The travel bug...

Around eight I left the comfort of the hill top and took the longest cable car ride in the world back down over rocky cliffs, and from there bargained a ride in a courtesy car to meet Khahn, who rode me and my bags on his motor bike through Da Nang morning traffic to the bus stop where I took a local bus to Hoi An, and another motor bike taxi to the hotel.







Tripping out is spontaneous movement, jumping from one thing to the next, heading onwards..looking outwards..What makes it so enjoyable for me?
Could it be inspiration from my early years? Scuffy the Tug Boat, my favourite book? Me and Bobby McGee sung by Bobby Gentry? The advertisements on the back of magazines for Peter Stuyvesant cigarettes? ..people, things, moving places...It's not a lack of responsibility or about leaving things behind, or about running away, it is about seeing as much as I can from an ever moving window into lives in other places..

My favourite poem ever since I was small is this one by Robert Louis Stevenson:


Travel


I should like to rise and go
Where the golden apples grow;--
Where below another sky
Parrot islands anchored lie,
And, watched by cockatoos and goats,
Lonely Crusoes building boats;--
Where in sunshine reaching out
Eastern cities, miles about,
Are with mosque and minaret
Among sandy gardens set,
And the rich goods from near and far
Hang for sale in the bazaar;--
Where the Great Wall round China goes,
And on one side the desert blows,
And with the voice and bell and drum,
Cities on the other hum;--
Where are forests hot as fire,
Wide as England, tall as a spire,
Full of apes and cocoa-nuts
And the negro hunters' huts;--
Where the knotty crocodile
Lies and blinks in the Nile,
And the red flamingo flies
Hunting fish before his eyes;--
Where in jungles near and far,
Man-devouring tigers are,
Lying close and giving ear
Lest the hunt be drawing near,
Or a comer-by be seen
Swinging in the palanquin;--
Where among the desert sands
Some deserted city stands,
All its children, sweep and prince,
Grown to manhood ages since,
Not a foot in street or house,
Not a stir of child or mouse,
And when kindly falls the night,
In all the town no spark of light.
There I'll come when I'm a man
With a camel caravan;
Light a fire in the gloom
Of some dusty dining-room;
See the pictures on the walls,
Heroes fights and festivals;
And in a corner find the toys
Of the old Egyptian boys.


Blogging on the other hand
requires little, a lap top and discreet camera, an inspiring screen saver and a hotel with electricity and WiFi...