16 Oct THE BLUE CITY, JODHPUR INDIA – FROM MY TRAVEL JOURNAL DURING OUR OUR 16 FLIGHT, 5 WEEK JOURNEY THROUGHOUT ASIA, CAPTURING GRACE.

Not to sound like grandfather twilight but the older I get, the more I look for something that makes me wake up excited and anxious to get out of bed. Waking up on the rooftop of the Shahi guest house has become that morning moment during mine and Carissa’s time in Jodhpur India.

Between sips of hot lemon and honey ginger tea, Carissa and I observed the morning routines of our neighbors in this village that seemed to be lost in time. I loved watching the sun slowly make its way up, illuminating the luminescent shade of blue that is in abundance here. Exchanging a friendly wave and respectful namaste to our neighbors as we both experienced the morning on our rooftops.

The man who sits squatted on his roof hands clasped together in a yoga pose, the lady that majestically unfurls her saris over the wall and the monkeys that scamper along. Three elderly ladies stroll the alleys below, ringing bells in a timeless tradition, announcing the new day.

It was hard to say goodbye that day, especially to Carissa, my travel buddy for the last five weeks. Her kind and gentle spirit was such a treasure during our adventures in Asia for five weeks and our time together was a gift that I treasure. I took a measure of solace knowing that a part of me stayed on in India as Carissa entered a artist residency in nearby Andore upon my return to the US.

Many thanks to my friends for following this adventure, it was wonderful to have you along! And for my friends new and old that were a part of our time in India I am eternally grateful. Your kindness and hospitality will always be a part of my memories of India.

Roofs – by Joyce Kilmer

The road is wide and the stars are out

And the breath of the night is sweet,

And this is the time when wanderlust should seize upon my feet.

But I’m glad to turn from the open road and the starlight on my face,

And to leave the splendour of out-of-doors for a human dwelling place.

I never have seen a vagabond who really liked to roam

All up and down the streets of the world and not to have a home:

The tramp who slept in your barn last night and left at break of day

Will wander only until he finds another place to stay.

A gypsy-man will sleep in his cart with canvas overhead;

Or else he’ll go into his tent when it is time for bed.

He’ll sit on the grass and take his ease so long as the sun is high,

But when it is dark he wants a roof to keep away the sky.

If you call a gypsy a vagabond, I think you do him wrong,

For he never goes a-travelling but he takes his home along.

And the only reason a road is good, as every wanderer knows,

Is just because of the homes, the homes, the homes to which it goes.

They say that life is a highway and its milestones are the years,

And now and then there’s a toll-gate where you buy your way with tears.

It’s a rough road and a steep road and it stretches broad and far,

But at last it leads to a golden Town where golden Houses are.