Remembering my first time

It's not what you think it is. But rather this is about something else as I am trying to recall all the first time experiences that Europe has given me which I consider as some of the best I could not forget.

Traveling from Manila to Oslo, Norway was my first time to be in a long flight, with two different stop over (Bangkok and Frankfurt) and crossing over two different time zones, such that my body really felt the sudden change, not only in temperature but also in time.

It was my first time to see snow, real snow in Lillehammer, which was the site of the 1994 (I think) Winter Olympics. So I had fun playing on it, dancing while the snow was falling on my face, and sliding on snow using only a black trash bag as a sled.

It was my first time to see a travel escalator or whatever it is called in Brussels, which I saw was described as the heart of Europe (helped a lot when you are carrying 20 kilos of extra luggage).

It was my first time to be in an adult shop (in Oslo), which I found by accident, as I could not take the cold already and just went inside the first shop I saw. And of course, when I realized that it was an adult shop, I decided to be blase about it and just looked around.

It was my first time as well to be attending an international conference and representing not only my organization but my country as well in that gathering (thanks to my democratic socialist activist past)

It was my first as well to be the official representative of the NGO I was working with and sharing and rubbing elbows with Belgian politicians and officials (thanks to my former Belgian government funded NGO).

And lastly, I remember it was in Europe that I fell in love (at least I thought that was what I felt) with an older non-brown man (the only time I did) who looked very much like that guy who sang footloose. But as the song goes, I remember the old man (well he looks old to me back then) but I don't remember the feeling anymore. Very unfortunate indeed!