My travels inevitably begin with copious research and planning. I began this kind of planning long ago when I was very young and anxious to hit the road. Hours were spent pouring over junior encyclopedias...

I had a dream about you, you gave me a plant and sweetly said “This will grow with our love” upon handing it over to me the plant died. I started packing.

An empty room holds nothing but memories. At least it would, if I didn’t just finish packing up the last of the sadness.

I hate traveling with amateurs.

In London it had seemed impossible to travel without the proper evening clothes. One could see an invitation arriving for an Embassy ball or something. But on the other side of Europe with the first...

There is always a sadness about packing. I guess you wonder if where you’re going is as good as where you’ve been.