What is it about travelling that makes us so more happy and curious about everything?
As I sat in the bus, the one I take almost everyday I wondered.
There I was, sitting, tired. After a long day, I had a headache and just sank on the blue bus bench, and hoped that no one would sit next to me.
And then,I looked by the window and notice to young backpackers. I envied them – I wish I was them, and Lisbon is a great city too, I would love to be visiting it. And I am not even joking, I envied a couple of backpacker for visiting my own city. And then it hit me.
I am living here, well not living, but studying here, so how can I be jealous of a couple of tourists in my own city? Oh yeah. I am not jealous of them. I am jealous of what they are doing.
Packing everything, getting on a plane, or bus or train. Going through several hours of transportation, passport bureaucracies, trying to find a place to stay, or finding your way to the booked ho(s)tel. Finding everything strange, not understanding a word everyone is saying, not understanding how anything works really.. And then to marvel at a new sight, – a little corner you think you are the only one to notice, or the big sight-seeing point that is still so new, and amazing. And the bus ride, that is so exciting, and full of possibilities and adventure.
If I was in turkey, or India, or even Austria, this would be such a fun place to be. The bus.
Then, the alcohol breath from the old man sitting behind me would be a cool story to tell. And the old couple in front of me, having a conversation about insurances, would be talking as you uselessly tried to understand a word of what they were saying. And the man who just sat next to you, taking your bag’s place would be a possible new friend – and you would be eager to talk to that local.
And then you look outside the window, and notice what is going on outside. You would retrace that road blindfolded – you do it every single day – but it is different. You see a stylish girl jumping as she gets frightened by the horn, And the girl with the ponytail and pink pants, who thinks much of herself, looking at her own reflection in a window. And that fat construction worker having a cigaret, and old ladys saying hi to each other as they cross the street.
And then you get out that bus, and still with this in mind you notice the light. The light you get after the rain. When the sky is not clear, but there is enough blue for the sunlight to come through. And you notice the red background Jesus’s people place at their windows, as to show what christmas is all about, and I go up, that very steep road that usually gets me looking at my feet, I see the
middle-aged man leaning at his garage door, and the small statue of Our lady, that is the last thing to get the sunlight, and some clothes drying in the sun, in a fence, very randomly. And I wish I got my camera.
If I was a tourist, I would have my camera.