Hi Ho!

I awake in a medieval abbey of massive gray-rock walls and delicate stone arches. Panic seeps into my thoughts as I realize nature’s calling and I don’t know where the  bathroom is. Where is it? I look around, slowly recognizing the shapes of furniture in the room, the comfortable feel of my own bed, in my own house in Santa Fe. The abbey of Le Mont Saint-Michel, started in the 8th century, without toilets, is 5,000 miles away and five days ago, on the edge of Normandy, on the edge of the earth and time. And yet, for those moments — perhaps in whole previous life times (who can say how long dreams last?) — I was there, not here.

Although my body is safely home, two intense weeks in London, Paris and points west in France fill my dreams with vivid imagery, as if I were beamed back home in a StarTrek transporter, and not all of me re-materialized. Two weeks, minus a day (or two) for the dizzying jet-lag-buzz to subside, leaves 13 days in which to accomplish an ambitious list of “must do’s.”

In the doing, being present with each moment is not only required but demanded. Which “tube” or “metro” to what station? Which direction to the museum and, once you see it, why is the entrance three long blocks away? What restaurant and what should you order (especially when it’s in a language you don’t know)? Shoot, we walked all the way over here (feet throbbing) to find the entire Marais District closed today for Rosh Hashanah!

Constant movement and the inevitable not-knowing of being in a place for the first time (or the first time in decades) — no matter how much you research or plan in advance — forces all your senses to take in everything, consciously and unconsciously, whether you want to or not. The experience is like air, involuntarily inhaled, and more keeps coming in with each next place, next vista, next conversation, next decision, next meal, breaking only for deep sleep to begin again the next morning. It is all new and exciting and you want to breath it all in as fully as you can. The days count down and you must keep going — so much to see and do!

I jotted a few notes in my journal and checked email a few times, but in France the French keyboards at the cybercafe were so different that a quick note took 30 minutes and several euros and the frustration wasn’t worth the effort. I bought a dozen postcards, which are still in a bag. I didn’t want to tear myself away from the moment to reach across the world for a blithe hello. I’d be back in a short fortnight and I’d reminisce then.

After being home five days, I am beginning to exhale, to let out the stories, remember details, want to write and share them. I am slowly integrating this reality with the memories of that. Unlike previous trips, often as varied and crammed, this one is reverberating in technicolor dreams and part of me is still inhaling in France.

This entry was posted on Saturday, September 22nd, 2007 at 4:30 pm and is filed under Travel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.