Prague 1

When you travel and stay at a hostel, especially if you do it alone, not having another person shield or separate you in any way from what is going on, you often find incredible unforeseeable things happening. You have the opportunity to meet a great number of people – each one of them conditioned by different experiences; each one unique and potentially fascinating.

“Be nice to strangers, they may be angels in disguise”, they say. Not being a great believer in god, heaven, hell, angels, christenings and dressing up to church so that your neighbours can judge the shit out of you, I still like the message that conveys. The truth is that we are all strangers before we become friends, lovers or spouses. We even meet our parents, siblings and children, to be fair. There is a first time we see a human being, look into their eyes and find out who they are.

I came to realise this and more when I seized the opportunity to save a little money and dive into the unknown.

And all this happened because I was visiting Wrocław for a day and the flights to London were so ridiculously expensive that I decided to fly from Prague for a fraction of the price. This involved staying there overnight, which I did at the charming, conveniently located and very friendly Hostel Downtown. And I don’t think I could be any happier for this little adventure.

I arrived by Blablacar in the early evening and having made my 21-century-enabled way to the hostel, I left my backpack in the room and went downstairs to where evening activities were taking place. I arrived just in time for the last task – the plank, which I held for and unround and underwhelming 2 minutes and 37 seconds (sadly not long enough to win a chocolate medal). After this peculiar and oh so healthy introduction I found myself in an escalating whirlwind of adventure.

I met a great number of interesting people during my short and sweet stay in Prague. I met an Australian girl, Samantha, who is 18 and quit high school to pursue a career in make up and styling. And after doing a course went backpacking in Europe. And you know what? That’s great. Having your shit together can really be overrated. Nobody wants to find themselves at the ripe age of 50 regretting the choices they made (or more often didn’t make).

I met Dylan, a wonderful Irish guy who travels around Europe with his guitar playing gigs and busking. He taught me a bit of guitar. I taught him a bit of piano. He performed Fast Car by Tracy Chapman for us.

I also met Katie, a marvellous girl from Ireland who worked at the hostel and she shared the list of her favourite hostels with me. Which gave me an idea or two for the summer.

• London – St Christopher’s Hostel
• Krakow – Lil Havana Party Hostel
• Berlin – Pfefferbett Hostel
• Amsterdam -The Flying Pig Hostel
• Vienna – Wombat’s The Lounge Hostel
• Budapest – The Hive Party Hostel
• Portugal – Old Town Lagos Hostel
• Iceland – Loft Hostel
• Prague – Hostel Downtown
• Barcelona  – Sant Jordi Sagrada Familia Hostel

Katie also told me about the World Bodypainting Festival in Austria which I fully intend on attending. Like I had no idea this kind of thing even existed. It. Looks. Incredible.

 

Her lovely, heart-warming friend Lesha, who is vegan, told me quite a bit about veganism and shared her breakfast with me the following day.

And all together we went to one of the strangest bars I’d ever been to (I’d even be prepared to say that it beat the fiercely odd competition and topped these particular glamorous charts).

It was basically a huge unfinished cellar with music from Buena Vista Social Club playing in the background. It was like a drug den (in the best way possible!) minus the drugs (I think?).

The further in I went the more intriguied I became by the um… particular interior design and layout. All drinks were served in jars, including the shots which were served in the tiniest and most adorable little jars that mankind has manufactured. Tins could be found everywhere and candles rested on little towers of melted wax rather than candlesticks. But the people were friendly and the Sljivovica abundant.

And at some point we bumped into the tallest dog I had (and still have) seen. Tall to the extent that you feel thrown off track wondering if there really are no drugs around and if so, if the fumes are well and up in the air affecting your mental faculties.

Unfortunately I do not have a picture of that dog. It might have a picture of me though.

Once we got over that experience there was more to surprise us, the whirlwind continued as we bumped into and got acquainted with more people who came to visit the marvellous and quaint city that Prague turned out to be.

All those strangers with their smiles and laughter and sense of humour and their intricate ways and personal sense of adventure made my little trip amazing.

When you get to travel like this you are reminded of the incredible variety in the world. One can be nothing if not grateful for all these kind wonderful people and being reminded of the fact that there are no strangers. There are only friends you haven’t met yet.

