I walked around the city today by myself, running errands and saying goodbye to some of my favorite places. Parcul Botanic, where we slaughtered our watermelons and read our books. Piata Unirii, the meeting place; evenings spent sitting in front of old European architecture and talking for hours. I made the entire loop, and I even came across places I thought I couldn't find on my own. The best no-name bakery in town, where I bought two baguettes and a pretzel for 2,5 lei (I am going to miss cheap organic food). The market and the gypsy women that always try to sell me cheap perfume, and then damn me to hell when I walk past them. Somebody was practicing their piano scales in the music school by the old ruins, it felt like a divine appointment walking down that street. The men that sit along the street and sell old books about war and who knows what else. I got a last ice cream cone from Timis', and went on my way. I said goodbye, and my heart was okay with moving forward. Until, I took the street from Unirii into the main square. And my headphones blasted the soundtrack to 500 Days of Summer and the kids chased the pigeons so they flew up in a sweep right in front of me. And I realized that I'll be gone tomorrow. The Opera house. The catherdral. I grabbed a bench by the fountain and sat and looked around me at these people that will move on with their weeks as I cross time zones, borders, and language barriers until I arrive.....home. America. My family, my friends....who have been living their summers in a completely different world.
And what of my friends here? And what about the fact that the Ciuciui family will be back from Greece on Friday, and I won't be here? Weird. It's weird moving on, and leaving a place that has been home for what seems like a long time. After two months, your feet know how to find the place you're going to without your brain. You know what holes in the sidewalk to walk around without your looking down. You can give people (accurate) directions and tell them what a street's name was before it was changed. Good thing.....good thing that when you love people it carries over across borders. Good thing when you love a place you carry it in your heart wherever you go.
I am soooo dramatic.
I really am excited to go home, and to sink my feet in the shores by Anca's house. And to sit with my mom in the Gypsy Den and talk for hours. And to drive to LA with Tia, and spend every waking moment with the ones I love. I'm excited for seeing how much my teenager brother has grown (and for hearing his deep voice). And for hugging my Dad when I first see him at the airport. And for swapping stories with my grandparents at our kitchen table. I'm excited for what's to come. I like that I'm leaving this home only to arrive at another.
My mom and I had a conversation last week, and it went like this:
Mom: "Hey, where are you?"
Me: "Uhhhhm, I don't know. All I see are fields."
Mom: "You're such a gypsy! You can't stay in one place!!!"
Me: "No, I'm not! Yes, I can!"
Mom: "Where are you?"
Me: "On a train."
Mom: *probably smiling on the other end, knowing she is right once again*
I like that about me, though. I'd like to think it's a good thing. Because on the inside, I am a homebody. I just happen to have many places to call home :)
Okay, this is a book of a blog. And my suitcase is half-packed. And I have way too many things to fit into them. And Mihai is coming to pick me up in 2,5 hours. And we're headed on a red-eye roadtrip to Budapest, with a thermos full of coffee and a car full of suitcases. (Which, I will bet you a dollar right now that they'll get stuck in Paris).