We meet again

It is 6pm. Again, as if by the cruel hand of the airport Gods, I am waiting; forever in transit. Stuck between one place and another. I hate this feeling…

 

I always feel like I am nowhere, in limbo, with nothing to relate to or ground me and nothing concrete when waiting at the airport. The usual ritual of browsing the few uninteresting and overpriced airport stores begins the longwinded stint of boredom and restlessness, followed by the search for a remotely comfortable looking chair upon which I may read, attempt to sleep, or simply lay and ponder. Once all this has come to pass I habitually turn to my Blog; the one thing which grounds me in this expansive, white, tension filled place which I have for some reason found myself unable to connect with. Perhaps this is because I feel it is not in itself a place; merely a middle point between an origin and a destination. Whatever the case, my inability to feel comfortable in my surrounds has again driven me to this blog; a gateway through which I may connect with places I have been and wonder upon those to which a visit is impending. I have parted with London; it was not an easy thing to do but something I felt to be necessary; I had taken all that I could from the city and felt I should move on.

And then there is the man.

 

Or at least that’s what I am assuming he is…perhaps simply because I have never truly connected with another female over the course of my life. What would posses one to try to reach out to me now is beyond me….thus it has to be a man. A trench coated man…

 

I should explain myself further as I feel that my writings may be leaving you in a state of confusion…unless the photographer is in fact the only person viewing this blog, in which case it would all have made perfect sense. Nontheless, I shall fill you in on the more recent occurrences. In my last post I mentioned the red scarf which I left in a pot plant outside the ship and shovel as a means to say perpetuate a connection with the city and, as a second thought, in hope of a reunion with ‘Rune’ – he who sent the first email. Sure enough, I received a second email containing the following picture just this morning:

 

I left my red scarf in a potplant...

 

 

 

It seems my friend wastes no time in picking up where he left off…

 

Im still very unsure as to how to approach this. In a way I am flattered, in another I find it a little disconcerting. I find myself in an odd place, one unlike any I have encountered before. While I can in any physical situation merely remove myself from a place and become anonymous again in yet another, this blog entails that I am forever contactable, always grounded in some way, and reachable. By anyone, at any time, on any sort of impulsive whim which may compel them to reach out to me… This is a reality previously unbeknownst to me. In any normal situation I would find myself writhing and fretting at the notion of being ‘tied down’…but this is different in some way. I resolve to ride it out, take what comes for a change. There is always the ‘delete’ button regardless….one click and this whole thing never even happened…

 

The wonders of technology.

 

Goodbye for now…my flight to Thailand awaits. I have a clamoring urge to evade Europe for a time… and to serve up a challenge for Rune.

 

-Alaina.

 

 

On The 5th Day

I’ve now been in Paris for 5 days…and while this is an exceptionally short period of time in which to have both looked upon it with wide and eager eyes as well as waved a tentative goodbye i feel it is time to continue my travels. My floral bed sheets and thick duck feathered quilt seemed to sag into the bed in mourning of my impending departure as I packed the last of my belongings back into the black case from which they came. If only I could keep this place for myself….perhaps this inexorable desire is why I leave with a small snow globe; the Eiffel tower looming over the sprawling city of lights amidst the slow falling white flakes. I leave my pink umbrella in the knotted branches of a Ginkgo tree near the Café de Flore, a place I spent so many mild Parisian mornings with a good book and a latte. I will take a lot from this city and thus I shall leave a small piece of myself behind…

Perhaps I should provide a brief recap of the last few days; so much has happened I couldn’t possibly explore every glorious detail in this short blog but I shall do my best….

The last thought upon which I left you hanging involved the charming male specimen who found his way over to my table bearing the telling smile I would come to grow fond of over the following days, which I perceived to have unintentionally implied ‘im sexy and you know it’. His name was Anton, I introduced myself as Jane; he was a Parisian local with a rather firm grasp on the English language, luckily enough for me. We chatted over coffee that morning, he seemed delighted at my Australian heritage; I was delighted by his deep green eyes and roughly swept dark hair. He insisted on posing as my tour guide and was determined to show me a side of the wondrous city most tourists turn a blind eye to or are simply not so privileged as to experience. That afternoon he took me to an all expenses paid lunch in a quaint French home-style restaurant on the river Thames where I tasted my first snail; something I had sworn never to do but which I had somehow been coerced into. Maybe it was the warmth of the slight afternoon breeze or the pieces of sunlight fighting their way through the entanglement of leaves and branches to form a dancing pattern upon our outside table; but for some nameless reason the taste of herb infused snail was not met with even the slightest hint of detestation, but rather a vague appreciation. Anton enquired about my world back home; I gave him a very brief overview of my older sister Jen; the ever perfect doted upon golden child…without the gory details of course. To him she is merely a legal secretary to the highest paid lawyer in Sydney: a job which I should have aspired to instead of condemned according to my parents. And they wonder why I don’t see her much. If they wonder at all…Oh and my parents…luckily for Anton he has no inkling that they were in fact the reason I left home on my 18^th birthday, nor do they I suspect… The beautiful picture I Painted for Anton was one of family camping trips in an aussie outback setting, riding my bike home from school to a big family home (that part was true) to be met by a kiss on the cheek, a ‘how was your day darling?’, and a warm hearty meal on the table. This elaborate fairytale of domestic bliss seemed to delight the good natured Anton, enough for him to ask me to join him the next day….feeling a little guilty I obliged and we agreed to meet at noon. The next day after strolling around the small park for a few moments, distracted by the laughter of children floating upon the wind as they larked about in a sandpit I stood and watched their blissful and carefree smiles for a short time. Endless balls of energy; it was their zest for life which inspired me to live in the same way: appreciating every moment in itself and not worrying or caring what the next will bring. A heavy hand upon my shoulder startled me from my intent gaze; I looked around to find he held a gift the other. The card read ‘vous êtes belle’, and he bore the same smile which I now understood as meaning ‘your sexy and I know it’… His sweetness aroused a softness within me, if only for a second. I placed the gold bracelet upon my undeserved wrist before he led me, arm in arm, away from the now seemingly distant laughter.

