Wanderlust

I’ve got it bad. Somewhere along the lines I’ve contracted it. The very worst case, too.

Wanderlust (n.): ˈwän-dər-ˌləst a very strong or irresistible impulse to travel (etymology: German, from wandern to wander + lust, desire, pleasure)

Occasionally it’ll be but an itch. A scratch-able one. Nothing out of the blue, nothing insuppressible, nothing I couldn’t push to the wayside. After all, they’re normal—I’ve come to terms with my restless soul.

I suppose this accruement over the past two years (my last trip was to Paris and London with school—enjoyable, but not particularly fun or what I wanted to get out of from such amazing places thanks to mediocre planning, a [hot! British!] mediocre tour guide, and well, the mediocracy expected from going with classmates). I promise you, I am not une snob). It hardly helps thumbing through Flickr and ogling over photographs of Barcelona, Thailand, Greece, Portugal, et al., or watching Lorraine Stanick‘s vlogs of her solo (!) travels to Los Angeles, San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle, and reading about the fabulous Lauren‘s Eurotrip and au pair adventures. Already I’ve scrawled into my journal a list of places to go and things to do there. Bookmarked are:

• France (Paris, Southern France, especially)
• England (London: I absolutely loved it there)
• Spain & Portugal (o indulge myself in pretty guitar music and incredible architecture)
• Greece, Italy (Anything in the Mediterranean is beautiful)
• Morocco, Egypt
• Dubai UAE
• Shanghai, Hong Kong, Taipei

And within North America…

New York City (Yes, I live within an hour from the city. But I haven’t yet explored it for what it’s worth; are stay-cations tacky?)

L.A. & San Francisco (They look like beautiful cities. Clean, with beautiful weather, and lovely views from every window)

Seattle (An understated and underrated city that’s often a stop for switching between airlines/flights. From what I could see at 3 a.m., it looks lovely)

Canada (Toronto, Montreal, already been to both and am in love)

With only a few weeks before the much awaited for uni move-in day, the only feasible means of satiating my wanderlust is perhaps a trip to Canada. My excitement is a bit childish—I’ve been dog-earing, marking, and researching places to stay, eat, and visit rather maniacally. Toronto! I’ve a soft spot for cities, and want to immerse myself in museums and exploring by day, and late night desserts after a night of dancing by evenings. Suggestions of tacky, tourist-y things to do? And non-tourist-y things to do? I’m crossing my fingers in the hopes of actually executing this mini-trip.

It goes without saying that this trip will be with the family, for better or for worse. I can’t help but to dream of traveling alone. Single. Solo. With me, myself, and I (and a great pair of trustworthy shoes!). There’s something incredibly tantalizing in being able to explore the unknown headfirst. And it has such romantic appeal. I suppose meeting a European stranger, falling in love, and all that jazz would be nice, but darling, traveling, exploring, indulging, and appreciating with yourself allows you to know you. It allows for unrestrained immersion in the culture without hindrance. You live, you learn, and you ponder in front of a Pollack, determining the meaning of each color streak and splash, for as long as you’d like. Sans interruption.

It’s just you, the city, and all it has to offer. Romance in its truest form, and where you (and your trusty guidebooks) become the best of friends.

“I would rather live in a world where my life is surrounded by mystery than live in a world so small that my mind could comprehend it.

—Henry Emerson Fosdick

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