On Transit, In Transit
Welcome to my travelogue! There was a time not too long ago (five years ago in fact) when this blog was used to share my first trip abroad to friends/family back home. So much has changed about the blogging industry since those good old days. I miss the “old school” ways of blogging…. you know, when posts that felt personal, like a conversation with a friend. I miss the unkempt photos, the daily ins and outs of just life. No lists, no round ups, no affiliate links, no ads, no sponsorships, or best of’s. And that’s what you’ll find here.
This summer, I’ll be sharing daily keepings of Luke and I’s trip to Morocco, Italy and Portugal here on the “Travelogue” portion of my blog. I won’t be sharing these posts on social media - that’s not what this is about, after all! Instead, when I’m able, I’ll hop on, share a thought or two, maybe a discovery or a philosophical tidbit that’s been revealed to me during our days wander. No pressure. No nagging guilt to share. Just a happy little place to be present in my writing.
Yesterday, Luke and I took on a 30 hour day(s) of transit from start to finish. You read that right… 30 hours. So often I’m asked how I’m able to afford travel on a small, meager salary - and this is it. Giving up luxury. Being in transit is anything but glamorous. It isn’t all big sunglasses and straw sun hats in the breeze. Nope.
Luke and I always say that the “true traveling part” of travel is the worst component of the whole experience. It’s the weird time-suck when hours can either feel like centuries or seconds, depending on the circumstance. It’s waiting seemingly forever in a random, cold terminal, hoping that you can sneak an hour nap before your plane arrives. It’s sweating while you dodge your way through to your connecting flight. It’s cramped up spaces all day long. It’s sharing your outlet with a stranger because we’ve all been there. It’s being uncomfortable, unsatisfied, slightly hungry and majorly jet lagged.
But if being “in transit” was the worst part of travel - I’d be wrong to not admit that it feels necessary. After all, travel is an immense privilege. Every day I am reminded of this. The experiences I’ve been able to collect via exploration of the world comes solely from my privilege to afford such a thing (monetarily and time-wise). What I mean to say is, certainly being in transit isn’t fun… but it feels like the yin to the yang of what travel brings to those who are able to experience it. Pay your dues, Laura. Pay your dues. And also pay it forward. P.S. I’ve written quite a lot about this topic (and sustainability) over the years on various travel media websites, perhaps this is something I should write here?
As I write this, I’m laying on our riad’s small bed, sun a little crisped by our afternoon adventures through Marrakech’s wild Medina souks. A tapestry of weaving and winding alleys, salmon-hued walls growing longer and longer ahead of us… today was one of those days when we just set out to get lost. No itinerary, nothing really in mind - just soak it all in. The best kind of travel - “Bourdain-ing it” - as I’ve lovingly started to call these free, loose days of exploration. We got lost multiple times, were happily duped into buying mint from a market, met two lovely students from Scotland, sipped the most delicious ginger tea I think I’ve ever had.
As I crash here for a few minutes… I’m reminded of what it felt like to be in transit less than 24 hours ago. These experiences collected over a few hours in comparison to what it felt like to be in the middle seat of a 767 plane. It’s a laughable comparison - but an important one none-the-less.