Have been in Brighton for several days now. Have roughly recovered from jet lag, even went bouldering two days ago, but this morning a slight collapse – brief episode of sleepiness.
Have not yet found adequate means of describing this trip – of teasing out the small moments that are indicative of the peculiar texture of contemporary travel. Perhaps I cannot recognise them. Perhaps there is nothing peculiar to travel. Perhaps I only imagine that travel represents a distinct experiential space. Jet lag is clearly distinctive, but that can be roughly summoned at home via insomnia, hang overs, etc.
Of course one of the defining features of contemporary travel is the paradox that everything changes and nothing changes. There are still auto-tellers and malls. There are still times of waiting – perhaps more times of waiting. Seeing something recognisable – a distinctively British streetscape, a pebbled beach, the iconic Brighton Pavillion – produces this inner sense that one should be more impressed, that one should drink in its distinctiveness more completely, but somehow lack the resources. Sooner or later an epiphany no doubt, but constructed from what?
Perhaps I’m simply distracted – unable to see what could possibly be said. Must find means to be more attentive. Must find time to write more regularly. Or maybe not. It would be nice to describe things adequately, but equally nice to permit some portion of silence.