Recherche du Temps Perdu, Part III

In Walt Disney's Cinderella, there's a song with which I've always strongly identified: "A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes." "No truer words...," as they say.

Fantasies are dreams we have while we're awake. They often serve as refuge from the harsh realities of life. Fantasies and reality are actually the two sides of the coin of our lives. Hope is the rim of the coin, which bridges and joins the two sides.

I'm not sure if any studies have been done on it, but it appears that Man is the only animal capable of having waking dreams, and the only one with any concept of tomorrow. And for mankind, dreams and fantasies combine to create another of our unique qualities: hope. Hope drives us toward tomorrow, and without it, there is little point in having a tomorrow.

I've lately been dreaming of my planned return to Europe next year after 55 years. I plan to revisit Paris, Cannes, Rome, Naples, and Pompeii, and first-time visit London and Venice. The excitement of such anticipation is intensified by my obsession with the my past and the longing to relive it. Going to the physical places of my past is the next best thing, and I can pretend, as I stand at the base of the Eiffel tower or in St. Peter's Square in Rome that I am once again that 22-year old sailor.

Though Naples is one of my least-favorite cities in the world, the Ticonderoga docked there several times while I was aboard her, and my least-favorite city is just a few miles from my most favorite: Pompeii. I plan to spend at least one entire day there, walking the streets and marveling at it all as I did so long ago. I'll also go to the Naples museum, which has many Pompeii relics and a large model of the city.

I'll also take a boat from Naples to Capri for a day. Capri! Me in Capri! Amazing! And while in Cannes, I'll take another boat to St. Tropez for the day. San Tropez! Me in San Tropez! Astounding!

Of course people take trips to Europe all the time, and flit back and forth between exotic locales all the time. But I don't. And for everyone who does, there are 1,000 who don't, either. So I will undoubtedly be insufferable (and no, I will not change that to "more insufferable") on my return, buttonholing complete strangers to tell them of my adventures, and lobbing grenades ("Oh, that reminds me of a funny thing that happened on the boat back to Naples from on Capri," or "When I was in Venice, I....") into every conversation to the point where my friends will run in the opposite direction when they see me coming.

I will of course be taking my laptop and assume--ah, that lovely operative word--I'll be able to post blogs without too much problem. I probably won't be doing all that much at night, since my 22-year-old's bar-hopping days are pretty much behind me, and spending the evening over a nice dinner is, thanks to my inability to eat like normal people, also unlikely. I will, in fact, be subsisting on nutritional supplements, soup, and pastries. And, of course, the fact that I will be largely by myself for most or all of the trip makes a difference in evening activities.

I have a friend who has apartments in Paris and Venice, and though they'll not be there when I am, I have already begun bothering them with suggestions of where to go and what to see.

Of course, this is all at least seven months in the future, but that just allows me more time to plan and dream of being 22 again.

And I have to buy a new camera, and maybe take French and Italian lessons, and decide exactly what I need to take with me (everyone says to pack light), and...I wonder if they still have tours that take you to the rim of Mt. Vesuvius. I'll have to check.

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