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This blog is about the adventure of traveling and especially the interesting people that you meet. We will share stories about people and places we have encountered from around the United States, Ireland, Scotland, England, Italy, Austria, Switzerland, Germany, France, Canada, Spain, Mexico, The Vatican, The Netherlands, Belgium, Zambia, Botswana, Zimbabwe, South Africa, Liechtenstein, Portugal, Czech Republic, Hungary, Slovakia, and more. This is not a travelogue -- we leave that to Rick Steves -- this is a collection of fragments in the journey of life.


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Saturday, September 1, 2018

It is not clutter it is memories

     If you came here for one of my (or my family's) wonderful photographs, you will be disappointed.  Maybe you are disappointed even in them. Today it is just different.
     We have two places we call home and by the fact we travel a good deal neither is home for very long. I have been looking around my environments and pondering somethings about some things.
     When we get back from a trip we will have accumulated objects either by intention or by whim. On the intentional side there is a beautiful wine glass from Murano Island in Venice. I have never used it. I love glass and yet this object has never been used for its intended purpose. I suspect I think it too lovely. On the intentional side is also a glass made in Spain. It is an everyday water glass and I use it for wine. Odd.
     On a trip to Florence, Italy I had problems with my leg braces. I wear leg braces due to the fact that I had polio as a child and my legs are weak and my knees unpredictable. You can, by the way, use this fact when arguing with someone who  thinks they cannot travel due to a physical limitation. It was warm and sweaty and my leg grew raw. I went into a drugstore and asked for body powder not containing aluminum as it also makes me break out. A well trained, and I might say lovely, young woman walked to a display and handed a container to me. I only used half the container and the remaining half is in our bathroom cabinet where it reminds me of Florence, of the pharmacist, and dealing with my limits. As I do not read Italian the contents of the container are used on faith alone.
     Unintentionally I bring home receipts.  While not planned, I save them as a reminder of places I have eaten or bought gasoline or found an intentional item to purchase. Not wanting to litter I often just stick these papers in my pockets and they come home with us. What was the name of that Lebanese restaurant  in Paris? Just a minute I have the receipt from dinner.
      If I look, I can find something of little monetary but great emotional value to me. I am surrounded by accidental and premeditated souvenirs, although I do not like that word. People say that souvenir shops opened up  thousand of years ago so that travelers would not take something of real value. If everyone took a piece of the Great Wall home, there would be nothing left. 
     On the other hand, we never return with something that was made as a souvenir on purpose. Better than a key-chain with the Eiffel Tower is the receipt for the elevator ride up or a coaster from the Jules Verne bar.
    So there you have it, more thoughts on why my suitcase is heavier on the way home tan on the way to our adventure.

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