A poem on my feelings about travel:
What is it about planes, trains, boats, and cars that becons me so?
Why when I book that ticket to a far off land my hear is heigher then a jet plane?
Born traveler, you say? I have tasted the wine of wander. The rush of a foreign winds, the heat of Roman a summer.
And, you can’t take away my wander. I am wanderer. People tell me to grow roots, to settle. But they have never felt the rush of a far off sea; for if they had, they would understand. I am wanderer, you can’t take it our of me.
I am a wanderer. You can’t take it out of me.
(First trip to:) Italy
(Second trip to) Italy
(Second trip to) London
(Trip #1 to) Oxford
(Second trip to) Oxford