“Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation.”
Rumi
A great night of sleep.
We take our last walk in Modra. There were three service trees in Modra. One was destroyed by lightning; the other we are looking for today.
It is almost cold this morning. Rachelle spots the tree. This tree is estimated to be around 150 years old. The third lies nearby. Burnt and lost forever. A lightning strike does not bother me; it would be tragic if it were cut down for timber or to be cleared to plant a vineyard.
Home for a shower, and there is a reluctance to the morning. A deliberate slowness in an attempt to fend off the inevitable departure. The feeling is working through different emotions than normal. The unwillingness to leave in the past has stemmed from a dread in returning to work. I am actually looking forward to work for the first time in as long as I can remember. I just don’t want to leave Modra. This village needs more of my time.
Breakfast at Cuvée, more of the same when it is a good thing.
Over three hours to Budapest, yet only 155 km. Google Maps and its strangest routes strike again. An uneventful drive, and we roll into the city centre, dropping the car off in no time.
Check in at a new base. A few years ago, Emerald Apartments overdelivered on quality and was affordable. Now it underdelivers and overcharges.
Budapest has been our European base for years — a city to arrive in, a city to depart from. It’s now expensive and swamped with tourists. I’m not sure when we’ll be back to Europe, but this might be our last visit to my favourite European capital.
A short walk to the Oriental Soup House for a beer and Chongqing noodles.
We stroll home and stop by a supermarket for beers to have in the apartment. It’s after 4 pm, and I’m tired from the drive. I ask Rachelle if she’d like some chocolate for the evening. She declines. It’s almost certain I’ll be sent out later for chocolate.
“The best of prophets of the future is the past.”
Lord Byron
Beer and read.
Nostradamus….
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