Tag Archives: coffee

I haven’t had a cuddle in two weeks.

Two weeks ago today (10/10/2017) I set off for a solo trip around Europe.

I haven’t had a cuddle since I left Britain.

For those of you who don’t know me, I love to hug, hold hands, and squeeze my friends and family. I’m a tactile person. I’m naturally physically at ease with those around me. I love a good cwtch (which is a term, it turns out, people in Europe are not familiar with!) Consequently, I’m someone who feels lonely, disconnected from her surroundings and the people she is with, without that physical contact.

At first this absence didn’t bother me. In fact I enjoyed the space to be by my absolute self. Explore myself in a way I never had before. I connected with my surroundings on a whole new level. With the world. My environment. I was connected. But to the bigger picture. To strangers through eye contact, and to the cities and towns I visited through my feet.

But in the presence of another person, Stuart, who I was sharing that time and space with, I realised how much I missed being able to be at ease with another human being. To hold hands, entangle limbs whilst sprawled on a sofa watching TV, to lean, to be leant on, to feel the warmth of a second body simply being near you. Not even holding you, just being near you. Continue reading

Guns and coffee

We got up, packed and were on our way to Cesky Krumlov by 11:00am. We took the number 16 to just outside of the coach station. We had six minutes before our coach was due to leave.

We couldn’t find it.

We found a yellow bus with “Cesky Krumlov” written on the list of stops on the side of the bus. “Could this be us?” I pointed.

“FlixBus are usually green. But they do sometimes contract out… I’m not sure.” We asked the driver, he nodded, or at least we thought he did, until we showed him our ticket before trying to board.

“THIS IS NOT FLIXBUS!” he shouted, pointing dramatically at the bus logo on the side, placing his hands on to it for extra emphasis. “NOT THIS BUS.” He took our bags out of the hold with dramatic exasperation, sighing loudly.

We wondered what to do. If this wasn’t our bus, then our bus wasn’t here. Had we missed it? Continue reading

Cookie dough and coffee

Sunday morning. I lay in until 9:45am. No real plans for the day ahead. I would see what happened.

I got up and went into the kitchen to see Anders. I felt chirpy and could hear him boiling the kettle (a permanent state of being where Anders is concerned: he is always boiling the kettle and always drinking tea). He had already started making breakfast. We were having a fry up. Cati, Claudia, Slvae, and Mel were all coming over to join us from the other apartments in the building. Claudia brought coffee for everyone, Slvae and Mel brought juice, Cati brought porridge (a tasty but odd addition to a fry up).

We sat round and food was served.

Pans of bacon and eggs were passed round. A tray of fried potatoes, mushrooms, tomatoes and onions were divvied up. A basket of bread. Butter. Jam. We feasted and talked. Continue reading