It’s not sunny. All the other clichés for a story about the beach are there: crashing waves, sandy beach, pelicans and gulls, salty air, but no sun. I can’t complain though. On the north and south ends of the island thunderheads loom, but above our little section of beach the sky is a much lighter hue. The occasional drizzle isn’t enough to force us from the sand, though far off lightning strikes at the waves. Picking my book* up again, I realize two facts. First for the first time since I was eighteen I have spent an entire year in the country. Secondly the memories of the trips I have taken are becoming jumbled, less clear. Some memories seem to have been romanticized, gilded by nostalgia. Others dulled, stifled by the reality of the present. This is a belated attempt to capture some of the of my favorite travel memories from the past few years. A travelogue, written well after the fact, of my time in Kenya, Palestine, Sudan, Nova Scotia and just around. Hopefully, soon, there will be new travels to record here too.
* Robert Young Pelton’s The Adventurist
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