Paris rediscovered

2010: Stayed in a hole at what was was generously advertised as a hotel, ate a lot of baguettes since they were cheap, and walked to and around countless museums trying to tick everything off the tourist checklist.

2016: Stayed at a charming Airbnb apartment with the loveliest of hosts, ate fantastic cheese and meat and drank loads of wine without wincing (too much) at the price, and did not visit a single museum.

As I get older I cannot say for certain that I am getting any wiser. But by God, I am getting better at travelling! 

On death and perspective

There is nothing like death to make you re-evaluate how you want to deal with life.

A woman I cared for very deeply passed away last week after many years of dealing with the Big C. While most would say that she fought bravely and valiantly, I would say that she lived through the last eight years honestly, sugarcoating nothing and telling it like it is. I will miss her.

Which brings us to the living.
A man who I loved very much told me he wanted to marry me but changed his mind a few months later for reasons I still find incomprehensible, and in one fell swoop, pulled the rug of my life from right under my feet. Or at least it felt that way. In the weeks that followed, I have discovered that the pain of rejection lacks the vigour of anger. Anger acts as a fuel that helps propel you into the future and move on in a way that plain old hurt cannot. You tend to nurse it and wallow it in until it can swallow you whole, and that is really not a great life plan.

Anyone's pain is terrible because it is their own. It is personal and all encompassing in a way that another's circumstance cannot even begin to compare with. But here's the thing about death - although it is someone else's, it puts into perspective all your seemingly catastrophic issues and makes you realize that as long as you are breathing, it is really not all that bad and it definitely could be worse.

So I am reminded now that it is possible to forgive anything, even when the transgressions seem insurmountable. To have faith that there is a plan for your life, even though it is absolutely blurry and you cannot see two feet in front of your face. To look back on memories that break your heart and see that there is happiness to be found there, regardless of someone else's decision to cast them all aside. And that amidst all the loneliness, heartache, and sadness, there are glimpses of hope, laughter, and friendship that can help make each day just a little bit better.

Above all, I know that if she can do this, I can get it together. 

Equilibrium

Her soul mate died,
and still she went to work the next morning.
His life fell apart at the seams,
and still there were the bills to be paid.
It is the dawn of your greatest happiness,
the day dreams and desires are fulfilled -
and not a single hair is turned.
Because that is life.
That is the beauty and sorrow of it.

Of Istanbul and Germans

Istanbul has been called many things, but to me, it will remain the place where I remembered that travelling alone can be fun, and that Germans are amongst my favourite people.

I had hoped to go on this trip with my boyfriend, then my brother, then a friend, and when all those plans fell through, I decided to go anyway. In retrospect, I never once thought about the fact that I would be travelling alone to a wedding, being more preoccupied about how I was going to get great pictures of myself with selfies and a Samsung phone on its last legs. Priorities.

Armed with the essentials – a good book, plenty of water, hand sanitiser, and a map, I set off to explore the city. I got lost, of course, and more than once judged myself for being that hapless tourist who wanders about slowly while looking dazed and confused. I also wanted to hit (or at least nudge closer to the puddles) the cute couples holding hands and canoodling all over the place.

Soon after, though, I found my own rhythm. Which is not to say I got any better at reading the map. Instead, I slowed down, followed whatever road looked most interesting, got chatting with all sorts of other tourists (Frances and Bob from Australia were the best, by far!) and locals, and got pretty darn good at expressing myself through flailing hands and pointing. I sense a lost career as a mime.

I also sat down and read my book wherever I fancied, people-watched for hours, and had a glass of wine and ate whenever I damn well pleased. I don’t have a single picture of myself in Istanbul, but as it turns out, I had a great time anyway.

Onto ze Germans…

The wedding I was attending was that of a German friend from the Irish days, whose bride is Turkish. Keep up.

If the worth of a person is determined by the friends and family that turn up to his wedding, then my friend has it made. From making the effort to speak in English as much as possible, to being as warm, friendly, and inclusive as possible to everyone around, including yours truly, this contingent once again reminded me why I am so fond of my German friends. Their propensity to divest themselves of their clothes and jump into the closest water body never ceases to entertain, but I suspect the real affinity comes from a common love of the good stuff – alcohol. Ah well, better friendships were built on lesser things than beer. 

London

Earlier this year I took a decision that made zero financial sense, threw my extremely stable job out of the window, and headed to a summer in a city I love.

It rained non-stop for a month.

But then last night I sat in a candlelit church while Vivaldi bounced off the crypt walls and finally realised why people cry when they're happy.

My Life In Passport Photographs

It is not a pretty story.

I looked my best when I was five, I'm sure of it now. The reason I am so sure is because the only passport picture I have where I do not look like something is seriously wrong with me, is from from the time when I was five.

I can travel through time with my passport photographs and what a dismal journey it is. Yes, there was that brief glimmer of hope when the eyebrows were shaped and  my unruly hair settled down. Ish. But after that, it's all been downhill. I've looked like a frumpy housewife, butch feminist, aide to terrorist organizations, and someone who clearly does not have a sense of humour.

When I think I'm doing my 'subtle smile' that I hope will make my picture look at least a little bit friendly, I come off looking like I'm grimacing in pain. I've tried every version of smiling (harder to do when the official rules won't allow you to actually smile) for passport pictures and just end up with another dismal photograph to add to my already impressive collection.

So as I complete yet another round of visa applications this year, I'll be taking Ms. Mournful to Japan for what I hope will be a fun-filled trip that will make next year's photograph just a little more upbeat.

Hope springs eternal. 

Dance Little Lady

One of my biggest fears is that one day I will dance like an old person.

You know - fists clenched, awkward swaying that has no rhythm, feet shuffling from side to side. It's like something goes off like clockwork, and the minute you hit a certain age (I hesitate to pinpoint what exactly it is) all sense of timing goes out the window.

It seems the only recourse is to sit out the music. Or not give a rat's ass what you look like.
I'll be the one sitting on the fence, tapping my toes and twisting my paper napkin to shreds while I consider making a move.