It's a funny thing how blogging becomes part of your life. I started when I was in Poland, living this amazing ex-pat life, and I wanted a record of the little things. The cafes, the food, the people, the cities around me. And blogging nearly every day gave me all those things. Photos and memories all rolled up in a microchip somewhere, a masive e-scrapbook of the 6 years of living abroad. It only started to unravel when I moved to Budapest. The two years that I have lived here have not been the same as Poland or France, and I have found my relationship with Hungary to be strange in varying degrees.
The blogging went quiet, and most of the time it was because I couldn't find anything good to say about this new Eastern European city, not sure how to express my reactions to where I found myself. In the last few months, I have stayed away because I was contemplating leaving and didn't want to say anything until I was sure of what was coming next. As much as being a travel blog, WarsawtoParis has become about that moment of change, the build up and the aftermath.
Now, in early March I find myself again on the cusp. Thinking of leaving but with no-where yet to go. I had forgotten how stressful that time was and the hours and minutes seem to tick by so slowly. I am not sure where I will end up next, but I know that movement is in the air. I do find a tiny bit of fondness for the city begins to creep in, but not enough to make me want to stay. The waiting for the next turn in the road to be revealed is the most difficult part of all this travelling and living away from home.
"There was another life that I might have had, but I am having this one."
Kazuo Ishiguro
March 08, 2009
February 28, 2009
The Little Things
Lets face it, I have got into a little bit of a rut with my Budapest weekend routine. I go to the same places, do the same things and see the same people. So it was brilliant today to go to some new cafes, walk down some streets I have never seen and generally feel like I live in a massive city, not a tiny district. A1, A2 and I started outside the Basilica and had a nosy around the V district. I went to Bestsellers, which is a great bookshop and picked up the all new shiny 'Time out' guide so that I can see what it coming up.
After that we ventured to the citys' one and only Strudel House, where the poppy seed strudel was just as gorgeous as I remember. Walking home, we decided that another quick coffee was in order and I actually went into the Klauzal Cafe, on my square, one that I have walked past countless times and never gone into. The owner was so sweet, he smiled patiently as my poor Hungarian and even brought us a little vase to put the fresh flowers we had bought off the street in. Life is all about the little things.
February 25, 2009
February 20, 2009
Lost and found
I have always believed that books are strange things. I hardly ever keep them, even though I read a great deal. I like to pass them on, paperbacks that only cost a few pounds slip in and out of my hands, and I have to love them completely in order to read them again. Friends give me things that they think I might like to read and I, in turn, pass on books that I know they might like. On my way to North Yorkshire, I had a few books that I wanted to buy and I now happily have a lovely pile that I am itching to read my way through. With each new book, the ones aqcuired before slip down and I am tempted by the glossy covers and exciting blurbs.
All this delight is masking a niggling feeling underneath, because last week I lost a book. Not just any book, a 1952 reprint of 'The End of the Affair', which was published in 1951. It was old, and smelled musty and worn. The cover was a beautifully beaten soft grey fabric, which had only the title and author in gold leaf on the spine. I read the first paragraph and was washed away on a tide of longing, so skillful is the writing. Why then, did I leave it on the plane from Budapest to Amsterdam?
With my true belief, that books are made to be read, then shared,why do I feel so sad? Maybe some-one picked up this book and needed to read the words that describe the torrid nature of love. Books come and go, but I knew that this one I would keep forever, it was like the characters, frayed around the edges, but with a quiet dignity all of its own. I can't bear to buy a paperback copy, maybe this is one book that was to remain out of my grasp.
All this delight is masking a niggling feeling underneath, because last week I lost a book. Not just any book, a 1952 reprint of 'The End of the Affair', which was published in 1951. It was old, and smelled musty and worn. The cover was a beautifully beaten soft grey fabric, which had only the title and author in gold leaf on the spine. I read the first paragraph and was washed away on a tide of longing, so skillful is the writing. Why then, did I leave it on the plane from Budapest to Amsterdam?
With my true belief, that books are made to be read, then shared,why do I feel so sad? Maybe some-one picked up this book and needed to read the words that describe the torrid nature of love. Books come and go, but I knew that this one I would keep forever, it was like the characters, frayed around the edges, but with a quiet dignity all of its own. I can't bear to buy a paperback copy, maybe this is one book that was to remain out of my grasp.
All quiet on the Yorkshire front
Back in Budapest after a brilliant few days at home with my new nephew, and still a little bit left of my half term holiday. The city is freezing cold and making me happy with the bite in the air and the patches of snow that can still be seen on the rooftops. Time in Northallerton was just what I needed, and I shopped, dyed my hair bright red, and spent time with family and friends. The days are lighter and longer, and even through the cold it is not hard to feel that Spring is on its way. Being back in my apartment is nothing short of wonderful, and even though I love being with my family, my own space gives me something totally different. Given the bright nature of space and time, I might even dust off my camera and take some pictures of Budapest in the cold.
February 12, 2009
Chapped
One of the joys of being in an International school is the unrestrained emotion that is brought forth by being able to get my hot little lands on some books. This week our PTA had a second hand book sale and I was able to forrage for a nice little pile that should keep me going for a while. I picked up...
Donna Tartt - My Little Friend
Sarah Waters - Fingersmith
Ian Mckewan - The Cement Garden
Allison Lurie - Love and Friendship
Angela Carter - Nights at the Circus.
Xin Ran - The Good women of China
Graham Greene - The end of the affair
...and all for the princely sum of 5 quid for the lot.
I started reading the Greene straight away and am more bowled over by the aching sadness in a story than I have been for a long while, and I am so looking forward to getting my teeth stuck into the rest. At least I have some books to keep me quiet on the plane tomorrow night. Off back to Yorkshire, so expect some pictures of the beautiful nephew pretty soon.
Donna Tartt - My Little Friend
Sarah Waters - Fingersmith
Ian Mckewan - The Cement Garden
Allison Lurie - Love and Friendship
Angela Carter - Nights at the Circus.
Xin Ran - The Good women of China
Graham Greene - The end of the affair
...and all for the princely sum of 5 quid for the lot.
I started reading the Greene straight away and am more bowled over by the aching sadness in a story than I have been for a long while, and I am so looking forward to getting my teeth stuck into the rest. At least I have some books to keep me quiet on the plane tomorrow night. Off back to Yorkshire, so expect some pictures of the beautiful nephew pretty soon.
February 01, 2009
Metaphor
It's snowing here, but a wierd slushy snow that isn't settling on the ground. Here in apartment land, I have lots of work to do, but seem to be finding urgent jobs that can't wait, like bleaching the sink. Maybe next time I will move to a city with more sunshine and fewer winter skies to deal with.
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