And in The End

 

Travel astounds me.

Twelve hours ago -- as I begin typing -- I was in Europe.

I was at Heathrow Airport and we were just about to take off.

Before that, I was still at The Stafford, our swanky hotel for the week.

I was also getting coffee and a cinnamon bun (a very small one at that) at Gentlemen's Baristas at the corner of Piccadilly and St. James's Street.

Now I'm home soothing the blisters on my feet after having consumed pizza from Peppino's in Baldwin Place.

Last night, as the boys went out after dinner, I went for a three-mile walk from the hotel to Piccadilly Circus to Leicester Square to Trafalgar Square back into Piccadilly Circus up Regent Street into Carnaby Street in Soho before working down through Burlington Square and -- eventually -- back to the hotel.

That's in addition to all of the other walking that went on during this trip. My legs will look back fondly. Eventually. My heart will also.

But, for now, we're all in pain.

It appears there will be a 2023 trip to London.

Later this year will be the second trip to San Francisco (the other one was in 2019).

But, now, I'm stretched out at home. The four hours (!) that it took to get from the plane landing to walking into the house is in the past.

The pizza has been consumed.

The laundry has started.

The bags have been cleaned up. I'm not thrilled that a bag of Walker's (British brand) crisps (aka "potato chips") exploded inside my backpack but it will all get cleaned up.

Oh, and I tried to be different, having bought sushi at Boots, the CVS-like store that also sells sandwiches. But the sushi was terrible.

My friends laughed because they thought it would make me sick. Nah. No impact. It just wasn't good. The chicken ceasar wrap I bought was much better.

So were the crisps.

If they weren't all over the inside of my backpack.

I come home poorer for money spent (traveling isn't cheap as you probably know). I come home richer for the experience.

I come home not with a lot of trinkets but with stories to tell. I come home to tell those stories to inspire others to go (or join me).

I come home hopeful that Mike, Erik, Walker, Anthony, Chris, and Scott enjoyed my company and what I bring to the Hunt Scanlon team.

And I come home to the cat, who was pretty thrilled to see me come up the stairs.

I know why I wanted to come back to the States. There's still a kid here and loved ones.

I'm always ready to go back but I can stand to go some time without traveling in that sardine can of a plane.

While on the plane I listened to "Abbey Road" and "Let It Be" and "Help" and "Rubber Soul" and "Revolver" and "Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band." The perfect soundtrack for a magical msyery tour completed.

I've already begun to doze off. 

Ah, jet lag, you heartless beast.