22 May 2012


Uploading photos, checking email at the end of the day, regrouping before I go check that the students are actually in their rooms at 1 am... something in me said, "write!" so I write.

Used to be, I loved to travel. Then I Liked It Well Enough and developed a fear of flying. Then I Really Did Not Care For It.  And now I remember that I love to travel.

This place, Prague, is more mesmerizing and mysterious and familiar than I ever could have imagined. The buildings sigh and tantalize, the history and potential simultaneously evoke a yearning I haven't met in over a decade. Easily I am/was here in 1898, frolicking in cafes, art nouveau (mais a cette ciecle ce n'est pas "nouveau") perfuming from my pores. 

I wouldn't want to live here, as in "make a living," but I would subsist here indefinitely on Moravian wine and long walks to find pockets of Narnia.  

Leave me here, it's easy to lose myself. And I haven't even been to a castle yet. 

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