It's a strange feeling stepping off a plane into a place you have no knowledge of and even less of an idea of where to go. I had not planned for Lisbon, though I knew I would be having an eight hour layover in the Portuguese capitol, I was woefully under-researched on where to go or what to see. I often prefer this method of wandering, walking into a new place and figuring it out as I go, but Lisbon presented an entirely new challenge for me, in that I didn't even know the language or understand anything beyond the fact that it was a city and that I had time.
I grew up all over the place. As the son of a University Professor, I've often likened my experience growing up to that of a so-called army-brat. From 5th grade through 9th grade, I was in a different school each year. Friends came and went, and the only constant was my family. It drew us together, but it made it hard for me to think of a specific place as home. Home became the place where I was surrounded by my loved ones, not a single location, or a house where I grew up, and it was this feeling that instilled in me the wanderlust that has permeated my life ever since. I've become accustomed to movement, grow restless with stasis, and chase change wherever I can find it.
When I first set out in April of 2017 on my pilgrimage through Europe, I didn't really know where the journey would lead me. I had planned minimally, knowing barely more than my general route and a smattering of language learned through an app on my phone, enough, in my mind, to get me by for three months in a foreign land. I left my home in Washington state with a series of targets, more than any specific goal, but before I could go forward into that unknown world, I first had to go back, to the home I'd once known, the great city of New York.
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