A slightly
delayed plane from Agadir to Manchester, left Steph and I racing to Piccadilly
station in order for her to make her train for Bristol. This (racing through
stations and across cities) is all too familiar- I often find myself cutting it
VERY fine. Booking connections tight, leaving last minute = racing and
sweating, juggling luggage, coffee, green tea (sometimes both) and emergency
snacks. This way of travelling is not for everyone. Ralph Waldo Emerson- ‘Life
is a journey, not a destination.’ Well, for Mama Wolff, this way of journeying
does not work! Certain and timely arrival at the destination is paramount,
dithering around and acquiring coffee is not part of the journey when you are cutting it fine.
Glaring at me as I bought my teas and snacks in Kings Cross, she did not enjoy
pushing it to the last minutes before we boarded our train and found no comfort
in this quote, merely responding with that raised eyebrow look only a mother
could give her child. So, I do try to
fall into a different mode for my mom and my roomie from back home because my
mode is more for the lone or like-minded traveler. 
Last summer
in Thailand, my friend Eve and I narrowly missed all three of our internal
flights but somehow (a delayed plane, a sympathetic and speedy taxi driver, the
skin of our teeth and running legs) managed to board and get to our
destinations. Not always cool or a good look when you are hauling ass, lugging
a backpack, sweating and panicking but we always felt some belief that the
universe was helping us out, miraculously making it, managing to board and
arrive at our destination. A little bit of faith and willingness to haul ass in
a very inelegant manner is all that you apparently need!
Steph had this.
Within the 5 minutes we had, she managed to grab her magazines and her Upper
Crust (her little pleasure when she is travelling by train), even having time
for a meaningful, sisterly embrace. Me, her little sis, at the doors of the
carriage, foot in the door, guarding and ensuring her safe passage as she
gathered her supplies. Little bit of sister protection payback time. Both
sisters crying. Both smiling. Awesome holiday. I will miss ‘Brownie Camp’. I
will miss you.
Alone.
18:00 in Piccadilly, so not alone but no sister by my side. Magical Moroccan
memories in my back pocket and heart to take me on my way.
Next stop:
East Didsbury. All the familiar comforts in the gorgeous home of Tom and
Nicholas. Hmmmm. I suddenly had a dawning realization that I had kind of made
myself homeless. Steph was going to her house and own bed. I would not be for a
long time, even when I do/may return, I don’t really have a home to call my
own. But luckily, being with old friends in a house I knew was a pretty good
second call. Tom and Nicholas, both handsome in their school attire, joined me
in the pajama option immediately after dinner. Cosy. Enjoying the homeliness
and company, the fresh living room smells (Brownie Camp had lingered), I
settled down with the boys. I could still feel the warmth of the Moroccan sun
on my skin and when I went to bed, I caught sight of the slip of the moon in
the sky, angled slightly differently to the moon I had looked at just the
evening before in a sunset dinner at Tamraught beach. Moroccan stars were not
there. When I squinted gently, I had a perfect picture of them. Comforted in
knowing they were there, helping the moon to light up the sky, I snuggled on
down, realising that there was no sister to chat to. I felt a little sad.
6:00am I
rose to share an early hour with Tom. Coffee, chats and pajamas on the couch
before he went off, suited and booted to do a day as Deputy. As the boys left
for work, I wandered the house. Packed and repacked. Indulged in porridge… I
had missed my porridge! I remembered just a few weeks ago when I saw a friend,
Tabitha. She said that she had seen me earlier in the day and I was flying on
my bicycle with a huge smile on my face. Why? She suspected my adventures that
lay ahead. I suspected, somewhat sheepishly, porridge. Lovely Tabitha,
understood this; she too, homeward bound from an early morning session at the
gym, would craft porridge plans and recipes.
So after
the porridge and more coffee, I finally got my act together and headed to the
station. This part was not so whimsical. First time I really had to carry my
backpack. Jesus. It was crippling! Definitely needed to consider emptying it in
Amsterdam and sending some stuff to Mama Wolff.
I struggled in the midday heat and sunshine. While preferable than my usual
Manchester weather of rain, come on! Sun, combined with backpack, bag, wearing
all my larger items and Uggs, meant I had never been so delighted to be well
within time for my flight (this girl would have had to dig very deep to quicken
my snail pace). Heavenly: dumping my bag
and with hours to soak up airport atmosphere and time alone. I think there is
so much loveliness in all parts of the journey. The quantum moments. The
interim between destinations. Hauling ass, relaxed parts, little moments,
interactions, exchanges, thoughts, views and landscapes- all part of each
journey, no matter how big or small.
All of
this, the simplest of things: reading the newspaper in the airport, buying some
almonds, speaking with a kind old man matter in Manchester airport. They play a
part. The journey is never ending and as many destinations I have on my ticket,
much of the joy is in moments, fragments of the journeys and experiences that
new destinations bring.
Bring on a
month with Eve. Baroness Eve (as christened by Jones when we met and accumulated
her on our summer in Thailand) an amazing friend and an AMAZING travel buddy.
The world is still and alive with magic when I am with her. We can marvel and relish in all
the small things and trust and believe together. Questions were fired at me
before I set off, from family and friends alike: What will you do in Amsterdam
for a month? Has Eve got any time off work? Not sure. Don’t know. With Eve and
over time, I have learned that I can get on board, savour each step the journey
and also reach the destinations (no matter how narrowly, ungraceful, out of breath or sweaty I am).
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