Ladies and Gentlemen,
As most of you should know, this is end of May. Normally, next month will be June, followed by July. July will be the month that my feet will touch American soil once again. My country, what tis of thee?
Like many of us here, I thought this adventure abroad would never end. But as I make the turn towards the last stretch of the run, I can see how close the finish line is. Many of my friends are already at that line, with only a few days left to go. For others fortunate enough, a month or two remains to travel and have some fun before going home. Or leaving home...?
I have grown quite comfortable here in my little nest, six floors above the parisian streets. My bed fits the contours of my body. My walls are covered with images I've picked up along the way. There is the familiar sound of Jack coming home or the sight of him sitting at his desk when I walk through the door. There is my silly shower with no curtain, so I have to aim the water in a certain direction as to not get it all over the floor. Our little desk lamp on the kitchen floor because that is the only source of light in there. The lonely dart board because we broke all the darts. The dusty book case with books I have never read, and probably never will. I am home, so where am I going in July?
Let me start with where I went last weekend. Spain! An hour bus ride, and two hour plane ride and I was in Madrid. I wandered the heavy and wide streets alone. My only contact there was a friend of Olimpia's she had put me in touch with. It was morning still, so the girl was in class. I wandered into a tapas bar and ordered a beer. I had been awake since 5 am, and with the warm sun outside, it felt like it was the afternoon. It was only 11 though. So everyone else, who had coffees in their hands, stared at me strange. Of course, it might not be everyday a boy with platinum blond hair and black rim glasses walks through the doors of this workman's regulars bar. (That's right, I have blond hair. You'll see pictures soon enough.) None the less, it was a pleasant surprise when my beer came with a plate of food for free! So I tipped my cup towards the wino next to me (the only other guy drinking booze), and fueled myself up.
I remembered that I knew a girl from my high school who was doing a year in Madrid, so I found her number online and called her up. Jessi. Somehow we found each other in this huge park at the center of Madrid. We walked and chatted and got caught up on life in general and has travelers of strange lands. We both shared the same feelings about the nearing end of our European lives. It is hard to cope with as these dream like days grow shorter. So we settled with a beer and another free plate of tapas and remembered the old days of PHS. Kind enough to stay with me and be late for her job, Jessi showed me to the right metro line, and off she went.
Olimpia's friend, Isa, played my tour guide for the rest of day. Taking me around what seemed like the entire city, I saw a Madrid through a cool, active, and clever girl's eyes.
The next morning I hopped on a six hour bus ride to Seville to meet Olimpia. She instantly teased me about my hair, by kindly took me by her side and showed me her lovely town. Despite our fling in Paris, Olimpia and I are just good friends now. Moreover, she is living at home. No boys on the couch, so I stayed with her friend Alvéro. The three of us spend the next couple days, roaming the sights, drinking on rooftop bars, sitting by the river, dancing all night, and sleeping till around 3 pm in the afternoon. It is true what they say, the Spanish party till breakfast and sleep until dinner. What a strange clock to live by. They seem content though and showed me a heck of a good time.
Time was short though, and I had to head back up to Madrid on the same bus to catch my 5 am monday morning flight back to Paris. But an hour before that flight boarded, I, asleep on the ground, missed the check in. Groggy, tired, and having spent 6 hours on a bus, I argued along side a French woman with the Ryan Air woman about letting us on a flight that wasn't going to leave for another hour. "It's closed!" she yelled. "But how, we still have time, people are still going through security, and we are but two passengers left. Please!" She told us to take the flight tomorrow. In a fury, the French woman decided she was going to drive with her husband and colleague rather than argue about our flight, which at this point, had boarded and left without us. Not wanting to stay in the airport, I asked if I could tag along.
12 hours across Spain and France ain't half bad when your sitting in the back of a big Mercedes. And these strangers were quite kind, paying from my lunches and fighting to get me my money back for my missed flight. By the time we got to Paris, I was beat tired, and had crossed two of the biggest European countries by road.
Direct, it was back to the grind stone. I locked myself in the editing room for a week and watched two fake adolescents make love for the first time over and over and over again. Finally, I have sand it down to something I can call a short French film. Coming to a computer screen near you sometime at the end of Summer.
Pictures will be coming soon too. My computer is in the shop, so I have been using Jack's. Loosing your computer is like loosing your arm. You feel like you can't reach out. Then you go outside and you remember you have real arms, and they work pretty well. So I am going to reach out to few more countries before coming back to stars and stripes.
As for the finish line. I'm not there yet, so I'm trying to keep my pace. We are all scared to return, like we were scared to leave. People dealt with their fear in certain ways then, and are doing so now. Some have their lovers who they cling on to like capsized sailors holding on to the wreckage of their ships. Many will have to let go soon, and other may cast sail again. There are those who are going to party till the plane leaves. Others who lock themselves in editing rooms. And those filling out second year applications.
When I was a kid, I used to ask my mom where home was. She'd say, "It's wherever you make it." Home sweet home.
And I bow to you all. Good day.
