I’m

I’m back to the grind after a long (almost a month) vacation in Europe. It started with a family visit in England; then to Ludwigshafen, Germany - a sister city to Pasadena, California for the last sixty years, where we enjoyed lavish hospitality and celebrations of sixty years of cooperation; on to Nuremberg; Prague; Vienna; Budapest; Salzburg and Munich on the way home to Los Angeles. It was a great break away from bills, appointments, meetings, deadlines, and . . . home repair.

I am not sure how other writers fare but I go blank during my travels. I am not a scribe but an observer. I sit there enjoying nature, noting the topography of the country and the architecture of the city, studying the mood the environment creates in me. For example, is it a noisy city? Impressive with monuments and manicured parks? Busy or serene? Does it have a claustrophobic effect on me? Cities have their character too. Large squares make them appear visitor-friendly. Narrow and winding streets, like in old cities, can be suspicious or intriguing, hiding ugly surprises or unexpected wonders at each turn.          

Group travel offers a great opportunity for character study. We start out with cold, polite, impersonal interactions, each individual confined within his/her world. As relationships develop en route, especially after a few drinks, our true selves emerge sparkling or stinking, as the case maybe. There is always the joker of the group, the complainant, the adventurous, the quiet mouse, the wise, the generous, the lawmaker, the diva, the chatterbox. No matter how much we would like to leave our skin behind, our character travels with us.

I always come back enriched after my travels, enchanted with the beauty of the lands visited, wisened by the experiences encountered, imbibed with fresh thoughts about human character, and with corrective lenses for each country visited. The place I imagined is rarely the one I stumble upon.

As for familiar cities revisited, I realize, with a pang, that they are no longer the sites of my memories. They have become an aging mass of buildings that have long lost their luster. It is hard to accept the changes, even if there have been improvements, because the neighborhood has become unfamiliar territory, with strangers living there. I realize that I will never recapture my memories in their virginal state. Times have changed and so have I. Hopefully I have grown wiser with age. . . and travels.