Nearly a full month has passed since I landed in Amsterdam. I don't feel tired but I do feel homeless. And not in the dark, weary vagabond-sense of the word. I simply I know what my soul feels like on this planet.
To some extent I feel homesick only for the familiarity. Beyond that, there is a despondent and curious pleasure in moving from city to city. Truly, I miss my home only in that there was structure and cohesion, certainties that could very well have been illusions but they seemed real to me.
Aside from a week in Cologne, I've been a guest in people's homes. And though I've met many people, I am continually and endlessly challenged in trying to understand where the exact boundaries lie, what the expectations are, when I should be present and not present. And when to move on.
I stayed with family outside of Amsterdam. The experience was wonderful, together I saw so many beautiful towns and cities, from Marken to Middelburg. There were day trips to Haarlem as well as the province of Zealand to see the Delta Works. But by the end, two days before I was supposed to leave, I knew I had overstayed. I didn't want to overstay, I continually asked my host and hostess when is a good time for me to leave. What's normal here for a stay? I wanted to make sure to leave on good terms.
I tried to take advantage of my time by making day trips to Amstersdam. I showed my appreciation by buying wine and bringing flowers. I gave them space.
Then one Saturday night, at dinner, I felt quite small, as if I didn't exist in that moment. The family began to speak entirely Dutch. They had moved on but I was still there physically.
The following day, I even went to church with my hostsess though I didn't want to. I felt I had to otherwise there would be more tension. I didn't understand a word of the sermon and I tried to sing the songs but felt out of place, yet, nonetheless, trying to please my host and hostess, to show them I could be accomodating.
When I left on Monday, I went to Den Haag and stayed with a urban planning professor from Brazil. I have been using AirBnB, a website where people rent out their rooms, apartments, homes to travelers. R. was an excellent host and I was grateful he allowed me to leave some of my stuff behind. I had planned to simply donate some clothes to charity. When I was near Amsterdam, with family, I had asked my host, if I could store some of my things and pick them up on my way back. He said okay. I even went so far as to buy some souvenirs, grateful I had a place for them. It would be too much dragging thist stuff around Europe. But then my hostess had a problem with it. The week I would be flying back to Canada, they wouldn't be home. And she didn't want to inconvenience her grown kids to be around. She said she would talk further with her husband, negotiate if you will. I said not to worry. In my heart, I figured it would be best to leave the matter and move on. I didn't want to come between them. Again, they had opened their doors and their lives, welcomed me in and for this I am eternally grateful. We had a nice glass of wine on our last night and they toasted me.
I realize, being a guest, you never have the final say and it's better to remain quiet than complain. It's not your place to raise your voice or question anything. One must give up one's expectations and simply accept. This isn't your home, naturally and things change.
Being with R. in the evenings, I would often ask if it was okay, permissible even to watch t.v. with him. I didn't want to trespass on any rituals, be they as simple as doing a crossword alone in a living room or watching Family Guy. Sure, I am renting out a space, I thought but it's a personal space nonetheless. One evening, he shared his meal with me and I received a glimpse into his life. We talked about family, his back in Brazil, mine back in Canada, the similiarities and differences.
The next morning, he walked me to the train station. We shook hands and our goodbye was formal but kind (I'll be seeing him again at the end of my trip to pick up my things).
I went to Antwerpen next (another AirBnB) and met A. and S. and their little daughter K. I had an excellent time there and made day trips into the old town to see the main sites, the new MAS museum, the sublime cathedral and the main square (not to forget, a true Belgium dish of wine-drowned museels and Vlaamse Frites). At the end of each day, I had some excellent conversations with A. about art and the modern world. In the background, his wife attended to their daughter, bathing her, reading to her, playing with her.
When I left, A. gave me a hug but not S. She was still a wonderful hostess but I know she was guarded. I'm another stranger, a kind of brief invader, posing as a guest. When I arrived, they were a little late coming home. To appolize for their lateness, they offered a place at their dinner table with them, a wonderful vegetable soup with sour creme. K. giggled and laughed and played and watched her Russian cartoon. It was nice being a brief part of their lives, almost a family member. Walking out the door on my day of departure, I knew I wouldn't leave a long impression. By chosing not to embrace me when I left, I knew S. wanted to protect her home against any potential lingerers, whether banal or aggressive, it didn't matter.
Today, the beginning of June, I'm about to leave for Baden Baden. I haven't had breakfast. E. and J. have both left for work. I will leave my keys in my apartment space. Again, here too I have had a wonderful, probably the best time so far. J. and I have talked a lot, seeing that he gets home from work earlier. Last night we took a walk with their dog, Jimbo, along the river in Nuremberg. I could see he was tired and unhappy. For the last ten years he has been working in the hospitality industry. I know the work. It is unkind, ungrateful, there is rarely any appreciation and the stress is often insurmountable.
It started to rain as we walked under the canopy of linden leaves and on the way back he said if I wanted to come back, I could be their guest, without AirBnB. We were friends and I felt the same. Similiar interests, tastes in movies, beers and wine. He spoke English and I tried to reply in German. His English was in the same shape as my German so we both needed the practice. We could see pieces of ourselves in each other.
When E. arrived home, I said I would retire for the evening. I knew they needed to be alone. They needed to talk about what J was going to do. I respect them, I could relate. Our social time together had come to an end. I had spent several nights with them, a few hours here and there, again, always trying to be aware of what is comfortable or not. I had dinner with them. To show my thanks, I bought wine.
Sure, I keep thinking, about all my hosts and hostesses, I am renting a space but not their time. They have more than opened their doors to me. They have allowed me to feel a part of their lives when my life has been feeling like a series of leavings.
In Baden Baden, I'm going to be staying with a family. A room and a bathroom. Sure, I'll be in their home but with a private space. I think this is important because boundaries are important - they are personal but also socially political, a defence for one's self against the unfamiliar, the unknown and different. Without them, identities are shaved away and dignity scarce.
Besides understanding these social perimeters, I am learning as a guest to be prepared for all goodbyes, whatever they mean, however they come. Philosophers have always made mention of death being essential to an understanding of life. If we can't be comfortable with death, how can we achieve an appreciation of life? (Or, in my case, how can I be comfortable with departure without an appreciation of where I am?)
In Rainer Maria Rilke's poetry, especially his Sonnets to Orpheus, there is this tender awareness of life and all its vulnerabilities. In the second part, sonnet XIII he writes "Sei allem Abshied voran" or "be ahead of all parting."
Rilke could write these lines because he lived them. He was a peripatetic poet, not someone who lived forever in the same home in the same town of his ancestors. He traveled and wandered widely, he met Lev Tolstoy in Russia and was Auguste Rodin's secretary in Paris. His life was an untenable one and his verses reflect his awareness of never being at home, always searching.
In other words he was a guest on this earth, a guest amongst his friends and family, his hosts and hostesses, often showing his appreciation by dedicating work to them. He composed his famous Duiner Elegies in a castle owned by Maria von Thurn und Taxis, a woman whose relatives lived in nearby Regensburg.
I visited Regensburg this past Wednesday but didn't see the famous palace owned by her family. I enjoyed a weissbier of theirs though, from their brewery, in a cafe called Orphee (how appropriate when I think about it now), an hour before I left that perfect and timeless pastel-town.
