Returning home

It's a long time since I posted anything here - too long, in fact.

By way of excuse, I have just returned from a trip across Europe, travelling from Bucharest through the Balkans, Adriatic Coast and Julian Alps, before the more familiar landscapes of Switzerland and France. In total, I visited ten countries, a journey those of us of a certain age would have considered improbable before the collapse of the Berlin Wall and the dismantling of the Eastern Bloc.

I’m conscious that road trips like this run the risk of superficial impressions, but in their very nature they also underscore the highs and lows of a continent that is as varied as it is vast. The potential for further exploration in the lesser-known regions has certainly been noted. Indeed, I’d argue the Durmitor Massif and Tara Gorge in Montenegro stand comparison with any mountains and rivers of the Alps.

And yet it’s impossible for all but the most indifferent of travellers not to sense the echoes of recent history: the abandoned buildings, the houses pockmarked with bullets, the truly shocking inequalities that have come with the rebuilding of economies and infrastructures. An abiding thought throughout my journey has been how lucky I am, and how the contrast between my starting point and home is so much greater than the miles I have travelled.

Yesterday, approaching journey's end, the sweep of Pembrokeshire’s coast greeted me as I crested the hill near my house. Seldom have I felt more grateful for where I live and for the sheer good luck to have been born when and where I was. 

Funny isn’t it, how in travelling for adventure, we come also to appreciate what we already have.