More of this please

Abbey Bookshop, librairie canadienne.

This week, I was a lucky girl. All of those woulda, coulda, shoulda wishes I usually have, bustling through the work week, became a part of its reality.

(That first photo was actually taken by my mom during their last visit, but I think she won’t blame me. At least, it represents I’d rather be spending time with my family part, too.)

I’d rather be exploring some bookstore’s shelves… Well, on Tuesday, after my best friend had already given up on me for the day, having taken care of the second coffee, even stronger than the first, yet still seeing my eyes numbly looking around, we crossed a bookstore. Somehow, my tired eyes saw a book title, stopped my legs and directed my body towards the pile of 2€ offers. I ended up buying four of them, those badass French classics I now am able to read in their own language (hopefully haha), and soon I was hopping like a happy bunny on some weird psychedelic drugs. She just laughed ”Guees you didn’t need coffee, but books. Should have known!”

I’d rather be roaming the streets of Paris… Every time I get too caught up with the everyday life, I tend to forget they are right there for me. It always makes me be grateful for visitors, they remind us to re-explore what we are already supposed to know. Like the Latin Quarter. I mean you could used to be sure to find me there at any given day, now it seems it’s been months… Oh well I guess my own neighbourhood ain’t that bad neither.

I’d rather be taking a train to the South… Winter made me say that a lot. On Monday, I actually did. And the weather goddesses were with me this time! More on it later. Still, don’t you just love the Montpellier’s train station!

For WPC: I’d rather be…

A train ride

Wanderlust sometimes shows in less grand moments than we usually expect, yet it’s exactly there that it perhaps has that special feeling of being completely integrated into your soul. No denying it. Your eyes of wonder and zest.

A month ago, I took a train to cross my own home country and there was something extraordinary about it, because I hadn’t done it for so long, having moved out and all. My own restlessness was somehow eased and pleased. The journey had an aura, a glow, only enhanced by the observation that the train I boarded had a metal plaque hang at the beginning of the coupé ”made in 1971”. I had to smile and internally laugh, though by the looks of the train I wasn’t at all surprised by the information. Then, I found it funny how things had changed, the little warning, saying ”Don’t lean out of the window”, written in four different languages, still no English (Slovenian, German, French and Italian instead). The best of it all, of course, were the views, those views I’m sure my co-patriots ignore daily, not me though. All the green, booming into the first spring showings, and the river, fiercely cutting into the valley.

It was the simplest of journeys, and among the most memorable ones. It made me realize it is wanderlust who opens up your eyes even for the most common sceneries.

For WPC.