The persistence of memory

Cigarette smoke, strong black coffee, and brisk morning air. Suddenly, I am no longer walking down a quiet street in Orange Park, Florida. I am crossing a hectic street in Puerta del Sol, trying to get to class on time. My bag bumping against my hip, I half-jog across the busy intersection. If I close my eyes and really fall into my reverie, I can see the Tio Pepe sign on the building in front of me. I hear the music from my walkman and feel the sun on my shoulders. I smile and shake my head at the offer to purchase jewelry from a dark-skinned street vendor.

Opening my eyes, I am still walking down the street - my dogs impatiently pulling at their leashes. Car exhaust, horns blaring, people speaking rapid Spanish while kissing their companions on the cheek. If I listen closely, I can hear my classmates laughing and talking alongside me on our way to El Son for Salsa lessons. I hear the click of my roommate's stilletos on the cobblestone streets. I can feel my metro pass tucked tightly into my pocket.

I smile and snap out of my memory. As I continue walking down the street, I feel a warmth and happiness envelop me.

No matter how many years go by, I have taken a piece of of that city with me. I will call on it on those days where I feel helpless and stiffled by my ordinary life. I will know that I took a chance and experienced something beautiful. That is the beauty of travel.