10-minute-friends and floating thoughts.

I made six new random friends since I boarded the bus in Jaisalmer yesterday evening. Within a few minutes, I’d introduced myself to the guys across the corridor of the sleeper bus, and my plan of having locals handy in case I was confused worked out fabulously. Plus none of us got bored, and I was invited to stay at their desert school at my next visit. Facebook friend request: sent.

In my next bus, from Jaipur to Delhi, I was alone for quite a while, until two men (again, haha) joined me on my bench. I was first annoyed because that didn’t leave me much space, and I’m suspicious of situations in which I’m required to be physically close to men I don’t know. The ones next to me didn’t show any undue interest, though, and we sat in silence for a few hours, until we started talking about marriages. The three of us turned out to have travelled for a wedding, the two of them to their first Rajasthani one and I to my first one at all (although that had already been in Delhi). Anyway, we got along well and spent the afternoon together even after getting off the bus. We were joined by one more of their friends who turned out to like formal logic and had started reading “Gödel, Escher, Bach”, as well as watching lectures from Erlangen University (in Germany) online… we ceremoniously pledged to hold each other accountable for finishing the book.

What an improvement to sitting in the dust for hours by myself! More facebook friends: check. Plus, obviously, more nice people to visit in Delhi.

When the time came to reach the airport, one of them explained me how to get to the airport by metro, reassuring me that it would be no problem at all. Well, it got late, I got incredibly stressed, and so he took the metro with me all the way to the airport to make sure I’d be alright (I was filled with righteousness: “If you hadn’t reassured me, I’d left an hour earlier!”).

When saying goodbye, I gave him a stormy adrenaline-filled (and therefore probably tight?) hug, which left him visibly perplexed.

Woops, forgot Indian protocol – non-related, non-married men and women usually greet each other by waving/signing “namaste”, or shaking hands, or giving a very chaste hug selon occasion.

[Side note: not even married couples kiss each other in public; not that I’d wanted to try that].

I didn’t consider my potential faux-pas for long, but slid away. On my golden wedding sandals that provided no grip whatsoever on the shining floor; straight to check in, where I was greeted with a grin, considering my generous margin of 13 minutes before check-in closure and my inability of taking corners without looking like an overpacked surfing apprentice.

I grinned back; relief! Relief! The best euphoria. Then, waiting at the passport controls, I started a conversation with someone I suspected might also go to Bangkok. The kind of East Asian face turned out not to be Thai at all, but from eastern Nepal. What a joy! Under normal circumstances, I already get excited when I meet Nepalis, but now, I must have looked like a very happy chicken or something, and completed all the relevant introduction (I worked as a journalist on Durbar Marg! – Really!? I’ve studied journalism in Kathmandu!!) in record speed. We lost each other at security checks, but then I saw him speed past me (he was also late) and lose a jumper. I saved it – film-worthy scene of me running after him, still in sandals – and we’d become friends by the time we’d reached our respective gates.

I felt like just jumping on his plane to Kathmandu; build on the foundations of my Nepali life that still feels strangely real (I still have dreams in which I am back, exhilarated, greeting everyone… and then wake up). For a moment, it was there; I had a cool job, like working for the UN or something, or opened the first real German bakery of Thamel among all the fake ones – and then I rushed on, go, go Thailand.

A conversation I had a few hours before, remotely.

Me: ” The disturbing thing is that I find myself wanting very different kinds of lives depending on what feels good in the moment”

Friend: ” when ‘living in the present’ goes too far ;P “

Will I also want to stay in Thailand? What would happen if I gave myself actual travel time, you know, the kind without return ticket; where you just follow whatever leads you get? Would I get lost? Build a life abroad? Return home? (Also: where’s that?)

I try to be patient with myself. I’ve left the clear path labelled “studies”, and then had some ideas I was pursuing while in Brussels and Berlin. Leaving even that fragile skeleton of a life plan plan behind puts it all up for questioning again.

Why not live on an island and write stories? I could literally do anything. There is some consistency in my wishes, but it’s hard to pin it down. One constant: wanting an environment in which to grow, in a healthy – not stressed – way. Writing and stories have also been a big part of my life for a long time, so much so that it feels like a sacrilege that I haven’t substantially invested in my passion since my two first attempts at writing novels age 8 and 12.

What keeps changing: the wish to “break free” (strong now, as you can tell) versus the one to advance, to get to a position from which to be of the most use to the maximum amount of sentient beings. I am terrified of ending up as a novelist, even a successful one, because I could have, I don’t know, saved a few hundred thousand people’s lives, or made it infinitely less likely that humankind extinguishes itself within the next hundred years instead.

