She said, she fills the bath tub with ice to keep her beer chilled, and showers near the pool. And this was not the weirdest of her habits that we talked about. Call them idiosyncrasies, she said, because it sounds nice. For her, all these "idiosyncrasies" put together, was a feeling of home. A home, that was on the move with her. A home, that offered a continuity of some sort and eased out her thoughts to flow into her writing.
I met Emogen at a poolside restaurant in a hotel where I was staying in Athens. She was a travel blogger. How clichéd, I told her with a slight hint of disbelief when we first started talking. It was late night. The restaurant had closed the kitchen just a few minutes before I arrived. It had been a busy day for me already. Though, I was not sleepy, I was too tired to go out. With that, only relaxing thing I could do was to sit besides the pool and dip the feet in the water. That's exactly what I was doing when she joined in. She looked fresh, as she just had the shower, but slightly agitated as they didn't allow her to smoke near the pool. I was tempted to ask her why she joined me near the pool, but then having a company that time wasn't a bad idea either.
I asked her why she preferred staying in a hotels while on the move. I told her how much I loved staying in Airbnbs while in Athens, how much beautiful each home was, how much I got to know about local culture and what not. And she said, how clichéd, and gave me a "been there done that" look or maybe it was "I don't care" look. She got up to collect her drink. After returning she told me her theory about what made her write, what slowed her down, what worked as her dreamcatcher and when her thoughts, how much ever tremendous, simply evaporated. And she went on n on with that. Finally she took a pause and looked at me. But I had no such stories or idiosyncrasies about what made me think, or work. She pulled her lighter out and put that back in. Offered me a drink which again I refused politely. But she appeared less agitated now than how much she was when she arrived.
I told her about my friend, who went on mountains, and jungles, and what not resorts or farms, to write. Emogen smiled as if I was making it up. It was her turn to give me a look at disbelief. I asked her, where her home was. And she said, she didn't remember. Especially "the home" I was referring to. Otherwise, she was already home. I asked her if she always spoke so slow and used words so carefully. She smiled and said, it was an occupational hazard. We exchanged a few of our travel stories. Most of hers were written and most of my written ones were all the same mishap ones. I told her how much I traveled recently and how much I liked allowing a little piece of every place to grow inside me. Our perspectives to look at new places, people, experiences and travel altogether was different.
You are on the move for 5 years. You'll see what I mean in another 10. She said.
My mom says I never returned home after I left for the college, for the first time. That makes it more than 20 years. On the move. I said.
Alright. Then, maybe, I will see after another 5 years. She said and got up to head back to the room.
I didn't want the conversation to finish, yet but then I wasn't carrying any drink to finish nor was I smoking, to socially oblige her to stay and continue the conversation. Out of nowhere I burped out a useless question and asked her if she had a smoking room or non-smoking one. She came back and offered if I wanted to go with her. And I told her I didn't smoke. She paused for a bit, sat down. And then offered if I wanted the chilled beer from her bath tub.
The manager from the restaurant stopped by too at the same time, asking us if we wanted anything or should he send anything directly as a room service if we were heading back. I asked him if he had any beer cans specially chilled inside the bathtub, which he of course didn't have, but he took it as a signal to disappear. Emogen smiled and asked again, if we were heading back to the room. I told her, I love collecting stories would rather love to hear a few more of hers, right there by the poolside.
That was one story right there in making.
I met Emogen at a poolside restaurant in a hotel where I was staying in Athens. She was a travel blogger. How clichéd, I told her with a slight hint of disbelief when we first started talking. It was late night. The restaurant had closed the kitchen just a few minutes before I arrived. It had been a busy day for me already. Though, I was not sleepy, I was too tired to go out. With that, only relaxing thing I could do was to sit besides the pool and dip the feet in the water. That's exactly what I was doing when she joined in. She looked fresh, as she just had the shower, but slightly agitated as they didn't allow her to smoke near the pool. I was tempted to ask her why she joined me near the pool, but then having a company that time wasn't a bad idea either.
I asked her why she preferred staying in a hotels while on the move. I told her how much I loved staying in Airbnbs while in Athens, how much beautiful each home was, how much I got to know about local culture and what not. And she said, how clichéd, and gave me a "been there done that" look or maybe it was "I don't care" look. She got up to collect her drink. After returning she told me her theory about what made her write, what slowed her down, what worked as her dreamcatcher and when her thoughts, how much ever tremendous, simply evaporated. And she went on n on with that. Finally she took a pause and looked at me. But I had no such stories or idiosyncrasies about what made me think, or work. She pulled her lighter out and put that back in. Offered me a drink which again I refused politely. But she appeared less agitated now than how much she was when she arrived.
I told her about my friend, who went on mountains, and jungles, and what not resorts or farms, to write. Emogen smiled as if I was making it up. It was her turn to give me a look at disbelief. I asked her, where her home was. And she said, she didn't remember. Especially "the home" I was referring to. Otherwise, she was already home. I asked her if she always spoke so slow and used words so carefully. She smiled and said, it was an occupational hazard. We exchanged a few of our travel stories. Most of hers were written and most of my written ones were all the same mishap ones. I told her how much I traveled recently and how much I liked allowing a little piece of every place to grow inside me. Our perspectives to look at new places, people, experiences and travel altogether was different.
You are on the move for 5 years. You'll see what I mean in another 10. She said.
My mom says I never returned home after I left for the college, for the first time. That makes it more than 20 years. On the move. I said.
Alright. Then, maybe, I will see after another 5 years. She said and got up to head back to the room.
I didn't want the conversation to finish, yet but then I wasn't carrying any drink to finish nor was I smoking, to socially oblige her to stay and continue the conversation. Out of nowhere I burped out a useless question and asked her if she had a smoking room or non-smoking one. She came back and offered if I wanted to go with her. And I told her I didn't smoke. She paused for a bit, sat down. And then offered if I wanted the chilled beer from her bath tub.
The manager from the restaurant stopped by too at the same time, asking us if we wanted anything or should he send anything directly as a room service if we were heading back. I asked him if he had any beer cans specially chilled inside the bathtub, which he of course didn't have, but he took it as a signal to disappear. Emogen smiled and asked again, if we were heading back to the room. I told her, I love collecting stories would rather love to hear a few more of hers, right there by the poolside.
That was one story right there in making.
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