Cypriot Anglias

How memorable and sad and true and special was tonight's conversation with 70 year old Serge of Nicosia, 10 year veteran of this hostel. His slow manner of speech and gait masking the wisdom and humour behind his eyes and untamed white beard. The best 70 cents paid, to get him a drink and sit with him for awhile. Slow at first the conversation, covering the usual ground, but gradually there are lines released spontaneously, after a few sips of magical liquid that does ease the tensions on a Friday.

Tonight was not a night for Empire club, or Basement, or Library, and certainly not the ridiculousness of that Irish "Pub". It was for those moments with Serge, another instance of connection with a being so un-alike in age and circumstance of life experience but yet so similar in the important ways. Trying to capture in words his sayings almost beside the point - and he even had a foreboding line on that, too - but because they do not deserve to fade let them be remembered here.

His summarizing of his reasons for his whirlwind tour of Europe in his early days hit the mark - "I went only to catch the difference in the places, from Athens up to Paris or wherever, to catch the impressions. I never considered that 'traveling' to be honest, it was something else entirely." His first trip actually to East Africa ("you can imagine the impact on a young boy from Cyprus, which is poor with animals") and he never escaped that call.

But what was best about the trading of stories was how clearly tired he is. He can no longer throw on the backpack. He wasn't insistent about it, but he wanted that to be clear. "Ah, at 30, 31, I remember. It is a realization - you are not old, but you are no longer young either. Quickly, then you are 40, and then you have to take a look around! And wonder a bit more seriously at the choices!" And then the perceptive insight - "You remember you were saying about the amount of food in the meze. You eat and you eat and you eat and there comes a point you can eat no more. Imagine that feeling, trying to eat more when you are full. You cannot. It is uncomfortable and unpleasant. That is now how the idea of far-flung travel to the corners of the world is for me. Even though I like it, I cannot take more."

Then there is Dean in the background as well - the self-described 60-year old bastard - who is currently occupying a room in this hostel for the longest consecutive time in his life, since 3.5 years in Morocco. Teacher of English and character, waiting for his mom to die to soak the last part out of life. He would be hard to take in bunches (especially compared to the quiet Serge) but their is inspiration there too - not being tied down, and damn the consequences. Teach English if you have to, and you can, but if the road is life then you can surely manage, right?

But it was Serge who was the revelation, and will be, of the time in Cyprus, even as you are unlikely to meet again except to say farewell. He recommended the Cypriot Anglias as a late-night tonic, and as I drink it now I remember two other key points among the other words. The first about the quantity of memory and giving up photography. He had run out of patience with the stacks of pictures and so just stopped always being so pre-occupied by it. But, it is okay because you can only store so much in your head anyway, he says. But it is easier now for travelers, I say. It is easier with the digital camera to just take the pictures and store them on the computer for when you need them. You are missing the point, he says. There still comes a point where it is TOO MUCH. Wait, when you are older you will see. Whether you have the pictures or notes on a computer somewhere or not. I hope he is wrong, but that follow-up did catch me off guard in a way that made me think.

And then of course, the end. His thanking you for the conversation, how it brought back to him some fond memories. There is some of him in you. His idealism and concern and ultimate passivity in the face of politics. His quiet resignation. His eyes and smile and easy laughter. Both these guys at the hostel a cautionary tale but also a reminder of what is important. In such ways. At this time of thought on what must be next. Amidst the bars and the impulsive checking of the fb profile feed and the rest. What must be next can and must truly be what you decide, consciously.

For it is later than you think. The empty tomb of the kings, the dust of Kourion, the impassive horizon, the creeping tick-tock of the hours, on vacation or otherwise, the need to keep finding the spark of spontaneity over and over again. The tide waits not, and neither should you.

Let that be the lesson of this mediterranean look-out. And leave the rest of the Anglias as a farewell gift to Serge.

ooh-to-be

Yes. Find your superlatives for that one later. But what more could you have hoped for but to hear the commentators croon afterward that it had lived up to the hype. Should have just gone for a 2-1 straight instead of the Van Persie winner as well, but how could I presume to care. And as the guardian MBM states - what price an Arsenal-Spurs Champions League final at Wembley. Oh the world, if it could pull that imaginative feat off.

