Flying to Budapest, Hungary

In JFK airport in New York City. Again. This airport has become an odd sort of surrogate home for me over the years. It is my last stop out of, as well as my first into, the country of my birth. This airport has etched itself into my traveler’s psyche, and I automatically feel the anticipation and excitement of the Open Road. I am squiggling in my seat as I write this, for I am going back to Hungary.

Then on to Serbia . . . maybe.

Then on to Greece . . . maybe.

Then on to Turkey . . . maybe.

Then on to Syria . . . I really friggin hope so.

The detour to Maine went well. Well, better than anyone could expect. It was a good move to go there. It was a well spent $400.

Now I am nearing the point of breaking . . .of going broke.

This is a funny expression that is representative of these capitalistic times:

Going broke.

If you have no money, you cannot buy anything. If you cannot buy anything, you are broken.

I will soon be broken. Oh well.

Wealth and adventure are mutually exclusive when applied to traveling: the more money you have, the less interesting your travels will be. If this is a given, then I think that I should be in for some interesting times.

I will have to find work – really work, not trade for accommodation work – almost upon landing. This is OK. I like working on the Road. My mother always told me that it is necessary to earn your own keep to be happy, to have a feeling of self-worth and well-being. So I no longer look upon work as an uncanny trade of life for sustenance, but rather as an event that I can learn from.

Going to Budapest.

Looking for work.

The love of traveling.