I hang From the final limb of a family tree of generations of unintentional travelers--exiles, refugees, displaced people.
And because I can\'t imagine not traveling..
To the world.
To who I was.
Because it connects me to who I am.
I travel because it touches something deep inside of me.
In Bhutan, I found family, and in Namibia I learned to ease my fears of being trapped in my own past.
In India, I learned that to Indians the way I mourned my husband was far less personal than their custom of dropping cremated bodies into a river; in Japan, that my ancestors could find me in the oddest of circumstances.
And then I started living my own adventures.
I grew up with stories of exile--stories of adventure.
While I don\'t remember the details, it\'s as if I\'ve often relived that entire experience, because my parents and their friends talked about it all their lives.
My first journey--involuntary--took place less than a year after my birth.
I hang From the final limb of a family tree of generations of unintentional travelers--exiles, refugees, displaced people
