A collection of scenes from my travels between Sete, France and Rome, Italy last February:
Narbonne, France: The train caboose -two men opened the train door facing the tracks, ignoring the one you're supposed to use. They jumped down, hopping onto the opposite platform to leave the tracks. A mystery of motivation, running the gamut from simple meaningless defiance to eluding justice. A tempting scene.
Girona, Spain: A four-year-old fairy decked out in purple tutu and boots with clashing puffy pink jacket dangles between two loving arms.
Girona Airport: Someone just did a handstand in the airport; now his girlfriend and he are taking turns standing and walking on their hands. All this preceded by a soft, under-her-breath ditty, "Ba-da-da-da-da.." Now they practice dance dips and swings.
Still the airport: Another four-year-old, this one kicks around a blue soccer ball with her dad. Or she crawls the airport floor chasing it, finding endless sources of amusement in this beige stone and glass structure.
Also, a cute couple sits in long serious discussion at the coffee shop, sharing stories and plans. Nothing out of the ordinary except for her well-made lion suit and painted face.
The tiny soccer player has abandoned the ball and drifted instead to dream land, drawing shapes only she can see in the air. Or, no, she's playing make-believe. She's building something at one cafe table which she then transports to another station in a very specific spot about three-feet above the ground between my backpack and the stool she's leaning on. It's a complete loss of self, imagination has taken over and time exists no more.
... No more until her adults notice her singing and swaying; they must now become her audience. The self returns and attention must be paid!
I love the richness of airports, especially the personalized world everyone brings with them. People are very basic; they brush their teeth, eat, play with or yell at their children... all without seeming to notice the rest of the crowd around them. I think it's a way we guard our privacy: simply pretending that we have some.
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