Life as a Refugee

We detour our attention to a short memo left Charles Dunn found under a table in a pub in Trieste.

 

There hasn't been enough time of late to explain each and every thought...adventure. Still, it is difficult for me to believe in most of them. Easy to disbelieve other (the champagne-Taliban episode?). Day after day, you, my friends, have seen me in my better days, but the silence these last few months has come from risks I thought once were worth taking, and now, know better.

I am a fugitive, away from home. wanted by an entire country, an angry railway attendant, and a woman claiming to be from some former Soviet Republic. My life-the life I treasured as carefree and fun- has regressed towards a hell that few can imagine (no, not a 9 2 5). WANTED by entire governments! Hunted by INTERPOL! How did I know she was a Princess in hiding?!?

Attempts to communicate with you my friends have been few and far between and each of those was foiled. Trusted restaurateurs, valets, dancers, have betrayed me. My favorite establishments have been compromised. My one attempt at security left, someplace no one would ever discover, will be in Venice, at Stephanie's Lingerie Boutique.

Some of you would be led to believe that 24 hours, day after day in a lingerie boutique would likely be better than any heaven imaginable. Allow me to explain differently. There is no foie gras in a lingerie boutique. No truffles, Salmon pate, no Chianti, champagne, port, amorone, no cigars, no aperitif, no banquette, linguini, espresso. and no cable modem! The sign at the door specifically forbids food and drink in general and cable modems specificallyl. Basically, a lingerie shop lacks everything necessary to survive. Well... almost everything. I did, under a false Romanian identity, meet Andrea, Stephanie, Isabella, Monique, Claudia, Cindy, Christie, Cari and Clara. Fiona, Debbie, Deedra, Doris, Lara, Laura, Maura, and Mara. Zenny, Penny, Patty, Minny, Abby, Abigail, Anna, Anne, Ane, and Ann (it was a busy weekend).

But in the end I found refugee in the only safe place left on the continent: Ellia's. And for my identity, I dove deep, deep undercover.

And now this is the story of my days as Chef in the best restaurant in Venice.



the mad innkeeper
site design by WebDeck.net