Members of my family suffer from what my Nana has deemed “gypsy blood.” This may come from an inaccurately rosy view of gypsies, but I kind of like it. There’s also a family story about somebody marrying a gypsy or running off with a gypsy or something, which we’re strangely proud of. The point is, we all love to be on the road.
For some of us, it’s more severe than others. Nana, for instance, can barely breathe through a day if she isn’t in the midst of planning, or at least dreaming about planning, some sort of travel. Since he hit the age of 18, my brother seems incapable of living anywhere for a complete year. And then there’s me. From the time I was a baby, I was as happy in another home, another city, another state, another country as I was in my own. Still am, and it has nothing to do with being unhappy about where I live. I just yearn to travel. Different foods, different people, different energy. When you step onto the street in another place, everything is vibrating with possibility, even if you’re on a quiet, European side street. Even if you’re on a deserted beach road. Even if it’s just the next city over. I get excited about all trips–2 days or 3 weeks, 100 miles or 8,000 miles.
As I type, I’m preparing for two upcoming trips. Hemingway, remember?
The Ernest Hemingway Home & Museum is in the always-vibrant Key West, Florida, which is about half an hour from where my grandparents stay for the winter. Spring break with snowbird grandparents? Nothing sounds better to me. My other lovely grandmother even supplied me the air miles to get there. This time next week, I’ll be closing in on the beach. I haven’t been to the Keys since I was a kid, so I’m looking forward to exploring with my grandparents.
It’s almost too grand to comprehend, really. Early this summer, some of my family members are exploring Kenya and Tanzania for three weeks. One of the places we’ll be visiting overlooks Mt. Kilimanjaro. This photo is from the Serena hotel website, where we’ll be staying for a couple days. Hemingway, of course, wrote The Snows of Kilimanjaro and Under Kilimanjaro, both of which are on my must-read-soon list. I would like to read them once, and then reread them on flight over. Unbelievable, right? Africa! I’m having difficulty wrapping my mind around it.
Any travel advice or experiences with either place? What’s your most memorable trip?
By the way, I just finished my brunch frittata and have proclaimed it the best thing to ever come out of my kitchen, excluding Thanksgiving. More on that later.
Lots of love from the South,