pieces of myself are found now, all over the world.

I’ve been sitting at my computer for awhile now, feeling the urge to write. I’ve written several different titles to paragraphs, poems, sentences I’ve needed to write to begin bigger things than a blog post, and have erased all of them. I don’t know what needs to be written. Some days are like that. I just have an urge to put my hands to keyboard and see what happens.

My goal with this post was to talk about Scotland. And Italy. And Portugal. And Nepal. But in the end, I’m still not sure I’ve fully processed any of these experiences, let alone anything else that occurred this past year. Do you every fully process life though, or do you just let it simmer inside of you taking up well deserved space for the rest of time?

Each place I’ve ever been to has a specific smell that will always bring me back to it. I can still smell the haar on the wind in Applecross. The clarity of the air, and the feel of my feet on the water filled grass. I remember the texture of the heather as I ran my fingers through it and the longing of my soul to stay put, stay put, just stay put. I planned this retreat, this experience with a knowing that I needed to be there. My feet needed to walk in the Highlands of Scotland, my soul needed to breathe the atmosphere and be surrounded by the hills, the thin spaces and the dreams that come with those spaces. I could have laid down in the heather and stayed put.

Scotland is harsh. It rained 10 of the 12 days I was there and I loved every second of the very Scottish weather. It smells like rain and woodsmoke. It’s heavy and sweet. Honestly, it smells like whisky.

Italy has another smell. One more ancient, of dust and clay and warmth. Of history reliving itself in the orchards of lemons and groves of olive trees. It’s easy to be enticed by Italy, to fall in love with the people, the food, the sunshine and culture. It’s easy to want to be there. I began Italy with a flight to Venice from Lisbon, Portugal. Portugal has another smell. Oranges. It smells like sweet citrus and the sea. Fresh and easy to be there. Venice has a smell different than Florence, each different from Rome and all different than Naples and again different from Amalfi. Venice is rich and velvety, vanilla and spice. Florence is leather and ink, Rome is dust and a really good dry red wine. Naples smells like rising dough, cocktails and humidity. Amalfi smells like lemon zest and olives with a side of brine.

Portugal was a family trip that consisted of a lot of delicious fish, swimming in the pool at our Airbnb, climbing the hills of Lisbon, family, whining children, reading Harry Potter out loud, ocean swims, sand everywhere, cat piss, best friends, delicious wines, hiking that ends with a shot from a french stranger, castles, sunsets, moon rises, egg tarts, piri piri, strep throat, and warm sun.

Italy was full of incredible women who quickly become soul sisters, food that brought me tears (literally), pivots, jellyfish, wine and pizza (obviously), stairs and more stairs, blue flags, football, lemons the size of my head, never ending views, snakes eating lizards, mountain goats and donkeys, vampire sightings, canals and gondolas, laundry lines for days, secret courtyards and limoncello, hiking in beauty.

Each time I return to a place, it’s always the smell that makes my body remember and stirs a deep nostalgia for that place in my bones. I have memories created and imprinted from each place, but when i get a hint of their smell, it’s an immediate and direct line to being back there.

I had forgotten what Nepal smelled like until I stepped out of the airport and was immediately taken back to the last time I was there, being hit with memory after memory of my previous time. This year, when I was in Nepal, I wasn’t in the best shape, physically. I was sick quite a bit and had lost a lot of weight. I also was able to spend time in the mountains which meant fresh air and yak poop. There are a lot of not pleasant smells in Kathmandu and its always best to get out of the city as quickly as possible, BUT, there is a jasmine tree in the courtyard of the Kathmandu Guesthouse with a table and chair underneath it that smells divine. Every day I would sit under that tree and stuff my nose inside the flowers, smelling the jasmine as though I could eat it.

When I am home, it’s the smell of the ocean, the seabreeze (sometimes gale force winds), the earth, wood stoves and crackling fires keeping us warm and cozy. It’s the smell of the skin my children live in and the comfort of their snuggles.

To be able to travel like this is a dream. It’s easy to romanticize it, and it is romantic, don’t get me wrong. It’s also not easy. It’s hard on my body, it’s hard on my emotions to be away from my loves, it’s hard on my relationships with friends. I also keep choosing it because it fills me to the brim and pushes me in all of these ways to cherish my life at home even more. This past year also included a trip to Ontario, Cape Breton, New York City and Vancouver. It was a lot. And I would do it all over again. The thing about travelling, at least for me, is that once you start, you don’t want to stop.

It’s also a thing of independence for me. A stepping into who I’ve always wanted to be but was so very afraid of. It took a long time for me to step into this life and embrace it. It’s taken a lot of long conversations with Jeremy about the why behind my desire for this and although his support isn’t something necessary for me to move forward, it feels good to have it.

I’m looking forward to being in Nova Scotia for the winter, cozying up by the fire with my loves. Next up is Madeira, Portugal in April and then Santorini, Greece in September (we still have spaces available for this retreat. If anyone is interested, click here for the info!), with a possibility of one more trip late October (fingers crossed). I have a good feeling about 2024. How about you? What are your plans for the year?

xoxo,

d.