The first time that DW and I travelled overseas together, in 1991, we saw a lot in a two-week vacation: England, Wales, and Paris.
We spent a few days in London, travelling with friends, before DW (who was just GF at the time) rented a Ford Fiesta and headed up to Stratford-Upon-Avon, Birmingham, and then into Northern Wales—Valle Crucis Abbey, Conwy, Caernarfon, Beaumaris—through Snowdonia, down the western coastline, Cardiff, crossing back into England via Tintern, Bristol, Bath, Stonehenge, Salisbury, and back to London.
That was just the first week.
In the second week, we flew to Paris and stayed with GF's sister, who had an apartment in the 5th arrondissement. Boat tour on the Seine, up the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe. Museums and art galleries. Montmartre. Père Lachaise Cemetery. The list went on.
Every morning, we'd leave the apartment and visit the nearby bakery for a baguette, cheese shop for a small wheel of Brie or Camembert, and wine shop for a half-bottle of red, pack our goods in our backpacks, and head out for the day. Whenever we were hungry, we would sit on a bench and share our food.
It was great.
Looking through my photos, there are few photos of me, as I was the one who kept an SLR slung over his shoulder. But GF packed a compact Canon, and looking at one of her old albums, the other week, I came across a snapshot of me, posing in an open market.
Once more, seeing my hair makes me laugh. Here, my hair has hints of a Seinfeld episode.
Seeing old photos of our overseas travels makes me crave another trip. Soon, methinks. Soon.