Lost and Found and Lots of Chocolate

For most of my life, I haven’t had a clue about what I wanted to do. I’ve aspired to be an interpreter for the UN, a flight attendant, a conservationist… At one point I vividly remember sitting my parents down on our old living room sofa, and declaring with all the certainty of my seven years, that I was going to be an astronaut. Well, obviously that idea has flopped, much to the relief of my mother. But can you see the common thread? I used to satiate that undefined need with the fictional worlds of Narnia, Hogwarts, Christopher Robyn’s imaginary forest. Knowing this, can you imagine my feelings at hearing the words “travel writer” for the first time? I would get to go on adventures and people would pay me for it! Was this not the most awesome thing ever?
Then I got on my first plane – a Boing 737, with the green Alitalia logo on the side. Mum told me the “Airplane lands in Tokyo and luggage – in Australia” joke, to distract me from any fear. But there was none. The backflips my stomach was doing, were not the result of the movement. I could fly!
That first trip was to Strasbourg. I find it rather fitting – the capital of Europe would become my gateway to the world. And just in time for Christmas! Did you know there is a chocolate shop at pretty much every corner in the old city? Mmm, chocolate…
I got lost. I decided to go exploring on my own (read: hugely overestimate my own orientation skills) and got lost along the narrow streets of La Petite France. I walked around for an hour, unable to find my way back. How could nobody in this town know where my hotel was? It started snowing – tiny, light snowflakes were getting caught in my eyelashes and piling up in my hair. For all the cold and the slight pangs of anxiety that I was experiencing, I was amazed at the sights around me. The Christmas displays, the lights, the snow… and I could swear I felt the smell of cinnamon cookies wafting from somewhere. This was Santa’s village! Don’t judge, I was ten.
I was quickly pulled out of my reverie by the increasing cold and precipitation. In short, freezing, alone and in a strange city is not the best situation for a ten-year-old. And then, there was a voice. I think she called “Cherrie!” and I didn’t immediately know the lady from the chocolate shop was talking to me. But she called out again and this time I knew I was supposed to be Cherrie. Turned out she spoke English and I told her what had happened. All in all, my first introduction to the world went rather well – I got a cab ride back, two pieces of chocolate and a new friend out of the deal. I still remember her voice. It sounded like raspberry chocolate.