Those who follow this column already know that in August I don't take a break from writing, but I do take a break from the economy and talk about other life issues. This year, for personal reasons, I have to stay home. But I do want to share with you what happens to me when I return from a trip. Because I won't forget this.
The feeling is this: We land in Barcelona. I get off the plane, pick up my suitcase, and walk through the airport gate. And suddenly, the city. The taxi, the familiar streets, the same old house. Where is the beach I walked along at sunset? Where is the café in that square where I had breakfast in front of a beautiful cathedral? Where is the majestic mountain that struck me? When you leave a theater performance, you need a few minutes to step out of the story you've been immersed in. You've seen sets, actors, lights. And suddenly, the curtain comes down. You step outside, and it's gone. As if it had never existed. But you've lived it. Or like an amusement park. A whole day of stimuli, surprises, adrenaline. And suddenly, the silence of the car on the way home. You look in the rearview mirror, and it seems to have vanished.
The same thing happens to me when I travel. For days you've lived somewhere else. New streets, different languages, unfamiliar flavors. Landscapes that took you out of yourself. And now, suddenly, you're standing in the hallway of your house, your coat hanging in its usual place. And that's when you wonder if it wasn't all fiction. Because without you, it seems impossible for it to continue happening. As if reality only comes alive when you live it. But no. That world is still there. Conversations in that foreign language continue to fill the streets. The windows of that house facing the sea continue to open every morning. You return to your life, and it continues, oblivious to your return. The beach at that sunset continues to receive waves. The café in that square has the same waiter serving breakfast. The mountain continues with its lights and shadows. But you're no longer here.
This is the magic and melancholy of traveling. You enter and leave settings that are real but don't belong to you in an instant, and then you're immediately out of it. Traveling is like this: living, for a few days, lives that don't belong to us and never will.
