9 months and we are born into the travel

with 3 Comments

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Visible crow’s-feet stick out from a reflection in the mirror. And I count one silver thread for each car we drive on. Above thirty the passing of time makes itself present in one’s skin. Fast, almost imperceptibly, each second, each month and year is gone and leaves only footprints. I cuddle next to the window of this new laptop looking at life passing by in a virtual manner. Because nine months on the road are many. Because I forget the events that crowd our days on the road. Because often I wonder which city I am waking up in, or where have we just come from. Because sometimes I don’t want time to pass anymore. And I dream of looking at the travel in a slide show, to classify feelings, to organize in neatly labeled boxes the roads that we have already walked. To stop time and write this blog. Not to forget, but to archive. Faces, names, numbers, food, the flavour of each cup of tea. A million images that slip off my mind when I turn my head towards the new village on our way. Sunsets I won’t remember even if I try. Words and scripts that fade away and again look like hieroglyphs on my diary. I need to make room for what is coming. Get re-born into this adventure, now and everyday. Let the seeds of travel grow in my mind, build themselves into skyscrapers from the pores of my skin, sprout with the sweat from my neck under the sun. Lose the fear of wrinkles, of discoloured hair, of cracked skin. Learn to love what comes next and let the travel draw a map over my body.

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9 months – 275 Mandalas. Shaped every day – stubbornly, methodically, invariably, sand by sand. Sometimes in colours I have never seen, some others plain and black and white. Bright and blinding, pale and fading, they ultimately evaporate in the morning light, looking for their place in the intangible wall of past. Constructed and de-constructed on a regular basis under the invisible law of landscapes and people’s lives I pass through, crash into, merge with, slide by or glimpse from far away. I run like a curvy river towards an unknown end, while time flies away over me like a magpie. I stare helplessly at it, hoping to suspend its wings.My long messy hair, curly growing beard, sunburnt skin are the physical connection with days that I would like to re-live. The sky flames that melted my skin in Issyk Kul are still present on my peeling back, the dust of steppes and deserts filters through my dreads, the beard that some Arabs pointed at months ago grows now out of control. And physical change is the only reminder that everything is anyway in motion. Growing up like a kid for whom the days are a playground and adventures lurk around each turn of the road. Are we really born on that marked date of the calendar when everybody sends us a present, or are we reborn each and every day?

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Celebrating 9 months with Kyrgyz compot. Travellers’ elixir!
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Boris, Marta and Burma roam the world at a speed of a snail. Two humans and one cat that found their way to India overland.

3 Responses

  1. Smilyan
    | Reply

    The beauty of the travel, the fight within to hold and preserve all the precious moments and yet again it is in conflict with the idea of travel itself, the idea of change. We want to hold everything we have noticed, the little details, that are as deep and full of meaning for as, as the universe itself, and then we turn around and the detail is gone, replaced by the big picture and it’s blurred details.

    We see ourselves as something, as probably the accumulative experiences and events that have passed by, and we want to hold to them, almost as if afraid to go into the unknown that “next” provides. It is this purging of life that renews us and humbles us, that when we embrace it, it clothes us with appreciation and peace.

    • rovingsnails
      | Reply

      Smilyan, this is precisely what we wanted to say. But we got lost in words and thoughts and feelings… thank you so much for the perspertive that makes our two paragraphs make some sort of sense. You are hired!

  2. wanderingcows
    | Reply

    Very beautifully said. I love the last sentence you finished off with re birthdays and being re-born everyday.

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