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Originally Posted by JR
egypt is one of the few places i haven't been that is at the top of my list. been to about 18-20 countries so far. lived most of the last 10 years outside of the country. i grew up in alaska and always HATED the fact that there was no interesting history (apart from serges forefathers hacking up the natives for not killing enough sea otters for them) or culture or architecture. i love history. i can go to really old cities and spend days just looking at and touching every brick in every building just imagining all that they have seen. for me, life is about experience and exploration. i have seen more and had more excitement in my 35 years than almost everyone else on the planet would hope to experience in 10 lifetimes and i am confident that when i lay dying somewhere, someday, i will have zero regrets about the life i lived.
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Travel is the frivolous part of serious lives, and the serious part of frivolous ones." -- Anne Sophie Swetchine
I wish I had said that.
But here is the inspiration for all the travelling I have done. A marianne faithful song written by Shel Silverstein....I never wanted to wind up like this....
The morning sun touched lightly on the eyes of lucy jordan
In a white suburban bedroom in a white suburban town
As she lay there ’neath the covers dreaming of a thousand lovers
Till the world turned to orange and the room went spinning round.
At the age of thirty-seven she realised she’d never
Ride through paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair.
So she let the phone keep ringing and she sat there softly singing
Little nursery rhymes she’d memorised in her daddy’s easy chair.
Her husband, he’s off to work and the kids are off to school,
And there are, oh, so many ways for her to spend the day.
She could clean the house for hours or rearrange the flowers
Or run naked through the shady street screaming all the way.
At the age of thirty-seven she realised she’d never
Ride through paris in a sports car with the warm wind in her hair
So she let the phone keep ringing as she sat there softly singing
Pretty nursery rhymes she’d memorised in her daddy’s easy chair.
The evening sun touched gently on the eyes of lucy jordan
On the roof top where she climbed when all the laughter grew too loud
And she bowed and curtsied to the man who reached and offered her his hand,
And he led her down to the long white car that waited past the crowd.
At the age of thirty-seven she knew she’d found forever
As she rode along through paris with the warm wind in her hair ...