Travels

Now, friends rave about a Caribbean beach, and it doesn't compare to the secret lagoon in the Andaman Sea.  New York foodies swear by a fusion eatery, and the food insults my palate.

I've never felt as free as I did then.  Not when I moved west. Not when I traveled the world with my girlfriend.

Traveling together on the road prevented regular showers.  At times, stumbling out of the trails with our boots wrapped in mud and skin crusted with sweat, we both stank, but that I understood.

Venice was the first city that I backpacked to on my own. I stayed at a pension in a courtyard that still conjures great images. I remember most the changing of lights, the diffusion of just-after dawn and the settling of dusk, after the crowds. Three matrons on a

Spotless malls in Hong Kong had corridors filled with Filipino maids and servants picnicking on tarp during the weekends.  Efficient trains in Tokyo were filled with drunk and snoring businessmen.

But how good was that time!  There was a wonton noodle stand in an alleyway near my apartment.  The vendor lady would often ladle extra portions for me, recognizing that I lived down the block.