Starting to come back.
go anywhere but you always have a place to go.
Your home, your friends, your family, your garden, your car.
A place to feel at home.
And though we happen often traveling to visit us so well in a place to think of being at home, then when you come back really to our house there is no comparison.
I was not the first to say it and certainly do not want to force myself to look up Gugole who said before me.
But I started thinking about it last weekend, after returning from Paris.
A city that has enchanted and excited me in more than one occasion. From
bridges on the Seine, Canova, passing Notre Dame whose bodies have made me cry for almost a quarter of an hour.
I thought many times of not wanting to go home.
But when the plane landed, I felt a shiver down my spine.
I was at home.
It is appreciated more when all you can "transcribed" your trip sitting on your couch with a cup of tea or one of my coffee Americans.
You look around, look at your books, see the nail file you left on the coffee table before leaving.
And you realize how nice it was to leave.
And now, being at home.
Travel makes us grow, make us learn a lot also because it comes back.
"The world is a book and Those who do not travel only ready to page.
says a friend of mine so far away.
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