8.11.21 // falling in love with places

I'd be lying if I said I fall in love with every place I travel to.
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At least, I don't fall in love with them right away...
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While I love to romanticize the physical world in poems and words that move me, like the planes and trains that help me see new horizons, it sometimes takes me a moment to feel the magic.
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It's not because the place isn't magic, but because I'm not in a place to receive the sparks of its charm. I'm usually stumbling over logistics, travel anxiety, and trying to figure out if I can find tofu in a local grocery store.
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But as the travel buzz settles, the magic and romance of a place really sparks. It starts small- a breeze that smells like sweetbreads, a smile from a stranger walking hand-in-hand with her toddler, a burst of clouds dancing to the beat of a thunderstorm along the mountain ridge.
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Once the spark catches, my mind basks in the glow of the fire and soul of a place. I'm sitting at the campfire, and every day I get to spend in a new place is like an old friend telling a tale of stories long past. Even on days where I spend most of my time on a computer or in an apartment Airbnb, the energy of a place speaks novels in my listening ears.
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Sometimes the novels are romances, sometimes they are comedies, tragedies, mysteries, actions, adventures, and sometimes they are poetry. And I love to listen, to understand a place's unique voice, to slowly let myself fall into their narrative.
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But in falling into the narrative of a place, it's hard not to fall in love with the warmth of a metaphorical campfire and the stories a place tells you as you sit beside it.
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New places, for me, aren't usually love at first sight, but a beautiful slow burn.