One Week til All-Star Weekend

Part II of the Popular Ongoing Series: "European adventures with Michael Kirschner and his subsequent roast"

Matching your scarf to random buildings is the new hotness.

Editor's Note: This seemed to be a big hit last time, so I asked Kirsch if he would write another one. He was like, "Two weeks with Hyatt? The thing will practically write itself." I'm sure it did, but thanks again Mike. We miss ya buddy.  

By Michael Kirschner

For those of you who haven’t been following the hourly play-by-play travel commentary that is Hyatt’s Facebook, we first met up in Sofia, Bulgaria a few weeks ago.  I caught a cab from the airport and headed to the hostel where Sam was at.  After not seeing anyone from Newton since the two-week European bender of a Eurotrip with Robb and Sal, this was somewhat of a big deal for me - The three months prior to this I was in England surrounded by girls who make North ’07 chicks look like a NESN sideline reporter.  I can say that because I’m fairly certain that the 2-3 girls who read Sal’s blog are the only ones that statement doesn’t apply to… Kid is such a stud.  So anyways, by agreeing to travel with Hyatt, we were essentially committing to wing for each other in cities containing some of the best-looking women in the world (Not including Sofia. Teo you’re still the youngest and most attractive Bulgarian I’ve ever seen.  That city makes my grandparents’ Florida gated community look like a college dorm).  

But it was immediately upon seeing him at the Sofia hostel that a hint of doubt and a wave of nausea hit me.  It’s about 65 degrees outside and Hyatt’s sporting an off-grey striped scarf which can only be described as an attempt to remind me of the British dudes I had been surrounded by the last few months. It was like I never left. Frilly.  Metro.  A splash of color.  Clearly he enjoys hanging out with ‘portly’ women.  Not only for the rest of the trip does he wear this thing like a noose on his dignity, he’s got at least three other scarves in reserve that make the first look acceptable.  There was one time in Sarajevo when he spent the better part of 15 minutes in front of a mirror with his neck warmers fidgeting around until I had to drag him out of the room, seconds away from actually putting one of these things to use and choking him out with it.  I’m pretty sure that sort of crime is still fair game in Bosnia.

When it came to going out, Hyatt was almost always down.  So when he told me about how he’d been doing alright for himself in Israel and Turkey, I set aside the whole scarf thing and waited to see what all the talk was about.  Now I’m not trying to pat myself on the back here, but ask Robb or Sal; when it comes to approaching girls in Europe I have few inhibitions.  My pickup line is usually something like ‘Hey you’re backpacking? / like this bar? No way! me too…that’s so funny’ and somehow it usually works.  It’s more of a spray and prey strategy.  But, when the last time a Bosnian girl saw an American was when NATO airdropped into her elementary school when she was 5, I suppose that memory somehow gets things started on the right foot.  So I would approach with the first line to a pair of girls and kick things off.  What I cannot explain is how without fail, with all the girls we met, Hyatt weaseled his way in with the hotter one.  For the life of me I simply cannot explain it.  I approach the lesser creature, he hangs on to the hot one like he’s ready to take a knee, and from what I’ve heard still might.  I approach the better looking one, and he sets some bizarre chess move pick and pulls a switcharoo.  

Sal and I had a great system when he was here. I’m a dark haired Jew, so I go with the brunette. Sal’s from Italian/Aryan decent so he takes the blond.  It was like Hyatt had completely forgotten the fact that I had just pulled us dates clean off the street for Sarajevo Salsa Night and had no courtesy whatsoever. 

What added salt to the wound was what he would pull the next day on Facebook, usually after we had left the city, never to see our friends from the previous night again.  Hyatt would take down their info the night before on his fucking iPhone, friend BOTH of them, and start chatting them up.  What this meant for me is I get the one Hyatt didn’t want friending me and messaging about whether I made the bus in the morning and how my trip was going.  Yes I made the bus don’t you think Sam would have asked you both out for coffee, a pack of smokes and a round of fried meat pies this morning if we hadn’t?  Trust me he absolutely would have.

The next thing I need to comment on is what it’s like to walk around an unfamiliar city with Hyatt.  It’s like this kid has never crossed a street before.  Like I need to hold his hand and give him the heads up when we get the walk signal.  It must have been a half dozen times he just completely missed a pedestrian light cycle.   As if the last thing on his mind while walking around a city, was actually walking around the city.  His mind must have been preoccupied with piecing together the poetic novel of a Facebook status he was getting ready to post: "Sarajevo is an incredibly amazing city, easily one of my favorites in the world. It was sad to leave, but the drive to Mostar was one of the most beautiful and scenic rides ever. For 2.5 hours we wove through a beautiful mountain range, next to a river who’s color I can only describe as emerald. Absolutely stunning ride."

We wove…? Emerald...?  I mean you’re right man.  The water was pretty sweet.  The bus did make quite a few turns.  But take a picture, toss it up and spare me the embarrassment of being associated with these honeymoon updates.  I was tempted to open his account while he was working out what scarf went best with his one and only sweatshirt and post something:  ‘Ride to Croatia was like driving through 3 hours of a chemical wasteland.  Good news is despite the fact that I’ve only been eating fried street food for the past month somehow I’ve only put on 10 pounds!"

It may sound like I’m poking fun at Hyatt’s sexuality.  The truth is, I absolutely am.   But when your cover photo is you actually sucking on a vegetable, it’s hard not to.