The Traveling bug is itching again

The travelling echoes are humming in my ears and the call of distant lands has my spirit dancing all around and singing in the dark. The desert winds, the forest whispers and the sea breeze from a winding shoreline soothe me, heal me and nourishes my senses with the expectations of the unknown, with the mystery of a legend that’s left untold for too long.

Searching through ancient maps, reading stories of past civilizations, studying the techniques of famous artists, finding hidden treasures in a back-street market, learning a foreign language.  Visualizing myself hiking up a treacherous mountain, driving cross-country in the middle of the summer and marvel at the stunning site of a famous monument or an ageless pyramid.

Walking through the pink sandy beaches of Bermuda, the black rocky beaches of Santorini and the powdery white beaches of the Yucatan.  Getting lost in the fast- moving streets of New York City and finding yourself at the top of the Empire State Building, jogging across the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, or climbing up to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Vowing to the imposing magical atmosphere as you enter the Basilica of St. Peter in the Vatican, praying on your knees on the beautiful mosaics of the Blue Mosque in Istanbul and feel the numbness through the stillness of the Imperial Palace in the forbidden city of Beijing.

A glass of a chardonnay in a quiet backyard in Napa Valley, an ice-cold Guinness in an old tavern in Dublin, a hot cappuccino in a tiny village cafe overseeing the cliffs off the Amalfi Coast.  Tapas in a little hidden place in Madrid, Caviar in the streets of St. Petersburg, a Lobster in a 4-star restaurant in Main and a Seabass in a hidden fonda in the Chilean coastal city of Valparaiso. A whole Fried Fish with Coconut Rice at a family table in Barranquilla and the famous Churros in el Moro in the middle of Mexico City.

The un-shot photograph that’s begging for a sight and the story of a memory waiting to be experience are rushing me; they’re pushing me, exciting me and yelling at me through the innermost corners of my soul.  They’re gleaming with the light in a distant horizon, they’re singing the words of an unknown poet and living in a constant getaway dream as I chase the Northern Lights.

The traveling bug is itching again.

Life is Good


Gilbert Ortiz