Home is wherever I’m with you

A guy picked me up hitchhiking in Australia once, when I was going West to
head South, and he said it must be because I’m a crab (cancer) sign -
moving sideways to get forward. I think he might be right. Ive been
running home, backwards, the last few weeks.

From San Francisco I knew I wanted to be in Madison, WI, so I went north
up to Washington. The truth is, I wasn’t quite ready to hang up my
travelling shoes, and with the little last breath of autumn, I decided to
squeeze in one more adventure. It just felt like something I needed to do.
Often though, I ached for the warm home waiting for me in the Midwest, and
looked forward to time passing swiftly so as to get there sooner. I had
left the Northwest with the intention of returning quickly, and so loose
threads hung up there, dangling from the evergreens, awaiting my return.

Stopping briefly in the San Juans, I hugged my old friend Guisepi again,
and spent a few days with the close community there, watching everything
wind down for the winter. It snowed while I was there, an unusually early
winter, and the place looked and felt so different to my previous summer
visits. Everyone was bunkering down or packing things up, the hibernation
of the cold months ahead beginning already. I realised that seasons make
one so much more aware of Time. Where I grew up, with 90 degree
temperatures all year round, there was never a need to prepare oneself for
the coming conditions. Here though, every month that slips by brings new
tasks to be dealt with before the next shift settles in. It instilled in
me a sort of anxiety, for which the only cure I knew was movement.

I hitched a ride up to Nanaimo, Vancouver Island to see an old friend and
lover from the Caribbean. The difference in environment and seasons (from
the sunny BVI’s to snowy Canada), changed a lot in us too, and though I
was so glad to have made the trip, it was a somewhat awkward 4 days. We
went for a beautiful canoe ride though and saw the travelling Bamff Film
Festival which provided a lot of inspiration. I left a day early, partly
because I didn’t want to risk missing my ferry, and partly because it felt
finished. It was an exhausting hitching trip back to the San Juan’s, but I
was moving in the right direction again and that comforted me.

We spent a few more days on the islands, packing up the bus and getting
ready to hit the road. When we boarded the ferry, I felt a perfect sense
of closure, a much more official ending to my connections there. We rolled
on south.

A week of tea-serving, letter writing, lightfoot deliveries, and finally
we were back in San Francisco. Guisepi dropped me off at the Amtrak
station, we unloaded my boxed bike, all my gear, and then turned to
each other for a hug. Our relationship began as flirtation, grew into a
friendship over the years, returned occasionally to romance and now rested
in a love usually reserved for family. We agreed he’d always be my
‘hoboking’, and I’d always be his ‘hoboqueen’. We understood that no matter
the length of separation, we would always be close. We would always hold
huge amounts of respect for each other, and no doubt always continue to
inspire one another with our simple stories and life choices. We hugged,
smiling, and felt so much gratitude.

I boarded the Amtrak, beginning my last journey (for a while). Madison, my
beloved Charlie and his beautiful family waited for me at my destination.
I feel so whole. So utterly exhausted and rejuvenated at the same time. A
page is turning, a new life beginning. I am so completely ready to give
myself to a settled life – to rest, to create, and especially to love,
with the man that brings me home.

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Delayed Delights

What a lazy month it has been on the blogging front! For every word not written though, a thousand adventures… all lived too quickly to spare time for black and white text. I’d like to quote the old familiar adage and just post pictures rather than words… but unfortunately my photography hasnt been expressive enough lately. No image on this little chip here will tell of rainbows over oceans, of 100km winds with no one in sight, of the feeling of the sun shining warmth on my cheek while a waterfall’s spray tickled my back. Assembled letters might not do the trick either, but i’ll give it a shot.

More than 30 days ago now I headed out from Amsterdam, thumbing it to Paris. It was a cold but clear night when I met up with Xavier, a Toulousian hobo who had just hopped his first freight and ridden the wind of a gondola 10 hours North. Crouching in a stretch of long grass just out of the French capital’s yards, we watched silently as three autoracks lined up in front of us. Considering the size of this ‘triage’, there didnt seem to be much traffic, and a strike (famous in this countrys transport system) wasn’t out of the question.

In any case, you only need one train to take you somewhere and there was one staring us right in the face. A nice, warm, relatively cachèd autorack none the less. A hop, skip and a jump and we were on our way. This night riding beauty would take us SOMEWHERE tonight, that much was certain. Had i paid for a ticket though, and allocated my destination… I’d have put this one down as last.

We rolled slowly and easily inter the dead centre of the Parisian railway freigth yards.

Unfortunately for us, it was very much alive. No strike tonight! Men in bright yellow heavy jackets marched past us. We were at a stand still. The air (brakes) hadn’t been broken yet, so there was a chance we’d get out of here if we sat tight… but where and when was anybody’s guess.

Eventually of course, the inhevitable happened. A crackle of a radio close to my ear and a french voice: “There’s two people hiding here in between the cars.”

Rather than wait to be flashlighted out, we stood up and denounced ourselves. Hopping off the train my heart was beating fast and the cold night air froze my breath. After he’d established who we were, that is two crazy kids without a clue, our escort got to chatting and cheerily accompanied us up into the tower. Seats were cleared and we sat down. Everytime someone walked in, they’d shake our hands and mumble “bonsoir”. The way everyone was acting, I half expected someone to offer a cup of tea.

While we waited nervously for ‘someone’ to arrive to remove us from the yards, our new friend got to rambling about all the freigth systems, directions and opporating procedures. You’d ask one question, and he’d give you the reply to ten.

In the end our car arrived and it was with a little hiccup that I noticed it was the police. Mostly joking, but semi serious I said: “They’re not going to lock us up are they!?” The man who’d found us revealed his missing teeth with a grin and with eyes sparkling patted me on the shoulder, telling me not to worry. Assuring the police that we meant no harm and were really just adventurous silly kids, he wished us a goodnight and bid us fairwell.

The cops dropped us at the nearest metro station and that was that. Sometimes being a white, frenchspeaking female from Australia goes a damn long way. I’m still thanking my lucky stars!

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