Return.

So many travelogues to follow. But for now: even when I was away, I was here. 

Or here was there.

Minotaur gets got in front of purple tree, Louvre. 

In anticipation of travel.

The time is nearly here for our two-week Easter break. Classes end this Friday, and Erin and I take off Saturday afternoon. We will travel together to Copenhagen and Stockholm for the first week, and then I'm embarking on a solo journey through Paris and Prague for the final week. Everything is booked, mental packing lists are already in the works, and with five days of work ahead of me, I am already antsy with anticipation. I feel so lucky to be setting off on this adventure. I think there is something about being a stranger in a strange land that not only helps to make you more self-aware, but also encourages faith in some sort of human connectedness. Don't get me wrong, there are assholes in the world, but by and large when you are lost in the back streets of a place whose language you cannot speak, someone will happily point you in the right direction. At least, that has always been my experience. 

And continues to be here.

We met a Danish friend-of-a-friend two months ago for only one night, and she has agreed to show us around Copenhagen when we are there. Two other friends-of-a-friend are traveling with us during the first week. A good friend from college, and a friend of my parents are taking turns hosting me in Paris. In Prague, I might be staying with someone I've only met once or twice in my life. I think what I'm getting at is that when you are "away" -- away from your usual home, your usual language, maybe even your comfort zone -- people's generosity of spirit emerges more than ever. Hospitality. The welcoming reception of strangers. 

All this talk of "away" has somehow (predictably) reminded me of home. The epitome of Maine hospitality: "You can't get there from here" -- the resigned condolence given to lost tourists who are trying to find their way. I've actually heard this said, yet it is more often than not followed by succinct directions that make a lie of the first statement. The hospitality of my home state may not exactly be coddling, but beneath the wintery disposition rests a sincerity and generosity extended even to those "from away." 

And what of Athens? It continues to emerge from what brief and mild winter season it had. This week there was one of the strangest meteorological sign-posts for spring that I've ever experienced. For about three days, the sky turned bright white, and the air became heavy and clinging. The culprit? Saharan sand blown across thousands of miles and over the Mediterranean. Apparently this happens every year, an annual beacon to the warmer months. And if it rains when this sand is still in the air, it rains red. 

Other than bizarre weather forecasts ("widespread dust"), Athens is starting to come alive for the summer. Everyone says that Greece is truly a summer country and as the sidewalk cafes overflow, the clubs move shop to the beaches, and bikinis emerge in shop-windows, I'm starting to see why. Greeks love leisure. Getting a coffee is a social institution that takes hours; businesses still close for siestas and Sundays. Summer is just one long, extended excuse for later nights out, more weekends away and longer coffee dates. And why not? 

My apologies for the fragmented nature of this post, too many thoughts to get down to worry about transitions between topics. But whether it's the summer months or a chance to get away you're longing for, keep in mind, you can get there from here.