I don’t see an easy answer, and yes, I am taking into account that I could do several things at once. But what to do, like, right now?

Is it even worth applying to jobs that I don’t find totally inspiring?

Thus are my thoughts in the air towards Bangkok, and while they are disorienting, I float above them, so to speak. I am glad that being abroad has this unexpected but understandable effect, and that I’m able to look at life from a different angle. Even just remembering what my core passions are (woops, did I really forget?) is great and will help in the overall decision-making.

For now, let me float, explore, write. Maybe that’s as much as I need. And hopefully, I’ll make some more friends along the way.


Family Holiday (vacances en famille)

I find it easy to adapt to unfamiliar conditions, but it takes others to make me duly appreciate and marvel at my surroundings. A little French flavoured family holiday is exactly what is needed. We’ve rented a minibus, including a Sikh driver who sometimes swaps the turban against a Nike cap and drives the nine of us through Rajasthan. This feels appropriate – all the same people who first took me to India when I was 15 are here. And their habit of cultivating joy is healing. We spend the long hours on the road making up a game of bingo, for which we have to spot things like a monkey on a cow (or the other way round) or a woman in a red saree crossing the motorway. Which we have now observed multiple times, unlike a motorbike on which all three passengers are wearing a helmet.

We are also preparing a game of “two right, one wrong”, which we’ll play with friends at home. Is it true that we’ve danced on the back of a truck? Or that we’ve been in a temple dedicated to mice, in which hundreds of rodents walk over the pilgrims’ feet? That Clem has moulded a brick with her own hands, which was then burnt in camel dung?

In the meantime, I am discovering roadside photography, right from the bus’s front seat. Which leaves me with hundreds of poor quality photos of the same setup. But this occupation helps to stay focused on camels, cows, painted trucks, and smouldering looks their owners probably copied from Bollywood.

Or cotton fields in which camel carts are loaded, puppies in the dust, little round huts that could appear in a Star Wars scene, a naked toddler being washed, and finally a sandy scene with no people; a sight in itself.

I wrote this on the way from Bikaner to Jaisalmer, where we slept under the stars of the desert. ⛤

Solution: I cheated; two of the above were wrong. We haven’t (yet) danced on a truck, although that’s definitely on our to-do; and the professional brick-moulder wasn’t satisfied with Clem’s work and redid it.

How to: Indian wedding [in 9 simple steps]


We have just broken into our flat in Delhi, dismounting the gate and leaving a hole in the fresh mortar.

Twelve hours earlier. Clem (my French nearly-sister) and I are standing on the dirty road, made up like Disney queens, waiting for everyone else to come back from the temple. Two hours later. Elephants have welcomed us to the venue from which we’ll dance over to the actual wedding place. They’re fake, but still impressive. Only that their feet stand on concrete containers. If we’re out of place now, that’s just because everyone else is much better at being princesses than us. We get credit for trying and start our race of getting more selfies than the bride and groom.

One hour later. We dance around the groom, who, on a throne, arrives on the party lawn readied by the bride’s relatives and friends.

Some stuff happens on the scene (but no one really looks). Then the bride arrives, in an estimated 17kg dress and jewellery (and make-up, but I don’t know whether that counted in the estimate the groom gave me beforehand).

There is some staging of a love story (it’s an arranged marriage), including a film they shot beforehand (rose petals and wine on a lake included) and a question round (she knows his favourite food, he is not sure about her address), then they are allowed to retire to a sofa, where they have to take photos with nearly all of the guests. I think we lose on that count.

In the meantime, we have time to sample everything from several tens of metres of Indian dishes over Chinese and Italian food up to ratatouille – which is funny, because I’m with a bunch of French people.

There is also dance, some on stage, some by ourselves. It’s hard to tell whether the Indians around us are genuinely complimenting us on our (very… energetic) moves, or whether they are making fun of us. We don’t care and take some more selfies while being filmed.


The music has stopped. Really!? No more dancing. Lots of people leave, only the 20-30 from the inner family circle stay. We’re privileged enough to belong, in part because we really are close to the groom, but also because we’ve come from far and get to see everything.


I briefly open my eyes, scan the room we now all sit in. Nothing has changed – the room covered in Hindi writing (prayers?), the groom, then the couple on a small stage, chanting, rituals, chanting. Waiters walk around with a toffee-flavoured hot drink they call coffee, which I drink until I feel sick; the night is cold.


