I just finished watching a Russian film called Roads to Koktebel, in which a boy and his father travel across Russia to the Crimea. Hearing the Russian language brought it back into my head. I began to say words to my son in Russian rather than Spanish. I looked at the road they traveled, that looked so much like the road I bicycled around Lake Issyk-Kul in Kyrgyzstan. I looked at the forest, the water, the decrepit wooden houses, the Russian characters, with longing.
I’m having the same reaction to photos of Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia. I haven’t been there, but am dying to go. Seeing photos makes the desire more urgent.
Basically, I have a bad case of wanderlust. The timing is not so good. Having a child hampers my travel plans a little. The state of the U.S. economy and the fact that I haven’t had an income in a while doesn’t help either.
“Nobody needs to travel,” my husband said, when I said I’m going to have to get on the road one of these days.
“I do.”
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