Its been a week and a day since my last posting. didnt really think id have the inclination to write a slideshow of my journey as these things tend to veer into indulgence (the writer) and boredom (the reader) but having spent the past 4 days in budapest and now istanbul noting in my moleskin only the barest outline of experience, perhaps now is good time to catch up before it all becomes a jumble of images and sounds and smells and tastes, and perspectives and revelations and confirmations, the ambiance of it all
would be a shame to waste, if not share.
A plane flies across the atlantic and then over most of europe on a tank of gas stopping at its destination, in my case, within 2 hours of its predicted time, disgorging hundreds of people; solo travelers, couples, families, students, lovers, maybe a fugitive or two, a schnauzer that is content in its little carry-on home, way more quiet than the whimpering infant who's inner ears were unavoidably tested between 30,000 feet and terra. the experienced traveler is not hard to pick out and not because he is wearing j.peterman khakis. he is the one who knows the routes and the routine, is not perturbed and wears a look of determination and not bewilderment. he is helpful and patient but knows when its time to go. i suspect we all have the potential to be experienced travelers, maybe even reach the status of jaded, but part of the rite of travel requires moments of confusion and disorientation, and being dumb when its obvious you should know better. those moments of contrition, when we admit we dont know all the ways, subtle and not, of a foreign place, can be more important and remembered long after the taste of that splayed guinea pig you ordered in peru but hardly ate is erased from your taste buds. instinct goes well with traveling. smart but not reckless. dashing but not daring. then you can relax and wear linen and silk while drinking tea at that special rooftop bar overlooking the bosporus.
would be a shame to waste, if not share.
A plane flies across the atlantic and then over most of europe on a tank of gas stopping at its destination, in my case, within 2 hours of its predicted time, disgorging hundreds of people; solo travelers, couples, families, students, lovers, maybe a fugitive or two, a schnauzer that is content in its little carry-on home, way more quiet than the whimpering infant who's inner ears were unavoidably tested between 30,000 feet and terra. the experienced traveler is not hard to pick out and not because he is wearing j.peterman khakis. he is the one who knows the routes and the routine, is not perturbed and wears a look of determination and not bewilderment. he is helpful and patient but knows when its time to go. i suspect we all have the potential to be experienced travelers, maybe even reach the status of jaded, but part of the rite of travel requires moments of confusion and disorientation, and being dumb when its obvious you should know better. those moments of contrition, when we admit we dont know all the ways, subtle and not, of a foreign place, can be more important and remembered long after the taste of that splayed guinea pig you ordered in peru but hardly ate is erased from your taste buds. instinct goes well with traveling. smart but not reckless. dashing but not daring. then you can relax and wear linen and silk while drinking tea at that special rooftop bar overlooking the bosporus.
