Travel stories are often replete with chance encounters and unique experiences and part of why I travel is for the same. It is so fascinating to understand the way of life of a person in another country routinely going about his job. It is perfectly normal for him to keep doing his chores day in and day out and yet unique to us as the visitor. My mother often claims that the single most fascinating experience for her as a child was to see how a cow was milked by the local milkman!
If the heart asks me where I would want to be again, in a flutter I would answer – Chamonix. The vistas overlooking the Mt Blanc would release the floodgates of artistic excellence of even a pedestrian poet. Such is the grandeur of the Alps that as they traverse through the lengths of Austria and Switzerland and make their way into France, they seem to have run through their crests and troughs, but, just as the proverbial candle flame, they seem to have reserved their best for the last – in the hearts of Chamonix.
I have asked this question to myself quite a few times. Truth is I don’t know. With less than two months to go for my solo trip to Italy, I realise that I am both highly underprepared and not really excited. Why am I doing it then?