Someday He'll Come Along

I've been trying to find the perfect (for me) travel journal. A book with blank pages would suffice, but I somehow feel I need more than that. I know I have a list of qualities that I'm mentally ticking off each time I find one. Sure, there've been ones that I would have been compatable with. But there's always something not quite right. I'm starstruck by the "as used by Ernest Hemmingway" moleskin. I had a slight dalliance today with the reproduction Wizard of Oz diary. Some seem perfect until I dig a bit deeper and find the attractive exterior hides unattractive heavy lined paper. I nearly picked up one on the rebound at the checkout of Borders. I need to find The One. Up 'til now...well, I'm just not that into them.

Strange

I've been toying with the idea of starting a blog that can be used to record the Big Trip to Europe - and lo and behold, I was told I already HAVE a blog...and here I am again, at "Time Flies", where a bit of my life from five years ago has been preserved in cyberspace.

I remember years ago, getting a postcard from one of my cousins that had come from Kathmandu. The postcard itself was a reproduction of an old print, there was a strange stamp on the back, the postmark was in another language, it was a bit scuffed around the edges and of course it had taken ages to reach here. That postcard had seen a lot of Life. Just holding it, I felt as if something exotic rubbed off onto me.

And now, here I am planning numerous ways to keep communicado while I'm away - there'll be this blog, and facebook, skype, e-mails, uploaded photos, postcards and of course my own journal. Just reading that list is exhausting. Will it have that whiff of the exotic, I wonder?

I'm starting a sketching course on Saturday. This is so I can sit by the Seine and sketch Notre Dame. If that's not exotic, or at least romantic, it's the best I can do.