Paradise. It’s 2011, and with travel being so inexpensive, most of us have found paradise already, right? Its streaks of blue and white; sandy in all the right places and desperately empty. Its daubs of warm and balmy; soft on your ears, yet tangy on the tastebuds
Walk with me, traveller.
Pad slowly through paradise and scoop up some momentary peace amid the crackle and dazzle of your day.
Now, forgive me for interrupting this blissful moment of yours; but I ask you to shake the sand from the shadows of your buttocks, to step into the shade and take a cold shower.
I’d like to know where paradise is.
I believe you know.
I do too.
Paradise, for me, is far away from the curtsy of crashing waves, or the respectful bow of a glowing palm tree.
For a start, my paradise is found in the shallows of autumn, as appose to the height of summer. I feel autumn is full of spice and fragility: a season infused with blazing survival, while all around me, people are active. They’re doing things, before the onset of those dark months.
Of course, I’m generalising an autumn here in my home country, England. A few months ago while naively cascading through a tetris of Bangkok flights, I realised that I’ve travelled to many places around the world in autumn. Yet, in many ways, never been there at all.
My paradise also features the gentle flow of water, because I find my paradise on misty riverbanks.
Rivers are believable; plausible routes, silently guiding my wayward thoughts.
A bright autumn day, silently creeping along the riverbank. That’s my paradise.
Would you care to share you own?