Travelog, February '10

Once, a lifetime ago, you said about my weekly train journeys: "Oh, how romantic!". I had never, until you said it, considered them romantic. But, maybe they are, if someone is waiting for you at the other end. Usually, nobody is, not any more, not for a long time. Usually, I just sit in the train, drink my coffee, listen to my walkman and, maybe, read a book. More and more I just look out of the window at the well known landscape. This is the same rout I have been taking for more than 30 years. I should know every single house, tree or road by the tracks, but, surprisingly, I do not. Not really. Traveling has always, and still is, been an emotion, escape of sorts, being nowhere in particular. Very often, an anticipation. This rout witnessed many of my feelings (tears even): betrayal, love, happiness, sadness, hopelessness.

Painting by J.M.W. Turner

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