Brief agitation. The groom has bought back his shoes, which the bride’s side has stolen. Apparently a tradition from some Bollywood movie.


We’re sitting in the mini bus that will bring us back from the area with all the massive party venues, back to the flat which the groom’s family has rented for us close to their home. Indian hospitality goes so far as to provide housing, food and taxis for the nine of us while we are staying, to then give us gifts to thank us for having attended the wedding. Wait, what?

On our short walk to the flat, the streets are shockingly empty.


…we’ve found the key on the inside of the gate. If you want an actual explanation of how Indian weddings work, better look here or elsewhere. I probably didn’t get half of it. PS: this all sounds quite detached, which is partly due to my (poor) go at being comical, and partly because it was such an incredible experience as to become a surreal one. You might get what I mean when you only know dream marriages from films (or dreams?). And if the couple seemed a little distant at times, I think that is understandable seen how much effort a wedding in India means for the couple. It’s pretty hard to basically not sleep for days and sit through endless hours of rituals to then still look like you’re having the time of your lives. Luckily, their honeymoon is coming soon!

The joys of backpacker hostels and other differences between foreign and Indian tourists

I’m really regretting that I spent the last two nights in a hotel. It was affordable, sure enough (just over 10€ per night), but I’d done what an Indian person would have done. Okay, I don’t think an Indian girl would’ve hired a tuk tuk driver at 4.50am to drive into town and help find a hotel. Anyway, I know that the idea of hostels, i.e. renting out a bed in a dormitory, is not a common thought for Indian travellers. I’d gathered this beforehand, but got confirmation for this belief from my Delhi cohort. Which made me, stupidly, not even look. I mean, I wouldn’t have looked by myself before sunrise anyway. And booking the bus ticket in advance drained my planning-zeal, so I didn’t reserve accommodation in advance. But I wish I’d stay some more, getting in sync with whoever has been following in the footsteps of the Beatles since they had their famous retreat here back in whenever-it-was (now on the menu: visit to the “Beatles Ashram”).

Savouring this atmosphere that is similar all over the world, but like a safe haven wherever you go. People to talk to instead of staff who don’t understand English (although I was extremely proud the other day, stating my enquiry about hot water for my hotel shower as “garam pani?” – “hot water?”).

Okay, there’s also shallow always-same conversations with people who are maybe a bit too similar to you, but at least someone to follow so you don’t have to walk alone in the night. No constant suspicious faces about traveling alone, or doing whatever I want to do. I didn’t think it could have such an influence, but entering this little tourist bubble has made me feel safe immediately. Like Thamel, “my” district in Kathmandu, where I didn’t worry about wandering by myself anymore. Like when the receptionist at my current hostel in Rishikesh tells you that there’ll be live music in an hour instead of giving you odd looks that you’re going out at all.

There’s another difference between the Indian and foreign travelers I’ve met in Rishikesh (including lots of Americans on yoga teacher trainings and an overwhelming crowd of Israelis, which, oddly enough, I ended up mingling with yesterday as only one among two non-Israelis). It’s the speed. Rishikesh might not be as peaceful as it used to be, but the people I’ve met are pretty chilled out. Some of the favourite pastimes include writing or reading in cafés or walking up the hills, and of course yoga sessions everywhere.

When my Indian conference-friend helped me plan for this trip, he reacted in what felt like exaggerated shock to my idea of “just hanging around Rishikesh for three days” – “But you’ve seen all of it in half a day! What else do you want to do? Are you into river rafting?”. Indeed, this place, due to its hilly nature, is great for adventure sports… which seem, as a matter of fact, only be exercised by Indian people. As he explained, the idea of a trip to Rishikesh to them is summarised in riding up, renting motor bikes, roaming around, doing half a day of adventure sports, driving back, all in no more than two days. Which sounds crazy to me, given that it takes about 6 hours to even get here from Delhi.

I guess I’m not really getting the idea of doing stressful things even in your spare time, but then, the difference between “stressful” and “thrilling” is just a difference in taste.

Today, I tasted what un-planning means, one more of these things both precious and lost to me. I shouldered my bag, left the hotel with the TV I don’t need, and started following my gut feeling. It took me sampling Nepalese snacks (oh, I missed momos!), buying loose trousers and putting them on immediately (aha! Says the one who ranted about tourist-wear only yesterday), splashing in the holy river, and spending the afternoon in a most beautiful café. It was surrounded only by a small parapet, which I stood on to see the sunset. The evening chants started rising, filling the valley – and before I knew what was happening, I’d left the terrace, jumping from boulder to boulder, first sketchy, then more fluidly. When the chant was reaching a drum-underpinned frenzy, I sat on one of the rocks, watching as about ten monkeys climbed the metal wires of the big bridge spanning the valley, as if to pay tribute to the end of the day.

