Evan Kessler Dot Com

The Home of the Brave

I Feel Itchy

Posted by evankessler on July 2, 2010

The pages of my passport are aging none too gracefully resting in that large coffee can in the southwest corner of my bedroom buried beneath receipts and brochures and other far more useless pieces of paper and metal objects.  Not to say that my toenail clippers aren’t useful, but I don’t think I could present them to an immigration official at the border of the foreign country of my choosing and have them serve as a sufficient enough bribe to secure myself access inside distant boundaries of any of the world’s 193 other Independent countries.  Those same immigration officials might find me well-pedicured as a result of their usage but only in the case that my non-identification wielding appearance arouses such suspicion that I’m detained and subjected to a shoeless inspection that may or may not involve the complete perusal of other body crevices and crannies.  Having a valid passport, I don’t see that scenario as being very likely.

Sometimes I dream that I’ve arrived in a foreign country via a lengthy airplane flight only to realize that my passport has been forgotten in that coffee can and for all intents and purposes it has been. Not since a brief jaunt to the UK in May 2009 have I ventured out of my American comfort zone.  I’ve barely even ventured out of my Brooklyn comfort zone to take Manhattan in the least Muppet-like of fashions. Ithaca and San Francisco have called to me in the past year, but I’d say I’ve been pretty tethered to Park Slope 11215 in the in-between spaces.

The only long distance journeys I’ve truly been on have been in my mind.  I’m continually hatching schemes for travel blogs and journeys of self-discovery for fictional characters that exist only in my head.  Whenever I hear the name of a new country I take a digital journey to learn about the sights, language, customs, food and ultimately the cost to travel to those far off lands. Believe me, there is quite the gaping chasm in the comparative cost between imaginary travel and the actual journey. It’s this largely prohibitive obstacle that has all but clipped my airplane wings, without which it’s nearly impossible to reach down and scratch a travel itch.

I haven’t let constraints kill the dream just yet, but lately I’ve been engaging in deeply masochistic behavior, browsing craigslist for apartments and job listings in far off lands like Ecuador and Croatia; tickling my creative fancy by dreaming up hitchhiking trips to Luxembourg or scheming to get my sea legs wet while going “Around the World to 80 Bays.” The summer sun hammers rays of oppressive heat against my door inviting me to come out and play, but that door could be anywhere and those things beckoning me on the outside could be different every single time. Is it just me or does “routine” seem like it should somehow work out as an anagram for “torture?”

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One Response to “I Feel Itchy”

  1. Patrick said

    I have lived in Quito for over 16 years, I am happy to help with any questions you might have about the country. bullock0005@yahoo.com

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