“There’s something about the water – that solitary kind of peaceful feeling. You’re on Earth but not quite.” – John C. Reilly
The last few days I have been enjoying my stay. It has been in crescendo, and I wish I spent more time outside than in my little house but I also reckon I needed time. I wasn’t much conscious of how trauma has filtered my life. In the eyes of others would be very easy to judge: why you are not enjoying this place? it is a paradise! Just like the beach I was previously, I see how tourists are so anxious to change clothes and dive into the whole vacation experience.
However, after travelling for quite a while, we start searching more. It has nothing to do with this elitist feeling that I have seen in many Facebook posts: “Oh, I’m not a tourist, I am a traveller”. We all wish to feel special, write our autobiographies, set trends, and discover those places other people haven’t been in. That secret paradise that can be later shared, and then exploited, draining all the magic out of it. I have a list of places I wouldn’t share with anyone, that I found mostly strolling around, going always in alternative pathways to avoid people. Here also, I had to find my place.
I got the name “the Little Flâneuse” as an attempt to give a name to a column I started to write for a Mexican magazine. At that time, I was very eager to become a writer. I thought one day I would write my memoirs, again a common place for all. As life unfolded I realised writing was difficult, that I didn’t have much to say. And then after many years, you just get it. You are not special; you are searching for most of the things other people search for. You are “normal”; your fashion style has been recycled many times, and the music you hear was created for moments and situations you don’t share any context with.
There is a lot of peace of mind with it. A lot of the pressure that comes with trying to “be special” disappears. Lots of my efforts to be an educated, “out of the norm” woman were left behind after understanding no one gives a flying fuck about me, and that is not only fine but also liberating. Now I can relax and just be. It allows me to stroll places understanding the anonymous condition of every human and the great advantages of keeping a low profile. Sitting in a corner of a coffee shop just minding your own business gives you an observing power, it’s not voyeurism, it is not surveillance, it’s a form of contemplation.
Another great enjoyment develops then when you visit a new place. No one is looking; you are not the centre of attention, another person in a museum, in a park, in an art gallery. Everybody else is paying attention to their own, so you might as well do the same. A stroller like me walks around, looking for a public toilet, cheap places to eat, a nice bench to sit on, a free wifi spot, and a cosy cafe to rest the feet after a whole day of walking.
My list of favourite places inevitably has a connection with nature. I enjoy cities, of course. Shanghai was my favourite city for many years and I used to go every weekend, strolling many neighbourhoods, then other cities like London, but after a while, I started to feel more comfortable in solitary hidden places, where silence and water are present. I have realised while I am not a very spiritual person I do need a connection with nature. When I visited the Great Wall of China in 2008, I stood at the top and started crying. I felt the wind blowing my tears and it was freezing. I saw the Wall disappearing into the mountains and P asked me why are you crying? I replied because I could feel the weight of history here. I felt something so strong that I will carry it with me to every new place I visit.
In Tuscany, I’ve discovered a hidden paradise. It’s a place where clear water flows, trees offer protection, and I feel free. Every morning, the scent of roses fills my soul. This is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. Nature has lifted my spirit, and I’ve found my voice again. The outside world won’t change, and my problems won’t disappear, but at least I know I’m not done travelling, strolling, or living yet.
The little Flâneuse journal 