I’m writing this one down, before it leaves my head. Who knew the blog would turn into a journal of dreams?
I had been enlisted to look in on an apartment owned by somebody else – why or how are lost to me – because they had pet pigs, who apparently had access to the house – but were small, and house-trained. Crazy enough for you yet?
So I find myself in this house, and the pigs have pretty much put themselves to bed, and I sit in the lounge, and notice a laptop, or a tablet – again, the detail has gone – that has apparently noticed me in the room, and switched itself on. On the screen of the laptop, I can see my blog.
So I’m in a complete stranger’s house, and apparently the absent stranger reads my blog.
It gets weirder.
I hear a car pull into the driveway below – the living room is on the first floor – and make my way to the door to explain my presence. Because I’m doing this as a favour for a friend, the apartment owner isn’t going to be expecting me. I panic about how I’m going to introduce myself.
And then I notice a photo on the wall – among a collection of photos of past holidays around the world. The owner of the apartment – I’m guessing – is standing on the deck of a boat off the coast of Turkey. I know it’s Turkey, because I’m in the photo too, and I remember the day.
Twenty something years ago I stayed in a retreat in the mountains of the south coast of Turkey – a group of us from all walks of life came together for a week – a “boutique hotel”. We became unlikely friends for a time. The lady in the photo was one of our number.
I remember going for a long walk in the hills with her during our stay. We came across all manner of people – wonderful people. We couldn’t communicate, but met toothy grins from farmers, field workers, and shepherds.
One particular memory has stayed with me all these years later – of the most beautiful young woman I had ever seen, wrapped in patterned shawls, hanging washing on a line outside a farm-house. She recoiled behind the hanging sheets as her younger siblings raced towards us. I’ve always wondered what she knew of the rest of the world – given the remoteness of her life – and if not knowing would actually be a wonderful thing.
In the moments before the owner of the apartment approached the door, I woke up.
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