Italy, July 2016

After 192 days on the road it is quite an experience to be back home. 

The original idea was to spend the whole year traveling, but traveling you learn that plans often change. And here it comes in March the unexpected message “Tia, we are getting married in July. You have to be there.”

At first, I had my usual reaction “The travel is what I want to do. I am not going back for a wedding.”

Even if I really love weddings because they make me emotional, I think that before starting my roadtrip I was not the kind of person to interrupt my ‘once in lifetime experience’ to attend someone else’s ‘once in lifetime event.’

Long story short, at a point I realize that to have a pit stop back in Italy won’t hurt anyone. Instead of carry on my route toward East (Japan or New Zealand) I just have to start going back West. India is on the way and makes it a great last stop for Asia. In Yangon, I apply for the Indian visa and, once I get it, I book a flight Delhi-Milan just in time for the wedding.

Flash forward. The comeback date is getting closer. My feelings are a strange mix. On the one side, I am happy I will be back home and will have a chance to reconnect with ‘my bunch.’ On the other hand, there was much more to see in that area of the world: more India, Nepal, Tibet, … 

Each of the two paths had its rewards and bitter pill to swallow. At the crossroad, I made my choice and I believe was the right one.

More than anything else I see the pit-stop as a lucky opportunity to check where I am standing after 6 months traveling. And where ‘my bunch’ is standing, too.

“How much have I changed in this period of time?”

“Is the change mostly positive or negative in the prospect to restart my ordinary life once the travel will be over?”

“What have I given up hitting the road? What I am missing while traveling?”

“How much have ‘my bunch’ changed in this period of time? What have they been up to?”

The night before the flight I hardly fell asleep. 

The morning of the flight I was thinking about a last cultural stop at the majestic Humayun’s Tomb but in the end I turn down the idea. I had enough running and sightseeing for this leg of travel. I just pack my 12 kilograms backpack and head to the airport. 

I love airports as much as I love weddings (ok, maybe a little bit less). While the latter are a great occasion to get together and celebrate with the most relevant people we have met in our life journey, the first are a great locations for introspection. In particular airports’ long hallways. Especially when I am traveling solo.

Walking along the long airports’ hallways, images from both experiences lived on the road and the upcoming rendezvous pop-up in my mind. At times, a shiver runs down my spine.

At the Milan airport my parents are waiting for me. We head to my sister’s house for a great Italian home dinner. The family is reunited. We are still missing the 2 nephews, who will come back the day after from Ibiza. We give a call to the elder (8 years old) and he asks “Zio, come è andato il giretto?” (“Uncle, how was the little ride?”) making us laugh. It was not exactly a little ride. 

The first 3 meals (socialisation and meals are ofter paired) are family time. Then come friends. 

Everybody is willing to listen to some stories, and has some stories to share with me as well. There is a lot to share and time is what it is, therefore both sides have to be careful to select the right anecdotes.

While on the road the ice-breaking question was “How long have you been traveling for?”, back home everybody asks “what is the most beautiful place you have seen?”

I tend not to reply to this one and to ask for a second question. The best one so far has been “What were you searching for when you hit the road? Did you find it?”

The answer to this one is another chapter.