He thrusts the beaker and biscuit through the window and walks away. I sit up under the duvet, take a sip of hot weak tea and wonder about what he sees – pink dressing gown, crumbs, pale face. He doesn’t see a wilderness explorer at all, does he? Just a kook, a weirdo, a strange young woman sleeping in the back of her car on a lonesome road.
I felt awkward asking my boyfriend to pose, vain for getting him to take my picture in an alpine meadow, silly as I photographed oranges at an Okanagan fruit stand while the jolly stall owner laughed at my fumbled attempt to capture the everyday.
That’s why I travel. Because sometimes, without even a penny in my pocket, I find myself eating a Michelin-starred meal in Paris. Because sometimes, even in a city I’ve seen in the movies a thousand times before, I find more beauty than I ever realized was out there. Because sometimes, there’s a city that makes me believe in Man.