Counting Down

In a week I will be in Brazil.

The reality hasn’t kicked in yet. Flashes of memory are only just starting to resurface: Rio central bus station with its pervasive smell of mould and antiseptic, the sweet whiff of ethanol cars, tiny shot-glasses of coffee, the little hard white bread rolls.

It’s not like I’ve been in denial. But memories live in their own compartment. Things to do, people to forget. The mind locks the details away, only the vague outlines remain. And Rio is another world away. A world I’ve only lived in for three months. The freedom and terror of travel.¬† My brother’s face.

When I travel, I come alive. Like splicing out those memories, new me for old. But for a year I’ve had dreams, intermittent nightmares where I find myself lost in a strange city, for a weekend, on a plane flight I caught on a whim. And I’m afraid. Will it be the same? Will I fall off the edge of the earth, where the dragons are?

Counting down the sleeps now. It must be true.

It’s been four years.

I’m really going back.


2 Responses to “Counting Down”

  1. kelly Says:

    hallo, from your new blog stalker.

  2. Trina Simpson Says:


    Rio bus station smells more of stale urine these days – oh for those old smells of antiseptic and mould!

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