Travelling has officially begun, I am now in between my flights, sitting in Charles de Gaulle, Paris waiting to fall asleep and wake up in Mexico. This morning I left my beloved Edinburgh by train to London, and stressed through the tube to Heathrow. The weekend still feels so close it’s hard to be excited about leaving such a place. I realise that next time I will be looking for a room and a job, cause there is something about it whispering home louder and louder. Edinburgh is a travelling city, collecting people of all origin with the same rose coloured glasses of life. It is beautiful. Arriving on Friday, my host, friend and nowadays soul sister Diane had organised a pot luck dinner at her place with a big bunch of couch surfers all contributing with food and drinks. The Spanish couple made tortilla, the Italian guy Roberto brought risotto, Scottish Matt had the Haggis and both of the French had of course made crèpes. My last minute contribution was by no means a Swedish delicacy, but a typical Jessican one; the cheese. Diane and I went hill climbing and ran by a very impressing cheese shop. I kept rubbing my hands like the Grinch on Christmas eve, licking my lips in drooling anticipation. The dinner in itself was a success, so many wonderful and open souls put together under one ceiling. I think I’ve mentioned it before but the more strangers I meet via couch surfing the faster it takes each time to relax and be myself. I also think most of the people at the party didn’t really have to try to be comfortable. But I guess it’s about the energy in oneself also, maybe it was just me enjoying beyond my senses, happy to be there again. As one should on vacation we spent the last ”day after” having a proper ”day after”, in bed until five in the afternoon, pizza, and then more napping until we finally managed to drag our sorry behinds to a birthday party at one of the surfers place. No need to say I strictly refrained from alcohol this evening and woke up Sunday thinking I had the energy to move a mountain! Diane is the strongest of us though, she managed to keep the party going all three days. On Sunday we did the classical Scottish Breakfast at the Antiquary on Stephens street. Listening to Brian Ferry (song number 1, 7 and 8 by Diane’s fascist control) we took a road trip with the intention of touching really old stones in the shape of an abbey on an island outside of Edinburgh. The weather was nice, our bellies full and our fists shaking of joy against everything crossing our paths. But alas, there were no ferries until April the first. The misery of not being able to hang at the door to the island abbey is luckily up weighted by the joy of not knowing where I’ll be – at all. After some confusing of bridges and driving back to Edinburgh we caught the last minutes of the Turner exhibition at the arts gallery before heading home in the rain, napping, eating and – celebrating Australia day in the Oz Bar – again with the lovely souls of the couch surfing community. The decadence of these people knows no borders, and yes, today I was not in my finest shape getting up 7.30 to catch my train. Knowing that life goes on maybe not in the same weekend-shaped fashion but still in grand style for this couch surfing community in Edinburgh kinda stings my souls a wee. The possibilities of getting to know cultures, food languages, people, strangers and friends from all over the world is something I miss in Gothenburg, and really what triggers my happiness. If I need to work and live in one place I want to live in a city that travels itself. First realisation has struck. Travelling has started.