I’m sitting on a bench in my usual spot, by the Harbourside, gazing at the boats that are bobbing on the waves, with the head in my hands for no particular reason. Suddenly, a caring voice drowns out Bristol’s ever-present seagull’s moan:
“Are you ok my lover?”
That was the exact moment when I began feeling nostalgic, knowing that soon no stranger in the street would have cared if I looked down, or wished me a nice day, or called me “my lover”.
Then I knew I would miss “them being Bristolian” more than the city itself, regretting the absence of their palpable connection -which makes this city so warm, in spite of the rainy weather. I would leave behind the smoothness with which a passer-by becomes a friend, and smiles make their ways through the city.
When I will write about Bristol, I will savour each memory so strongly that I will almost be back here. I will reach out with my mind, and there it will be, surrounded by Somerset’s bright green countryside and crossed by the Avon River, made up of rows of colourful houses and covered with graffiti. Brizzle, beautiful female.
My summer was a bit of a fairy tale, but then what did I expect in a town full of unicorns?
If my last post from Rome was all about parking my unicorn and taking up a pragmatic time of personal growth, truth is I’ve been chasing these magic creatures for the whole summer (I even wrote an article for Visit Bristol on where to find Bristol’s unicorns); until I’ve learnt –as at the end of each authentic fairy tale- that love is real and can be trusted, always.
The unicorn hunt wasn’t the only highlight of my last month in town. August was full of collaborations and hip gigs, such as taking over the Instagram account of Visit Bristol to show some insights into how someone from another country views the city, attending the Bristol International Balloon Fiesta’s night glow or admiring the town from a hot air balloon (can you name something more quintessentially Bristolian, btw?).
Moreover, August was a month full of gratitude, as I realised that Bristol was treating me well and that I was accomplishing many things.
I was grateful for having met many friendly people, and in particular for the fact that, through this blog, I always get in touch with the most amazing folks. You are the best.
I was grateful for the life lessons learned through the summer, and for upgrading to a better version of myself.
I was grateful for being in a place that felt like home.
And I was grateful for the unexpected, which made my summer end amazingly.
It gets dark earlier. I’m walking under the M32 on my first of many “last beer in Easton” evenings, and the headlights that swoosh past me are shockingly standing out in the twilight. Nothing as a shorter day sums up the end of the summer, and nothing can wrap this amazing experience up better than the night stealing the colours and replacing them with a dark unknown.
Not that I’m ready to say goodbye, I never am, but the time has come nevertheless.
When I arrived in the UK, the sun was up ‘till late, and the summer was full of hope. Now that it gets dark earlier, the person I was seems so grown-up and believes that there is no need to park the unicorn, because a unicorn is just a horse with a point of view.
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