Sometimes I watch the birds and think how nice it is to be so mobile. In these moments I'll seized by a very strange feeling, the long-distance pain. Who does not know who he has never felt before, who knows not know how this feels to lure from a distance. This desire to experience other worlds, this desire to see this strong desire new places ... to screen other landscapes to collect smells, sounds to hoard ... see colors, shapes, people feel, take ... Déjà vu, as usual, then at the Grand Canyon or in the wintry Berlin. Where my grief would drive me? Perhaps to Morocco, Ride to Agadir, or to the edge of the Caucasus Mountains. Odessa on the Black Sea, because I was not. "It never rains in Southern California", I know already, Oregon would be new or Mantana, greetings to Hannah Montana. There where everything began, Euphrates and the Tigris, by the Rivers of Babylon, but how do I get there? I've never been to Carnac with the stone hills or in Glastonbury, at the grave of Arthur. "Know thyself," the Oracle of Delphi "I would like to ask quo vadis -. Rome - I've seen it, but it's been so long ago. The midnight sun in the far north, they do I would live. Table Mountain in Cape Town, Machu Pichu, my son is writing a paper on the ancient ruined city, Hanga Roa, Easter Island, it seems very far away. The monasteries of the Kathmandu Valley, Irkutsk, thinking of Michael Strogoff ... it is missing something in my life-travel diary. The green west of Ireland, the blooming cherry trees of Japan, the vast steppes of Mongolia, a sweetened tea with the Tuareg, a sunset on Santorini, the book fair in Frankfurt, the bazaar in Istanbul, etc., etc. ... it's certainly not 1000, the place I must see before I die ... but some already are. Let's see which way the wind blows me ...
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