pennant

Reykjavik

In an effort to save money, I bought a ridiculous amount of vodka during our layover in Iceland. I bought it in duty free, and I wasn't supposed to use any of it until I went through customs in the US. I started drinking it right there in the airport, and was completely out of it half way through the flight back to Boston. 

Akron, OH

Akron was interesting. It was neither bad nor good. We had to stay in a rather dumpy, antiquated motel in Hudson because it was the only motel my husband's employer would cover that also allowed dogs. It was pretty gross. It smelled, we saw raw sewage leaking out of one of the rooms, it had bugs in the bed, and it was a generally unpleasant place to be.

At that point, staying at home was not an option. In the months prior to the wedding, my husband had been away two weeks of every month. I didn't feel OK going a whole month without him at that point. Particularly in a place where I didn't know anyone and could barely manage to navigate around (Orlando). Too much had been going on in the previous months, and though I didn't tell him, I needed him.

I spent all day drinking wine out of a box and watching every season of the bachelor I could find on the internet. Smug in my newlywed life, I very much enjoyed judging the relationship decisions of other people. I think it made me feel good to believe that I had figured out the secret to love when none of those other people had had any success. Little did I know. 

The Bun in the Oven

Shortly after returning for Akron, I found out I was pregnant. We had conceived some time during that trip.

The Honeymoon Part 1: How to Have a Drinking Binge in 5 Different Countries While Putting a Bun in the Oven

**Note to reader: Husband has asked for his height to be more accurately represented in stick figure drawings--husband is, in fact, taller than self, and have, unconsciously made myself "larger than life." Thankfully, husband also has an amazing sense of humor.

The Honeymoon

The Honeymoon served as a temporary antidote to the bitter taste in my mouth left by the wedding. In the back of my mind were still lingering memories of all the embarrassing, reveling and uncomfortable situations I had put myself in when preparing for, and actually participating in, the wedding. That being said, our honeymoon was undoubtedly the best time of my life. Our honeymoon was not the relaxing, beach-side trip that my husband had envisioned. As the wedding had largely been tailored to his wants, needs, and ideas, he let me have free reign with the honeymoon, and I took it!

I have had a lifelong obsession with Ernest Hemingway. The Sun Also Rises is my favorite novel of all time, and in retrospect, it is actually quite fitting for me. In all truth, my Hemingway obsession borders on creepy. And by "bordering" on creepy, I mean it actually is creepy. I think about Ernest Hemingway more than any young woman should think about any old, dead writer that was clearly an alcoholic and depressive. I actually asked an Ouija board once if I had known Ernest Hemingway in a past life--and by asked once, I actually mean many times. When we went on vacation to Key West for his birthday one year, my husband very patiently allowed me to try to "talk" to "Ernest Hemingway" on a ghost tracking/voice device that I had downloaded to my iPad during the trip. Can you imagine being on your birthday vacation with your husband/wife and having to follow that person around an island with an iPad asking said iPad if they were a lover of Hemingway in a past life? Yep, I did that.

Being actually quite tolerant of my little "quirks" like that, my husband allowed me to tailor our honeymoon to fit the path of Brett and Jake in the novel, The Sun Also Rises.  Thus, we spent quite a large portion of our trip at the San Fermin festival in Pamplona and at all of Hemingway's favorite haunts in Paris.

However, due to the fact that an overwhelmed drunkard planned the trip, things didn't necessarily always go smoothly.

Paris 

After a long overnight flight from Boston through Reykjavik, we arrived in Paris for the first time. I was hungover as I had drank quite a bit in the airport and on the plane before I passed out. I had also let a few small details fall through the cracks when I started to become overwhelmed with all the details involved with planning a wedding and honeymoon. Rather than take a cab from one airport to another in order to make it on time to our flight to Bologna, we decided to take a train between airports. We did not make it in time, and ended up stranded in a tiny airport outside of Paris. The tickets were non-refundable. This was my husband's first time in Europe ever, and within just hours of landing, things had already become overwhelming. We lost our non-refundable tickets and had to purchase new ones to Pisa. We stayed the night there before taking a train to the Tuscan countryside to meet my old roommate from Venice, Vera, where she was currently living and working.

Pisa/Bologna

There continued to be a series of debacles in Italy. First, when we arrived in Pisa, the hotel we had booked in Paris was closed. We had to ask some students going to school in Pisa where we could affordable stay at the last minute. They kindly helped us. Yet, for good reason, my husband remained a bit weary after the day's events and was frustrated that he couldn't understand what I was saying while I was speaking Italian to the students. I tried my best to translate the entire conversation, but a lot was said, and eventually got to lazy to translate anything but the highlights of the conversation. It was actually quite rude and inconsiderate of me.

The next day, we climbed the leaning tower of Pisa and took the train to Bologna. It was beautiful. We arrived in Bologna and waited for my friend Vera at a restaurant near the train station. Due to lack of WiFi, we were unable to successfully let her know where we were before we had to catch our plane to Barcelona. I drank quite a bit of red wine while we waited and was very drunk and sleepy by the time we got to the airport. Our flight got delayed and I went off on a drunken, embarrassing rant about the inconvenience of it all. My poor husband, I caused quite a bit of a scene.

When we arrived in Barcelona, we rented a super fast car and drove through the Spanish countryside it the middle of the night. We arrived in Pamplona just as the day was breaking, and went promptly to bed at the hotel.

