My thoughts are tinged with a slight, nagging melancholy each time I recall all the places I have seen. Every encounter lives only in my mind. Everything I see, everyone I meet and all the things I learn cluster together into an universe no one else will know.
One day these ghost worlds will smoothly turn to smoke, and all these stories, the knowledge, and the ghosts of everyone I'm meeting, I will take with me to oblivion.
I am spending September in beautiful Portugal, in beautiful company. I help cleaning/cooking/receiving guests at a charming hostel in Faro in exchange for a bed, meals, good company, beers, barbecue nights and conversation. It seems I could do this forever, and yet I am impatient and have created a strange paradox for myself. I am constantly looking into the future while I don't want the present to end.
I arrived in Budapest in the middle of the night, dressed for Faro and almost turned into a popsicle. It's time to update my wardrobe. I work two days a week this month as a receptionist. It'll give me ample time to travel but somehow my heart is still by the sea in Portugal.
The hostel here is smaller, with less bustle. A short walk from the Great Market Hall stocked to brim with affordable produce. I am gripped with a sense of complete happiness and equal melancholy at the realisation that the next year might turn out to be a loop of this month-long cycle of settling in a new place, getting to like it, and having to leave.
It makes me more cautious of Budapest than I was of Faro. Defence mechanisms for loving places? makes me laugh- I ask myself to relax and go with it :)
Since I last wrote? A couple of new friends, some short lived drama, a weekend in Vienna, one in Krakow, one in Prague, a wonderful zoo with crazed little monkeys and strange exotic birds, a date with Gustav Klimt and Egon Schiele, an impromptu trek around a dark castle, a plan for Berlin, learning to love Buda and Pest, and getting ready to say goodbye to both.
Sometimes while taking pictures of streets or reflections, I catch glimpses of myself on windows and mirrors- and I am startled. I cannot clearly explain to you the sense of disassociation I feel with my body then. The person in the mirror is frail, small and occupies about a square foot of ground. Whereas inside, while taking pictures, I am a goofy, limitless, exploding giant :D