And now, I’m in said hostel, which I’d spotted on an idle walk. It was full, but I’m all set for sleeping in the common area, which is something they actually allow here, against a small fee. It’s nearly boring, knowing that a place for tonight is organised, but I will see what else happens when I find that live music place and perhaps the Israeli crowd again.

Nothing else is needed. Life here is easy. I pray it will stay that way.

Skylights on the Ganga

I’m back in Rishikesh, where I was last seven years ago. Back then, I was bustling with hardly contained enthusiasm, gasping at the hippies and the holy Ganga, rummaging through colourful Nepalese garments. Now, I am embarrassed by Americans dressing up like priests, and wear my black jeans and shirt because that feels like what a “normal” person would do, Indian or not.

The moments that have brought me most contentment lately were those that, for me, signal a good time almost anywhere. Reading the new novel by Arundhati Roy, for example, wonderfully set in the streets of Old Delhi and perhaps within a part of Indian mentality. Visiting the co-working space which a friend’s friend’s friend – she had temporarily joined the delegation of people supposed to occupy me in Delhi – is helping to set up.

Most importantly, finding the minuscule fraction of New Delhi’s mega-population that shares my interests. Everything was good once I jumped around an old fort and a park with Abhishek, the one parkour coach I’d found online. The simple act of doing something strange fuelled by a mentality we both follow made it easy to belong. I was no longer the European surrounded by countless Indians, but we were two traceurs within the ever curious crowd, as stunned and intrigued in Delhi as elsewhere. I am dying to get a chance to go to the climbing hall they set up inside an old temple…!

Other joys, also still before boarding the bus to Rishikesh: trying to understand, properly this time. Any of the insights gathered in previous travels feel incomplete, uncomfortably muddled and shallow. If I’ve lost the insouciance that previously enabled me to embrace other people’s worldviews without so much as a blink (which is a skill in itself!), I have gained something else. While, on my trips before University, I was good at listening, I don’t think that I’ve always asked the right kind of questions.

Being able to ask the right questions is also a matter of recognising the right moment… I have way too often asked questions in the wrong instants, where they ensued in awkwardness instead of opening doors.

I spent the second half of yesterday (after the parkour morning) with someone I’d met at a conference in 2013. It took until right before the end that we started talking about touchy issues such as family and relationships, and I still tried to tread carefully when asked “how’s that different in Europe?”. I know that young urban Indians are getting more relaxed about sex and relationships, and I found it great that issues of gender equality are being adressed more visibly now. At the same time, my own horizons have broadened quite a bit in liberal student environments, and I don’t think he was ready to hear about pansexuality or polyamory, or other things that now sound very commonplace to me but which, in that environment, felt rather… out of place. Instead, I found out that he’d only ever had one girlfriend, which her family married to someone else while he was abroad, because they were from a different cast. So, yes, the kids can have relationships before they marry, but things get trickier once it comes to marriage. A woman about my age told me: “my family encourages me to get a love marriage, because arranged marriage is such a gamble. But I don’t want to find someone… I’d rather not be married at all, but that is something my family will not accept”.

And so, when wandering Rishikesh, I wasn’t sure why I should even be here, and brooded in a little solitary circle in a café near the river. Some time later, I joined its owner on the roof, watching the Ganges and the monkeys in the late light, finding it hard to follow while he spoke. But he noticed my mood and the thing I understood was when he said: “You don’t have to be unhappy”. Which didn’t seem to help in that moment. Yet, by now the café has filled with people and guitars and the smell of food…and maybe it does make sense to be here.

Post Pre-wedding Post

The morning after

My most immediate impression right now is the slight spice-induced queasiness that stems from the pre-wedding function I attended yesterday night. Not that any of the food was bad – on the contrary, it was amazing to taste some old favourites like pani puri, phav baji, and aloo tikki, as well as some unknown snacks (none of us felt the need to help ourselves in actual food after several rounds of snacks).

But well, for now it’s porridge and tea for me, in one of these touristy rooftop cafés in Paharganj (the main Delhi backpacker location), overlooking typical Indian bustle from a safe distance.

