in-love-fallings, part two

When I first fell in love with ...
 
* travelling: Probably the first time my parents put me in our little Saab 96 and took me somewhere, like the sweet villages of Sweden and the awe-inspiring fjords of Norway. It was certainly cemented when I got to travel on those huge, exciting ferries to Sweden - I ran around exploring every nook and cranny, except the playroom because there were other kids there.

* books: Probably before I was even born. Can I even imagine a time when I didn't love books? No.

* beautiful rooms: That summer I stayed in a dark room, with a room-mate who sometimes seemed to hate me. I was temporarily accommodated in another room, alone, one where bright daylight fell over a bed with white sheets and made the room glow. I lay on that bed, reading a travel magazine with pictures of luxurious beach villas and safari lodges, and felt myself come alive again.

* hotels: When I handed in my last essay at university, packed up my stuff and took off for the Emerald Isle. At the end of a winding road, in a hidden valley, I arrived at a messy, weird and wonderful little hotel where strange things always seemed to happen. I realised then that I had always been looking for a world that never sleeps. And this was it. I made my home in an attic room and didn't leave for four years.

* dancing: Long before I discovered the joys of clubbing, as part of an amateur dance troupe trying to change the world. The actual dancing was hard work but the boys in the troupe were beautiful, athletic and loveable creatures who kissed me, threw me over their shoulder, carried my bags. The other girls hugged me and lent me their make-up. We toured in schools, performed to sneering teenagers, stayed in bohemian flats, rehearsed on the sun terrace of a ferry and dressed as clowns on a dusty country road in Estonia. We also had some priceless inside jokes, like the one about dropping God on the floor and making the TV news.

* dancing, again: On dancefloors in rural Ireland, sometimes drunk but mostly too busy dancing to do much drinking. There it was, the dizzy feeling of being free of everything, spinning through outer space, glimpsing the face of God. It was worth the mortal danger of travelling home in a crowded mini-van driven by someone who was probably drunk, at breakneck speed on dark, winding roads. I learned to let go.