Why do I like travelling so much? Why do I get to one place, and then immediately start dreaming up how I could go someplace else?
The thought crossed my mind years ago when diarrhea set it on day-3 on the trans-Siberian railroad, and again two weeks ago on hour-5 coming bumping along back from Siem Reap, that Ralph Waldo Emerson had said “travelling is a fool’s paradise.”
I want to put a lot of land under my feet. I wish that my kids could be as fascinated by maps as I am, just spend time studying them, consuming them.