I am not a typical tourist. I travel primarily for the experience of my memory and intuition. I view it as a curation of some sort only with footprints as colours and the places as the canvas collected. To give a visual representation, imagine a globe, I mean a map shaped round as a globe and each place you thread literally leaves shreds of evidence of your existence as you explore the world through land, air, and sea.
I was in a pub and passed by a very gorgeous black man. I think he was on a date but maybe not. I filed his image in my mind because even though the meeting was a mere glimpse, it was notable enough to form an impression and I remember thinking to myself as I walked past him about movie scenes where people destined to meet pass by each other as time slows down but that indeed is not when they ought to actually meet. You know what I mean right?
I remember one time on the train as I was embarking on a trip, I fell asleep briefly and was jostled awake by a divine smell. As I opened my eyes, I see that the originator is a gorgeous stranger that immediately registers as beautiful to me. I will probably never meet him again or even remember that smell but I know it is somewhere in the recess of my memory.
I remember travelling to a new city one time and finding myself staring into a pair of emerald eyes belonging to a stunning stranger as I was about to get on a bus heading to the train station on my way out of that city. I took a detour for those eyes. As I type this, I conjure the tryst.
I was on date once and remembered locking eyes with a bald man that sat at a table with friends, the very definition of confidence. He had the allure of bold assurance. I nearly tripped on my way back from the restroom as I walked past him in the crowded French restaurant.
In Howth, as I walked past the decks where boats were anchored, I pictured myself living by the seaside. I remember the breeze, the azure water, the colour of the sun, the splash of the rainbow, and little houses perched on a cliff. I remember thinking of sunset and dawn with a view like that and saying out loud this feels like the setting of a crime thriller, a quaint town with a serial killer on the loose but this is not all this memory presents.
There is a story before Howth, I register staring into greyish-blue eyes, more blue than grey as I was just stepping into my host home and immediately transported to amenity. Have you ever met someone and just known you are going to like them?
Well, I have. I didn’t exactly know in that instance that I was going to like this person. At least not the direction the likeness was going to take but I remember that I thought of home when I looked at him for the first time and felt myself soften at the sight of him. I know physical appeal has its perks but have you ever met someone you notice first their aura and not their looks? Like they reflect their souls easily even when they are just doing mundane stuff like standing to say hello?
By the way, I met this person past midnight. I was of course very somnolent, slightly hypnotic, and disinterested in hobnobbing with strangers but I was clear in my feelings when they struck. No this is not a story about having a crush (I should write about this soon). This is about experiencing sublime genuineness.
I have always admired soft-spoken people for the longest time. I am quite the opposite and the timbre of my passion is transposed in the decibel of my every word whilst speaking. He speaks so softly, you’d have to strain to hear him but the ironic part is instead of that fostering disinterest, you become more inclined to hear him out and so find yourself listening raptly. I am not sure he is aware of the effect he has on people.
As we meander through the streets, he keeps dropping change in cups, I think if those cups were metallic, they’d make music of his kindness. He walks really fast, talks slowly, is patiently attentive, and nurturing, sleeps through the morning, is the kind of person without a trace of malice, is a tad mischievous, and has an awkward smile (that’s how he describes his smile. I think it is just cute). He cares about the details, quite considerate. I wonder what he is like angry or irritated.
He became my tour guide but unlike any other tour guide who took one through the history of the city. I experienced the tour through his living in this city. The feeling of tranquillity and ever-pensive silence as he allows me to soak in the environment. His conscious effort was to make sure I got the value for each penny spent. His kindness in just randomly having a red jacket that is my perfect fit.
These are the memories I will cherish.
I remember waking up to the sounds of snoring, the sing-song voice of a vibrant woman downstairs going about her morning coffee, suggesting breakfast options that often involved croissants.
I remember walking in the storm, shivering as I walked the paths of Trinity College. I remember scouting for red hairs among the faces of nameless strangers. I remember scribbling my name on the wall at a pub. Laugher by the fireplace, singing two birthday songs on consecutive midnights. I remember drowsy wishes, the taste of strawberry wine, and the luscious bite of chocolate cake.
I remember trying new food that I actually regretted but I am glad I tried it anyways. Now I know never to do it again. I remember antique stores, double-decker bus rides, brightly coloured doors, and gift shops displaying several miniature sheep and Guinness.
Every place we are lucky to experience leaves us with an indelible aura. It is double luck to have people and places merge for good. That’s travel fantasy!
Some people find love, or heartache in new places, rendezvous with a stranger, begin new business deals, some travel to get lost while for some others, it is a memoir for self-discovery. No matter the reason for a sojourn I hope we are blessed to experience kindness in people too.
Make a great day! (I have a friend who says this to me) so I wish you the same.
Connoisseur of Memories 