two: a continuation

Towards the tenth day in Royan I felt ten pounds heavier, mildly stressed about not having my own private corner in the cocoon of a house we had all been nestled into, and increasingly upset about having to start making my own choices again. In the course of the time we spent there it felt very nice to be surrounded by people with their own stories and to blend into a crowd that didn't insist that I was out of the ordinary. For the first time it felt as though travel was normal, travel was natural, seeking was an obvious thing to pursue. Although I did manage to bring my own flare to certain dynamics of travel it didn't seem so outlandish because I had an equal amount to draw from their experiences as they did from mine. I took solace in the kitchen. Mama Marcela and I seemed to complement the kitchen in a less obliged and more inspired sort of way. I think secretly we had both longed for a space to cook in and people to cook for. It felt freeing to lavish in my own ability to nest and I tried not to freak myself out too much about my keen desire to be there for other people in such a "motherly hen" sort of way. My sanity was saved by the raw fact that they were not my children and I had no desire to be their mother. I think I have just been dying to give people attention and affection and to get a little bit as well.

The band of hooligans that we had become migrated north towards the city. We somehow managed to pull together all of the remnants of our existence in that small house. We had pushed socks into the woodwork, made footprints from living room to kitchen, left stains of laughter and smears of music on every wall, but as we shut the big glass doors behind us one would have to open up snooped through drawers to recover any misplaced items. The eight of us that remained not so gracefully shoved ourselves into Eric's van, along with all of the baggage that we burdened ourselves with, all of the drums, all of the extra food, all of the....... basically everything. A long time later we were navigating our way back to the small dorm room apartment that Marcela and Leticia had been living in. When they had mentioned that it was small and that it was going to be a tight squeeze I absolutely believed them but when we opened the door to a small room resembling the size of a toilet stall that in fact was the entrance/kitchen I can't deny that the pupil of my eyes went through I brief relapse due to an unknown exposure of an unidentifiable difference in light or sighting. You walked straight into a corner that was created by the joining of two doors, each one leading to the two rooms we were going to be living in. Four of us camped out in Leticia's room and four in Marcela's but after having spent so much time with each other we seemed to sift through the space effortlessly and with little frustration.

That same evening we got there I rushed to get my agenda sorted for the upcoming move back to the Czech Republic. After not having had internet I came to find that the ride I had found back to Prague was leaving two days later and that Neil, my old time family friend, was somewhere in Paris. Patrick, Antonio, and I went to find him. We met Neil and his new love interest Paloma from Spain, and another French couple that they were visiting at some expensive little cafe that sold 8 euro beers (which apparently is normal and acceptable in those parts). Needless to say the three of us ordered coffee and water. Seeing Neil was great for me and blatantly horrible for Paloma. The entire time she had a scowl that was so unashamedly present on her face that it was comical. Lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed, and arms crossed I couldn't help but think it was possibly a joke because no one in my entire life had ever bared such a face so publicly. Luckily no one seemed to be bothered by it and I certainly wasn't because Neil was still the same and treated me no less than he had since I was four. Walking with the boys back to the metro I felt an excitement about talks of going to Spain to visit Neil and partook in open laughter with them about the strange woman at the end of the table that seemed to be so hilariously upset about something.

Patrick, Eric, Sophie, and I woke up early the next morning because it just so happened to be the first Sunday of the month and all of the museums in Paris were free to the public. The four of us went to the Louvre (because society as jammed into our heads that you are an idiot to be in Paris and not see and I had already made that mistake once)and spent several hours following the color coordinated maps that we received upon entering. Eric and Sophie went one way and Patrick and I went the other. I was so happy to be in smaller company because I felt less likely to burst into insanity after having spoiled myself with nine months of traveling without having to refer to anyone elses opinion. The two of us pushed ourselves like pieces moved on a board game. When we finally met back up with Eric and Sophie and picked the next gallery to see we decided that the Louvre is worth seeing because it is the Louvre. As far as the art goes, it is hard to pick it all apart and appreciate it amidst the thousands of other people and flashes that you have to swat through like flies to see anything. If in doubt, always look up. The rooms are pretty freaking incredible.

The four of us were just heading down the long plot of landscape in front of the Louvre being goofs, taking pictures of the Eiffle Tower protruding from Patrick's groin as he spread out on some laid out naked sculpture, and laughing at something or others. Eric was stacking a chair on top of a frozen over fountain and right about the time that Patrick was being a bad influence to little French kids and pissing off their mothers who were trying to pry them from stepping out on the ice Sophie would have been taking a picture if she hadn't found that she left it inside the Louvre. Despite my stomachs painful objections of going back in to hunt for it the group made the decision to give it a shot. It wasn't worth the turn around because of course the camera was lost forever but it was totally worth it because of all of the food we walked out of the Louvre cafeteria with. Patrick can almost say that he stole art from the Louvre, but he regrettably left "Le Pink" (a ridiculously decorated hot pink pastry with gold flecks) behind in fear that someone may question his pallet's desire for an 8 euro little cake on the way out. We were more than content with the bread, pizza, orange, chocolate brownie, and orange juice that he did manage to get away with. After feeling thoroughly nourished we once again stepped into the tangling world of metros and found ourselves where the real art dwelled; The Guimet Museum. We spent hours of giving effortless attention and awe to their incredible representation of Asian art. We left feeling humbled by a world of stone and wood carved into kind and inspiring faces and forms. We capped off our city adventures with a coffee and creme brulee. Through out the entire day we realized that we had been brought to such laughter and happiness that our cheeks hurt and we felt as though we were in some sort of unreal blissful state. We were forced to ask ourselves on many occasions whether or not we had shared a square of acid together.

The following day was mildly uneventful but ended with in a great bar down some Parisian street that had the cheapest beers in the city and a Ms.Pacman. After Patrick was applauded for beating the only true challenger in the place (the owner of the bar) we mingled our ways back to our beds. I said my goodbyes to the boys who all slept in and the girls and I enjoyed a true French breakfast of bread, pastries, and hot chocolates down the street. I found my way to the apartment that I was meeting my ride home at and I will some up the entire journey home like this:

Small, old, Russian Vada, made for the UK. Pulled over at the French/German border (poor Callam, the driver, smuggling across two illegal American Girls) body searched and car sniffed over by a drug dog and let go with laughs. We drove all night and got into Prague at six in the morning. I stayed with my new found future great friend Michelle who rode with us and somehow stumbled my way back into my little room in Uničov.

I now stare at a computer in one direction and negative twenty degrees in the other.