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Walking through the streets where I live and smelling that smell that means home. We enter our apartment that is in glorious disarray from the frenzy of last minute packing. Remnants of the early excitement of a trip that is over now. I sit on a couch that feels familiar, the silence ringing in my ears which are used to the roar of an airplane or the onslaught of New York City clatter they have been subject to the last few days.

Three cities in 7 days. I revisited Prague where I spent two weeks about 6 years ago and was able to share a city that I love with Ben. We both saw Amsterdam for the first time, roaming bridges over wide canals and avoiding the blurs of bike riders. Our last minute decision to visit our friends in New York City turned out to be an excellent one and we walked the city and ate good food with good company.

Now back to normal life. Sigh. Work, cleaning, managing bills. How do I return to that after I got only one week of adventure? That is what travel is to me. I remember thinking when I was younger that I wanted life to be an adventure, and one outside the norm, because mostly it draw me or excite me. Travel was the answer for me. As Rick Steves says “Travel is intensified living . . . and one of the last great sources of legal adventure”

I know I’m lucky to be able to live the life I do, but coming down from the “intensified living” doesn’t ever get easier for me. As much as I’m looking forward to seeing my family and friends, part of me is always sad to be home, simply because there is still so much left I haven’t seen, so many places I have yet to go.

My remedy is always to begin planning my next trip, and thus I decided my mom and I are not going to just go to Paris this summer but England too. I want to show her a place I love so much and she definitely deserves to experience my favorite kind of adventure.

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