Volcanic Ash Part 1

25 04 2010

150,000 British people will have a story to tell … I heard them everywhere, in the chaotic airports, as I passed on the street, in the bars …

Landing in San Javier on the 10th filled with apprehension, going back so close to the place I called home for nearly 3 years of my life, a place I tried to put roots down in. When I heard my sister had made her way back down to the white coast I just wanted to go back, to see, to touch, to feel the place I felt I belonged for so long.

Heading to Orihuela, I spent the first few days in sunshine lit bars, catching up on tales of the life she has led since I packed my backs and returned to the UK … messages from my old friends laying dormant in my phone and on my facebook as I tried to get the courage to head closer to Torrevieja … so scared of seeing Andrew, so frightened of facing the hurt, the feelings that once flowed like water but that I have frozen out like ice.

There coming again, the words, the words that my family seem to say so much, the spitefulness, the shouting, the throwing of fists, like many before her my sister has the anger inside of her … like always my face is the face of someone who deserves to feel the rage, like always I am the agonistic, the irritation that brings the rage … I just want to go home … suitcases in street, the feel of her force … the tears that come so easily.

I’m in a taxi heading back towards San Javier, the drink is blurring my feelings I can make no sense of the situation … the airport is closed, a military base it does not stay open overnight, I am asking the driver to take me to a 24hr bar I will sit and drown my sorrows before catching an early flight. I walk into a bar in La Santiago de Riberia, strangers are taking pity on me, the rag a tag girl with the suitcase, offering me a place to stay for the night, my fear is becoming confused with what is the more frightening prospect being stuck in a bar with Morrocan drug dealers or staying with British strangers … I go with the people from home, they are good people, helping me anyway they can. Next day I am unable to get a flight as the Volcano has brought Europe to a standstill, I don’t know what to do, my desire to leave the country and head back home is all encompassing.

The strangers put me up for one more night, their kindness is killing me, I find a lift with yet more strangers into France, they are heading back to Germany and offer to take me as far as Perpignan, from there I plan on getting a train to Paris and then from Paris to Calais and then from there the ferry crossing to the UK … we set out at four in the morning, I am tired but glad to finally be on my way … finally the journey home is starting and I can escape Spain. It’s raining, the rain feels like it is an echo of my mood, we are close to Valencia and I can see the bend in the road, we are going too fast just for a split second I think please god, the car is skidding, we are hitting the barrier … thank god nobody is hurt …the car is not so lucky.

To be continued …



One response

29 04 2010
Duma Key

So close to the place that holds my heart, the place I yearn for even in the wilderness it called, I hold a part of spain close to where you were as the only place I have ever felt at “home”…now just a distant dream.
My be fate has played a hand, may be there is things in Spain for you, may be one day our paths in Spain will cross, though I know you from your thoughts and words, and you I….we could pass in a bar and never speak, yet many times we pass in the wilderness our echos call in the night……!
I hope you are well, and that your path back to the UK is safe, apart from the little accident….?
Family…..I am back where I began……running from where I was, but still running from the place I am…running from me….so I know where you fall, and how you feel……its seems unless you find your own key the past will always bind and those that are left behind become locked in that past….and you are once more pushed aside……sisters, brothers, parents….all in the same loop……but you have grown, become new life….and I think in many ways for those left behind that is the problem….the face dont change but the person has and some how that breeds resentment……

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: