Wanderlust
It’s here again. I haven’t had it in a while. Spurts of desire to hop on a plane and go visit people and places, maybe, but not this deeper, blacker drive to fly away and disappear for a while.
I’ve always had a thing for the idea of traveling. Traveling, as a reality, however, has sometimes proved disappointing. There is so much tourism. Everywhere you go, you run into packs of American high-schoolers on Senior trips. In Rome, they lined all of the sight-worthy fountains. They were throwing stuff in, laughing at their amazing wit in contriving such an original diversion from the ancient city. In the Alps, it was said that you could always pick out the Americans on the slopes; they were the ones in the blue jeans (ha ha ha! ho ho ho!). I asked my boss if people could tell so easily that I was American. They said, “Not so much.†Must be the perpetually chubby face. Someone told me I have the face of a Dutch milkmaid. In Salzburg I was sick for three weeks and couldn’t eat, and when I finally came to and could receive visitors, the women stared at my cheeks and said, “You’ve lost weight… You’re pretty!†They were surprised. Astonished, actually. As if I’d been pulling a fast ugly one on them all that time. Women are always blaming men for their eating disorders, but I think we do it to each other. I was afraid to ingest anything beyond clear soup and tea for another week and a half after those well-meant comments. (more…)