Its a sleepy Sunday. Some great dramatic sunlight slanting the grimy apartment walls across the street and splashing some color onto the grey. Listening to Graceland. Made a huge jug of Turkish coffee to try and redeem myself by some productivity post-clubbing-till-6 am and sleeping-in-till 2 pm. The night-life here has a fast metabolism and lots of self confidence. I am super impressed by the party stamina and only hope I can make Ellie proud by shaking the Polaroid picture till the wee hours of the morning. I dig this bar called, get this, sound it out, "Bitef Art Cafe" where raucous cover bands play the soundtrack of my life- ie. dirty dancing and other songs that in the States basically serve for bouncing around your room in your panties here become ultra HIP. Hilarious. And then this other bizarre techno club on the 9th floor of askyscraper where I got to be on feminist patrol, lucky me!
I don't know when I will cease to be amazed by the subtlety with which life in a new place becomes normal. It seems so elusive, that moment when you suddenly look around and realize you have people, and purpose, and routine, and spontaneity, whether its Mexico City or the gritty and glamorous Balkan Belgrade. And in that gentle shift from new to a sense of place you forget all the work, energy and self-doubt that went into making a home and just marvel at the reality of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment