Passing Montpellier and noticing the sign on the window of charlie-o’s that reads ‘please, no life stories.’ Had to chuckle at that. It’s so easy to mistake patience as kindness after the third or fourth pint, especially if you’re the maudlin type.
Last I passed this town, also in a greyhound bus, everything was white. Even the golden dome of what must be the state house was caked in snow. Today the sidewalks are full of people in t shirts and sunglasses that dominate the face. It’s warm now; or maybe everyone’s just dressing up as the others do, regardless how they feel.
Funny, then, how different everything is two months removed. This is why my instinct is to deride the tourist – what can you know being a visitor? But there is truth in the recognition of change, too, truth not found in the perceptions of those inured. And if we should have some tourist folly, better to have it in its most literal sense. For we fuck up the most when we are tourists in academia, or relationships, or in jobs… in situations where we bear no penalty even if we lose interest, and finally find it most convenient to give up.