Less than a week I have been back and already I pine to begin another journey. I listen for the jets as they fly over, look up at the clear sky and think I would like to be up there, on my way to Europe. It is an addiction. 

Why do I love to travel so? Is it the intellectual stimulation of travel. Everyday new sights for the eyes. The mind busy trying to understand different languages, abstracting the world around it from maps, planning transport connections, writing thousands of words every night. In comparison the routine life of home and work is the habit of the unconcious. The familiar is scary, the unknown is welcomed.

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