I hate sometimes that I only get to update the blog late at night. I have so much more energy to say the things I want to say during the day. I think of things I’d like to write and the words seem to come so much easier than when I actually have time to write.
Maybe it’s the physical act of sitting and having the computer in front of me that makes it more difficult. Maybe it’s just the fact that, during the day, writing on the blog would be a welcome distraction from work.
Whatever the reason, I find it hard to say the things I want to say when I actually have the opportunity to do so. This is why my loyal readers get lots of the song in my head and little of the thoughts in it. Posting songs is easy. Composing thoughts…not so much.
Anyway, I have been thinking a lot lately of traveling. I haven’t been thinking so much of the places I want to go so much as I’ve been thinking about the places I’ve been. Little things keep popping up to remind me of them.
For instance, I’ve recently started drinking kefir every day. Kefir, roughly translated into English, means “omfg, this milk has gone rotten and has chunks! Sorry but it is now in your hair and all over your luggage.” It’s a drink I first experienced in Romania, four years and two days ago.
The people who were with me then, the Italian, the Greek and others, would be surprised to find me drinking kefir willingly on a daily basis. The first time I tried it, I quite literally sprayed it all over our bus.
When you’re parched and in a foreign land, there’s nothing quite as quenching as cold, fresh milk, especially when all the water is of the mineral variety. When you’re parched and anticipating a long, refreshing draught of milk only to receive a mouthful of sour, lumpy kefir…well, let’s just say that there is nothing quite so likely to stimulate your spontaneous spit-take reflex.
But that’s not what I want to write. That’s just one story of many from the trip. What I really want to write is that it’s been four years since my trip to Romania with the Italian and the Greek.
It’s been four years since I shared eight days worth of long flights, cramped buses, bitter cold and taxi rides to nowhere with those two. It’s been four years since we stayed up all night drinking the night away in a chateau in the Carpathians. It’s been four years since we visited Bran Castle. It’s been four years since we regretted our carousing on the excruciating bus ride down the mountain.
It seems like only yesterday but, already, it’s been four years and we’ve all moved on. We’ve graduated from school, moved, changed jobs, some of us three times already. And the Italian is getting married, for crying out loud.
Where did the time go? Has it really been four years? Hard to believe.
And am I really drinking kefir every morning? Seriously? After the nasty shock I received that day on the bus, all those years ago? I guess life does move us all down the road after all.
I guess, in a nutshell, that’s what I’m trying to say. During the day, there just seem to be more words to say it, more ways to express it. Life move us all on down the road, no matter how we might like to stop and linger for a while. The best we can do, when we remember the people who shared the trip with us, just for a little while, is to smile at the memories, raise a glass and drink a toast in their honor.
Here’s to the Greek and to the Italian and to all the rest. Thanks for sharing with me a little piece of the trip called life.