What is Not Transitory About Travelling

We have been very lucky, so far on this trip, in that we have managed to meet people that we will take home with us.

O and I regularly swap messages on the Air BnB site we originally met through. We have emailed P while we have been in Cambodia. A, next door to us, is a prime example of the people you meet, and know, almost instantly, you will not actually part from.

We spend the evening with  A and her friend who is visiting from Chaing Mai.  We all run in and out of the two flats, pulling together our respective pots, and hobs, to create, in A’s kitchen, a veritable chefs haven. A makes magic with a few simple ingredients, and I sit and talk to her. Then we all share the food until, eventually, we slope off to bed. Our respective beds. Obviously.

From our first chat with A there was something about her that made me relax. This is an ingredient that I am unable to place – but I’ve met other people who I liked, but did not immediately feel comfortable with, and some who I have been outright scared of, through no specific fault of theirs.

I told A the truth straight away. I am not in the habit of  lying, but with A there was no instinct in me that held back. I admitted to weaknesses, failings, insecurities and silliness with the same ease with which I discussed writing, travelling, love and the various small victories with which life is peppered.

When we discuss the fact that we will soon leave Cambodia A is genuinely saddened.  I too, even after spending just a few days in Battambong, found myself looking forward to returning to the flat which is our home,  to playing with the cat and to meeting up with A. She has become part of our family here. She and the cat are the vital components of what we consider to be ’home’.

More tellingly, when A and I discuss how much we dislike goodbyes, and agree to part on Wednesday evening with a nonchalant, “see you” as though everything was normal,   there is a feeling in us both that this might not be so unrepresentative of the facts. It seems very likely that this will not be goodbye, because, certainly as  far as I am concerned, A is a friend – a proper one – a close one – and we have the kind of deep connection I had not actually envisaged I would make while we travelled. I know that I will stay in touch with A, through facebook and emails, and if there is the slightest chance she may come to live in the UK (which is possible), I know I will make the effort to see her.

This is special for many reasons. Firstly, as I have said before, I don’t have this with everyone, secondly because there is a human instinct when meeting people you know you will need to part from, which tells you to draw back, and hinders much of a connection, and thirdly because frankly, I have all the close friends I need. This sounds ridiculous. But there is a point in your life when you realise you have such a good, strong network of friends with whom you will trust anything, you really don’t want for any more. In fact, given the necessity to work and to do laundry, you might not have time to give as much as you’d like to the ones you do have. And geography and the price of train tickets may impeded things further. You don’t look for more friends because you want to reach in, take hold of the time you have spare and wrap it up and gift it to those people you love.,

But A is different.

Which, frankly, is something to just accept and to celebrate.

But  can’t help wondering why. What is it about some people that lights a fire in you, and others, which, however warmly you view them, never manage that spark?

Perhaps it is similarlity. Over a giggly meal, A and I discover that our childhood crushes, which were not on conventional heroes, (and in fact were not even human – let that boggle your mind…), were the same. Neither of us ever expected to find a single other person who didn’t think that was crazy. Neither of us admit it to many other people.

Perhaps it is the approachable, open quality of A herself. She’s the first to admit her own failings, honestly and without apology, and she’s willing to admit to being different. There’s nothing to fear in terms of loss of face. I like to aim at being open myself, and try not to work too hard at being impressive – but sometimes, you meet another person and, try as you might, the guard comes up. I can avoid outright pretence, but can’t do much about the fact that I’m not exactly willing to open my mouth and spill out my uncensored thoughts. My suspicion is that it works both ways, that there is some unspoken signal early on in the encounter which tells you both you can relax. This is then reinforced by an open attitude on the part of one of you, quickly cementing the original instinct which tells you to relax.  You have an instinctive trust.

Or maybe it is chemical. I have read before that the distinction between the man you pass by and the one for whom you feel a romantic attraction essentially boils down to a god combination of pheromones. I don’t see close female friendships as being so different. I have friendships with girls which easily rival the depth and force of my relationship with M. I have had one friendship which became so much a platonic equivalent of a romance, at a time when we were both single, that we ended up having to part because it was simply too intense. We split up the same way you might part ways from a man with whom you’d had an amazing, but now over, relationship.  

It could be a simple case of sycophancy. A has some attitudes and opinions that I really admire. She expresses some things which I covert for myself but know that I am not yet mature enough to embrace. She has lived an interesting life and she has faced hardship with courage. She is quirky, not always predictable, and unique. I hold her in high esteem. I'd like to be liked by her.

Whatever it is. It’s interesting to speculate. But it really doesn’t matter.

A is a bit tall to fit into my rucksack (though I may try with the cat). But nevertheless, I think I am going to carry her with me.