for my blogging sisters.
Has anyone heard from or seen news about Leonie?
She seems to have disappeared from my radar screen.
I'm starting to get a little concerned.
This is the story of the journey of my life. Travel can be hard work. So much to see. So little time. So many missed connections. So much lost luggage. But every stop, every detour, every challenge along the way provides a lesson to be learned. Traveling mercies to us all.
for my blogging sisters.
Some people go to Rome and shop.
The day after Thanksgiving this past November, Steve, Kristiana, Daniel, and I went to the church to have our photo taken for the church directory. Steve brought along our camera, and we took pictures while we waited for our turn.
One of the ways in which I keep my journeys on my mind is by reliving them. For a month or so after each trip, I find myself stopping at some point during each day, taking a look at my watch, and wondering to myself, "What was I doing four days ago/a week ago/a month ago at this time? Where was I? What was I eating for dinner two or three Sunday nights ago?" Another way I keep the journey alive is by looking at the photos and rereading the journal entries. I am never more than a few thoughts or images away from anyplace I have ever been in my life. (Another question that comes up often is this: How can anyone go through life, especially at times when one is traveling, without keeping a journal??? But that's a-whole-nother topic of conversation.)
I'd be lying if I said I like coffee. I don't particularly like coffee. What I like is the experience of drinking coffee. The cafes themselves. Placing the order, especially in Spanish or Italian. Watching the deliberate, well-measured gestures of the barista. Waiting. The flourish of the presentation. The tiny little cup. The foam on top of the capuccino. The sugar as it sits atop the foam for a brief moment, and then the slow descent, the fall through the frothy platform into the strong, hot liquid energy below. The quiet time to think, pray, journal, prepare mentally for the day ahead. Time to sit. In the cafe. In the moment. To remind myself: I am in Spain. Madrid. Italy. Rome. Alone. At peace. The surge of adrenalin as the surge of caffeine surges through my veins.
1. being at home on a chilly Saturday evening
Amy wrote and asked me the question that is the title of this post. Am I ever afraid when I am out and about, globetrotting alone? The easiest answer to that question is: yes and no. Truthfully, I am not afraid - in the sense of "I could die if I do this." Or "What if I get raped or robbed or drugged in a restaurant?" I really don't feel that sort of fear or panic.
To make a very long story short, I made it to Chicago on time yesterday and made it to my gate just before boarding. Then there was an gate change. Then there was an aircraft change. Then I was bumped from one flight to another.
but not for much longer. Just one full day left and then an early departure on Monday morning. A long flight to Chicago, a ninety minute layover, and then a flight to Charlotte. (That type of route is the cost of flying on frequent flier miles... Plus there is the fact that Charlotte Douglas International Airport has no direct flights to Spain or Italy... London, yes. Frankfurt, yes. Lots of Caribbean and South American countries, yes. But flights to either of my two favorite overseas escapes, not yet. C'est la vie.)
That means, "I'm in Rome" in Italian. I arrived from Madrid nearly an hour ago and will leave this lovely little hotel Steve found for me and go wandering the lovely, ancient streets of this Eternal City... or at least, that's how it is known.