A Very Bad Case of Wanderlust

Ginger&Smart debuted not too long ago, their only shoplot open in Sydney on William Street. Ask for their products anywhere else in Australia and you will have to sneak through designer Australian brands and agents by phone or mail.

I found their catalogue in one of the 3 Australian Designer shops on South Tce in Fremantle today, and was pleasantly surprised to unfold a huge poster identical to the one above. Things seemed to culminate there- it turned into the theme for the afternoon: A Very Bad Case of Wanderlust.

You see, wanderlust has little appeal to one with no money, no imagination, and no means. Unfortunately, I am beginning, just beginning, to have all three. The imagination I have had for years, the means comes with age and the money with work. And wanderlust (the result of imagination with no money or means), when suffocated under an enourmous pile of work that requires isolation in a singular unit, is perturbed, restless, angry, green. And it struggled until it manifested itself in the most fundamental and primitive form : I just wanted to get out of the house for the sake of getting out of the house- speak not of air travel. Who knows, I told myself. I haven't truly looked at the sky for a week, my hours have been atrocious and my attitude deplorable. Maybe by the time I pay fremantle a visit, the shops will have changed. And they had! The bellaroma (was that what it used to be?) has been torn down, and amidst the crowded sunday shopping I was lured by music, aesthetics and solitude. Solitude is the very thing for which I contrived. Solitude in a restless huge crowd. Time, time alone, to be me.

I walked past the opera singer outside the markets, down the coffee strip of south tce and into a camera shop. After staring at the Panasonic Lumix FX3 for a while, I decided not to give in to the naughty impluse to buy it just then. In truth, I am yearning for a camera. It's like a friend: It gives you reality in a painted picture. There were so many shots I could have taken today that were picture worthy.

As for change, my favourite bookshop has relocated to high street. That's not too far off, but I don't see why anyone would give up prime property on the coffee strip for high street! And the Belgium Waffle-Man has gone. I went to the leather store to ask his friend about it, and he said the Waffle-Man wasn't doing too well and had to throw in the towel. =( That's really sad, he was such a nice guy.

I sussed out cherry tomatoes from the fresh food stalls and a head of cabbage went into my shopping bag as well. I took a second wander around the market, looking at nothing in particular. Nothing caught my eye so much as my stomach, for by then it was already 1.30. The man at the German stall reminded me of the polish philosopher from under a tuscan sun- blue-green eyes with a hint of sadness, polite reservation that served him well and a calm dilligence, plain to see. I like people like that.

I sat outside the markets for a while, watching people pass. A family of 4 sat next to me- quietly loving, outwardly serene. The young man next to him with his collie attracted quite a lot of attention, but most of the crowd seemed to gravitate toward the grimy sword swallower. The sign just in front of my seat read: Buskers allowed for 45 minutes, no amplification. Would I dare, I thought? Just 45 minutes... Just once. I wouldn't do it alone, though.

I had to deliver my body-less cabbage by 2 pm, so I reluctantly made the drive home. The wanderlust was somewhat quenched, and my mind is clearer, but a strange sense of sadness has set in- a sadness that comes with my solitude, my choice: my being alone. My explorations of life and travel- alone, with a means I have and a freedom I cherish- alone. I like this solitude, but with it comes some sadness; the sadness of withdrawing a little more from human contact than I did yesterday.

I told myself not to withdraw; I wanted to stay afloat a little longer until this spell of clinic-work-clinic-sleep-clinic-eat had passed, but the fact is it won't pass for another two years, and the homosapiens around me are becoming something not unlike sandy-granite at a rate proportional to my time-limitations. They are not to be blamed- they are truly human in demonstration; it's just that solitude has begun it's Siren's Song to me.