Pamplona

I want to preface this part of the story by saying that there is no way that my words could do justice to the experience we had in Pamplona. It was a once in a lifetime sort of thing, and I am in no way able to replicate such an experience in words. I can say, with certainty, that my husband feels the same. The San Fermin festival was, without question, the best time I've ever had in my entire life. First of all, Pamplona is almost an entire town devoted to the festival and Ernest Hemingway. Thereby, it is the coolest place I've ever been. And yes, we did run with the bulls. 

The morning after we arrived in Pamplona, we woke up and looked out the window to see our rental car being towed by the police for parking in an area and not paying the parking fee. This had us both in a bit of a panic as my husband and I garbled some strange blend of Italian, French, English and Spanish in an effort to communicate with the officers. Through a series of gestures, my husband was able to resolve the issues (albeit after a bit of a panic) with the officers.

Crazed look of excitement at the discovery of Hemingway bar

We then proceeded to the festival, buying festival appropriate garb along the way. We meandered through the maze that was the old part of the city for a while before I felt myself drawn in one particular direction. We walked up the crowded, narrow walk-way before I eventually found a large square where people were eating, drinking, and playing music. Just moments after we entered the square, I found the famous "Hemingway" bar. I was elated. And by elated I mean almost manic and most certainly crazed. We grabbed a seat and sat down to start drinking some sangria.

We sat down, ate a bit, drank a bit, and stuck up a conversation with two big guys from the DC area that were going to run with the bulls the next day. After describing my lifelong Hemingway obsession to these two strangers in my crazed elation. One of the two men told me that he knew the grandson of Ernest Hemingway and he would be happy to introduce me to him the following day. Before I even had enough time to react, Hemingway's grandson and great-grandson entered the bar. He brought me to meet him and needless to say, I made a bit of a scene. Upon my introduction to the family members of Ernest Hemingway, tears welled up in my eyes and I began to cry. I told his grandson how much his grandfather's writing meant to me. He looked at me curiously and said, "It doesn't make you depressed?"

I replied, "No, his writing has saved my life in my darkest hour. When I read his writing, I don't feel quite so alone in the world." He seemed a bit taken aback by my answer, but he accepted it and we chit chat a bit about the festival before I returned to my seat to take it all in. It was one of the most meaningful experiences in my life, and I am very grateful that my husband was there with me at such a big moment in my life.

Me, Hemingway's grandson, and one of the guys from DC.

We ended up staying a while after that talking to the guys from DC about the experience of running with the bulls, and going to a bull fight. After about an hour of questions, we decided to run with the bulls the following morning, and scalped tickets to the bullfight that night.

The bullfight was a very unique experience, but we did not make it very long. As a vegetarian and avid animal lover, I had to turn away when the bullfighters began stabbing the bulls. My husband watched the first bull die, and then we left. On our way back to the hotel, we ran into one of the two guys from DC. He didn't even make it as long as we did. He had left the fight almost immediately after it started, and went to drink while waiting for his friend at the Hemingway bar. We chatted with him for a bit before returning to the hotel early so we could get up the next morning and run with the bulls.

We woke up while it was still dark the day we ran with the bulls. There were still drunken people wandering the streets from the 24-hour San Fermin festival. This time I was sober. I wasn't sober because I was concerned for my safety, I was sober because the festival officials kick the drunken people out of the pen for their own safety. Running with the bulls, unlike most things, was way more important to me than drinking. My husband and I waited in the pen for over an hour before the bulls were released. It was chaotic and exhilarating. At one point, some little French guy asked me, in French, what direction he should be running when the bulls were released. We were astounded that people were running with even less knowledge of what they were about to do than us. We had gone through the course with all the details the day before with the guys from DC. While we were inside the pen, with the spectators safely on the other side of the large wooden fences, the event organizers showed videos of people getting gored by the bulls in years past, and a brief visual description of the rules and warnings. An hour to stand there and think about what dangerous thing you are about to do is a lot. We were both nervous.

Finally, the moment arrived and the bulls were released. We stayed safely in the middle of the pack while the bulls ran past us. Some people had fallen and were walked/run over in the panic. But eventually all the bulls ran by and we were safe. In my moment of victory, I ran alone into the middle of the empty pen. I was shouting, laughing and raising my fists in the air in celebration of my survival of the event. I looked to my right, and a bull was running right beside me, literally two feet away. It was the bull that got away from the pack. The most dangerous and unpredictable bull in the entire event.Luckily, he seemed like he had more pressing concerns than goring me, and he trotted on by with an almost insulting indifference.

The whole event was invigorating and unforgettable. I highly recommend running with the bulls at least once in life. We got to the end of the course and discussed our experience with the two guys from DC. They had had an equally exciting run. We saw Hemingway's grandson again at another bar before we walked back to the hotel.

Before we left, we went to the spot that Hemingway allegedly had his heartfelt and heartbreaking discussion with "Brett" described in The Sun Also Rises. We took pictures and took it all in. And the remainder of the festival we relaxed, listened to live music in tiny little squares and back walkways. It was the happiest, most romantic time I've ever had.

Spot described in The Sun Also Rises

It is hard to believe that I will ever be happier than I was with my husband in Pamplona. The experience was almost magical, and to this day seems like a surreal dream in the midst of our crushing reality.

The truest sentence that I know: I love Garrett

“Oh, Jake,” Brett said, “we could have had such a damned good time together.”
Ahead was a mounted policeman in khaki directing traffic. He raised his baton. The car slowed suddenly pressing Brett against me.
“Yes,” I said. “Isn’t it pretty to think so?”- Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises

For Full Blog: mcwooski.blogspot.com

On Hemingway: http://www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/hemingways-hidden-metafictions