An outstretched hand on the windowsill

Sitting in a train, forgetting, living as at home, suddenly remembering, feeling the rushing power of the train, becoming a traveler, taking the cap out of the suitcase, encountering fellow travelers more freely, gloriously, urgently, being carried towards the destination without merit, feeling this childishly, becoming a favorite of women, standing under the continuous attraction of the window, always leaving at least one outstretched hand on the windowsill. A more sharply defined situation: Forgetting that one has forgotten, suddenly becoming a traveling child alone in a lightning train, around which the trembling carriage, astonishing in the slightest, builds up like from the hand of a magician.

This is a diary entry by Franz Kafka from July 31, 1917. Today is June 3, 2025, the 101st anniversary of his death. Despite encountering a scorpion and having a wild roller ride through pothole-ridden streets, I am still alive – having spent 5 days on Phú Quốc island.

It is truly breathtakingly beautiful here. The season has already ended, and accordingly, it is empty in and around our accommodation (a small eco-resort in the greenery). Perhaps that's why we received an upgrade: from our small bungalow to a two-story 'villa' that has more living space than my apartment at home. Twice a day, someone comes by to adjust the mosquito net over the bed, light incense coils against the mosquitoes, and bring us fresh drinking water. I'm not used to such luxury; perhaps I will miss this at home just as much as the incredibly good food in the many small street restaurants and the fact that I am addressed with 'Hello Madame' at every corner (of course, in connection with the question of whether I want to book a massage). One day we visit the island's capital, Duong Dong (yes, just to say we've seen it), and on another, we explore a bee and a pepper farm. At the latter, no one speaks a word of English, and the pepper has already been harvested, so we are 'offered' fruits while passing through (= shoved into our mouths), and I am allowed to pick two mangoes that we are given as a gift. We are very brave and drink iced tea and mango smoothies with questionable ice cubes at the most remote café... as a reward, we get a third glass of smoothie (because there's simply more left). There is yoga in the greenery, cats to pet, and wonderful sunsets. The attempt to see the starfish beach fails due to the bad roads and the late hour, and the plan to visit more places on a completely rainy Tuesday. But that doesn't matter. We enjoy our luxurious windowsill; I read a book from the resort's bookshelf and have a little chat with our toilet gecko Günther. Relaxation, jumping over waves in the sea, exchanging messages with home. Taking a deep breath just before the flight home. Reading a bit of Kafka's diary and finding this beautiful, fitting entry. In my thoughts, I leave my outstretched hand on the windowsill.