The two Dutch guys start to feel the same nausea that I have come to complain. In Monaco, nothing sounds real or human. But they still count the number of Lamborghinis and Maybachs. One of those guys screams something. I assume it is the Bugatti they still didn’t find. The moment I turn back there is a mismatch of wills between the orders of my brain and muscle reflexes in my right hand. The camera falls. 10 seconds after my ass is on the floor and my hands on my head. I think about the walls of my room plain of people I met while travelling, the unexpected happiness of running a blog, and especially, in my will of doing this trip alone. It is not easy to understand for those who don’t really know me but, that episode makes me wonder half the decisions I have taken in the last half year. I’m touched, first with the international scurrility I hear around me, then with fraternal silence that I feel on by backs. I tell them I could hardly imagine a moment like that without tears in my eyes. The phone rings. It is the girlfriend who I still don’t manage to call her ex. Already with a blurred vision I ask those guys:
- What did I just tell you?