Salut d'Angers
Here I am, in a bleached out little city full of construction and blue-dyed water fountains. It's not half bad, though. My great lament in traveling in Europe is that all youth hostels tend to be on the outskirts of medium-large to small towns, and it makes a young foreigner too nervous to venture there and back alone at night. Thus, I am staying at a tiny little hotel near the middle of town, though perhaps I ought to have tried out the hostel because at least I could have gone back to it at night and talked to people.
Frogs can be difficult to meet; they are very wrapped up in their lives, understandably, and without a companion I feel intimidated to strike up conversations with strangers--I'm not even sure where one goes to strike up such a thing. For now, my journey is a fairly solitary one.
On Wednesday, however, I will be traveling to the city of Nantes to visit La Tortuga and the other Frogs of Spanish days -- well, the other Frogs save Noemie, who will be somewhere in the south of Spain. My visit will only be a few days long, but I hope it serves to loosen me up a little.
I miss the people at home, if not home itself, quite a bit. It's strange not going to work every few days, strange to do nothing but spend money rather than earn and save it. I may not miss the act of working, but I do miss my BarnFriends greatly, especially Emily. I sigh to think that, once upon a time, we thought she might be able to meet up with me here.
I am, however, reading a good book. Italo Calvino has wriggled his way into my life, first with 'If on a winter's night a traveler,' and now with 'Invisible Cities.' How appropriate are Marco Polo's whimsical but lonesome tales of faraway cities! Sometimes they are accurate enough to make my throat choke on itself.
Ca y est pour maintenant. Il faut envoyer les courriels. A bientot a tous.
Frogs can be difficult to meet; they are very wrapped up in their lives, understandably, and without a companion I feel intimidated to strike up conversations with strangers--I'm not even sure where one goes to strike up such a thing. For now, my journey is a fairly solitary one.
On Wednesday, however, I will be traveling to the city of Nantes to visit La Tortuga and the other Frogs of Spanish days -- well, the other Frogs save Noemie, who will be somewhere in the south of Spain. My visit will only be a few days long, but I hope it serves to loosen me up a little.
I miss the people at home, if not home itself, quite a bit. It's strange not going to work every few days, strange to do nothing but spend money rather than earn and save it. I may not miss the act of working, but I do miss my BarnFriends greatly, especially Emily. I sigh to think that, once upon a time, we thought she might be able to meet up with me here.
I am, however, reading a good book. Italo Calvino has wriggled his way into my life, first with 'If on a winter's night a traveler,' and now with 'Invisible Cities.' How appropriate are Marco Polo's whimsical but lonesome tales of faraway cities! Sometimes they are accurate enough to make my throat choke on itself.
Ca y est pour maintenant. Il faut envoyer les courriels. A bientot a tous.