Love where you live

Home is where the heart is…right? Well what if your heart is all over the world? Then would home be wherever your stuff is? Maybe you don’t have stuff, or are traveling with all of it. So would home be where your family lives? Sigh. Who knows. I suspect I have not found home yet; haven’t found one place where my heart is. But I fear that is an impossible feat, as I have dispersed little fractions of my heart on six different continents. As I walked the streets of Toronto and the Daniels signage blatantly bawled my name, I…

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Maple syrup and hockey, eh?

I never thought Canada was my type. Or at least I didn’t think we would hit it off like we did. I mean, I always figured it would be nice, but nice in that kind of ‘we could be friends way,’ not the ‘I want to spend every waking moment in your presence kind.’ It is a love affair, my relationship with travel–some countries will set my pulse racing with excitement, while others draw lukewarm feelings, no butterflies in my stomach. But you can never really know a place until you visit it, go out at least once. That seemingly…

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Coolest. Plane. Ever.

I am flying. I am sitting in the comfort of my fancy, black leather seat, laptop open, and writing this blog. I arrived at the airport a few hours earlier for the second time in a month. I know, I know, I love this place. Besides, after such a long separation from travel we have a lot of catching up to do. I walked into Terminal 3 of Los Angeles Airport to meet a scene quite unlike that of last month’s. There were flowers in vases, fancy carpets, and cute pink mood lighting. Beyonce’s Sweet Dreams was playing in the background.…

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Ciao, Puerto Rico

It’s over? Am I really leaving all this behind?  Every time I leave a country it feels like a break up. Knowing that for now, this country and I can’t be together brings about an overwhelming sense of sadness.  I feel the pain of separation creeping up on me as the plane leaves my newest love behind. I am overrun with thoughts of how we can rebuild our love–of how quickly I can get back to rekindle this relationship.  The first week back home is miserable. All I can think about is that country. All I can talk about is…

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Beauty at the Bio Bay

It was pouring down rain.  Not exactly ideal weather for kayaking on a bioluminescent bay in the pitch black darkness of the night. But José, the driver of the tour bus kept reassuring us that it wasn’t raining in Fajardo. After all, it was one hour from San Juan on another part of the island, and his people at the tour company had told him it was not raining there.  One hour later, the bus having splashed through rather thick traffic most of the way, we arrived. And it was raining.  But considering that he had provided some laughs and a cooler…

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Uncle Jorge

A slushy machine? Jorge, the bartender of the millennium, set the tall glasses in front of us, complete with the little umbrella and a cherry, and waited patiently for our reactions. I did not have high expectations. Had I not already seen Andrew Zimmern’s shocked reaction, I would have been just as surprised that the “original” and supposed best Piña Colada, was a pre-made mixture from a slushy machine. I tried it. The sticky, humid temperature of the evening made that first cold sip quenching and almost heavenly. It really was the best Piña Colada I had ever tasted! We told Jorge exactly…

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Café in the plaza

Trying to channel my inner artist and writer, I searched endlessly for Cuatro Estaciones Café, a café known as a popular meeting place for artists and writers. After asking hotel guest services, several locals on the street, the girl behind the jewelry shop counter, and the man in the restaurant opposite the plaza, all of whom had no idea what I was talking about, I thought I might never find it. But lo and behold, the third person we asked at the tourist bureau knew what it was and where to find it. And when I finally saw it, I…

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Tranquility at San Cristóbal

So I’m supposed to be doing this travel writing thing; supposed to be documenting the things I see in the places I go. But I can’t stalk out a story. I can’t just show up at a historical site, or restaurant, or cultural location, and start to write. The story finds me. It manifests itself anywhere, at any time, and demands to be written. So when I found myself at Castillo de San Cristóbal, one of the forts of San Juan, and a truly recognizable symbol of Puerto Rico, I figured I should probably write something about it.  I stood there,…

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A flight at the end of the tunnel

Aah, the airport. The bookends of all my greatest travel stories. I am finally here, finally feeling the familiar rush of the traveling I have so missed. The crowded, always too narrow walkways are strewn with people trying to figure out where to go. Inevitably, the charming, old couple who appears to have never traveled before, always gets in line right in front of me, asking for advice and wanting to know if they are in the right place. I oblige them with a smile, after all, this is all part of the experience. I watch as lovers part and exchange…

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Life is good again

I finally did it. I opened my wallet, logged on to cheaptickets.com, arranged my flight, and clicked the beautiful blue ‘CONFIRM’ button that would restore my happiness in an instant. I am going to Puerto Rico! The separation between travel and I has been bleak. There were many long nights spent lying awake dreaming of travel, dreaming of what I would do when we saw each other again. I imagined myself in the airport and what I’d be wearing when we met. I thought about travel every day. There were moments of watching others in the ‘honeymoon’ phase of their…

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