Suitcase wheels scrape along the floor
And hotel beds will creak as bodies hit,
Tired from a flight, run for after work.
And rest will not come easy as we’re out
At the crack of dawn, laughing in the streets,
Filled with foreign languages
That roll off tongues of sun kissed locals
Sipping coffee, in the cafe doorway shade.
And then we stop and stare; amazement
Gripping hearts and lungs and minds
As we see the sights we came here for;
The bricks and tiles and spires and doors
That mark the history that we drew
In our distant past. And now.
We spend the weekends racing round,
Snapping photographs for our Instagram,
Never really soaking in, the mastery,
The genius that elders left behind.
I’m dying to go on a weekend mini break to a European city. As soon as this is over, I am going to book a night or two in Barcelona and I will be the most touristy tourist of them all.
I’m looking forward to drinking perfect cappuccinos and taking photos of salads. I’ll walk into people because I’m too busy looking at my map or my tourist guide. I’ll try and communicate with the local in really bad Spanish. I’ll barely sleep because I want to pack everything in to two short days.
It will be glorious when we can travel again. I’ve never been much of a traveller and I normally feel homesick after a few days so I don’t fancy two weeks in Majorca. But short little breaks in the places that I always wish I’d been are going to happen.