One Night In Trieste

Posted on September 14 2015


I’ve decided to post another sketch from the road. In truth, it isn’t that related to weed in any sense other than that it was a story that occurred, whilst I was incredibly stoned. The wide-eyed sense of adventure and frenzy that is always present in wanderlust, was filtered through the gauze of a few strong spliffs. 

Last summer I was in a town called Trieste in Northern Italy, a beautiful postcard of a province in the furthest North-West of the country, and most importantly, a seaport. We had been in a nightclub until a man named Alessandro had taken us outside to sit and stare out across the water and get stoned with a group of his friends. I obliged, slipped into the half-mad groove of life of drugs and travel, and decided to go back into the club to find this particularly beautiful Italian girl I had been talking to.

A. (which is what I will call her) had many things to make you fall in love; I won’t describe what she looked like as I’m sure you can imagine, but it was the heavily accented lilt and the irascible, almost musical way she spoke which drew me in further. I had been talking to her for about an hour and thought thing were going well when a man came and stood over us, looking at me with these fierce eyes. He was a big guy with a thick black beard and a kind of terrifying glare. An ex-boyriend? A current boyfriend? ‘My brother,’ she said. 

The brother clearly disliked me, which I understood as I was blatantly trying to sleep with his sister. He didn’t say a word, but just stood there, at a distance, watching over us. Nothing is going to happen here. But I carried on trying, regardless, as things with A. seemed to be going well. 

Now I don’t speak any Italian, and A.’s brother didn’t speak any English, so our communication was reduced to physical gestures. But as I’d played a show at the club earlier, I was still eligible for free drinks, and the minute I managed to get us all some free drinks his personality switched and he seemed to warm to me. We carried on talking, mainly communicating by naming Italian and English footballers, respectively. I would say “Maldini” and he would respond with “Gerrard.” It was going ok. And despite my initial fear and paranoia (I was, after all, still very stoned) I stuck with it.

We stayed in the club until about 5 when they eventually kicked us out. I had been talking to A. about going swimming, and we decided we would get a taxi up to a good stretch of beach she knew. We got in the taxi and the brother instantly followed us in…

This is not going anywhere. A. talked about swimming naked, so you’ll get to see her naked. But her brother is here. Is this a bit weird? Also, you’re very stoned still. It’s definitely a bit weird. Surely she won’t get naked and go skinny dipping if her brother is there? Also, where are you going? Where are your friends? Where is your hotel?

These were the thoughts that played through my mind as we began driving. I knew I would not be getting with this beautiful Italian girl, but at least it would be an adventure. Also, I really did like the idea of going swimming. And then, to my surprise and confusion, the taxi stopped almost instantly and the brother got out. He turned to me and handed me thirty euros, more than enough to pay for this taxi and the taxi back. He said goodbye and suddenly we were alone…. a win, right? Well no, actually. This was just the start of my humiliation…

We got to the beach and it was almost getting light. Now this is not meant to seem ostentatious, but it is necessary to the story … I was successful with A. and we both got naked and began having sex in the sea. We didn’t go that far out, just far enough to be able to stand up on the sand and have the water cover our bodies. 

Now I was looking out towards the horizon and she was looking in towards the sea, so I couldn’t work out what she saw next. Whatever it was, mid-sex, she suddenly screamed and her face became drained of all colour.  She climbed off me and began running towards the shore. What had she seen? Who had she seen? Her brother? There is a chance he’s in the mafia and will want to kill you. 

I followed her out, still with an erection, and found what had caused the horrified look on her face. Going for an early morning bike ride (it was probably about 6am at this point) was a Catholic Nun, who had spotted us and came down to scream at us. I walked out, naked, still hard, as she targeted her anger all on me. She began jabbing my chest with her finger and screaming at me in Italian. I don’t speak Italian. I don’t know what you’re saying. A. collected her clothes and began getting changed as the Nun pressed herself in towards me, shouting more loudly. Please, your hip just touched it. This is humiliating. How can I stop her shouting? My clothes are there. I could get them, and run? Am I really going to run?

To my shame I did run. My intention was to just get changed and get away from the nun, but by the time I was changed on the other side of the road, I couldn’t see A. anywhere. My head still wasn’t right. I felt like I’d been looking for a long, long time, but maybe it wasn’t that long at all. I though I’d looked for an hour, but maybe it was only 5 minutes. In the end, I decided to get a taxi. I remember it pulling past just as A. reappeared.  I was suddenly too tired too focus.

I’m not sure if some people would read this and see it as an advert for not doing drugs. I think of this story as an advert for adventure. 



1 comment

  • Alex Cohen: September 20, 2015

    I love this. Haha. Great story

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