Lost in Vienna (pt1?)

lost in vienna.

I haven't had a conversation with a human being in over two days (I think, I have no idea with jet lag or anything, my whole relation to time is askew). I also haven't been online in over a day, where normally I engage in the majority of my conversations. I have no phone, not only do I have no phone, but I don't know how to use the phones here.
I tried once, but it seemed kind of useless. Who would I talk to? A friend back home? Let them know I'm ok?

Anyways, now that I'm at a place where I can finally sit and use my computer, I'm going to write a play by play kind of thing...
I just ordered something off the menu point and nod kind of style.
It came.
Its Mozzarella, fresh, wet with a skin.
Pesto, and hot bread.
Oh,
and what I thought was a garnish, was actually a bowl made of shredded and deep fried mozzarella made to hold the fresh mozzarella.

My relation to time, and everything, is so different when I have no one to talk to. No conversations to listen to, in fact nothing. No language, no words, nothing.
I suppose its like being in the woods. But i haven't been in the woods all alone with no one to talk to. The white noise of foreign language is like wind in the trees, a subtle white noise that one eventually stops paying attention to.
On the train, for a moment, I thought I understood german (it is german, isn't it?), till I realized they were complaining about Kentucky Fried Chicken (no, complaining about Kentucky Fried Chicken isn't the universal language, they were using english words to describe certain aspects). This happened right before I fell asleep on the train. I was so disoriented when I woke up, i decided to get off at whatever stop was next.
Well, I didn't really "decide" it, i kind of just got off the train, and thought about it once I was off.
Once out of the station, lost for the first time (I have no destination, no direction, and no purpose), I decided to walk back along the tracks, but in vienna, the tracks are elevated, because no street is a straight line. To the right was decrepit posters, half peeling, pock marked with poor graffiti. To the left went under the tracks and towards a fucking theme park.
I decided i'd check out the theme park because at least the road towards it wasn't covered wall to wall with Matt Damon's face and "Das Bourne Ultimatum" all over it.
The path was nice, beautiful groves of trees. But the theme park itself looked ridiculous. Well, I guess it looked like most any theme park. From a distance, the only thing that didn't look recycled and borrowed from cheap american culture was the giant Ferris wheel that looked like it might have pre-dated any american anxious inciting paraphernalia. It was actually pretty beautiful, giant iron girders made up the spokes of this huge wheel, and what looked like old tram carts hung at intervals.
Instead of going in, I walked along the tree lined path until I came to a point where it looked like the path went on towards infinity in the same manner, trees and park benches on the left, a fence and river on the right.
Backtracking, trying to find some alternative route that ran the gamut between idyllic recreation and poster laden plywood, I came into some old streets with barely a sidewalk to roll my baggage along.
I followed it until where I am now; sitting beside the railway, eating cheese and hot bread (well not hot now that i've been here writing so long).
The best part is, I can smoke now that I've washed down the previous pack of cigarettes with a pint of some beer that I ordered by pointing at a coaster. This is the first real thing i've eaten in what feels like forever, and its only an appetizer (I didn't know what I was ordering, I thought it was a cheap entrée, I decided what i'd eat guessing at the prices on the menu, oh, and I think its an appetizer, cheese and bread, is that an entrée?).
Oh and I'm horribly embarrassed whenever I need to communicate with anyone and they speak english, because their english is flawless, and I'm hopeless with anything but english and french (and in french I'm even more embarrassed because I know I have the words in me). I said so to the bartender, that I'd felt embarrassed that he knew english so well, his response was simply, "you should."

5 Pints later...
It turns out the bartender spoke excellent english. Chatting him up, I made up a story of why I was in Vienna, made up a fictional love, told him anecdotes of this imaginary woman. Told him how things fell apart, how I, in a fit of absurdity bought a ticket to europe, then a train, fell asleep, and got off for no particular reason at the station nearest to his quaint patio. He was enthralled. Is it a lie to entertain someone with stories, true or false? To a stranger in a strange land, whom i'll never meet again, with characters whom he'll never meet, does it matter if I tell the truth?