March 24, 2016
Flying Virguliya was a terrible, terrible idea. I left Embrea at 3am and arrived in Vorga 30 hours later - I had to stop over in some cattle shed of an airport in northern Songia and slept on the floor for a while, surrounded by burly Sharfics swigging . I had the same goat curry on both legs of the flight, which was actually alright, and the stewardess was pretty fine, but I was totally crashed by the time I landed in Vorga's airport.
Oh, Vorga International Airport.
So first thing: passport control. The ornery fucker in the booth dragged me into a side room with a bunch of his uniformed friends. and started waving my passport around asking questions. Why is a Wallasean in Vorga? Am I an Embrean spy? Am I with the Quiberonnaise? Perhaps a Praetonian hitman?
Anyway after about thirty minutes they let me out. My bag had been taken off the carousel and was being guarded by five swarthy "porters" in acid wash jeans and pleather jackets. I say guarded but it was more "being held hostage". I had to pay them all a handful of Kora to release it and then grabbed a taxi. A lot of the buildings on the way from the airport were still battle damaged and the taxi driver was almost certainly trying to kill me with his weaving through traffic. Maybe he was still in the dodging snipers frame of mind? He certainly wasn't the only lunatic on the road, and I don't even understand how the majority of crapped out beaters on the road were still capable of moving. Every so often a brand new Dumani car with tinted windows would blow past and the driver started waving his arms around and shouting at it.
It took about thirty minutes to get to the hostel, which was on the fifth floor of a 70s blockhouse overlooking a park. It was almost nice actually. I dragged my bag inside and hit the button for the lift which was, of course, out of order. No worries, I needed some cardio after a day's flying I guess. I got up to the front desk, checked in and went to drop off my stuff. Oh no. My roommates were awful. A Varnian was on his bunk listening to a loud video through his tinny phone speakers, whilst a bunch of Quibs sat around talking to each other in their stupid amphibian speak. I guess they assumed I couldn't understand it so started shit-talking me, but I greeted myself as an Embrean in Quib. They didn't even have the self awareness to be embarrassed, the leader just ran his hand through his long greasy hair and lit up another cigarette. The Varnian seemed ok, raised his hand in greeting and smiled. I smiled back and climbed onto my bed. It was already 9pm and I was pretty tired. I was out within two minutes.
I was hoping for a good night's sleep but woke up to a pair of burly white guys sat on my bed, swigging beers. One had grabbed my shoulder.
"Alright mate!" he asked. "We're off down the boozer to get totally cunted!! You in mate??"
I guessed they were Northers from their accent (and rugby shirts) and had a prophetic vision of vomiting everywhere after a metric ton of alcohol. I grinned and nodded and threw on something that didn't smell. The Varnian was coming too, and the Quibs. Eurgh. I could deal with it though.
I was so tired I can't remember most of what happened. The first bar was a sort of slummy hole-in-the-wall full of big Sharfics in combat jackets. We all grabbed beers for less than a chocolate bar back home and next thing I remember is being three drinks in, having a pair of very muscly Sharfic men joining us and asking in broken Praetannic if we were Wallaseans. We nodded and they smiled and laughed and shared some of their firewater with us. Jesus Christ it burned. Another interlude and it was thirty minutes and a few shots later. One of the Northers, Toby, had told the Sharfics he supported Freiburg's independence and they were looking very angry. One stood up and pulled up his sleeve and showed Toby his fucking war tattoos and started shouting and swearing. The Varnian bought them another beer each to say sorry and then they left. While we were leaving they started arguing with each other and threw the beers onto the floor and began fighting.
Another hour later - I remember standing arm in arm with the Quibs singing their stupid anthem outside their embassy - we were in a club called "Big Style". What a very strange place. There were women dancing on top of glowing platforms shaped like money and dry ice kept shooting out of the ceiling, and the bouncer standing by the VIP section had a gun. We got talking to some local girls and Toby started talking about how girls were so nice and friendly here and back in his country there was too much feminism. I'm not sure if they understood but they smiled and went closer to him. Another blackout and I was in the VIP section with the Varnian and a Sharfic man who kept buying us drinks and talking about how he was a major in the air force and he was going to start selling military gear to Wallaseans and Axacalers and he needed us on the inside to handle domestics. We were really into the idea and kept toasting it and I think I was given his card. He said we can go to his ranch house outside Yovon and drive his Chagal around the estate, which sounds cool.He poured us another shot and I lost it again. I think I ate a kebab about 3am on the way home and woke up this morning in a bush outside the hostel. Got back to my room and couldn't sleep, I was too wired (or jet lagged?). So I had a shower, wrote this instead and now I'm going out for some breakfast. I want to actually see some cultural things today and maybe make another effort to head out tonight, although the Northers still aren't back and I think the Varnian died in the bathroom.
Play up, play up, and play the game!
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