Persian Girl Diary

Well guys, I’m back again with another post – this one is a two-in-one. Let’s start with my solo travel to Lisbon, Portugal. I decided as a beautiful (?) young woman who gets easily agitated with friends on vacation, that I should try a solo vacation. If only I knew what kind of horrors I had gotten myself into. The first thing I did was book a hostel. I’ll admit, it was an excellent hostel. Amazing social aspect and great activities. The sleeping arrangement was a nightmare because I had to sleep on the top bunk, but I can’t fault the hostel when I knew what I was getting myself into. I met an older British fella on my journey, Johnny. He was fascinated with my sick and perverted sense of humour, as well as my inability to read a room and say things that are deemed “socially appropriate”. He even said I have banter. I’ll admit, that one really got to me. Nothing romantic happened, as I’m not a big fan of fleeting romances, especially vacation romances, but had we lived in the same city and had the chance at a slow burn, you never know what could’ve happened.

Day 3 in Portugal is where shit really hit the fan. My older British king gave me a nasty flu. I was stuck in my hostel bed for nearly 3 days. Chills, fever, cough, runny nose, the whole works. I still have a gnarly cough a couple of weeks later, fucking hell. Reminiscing on the times when I didn’t have to worry about post-nasal drip. I was so fucking ungrateful back then. Anyways, I hit day 5 of Portugal, and I headed over to Lagos. I’ll admit, I was already festering with a deep hatred towards Portugal due to my sickness. It’s definitely not fair, but I can’t control how I feel. So I decided to go outside and experience what Lagos has to offer. I go to the beach, and for the first time since my sickness, I thought, wow, maybe this vacation isn’t so bad. In that moment of gratitude, I see an older beach vendor selling donuts. I felt awful for her since she was not getting a lot of traction. I decided to buy one of her donuts with Apple Pay (idiot, I know). What was supposed to be a 3 euro transaction turned into a 3500 USD transaction. How did that payment even go through without raising suspicion from my bank? No clue. I still haven’t won the dispute yet, but I’m staying hopeful.

You can imagine at this point, I hate my life 100 times more, and my growing hate towards Portugal has reached its max. I can say with confidence that I can never return to that country. I’m traumatized. Absolutely shattered. This leads me to book an early trip home. All I wanted was to be sick in my own bed, and not in a nasty hostel top bunk.

After a couple of days home, my friends invite me to go out on the streets for one night. We start out at a very asian club where I might have been the only Middle Eastern girl. I felt very unattractive and very out of place. I’m reality-checked enough to know that my elevated testosterone levels are not generally compatible with the average asian male. I’m trying to keep my spirits up, but at some point I give up and go to a line dancing bar. Boy oh boy, was that the right call. I walk in and I see a tall man dancing by a table, I didn’t think much of it other than “damn he must be having a good time”. I started observing the line dances at this unfamiliar bar and realized I had a lot to learn. So naturally I used the tall dancing man as my teacher. I was watching him do the dances and following along and he would occasionally give me some praise on how fast I was learning. What an excellent feeling. But I wasn’t getting any feeling of interest so I backed off.

I’m not exactly sure where the tides changed but I think he was giving me a compliment on my dancing and I heard an Australian accent. If you’ve read my other posts you’ll understand why this is my weakness. Pinwheel noises playing all over my brain. Cha ching cha ching. We start talking and then we accidentally spent the entire night at the bar together. He just had such excellent vibes, that I had to continue the fun by going back to his place. I’m not a usual one night stand person but you have to understand the time was just right. Did a lot of “talking” and he was very very VERY nice to me. I was honestly caught off guard. Lots of compliments on how gorgeous I am. I know this is going to sound pathetic, but it’s always a surprise to me when a non-Middle Eastern guy is into me. Is it internal racism? Maybe, but that’s my own problem to deal with. You guys are just here to listen. He was a very well rounded person. He likes to cook, has a respectable job, australian accent, 6’4, I mean do I need to keep going?

When I woke up the next day I had to leave because I had taken my friends phone the night before instead of mine (why are drunk people so fucking dumb). He instantly told me he wanted to see me again and booked a reservation to an Italian restaurant. You’re telling me this man spent the night with me and wants to see me AGAIN. Bingooooooo. I go and see him again that night, stay over again, and head on off the next morning to my life again. I couldn’t stop thinking about him when I left (mind you I’ve known him for less than 48 hours lmfao), so I texted him about my seperation anxiety. He INSTA responded. How lovely is that. My mind works in fascinating ways and I’m not sure about the likelihood that I will see him too often, or ever again, since I’m moving, but it was nice to be reminded that I’m still desirable. Even to cheeky Australian boys.

Not a bad week to be alive, and deep apologies to Aussie guy’s roommates…