Waterpolo

Water polo: who gives a f*ck?

I am in Holland, for just a few days. In Switzerland I do not have a TV, so my three days in the motherland, I try to soak up as much of the Olympics as possible. Today I found myself in front of the TV at 1400, cheering for the female water polo finale, in which the Dutch team was fighting Team America. Low and behold, they beat them! And although I never really even had a superficial interest in that sport, I found myself glued to the TV. Oh, the Olympic spirit....

Transit

Munich airport.

In transit.

Waiting for the flight to Geneva, reminiscing old Sarajevo memories. "Panta rei, kai ouden menei". Talking with a former colleague- he is in transit as well. We gossip, tell old stories, boast, look back. Talk about drinking, other post-conflict places, future plans, old friends we have not heard from in ages, old colleagues who are in Afghanistan, Sierra Leone, Colombia; about new places to go to, new things to do. I sit and listen, for the first time in a long time without envy; glad to be going home, at least for a fixed period.

Than time is up. His flight leaves in 20 minutes. We shake hands, and promise to meet each other in fifteen years again on an airport, in transit from a hot hotspot, underway to Rest & Recovery on a sunny beach, a booming metropolis, a place we then call home. We both like that idea. We both are dreamers.

He walks off, and I watch him go. A blast from the past. A nice memory.