And on top of that I got to fly for a very convenient 45 Euros (including checked-in luggage) with Smart Wings AND enjoy one hell of a stunning technicolour sunset upon landing. Win times a million.

A Beach Day in Exmouth

Once in a while along comes a day that’s absolutely perfect. Both when it’s happening  and later on, as a memory. The one that you smile at the thought of.

Our carefree, gleeful beachday in Exmouth on Sunday is a perfect example of just that. Exmouth is a short train ride from Exeter, being a conveniently close seaside town.

We arrived around 3 p.m. to be welcomed by a warm breeze and an amazing holiday vibe. Everyone was talking, drinking, laughing and taking photos. The atmosphere was one of utter joy, relaxation and love. We played music by The Beachboys, grilled food and drank perry straight out of the bottle. We danced, played pig in the middle and wrestled on the beach.

It was a day of hugs, smiles and laughter. A day of polaroids and (almost) swimming in the ice-cold British sea. A perfect 24-degree, sunny, blue-skied spring summer’s day.

It was also my friend Natalia’s birthday and someone managed to sneak out and buy her a birthday cake which we went on to happily consume after singing a hybrid Polish-English version of happy sto lat.

As the sun was slowly setting on the perfect, then 19-degree beach we decided to catch the 20:30 train back to Exeter.

Which some of us did and others didn’t. On our way to the train I thought it would be a good idea to have a quick toilet stop before going home. When we were passing a sweet little music festival I saw my chance and sneakily crawled under the fence (feeling rather smug). I proceeded to use their premises only to find out that entry was free and I could have walked in using the front door. Oh well. At least I got to go.

After that I bumped into my friend who had fallen and scratched his knee and we just missed the train. Seeing they left at one-hour intervals we decided to go to the (free – who would have thought) festival, and bumped into Kyle and Elliott again.

We were met by a crowd  which we then realised comprised of retirees, children and people who had mistakenly wandered onto festival grounds and didn’t have the motivation to leave. Feeling we belonged to at least one of the aforementioned groups we stayed and swayed to some Bob Marley, electronica and Gorillaz inspired music.

It was perfectly wonderful and completely spontaneous; jubilant and peaceful throughout the whole day – summer joy has this simplicity. Once the sun is out one doesn’t really need that much – good food, good friends and an optional drink.

Summer has always been and will always be my favourite time, withouth competition. Skin goes darker, hair becomes lighter and smiles wider. The ever-blue skies stretch abovehead and life’s beauty is brought out in technicolor.

It’s a day I will remember forever, one I’ll reminisce when I’m old rocking back and forth in my rocking chair. Unless I die of a heart attack, stroke or am hit by a car after mindlessly wandering onto the street in the meantime. Then I won’t. But no matter how I die it will be with a heart full of the wonderful kind people I met.

Fleeting moments of happiness

“Only one desire
That’s left in me
I want the whole damn world
To come dance with me”

Some time ago I was reading an interview with Alexander Ebert from Edward Sharpe & Magnetic Zeroes, the band I mentioned in my first post (so two posts ago, consistency and persistence haven’t exactly been my strongest suits).

I love the band because when I listen to some of their songs I get this gut feeling, impossible to explain in words, a sense that doesn’t really go through the mind, but rushes to the heart, stomach, and wherever else emotion can be felt.

Source: https://www.bbc.co.uk/music/artists/4a069029-4f64-4946-b650-01aeb0b55d9d

It’s a feeling that makes one want to travel as far and wide as possible, to do what Chris McCandless from Into the Wild did. Maybe minus the slow agonising death in the Alaskan Wilderness; but the premise itself wasn’t bad.

Source: https://pl.pinterest.com/pin/460915343089268659/

Source: http://csglobe.com/chris-mccandless-sister-reveals-the-real-reason-he-went-into-the-wild/

To live in a van and camp in the woods, to eat brakfast in the parking lot next to Walmart, not knowing what the next day will bring. To learn from the strangers you bump into, draw pleasure from the little things like a picnic in a meadow, a hot shower or the odd restaurant meal. To go skinny dipping in a cold lake in the middle of the night. The Lumineers, Vance Joy and Of Monsters and Men evoke similar feelings in me.

