I guess there is a point in your traveling in which you cross some kind of barrier and you cease to be a traveler: someone who wants to go to one place and do something. Then you become a wanderer: someone that wants to keep moving regardless of the way or the destination, only the movement itself and unexpectedness of your encounters are the aims of your way, one who wonders.

The wanderer though still has the legs of a traveler and the eyes of a tourist. It’s the envelope of the 2 with something else that is bigger that the sum of the parts.

It just feels right to be in the middle of somewhere that nobody would wish to be. That you belong to that moment. But the moment goes away and your traveler legs set the next step, and your tourist eyes make joy of it.

Just wander and let it go.



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