Did quite a lot of stuff today. Marta came in her little car to pick me up just after eleven o clock in the morning, meant that i had to get my lazy arse out of bed at a decent time for once. There was nowt decent to eat though, so i cooked up the last of the pasta, maybe seven or eight of those little bow shapes, and added the remnants of a packet of grated cheese to it.
Simona was joining us- that is the italian au pair. I sat in the back of the car and we listened to the radio as we sped down the motorway out of our town and towards freedom and excitement.
digression- IS LOVE A DELUSION?
How can one conserve the childish adventurous excitement that made everything seem a thrill when one was young? Surely, one day everything will start to seem comfortable and ordinary, and we will have to take greater and greater leaps and risks to achieve the same heart-pumping excitement we used to feel? Maybe that is why we seek to fall in love even when it defies all logic.
Sometimes, seeing dried up, passionless, middleaged people, who seem to take pride in taking life very seriously and doing things right, even having their allotted amount of fun in the right way at the right time, it makes me wonder however they managed to let themselves go enough to take the risk of falling in love and making the bizarre miserable pairings in which they find themselves bound.
Lena, my Newcastle friend with whom i am keeping a loose distant contact, said that one of her friends declared that he was fascinated and in love with a girl, after just meeting her one time for a cup of coffee and a chat.
He expained that something about her- the way she spoke, her soft voice, her little hands around the steaming mug, convinced him that she could be the one he has been searching for his whole little life. How illogical and almost ridiculous, more foolish than romantic. She was quite disgusted with his story, and even went as far as to lose respect for him as a friend.
She told me of another girl, a fellow Greek, who attached herself to Lena, without Lena much inviting it. This girl is very promiscuous, and perhaps you might think, one to seek pleasure and understand that love is but a delusion? Yet no, she became obsessed with a boy, convinced that he was the one for her, disregarding the fact that they barely knew each other, the fact that he had a girlfriend, and the fact that they had only met one time for a brief sexual liason.
The reason for her believing in this divine spiritual connection? They had climaxed at the same time during their one night stand- surely proof they were made for each other?
It seems to me that a lot of people fool themselves and cause themselves enormous amount of heartache along the way crying "but i know he or she is the one for me- so why don't they love me back!" believing that there is something amiss in the cosmos which is sending them evil negative energy and contorting the true path of their destiny.
Seems to me, one should see the truth for what it is, accept that one is alone, and focus on being a good friend and making the connections that one has already developed with people, count for something.
BACK TO MARTA AND OUR TRIP TO QUIBERON
A Spanish song came on the radio, and Marta cranked up the volume and sang along. I think it was this one. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dCoC5q2Z0Bk&feature=fvst Whenever I hear a song i like, i make an effort to remember some of the lyrics so i can search what it is on the internet. This means i often screw up my face, and give the impression that i am really displeased with the song.
We drove into Quiberon after about half an hour's powering down the straight main road, passing through a few dead villages. Entering Quiberon, you see the sea to the left, and also to the right. Infact, you find yourself, confusingly, driving on a road plonked on top of a long straight landmass, a natural bridge. It seemed like something that you might draw a diagram of in Geography class, but come to life.
The presqu'isle or almost island, very much had the feeling of an island. A sleepy one. There was barely a person about as we rolled into town, and a chill December wind was blowing off the sea. Every shop was shut, except for a shop specialising in Breton delicacies- tubs of butter biscuits and tins of sardines, but even that rolled down its shutters as soon as we left.
We ate at a creperie looking out onto the lead grey sea. Flocks of birds danced in formation over the waves. After the meal, Marta declared that she had stomach ache, and we went off in search of a pharmacy, but not a shop was open. Everything was asleep in the plain light of day.
Driving back, we took a different route, and drove along a costal road, which twisted and turned following the path of the coast. One had the impression, that in the past the road had been further away from the steely sea, but erosion had eaten away the land and threatened to dash our little Twingo car to the angry waves.
The roadsigns told us that we were taking the "cote sauvage" back to our town- the wild coast- indeed it did seem like that. To the left, cliffs and the sea, to the right, marsh grass and open windswept land. We passed a hunched old man making his way along the costal road steadily, in the passive and tortoise-like way in which elderly hikers walk. He was walking in the middle of the road, as if not expecting any passing traffic, and Marta had to navigate round him, but she did not stop.
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