Travel Love

Amore.

There are many forms. No?

Oui.

I love my family. I love my friends. I have been in gut-wrenching, gorgeous, head over heels love a couple of times.

And I have been in travel love dozens of times.

Do you know what I mean?

There was Matt, the beautiful British sailor-playboy who had dimples in his cheeks and told me I a had a dead-sexy wink. He asked me for my phone number in Morse code.

There was Alan, the blonde South African photographer. We played video games in the Ship's crew arcade and he told me stories about South Africa. He was a joker and told my friends that everyone in South Africa lived in houses built on stilts so that the Giraffes could walk underneath.

There was Marco. Oh bello Marco! The Italian sailor. (What? I had a thing for sailors. Obviously...) We spent an afternoon on the beach in St. Lucia playing in the waves and flirting in the sand. He told me about the Nocciola (hazelnut) Gelatto his family made back in Italy. He would shout at me: Baccia mi baby! Kiss me baby!

Another Italian, Danielle, worked as a concierge on a different ship. He loved Spinning and had been a professional Volleyball player. He gave me a Lei in Hawaii ( ;) ). He cried when the Pope died and asked me about the differences between Catholicism and Mormonism.

Dale from Canada. Who I still adore to this day. I think he would make one helluva Mormon. That is, if he would ever give up the Tequila. He is like family to me, that one. He taught me about Crest White strips and how to avoid schmoozing with passengers by sneaking into the movie theater and watching movies with him.

Mark from Holland. But Mark doesn't really fit into the travel love category. Because Mark was a real love. I just happened to be traveling when I fell for him.

There were many others. Rob the Dutchie. Sean the Irish, Heath the Texan... Beautiful men, gorgeous people. On my last trip across Egypt and Jordan were a couple of adorable men that I hit it off with. One who, in a drunken passion made it a point to write on my facebook wall today that he loved me.

See:

Two weeks ago he told me that if I'd take up drinking beer that he'd propose marriage to me. I told him that if he'd give up beer, I'd say yes.

We're both still single.

But.

All of these travel men I could look at and see fitting into corners of my life.
Maybe even drawers or closets.
(But I couldn't see them sitting next to me in church.) And that's really not enough, is it?
These men I could look at and say to myself: You have wonderful qualities, and here, now, we are enjoying these beautiful pieces of a journey together. And we would see something in each other that we would admire, and wonder if there could be more; if there could be a whole life there. And sadly, the answer has always been a resounding no. With a bit of (But Maybe... if) sprinkled in for good measure.

These are my lost boys. My travel loves. I can't call them "What-if's." Because time with them was never THAT deep; That lasting.

And yet it was. 

And yet we connected on levels that I've rarely connected with anyone - the levels in which you appreciate the fullness of life and beauty together and breathe it in and bathe in it.

And that is a powerful bond to share.

And I think of those men with reverence and happiness and love.

And I cherish our time together.