Fare-well, UK! | What I miss from Harrogate already

As I’m just about to enter France on a new chapter on my walk around the world that I started a month ago, as I leave the UK behind, as I think about how it all began and what will there be – I think it’s enough, you got the point – mixed feelings started bothering me. On one hand, there’s excitement for the unknown unknowns ahead, on the other, there’s the more and more  powerful feeling of longing.

And there’s a lot that I miss already. I sometimes miss having the same bed. I miss doing only short walks around the Valley Gardens. I miss Rachael and Simon and Tom and Georgia and Gem. I miss Crafters, I miss Pony and Trap. I miss the days in the office, I miss the days outside. I miss the parties. I miss the conferences. I even miss Clara’s childish promises of seeing me in Bolivia.! :) And, the hell with it, I even miss being late to work! :)

I miss the Blues Bar. I miss Pete Oliver’s funny faces and funky body-moves as he plays his bass-guitar. Nevertheless, he really feels his music. I was fortunate enough to have heard it live. I miss Isi D’s  playing of I like the way. I generally miss the Monday Jam nights.

I miss riding the motorcycle, as I often did just to go and see the sun rising from the sea.

I miss Lucia, now on her path of becoming a really good and talented photographer. And our long conversations on anything. And her constant questioning. Yes, everything was a question and at any point in her presence I wasn’t more that 15 minutes away of being asked something new, with the innocence and the insistence of a 5-years-old. Most of them starting with big why‘s. And the special movie nights. Yes, I miss watching movies. And Family Guy.

I miss me, the one from a year ago. A bit happy. A bit crazy. Crazy enough to think that love is ever-lasting. And stupid enough to take it for granted.

I miss Harrogate, in its entirely. I miss North Yorkshire and The Dales, with Brimham Rocks, always a good refugee place for screaming where no-one could hear.

I miss the Yorkshire accent. And, on that note, I miss Rachael’s interpretation of the Scottish one. Always sure to bring me a smile.

I miss the familiarity of a place, any place. I miss knowing at least some of the people around me.

There’s probably more, but this is all I can burst-out in one single stroke. With all of the above, I will struggle.

And now, with that said, I’m off to France. Vive la vie, I’m coming over! :)

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