Where do you want to go?

I have a dream of walking on cobbled streets in some distant town, carrying home my purchases from market. I visited an old woman who sells cheese with her grandson. Sometimes his children stop into the shop after school. I have a bottle of wine, and a loaf of bread, still warm, and apples or plums. I go home to sit on the balcony, watching the sunset with my husband, eating our simple supper and planning for tomorrow.

I dream of sitting in a large chair, with a soft blanket, a hot cup of tea, and a snoring dog at my feet.  The rain makes a constant, quiet background against the window. I read sections of my book aloud to my husband, and he reads me sections of his book aloud. We'll have to take the dog out eventually, but not yet.

We take a train across mountains, to a city where we don't speak the language, to explore architecture that predates the earliest settlements of the United States. We sit in a solid, ancient pub to eat something hearty and starchy and disapproved by whatever diet is currently in ascendance.  But I remain healthy and slim because I spend the day walking. (It's my dream, I can dream what I want.)

We meet interesting people, learn about how other people live their lives, step into the other lives we could live. We have enough space in our flat for friends and family to visit. We are part of a community, because I teach or tutor part time; we have enough time to travel and a work visa to allow us to stay in the country longer than a tourist visa allows.

The stack of travel books next to my chair has included Poland, Barcelona, Germany, Prague, Sweden and the Orkney Islands in the last couple months. I have debated with myself the amount of daylight necessary, the how much cold is too much, the political situation in Spain, how do you pronounce Polish words. I have imagined bird watching strange birds, trekking the Camino de Santiago, and attending Christmas Eve service in a cathedral a thousand years old.

I want to do it all.