we'll always have...

the last time he came to berlin, when we were on the verge of ending, he said he needed to get perspective. so i gave him a map, told him to go out for the day .i asked him to let me know if he wanted to meet up later.
i gave him a map, and walked away.

he went as far from my kiez as he knew how to get to. he liked alexanderplatz, all that space.
he didn't find me, but then i don't think he was looking.

I'm ok with maps, but my sense of direction is terrible. i can remember places. but when i walk out a store i've just walked into, my impulse on leaving is always to turn the wrong way., its like maths, my brain jumbles, i panic, i need to really stop and pause and concentrate. but i'm not scared of getting lost. i trust in the fact that even with a confused sense of direction, i tend to find my way. the scenic route may take longer, but its often far more interesting.

I told him last night i wanted to get a map, preferably the paris equivalent of a london a-z. , so i could spend today getting lost, he laughs and says its not getting lost if you have a map to find out where you are. I think about this as I go to sleep. and when i wake i think about walking, and running into myself..

i set out between four and five. , i walk for hours and hours. i feel resolute in not taking along a map. i will find my way somehow. i feel convinced by that. i have set myself a mission. to get lost, to wander. to allow myself to be aimless. its ok here, this is the only reason i'm here. i don't have to be anywhere, there is no one who will call me, there is no one to see. i don't want to see anything specifically. i just want to walk, walk and feel like an outsider. enjoy it,all the foreignness.

i am getting used to certain things. to the awkwardness of my nonexistent french. and people see and hear me struggle, but don't groan, are more patient than i expect. the second day in the tabac the man corrects me, but not only does he correct me, he smiles after. like the cab driver nights before whose amused bonsoir greeted my overwhelmed bonjour at ten pm, he seems to be saying, its ok, but get it right.

i follow impulses to walk down various streets and am annoyed by the smoking ban here. Don't undsterstand paris with a smoking ban. consider bars and cafe's and decide not to sit in any of them. and its all ok. all of it is ok. whatever i do by myself is ok. I only have myself to answer to. as i walk my thoughts race and raise in volume. i wish i could upload the thoughts directly to my laptop. walking is another kind fo writing. when i'm walking i am always writing. i walk and i think about travelling and tourism.

you want to discover something different. so you are cautious about anything not french, any menu or sign in english, or worse yet menus with pictures and numbers. you try to steer away from anywhere you hear much english spoken. search out the authentic. you find one bar with a smoking area, opulent velvet red and crystal chandeliers and art deco signage and it looks like the dream of what you want your french cafe to be until you walk up closer and yes, the sign is in english, but then you're by the place de republique. you should know better.

authentic. authentic is the area you stay in. so many streets far from the idea of postcard pretty paris. it reminds you more of parts of london you've lived in and loved. north african restaraunts and chinese places, as many places to buy noodles and couscous as baguettes and brioche. but it feels grim . you want something....sparkly, shinier. you find yourself caring less about authentic, you are here partly for the ideal, the dream. and part of you, loyal to your own city even says, the grimey bits of berlin may be dirty, but they're so much more charming than this... or are they?

i advise anyone walking around a city on their own to make a language learning lesson your soundtrack. its both calming and strange. i am reminding myself of french, a language i tried to learn and completely forgot. I am amused again by that pesky word friend, the translation of friend. in french it appears the same problem as german. mon ami, my boyfriend... mein freunde, my boyfriend. no difference between boyfriend and boy friend. suits the french really, i'm sure they like their ambiguity, but the germans? i always hate it when i'm seeing someone and they introduce me as a friend. i always feel awkward introducing someone as a friend who is much more than that. but its that inbetween stage, its tricky..
what do you say?
\this is (insert name) is probably best.

"Une bouteille de vin blanc” helpfully plays just as i linger outside a wine shop. I take it as a cue, but buy a bottle of red instead. And then walking out, (which way am i headed?) small talk, polite conversion. my least favourite questions.
for example: what do you do?
possible answers given.

I am in education,
I am in finance.
I am an architect.
I am a writer.

She calls me on skype that night. She has her gleam back, is fulll of brilliant non sequitors, says: no one has a relationship with an artist. artists have relationships with themselves and occasionally let you in for a threesome. and i think she's right really, but it can just as easily apply to me. in my temporary home. drinking wine and stuffing my face full of macaroons, i relax in her kitchen. i think about cities. my relationship with them. i treat them like people. and like people i'm not always good with first impressions. sometimes those i resist are the ones i should spend more time with. put more work into, as he likes to say. I hear this one saying

I don't need you, but there is something for you here. find it, and take it with you.
if not, i will be here when you come back again.

I don't need to find myself here. i brought myself along. Which way do i turn next?

It doesn't matter. After a year of so much travelling, i've finally learned something.
Sometimes the destination is less important than the journey...