We travel to have something to look forward to and something to look back upon.
Stay home only long enough to save up for the next trip away.
Any time is a good time to go anywhere!
A good day is a day adventuring in a new place, tromping a public pathway, ruminating with a true friend, luxuriating with good food and vacationing ones’ mind from the cares of duty and work.
We go outside because something deep inside needs to see a thing with the lid off, a thing unwalled, an urban-rural fringe, and a tattered edge of something undeveloped, a mud acre or two, a blue-sparkled stretch of water.
One day I was in Mbabane, Swaziland, a few days later in Oxford, England. One day I was speaking to barefoot students at a school for AID’s orphans south of Mbabane, the next in a pub speaking to the privileged students of Oxford University. The world is a place of shocking inequity.
When in another country, we are in another’s house, and we should act accordingly.
Travel always has it’s unexpected moments, no matter how good the planning. The thunderstorm that sends you for cover in a shop with a warm fire and the aroma of fresh bread may be better than the cathedral planned in advance, ambled through and checked off the must-see site list.
A walk is a good talk spoiled. Talking deserves the privilege of only talking.
We travel when we are young so that we will have something to remember when we are old.
Remember the fresh mushroom soup we ate at the Pret that cold day in London. Remember the cinnamon and sugar crepe we ate in the lobby the last day in Paris. Remember the chicken feet they served us in Johannesburg. Remember the trail of salmon bones we left across Southwestern Alaska. Travel is a culinary remember.
Travel heals. Think the colored leaves in Maine in October.
Travel has three waits – the wait to get there, the wait to return and the wait to go again.
