28-Sept

I may have dreamt too big. I sometimes seem to do so. There are things that can be planned but foresight is impossible, the outcomes of which must be experienced.

Conclusion #1: Carrying a 35 pound backpack all day, every day sucks. For the backpackers out there asking why I'm carrying so much, keep in mind that in addition to a tent and sleeping bag, I had to carry clothing sufficient for rain, sun, and snow -- the heat of the Italian autumn to the freeze of a London winter -- as well as 6.6 pounds (3 liters) of water. My body is not happy with me and I'd rather not do permanent damage since my job requires me to be in constant motion.

Conclusion #2: Walking is nicer with a partner. I briefly had a walking partner here and this is not to fault her, but walking alone, town after town, is not particularly exciting. When planning this trip, I envisioned walking along country roads and enjoying the nature of Italy. The majority of the path has been on the shoulders of highways with the traffic whizzing past with such proximity and velocity that it blows the hat off my head. In the last few days, I had a brief but enjoyable walk through a moist forest that, while still with traffic zipping by, stands out from the monotony of sidewalks and shoulders I've seen.

Conclusion #3: It is possible to survive on 10 euros a day. That was the budget I allowed myself at the time of my departure. I had tried to save more, but the unfortunate Plaquemine episode of my life put a damper on that matter. I would not let that stop my trip, so I pushed on. As I said, it is possible, but does it allow for full enjoyment? Not really. I allowed myself a bit of splurging with my friends in Florence, only to find myself suddenly three weeks off budget. Whoops? No. I had great time. But this can not last for three more months, particularly heading to even more expensive areas ($ to € conversion is bad right now, but $ to £ is even worse).

And so I come home. Nothing here is to be regretted. The cost for a 3.5 week roundtrip flight is the same as a 3.5 month one. For most people, this still would've been longer than the average vacation. I've had new foods, unique experiences, and met memorable people that I will surely see again: A potential future travel partner, a Roman who plans to move to New York, a couple New Yorkers that I may see in a year, a Pistoian who one day may be the one chosen to visit his company's headquarters in my hometown,  a Grecian-Luccan who is friends with a restauranteur who lives two hours from San Jose. These are good times, but I return home to my families. Home to possibly work, home to  find some adventure and shelter in the places I know from my childhood, home to spend the holidays with those I know well. In that ongoing discussion of what home is, perhaps I have found a truth in part:

Home is not where I am. It is where you are.

There will be other times for Christmas in London and New Year's in Barcelona. There are thoughts of what others may feel that I'm quitting/missing an opportunity, and I may sound like a skipping record, but the two closest voices I've found on this journey remind me of the wisdom of happiness:

Vita: "Always choose what's best for you."
Danielle: "'Just because I already paid for it' isn't a reason."

Thanks guys.