PS: Photos for everyone can be seen here:
http://sfsu.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2044714&l=cc8ff&id=11701635
As most of you should know, this is end of May. Normally, next month will be June, followed by July. July will be the month that my feet will touch American soil once again. My country, what tis of thee?
Like many of us here, I thought this adventure abroad would never end. But as I make the turn towards the last stretch of the run, I can see how close the finish line is. Many of my friends are already at that line, with only a few days left to go. For others fortunate enough, a month or two remains to travel and have some fun before going home. Or leaving home...?
I have grown quite comfortable here in my little nest, six floors above the parisian streets. My bed fits the contours of my body. My walls are covered with images I've picked up along the way. There is the familiar sound of Jack coming home or the sight of him sitting at his desk when I walk through the door. There is my silly shower with no curtain, so I have to aim the water in a certain direction as to not get it all over the floor. Our little desk lamp on the kitchen floor because that is the only source of light in there. The lonely dart board because we broke all the darts. The dusty book case with books I have never read, and probably never will. I am home, so where am I going in July?
Let me start with where I went last weekend. Spain! An hour bus ride, and two hour plane ride and I was in Madrid. I wandered the heavy and wide streets alone. My only contact there was a friend of Olimpia's she had put me in touch with. It was morning still, so the girl was in class. I wandered into a tapas bar and ordered a beer. I had been awake since 5 am, and with the warm sun outside, it felt like it was the afternoon. It was only 11 though. So everyone else, who had coffees in their hands, stared at me strange. Of course, it might not be everyday a boy with platinum blond hair and black rim glasses walks through the doors of this workman's regulars bar. (That's right, I have blond hair. You'll see pictures soon enough.) None the less, it was a pleasant surprise when my beer came with a plate of food for free! So I tipped my cup towards the wino next to me (the only other guy drinking booze), and fueled myself up.
I remembered that I knew a girl from my high school who was doing a year in Madrid, so I found her number online and called her up. Jessi. Somehow we found each other in this huge park at the center of Madrid. We walked and chatted and got caught up on life in general and has travelers of strange lands. We both shared the same feelings about the nearing end of our European lives. It is hard to cope with as these dream like days grow shorter. So we settled with a beer and another free plate of tapas and remembered the old days of PHS. Kind enough to stay with me and be late for her job, Jessi showed me to the right metro line, and off she went.
Olimpia's friend, Isa, played my tour guide for the rest of day. Taking me around what seemed like the entire city, I saw a Madrid through a cool, active, and clever girl's eyes.
The next morning I hopped on a six hour bus ride to Seville to meet Olimpia. She instantly teased me about my hair, by kindly took me by her side and showed me her lovely town. Despite our fling in Paris, Olimpia and I are just good friends now. Moreover, she is living at home. No boys on the couch, so I stayed with her friend Alvéro. The three of us spend the next couple days, roaming the sights, drinking on rooftop bars, sitting by the river, dancing all night, and sleeping till around 3 pm in the afternoon. It is true what they say, the Spanish party till breakfast and sleep until dinner. What a strange clock to live by. They seem content though and showed me a heck of a good time.
Time was short though, and I had to head back up to Madrid on the same bus to catch my 5 am monday morning flight back to Paris. But an hour before that flight boarded, I, asleep on the ground, missed the check in. Groggy, tired, and having spent 6 hours on a bus, I argued along side a French woman with the Ryan Air woman about letting us on a flight that wasn't going to leave for another hour. "It's closed!" she yelled. "But how, we still have time, people are still going through security, and we are but two passengers left. Please!" She told us to take the flight tomorrow. In a fury, the French woman decided she was going to drive with her husband and colleague rather than argue about our flight, which at this point, had boarded and left without us. Not wanting to stay in the airport, I asked if I could tag along.
12 hours across Spain and France ain't half bad when your sitting in the back of a big Mercedes. And these strangers were quite kind, paying from my lunches and fighting to get me my money back for my missed flight. By the time we got to Paris, I was beat tired, and had crossed two of the biggest European countries by road.
Direct, it was back to the grind stone. I locked myself in the editing room for a week and watched two fake adolescents make love for the first time over and over and over again. Finally, I have sand it down to something I can call a short French film. Coming to a computer screen near you sometime at the end of Summer.
Pictures will be coming soon too. My computer is in the shop, so I have been using Jack's. Loosing your computer is like loosing your arm. You feel like you can't reach out. Then you go outside and you remember you have real arms, and they work pretty well. So I am going to reach out to few more countries before coming back to stars and stripes.
As for the finish line. I'm not there yet, so I'm trying to keep my pace. We are all scared to return, like we were scared to leave. People dealt with their fear in certain ways then, and are doing so now. Some have their lovers who they cling on to like capsized sailors holding on to the wreckage of their ships. Many will have to let go soon, and other may cast sail again. There are those who are going to party till the plane leaves. Others who lock themselves in editing rooms. And those filling out second year applications.
When I was a kid, I used to ask my mom where home was. She'd say, "It's wherever you make it." Home sweet home.
And I bow to you all. Good day.
PS: Photos for everyone can be seen here:
http://sfsu.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2044714&l=cc8ff&id=11701635
posted by Alexander at 10:01 AM
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