Morocco: The Epilogue

morocco-march-2009-522I can’t believe I’ve been back home for OVER A MONTH.

It’s truly mind-boggling how quickly time evaporates after you’ve done a trip. It’s as if time slowed down just enough for me to take things in … and then boing! out of the wormhole I was flung.

(And, in what’s quickly becoming a routine in my travels, my backpack – lost in the fray – was spat out a day later.)

Now Morocco seems to be all but gone from my immediate memory, save for my photos. (It’s the only reason it’s taken me so long to churn out the last few entries. Apologies.)

I remember within days of being back, friends were already asking me questions, like, “What was the highlight of your trip?” and “Where’s your next trip going to be?”

Highlight? I didn’t have a single highlight. I had a bunch of them.

Like the madness of crossing the streets in Meknes and Marrakech. 

The tour through Fez. 

The trek through the desert and peering up at the night sky, sitting on the sand.

The crispness of the mountain air.

The colours. The sounds. The smells.

I like having all the little memories. It’s as if, deep in the recesses in my mind, I have this tiny compartment with my memories pieced together like mosaic tiles, and safely tucked away, covered in cerebral bubble wrap.  

And where am I planning to go to next, you ask?

As much as I’d like to start researching that five-week trip to Southeast Asia, I can’t really think about that right now.  For starters, I’ve barely finished paying off for this trip.

And if I were to, say, acquire some real estate this year, there’s no way I’d be able to travel. Unless I suddenly fell into money. Or on top of a rich boyfriend.

Besides, I’d still like to have a little more time to lovingly gaze at my pictures.

But it was so nice to have the chance to travel somewhere, and plan it in advance. And I’d gladly recommend this country to anyone who asks. It’s truly a place to visit at least once.

Okay, enough. Onward with life, yes?

Spain: The Epilogue.

So I’ve been home now for about eight, almost nine days.

This week was was my first week back at work. And for whatever reason, it’s been half-crappy. I’ve started getting those rashes that mysteriously cleared themselves up when I was away.

And it’s made me miss Spain immensely.

I miss not knowing who I’ll meet next … and when I do meet those people, what stories they have to tell.

I miss the fact that time actually slowed down, so that a day actually felt like a day. There was more length, more weight. I didn’t blink and have the day evaporate. I didn’t have to rush anywhere if I didn’t want to.

I miss not having a routine or people asking things of me.

And most of all – especially today – I missed the heat.

When I go back in my mind and try to think of images that stand out for me … there are so many.

Like the tiny, snowy-haired nun who looked up and smiled at me as I let her pass on a narrow sidewalk in Granada, when I felt at my loneliest.

Or the cute little kids who were with their parents everywhere I went.

Or the views of cities from belltowers, or parks high up.

Or the design and architecture of the buildings in the south.

Or the palm trees. Ah, the palm trees.

If I had the language and the gumption, I’d go back there in a heartbeat. I would go to smaller towns to explore and to beaches to sun myself. Maybe I’d write more and Facebook less. (Wait … who am I kidding?)

I know that, if I had the option, I would have kept going, at least for another week. I wanted to wander and explore, just like all those other backpackers.

This has probably been the first time in the longest time that I haven’t felt complacent about something I’ve done. When people mention travelling, I get excited. I want to hear their stories, and I love it when I pick up pieces of advice for travelling amidst it all.

Now I have to wait until at least next spring to wander again. Maybe this time I’ll get to go with a friend.

But who knows what the next six months will hold?

Anything can happen, right?