los indigentes como nosotros

el saque mi cuaderno en público significa, sin duda, que alguien va a venir a curiosear. Nunca falla, es naturaleza humana; y yo, como he dicho antes, atraigo desconocidos y curiosos.

mientras observo a los viejitos de Céret jugar bolas criollas, Miguel se me acerca y se queda viendo lo que estoy dibujando. Miguel es Catalán y entre los dos no juntamos mucho mas que "Bon jour," asi que una vez establecido que el español es nuestro campo común, se instala y conversamos (él habla) un rato. No sé en que momento asumió que yo era pobre y sin hogar, pero lo hizo y me empezó a dar consejos (no solicitados) para los "indigentes como nosotros." ¿Qué hizo que Miguel pensara que yo era parte de su club de indigentes? No estoy segura, pero, ¿para qué corregir? Me dijo donde puedo recibir mi correo (¿los indigentes reciben correspondencia?), y donde me dan carne gratis (no, gracias), también me informó donde quedan los baños públicos (no le paré a la explicación...tipo normal) y lo difícil que es abrir una cuenta bancaria en Francia (¿no hay que tener dinero para necesitar una cuenta corriente?). Un dato mas útil hubiera sido donde dormir, pero como yo no hago preguntas, la cosa se quedó asi. Los viejitos tenían pinta de que estaban por terminar y yo estaba perdiendo luz, asi que sutilmente empecé a dibujar de nuevo, como diciendo: "gracias por tus consejos, pero ya me fastidié."

Miguel entendió, o se fastidió también y siguió su rumbo. Yo me quedé sentada observando viejitos bajitos y gruñones, todos con ropa que parece ajena, y zapatos deliciosos.

diary of a hitchhiker I

january 23, 2012

interesting day for hitchhiking. Started in Dunedin, where Thommy picked me up after two seconds with my thumb out. Good start. Thommy is from India and I'm pretty sure he suffers from something along the lines of short-term memory loss. Every now and then he'd sort of reset and start asking me things we'd already talked about. It could also be that Thommy does not listen; one of those people that asks questions for the sake of asking and then wander off in their brains with no intention of listening to the answer...like me when I ask for directions.

For the whole 40 minutes we rode together, I'm pretty sure these three questions summarize our conversation:

-"Where are you from?"
-"Where are you going?"
-"Do you want some lollies?"

After the fourth time, I had to ram a chocolate bar in my mouth, just to have him ask, seconds later, if I wanted some lollies.

I'm always tempted to start making things up, but I never actually do it...Our conversation could have gone like this:

T:"Where are you from?"

A:"A little underwater colony near the Seychelles."

T:"Where are you going?"
A:"Outer space. I'd like to buy a property closer to the sun."
T:"Do you want some lollies?"
A:"Sure, but I better warn you that I have this condition that will probably make me throw up all over your dashboard."

What would they say if I answered these things? Actually Thommy probably wouldn't mind because he's not listening anyway. The reason I never actually say these things is because I know I can't keep a straight face, I can't commit to being in character. That's how I know I'll never be an actress.

humans

I don't go out much. Anything putting me in contact with other humans I consider socializing. I might not actually speak to these humans, but them being there, present in my bubble, is somewhat social and therefore, unsettles me.

I find most people obnoxious; them, their behaviour, their speech, whatever, it annoys me. Yet, depending on my mood, it can also amuse me. If I'm bored, I go see people. I use "see" in a literal sense, the way you go see elephants at the zoo. I don't want these people to speak to me, or interact with me in any way, I just want to observe them.

What most people find normal, I find, depending on the mood, either peculiar or plain right absurd. If I'm in a "peculiar" mood, I'll go around being baffled and intrigued by people's day-to-day actions; if I'm in an "absurd" mood, I'll find everyone ridiculous and out of their minds.

None of these thoughts get verbal expression because I was raised with "good manners" and the such, which include taking part in these inane rituals of daily life, and keeping what you actually think bottled up inside.

some people

some people need detailed maps. Some people need detailed plans. Some people need to make decisions. Joseph is one of these people. I am not one of these people. This is why me and Joseph should not travel together. I take pit stops as an opportunity to ponder the possible existence of a secret sweater-wearing mob of kangaroos, he takes them as a chance to further kill my spontaneous spirit by yet again planning something I consider absurdly unnecessary.

J: "What's the plan?"

A: "Drive north"

J: "But where are we going?"

