The Things we Do for Love

I am not really here. I have set up the timer for this (master)piece to go public. This very minute, I am probably cursing the moment I agreed to this trip in the mountains while trying to get reception to see if the timer worked. On a serious note, I’m either hiking up a slope, or dead and buried. The second is the good scenario. Check back in a few days, I will put a picture up. If I made it, that is.

It all started when my love and I were trying to figure out where to go now that we finally can go somewhere. If you’re reading this in 2035, these are the covidays. (this little word play will be very cool in 2035) We didn’t want to be the first occupants of a hotel room and I haven’t lost the weight from the endless lockdown dinners and alcohol, as well as the quitting of the smoking (thank you, thank you) so bikini being out of the question, we left yesterday for my man’s house in the woods. 

Now, you must understand that this place is a sought-after location, everyone you mention it to makes some kind of woohoo sound. So, I am considered a very lucky girl. Only my man likes hiking and climbing and whatever it is people do when there’s a good enough slope and they have a pair of strong (and hot) legs. Me on the other hand, not that thrilled with nature altogether.

To clear the air (see what I did there? clear air?nature?), I am happy. I am probably having a great time as you’re reading this, there’s a lot of wine and some shopping of folklore things like wooden bowls and honey jars (any kind of civilisation will do at this point). The problem is my ass is too big and although I haven’t smoked in 5 months, it’s probably very challenging to take my pleasantly rounder body up a hill.

You see, the first time we went up there, we only dated for a couple of months. I was still pretending. Let me tell you, I am very convincing. If you see me in the mountains, you think my real name is Heidi. BUT! I made the mistake to be very enthusiastic, and I also spent the lockdown months saying shit like “what a shame we missed the season, we have to wait for next spring to go hiking on your beautiful mountains” I thought I was safe because who knew I would still be the shame of the seashore in June. (say ‘shame of the seashore’ three times with your mouth full of Doritos)

So here we are, as with all questionable things in life, I tried to translate it into, a good chance to lose some weight, to ground myself (some yoga trend I saw on YouTube), to make nice bouquets of flowers, to buy some local produce to stuff my cupboards for the summer. It doesn’t sound half bad, right?

It probably worked lying to myself and I have done all these things and I have had a great time, jokes aside. But wouldn’t you agree that the best place in life is sitting at a busy-street café, like in Le Marais in Paris or East Village in Manhattan (you get the point) smelling good, sipping your beautiful coffee (ugh! coffee is the best), watching  people go by, your shopping under the chair, friends gather and you just laugh your way to wine o’clock when all the little boutiques start closing for the day as the sun goes down. Isn’t what you just read like a massage to your soul? (sigh)

Here’s to the things we do with those we love, to the memories we make with our people, to beautiful sunrises over the mountain tops and to wine with friends on sunsets. Here’s to all people getting a chance to witness what the world has to offer, regardless of colour, of who they love, what God they do or don’t believe in, and how big or small their ass is. Here’s to life in high and low altitudes and here’s to you still reading this, you are wonderful.

UPDATE: I made it back, see proof below:

Yes, we made it up there!

Previous Masterpieces

The Love you Know

Life’s journey of loves


Deconstructing breakfast, the most important meal of the day

Published by Nat

Enjoying writing as much as the next person (I guess). Thank you for coming. Please stay.

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