But yes, let’s get (closer?) to the point (I don’t know what that is yet but maybe we’ll find out) – the interview. He shared a number of insightful thoughts in it but the one that stroke a chord with me most was about feeling nostalgic for the present moment:

“From about 5 years old on I was very contemplative and started to become constantly filled with nostalgia for the present moment and the feeling that it’s always fleeting. And until I handled that I really didn’t have a healthy mind and it took a long, long time.“

A hug will never last long enough, neither will eye contact with someone you love. Every trip and day are different, every smile you share with someone and every geniune laugh you have are unique. And they will pass, in their very own and unique way. And become a memory. Which is both beautiful and a little scary. Maybe the scary is a manifestation of a fear of death, maybe it’s a slow and somewhat subconscious realisation that every single moment is fleeting. And it’s hard to allow the senses to let go of those moments and place them in the archives.

But they will come and go, one after another, and all we can do is pay as much attention to them as possible, to love and cherish and appreciate them, to live them as fully as possible. Maybe write about them or take a few photos so that the archives are better kept but mainly take them in, feel them.

And continue feeling them, even when they are but neural connections. A midnight conversation on a kitchen floor had over yesterday’s lasagne, waking up to the sound of racecars, a game of Cluedo played by the fireplace, an animal running into you at its full joyous speed (I’m thinking let’s limit this to small household animals), a jam session, or even just the smell of hot sand and resin. They will be there for everyone’s little eternity – yours and mine.

Bodie Ghost Town: A Golden Whisper of the past

 

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening

On the border between California and Nevada, East of the Sierra Nevada mountain range, lies a little town called Bodie. Run-down, abandoned and utterly enchanted – ex-town would perhaps be a term of more relevance.

It experienced rapid economic growth following the discovery of a gold line in 1876. It was a boomtown, like many others in the area. One of those places, of which the value is entirely dependant on the silver, gold or oil found in the ground. Inevitably the resource runs out and the town abruptly loses its purpose along with its inhabitants.

Bodie used to be of huge relevance – legend has it that at one point, shortly after the gold line was discovered, it was the third largest town in California.

It had tens of saloons, a jail, a Chinatown (with a Taoist temple and a number of opium dens) a red light district and even a big-hearted selfless prostitute who nursed sick miners to health during an epidemic…

No worse than any other western town it had murders, shootouts, barroom brawls, and stagecoach holdups but also dances, concerts, plays, and school recitals. All XIXth-century run-of-the-mill activities.

Full of melancholy and with an undoubted air of mystery, it’s a place so ripped from the reality we know that it almost kidnaps one into its smalltown, Western ways. The people who lived there during the gold rush are long gone and, as a matter of fact, long dead but the buildings are well-preserved and their wistful spirits remain.

It’s all like a movie you might walk into, a carefully orchestrated situation, a meticulously thought-out set. Except it’s real.  Surrounded by mountains and desert, the little ghosttown subdues one with the story it so silently tells. It has the scent of something unfinished; unnatural even. Because when people leave suddenly  the buildings don’t perish one by one. They are abandoned and if they don’t get plundered, they remain. Frozen in time.

There exists a theory that time is non-linear. I can’t help but buy into that, at least a little bit. People long gone, times long past, like the glory days of Bodie and its miners seem to hover in the air. You look into their houses, walk their paths. Peek into a bygone era with an aura as captivating and bewitching as the stories you listen to and tell in a low whisper, looking into the stars, beside the smoldering charcoals of the bonfire.

 

 

Cigarettes after Sunset

“And when you go away, I still see you
The sunlight on your face in my rear view”

You never really know when a very special moment will come along. They usually come completely unannounced, when you are least expecting them.

As I think of this I am reminded of an iconic scene in Tarantino’s equally iconic Pulp Fiction. It’s the scene when Vincent takes Mia our for dinner. They’ve only just met and they’re waiting to be served. The conversation goes quiet for a second.

Mia: Don’t you hate that?
Vincent: What?
Mia: Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it’s necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?
Vincent: I don’t know. That’s a good question.
Mia: That’s when you know you’ve found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence.

And truer words have never been spoken. People are obsessed with small talk but it is very often the silence that is the real adhesive in human relationships. Silence is a breeding space for deep thought and meaningful conversation. And sometimes silence is the dialogue itself. It certainly is the thing that gives meaning to words when they are uttered. There is no day without night and words too mean nothing if they don’t stand in opposition to something.

