Thursday, March 11, 2010

Pack My Suitcase



I want to walk down narrow London lanes. Drink Heineken in Holland. Train to Edinburgh. Get drunk in Dublin. Order mozzarella pizza in Sicily. Photograph children dangling from German jungle-gyms. Photograph fiddling buskers playing the desolate streets of Denmark. Photograph groups of giggling girlfriends holding hands in Japan. I want to drink red wine and chew on cheese and bread, while a Venetian native steers me down a slender, green canal in a long, black gondola. I want to write about miscommunications; missed flights; lost baggage and the fast-talking French waiters I fear. I want to dance to Polish music after a plate of sausage and sauerkraut. I want to picnic in New Zealand; order a cappuccino in Milan; gape at beautiful Bulgarian ballerinas; roam Rome's Colosseum, wander to Norway, prance through Prague...

This is what I have for daydreams on my rainy day off: a life of fearless travel where I have money like a candy store has colorful corn syrup.

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