airport floors

I must say I am getting quite acquainted with airport floors.

this is my plastic bag of electronic knick knacks, and a set your pussy free sticker in the event of radical feminist friendships that may happen. The innocuous passport photos folder actually contains the worst passport photo I have ever taken in my entire life. No, no you will not get to see it. 

I left Toronto last night at 8:45pm and lost the battle against my eyelids and discomfort to sleep most of the way to Lisbon, 

and just now I am waiting in the airport, charging devices, planning the nap I am about to take. 

This is what the sunrise looked like 

hooray for shitty quality iPod pictures! It's been a while! 

The next step is a hopskipjump to Seville, arriving at midnight. The counter-desk-man-checker-inner said "it's realllllly hot there. Be prepared for hell." I laughed. I love the heat. I shall report if it is hell-ish or not. Although I am glad I am not walking from there anymore. No, instead in the next 6 days I will be bussing and training my way to Roncesvalles. 

I am making my way there with the words in my heart that The Camino provides. And that your Camino begins the day you decide to do it. 

In case you maybe haven't caught on or are a cyber bot or something, I am heading to Spain to walk the Camino de Santiago. I have lived and loved and friggen killed it at my last year at UBC, and I graduated with a degree (whatever that means) and I crossed a stage and I left Vancouver for a more indefinite period of time and it was okay to go the way it wasn't before (much is okay and more and nothing and everything then it was since last writing), and I have spent 6-ish weeks around Toronto "at home" and now finally finally I am going again. Probably as much for survival as for adventure and breathing and time on my hands. 

Even while I sit here heavy-tired and definitely-smelly, I have a heart that feels right again, this kind of smoothness of transition for my soul or something to be moving like this, to be going. 

I will surely wax poetic at length (or not??) before I begin my walk, with all that is has been before this part of it. 

For now though, I am existing in that not-real reality that is airports and travel days. It feels even further removed from any actual living because my hours of sleep in the last 48 totals about 4. Woooooooooh...? 

It was interesting to return to that beautiful city in the sunshine summer weather, remembering it in shadows and general ideas of orienting myself. I put my feet in this water after I dozed by the metro station I had arrived at when I was here last (in February 2014, on exchange and visiting a friend!).

I think this guy on a horse was probably important: 

 There was a cruise ship docked just outside the frame of that picture, so the generic white tourists were everywhere. A few were of the hardcore "I heart Lisbon" t-shirt wearing variety, and I was about to judge before I realized I am wearing the shirt I bought in Nicaragua. No one is blameless here. 

I ventured up to the used bookstore where I had purchased my Portuguese copy of the little prince a while ago. They didn't have any notebooks. I am kind of appalled I did not bring a notebook with me--I didn't forget, I just ran out of time to remember. So I wandered back down the smooth marble streets, smooth in the rainy-slippage sense, otherwise uneven surfaces, and sat in plaza Rossio for a while and ate an apple and read Solar Storms and then I checked for wifi and this image came up in the viewfinder (be warned, you may encounter many a foot/hiking shoe picture in the weeks to come) and I said hey, I could be anywhere. 

I could be anywhere, and I am right here. I am in transit, I am going. 

Well well. 

hello again, my sidekick companion of my own two damn feet and the words 

keep going. 

-k