I sit on the train. Heading from Kent to Gatwick Airport I look at my luggage, my life reduced to a small suitcase and a rucksack. In the dark we sweep past the glow of Canterbury Cathedral, a man down the carriage drinks white cider from a plastic bottle. I'm leaving England, I'm going to live in Gozo, where the sun shines. I've left my job, sold my car, let my house, stored my belongings.
On the Underground a man sleeps, slumped oblivious across two seats. I'm usually in bed at this hour too. Friday night in London, I lived here once, the pace would kill me within a week these days, stone dead. Gatwick Airport, midnight, my
flight is not until 6am but I'm too cheap to get a hotel. So I read, watch the night people go by, and wait.
4.30am my flight is called. A woman in the check-in queue throws a fit at the girl behind the desk, her documents are not,
apparently, in order. She storms from the airport, tossing her papers in the air and screaming unholy blasphemies, leaving husband, mountainous luggage and two small children behind. Husband looks as if he wished he were anywhere but here.
Girl next to me on the flight is asked to remove her small straw hat. It's clear and blue above France and I see Mont Blanc below. I like flying, I like that you can see that clouds are at different altitudes, cirrus above, cumulus below.
Malta. Bright, white, hot. Bird of Paradise flowers outside the airport. Taxi to the ferry, the thought of living somewhere you can only get to by ferry pleases me. The Mediterranean Sea, past the tiny island of Comino, permanent population 4. I wonder if they get on with each other. Finally I'm here, on Gozo.
On the Underground a man sleeps, slumped oblivious across two seats. I'm usually in bed at this hour too. Friday night in London, I lived here once, the pace would kill me within a week these days, stone dead. Gatwick Airport, midnight, my
flight is not until 6am but I'm too cheap to get a hotel. So I read, watch the night people go by, and wait.
4.30am my flight is called. A woman in the check-in queue throws a fit at the girl behind the desk, her documents are not,
apparently, in order. She storms from the airport, tossing her papers in the air and screaming unholy blasphemies, leaving husband, mountainous luggage and two small children behind. Husband looks as if he wished he were anywhere but here.
Girl next to me on the flight is asked to remove her small straw hat. It's clear and blue above France and I see Mont Blanc below. I like flying, I like that you can see that clouds are at different altitudes, cirrus above, cumulus below.
Malta. Bright, white, hot. Bird of Paradise flowers outside the airport. Taxi to the ferry, the thought of living somewhere you can only get to by ferry pleases me. The Mediterranean Sea, past the tiny island of Comino, permanent population 4. I wonder if they get on with each other. Finally I'm here, on Gozo.