Sunday, March 30, 2008

It´s a Barcelona moment...

So I´m writing this post from the Sala Gaudi at Barcelona airport. Two nights and one day of great fun, good food and intelligent company. The trip out here was spontaneous, unplanned and, perhaps for that reason, all that much more enjoyable. Friday night was spent at various locations, but most notably the gloriously gaudy (Gaudi) jazz bar at the Hotel Casa Fuster, and the Zelig bar in downtown Barcelona (I think its in the Raval). And then yesterday was a Gracia day, walking around small placas and whiling away the time with friends in so many small cafes.

So now its back to London, for a lazy Sunday, reading the Sunday Times and chilling at the Prince Edward - a tiny little pub looking onto a small Notting Hill garden square, before catching up with some more friends for dinner. And its about one hour till my flight boards, so I´m checking emails and Facebook, with my iPod, and I´m listening to a Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young classic:

There is a town in north Ontario,
With dream comfort memory to spare,
and in my mind I still need a place to go,
All my changes were there,

Blue, blue windows behind the stars,
Yellow moon on the rise,
Big birds flying across the sky,
Throwing shadows on our eyes.

Helpless, helpless, helpless
Baby can you hear me now?
The chains are locked and tied across the door,
Baby, sing with me somehow.

Blue, blue windows behind the stars,
Yellow moon on the rise,
Big birds flying across the sky,
Throwing shadows on our eyes

(I´ve got the k.d.lang and neil young versions)

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Brighter than a thousand golden suns...

No, I'm not gone and haven't disappeared forever.

I guess apologies of sorts are definitely in order, given that I've been terrible with my posting recently. It's not as if I haven't had things to say, stories to tell, experiences to share or just pet peeves to vent about. Life has been hectic, busy, incredibly satisfying and equally frustrating at the same time, and definitely not dull and boring.

No, its not that.

There has been travel. Seven countries in less than than three months, transcontinental flights, Heathrow at its best and worst, snowfall in Berlin and Amsterdam, rain in Hanoi and the warm sun in Delhi. Long nights, fancy bars, grubby clubs, beautiful women in Vietnam, jealous transvestites in Holland. The kids of close friends, friends from your past; so many binaries, so many dichotomies. Evenings spent with a glass of wine in front of a fireplace, a movie, a river. Kids throwing snowballs at your moving car, cyclists nearly running you over while they paint their nails. Looking at a Van Gogh original and feeling the urge to cry, watching a movie on a plane and feeling the urge to laugh until you can't stop, sleeping, riding that amazing white horse on a crisp winter's day.

All I know is that something is different; something has changed, and it will never be the same as it was before. What it is, I cannot tell, but trying to figure it out is half the fun. I feel energised, but tired as well. It's as if there are a thousand golden suns buried deep within me, each one straining to burst out, and even though as each one emerges the brilliance of its light astounds me, it also leaves me drained.

Damn you Hosseini - you stole my autobiography's title.