Travel Log is a series of posts that I’m typing out, word for word, from my personal written journal that I bring on trips. & Trust me: I write a lot.
Don’t expect too much journalistic flair — This is typed straight from my trusty ol’ college ruled freewriting.
No edits, no additions, no afterthoughts.
It’s the closest possible thing I could think of to bringing you with me.
On the train to Riomaggiore, Cinque Terre, Italy
September 10, 2010
I have never seen any freaking place so beautiful in my life. And it was only when the train allowed, the tunnels: GLIMPSE. GLIMPSE. GLIMPSE.
Chiavari (List written to remember which stops were prettiest)
Such quiet, untouched beauty. Ooooolllld apartments, graffiti, crumbling, tired, against the most perfect sea you can imagine. I’ve never seen an ocean so big. So perfect. Content. I got MAD goosebumps when we first came out of a loooooong tunnel and we were surrounded by green rolling hills dotted with orange and yellow houses; red shingled roofs, green shutters. Lush. Rolling. Abundant.
I didn’t even take out my camera.
Honestly, I was afraid to freaking BLINK for fear of missing anything.
I will never forget these crazy, sunkissed colors: Mustard, yellow, pink, salmon, sea green, brick red, peach. Red shingled roofs. Green shutters. I’ll own a house with them someday. Houses.
I’m not a kid anymore.
No one needs to hold my hand on trips. I don’t have that sentinel figure(s) to look to for direction and agenda, where I can turn off my brain and follow the like sheep. This older couple whose been in the same carriage as me, they got up & gathered their bags and I felt a twinge of sadness. They seem like they’d be nice parents. I almost felt like I could follow them, like he’d reach down & pick up my backpack, even wear it for me like my dad would, and I could just follow.
Nope. My backpack now. My journey.
I don’t know. I feel so full of… anticipation and promise and my life before me that I might cry.
Because I’m scared? Because I’m proud? Because I’m grateful and undeserving?
Probably a combination of everything.