After all those journeys, the sensible thing would have been to come home, unpack and settle down. Instead, we met at Devín. Colombine had a plan, Lu Cia felt like going somewhere, and my house keys were at the very bottom of my bag. Nobody suggested I start looking for them.
An imagined story inspired by archival Travel2City photographs. Familiar Bratislava references return in new illustrations featuring the trio. Dialogue, incidents and the progression from afternoon to evening are artistic interpretations, rather than a current venue guide or precise itinerary.
Colombine unfolded the map with the expression of a woman who intended to organise everything. The wind immediately folded it in half again. Lu Cia held one corner while I traced the river below the castle with my finger. “You could go a long way in that direction,” I said. “And to dinner in this one,” Colombine replied, pointing somewhere else entirely. We laughed, although it wasn't yet clear which option would win. On the path among the old walls, we settled on a simple plan: stay together a little longer, then decide what to do about the rest of the world.
“We have a plan today. For now, it's folded in half.”
Beneath Michael's Gate, I glanced at the clock and remarked that I could probably head home now. They both looked at me as if I had suggested closing the city. “You could,” Lu Cia admitted. “But you don't have to.” Colombine took my hand and drew me one step further. I knew these cobbles, this tower, and that peculiar feeling that there was nothing left to look for in a familiar city. Yet with them, looking suddenly felt wonderful. A little lane. Something delicious. A reason not to turn towards the stop just yet.
“The clock tells the time. We decide about the evening.”
Historic Slovak National Theatre · A little performance
In front of the theatre, Colombine made such a ceremonious bow that her bag slipped off her shoulder. Lu Cia immediately applauded. “Leading role: the woman who keeps taking us somewhere,” I announced. “Supporting role: the woman who keeps wanting to go home,” Colombine replied, straightening up. Lu Cia placed a hand over her heart. “And I'm playing hungry.” There was no answer to that. Evening light softened the façade, the fountain stood before it like part of the set, and our little performance ended with a unanimous decision to find a table.
“The applause was lovely. Now I'd like some dinner.”
In a narrow lane, the windows glowed gold and the shadows of flowerpots mingled with ours on the cobbles. We found a little table by the wall. Colombine moved a chair, Lu Cia put down her notebook, and I finally opened my bag. Not for the keys. I was looking for a pen, because a new list was taking shape on a paper napkin: where to go next. “Order first,” Colombine said. “I agree with management,” Lu Cia added. I put the pen down. The evening needed no further plan. Three warm cups arrived, something to nibble, and a conversation that had no intention of ending.
“We're not going home yet. We're still here.”
From notebook to book
The Map with No Last Page
The world of Travel2City continues between the covers of a book. Discover The Map with No Last Page and more illustrated journeys.
