Every time I travel there is a romance happening between the place and myself. This is provably due to the fact that I often go solo. But is also the reason why I like to travel alone (sometimes).
When I say there is a romance going on, is not me looking to my reflection while window-shopping. Is more about discovering and falling in love with the emotions that come to life while I observe what is happening all around.
How many times I’ve seen myself in someone else’s movements, steps, words… A lot. What I mean is when I see a couple or a family it recalls memories of my past and also I see how far I’ve come that I am the kind of person that is not afraid of traveling by myself.
This has many advantages like deciding where to go, when, how.. but it has also a most deep impact; by traveling this way, I go into an inner journey, even without deciding to go for it. It is inevitable. You have no one to talk to, so you can just observe and listen to your thoughts. And trust me, my head is literally crowded with plenty of mini me. I discovered this way my lack of attention when a butterfly flies close to me and I stop doing whatever I was doing, but at the same time how I notice things that you can only see when you look at everything in detail as if it was a beautiful piece of art in a museum. People are the characters and the city is the stage. I am the story teller, the observer, the one who sees the world as a bunch of stories crossing each others paths. For once my story gives space to moments of someone else’s life.
One day I will tell you about that time I met Santa Clause. Yes, I did. Or when I a man from Nazareth asked for my help while in Rome (that one was weird)… But that is a story for another time.