attack of the travel bug

Lately I've been completely smitten with the idea of travel. I'm talking big time, far-away travel. I wanna see shit.

I'm reading a Henry James novel, Portrait of a Lady, and while it's not exactly a travel novel, journeys both real and emotional are part of the central focus. It's got me jonesing to go to Italy. I want to see Rome like you would not believe.

Somehow I keep coming across these images of China- either an acquaintence is there or has recently been there, or I"ve just seen more of it lately. But the result of that is I want to go to China. And Japan. Okay all of friggen Asia.

I'm still dying for a trip to South America (notably, Brazil and Argentina), thanks to the last two history classes I took with Dr. I.

My vacation in Crested Butte was so good...so unbelievably god-damn good that I want to go up there again, and have a vacation without worries, with good friends I never get sick of, with my trombone and jazz and a minimum of inspirational and challenging personal growth activities (the one I did participate in not promising to be so until I was standing on the 20 ft high cliff overlooking a resevoir with 10 otherwise cocky and self-assured jazz guys chanting my name). Can I repeat it again? Best vacation I've ever had. I think I'd forgotten that that was what vacations were really like. You shouldn't mind going home, but you shouldn't particularly want to. The being there is good enough.

My friend Jon recently went to Australia. I want to there.

My friend Jeremy recently won the Vienna gig, because he's a bad-ass like that, so I want to go there.

Bethany and Phil are in Germany. Lesse, do I want to go there? Check.

Kristopher's going to Ireland and France over Christmas. Dammit!!

I've never been to NYC properly. I'd like to see Georgia. Camping in Utah is a must. There are eight million people I miss and want to see in Seattle. Colorado Colorado Colorado.

I keep thinking how much fun it would be to take the quintet on a tour of Europe, or Japan. Something along the lines of Crested Butte- a few performances in each city, a free day or two, the joy of being someplace and being appreciated as more than a tourist but as someone who is there to enrich that place in their own personal way and move on again, each side having gained something invaluable from the other.

My only complication to all these wondrous plans? All that silly debt. My lack of employment. I just got here.

Something will happen. Before I'm 30, I'm going to Asia. This is a promise.