the tired traveler is tired

First of all, I’m so sorry that I haven’t been able to post anything for so long!! Hopefully this wont be such a problem in Vienna and Salzburg. (Keep your fingers crossed for me!)

Second of all, I am SO tired of traveling.
Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE being in new places and seeing new things.
But I’m entirely sick of never feeling quite safe and never knowing exactly where I am. I’m sick of not having a washing machine and ready access to the Internet. I hate having to ration my text messages for fear of running out of credit. I detest the sight of my own suitcase. I miss my bed and my friends and the confidence that comes from knowing that I probably won’t get mugged.

There. I said it.

I haven’t wanted to engage with these feelings, for fear that that would sour the rest of my trip. But, after all the stupid things that happened in Paris (yes, more stupid things have happened), I’ve decided to acknowledge these haunting feelings in the hope that they will be set free.
(Have I said something similar before? I am a victim of my own patterns.)

Yesterday (2nd of November), was pretty disappointing.
I woke to the sound of very heavy rain.
But it was my last day in Paris(!) and I wasn’t about to spend the day doing anything unmiraculous! However, the universe had other plans.

I had a very terse interaction at the Post Office, a pretty uninspiring breakfast and my first problematic journey in the metro (completely my fault, I misread the map).
But I was not to be deterred! I got to Montmartre, and it was choc full of tourists and stabby umbrellas. I climbed thousands of steps in the pouring rain to the Sacre Coure, took two photos and admitted defeat.
I decided to hide myself in the security and rain proof-y-ness of the Centre Pompidou. However, in my scattered, depressed state I was successfully swindled out of 5€ (thank god it wasn’t more) by some guy who decided to wind some twine around my wrist and call it a ‘bracelet’.

The instant I stepped into the Pomoidou I breathed a massive sigh of relief.
But, Murphy’s law being as it is, with my next intake of breath I felt a terrible stab of pain in my womb. (stupid emdometreosis and its stupid head. GRRRRHHH!!!)
I waddled awkwardly through the exhibitions trying to focus on the art.
Note: Pain sucks and is stupid and it’s not conducive to the appreciation of art.

By 4:30pm I was heading back to the apartment, mourning the loss of my last day in Paris.
But, at that moment, Matthew called!
He proposed dinner and maybe a movie and I was so happy to have heard from a friend that I JUMPED at the chance.
We met, couldn’t find a good movie on, and had a lovely dinner.
Fresh pizza, red wine and good company.
I went home feeling optimistic enough to finish packing and fall into a deep sleep.

The next day (November 3rd, ie: Today) I FLEW out of bed, did my final checks and bag stuffs and ran out the door. I had to take a train to here, then a train to there and a bus to Charles de Gaulle.
I was at CDG 3hrs before my flight. I was the first person in line to check in. And when I was finally called, they couldn’t find my booking.
As if I hadn’t been anxious enough: to hear that they couldn’t find my booking, I was suddenly bordering on the hysterical.
I was sent to the service desk, and after a few terrifying minutes (as tears streamed down my face) they found my booking. They checked my bag, I wandered to my gate and I sat shivering for 2 hours waiting for my flight.

Right now I’m in Warsaw. Killing the four hours between my arrival and my departure (2 down, 2 to go). I’m sitting at a restaurant called “Business Shark” (no, I’m not kidding) and I just had the strangest BLT of my life.
Waiting for me is a 2hr flight to Vienna, a 40min bus trip to Westbahnhof and a taxi ride to my hotel.

Wish me luck my darlings, cuz I don’t know what I’ll do of anything else goes wrong.


Pictured – The rainy Sacre Coure, SOME of the steps & Proof…




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