On the Taste of Travel and the Ways of Savoring It.
FOR THE EVENING.
On the Taste of Travel and the Ways of Savoring It.
My childhood was beautiful.
Every summer, our green family “Zhiguli” would rumble toward lakes and the seaside.
But as a child, I didn’t travel far.
My first real encounter with an airport happened during my university years,
when I set off to “conquer” America.
Well… all right.
“Come back down to earth, V…”
I didn’t feel like a conqueror at all.
My first flight—with layovers in airports so vast they barely fit into my imagination—made my eyes grow to the size of coconuts.
They were practically popping out of my face.
America, to me, smelled first and foremost of… dollars.
Of bringing home my own “little potatoes” (my first savings).
It felt like a cosmic-level success for my first steps in life.
And it smiled at me.
After four months of “conquering” America and bending my back over two jobs,
a Toyota of unbelievable (to me) beauty rolled into our yard.
True,
it was a 1994 model.
But still—
absolutely beautiful.
Even a few patches of rust settling comfortably on its sides didn’t ruin that beauty.
In my eyes full of admiration, they were like charming little “beauty marks,”
which my father promised to cover with a can of paint.
And although on its first trip to Vilnius my dream car started flashing its “check engine” warning…
I loved it.
Because it was the reward of my first “lived-through” journeys.
Along with the money I brought back for my dream,
I saw Niagara Falls,
a Broadway theater,
stood in New York with my head thrown back.
Because I believed that going to America and not seeing its most famous places
would be a kind of sin.
After finishing my studies, I slipped into wedding shoes.
And then came the honeymoon trip.
We didn’t even dare dream of very distant places,
because our thoughts were already circling around buying our first family home.
We set off for Egypt.
“Africa!!!!” I squealed in my mind.
And I didn’t even allow myself to think that I might go there and not see the mummy museum—
never mind the +40°C heat…
and of course, the pyramids.
Which we had to reach by an all-night bus ride.
After a sleepless night on a bus, my husband and I stood in the blazing heat,
trying to see the beauty of one of the world’s wonders.
But we couldn’t.
Neither of us.
We just didn’t say it out loud.
And yet, on the way back, we both quietly admitted
that a postcard from the hotel would probably have been enough.
But something inside us—the “you must see it with your own eyes” feeling—
pushed us to rush through every trip,
marking every famous place off a list.
Otherwise, it didn’t “count.”
Later, travel picked up its pace.
It slowed down only during the waiting-for-miracles phase,
and the early years of raising Do-Pa-My, when I was a walking “little kitchen.”
But once we could leave the children with grandparents for a while,
the journeys would strike again with full force.
Eventually, after a long-awaited vacation,
I understood:
you don’t need to “break free from the chain.”
And if I don’t tick off a pile of sightseeing spots when visiting a new country,
no one will judge me.
No one will punish me.
No one will point fingers.
No one will drop that heavy stone of
“oh, what a lazy one”
on my soul.
I learned not to rush, but to enjoy.
To travel and explore only as much as I truly want.
To see what we ourselves discover,
not what sits on the “must see” lists
that are, as a rule, crowded with tourists.
I return from yet another holiday,
carrying a head full of impressions:
slow walks along the coast,
exploring coral reefs,
collecting beautifully shaped seashells,
swimming in unbelievably blue water,
a birthday safari full of extreme experiences,
gazing at small, charming boats in marinas,
and cozy evenings in local tavernas,
where alongside sincere hospitality
there will remain the unforgettable taste of seafood in memory.
And in the end, I understood:
the best holiday experiences are not the “checkmarks.”
They are slowness.
And allowing yourself to breathe in what everyday life most lacks—
peace,
and that feeling of “stop, moment, you are beautiful.”
A feeling you don’t just catch,
but truly savor.
As much as you want.
Even…
until your heart is completely full.
V.
