Last night I took the bus from downtown Montreal and woke up this morning in the big city. I was alone and felt so small between these tall buildings, carrying a little too much luggage. It was early but the city was alive. The lights were slowly waking up my tired eyes and I felt even more lost crossing the large streets. I’ve had lived this so many times but these first minutes in a City away from home always felt the same. I was sacred but I decided to keep going. I had no home and no one was waiting for me. I was just a girl passing time before a night flight back home.
Somehow, I ended up in a small Starbucks cafe. I got helped by a stranger as my bags were making it impossible for me to pass the front door. I thought to myself:
“Maybe people back home were wrong… Maybe there were nice people in the big City”
Afterall, they say that traveling shows us that we are all wrong about other countries. I sat on a chair as I let the background music penetrate my soul. The melody was appropriate for a girl lost in the city. At least this cafe was as small as I felt.
So I started doing what I do best: observe. The cafe was busy and different people and travelers were coming and going. There were business men and women, french travelers trying to find their way on a mal, people on their way to yoga class, families and even a guy trying to steal some boxes from the shelves. Funny how most of them seemed to be in their element but I was just a girl going back home after her 100th adventure and counting.
I pulled out a book I had gotten from a triftshop in Montreal and decided to read. Maybe I’d find something similar to what I was living between the yellow pages.
As the sun kept rising, I sipped my frappuccino and looked at the window. The weird feeling started fading away and The familar sensation of excitement started coming to the surface.
After all, knew it would surely not be my last time being alone in an unfamilar city. My vagabond soul would never allow that…