It’s awkwardly quiet in this house. Or actually, in me. The house in which I reside now feels familiar. I like the decoration, I know how stuff works and where everything is. Well yes, because it is my own house. I am back home and
Enter the botanical garden. The biggest indoor tropical garden in the world. My little chance to visit the jungle without leaving the UK. Should I cover myself with Deet? Do I take my machete along?
It has been three months now and I’ve slept in 16 different beds thus far. I’ve booked the tickets for the return journey, yet that is still another month away. More and more I long for my own space. It’s hidden
I had plans. To travel to Wales, Cornwall, Yorkshire maybe even. So many beautiful places to visit. So many people to meet. Adventures waiting to fulfil my wanderlust.
It was just a stop over, somewhere in North-France. Very practical, not to drive myself wasted. I just needed a bed and internet for one night. That’s all I needed.
– Zo, dus waar gaan we precies heen? Waar leidt dit allemaal toe?
– You’ll see.
– Ja, hehe. Ben je altijd zo gevat?
– Aren’t you too? We are pretty much the same, you know?
Eight beds I have slept in so far. And in all houses I’ve felt welcome and comfortable. All beds slept well. I didn’t need much time to get used to the sounds of the house and the street, to the daily routines and household habits of my hosts.
“Will you go on your own?” the acquaintance asks me full disbelieve. His hands rest on the Freebird.
“Yes, alone” I respond … and continue my story.
He nods and listens, politely lets me finish me story an then asks “So, you’re going alone? Really?”
“Erh, yes…” I pretend it is nothing unusual.
“She is scary.”
The first week I stay with a good friend of mine. Her four-year-old has just returned from school and sits close to her mother on the other side of the large couch. She doesn’t dare to look at me.