Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

I remember the way the posts whipped past the windows as we glided on weather-worn tracks.  Each hamlet seemed to slowly revolved as our trained passed - white steeples turning on their axis, and red brick houses gathered around the squares.  There were always a few fields between us and the towns.  I've loved train rides since my very first from Berlin to Salzberg in March of 2001, and the journey from France to Amsterdam was no exception.  Though I live for a good plane ride, trains are best because you can get up and take look around - wander into other cars, see who is with you, chat with the nice looking blonde Dutch in the snack car.  But what I love best is sitting in a carriage across from your friends and gazing out at the countryside unfolding before your eyes, dreaming all the time of the adventures you'd have if you really lived there. Unfortunately, I don't speak French, and I've heard that's a problem. 

 But I love to travel.  Did I tell you? I love to travel.  You can sit on a train and learn all sorts of new things, discover news cultures, new ways the world is put together.  That's why I love maps too.  There is so much history, so many stories, legends, traditions - honestly, its enchanting.  There so many beautiful and interesting nooks and crannies in every city, each village.  What do they have here? Let's go to the park and sit - trying to capture a beautiful moment before it flies away, which they always do - fly away, that is. 

So, I sketch them in my journal, to preserve them for a time, and write about all of the things I see, things I imagine.  Sometimes, when there's nothing much to observe, I use my imagination. Like one day on the island I spotted the turtles all gathered on the log that's stuck in the channel - and I knew they were definitely plotting a takeover against the frogs, what else would they be doing? I know for a fact that turtles don't suntan. 

There's also something enchanting about classical and jazz together - like in those old movies with Gregory Peck or Fred Astaire- it plays and I'm up on my toes swinging and swaying, waltzing with my invisible partner - I've given up on being embarrassed about it, I like to dance. I don't think people play pretend enough - they think reality is dull, but its only dull if you can't let go a little. Call me sentimental or romantic - maybe that's why I like swing dancing so much - but there's something to be said about twirling away to "crazy little thing called love" in a way that you can really move and its just you, your partner and that beat, spinning so fast you can hardly see the people around you, but when its done, you know its good.  That probably didn't make any sense at all, but I'm too tired to explain today.  I'll just stare at my bouquet of roses, read "Dear John", and fall asleep being myself.