Why I Travel (Part 1)

I travel because deep within me burns an insatiable hunger to try new things. I’m an experience junkie. When traveling it’s impossible to know exactly what will happen, who I’ll strike up a conversation with, what I’ll learn, what trouble I’ll get into.

New places often surprise and delight me in unpredictable ways. In Barcelona, my hotel was right on the route for a twelfth night parade. From my miniscule balcony I had a perfect view of the crowd and floats, including the three kings bearing gifts and a truck filled with coal for those who had misbehaved.

High in the Andes Mountains in Venezuela I arrived at a hotel in a tiny town just as a wedding was getting underway. They invited me to attend and I became an honored guest.

In Bolivia I arrived on the day the local Madonna was taken from her niche in the Cathedral and carried around the main square. Behind this solemn procession came Mardi Gras like dancers shimmying in glittery costumes and dancing their way in spike heels around the cobblestoned streets. The tiny town was filled with people from miles around dressed in their brightest finery who sang and danced and drank in the streets.

I travel because it’s fun.

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