Book Lover's Paradise

It’s something I’ve kept secret for some time now. Not many people would get excited, or even care, but for me it brings sweetness, a kindness that cannot be felt anywhere else. Each time I enter the store the clerk smiles, then continues reading the day’s paper behind the counter. Although we’ve barely spoken a word to each other, we communicate through brief gestures and perusing each other’s books.

I predict the number of steps it takes to reach my favourite section. As I zigzag through the aisles the faint dusty smell tickles the inside of my nose. Months ago the dust used to make me to sneeze, but my senses have learned to adjust.

I finally reach the row of books that stand proudly side-by-side. Some have enjoyed many generations of hands carefully turning each page, with eyes desiring the next word. Others have just a few select admirers, but still rank among the best in the world.

I slide my fingertips along the spines of these distinguished works of art, feeling each thread of cloth and bump of leather as it indulges my senses. I step closer to the shelf, close my eyes and breathe in the history, trying to dream my way into their worlds.

Suitcase Adventures

I remember the first time I travelled alone, not knowing what I’d see at the other end of the voyage. Initially I was full of excitement, but as the ship pulled into dock I froze with uncertainty. All the pre-trip planning could not prepare me for talking with locals, navigating the city streets or eating foreign delicacies. I couldn’t go back, it took too long to get there. I would have to be at ease with the unfamiliar, gradually loosening my grip on safety and diving into new cultures alone. Over time my body became accustomed to each city’s temperament and the jostle of strangeness surrounding me. Café owners around the world became passing companions, embracing me with their stories and friendly advice.

Sitting on outdoor patios I imagined people’s lives as they floated by. At first I desperately craved to fit in, foolishly mimicking accents and dressing in local garb. Looking the part, however, was just a thin veil covering my true self. I needed to be proud of my heritage, otherwise I would get pulled in all directions from outsiders. Over time I opened up to the newness of everything, discovering pleasure in unusual sights, smells and tastes. Sometimes I closed my eyes in the middle of busy markets and let the chaos of the moment whisk around me as I stood silently like a tree clinging to its roots during a tornado.

My suitcase has chaperoned me to many places around the world. It’s been bumped and scraped and handled by thousands of people loading it onto the latest mode of transport. I still prefer the gentleness of ships gliding through the ocean water. It allows me time to imagine the new country I’ll be visiting while feeling the cool winds blow around me.

I travelled for three decades, and while friends were busy getting married, moving into large homes, and expanding their families with bundles of children, I spent time strolling through small exotic villages meeting new people who generously brought me into their lives with open arms. It was these moments that confirmed my decision to be a world traveller and writer.

 My suitcase now sits alone in my spare room, emptied of all its contents and aromas from foreign lands. Its colourful exterior is the only indication that it has travelled far and wide. Many people have asked me to divulge stories of my travels, but I’ve always felt that to truly understand a place one must feel the culture on all different levels, even if it means standing in a busy market with your eyes closed and suitcase in hand.