A few hours later

I’m again sitting in a café (this time a very artsy – and empty – venue in central Delhi), but nothing much has changed. I am sipping masala chai instead of ginger lemon tea, and am considerably more exhausted than before. My plans have been changing at a dizzying pace (or is that still the queasiness? Or the fact I haven’t had lunch?), and I’ve resorted to not knowing anymore, and waiting for some local friend-person to help me. That is because local non-friend people have been dragging me around different offices from where I was supposed to get train or bus tickets (after someone told me I had to book my train ticket from the tourist office). It seems established that there’s no train available today, nor a bus. Oh, yes: the plan was as simple as getting out of Delhi until my French (ex-host) family arrives and the actual wedding is happening. But there seem to be train strikes or whatever. Who knows. When one guy in one office told me that the only option of getting to the hills would be to take a taxi, which costs more than 100€, I decided that I should reconvene.

Since my friend who is getting married is understandably busy, I spent most of the function yesterday in his friendship group, listening to mostly Hindi conversation over blasting music, while the ring ceremony was held somewhere in the background, attracting interest only from a few people.

As far as my Hinglish (see below) goes, I’m up to speed now – my English has already taken a slightly different accent plus the occasional Hindi word, which probably sounds more odd than authentic, and hopefully not mocking. It also seems more representative of young men’s than women’s speech, although I haven’t had a great sample to check that. It seems wise to hold back on expressions like “bro”, “man”, and, for many additional reasons “cunt” in any case… even though they’re very tempting to add emphasis!

Anyway, so I called one of the people from yesterday, who’d already helped get me a taxi back to the hotel and had told me to ask in case of trouble. I told him about my issue of getting out of town and he said: “Let’s meet after I finish work, and we’ll sort something out!”. As strange as I find their bewilderment about someone (especially, but not only women) travelling alone, sometimes I really do appreciate that protectiveness.

Evening – how it all resolves

Even though I kind of threw the plans arriving a week before the other foreigners (as in, my French host family), the delegation of friends that was set aside to cater for us has swiftly accommodated for me. Right now, I’m sitting in someone’s “spare flat”, and a few people were trying to figure out what they could get me to do to pass my time. Maybe I wasn’t helping that much when I was like “Oh, I like parkour! There surely is even a parkour gym somewhere in Delhi…”. Well, they’ll help with the gym bit – at least something to avoid potato-mode. And shopping also seems to be universal – and to be honest, having a local person with you can actually save quite a lot of money on that.

In the meantime, I am trying to find out how to quickly find lots of interesting people, and try to understand more of what the world looks like from around here.

Appendix: Hinglish

Just a few things I remember noticing today

  • “Also” in place of “too”, e.g. “You should try this one also”
  • “Thrice” instead of “three times”, e.g. “We had to queue thrice to get the tickets!”… but seriously, that makes sense – do any non-Indian soeakers use that, too? (Or, also)
  • “Even” in unexpected locations, but I don’t have a good example.

… plus lots more stuff (check for yourself, ha). One more thing: some time ago, someone asked me: “but do you know a single Indian who speaks English properly?” … which I found a strange way to put it. As in, there’s loads of English native speakers around here (Yesterday, I met this cute maybe 8 year-old, who already spoke English better than I did age 14), who all speak perfectly fine according to the variety they’ve grown up in. It just happens not to be American or British standard (which, by the way, lots of native Americans or Brits also fail to acquire).

Although, if you are a speaker of Indian English or have some other expertise, please do say if you disagree!

As always, do sign up for email alerts, so you never miss any of these incredibly important posts. Much love from India ❤

Orange Delhi night

I thought arriving would be more of a relief. Instead, it’s the middle of the night, and I’m wide awake and alone in a shabby dorm (which is either overpriced, or the exchange rate has changed dramatically since 2014, or the rest of the place really is that great to make up for it).

But! I am in India, once more, and unexpected memories and forgotten knowledge populate my mind. Like when I spontaneously want to say “sorry, I don’t have money” or “just a second” and catch myself in surprise because the words are suddenly there in Hindi.

Chatting to my taxi driver, back into the openness and confidence I used to feel. It is good to remember that there is a place where singing out loud is not all that strange, and a bit bewildering to receive all the tourist-reserved attention again. Most of all, however, this time I was less overwhelmed just by the country, and able to notice smaller things. The orange-patterned floor in the airport, the dusty sweet-ish smell that is very hard to describe, but immediately familiar. The orange-coloured night, in which the smog diffuses the light emanating from the lamp posts, the red street lights everyone ignores, magnificent temples in the most ordinary corners, oh, Delhi.

