Travel is little beds and cramped bathrooms. It’s old television sets and slow Internet connections. Travel is extraordinary conversations with ordinary people. It’s waiters, gas station attendants, and housekeepers becoming the most interesting people in the world. It’s churches that are compelling enough to enter. It’s McDonald’s being a luxury. It’s the realization that you may have been born in the wrong country. Travel is a smile that leads to a conversation in broken English. It’s the epiphany that pretty girls smile the same way all over the world. Travel is tipping 10% and being embraced for it. Travel is the same white T-shirt again tomorrow. Travel is accented sex after good wine and too many unfiltered cigarettes. Travel is flowing in the back of a bus with giggly strangers. It’s a street full of bearded backpackers looking down at maps. Travel is wishing for one more bite of whatever that just was. It’s the rediscovery of walking somewhere. It’s sharing a bottle of liquor on an overnight train with a new friend. Travel is ‘Maybe I don’t have to do it that way when I get back home.
I can’t decide if I’d rather be back in Marseille wearing black and drinking too much coffee, back on San Juan Island breathing in the salty air, back in LA with the woman I love, back in Seattle with my closest friends and family, or right here in the Montana mountains.
I want all of it at once, and I don’t ever want to be without any of it, and none of it feels like enough on its own.
I’ve been spoiled by a lifetime of adventuring, and I’m nostalgic for everywhere I’ve ever set foot.