The Travel Calendar

I have a travel calendar on my desk. It’s 1,000 Places to See before You Die, the perfect Christmas gift for a die-hard traveler and from a good friend. As I tear a page off each day, one of three things can happen. One, if it’s a place I’ve been, I reminisce. Some of the ‘have-beens’ include Chichen Itza with my dad, The Painted Ladies of San Francisco with some girlfriends, and The Grand Casino in Monte Carlo with my wonderful life-long friends when we studied abroad in Paris. Two, if it’s a place I’d like to go, I picture what it would be like. Three, if it’s a place that doesn’t interest me, it ends up in the trash. Should either of the first two be the case, the page ends up on my cubicle wall in a sort of eye-balled invisible map of the world.

As of May 11, the most laden areas of the world are the Caribbean, the big swath of cubicle-wall land forming Europe to the Middle East, and East/Southeast Asia. North and South America are pretty empty at the moment. I question myself as I add a page to the wall – Why so few Western hemisphere pages? Do the travel calendar creators think these areas don’t have much to offer? (Maybe I just haven’t gotten to them yet since I restrict myself from looking ahead in the calendar…) When it comes to the heavily-laden Caribbean area of cubicle wall-land…Are the travel calendar creators pre-disposed to making people imagine pristine beaches with the beautiful hues of blue and green water and sands of white and pink? Are people who sit in cubicles all day largely picturing exotic beach locations for their next vacation? Why not dream bigger, more foreign? Don’t travel calendar creators have a responsibility to open the minds of the cubicle-ee???

There are some surprises on the wall, places that I have never heard of or thought I’d like to go. Maybe I just like the pretty pictures. The tulip fields of Skagit Valley, Washington State are a good example of this. Although I’ve wanted to see the northwest with its towering trees and dreary weather, I’ve never heard of these fields, even with tulips being my favorite flower.

I find the most appealing areas of my pseudo-map to be Africa, with its pictures of elephants, zebras, gorillas, and lions in Namibia, South Africa, and Uganda. The animalistic appeal of experiencing this is almost overwhelming for me. Oh, and of course the Caribbean region with its pristine beaches (I’m not too big to say I don’t dream of laying [eggs, BB] on one of these beaches soaking up the sun.)

The wall map seems to reinforce my already-established wish list. A safari. The Amazon. At least a 6-week tour of East Asia. The pyramids. Petra. And then there are places and activities that I’ve forgotten about wanting to see and do – experiencing the Northern Lights, seeing the tall Road Runner-esque cacti of Arizona, walking on the Great Wall. Or not even knowing things that I wanted to see and do – seeing (not doing) the Iditarod, ruminating over The Last Supper painting in Milan, meditating in Japan’s zen gardens.

Some of the photography on these pages is incredible. I hope I have the opportunity, and skills, to do the same someday. I want to elicit the same emotion from others that I feel when I look at the photos.  Patagonia, Chile is a good example. See how I feel? ----->

I yearn to experience the culture when I look at some of these photos. Close ups of tribal faces, the grittiness of Asian markets, the imposing and magnificent Buddhist temples of the east. I want to touch it, smell it, taste it, get to know it. Experience it. Until then, I stare at the wall map I’ve made.

I want to do it again.

One year ago I was in Saudi Arabia. The memories, the smells, the gritty feeling beneath my feet are still fresh in my mind. I'm picturing walking in front of Riyadh's Chop Chop Square, the slight breeze ruffling my silky hijab against my cheeks. I can feel the weight of my loaner abaya around my legs as I stride with jeans on, the weight of the abaya on my shoulders. I can feel the relief, literally the weight off my shoulders, that I felt when I went out with the abaya I had bought myself. I can still feel the grittiness under my feet as I walk, the irritating grains of sand and particles of dirt that made their way onto the top of my sandals that I had to wash off each night. I remember some of the thoughts that ran through my head at the time. Who has tread on this ground? How old is this sand? What men of importance walked in this spot before me? This land is ancient, beyond Biblical times. It's striking that probably little has changed since then.

The colors and smells of the spices and fruits tempt my nose and tastebuds. My stomach grumbles as I'm called closer to them. Beautifully stacked pyramids of yellows, oranges, and reds - saffron, cardamom, and cumin. They resist the temptation to fall as patrons scoop what they need. Piles upon piles of dates, ranging from light brown to purple to black - the swaths of color amaze my eyes. The vendor offers me a black one to taste in the hopes that I'll buy his wares. The date is huge and sticky and sweet. It takes two bites. It sticks to the inside of my mouth. It's delicious. I buy a bagful and walk away licking my fingers clean.

The heavy scents surround me. The perfumed oils of men and women who can afford this luxury make me heady. The body odors of the men even more so. The cramped aisles of the market make these smells even more oppressive as people pass, even though I keep my distance from the men. They do the same. The fabrics of the pashminas that every vendor hawks smell new and old at the same time. Their thick, wooly polyester scents do not lend well to my wanting fresh light and airy aromas around me. Still, I take it all in because I know this is fleeting. I relish these new experiences.

The incense vendors, with chunks of brown bark in overflowing bins, entice you to smell the essence. It's incredible. Bin upon bin of slightly different colored brown, all meant to be burned. This is the home of frankencense. This is the home of gold and myrrh.
I want to do it again.