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I'm a writer and born traveler, and first visited Italy when I was two. Italian was my first language, which made it hard to be understood by the other toddlers living near our home in Bay Shore, Long Island.
From that young age, I've had my father's wanderlust. Preparing, imagining and arriving — discovery inspires me and I often long for other lands. To give you a taste of what I'm talking about, here's an excerpt from my travel journal:
"The sun on the Adriatic lights the sky and blanches the beach stones as waves stroke the shore, lulling, insistent. Summer has come to al Cesano, and a week in central Italy is too short a time to spend.
On my first afternoon the sea is barely rippled. The next day a sirocco shakes the serranda and shudders the thin glass windows. An opaque sky threatens rain that never comes. 'This happens all the time,' a resident says. 'The clouds circle, but nothing happens.' Like the latest stalemate on legislative reform.
The next day dawns bright and clear, and in the evening friends share a meal of many courses before drifting to a local café for conversation. '...isn't Italian the hardest literature to translate, so many double meanings it takes a lifetime to learn ... but, seriously, which of these places has the best ice cream?'
The week rushes past in a blur and Sunday arrives too soon, with the morning spent watching the waves and the day spent with family until evening flies fast into the violet sunset. Among the hills, houselights flicker in the gloaming, so many left to glitter isolated under a starless sky."
Enjoy these other photos of recent jaunts. Ciao, à presto!
To share your inspiration, visit the Contact page. For the imaginative writer, there's always somewhere new to go.
