Dear English-speaking readers, this page is an automatic Google translation from a post originally written in French. My apologies for the weird sentences and the funny mistakes that could have been generated during the process. If you can read French, the original and correct version can be found here:
I will leave again. At the end of June, I fly again towards the Orient. It was enough for me to receive the e-ticket on my mail to feel wings.
At 540 € round trip Paris-Kuala Lumpur, on KLM, I cracked. I will never find the best price for Asia ...
The only prospect of a new beginning, concretized by the purchase of this ticket, plunges me into abysses of bliss. To leave, to return, to leave again. The very flavor of existence seems to me entirely suspended from this pendulum movement. Am I normal?
Because of the crisis, the majority of people prefer not to leave. Or do not go far.
The crisis helping, I'm ecstatic when I manage to leave the other side of the world despite everything. By targeting corners where the standard of living allows me to take long weeks without spending too much. Is it indecent?
I spend whole nights on the internet juggling airline schedules, fares and connections. I plunge with delight in the blogs of travelers who resemble me. Those who are not afraid to leave a little room for improvisation, at random, who rely on their lucky stars, who trust. For them, for me, being elsewhere is always exhilarating. By what miracle?
By dint of leaving, I tell myself that one day I could also not return. All these "parentheses" put together end to end for so many years compose a small piece of existence that sometimes seems to me so much more precious than everything else ... Does it make sense?
I do not know exactly where I'm going to hang out my flip flops in July from Kuala Lumpur. Preparations, but not too much! Only certainty, I'm going to return soaking my fins to Sipadan, off Borneo, accessible from a wing shot with Air Asia. After ... I'm still at the stage where everything is possible.