Paris je t'aime??

I used to be sold on Paris; Fan, Super-Fan, Fanatic. Used to. This weekend I had a long awaited reunion with my beloved city. But for some reason it wasn’t as I thought it would be. Walking across a rainy Paris I felt like a stranger, and although the views continually swept me off my feet (as they always do), I was reminded, again and again, of why Paris is not a city where I want to live anymore.

Listing the things that I love….would take a long time; the smell of a bakery, the slow pace of a Saturday…the even slower pace of a Sunday, the space to live, the time to enjoy, the creative liberty, the appreciation of good things; beauty, food, art; love of that which embellishes life, the quality, the thoroughness, the choice (especially in the market and supermarket), the pride, the splendor…all the splendor…and still…I was confounded.

Maybe it was the lack of habit, the loss of edge that only a few months in Paris give you, but I was shaken by the arrogance and the sense of not belonging. I certainly hadn’t missed being walked into 1000 times on a crowded street without as much as a pardon. There I was, in the stronghold of politesse, yet it was nowhere to be seen?

Maybe it was the rain, that swallowed the pace and the brilliance and beauty which otherwise stings my eyes.

Maybe it was the short moment that didn’t allow me to digest and profit.

Maybe, maybe, maybe…I just felt that Paris was a chapter passed…but an eternal love. When we landed back in London it was neither melancholy nor relief, just…acceptance, just normal.

Paris je ne t’aime plus, mais je t’aimerai toujours

Stray luggage

Travelling is this happy yet melancholic event; rainy walks to the bus-stop, waiting at cold train-stations, tearful good-byes at the airport. And then, the joyous arrivals, the warm welcomes, the comfort and the love.

Nonetheless, voyages in all their glory, they still have that one element of unavoidable impatience; waiting.

Checking in, you will always get in the 'wrong' line; the one which, as per chance, takes the most time. So, despite being sleep-deprived and in general having difficulties upholding your posture and perky disposition, there is still that moment of leaning gently on your suitcase, and at the same time observing all lines next to you move in express pace, while your's is seemingly advancing in slow motion.

Security, lets not even start; put your liquids in a bag, take your belt and jacket off, remove your laptop from your bag, take your shoes off (?), go throught the detector, get body searched if you are unlucky (three times if its not your day, none otherwise). The fun part comes after that; put everything on fast enough not to block the flow of people coming after you.

God, by the time you get to the tax free, you feel like you've come to paradise. Here there are two scenarios; one: you rush through the stores, and after 40 minutes you realise there is a final call for your gate. Two: you have ridiculous amounts of time to spend at the airport, and after your second tour of all the stores you start to feel slightly irritated that your gate hasn't even been announced yet.

Eventually on the plane, there are a few ways to go; none ideal, all possible. Either you fall asleep before the plane has even pulled out, or it feels like an eternity before it actually does. When you are going to your destination time can pass fairly quickly; it's exciting and thrilling and you can't wait to get there. However, going home is either a necessary evil or conversely; something you really desire (either way you are in for, what feels like a very long jurney).

Finally, the moment is there, when the cellphones start ringing again; halfway out of the aircraft and everyone is already on a par with your every step. But, not to forget is that little appendix, that you always bring along, your luggage, for which... you have to wait.

Without exception, you will see that strand of stray luggage; one bag which is shining new, not even a scratch to it, the trendy version of traveling, then another bag which you can understand someone might not want to claim; torn, old or other, it's one that doesn't look valid for travelling. A third one is the well travelled suitcase, the one with a few old stickers and some bumps and scratches (that looks like it has a life apart from it's owner). Occationally there is the odd large hard samsonite with one of those belts around, or that has been aggressively wrapped in plastic (that looks impossible to open). And sometimes, just sometimes, a part of a trolley or a toy rotates around and around, all the while some poor baby will be missing their means of transportation.

I am not the one waiting anymore, my silver titan slides up infront of me. Yet someone somewhere, is still waiting; stray people, lost from their luggage, stray luggage waiting for their owner. Someone will have to journey without their luggage, continue without their extention... and continue to wait while the stray find their way home... because they always do, no?.

When you go... you know

I had to pay for the overweight for my suitcases today. I had to pay a lot.

The funny thing is all the other times I've left, I always knew: "I'll be coming back, this is still home". This time it was different. This time I really felt I am setting out to find a home, I'm really leaving. It's ironic, all the 'rehearsed' moving, all the times I've slid past the baggage drop without paying, it was just practice, just not to scare me off.

Now, it's the real thing, and the real thing hurts, in your heart, in your mind(which struggles to keep together all the pieces of the moving puzzle) and even in your wallet.

When it's the real thing there is no cheating or escaping. When you go... you know.

