Behind me, on the Japanese noren curtain, the petals of cherry blossoms gently drift to the ground. In front of me a model Narita Express runs past a Shinto temple. Diecast jet aircraft are poised in front of carp streamers to leap off the desk and across the ocean. Above me, posters for Le Chat Noir and the Moulin de la Galette stand astride a black and white photograph of the bridges of Paris. The reminders of holidays past and dreams of journeys to come surround me in the house. Each time we travel we bring back mementos of the journey. Today I was sorting through bags of brochures, maps and tickets, each bag a separate trip, filing and tossing. The maps and guides to cities and sights are useful future references, but it is the little items that stir the memories. Business cards of a Tokyo hairdresser, tickets for the awful train ride from Yichang to Nanjing, the little cards of directions to the Chinese hotels for the taxi drivers, menu cards and boarding passes for flights, an t
The journal of a travel addict.