Time for myself (Antwerpen)
Contrary to my (admittedly vague) plans, I have not managed to make it further than this Belgian port town in the two days since leaving the Hague on Saturday. Yesterday, upon riding into Antwerpen at around 7 pm, I was feeling pretty crappy. It had been a long day, riding mostly in rain, and my moods had not been the brightest.
It never ceases to amaze me how different the riding can seem, depending on my moods. You see, ever since leaving The Hague I have been suffering from a terrible lack of motivation that is making the cycling ardous even when the terrain is flat and I have the tailwind to spur me on. Having made the bookings for Paris as well as for the return journey by train and boat, all of a sudden I find myself in a weird limbo; I feel no great urge to ride on, although, and I have to be honest about this, there is also very little enthusiasm about returning home. I suppose it is because I can now clearly see that the end of this trip is near, and indeed, that none of the issues I set out to solve in the course of this trip has become much clearer.
Another reason is of course that after the cosy and relaxed days spent in the Hague, I am once again feeling pretty lonely. Admittedly, due to always having travelled (and mostly lived) alone I am quite used to this sentiment as well as to the fact that it usually emerges after spending time with lovely people, but somehow it always manages to surprise me.
As I was entering the city from the northern suburbs I was debating in my mind whether I should stick to my usual penny-pinching routine of looking for a campsite, or just check into a hotel no matter the cost, lie in bed watching TV and feeling sorry for myself. Thus, when I accidentally came accross a Finnish Seafarers' Church (Merimieskirkko) that I know to offer affordable accommodation to Finnish travellers, I decided to call it a day. As if it was meant to be, they had exactly one free room left, and before I knew it, I was installed in my tiny room, reading the Finnish daily Helsingin Sanomat and having coffee and pulla (a typical Finnish bun) while chatting to the lady running the cafe, who happened to come from Hamina, a town where I have spent a lot of time as a kid. To make things slightly spooky, I was pretty sure that a little over 50 years ago, my Dad had been visiting the place when he used to work on Finnish freight ships during his teenage years. Indeed, the lady assured me that the place had been in the same location since the 1920's, and that back in those days the ship crews used to come here during the off-loading and loading time. Must say it did make me feel slightly emotional, as the place had a bit of a sad, forlorn air of past, much happier times.
This morning, based on mere instinct, and against my better judgment regarding the distance still remaining to Paris, I decided to stay in town for two more nights. Having only cycled about 10 minutes into town,I got a very strong hunch that this would be a good place to tango. The town has a true harbour-town feel to it: lots of slightly run-down but beautiful old buildings, a very colourful population of all imaginable nationalities and a general sense of easy-going acceptance. Indeed, in my mind it corresponds well to the image I have of Buenos Aires in the 1930's and 1940's, the time when tango was living its Golden Era. As there was to be no milonga before Tuesday night, I felt I would rather stay and wait for it, even if this meant that I would then need to cover the remaining 300 (!!) km to Paris in just two days. This is just about doable, assuming I can get an early start, don't get lost on the way, and have the wind in my favour.
Thus, I spent today taking it really easy, reading my book and sleeping off an inexplicable sense of fatigue. In the evening, I took a ride around the old city centre, fascinated by the ease with which the city seems to accommodate the whole range of human existence: the hordes of camera-touting tourists, the rough-looking gangs of men ogling prostitutes in their wondows, the stylish old ladies in their immaculate hairdo's, the teenagers in their jeans and the businessmen ion their Armani suits. For some reason I really like the place, and am quite curious to see its tango scene. Despite being quite surprised with myself, I feel confident that staying was the right decision. Time will tell.
It never ceases to amaze me how different the riding can seem, depending on my moods. You see, ever since leaving The Hague I have been suffering from a terrible lack of motivation that is making the cycling ardous even when the terrain is flat and I have the tailwind to spur me on. Having made the bookings for Paris as well as for the return journey by train and boat, all of a sudden I find myself in a weird limbo; I feel no great urge to ride on, although, and I have to be honest about this, there is also very little enthusiasm about returning home. I suppose it is because I can now clearly see that the end of this trip is near, and indeed, that none of the issues I set out to solve in the course of this trip has become much clearer.
