After arriving fairly exhausted last night I made my way home and pretty much crashed right away. My mind still occupied by all the greatness that this past journey was. Today then I woke up and had to face another trip, this time heading home. I felt a bit rushed, unable to digest Paris. But there was no time. I had a quick pre-christmas lunch and coffee with a few dear friends, and saying goodbye oddly felt like a long time farewell. When really we see each other next week.
I left into a rainy afternoon at around five. The 214 took me to Liverpool Street and from there I took the Stansted Express to the airport. Like I said, I felt a bit rushed, but part of me was excited, too. Obviously because I would see my folks again, but also because of the travelling. I think I really like being on the move. Riding buses, taking trains, catching flights - it's great. I like the waiting, I like the coffee and I like the ready-to-eat basil oregano tomato chicken salad in a plastic container.
But what I like most is the state of mind, I guess. The fact that travelling requires movement and activity, not only of the body, but also of the mind. Senses are occupied and thoughts are produced, imaginagion is triggered and ideas are born. Sometimes it takes only a motivating cup of coffee and a little rest on an airport bench. People are walking by - some are running, others are roaming - and so are my thoughts. And I find travelling the best way to pay attention to them.
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