> I always go through a seriously cranky period when I return from a trip. Nothing pleases me. I’ve been known to leave the Kroger in frustrated tears a few days after returning home because I can’t find [expletive]ing *blood orange juice*, available at any little shop in Italy.
> I find trip paraphernalia for days, weeks even, after returning home. I just did my wash, and found a shiny one euro coin in the dryer. I pull out ticket stubs and metro and bus tickets, directions to restaurants and cryptic notes to myself for ages from various purse pockets, jackets or bags. I don’t make much of an effort to clean them up when we go home because I get a little thrill of sorts in my ordinary ho-hum day when I extract a receipt in French for a lipstick instead of my actual lipstick from my purse.
> I can’t eat Italian food for a month after returning from Italy. Seriously, what’s the point? It’s no good. It would just make me madd. (See cranky listing above.) Maybe I’m being a little uncharitable here. Brian’s Italian cooking is good after all.
> I like to re-watch the travel shows I had recorded on my DVR before a trip (to help in the planning) and jump and giggle a little when it shows somewhere I just went.
> We weren’t even halfway through this trip before we started the “where do you want to go next time?” conversation. The current errrrm, WC, reading material on our house is the huge Explore catalog. I lust over their descriptive journey descriptions like I imagine some might with their special behind-the-counter magazines. Imperial Cities & Desert (“15 days Characterful Riads/Villas/Moroccan style Hotels”) caught my eye this morning. I won’t feel myself again until we’ve pinpointed a destination to start planning for.
> After an intense period of cramming in meaningful historic monuments, splendid architecture and art in the form of visual and gastronomical, not to mention the other stimuli that come with the territory of immersing myself in foreign places, I have to retire to solitude and quiet. In my Stendhal syndrome induced exhaustion I collapse on the couch with the shades drawn and stupefy myself with cable tv, novels and comfort food for a longer period of days than I care to admit following a trip. (Hint. I’ve been home over a week and Truffle and I are ensconced on the couch as I speak.)
> I torture myself with mental comparisons. The worst (on my mental wellbeing) example of this was after the Great 30th Birthday Trip when I went back home and back to work, and met my family at the Cracker Barrel for dinner after work on a Friday. All I could do was woefully push my iceberg lettuce around my plate and internally bemoan the fact that the previous Friday had found me tucking into escargot at a Paris bistro. Hmm, two weeks ago we were sitting outside our little studio in Jonquires soaking up the famed Provencal light as the sky around Mt Ventoux slowly colored itself rose. And now? Well, you already know I’m on the couch. Did I mention the part about being cranky?