Travel. There’s something so completely magical about this word. Exotic. It invokes a certain feeling of excitement, one of uncertainty and adventure and discovery. Images of far-off mountains that I have never seen, towns to be discovered, people I’ve yet to meet pop into my head like the reel of an old movie and set me yearning for the day when I am lucky enough to cross paths with them. I am someone who craves this kind of excitement, and if I haven’t left in a while, start to get antsy. Start to have “island fever,” absorbed in the island of my own life and I feel the need to connect with or get to know another part of the world. I love the feeling I get when driving to the airport – in less than 24 hours, I can be transported anywhere in the world and yet it can feel like I am worlds away from where I began. So much anticipation of what lies on the other side of the flight. Trips have incredible potential, just waiting to be written with experiences – good or bad; maniac or exhilarating; uplifting or downtrodden. What will I learn about myself? Those I’m with? A road, a local, culture? Will I fall in love, with a person, place, sunset? I once heard that you should fall in love everyday. Will I ever want to return? Or will I leave knowing that I will never step foot in that place again? That is the magic that unfolds as one tiny part of the world reveals itself to you. The magic of travel.