Beautiful Cynicism III

The hostel is an interesting place. So many different people, all ages and cultures and races, from all corners of the world. Just now there’s an elderly French gentleman who keeps coming round every few minutes. He sits on one of the benches, and works on a crossword puzzle. He then gets up and leaves, all the while muttering under his breath something about “c’est une catastrophe!” and repeating over and over “il faut aller chez soi, chez soi!” Then a few minutes later, he returns, and completes another puzzle, and repeats the whole process over. I’ve roomed with a Chinese girl, been chatted up by a Frenchman, and conversed with Italians, Australians, and fellow Canadians, and had an interesting encounter with an older Spaniard this morning over how to operate the luggage lockers and access the wireless internet (it took several tries of him saying “weee-feee” over and over until it clicked he meant the wireless – which many Anglos pronounce “why-fye”, of course ). Between his total lack of English and French, and my total lack of Spanish, we managed to sort everything out (mostly through extensive miming ).

I arrived yesterday under the cover of anonymity. Aside from bonding with my fellow foreigners, I’ve spent most of my time either sleeping, writing, reading, or playing games. I went out to buy a sandwich at a sidewalk bakery a few blocks away, and took the long way back to the hostel. Other than that, I’ve stayed indoors – I’m too exhausted and sore from yesterday’s travel to do anything. I haven’t called anyone, except for loved ones back home. Home; such an abstract concept. I’ve known for a long time that “home is where the heart is”, and isn’t really tied to geographical location (although certainly the essence of feeling “at home” can be tied to geographical features). Maybe that’s what’s missing after all: I have fond memories of France, I love Paris, and several French people are very dear to me; and I applied for this job, and put much time and effort and expense into the application process. And now here I am… but my heart just isn’t in it.