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RE: just wondering...
The short answer (for which I'm sure I would be pelted with virtual rotten
fruit if I did not explain) is "yes".
What's funny is that for me, having that passion tends to correspond with
traveling. Whether it was the trip from Albion to Kent when I was in
college, or one of the many trips to places farther away... When I look
back over journals from the past 6 years or so, it was the people I met
while traveling, the conversations and experiences I had while off-balance
in far-flung places, that shaped how I saw myself, what I wanted out of
life, who I wanted to be.
For example, you describe your roommate's passion for going back to Prague.
I know that look, because that's exactly how I felt the first time I visited
the Highlands of Scotland. I went there as part of a geology field trip
when I was in college (ye gods, that was almost 7 years ago now), on the
standard overnight flight where you know you should sleep but you're too
excited to even try. We all finally arrived at the airport, only to
discover that the two vans we'd rented for 13 or so people and their baggage
were actually *minivans* (oops!). So, a couple hours, a lot of haggling,
and an extra car later, we finally leave the Glasgow airport and commence
the drive north to our first night's stop.
After the first hour or so of driving, the rolling hills turned into rugged,
glacier-carved mountains; an incredible montage of grays and browns and
just-starting-to-greens. We drove up a steep hill and found ourselves upon
the western end of Rannoch Moor. Never have I seen another place so wildly
beautiful and untouched. It seemed that if you stood on the roof of the
minivan, you could touch the very sky. The road kept going, though, and so
did we, up and on into the heart of the Valley of Glencoe. Here, the road
becomes exceptionally narrow (although it is still paved) and winds upwards
along a stream, through a pass, and starts to follow a different stream back
down again. We knew there were mountains out there somewhere, but the fog
was so close about us that we were lucky to see the next curve in the road.
After what seemed like a precarious eternity (but was probably only about 20
minutes), we found the turnoff for our inn--a tiny scratch of a dirt road
that continued along the stream. As we drove down the track, the fog
started to lift a bit and the sun poked through the clouds. Someone looked
out the back window and said "Oh my god. Stop the van."
Behind us, a perfect, brilliant rainbow spanned the leaping stream and the
mist-shrouded valley. Even now, years later, I cannot describe that moment
without restraining tears of joy. The place, its beauty, its mystery all
got their hooks right into the very deepest parts of me, feeding and
confirming what before I was only dimly aware of.
I remember writing in my journal that night, "If I had to go home tomorrow,
it would be okay--I've found what I was looking for." I didn't specify then
"what I was looking for", but if I had to do so now, I would say that I
found the strength and beauty hidden behind my eyes suddenly reflected in
the world around me.
(For those who desire a pictoral reference:
http://www.aboutscotland.com/tour/fortcrian.html)
listie lurker Raven
(who is now going to do work after daydreaming of Scotland all morning!)
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