“I’m Clemente.”
I look at Clemente. Clemente is very hot, and very French.
“I’m Melody.” We shake hands and smile, sizing each other up the way we people do.
I’m on a double-decker, high speed super train from Paris to Barcelona and I just hit the passenger seat jackpot.
I craved freedom and adventure, but my old demons often hung around my ankles making me doubt myself, reminding me of the fall. Through my early twenties I struggled with depression and anxiety, experiences that leave scars that though are invisible to others, have you treat life more cautiously, having felt the fragility of your own.
As I recovered, the world seemed a more fearful place than before. I had seen a darkness in my own existence that ran so deep, I felt its echo wherever I went. How could anywhere be safe if my own mind wasn’t? I had lost all confidence in being in my own company, a place I then just filled with noise; the radio as I went to sleep, episodes of Friends playing in empty rooms, unsuitable boyfriends at the table. Fear is a funny thing- it can lead you places where you think you’re protecting yourself, when in fact you’re being boxed into smaller and smaller hiding places.
Out in Paris I give the demons a good, firm kick. “Fuck off.” I say to them under my breath. “I’m getting on the damn train.”
My walking, talking, French stranger-on-a-train-cliché buys me red wine and we talk for the entire 6 and half hour journey, covering art, philosophy, education and in hour number 3, his girlfriend (pah!) I forget to be scared, of the tunnels and mountains, of the 200mph, of being by myself when I get to my destination, I only see the beauty (no, not just of the French dude’s face) of the Pyrenees, of green luscious space that turns to a gorgeous burnt orange as we pass into Spain. “I’m back,” I whispered. “I’m back.”The train boasts a comfort similar to that of a first class airplane, with superfluous amounts of legroom, plug sockets, a bar and TV, so we find ourselves watching a movie called The Spanish Apartment, about a French student moving to Barcelona to study, living with a mix of European students all trying to make sense of themselves and their education, spending happy days and drunken nights sitting in a beautiful plaza surrounded by palms trees and fountains. Clemente has seen this film countless times and is his favourite as he is now the French guy moving to Barcelona to study.
Our own experience of education, the working world and the unfriendly transition between the two seems to be a universal one. There is the tug of career, status and money, those measurable milestones that translate well to your parents and peers, versus the equal need to rebel against it to find something you actually want, though knowing what that is is a hurdle in itself. Your twenties seem to be driven by an unquenchable thirst for freedom while at the same time a desperation to be allowed onto the rat race, despite loathing the monotony of the daily grind that sees you getting off your face on a Friday by 7pm in an act of escape. What do you want? The most fundamental of questions, but often the most unanswerable.
His family are from a tiny island called Ille de Rey off La Rochelle, where each person has their role and their place on the farmland and in the household. His cousins know who they are, he tells me, because they know their purpose out on the land, everyone has their role in order for the unit to survive. He on the other hand, given the gift of freedom with scholarship education and opportunity to travel is the lost one. “Are we happier when our world is small then?” I ask him, looking out at the waters of Montpellier flying past, hurtling across countries and time borders. Neither of us say anything.
As the train pulls into Barcelona Clemente stares at me in the pause before we start gathering up the debris of our 6 hour adventure. “How strange we had so much to say to eachother.” He helps me with my backpack, laughing as we take our first breathe of Spanish air, the dry smell of dirt and heat letting me know I’m home.
"I’m going this way," he says, "and you?"
I have no clue where I’m going but want to work it out by myself, I don’t want to rob myself of this moment by following a boy around town. He waves goodbye as he heads for the metro and I wave back, grateful for the kindness of a stranger.
I never see him again. We are always searching for meaning in our encounters with each other, but sometimes the fleeting glimpse into a possibility is just as satisfying. We’re not on our own in our fears about what the hell we’re doing in life- the stranger next to you also carries the weight of life’s expectations and hopes. There’s no such thing as a stranger at all.
This, as it turned out, was a great philosophy to learn, as I was about to share a room in a hostel with 10 people, which as a number is the most amount of people I have ever shared a sleeping space with. I was about to find some friends for life among the beds of Kabul Hostel, but first I had to find the place.
“The Beach is this way yes?”
The bus driver shakes his head frantically, eyes wide in fear for my sense of geography.
“Nooo No, es por alli.” He points on the exact opposite direction.
I’m the last person on the bus which should have been a clue, and have somehow ended up in the suburban mountains of Barcelona rather than down by the harbour. Me and my backpack which weighs roughly the same weight as me, get off the bus and walk to the opposite side of the road waiting for the number 9. I’m lost, and I don’t care. I’m in Barcelona.The madness of Las Ramblas is waiting for me and I weave my way through the crowds and street sellers using google maps on my iphone (good help my phone bill) but when I get to the hostel I’m momentarily confused. I know this square- have I been here before? I look around at the fountain and the beautiful palm trees, the cobbled square with people taking a moment from the heat. Then it clicks. It’s the Plaza in the movie I’ve just watched with Clemente, the Plaza where the young and lost came to sit, and here I am. I don’t believe in coincidence. I believe in signs.
To Be Continued.....
@melodys_pen
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