So, yes, I am full of wonder to be passing through this part of the world again, which for me feels like passing through a certain phase of my life again. Well, for now.

And I think I have decided on the theme I want to adopt for the coming days or weeks. It happened on the plane, when it suddenly clicked that I would land and be back, truly. I felt this joy, like vibrating with goodwill for all sentient beings, only better. Because there was this certainty that, at the core, there was nothing to worry about, as if anxiety wasn’t even possible, as if everything was just …good. It’s like having lost your compass and not noticing until you get it back. Which made it utterly obvious that the theme of, well, now will be to follow whatever this sense of direction indicates, just do what feels like the right thing to do, in the safety of a few weeks in which no decision will really matter anyway, and maybe learn to take some of this home. But because I’m starting to overthink stuff again, this is the right time to sleep, to then meet the wonder of the new day with a waking eye.

Noticing confusion: India? Again?

This is what I’m listening to while writing: https://youtu.be/dnxCxHLAqn8

I noticed that I’m confused. Wait? I’ll be in Delhi this Thursday? People had been asking whether I was planning on travelling (“now that you’re not doing anything, really”). I wasn’t.

Now it’s happening anyway.

I was preoccupied installing myself in Berlin, which has worked pretty well so far (“you know that you’re at home in a place when you have people to discuss with”). So I didn’t really notice that there was this mostly family-sponsored trip coming up, enabling me to see a good friend getting married and then join one half of my parents in Thailand. Now that I’m, on a gut-level, starting to realise that I’ll be far away in four days, I’m starting to wonder what the journey will be like. I’m all for tasting the adventure semi-prepared at most, but I also know that being completely aimless can turn into the kind of journey where you end up returning with a stale “what was the point?”. Which doesn’t mean that I want to plan, as such. It’s more like choosing which kind of mindset to adopt during the next month or so.

Option 1: Holiday?

I am very tempted to use the excuse to put all the projects that are ticking away at the back of my head on hold. Existential dread about the future, concerning my personal path as well as roughly the next hundred trillion years of humanity, if all goes well? Nah, I’m on holiday!

On the other hand, I’ve been finding it hard to adopt holiday-mindsets for the last year or so. First, there was no time for a holiday (finals), then, my whole life entered this in-between, where no clearly-cut “work-time” meant that every minute was a moment in which to figure out my life, or “get somewhere”, “get something done” (the vagueness of this “something”not exactly having been helpful either).

I’ve been getting better at this in Berlin, for example by picking up a not-directly-useful occupation like playing the violin again. I’m not all that stressed anymore about the fact that the violin (as played by me) does not make a relevant contribution to the world, nor getting me a job. Ah! I said the evil j-word! If anything, that’s a topic for a later post, since it doesn’t really fit in with this moment’s effort of not being stressed. So it seems like there are all the more good reasons for a holiday! (Counter-reasons, or more like counter-feelings, are that I don’t actually deserve one, that I’m not useful enough to be worth the investment, and that this money could actually have saved lives instead of sending me on a trip. But I might just have to shut out these thoughts for now, and pledge to be better in the future.)

Option 2: An adventure!

Adventures, or “going travelling”, are different from holidays. They are more focused on having experiences, and testing/developing yourself. Sleeping alone under a tin foil in some forest after crossing the whole country in a day’s hitchhike perhaps doesn’t make for a great holiday. But it’s amazing if you’ve always wanted to talk to a fox at night, or just learn how to shrug your shoulders at not knowing where to go, or sleep, next. I had thought that now might not be a great time to bring myself to the edge, because that feels like a place I’ve been occupying constantly for months anyway. But now, I’m starting to, very subtly, feel the thrill again (“I could be walking around the himalayas next week…”). Actually, exposing myself to directly adventurous situations could be a good idea. Swapping the diffuse threat and dread of trying to find a cosy little place in society for the very precise trouble of making sure you stay safe along the way sounds like an excellent plan.

Adventure-journeys can also contain a project, a question you’re trying to answer throughout the journey, a view you detail at the start and whose progress you track. These are nice for the narrative as well, and work to satisfy my need for meaning even while I’m having fun. Maybe I’ll come up with something in the next few days.

Now that I’ve presented this wonderful travel-holiday dichotomy, I’m of course going to tear it down again and announce that I should probably do a bit of both. Mwahaha. In any case, this post has served its purpose well: I’m starting to feel ready.

I hope you’ll accompany me on this journey!

(One way is to subscribe to get email updates, haha.)