They were so many to try to beat world records to literally travel around the world.
I choose to quote the most famous one – even though he actually was a fictional one – Phileas Fogg and his bet in 80 days ; and the one who beat him up with only 72 days to travel the world. et son pari en 80 jours ; et celle qui sera la première à tenter (et réussir) de battre son record : Nellie Bly et ses 72 jours autour du monde. I give them as an example because they were not for me, I loved to follow their adventures and daily news (which I actually read after my own travels), travel’s poetry uniting us through age and space; but I always chose a journey timeline so different from theirs.
During my first backpacking escape, 10 days turned into 3 weeks and I am now unable to leave for less than a month. I absolutely need to feel free to sink and blend somewhere for an eternity if I could.
My explorations were and will always be an occasion to stretch time. To stay 40 days somewhere because northern stars heal my pain. To spend a day on a bike to see a magic dolmen, gate to the Other World. To linger hours in a pub, a tea shop or a park only to give space and time for my words to hop on my journey.
Then, 2070 was the number of days between the first day of my first real journey, March 12th, 2016, and November, 10th 2021, the day I chose to leave my travel words vacant on this screen. And from day 1, I have explored worlds, unreal and immaterial wanderer. And from day 1, I was inspired by only one though:
…Travel and gaze at the foggy sea…
And from day 1, I was moved by only one reality
Take a pencil, a keyboard, a notebook, a paper towel, whatever is in your hand in that febrile moment when you draw, intimately and instantly, what moves you when you leave… No, not leaving. When you go, from one place to another. When your soul takes roots or explodes. Or both. And finds its silences, the detours of who you are, fleeting, mutable and endless in the winds. And takes the freedom to be blue of the wild sea one day and red of the dry earth the next.
Take a pen-holder, a Minitel, a scroll, a kitchen towel, what is trendy or your desire, and tell you, me, us, those sparks transforming us, those realities hurting us, those heights transcending us, those butterflies transmuting us.
Take a pen, a typewriter, a diary, a bath towel, what is as quick as your mind and sing in a few words, in a brief sentence, worlds hidden in a tree, a person, an ocean or an isle… Those places piercing you, yours only for a fleeting moment because your backpack or your whole soul decide to settle there. For one second. For an entire life.
Or at least try…
Fleeting Wor(l)ds 