Another reason is of course that after the cosy and relaxed days spent in the Hague, I am once again feeling pretty lonely. Admittedly, due to always having travelled (and mostly lived) alone I am quite used to this sentiment as well as to the fact that it usually emerges after spending time with lovely people, but somehow it always manages to surprise me.
As I was entering the city from the northern suburbs I was debating in my mind whether I should stick to my usual penny-pinching routine of looking for a campsite, or just check into a hotel no matter the cost, lie in bed watching TV and feeling sorry for myself. Thus, when I accidentally came accross a Finnish Seafarers' Church (Merimieskirkko) that I know to offer affordable accommodation to Finnish travellers, I decided to call it a day. As if it was meant to be, they had exactly one free room left, and before I knew it, I was installed in my tiny room, reading the Finnish daily Helsingin Sanomat and having coffee and pulla (a typical Finnish bun) while chatting to the lady running the cafe, who happened to come from Hamina, a town where I have spent a lot of time as a kid. To make things slightly spooky, I was pretty sure that a little over 50 years ago, my Dad had been visiting the place when he used to work on Finnish freight ships during his teenage years. Indeed, the lady assured me that the place had been in the same location since the 1920's, and that back in those days the ship crews used to come here during the off-loading and loading time. Must say it did make me feel slightly emotional, as the place had a bit of a sad, forlorn air of past, much happier times.
This morning, based on mere instinct, and against my better judgment regarding the distance still remaining to Paris, I decided to stay in town for two more nights. Having only cycled about 10 minutes into town,I got a very strong hunch that this would be a good place to tango. The town has a true harbour-town feel to it: lots of slightly run-down but beautiful old buildings, a very colourful population of all imaginable nationalities and a general sense of easy-going acceptance. Indeed, in my mind it corresponds well to the image I have of Buenos Aires in the 1930's and 1940's, the time when tango was living its Golden Era. As there was to be no milonga before Tuesday night, I felt I would rather stay and wait for it, even if this meant that I would then need to cover the remaining 300 (!!) km to Paris in just two days. This is just about doable, assuming I can get an early start, don't get lost on the way, and have the wind in my favour.
Thus, I spent today taking it really easy, reading my book and sleeping off an inexplicable sense of fatigue. In the evening, I took a ride around the old city centre, fascinated by the ease with which the city seems to accommodate the whole range of human existence: the hordes of camera-touting tourists, the rough-looking gangs of men ogling prostitutes in their wondows, the stylish old ladies in their immaculate hairdo's, the teenagers in their jeans and the businessmen ion their Armani suits. For some reason I really like the place, and am quite curious to see its tango scene. Despite being quite surprised with myself, I feel confident that staying was the right decision. Time will tell.
Is this the place and moment, where you find the truth about happy man´s shirt or perhaps happy womans blouse?
ReplyDeleteLove, mom Vuokko
Rakas, Mari!
ReplyDeleteGlad to see you living in the flow, living in the moment, feeling and sensing everything to the fullest.
Wouldn't it be another practise of the notorious "excess" in life if you'd expect to have all the answers to the big questions in life by the end of this trip? I don't think we're likely to "see the light" or suddenly make sense of things. I believe it's more of a matter letting things sink in, slowly, almost without noticing letting revelations accomodate in our minds. And then, be taken by surprise when we see the reflections of them in our daily lives.
besos, Lotta
Täysin samaa mieltä edellisen kirjoittajan kanssa. Suhteettomiin odotuksiin on helppo kompastua: se, minkä piti tapahtua määräajassa, ei tapahtunutkaan. Niin tuttua! Silti sen sijaan eteen tulikin ehkä jotain ihan muuta, jota ei osannut odottaa. Mun viisauksia ei ehkä kannata nyt ottaa kauhean vakavasti: kesäleirin jälkeinen hämmennys on kestänyt jo melkein viikon. Aika pihalla ollaan siis täälläkin! Besos E
ReplyDeleteP.S. Kun lukee sun kuvausta Hollannista ja Belgiasta tuntuu kuin olisi siellä itse, teksti on niin elävää. Vaihtarimuistoja kymmenen vuoden takaa! Jospa palaisikin joku päivä mestoille varta vasten tanssimaan tangoa?
ReplyDelete