day4-nocturnal strollers, miniature fire engine

Finally, finally, the sky had cleared up. And when it cleared up, it was super clear. Everything was sharpened like a brand-new German knife. The air crisp, the sky indigo with a nearly full moon. Smart enough to know the moment was rare, we rushed back to the hotel, grabbed our cameras, and came back out again to enjoy the old town when it was not drippy. Some streets, studded with cute little restaurants and hip bars, were pleasantly busy with young locals enjoying the end-of-the-year night. Others with residential apartments were deep in slumber, as the sand of time quickly flew. Taking whimsical turns at corners, peeking into displays of storefronts, climbing up and down occasional stairs, admiring craftsmanship of street graffiti, we appreciated the nocturnal hospitality of the town to the full.

It was nice to feel competent again, after hours and hours of frustrating waste of time, due to our unfamiliarity with the town and its function. So many things had worked out so poorly, from the quest for an umbrella in the morning to the desperate hunt for only a few small change to get on the bus, that I had been feeling incompetent discouraged. But now, I was back to my usual self, capable of enjoying what was in front of my eyes.

Suddenly a siren shrieked through the night, and several miniature fire trucks flew by, barely squeezing through the narrow streets. We had to press our bodies hard against the wall of an apartment building lest we have our nose scraped off. With a passing glance I saw a firefighter crouching in the rear so as not to bang his head against the low ceiling of the truck, which was no larger than a very small mini van. Two girls, apparently tourists, speechlessly stared at the fire truck as it sped through the street, in disbelief. "Wow," said one after a pause. "Wow," replied the other, as they resumed walking. We felt the same way--the miniscule size of the fire truck (but fully equipped) and the mismatch of the modern equipment and the quaint streets were surreal.

It was past midnight before we knew it. Diners and drinkers had started to go home. Still attracted to the charm of the town, we reluctantly joined the journey back home, well, in our case, to the hotel. There was tomorrow, and there were things to anticipate.

fine hand of death
Originally uploaded by uBookworm.