Well I certainly planned on blogging more while in Ulcinj, Montenegro and then Dubrovnik, Croatia. But then there was no internet at our apartment all week. Then there was no power. A small earthquake, 150 stairs with luggage to Hotel Lavender, a ton of homework to complete which of course required internet and power, so alas, pleasure writing went to the wayside as they say.
There were however, so many moments of pleasure, too many to name. And yet, as is often the case when I travel, it is the small moments that take me here, there, and everywhere.
One sunny, hot afternoon a few of us took the back way from Niki apartments to Cococabana Beach. Rae and Mishka-- both third graders from the US whose mom's were with us on the trip-- excitedly showed us the litter of kittens they had been watching the last day. They whined and cried when we scooted them along-- imagine, kittens in place of the beach on a hot day? Ahh youth!
And then I found myself slowly hanging back, just enjoying the fields of wild flowers and weeds, the farm plots of low growing crops on either side of me, the smell of dust from the two-track, the buzz of some buzzing waspish thing off in the distance and yet all around me. There were irrigation sprinklers arching their spray. There were small piles of wooden, planked crates to store and stack harvested goods. There was the smell, that smell of a hot day on a tractor trail that led my memory. The occasional giggling wonder of Rae and Mishka. For these girls this is an adventure to the beach, a rare experience in a dry, vibrant, country field in a foreign country no less. For me, it was familiar, it was home, it was youth.
I saw us mud-covered head-to-toe after splashing in the wide puddles of the irrigation spray. I saw us hosed down by my mom on the deck-- our house the only in sight for acres and acres. I saw our girlish bodies drying in the sun as we laid on scraggly grass yelling "Hey look Jamie, we're naked!" to the boy riding his bike along the two-track-- jumping the pot holes and kicking up dust along the way.
I saw my youth that day, and I smiled, not wanting to walk away.
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