The Bracelet Anton Surprised Me With.

Our first encounter was defeated only by our second; he took me to the Paris ‘Freeze’ (a lot of fun although I must say im not accustomed to being so still for such an extended period of time– the video can be seen on my youtube account), to dinner and then introduced me to Camille, an eccentric French artist whom I have fallen for…

as we left the small bar in which she played I scrambled for my umbrella in the rain and upon finally opening it into the vicious raindrops striking us like tiny soldiers, he kissed me.

I left him with a light kiss on the cheek and a promise of seeing my face in the morning. But I am one prone to breaking such binding things as rules and promises…. I cant say why, but I was consumed by an irresistible urge to leave today. Perhaps I simply cannot be bound by anyone but myself… whatever the case, I closed the door behind me with one last glance at his sleeping body; no note, no explanation, no means to contact me…not even my real name. Just a pink umbrella in a tree a few doors down….

So here I am, waiting so restlessly again for my flight. This time im headed to London, and am researching hotels at this very moment on an airport computer; they do come in handy when you need them. Oddly enough I am eagerly anticipating playing the tourist once more: the wax museum, London eye, Big Ben, Windsor Castle,….the list is endless but im determined to fit it all in. By the end of my trip I shall have become the most efficient tourist of all time, providing there is an end to it of course…

We shall commune again once I have landed on English soil, I am sure there will be much to divulge!

-Alaina

Touched Down in Paris

I’ve finally arrived!

There truly is nothing like the feeling you get when you painstakingly drag your wearied body through the door of your hotel room after a grueling 20 hour journey. By some spark of insanity it makes it all seem worthwhile just for that moment in which you find yourself sucked into a seemingly cavernous bed, all thoughts lost amongst the pillows after hours spent in a cramped economy class seat trying to ignore the irritatingly loud sounds of the rather large and inconsiderate man next to you wolfing down an apparently bottomless bag of Doritos. I can finally hear myself think…what a relief. And not a moment too soon as I have so many thoughts, wishes, ideas and plans to digest and put to fruition.

After sleeping a short while I thought it best not to upset my sleeping patterns any further, and reluctantly willed myself out of bed and into the hotel lobby for a quick triple espresso before scoping out the sights of Paris. Stumbling across this computer in the reception area I thought id stop by for a short update on my travels. I can barely focus my attention on the screen, the lobby perpetually fills with waves of exotic guests and local Parisians; each more entertaining and enthralling than the last. Right now a dim witted American businessman is attempting to communicate with the receptionist with his terribly decayed French speaking skills. The woman is no doubt amused as she notices me watching and sends a quick humoured smile in acknowledgement. No wonder the French prefer you to speak their language, there is always a laugh to be spared for the tourist who tries and fails miserably. I am determined not to fall into this category, but my grasp on the language has slipped over the years and while I have been studying my English to French dictionary profusely I shall no doubt provide an entertaining encounter for many a Paris native over the next short while…

My stay in Paris is by no means calculated and bears little direction, driven only by spontaneous blows of the wind which may push me one way or another. There is so much I wish to immerse myself in and properly experience. Seeing the main landmarks and attractions of Paris is a start; the Eiffel tower, arc de triomphe, the louvre, les Invalides, and montmarte are pertinent as is aimlessly strolling the streets and taking in the unique fashions, incredible paintings and vibrant sidewalk life. Unlike most tourists i do not simply want to see Pairs, I want to feel it, blend into the landscape and take a piece of it with me when i leave; have it leave a mark on me and i upon it. The idea of being just another tourist does not sit well with me; to have come and gone with the horde of travelers, like the tide washing footprints from the sand… I find it is not people, but places I connect with most and so I wish not to leave this rousing place simply to be forgotten by it in an instant. A place does not judge or condemn you, does not push you away or harm you but accept you with open arms. Once you have a connection with a place, even as your absence swells it will always welcome you back, something which i regrettably cannot say for most of the people I have known in my life.

Anyway, I think its time I discontinued my incessant ramblings and stepped out into the boundless city which awaits me!

Ill be sure to update you all soon.

-Alaina