Posted by: tinyoliphant | October 3, 2011

My wandering feet

Sometimes I lay awake at night thinking about all the foods I’ll never eat again. Heavenly Portuguese egg tarts from that little bazaar in Kota Bharu. A hot plate of chicken rice from that one food stall in Singapore that we went to over and over again. Countless little clay cups of chai that costs pennies each on every street and train station all over India. That cheap little rice, chicken, and chickpea dish from Istanbul that we never bothered to ask the name of. Bottles and bottles of Maaza and Dr. Thanh. It’s not all about the food, but the food helps me remember. I still have some tea from Darjeeling that takes me right back to foggy mornings on those mountain foothills. I’m saving it for a rainy day.

Readings for class are piling up page by page and all I can think about is hopping a train to Mongolia or crossing the Moroccan desert on the back of a camel. It’s horrible, but I just want to make enough money to be able to leave it all again. Traveling is like a drug for me. The more I do, the more I want.

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