What I've craved:
The air of international mystery. It's a difficult thing to understand if you've never been a traveler. It's easy to forget if you either grow accustomed to it, or stop traveling for a period.
I began traveling seriously at the age of 18. I completely under appreciated what was offered to me at the time - not knowing enough to know how much was out there, and just how much attention I should have paid to it. But it was by no means a waste of travel - much good in my life came of it and it awakened a sense of adventure and self assured-ness. I began to appreciate for myself the knowledge that there was MORE out there than just the few ways of life I'd known.
By the age of 25 I'd visited 40 countries. After that, the frequency of my travel decreased exponentially as I settled into first school, and then a proper career. And now, even with the current economic downturn, my situation is becoming such to allow me to once again begin wandering a bit during my holidays. I once again feel my wings stretching a bit, joints loosening and that dusty wanderlust coming out of hibernation.
I sat tonight in the international terminal of San francisco international airport (which on a side note, I'm almost surprised hasn't been changed to a vulgar sponsored name like "staples international airport") it was familiar, exciting and lovely to hear the peal of the British accent, the lilting Italian and harsh Russian being spoken all around me. I sat in a small pizza cafe and enjoyed a small pie, taking in the sights and sounds of this international crossroad, feeling immediately mysterious to others and curious about those around me. Some were happy and carefree (the boisterous Italians) and others somber and bogged down in their troubles (a little Indian man sitting opposite me).
...
What contrast!
To be in a land where even the very worst of manners trump the finest of American. Shocking to be told please and thank you at every turn. To have thing like "very nice my love" and "lovely, carry on" said to you in a constant barrage.
England emerges prim and proper at first glance - from far above the terra, seen from my cramped economy British Airways window seat. Lovely rows of red-roofed houses seemingly straight out of a muggle neighborhood in a JK Rowling novel, imterspursed with the rambling towers and peaked roofs of large manors.
Even from the air this land, this Inglaterra, bespeaks age, evolution and propriety. Each neighborhood seems connected to at least one large park which ambles and wanders, neatly trimmed in, landscaped immaculately and finished off with hedges. All is in place.
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What is appreciated:
One nice English leather sofa sitting empty in a lovely array of similar sofas and armchairs! It's been 25 hours since I woke Friday morning (not counting the 8 I lost somewhere on the trip over). I have a layover for a good three hours. Before finding said couch I enjoyed strolling amidst the shops, not buying anything, but staying true to my nature I needed I explore every avenue before I settled on a decision for what to do next, despite my exhaustion.
Sigh.
Curiosity satisfied, I head for the sofa and claim it as my own. I use it cautiously at first, sitting up proper-like, legs crossed, observing the organized chaotic dance that takes place in interntional terminals. Tiring of that very quickly, I soon found myself leaning on my backpack, eyes drooping. And finally, when I was quite sure that I was not going to be breeching any cardinal laws of British airport propriety - I curled up on the couch, legs on leather, and passed out.
Lovely.
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What is the big dang deal with all of this travel nonsense, you wonder?
For those of you who know me well, you know that I can be rigid - I tend to categorize things and then shelve items in my life neatly in those categories. I'm overly literal and this methodical categorization helps me move past the factual, trivial things in life to devoting my energies to making bigger decisions. Change to any of my core categorizations is dificult because it requires a conscious restructuring of my entire system.
For some reason, when I travel I am able to step out of that box and be the mysterious international woman of mystery. The rules no longer apply; My eyes are softer, lips flirtier and I feel relaxed, comfortable and intriguing. I can consciously be the persona everyone at home expects me to be - carefree, blonde. Not dumb blonde - the blonde that brunettes see - the girl that sticks out without realizing, who follows her own set of rules and shrugs off discrepancies with a smile and no one minds. The girl that drives my sister crazy with jealousy. I am not her often. Or rather, I don't get to consciously enjoy being her very often. This is my element. A place where so much merges all at once - language, culture, levity and experience that it makes my head spin with delight. The fact that it would take me a very long time indeed to explore every nook and cranny of these alien lands to my satisfaction before making decisions is intoxicating. The fact that I don't speak all of the local languages keeps the mystery and frustration alive. To be thus for me is to thrive.
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PS - I typed all of this from my phone and I'm not going to proofread it all until I get home... so sorry, you'll just have to deal with the bad grammar and spelling/punctuation errors!
PPS - If you hadn't noticed, my travel writing tends to get flowery... lol.
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