On the move

Yesterday was a great day. Apart from a raw cold digging into my bones it was…special. I started off the day with my father, we had breakfast, a talk, went to look at furniture for him and then he dropped me off in Malmö, where the work began. I hitched a ride with a couple of friends (or two friends who are actually a couple) and went back to Lund (my hometown) with them. This is where the actual moving started. They rented a truck and five of us filled it all up in a little bit less than an hour (WOW). And back we went to Malmö again…to unload the truck, because we all really love carrying sofas and deconstructing and reconstructing beds.

We were a good team, correction, we were a wonderful team; efficient, encouraging and we had fun. I am yet to see three girls carrying a huge dinner table across a street laughing hysterically; still I was one of them. After redressing couches, making beds and placing drawers in their place it was finally time for dinner. In the middle of mess and boxes we sat down and had the remains of an immense Lebanese buffet, delicious! For desert cheese and crackers, and juicy pears, and what was left of red wine from their summer wedding, but most of all there was laughter, smiles and conversations.

Although exhausted, I think all of us, surely I, still looked at the boxes in envy (and joy). It was a real home, a place to be and to stay. It left space for a real life, without the stingy demands of a poor student. It was the future, far away for some, closer for others. Still, we were happy, we got to take part, we got to visit for a second, to imagine ourselves there…it has to be enough to last me a few years, I sucked it all in and left it there.

Today I took out my suitcase, again. And I’m packing it to live this time, not just to visit.

A bad rerun

It’s that day again, the day of waiting and travelling, the day of goodbyes and tears. It’s different every time, yet it is a day that seems to be coming as a bad rerun of itself, more frequently than one would desire.

Departures provoke a lot of emotion. Thus pre-departure can take three different shapes in action.

The first is of course; ignoring. The person leaving or people in their surroundings sick to the normal and ‘pretend’ that the upcoming separation is either very far away, or literally inexistent. It’s a quite detached way to go about things, but also easier. What’s positive about it is that there is no discrimination or favouritism towards anyone, everyone continues just as usual.

Then there is the second kind; withdrawing. This person fears the upcoming separation and pulls away. Often he or she becomes distant and almost cold, as if trying to untie some of the bonds created to avoid the pain.

And finally there is preparing. Where you know you are leaving and put effort into your remaining time. Rather than withdrawing you intensify your relations and tie the bonds stronger in order to avoid loss, despite distance.

As for the mind-set, it can go two ways. Either you don’t realise you’re leaving until you are gone, which then means major crisis, or you mourn your departure well ahead, during and also after. However then you are hopefully slightly more calm and rational about it….although you can never really know.

Today my departure has brought forward both ambivalence and ambiguity.
Ambiguity, because it is the end of a chapter, the end of the Spain chapter, nevertheless there are so many things which will hopefully continue into my next episode, and the ones that follow. London is the only variable that is secured or even guaranteed.

Ambivalence because I said goodbye to my love (luckily he is not far behind, as he is coming to see me in Sweden on Friday), it meant the end of our daily life in our small Spanish city, it means things are changing. Really, he is part of the ambiguity. Not to forget are other sad adieus, those of friends and acquaintances, of places and views.

Then, on the other hand, I am leaving for home, for family and for Christmas… all of which I love. And I am returning to London where my heart beats stronger and my brain thinks faster (I sincerely have the impression it does).

So it is new this day, because I never felt it this way, yet it is a repetition of itself…of those previous weeks of preparing, of tying and of trying to apprehend. I am kind of obliged to ambivalence…because I hate goodbyes, I struggle with them and at the same time I love a new challenge, I thrive on diversification.
Again I have done those days of washing and packing, cleaning, emptying and throwing away…to leave place for what is to come.

This time I have made a lot of space, I am hoping for greatness and joy, but I am expecting nothing at all. I believe it will be good, and I will work for it, yet I am prepared to take on the bad…at least so I hope. Today might be a rerun, but what is coming is freshly baked and yet to be revealed…So really at the end of this day I will have to find myself optimistic towards the ambiguity rather than ambivalent, because forward is the only way…and I prepared myself for goodbye…but goodbye just for now.

...and it's a long way home

Well, here I am again; in transit at an airport. Half way around the world (not that far really) and nowhere near going back again. It's a situation that brings to mind things to appreciate. Kind of as a survival strategy to keep yourself smiling during the six hours to be spent (and being spent) on a hard wodden-chair in a bare and impersonal café at La Parra (Barcelona).

Having had quite a tomultuous pre-departure week, the small things are what come to mind; My fathers childhood-stories of comical disasters, positive feedback at work, the smell of my mothers freshly-baked bread on a Saturday morning and then the act of remembering. We all appreciate being remembered and it doesn't take a lot. It is plenty having an instructor at the gym remember his promise to make you an exertube-programme, and delivering with excellence (pictures, instructions, schedule and even a motivational letter). And it is defenitly a good feeling apprehending the excitment of someone remembering your arrival when you suspect you have been forgotten.

In short, remembrance is a good thing to smile about...both the people that I remember and those who remember me. Again it's small acts really, the fact that I have a snickers-bar in my bag is evidence in itself, it was a departure-gift. So I can smile because someone remembered... and I didn't forget.