Why do I love to travel?

I was 17. My parents were divorced for a few years. My brother was a Merchant Navy officer – never home and travelling the world. My mother had planned an all-inclusive ‘mother&daughter’ getaway.

We would spend a week between Amsterdam and Barcelona. Last trip before leaving the nest for good. Our relationship at the time wasn’t so great. A part of me was excited to drop out of school to discover two of the most vibrant cities in Europe; but the teenager I was, was still complaining about spending time with her mother.

She picked me up from school. As we were leaving the noisy and crowded High School entrance, I didn’t know what to expect. In some sense I knew this would be a trip I would remember, but I didn’t know why at that time.

MRS > AMS

When I glanced at the digits on the clock, it strikes me. We’ve just won 1 hour. As if time in the plane didn’t even count. I could physically travel in time. Be at some place’s else at the same time. I was at this hour sitting in my Physics class. But there I was, standing in Museumplein witnessing students hanging out and having a snack on this odd lifted lawn triangle. In one instant I realised I could be anyone. My role wasn’t actually set in stones. I could be both: the teenager I was asking to be but also this curious young adult I was aspiring to become. Life was expressing itself in so many different ways, I just had to pick mine.

From this time on I was hooked.
Each and every one of us is living his/her unique life -at the exact same time. And travel is the only way to experience them all.

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