- September 02, 2008
- THE TOURIST
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“ I feel like I’ve been here before,” he said.
“Just get away from the ledge, please,” she said, only half in response.
“No, no. I mean each place we visit, when we only have a few days…they feel similar somehow.”
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The conversation takes place in Acadia National Park. The realization, while hardly profound, leads to thinking, which leads to thoughts about being a visitor and a tourist. Those inevitably lead to vacant thoughts about the beautiful day, which in turn wipe away any of the profundity of the thinking. If he’s lucky he’ll only barely remember the topic of his thoughts so he can write a witty and thoughtful blog entry.
In the meantime, the Cranberry Isles lay out before you like god drew an apostrophe in the water. The surface of the ocean seems to go on forever, and all you can think about is Hungary and what a strange place that was. No cultural identity to speak of. No obvious itinerary of famous landmarks and beautiful architecture to see. You have a weird notion that being here, now, stirred up that thought, and the realization that in both places, Mount Desert Island and Budapest, you were and are a visitor only. You will never have the opportunity to get comfortable here; never find that path though the alley that shortens your time to the bakery, or that special trail with a natural monument that speaks the glory of the natural world. Just a short visit, a flutter around part of the Earth’s surface.
“God, what is this urge? I think I want to go home.”
- This post is a part of Travels.