The last leg

Now that I'm nearly to my first destination, home is beginning to imprint itself on here. Before I left, things at home reminded me of my Warsaw. Now things here remind me of home. The zinnia on the table linked me back to Waincourt meals, with a vase of gerberas sitting in the boat, and of the past when the birth of our first daughter was marked by a bouquet of gerberas, those bright, simple flowers that always charm.

 

For the first time on this journey I had a window seat. It was only an hour's flight so I wouldn't need to execute that impossible clamber across four alien legs and risk tumbling into two alien laps. And what a reward! I've become a lover of alps. White topped, they loomed out of the cloud cover, rocky planes like the planes of a Slavic face, snow bleeding white from the peak in patterns like the ones the tide leaves.

 

Leaving Zurich

 

 

 

 

 

 

Approaching Ljubljana

 

Approaching Ljubljana

 

Ljubljana airport

 

My bag appeared on the carousel, against expectations of loss, and as I emerged into the arrivals space the first thing I saw was my name on an extremely large white poster, held by a tall man in a white cap: Tadej, my airbnb host. We drove into Ljubljana, chatting easily. He drove me around to orient me: the castle, grim and unmissable on its hill; Tivoli Park; the old town; the bus station; the walking route to the old town. Then up five flights of stairs to the apartment, tiny and shiny white. A white vase of red gerberas. A desk with a view. An Internet password. Instruction in the intricacies of door locking. And I've arrived.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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