Diaries

::Early August

Last night at home for the next two weeks, but it feels like leaving for a quarter of a century. Train at seven, the city of Lyon with a backpack on my shoulders, the smell of him in my panties - to retain the memory for, at least, today. Climbs of the steep city's streets and stairs that can even lead to the heaven, sweat running down my back, taste of coke so divine, womanhood proved if by nothing else than by buying new shoes.

Sticky air of Istambul by midnight. Incredible traffic, screaming drivers, people crossing the street wherever. Shower. Bed. Woken up by rain, strong, persistent, loud rain. The heat is tiring enough to fall back into the pillows, continuing the mainstream of fifteen economists who at some point or another met in Paris. They get high an hour after they wake up.

I get lost in Grand Bazar, enjoyably lost, amazed by complexity and irregularity this place carries.

Countless amounts of long skirts I was given at the entrance of each mosque. Covering my head. You look like Virgin Mary, someone says. Ramadan dinners of locals in the parks - we feel to be almost a part of them. Except, leaving hungry.

This place might never sleep.

::August 5th

Raki night. Not many survivors. The Slovak girl persists.

::August 7th

Breakfast in a Turkish family. The pink-white-gold, rococo style of my classmate's mom is at least funny. Persian cat, fat and lazy, gives the place a final touch.

Did not miss the flight to Bodrum, surprisingly.

Calm dark-blue water, luxurious apartment, seventeen of us together. Night swims. Neighbors complain every time. Deep in the DeLillo's story, falling asleep whenever it is appropriate - or not. Stupid girlish talks, smart girlish talks, complimenting swim suits, discussing politics, cooking dinners, driving eight people in a car to the Saturday open market.

This one is another one from nine thousand something sunsets I have been through. Another day over. It takes only seconds for the orange ball to get flattened by the small island in the horizon, like a balloon or a cheek pressed against a window glass. Another moment, and it sinks, exactly as imagined when you closed your eyes, perfect projection, a moment of sadness and melancholy. I miss him, incredibly, and want him to enjoy it with me.

::The Night Before the Last in Bodrum.

I spread my arms and legs on the surface of an empty pool, hear my breathing, watch the night sky. Water sheds over the east edge, splashing on the floor, echoing into the stillness of the air. My heart beats, regularly, and I fear, I fear so much, just do not know what. I go to sleep, waking up to kill mosquitos. For the amounts of them killed, they would never accept me into any nature-friendly club.

::Mid-August

We find a place on the beach. Can be? they try to sense my opinion. Tiredness talks: I do not care, in fact. Loud techno sending regular beats into my body stuffed in a borrowed sleeping bag, on the beach chair and a waterproof mattress with yellow and white stripes, hugging the camera. I fell asleep twice, for about half an hour each. Otherwise, I watch the skies. If you do it for long enough, you can see more starts, even the Milky Way, but not as well as at home. The drunks and fresh lovers walk by from time to time, making my heart beat, faster, scarier, music still plays in the background. I pee into the sea. Sorry. I pray for this night to pass by fast.

Before sunrise, I was already walking back to the city, meeting the crazies swimming, perhaps still drunk, a couple having sex just in front of the eyes of the pass-byers and restaurant owners, the guys coming to their hotels from a long and perhaps also good night, whistling at me, some loosing balance, girl groups where at least one of them is crying, a few couples supporting each other. The town dirty and ugly, in this morning hour. The waiters do not, finally, fake their smile and try to start conversation to get you eat there. I did not miss the ferry, Kos-Rhodos. I ate biscuits and banana for breakfast, slept good on the two coffee shop armchairs stuck together.

::The Last Day of the Vacation

I send the postcards, fly to Brussels - it was cheaper. I need to see him: maybe I can surprise him, for a few minutes, at work.

The train is late. Stolen cables. Now, I only desire to stay in my bed. Surprising might happen tomorrow.

When I do not find the keys in my mailbox, as I asked him to do, the decision is made for me. We talk until early morning, going quickly through the past weeks, explaining exchanged emails, clarifying the circumstances. I am happy, maybe more than ever, to fall asleep next to him again, to kiss him in the morning, to have the scent in my panties for another day.