Still, people often find it difficult to share silence. Maybe because it is found to be more intimate than conversation. There is nothing to hide behind.

During my time in Mauritius we often ended up going to see the sunset at Flic en Flac, as it was the closest beach and also happens to be on the west coast, which is a rather good place to watch the sun setting, I’ve been told. Sunsets and sunrises are short events on the small island. It’s a quick and intense moment followed or preceeded by what could be called a crimson sky, by those with a flair for the dramatic. The three of us were lying on the beach and awaiting the inevitable. After spending most of your time together for 6 weeks uncomfortable silences become much less of a thing. We could just lie there feeling one another’s presence and watching it. Something that happened every day but was special nevertheless. Something that happened billions of times a day to billions of people. Something that happened non-stop, all the time, if one thinks about it. Because the sun is always disappearing over the horizon somewhere.

It sets here, in England, about once every twenty four hours too, and can look just as spectacular. Especially when observed from a rooftop.

And wherever you are, who you are sharing your technicolour silence with is just as important.

 

 

40 day dream

I have been sleeping… for forty days now

I know I’m sleeping cause this dream’s too amazing

These are lines from a song by one of my favourite bands ever – Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros. They have an utterly magical aura; their music takes me places… I feel nostalgia for those places even though I know I have never visited them. They make me reminisce a life I know I never lived and feel an empty space in my heart shaped like something I cannot quite put a finger on. Their song “40 day dream” perfectly fits the way I am feeling now. I’ve been in Mauritius for exactly 41 days and it all seems like a dream even though it is not yet over. It’s Sunday. My plane out of here is on Tuesday. I am about to wake up.

Hiking. Waterfalls. Sunsets. Beaches. Waves. Cliffs. Jungles. Natives. Colourful market stands. Smiles. Hugs. Boat rides. Diving. Salt and sun and sand and mud. And more sand. And then some.

That’s what my mind is mulling over time and time again. That is what my dreams consist of. And blissfully enough, that is what my reality consisted of for a while. A long while. Or was it a short while? I don’t even know.

I’ve always liked writing. And I’ve always more than liked taking photos. Before I came here I swore to myself that I would write a blog about everything that happened. Guess what. Have you guessed? Either way I’ll tell you – I did not.

When I arrived here I was overwhelmed. By the rapidness of events taking place, the people I met. I have spent these 40 days living in a house with 23 other people some of which have really and truly become like family to me. With relationships it often isn’t about how long ago they started but how much time has been spent on working on them. What you went through together, the conversations you had, the sunsets you watched in silence, the things you saw together and the things you decided not to see. Seeing someone every day for 6 weeks can be of just as much substance as seeing someone once a week for a year. It’s also a leap from seeing someone every day for all this time to not seeing them at all for an indefininte period of time.

Mauritians are an interesting bunch. They aren’t too picky about what they eat, as long as it’s fried noodles. Nor are they too picky about what they drink – as long as it is a lot of rum. They probably won’t smile at you on the bus. But they will also invite you to their brother’s Indian wedding after having played poker on the beach with you for half an hour. As I said, interesting bunch. And yes, that actually happened. It was a huge wedding for 400 people and one of the most surreal things I have experienced for as long as I have purposelessly wandered this earth.

Also it was the first time I ate a proper meal with my hands. It felt right. Natural. That way you can really feel your food – its temperature, consistency, you are closer to it. It felt so natural I ate two huge helpings and fell asleep during the band’s performance afterwards. Oops. Totally worth it.

They do eat a lot of fried noodles. And fried rice. And… well you name it and as long as it starts with fried you will have named it correctly. They also eat farata. Faratas are basically pancakes with filling of different sorts including lamb, chicken and vegetables. You can get them for as little as 15MUR (Mauritian rupees). That is about 30 pence. Not exactly the priciest of foods. Deep-fried battered potatoes, bread and green chilly are abundant on the streets and you can get three pieces for 10MUR. So 20 pence. Delicious. Cheap. Fattening.

I’ve eaten better food and I’ve eaten worse food but I don’t think I have ever eaten food while looking at a scenery as beautiful as the sun setting on the turquoise ocean. Smelling the salt in the air. And feeling the freedom and sense of impending adventure in my heart. Because every day really and truly was an adventure. And every night I rested my head on my pillow knowing that another adventure is yet to come.