Becoming an ex-nomad
I love life on the road, but it’s also nice to have a place to call home again. The last six months had me travel across most of Europe in the midst of winter. I’ve slept on the couches and in the beds of my friends and strangers, at bed-and-breakfasts, in a rental apartment, a handful of night trains, several hotel rooms and a couple of hostel dorms. The introvert in me needs a break.
This week I moved into my new place, a single bedroom apartment in one of London’s southern boroughs. It’s not super cheap, or large, or in a great neighborhood – welcome to London – but it’s comfy, near one of the more active high streets, and – above all – mine. In terms of square feet (or square meters – whatever) it’s about a third the size of my flat in the Netherlands.
Before I moved out, I threw out as much stuff as I thought I could. A lot of furniture made its way to my sister, and what was left went to the local recycling or landfill. The remainder was packed “carefully” into three dozen boxes by the moving company, and then picked up and put in storage here in London. It’s sat in a warehouse for 5 months while I was doing my thing roaming about Europe, and I haven’t missed any of it. Perhaps it’s time to throw out more so my next move won’t be such a hassle.
It seems like a long time ago that I lived in the Netherlands. I can see myself staying in the UK for a couple more years, and then move elsewhere.