I point north...I don't see the issue, I don't know why anything else needs to be decided

J: "Where should we stop?"

A: "Wherever we feel like it"

J: "That's not a place"

A: "It will be"

a peek into the capital

- picton to wellington ferry -

- goodbye south island -

- hello north island -

- cook strait -

- welcome to wellington -

- igualita a mi Puns -

- cbd -

- cbd -

- cuba street -

- westpac stadium -

- all blacks vs. springboks -

- my room -

- my wall on the floor -

- my wall on the floor -

- let it snow -

- view from my deck -

that's my life in Wellington in a nutshell.

Dunedin coming soon...

cheers!

time to move on

It's time to pack again. After two months of "settled" life in Wellington, it's time to move on. I'll miss this city. but I'm happy for something new...I'm always happy for something new.

Wellington has chosen to say goodbye with lots of snow. For the first time in decades, we're having proper snow right in the CBD. I'm not a fan of snow, but I have to admit it looks super pretty.

Tonight's my last shift at work and I'll definitely miss it. I feel comfortable here. I finally know my way around our venues and our kitchens. I know people's names and I know what they do. I know that our plates live in one place and our cutlery in another. I know which elevators get me to where I need to go, and which stairs don't. I know which water coolers to drink from and which to avoid. I now know how to sign my hours so I get paid properly. I finally learned which radio channel to use for catering, and which one for operations...but regardless of all that, it's time to go. I'm heading to Dunedin, where I won't know our venues nor our kitchens. I won't know who people are or what their purpose is. I won't be able to find our plates, forks or knifes. I'll get lost constantly and I'll be all sorts of confused. But I'm sure I'll have a sweet as time figuring it all out, and learning everything over again.

Tomorrow I'll be flying down south (hopefully the weather calms down and the Dunedin airport reopens in time for this to happen). I'm all sorted with a sweet place to live, close to the CBD and the new stadium. Most important of all, this place I'll be moving into is warm...or sounds warm anyway. It has HRV...and it's insulated...and double glazed...and has a heat pump, and all the good stuff that is needed when the city is under a polar blast that is a "one in a 50-year event" as the Otago Daily Times puts it.

I promise my next post will have pictures. It's long overdue. Once I settle down in Dunedin I'll be able to update everyone on my new job, weather and the likes. For now, this is it.

Peace.

forest pete

I have mentioned before that I'm slightly anti-social, but I guess that's not entirely true. I have my moments. I actually love people. This does not mean I always love to be around them. In fact, most of the time, I rather not be. I'm not a fan of talking to strangers, but for some reason, strangers are big fans of talking to me. Guys on buses, old ladies standing in cues, I've heard more unsolicited life stories than I can remember. I'm guessing it's the world's twisted sense of humor. This is nothing new though, I've always been somewhat anti-social; selective my mother calls it...mothers always have euphemisms for their children's behavior.

The most recent of stories came from Forest Pete. Now, I'm rarely aware of what's going on around me when I walk to work. I'm usually listening to music and day-dreaming about a thousand different things. This is the reason why I run into posts (and people) on a daily basis. But when a man pulls up on a tattered bicycle and adjusts to your speed, it's hard not to take notice. I don't know what prompts humans to strike up conversations with someone so obviously not interested, but my lack of understanding doesn't stop it from happening regularly. I reluctantly pulled out my earphones expecting to be asked for the time or directions (neither of which I can provide because I lost my watch and my way a while ago), instead I got a "Hello there! How are you?" In general, I'm a pretty trusting person, but there's something about growing up in a large, somewhat dangerous city, that makes you, even if just for a second, slightly paranoid about random strangers approaching. Yet, after talking to this fascinating character for half an hour, I learned a few things:

I learned that Pete is from Holland. I learned that Pete's bike is missing a few screws (I learned that he probably is as well). I learned that Pete lives in the forest. I learned that Pete gets free bread on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays...who from, I don't know. Forest Pete kindly offered me some. I thanked him but told him I'd get fed at work. I find it beautiful that people that have the least are usually the most generous. I learned that Pete knows a bit of Spanish. I learned that he knows a bit of several other languages as well. I learned that Pete was in Holland the night before. I learned that Pete travels in his dreams. I learned that Pete is in the process of building an "abode" in the forest. I hope he finds a way to stay warm every night. I learned that I should be nicer to people. I learned that I should be more generous as well. I learned that I should pay more attention. I learned that I have a lot to learn.