Though many know-it-all’s suspect I do it to withdraw from life’s uncertainties and escape irrational emotions, I beg to differ. I thought about it over and over again, because this is what I do –I think. So if I ever paused in the past, reflecting, yet mistakenly appearing like I accepted such an incorrect opinion, I take that ‘idle’ position back and make clear that:
I travel because I love it. Passionnément. I love the sense of confidence travel gives me, the emotional security, the taste of the mysterious and the unconventional, the fulfillment and inspiration which keep me going months afterwards, until my next trip.
I don’t use it to run away; quite the opposite, travel keeps me afloat in my agitated sea of dramas, where every now and then my relationships and plans -of all kinds- grow complicated, confusing, exasperating and dull, where at times I question everything I once wanted and fought for relentlessly. Each time I’m lost, travel helps me detach reasonably from people and things, break free and take on an almost miraculous perspective on life, embracing being lost instead of freaking out.
Is it a shocker that I long for it when I have the time, opportunity and funds? Travel is the only constant in my life, the only thing which never failed me or my memories. Talking of which, I put together a collage of some photos from places I visited: Florence, Venice, Paris, Versailles, Montmartre, Damascus, Prague, Bahrain, Kuala Lumpur, Malacca and Istanbul (click once and then a second time to see details). Jordan, Bangkok and Pukhet did not make the collection unfortunately but are safely tucked on the shelf over here in pre-digital-era albums. I sadly realized tonight that I lost somewhere between my house/city moves the photos of Amsterdam, Rome, Capri, Naples and Doha … calling for another visit I guess?;)