Westward

Europe. I didn't even have to leave the airport at Amsterdam to be reminded why I'm making this trip: the lure of the unfamiliar.

Walking through the calmly chaotic airport, I felt like a piece of dry white bread, dunked into a delicious soup. People's clothes, mannerisms, faces and skin were warm juices and their constant uttering of foreign phrases was like a subtle mix of herbs to enliven the brew. Dutch, German, French. Patisseries, Beethoven, cathedrals, wine.

And now I sit in Norwich. Finally, here. Though the seed has barely sent off a shoot, it has been planted. The new phase of my life has begun.