Whilst lying on my tummy half stuck under my bed looking for a missing sock (pink, hand knitted and still MIA) I found a long forgotten box of treasures that I lovingly placed under there for safe keeping.
Dusting off the dust and mould (I live in a humid climate, with wood floors.. mould is inevitable) I saw that it was a box of travel goodies. Bits and pieces of basic rubbish that I have collected on my travels. Ignoring the sealed bag of mementos from The Ex I picked up my diary from my very first overseas trip.
What a joy it was to read the thoughts of my 20 year old self, so eager, naive and if I recall correctly, so beautifully thin!
Much of the diary focuses on my holiday romance, in fact one of those ultimate holiday romances. As a graduation present from my father I went on a 35 day camping Contiki tour of Europe when I was fresh out of University.
There’s a lot I do and don’t remember about that trip. I remember drinking alot, seeing beautiful things and every day being overwhelmed by the beauty before me.
One thing that stands out is a 24 year old Brisbane local whom I shall call Ben (to be honest his name was in fact Ben, but the fact that I have not spoken to him for nearly 7 years and that I can’t recall his last name should protect his anonymity). We met in a beachside camping ground in Barcelona, again on the French Riviera, through the streets of Florence and for two magical nights in Rome.
I was completely smitten by him. He was handsome by Brad Pitt proportions (and I’m talking Brad Pitt in 2004, pre-Jolie), tall and dark and knew how to schmooze a woman.
In Rome, Bella Roma, a city I had dreamed about visiting since my first viewing of Roman Holiday when I was 12, a gorgeous boy told me that “.. I’ve seen you walking around the streets all day and all I wanted to do was this…” before scooping me in his arms and snogging me senseless before tucking me into bed kissing my forehead and saying “Good Night My Beautiful Girl” in Italian.
Seriously. Wow. That was last time I saw Ben, until one fateful day later that year after I returned home. I was walking out of a shop in Queen St Mall in Brisbane and ran into someone, I looked up and it was him.
Fate! I thought. No – just an incredible coincidence. So tonight I’m glad I went looking for that sock, because that was a lovely memory I haven’t daydreamed about in awhile. A memory that reminds me that perhaps, sometimes, fairytales aren’t just in storybooks.
