They say that the time it takes to get over a relationship is two times the length of the relationship itself. How long, then, to come to terms with the end of travel? And does three weeks really give you enough to miss a place? My three-week trip ended two weeks ago but I still dream about Egypt every night.
Travel, for me, is exquisite pain. Exquisite because it is in travel that I feel most alive; painful because travel and I cannot be together — she keeps on moving without me. I used to be able to deflect this end-of-trip deflation by just moving on, and on, and on — there was always someplace else to go. Now, unlike in that not so distant past, trips have to end. And it is always crushing when they do.
Right now I feel that my Egypt trip was the most special; the one I miss the most. Probably I will feel this way about the next one, and the next, but right now I am reveling in the exquisite pain of reliving that trip through memories, photographs, Facebook chats, and, especially, dreams. And, sometimes, this is what I see in my dreams: