July 2nd 2018 – Paris
I looked around the tiny hotel room, our stuff scattered
everywhere. Garments I washed in the bathtub last night because I hate
packing dirty laundry; socks laid on the radiator, pants on the windowsill, a
dress hanging on the wardrobe door dripping wet, making a tiny puddle on the
carpet.
Maps and tour brochures strewn on the floor, complimentary
bits and bobs on the table, gadgets and phone chargers, combs and hairclips, my
straw hat on top of the lamp, lenses and glasses, juice and water bottles, pens
and notepads, earrings I took off last night and was too lazy to put away,
perfumes and lotions, left over biscuits - a late-night snack! Two suitcases,
one big, one small, open mouthed like hungry monsters waiting to devour
whatever we put in them. Sample shampoos and shower gels we’ve carried with us
from previous hotels, a watch, a vape, my purse, Jori’s backpack, books we
promised we wouldn’t buy until the last day of our trip in London, so we
wouldn’t struggle with the weight! Loose change, packets of tissue and feminine
towels, and clothes, clothes, clothes! How do we accumulate so much stuff? The
thought of fitting everything back in bags *neatly* baffles and exhausts me.
Leaving is not like arriving. Arriving is exciting and full
of promise and expectation, like a fresh clear morning, like a well wrapped
present waiting to be opened. Departing, on the other hand is messy, it
requires skill and efficiency; the things bought with delight are now tedious
to pack and too heavy to carry. I worry the beautiful watercolor paintings I
bought from street artists will curl-up or crease when packed in a stuffy case.
And here it is. A city. We lived here, a short but memorable
stay. We ate here, we laughed here, we gaped, dizzy and awestricken by the
architecture, the beauty, the art. And now, we won’t be here anymore. Our hotel
room filled with someone else’s gadgets, someone else’s chaotic mess. And the
city will go on; the bustle, the horrific driving! The morning rush. The locals
who bought two baguettes every morning, and walked home with two baguettes
every night, the drunken singing and laughter rising from dark pokey bars.
It’s Monday, the people who seemed so cheerful, so welcoming,
so smiley and ready to give directions yesterday, are oblivious to us this
morning, walking purposefully to their jobs, with stern faces, back to reality,
mundane work and responsibilities, even the church bells sound grave. As we
head to another city, London, the narrow roads, the fitted grey suit, the Ploughmans sandwich, the
cloudy sky, the underground, the most attractive flag. Someone - at this moment - is rushing to
vacate the room we’ll be staying in; papers and maps tucked in hurriedly,
crumpled suits and unclean shirts shoved in with haste.. Life, people, things.
