To travel is to live – Hans Andersen
It’s been a long time since I stepped foot on a different continent, although different reads strange in this context, since Europe was once home. But that’s exactly what my family and I did recently. We traded familiar landscapes for the invigorating air of change.
Four countries in two weeks — more than we planned — but that’s what traveling does. It reawakens our sense of adventure. Demands we move, move, move. See more. Touch more. Breathe new air. Memories, so many memories, will sort out in time, but for now, this is how I look at the past two weeks:
I look at every country/city/region as an individual human being with character. For example: (1) Berlin is an energetic young lady with an eye toward the future while mindful of family’s tragic past. (2) Bucharest is a middle-aged mother cautiously rebuilding her life after a disastrous relationship. (3) France (the coast) is a lady of undetermined age, who successfully spends most of her money on her looks. (4) Northwest Italy, the natural beauty, lives life to the fullest, dismissing regrets with a smile. When places are categorized as such in my brain, they’re friends I sorely miss.
As jetlag lifts and culture shock recedes, I shall revisit each place and share my experiences. In the interim, just as traveling refreshes one’s spirit, returning home is a gift to the weary soul.
Part of my gift came courtesy Carol Child, Editor of The Scheherazade Chronicles, who published my short story, A Memory, upon return. Such sweet, welcoming present.
A short description and link to article follow.
A thirteen-year-old girl is sitting cross-legged in a tent no larger than a closet, reading. The tent is on a beach along the Black Sea Coast.
A MEMORY, by Silvia Villalobos