Confessions of a Compulsive Traveler

My backpack sits beside me

and an endless feeling of not belonging

seems to surround both of us.

Waiting is not an art,

Bishop would have agreed.

And we wait on,

for vacations which look so far away,

for bonuses that will enable those trips,

for bosses’ benevolence,

for good weather, soft bed, comfort food.

The gaps in-between

do not contain life on its fullest.

They are just a sort of limbo

separating you and what may come.

I observe the passers-by.

They look like they have everything covered:

A destination

and strength to get there.

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For the Portuguese version, go to Meu Diário Lírico de Viagem

DRESDEN

Germany is, for me, a long time love. One of those solid loves built in time and observation. It was hard to choose a German city to start with, and possibly I am making some injustice, but I am going to try… Let me tell you right now that this is a longer text than usual, but please understand that Germany is my home away from home.

I would visit every city I have been to again, be it for the sense of longing, be it to change the perspective. Dresden is the first city I mention here that I, indeed, visited more than once.

In Dresden I saw European snow for the first time. It was very different from the “gaucho” snow from my childhood. And after witnessing that snowflakes, in fact, have each a unique shape-as people do-, I put my tongue out and tried to catch some flakes.

Dresden has suffered a lot: wars, bombing, genocide… However, it has been beautifully restored and it does not resemble its cruel past. Dresden is located in the area known as East Germany, which was socialist. Yet, it does not look like most of East German cities. Dresden holds all of the great historical European cities’ characteristics: Baroque cathedrals, ancient buildings, monuments…

Dresden is so organized that it looks like a small town, and not the big city that it is. Clean streets and punctual transportation are things Germans know too well.

German food is plentiful and pleases, mostly, the carnivore types. Few people on the planet know how to prepare pork as Germans do. Throughout Germany, you will eat well, and a lot, paying very little. Each meal is a delight for the tired tourist, a caress for the homesick heart.

German beer is like music: hundreds of different types so that everybody can have their favorite. Forget your Brazilian experience with beer: they are so good you will not even notice they are not extremely cold. And just as the French have their eccentricities with their wine, Germans also have them. Leave your compunction at home! Pilsen beer with Sprite is called Radler, and it is great for a hot summer day. Weiss beer with banana juice is much better than it sounds!

Speaking of compunction, do not get shocked knowing that it is very common to hit the sauna naked in East Germany.
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For the Portuguese version, please visit Meu Diario Lirico de Viagem

PARIS

I arrived in Paris without any expectations: I had already learned not to take expectations in my vacations, they are way too heavy.

The monuments are countless; however, do not fool yourself thinking they are as close as they seem. They are so impressive that they seem to be 10 meters away, when they are actually 5 kilometers away. But none of them will be empty, or urine free.

Watch out for the cars, and your ears. French people seem to search for the horn even before searching for the seat belt. The noises are plenty, voices, laughter, silverware clinking.

The food is a revelation. And it’s not even necessary to look for it, it is possible to find good food nearly everywhere, even in less attractive places. Stick to restaurants with a small shop attached, as odd as this may seem.

If the food is a temptation, the wines are what it takes to your complete downfall. Ice cubes in rosé glasses? Never mind, I did not dare to ask. I think that the people who make the best rosé (and white!) wines in the world can have their share of eccentricity.

Yet nothing compares, and will ever compare to that feeling of a lump in your throat when you see that piece of art you have been admiring since you were a child right in front of you. Be it Rodin, in a kiss, or be it Monet, in a lake.

The Tower? Yes, she is beautiful, but not as omnipresent as one may think. Either way, it is reassuring to see her lit up between the buildings when you turn the corner. It is good to know she is there.

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For the Portuguese version, go to Meu Diário Lírico de Viagem