While I was walking, I dreamt of 100 other places to be

I wander the streets of Rome at night. Running my hand along the wall, walking blindly through its maze like streets. From the Pantheon to St Pauls Cathedral, a million different answers to the simple question why? The Vatican states its power, I weave in and out of the large stone pillars, turn my back on it and follow the river out of Rome, in search of vineyards, gladiators and truth.

In the early morning light I clamber along the large, smooth rocks. Battered by years of storms, wind and the waves of the Indian Ocean, they dot the cost from point to point and create pools of life to be explored. It’s so quiet and calm that anything seems possible, miles away from cities and towns, a hiker steadily moving forward.

A great big expanse of land lies before me, its dusty and red and spans north for days and days. My car and I zoom along, quick as possible into the north, where the trees are sparse and the sky is wide.

Up stair after stair after stair, around and around in a tight coil, up an old, rickety ladder, through a tiny hole and here I am, finally at the highest point of the old Dutch country church. From the turret of its castle like tower I can see the Amstel river winding its way along, at home in its banks.

Oh to be on the road. To be swaggering about the countryside, backpack and boots, sky and road, endless open road. To follow a whim and freely move, wherever, whenever, whyever I please. To carry only the necessities, some cash and hope. A great big burning hope, a hope fed by the open road and its elusive possibilities. The lonely traveller is not nearly as lonely as a lone soul in a big city. A sense of purpose guides his feet, he’s seeing the world. He finds faith like a religious person, in life itself. He dabbles in the intoxicating illusion of moving forward, passes life by rather than watching it pass him by, leaves and returns the same, but changed.

I wander the streets of my suburb dreaming I am in 100 different faraway places, and wondering all the while, what’s so wrong with being here?