Of Friends Parte Ocho

She's flamboyant, aggressive, crazy, and in-your-face...but she's especially someone I've loved from the start: Agathe Philbe. She's about to move back home to Paris. I haven't been this sad to see a friend leave in a long time. Our time together was much too brief. We met up with some friends at Bossa Nova in SOMA...ah Brazilian Vodka. It was good to enjoy her company one last time (for now).

I met her last fall when we both took Butler's lighting class. I admired her courage and backstory, especially learning of her time spent in Spain. Spain was one of the countries I visited after my time at Cambridge on my own. I remember the thirteen-hour bus ride from Gallieni to Madrid. It was one of the most memorable bus rides I ever took, sitting next to a man from Ivory Coast who described the French country as it zipped by and educated me about the internationals all on the bus. He could tell me who to watch out for: "Be careful about those men; they know Spanish, French, English, whatever the people speak here. They'll take advantage of you."

I'll remember the smile of the young French woman that I asked for help at the transfer station...she didn't respond to me, but her pursed lips perhaps belied her shyness. But we rode together on that bus from Gallieni. When we stepped off that bus during the early-morning hours in Madrid, she gave me the same smile and walked away. I'd like to be cheesy and I'd also like to be thoughtful in saying that Agathe's smile reminds me of that woman. I don't have many strong memories of France. I fell in love with the place like a person would with someone that instantly enchants him; it's the mystery that pulls.

Agathe's an honest person. She's open about her misgivings about herself and about others but it has never felt like grandstanding. I've felt a familiarity with her and smile whenever we meet up because she has something to tell me...not just in words but with presence. Her words in person as well as her blog are not prosaic whatsoever. In fact, I wish I could communicate my heart as well as she does in print. I really do. It's fantastically poetic and candid. I wish I had a chance to sit down and read more of her thoughts.

I don't worry about Agathe that much either. I'd like to think that her travels calm my wanderlust to some degree. It's probably because we share a sort of perspective on the world that we can only deduct as a result of being there. We can talk about a place and that switch goes off...and I liken it to that woman from France: I don't remember what she looked like but I remember how she made me feel.

Agathe, besos dondequiera te vas! Fue un placer por todo el tiempo. Me hare un viaje alli algun dia :)