May 11 – Thoughts on a traveller

I am that traveller.

The one who is late for trains.  The one who gets hopelessly lost.  The one who gazes endlessly, open mouthed, into the historic wonders of Europe.  Cathedral ceilings; check.  Famous works of art; check.  Pubs, bars, food – check check check.

The one who wears a dress over her jeans to save space in her carry on.

The one who comes home full of stories about the time I got drunk and tried to kiss that guy in France through his open car window…

The one that will always wander the earth, and will find home everywhere.

March 26 – On Holidays

I don’t think that there is any better feeling, than starting holidays.

Working hard all week, rushing to get things finished, if possible, by the deadline of walking out the door without a care in the world for a week or two.

All the stress melts away, and not even missing the most stunning sunset that Sydney has had to offer all month is enough to make me feel down.

The idea of free time, time to walk, explore, airports, eating, reading, relaxing, sleeping, driving, exploring – all of my favourite things will be happening as of now.

Bring.  It.  On.

March 24 – On Beauty

“Where’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever been to?”

Her mind flitted instantly to Paris.  That’s on everyone’s most beautiful cities list, right?  But not hers.  Much as she loved the city, suddenly there was an image in her head that nowhere on earth could compete with.

A crisp, white blanket of fresh snow, soft as powder.  Having been raised in the Southern Hemisphere, she couldn’t help but touch it.

Steam rising from the ground, smearing white across the perfect, late morning sunrise.  Horses, prancing across the fresh field, frisky in the morning light.

“Paris,” she lied, keeping Iceland safe.

March 23 – The Countdown

It has more than begun – it’s actually in its latter stages.  The stage where you watch every hour tick over at work, every lunch break is a blessing, the end of the day a small miracle.

We are going on holiday!

The flights and car are booked, the route and hotels picked, and although we haven’t packed yet, it’s a small price to pay for the fun we are going to have.

I’m dreaming of carefree sunsets; tree lined, winding roads; long breakfasts and a beer with lunch.

And I only have four nights more dreaming before it is reality.

March 8 – An Adventure; Part 5

She had made a list of places she wanted to visit before she left home – the list was long, and time was precious, but even so, she couldn’t help the aimless wandering that accompanied her first visit to Paris; the re-visiting of places that she fell instantly in love with.

Malmaison, l’Arc de Triomphe, and Montmartre, always Montmartre.

It mattered not that the square was always teeming with people clamouring to have cheesy caricatures drawn, that the food was overpriced, that there were pickpockets, gypsies with clipboards, tourists…..

The views over the city were lovely in the early evening light.

March 7 – An Adventure; Part 4

She travelled alone.

Her first time to Europe, to Paris, first time away from home, really.

She found herself to be remarkably self sufficient: she could speak enough French to get by – any further into a conversation and she would find herself out of depth fairly quickly and things would descend into chaos, with many “Je ne comprends pas” and wild hand gestures.

It meant there was time for contemplation, exploration, reflection.  In the city of love it meant a sweet sadness that she did not have anyone to share the experience with.

It means she needs to go back.

March 6 – An Adventure; Part 3

Chatelet.  Cite.  Les Halles.

The train stations that came to mark those precious weeks, the weeks where she walked as an outsider, but felt like she belonged.  The sound of the announcement became a familiar thing.

Place D’Italie.  Barbes Rochechouart.  Magenta.

The street map, pored over for so long that it was ingrained in her memory, became an unnecessary thing; obsolete for her day to day walks.  It meant that in the days before smart phones, if she got lost, it was deliciously lost – without direction, purpose, time – she could walk as a Parisian in her Paris.

Gare de l’Est.

March 5 – An Adventure; Part 2 (The Hotel)

The hotel was one star.

It was so one star, that it had had its original second star scratched out – the tourist board sign not even replaced.  She found it quicker to heave a suitcase up the narrow spiral staircase than to wait for the elderly lift to arrive, and then wedge herself into it.

The bed was slightly saggy, with an odd, tubular pillow running across the head.  The building trembled with the early morning Metro trains rumbling underground.

It smelled of stale cigarette smoke, and there were people having noisy sex next door.

But it was her Paris.

March 4 – An adventure

She had always wanted to go to Paris.  After watching and re-watching ‘Amelie’ many times, she felt that she would know exactly how to behave while walking the streets, exactly how to feel while sitting down to an aperitif in the afternoon and some small bar, frequented only by local Parisians.

Nothing at all could prepare her for the overwhelming sensation of popping up via escalator to the bustling streets, the sights so familiar through film, now only metres away.

It was that sum of all of the small emotions that overcame her; this was Paris, finally Paris.

Her Paris.

February 10 – On Modern Travelling

Trust me, I know how frustrating it is to walk a kilometre in the wrong direction, lugging your suitcase behind you on a warm Barcelona evening….

But where’s the fun in turning up exactly where you’re supposed to be without any trouble?  Sure, there’s less drama, but there’s also less excitement, less discovery, less mystery, and fewer cool stories, too (as it happened I walked a kilometre in the wrong direction before walking back and then completely past my hostel).

Put the internet away, kids, and go get lost in the real world when you travel.

It’s much more fun.