Funny walk through Camden Town and along the lock today, after the late wake-up call. I sense a similar mid-day struggle tomorrow, with a funny addition to navigate. We shall see. What remains important are the little things - hilarity of Cyber Dog (having mis-read the connection) and the vintage nature of the Stables Market, followed by the walk along the water to the tune of the New World. With thoughts of London as something to keep so lovingly at a slight arm's-length. We'll see. Which is worth recording, but the true line was Tim's mate who memorably commented how it was the moment that you walk through the gate, and the full stadium opens up before you, that you remember why you love this stuff so much. He, who heads home tonight with a smile and broken glasses (my favorites, he claims). Such are the nights of legend. 78 and 83. See what you have left next month, boys. Surely you are in with a chance.

As for us, Cyprus tomorrow, and drinks in the old town of Limassol as the world turns. Oh my. What could be next?

Young's Special

Well, here we are in the actual traditional corner of always - Young's Special nicely pulled with a wi-fi connection as a new wrinkle on the usual meeting with Coop. I'd send him an email, but that seems to be pushing it slightly. Best to wait for his inevitable arrival. Thames and St. Paul behind, the Blackfriars station still under construction, and the restaurant slowly filling up.

Uneventful trip in, and even with only an hour or two of rest I am feeling pretty solid, it must be said. Too bad about the cracked Oyster card, but another little interaction with the workings of the City. Funny, in walking from Waterloo amidst the construction and past the Mad Hatter, the thoughts already that you may never get over being a tourist to this fair city, and that this isn't necessarily a bad thing. That the slow uptake on any speculative applications to the larger law firms is one that may have served as a blessing in leading you to more brazen and fitting solutions.

In that line, there was one main, nostalgic thought worth recording from this year's mid-Atlantic crossing (has it been "annual", he wonders? Oxford in 04 and 05, Germany in 06, London - twice - and Paris in 07, London and Tel Aviv in 08, Rome in 09, and London again in 10... so yes. Nice.) The thought being, you can only do this so many more times, you know? Obvious, but maybe only more so with age (and such, as she would say). Heh.

Got a job to do now before Coop arrives - use the free internet to build a document of Financial Times articles on carbon trading, since you saw a good one opposite on the Tube that spurs some thinking. Whether the Groningen option works out, nothing to say you can't embark somewhere on your own... Just saying. Keep it in mind.

Now Groningen?

Another day, another option makes its appearance on the horizon - in turn making yesterday's lie-in seem perhaps far more productive than it was. Amazing how little time it takes to rattle off another set of embellishments to send out into the void for a response. All via the amazing interconnectivity of the fabulous internets - how would you survive without that marvel? (far more poorly, comes the answer back right quick)

And it has its unique benefits, this one. Defendable career-wise, and depending on the nature of things could provide the maximum flexibility of movement of any choice out there. Location is perhaps not ideal, but that just depends on random people anyway, and since you need a place to settle into, why not that one? Not to mention the proximity to the world hub of Amsterdam as well. In short, I think it works, to be frank, and on this there is the added benefit that the qualifications might provide a real match to the position offered. Ah, I wonder. What ultimate shape will the "bespoke" opportunity for this fall take? So long as it provides a route of escape, I suppose it hardly matters in the end... just needs one is all.

A strange day, this, as it also involved such time spent in reflecting on an airline ticket that now looks to go unused and requires further change to the plans. But not unforeseen, these past weeks, and maybe the postponement will prove easier on the soul. Though now the randomness of the additional passenger to Larnaca seems all the more ridiculous and potentially intriguing as a focal point of the trip. Tread carefully, my friend, as you dream above all of the options for the future and the stacks where copies of your documents sit. Inhale the fresh air of foreign lands and smile rueful smiles at the playful unexpectedness and yet predictability of the universe. Soak up the magic of Messi and the words of Master Shakes too - both are timeliness but your exposure to them in their arenas remains all-too limited.

Vacation time is here, and even though it's not technically a stranger, we bid it welcome. For it is welcome indeed. Always.

Bespoke Kegler's

Friday. Last one before yet another over-nighter to London, the Arsenal v. Barca match-up the impetus, though the job interview opportunities failed to pan out, sadly. Still, there is Cyprus. Country #35 (or 36 if you count landing in KL) and some new stories. Plus Twelfth Night and throw in a jaunt to Iceland too. And all in a matter of days that seems unreal, in a particularly strange way from this food court at the shopping center where you are about to go bowling (of all things).

Ah, the loneliness, at times. Remember that BNS look-a-like from Bell, the calm before another round of draft that will lead who knows where? It is going to be a good time away, I think. Time to reflect, and even chance encounters with two girls who have been on your mind these past four years. Wow time is marching on, eh? Or so it seems. What decisions will have been made by the 32nd, I wonder. Amazing the possibilities. For now, just have a good night. And come what may.