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.

in transit

Brisbane to Singapore: good; fine. Uneventful, almost.

As when hunger is so prolonged that eating is about easing the pangs rather than savouring the texture and taste; so I seemed somewhat desensitised to my departure. "Finally. Really? Yes."

Tonight, however, I leave Singapore after a relaxing break. This time I fly to Amsterdam and then to Norwich. Tomorrow I will be in my new hometown. A little savouring seems possible tonight.

sweet sorrow

I won't have time to post an entry before I fly out tomorrow. So here is how I envision my departure, through the words of William Wordsworth:

Where lies the Land to which yon Ship must go?
Fresh as a lark mounting at break of day,
Festively she puts forth in trim array;
Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow?
What boots the inquiry? Let her travel where she may,
She finds familiar names, a beaten way
Ever before her, and a wind to blow.
Yet still I ask, what haven is her mark?
And, almost as it was when ships were rare,
(From time to time, like Pilgrims, here and there
Crossing the waters) doubt, and something dark,
Of the old Sea some reverential fear,
Is with me at thy farewell, joyous Bark!