Travelling is conducive to love. Quite often, people fall in love with each other while abroad. They are experiencing amazing things together, and often living together as well. It makes perfect sense. Isn't that the whole idea behind honeymoons? Travelling is romantic.
But me? I fall in love with places. I fall in love with the smell of a place. The aroma of food, of fresh ocean air, I have even been known to fall in love with the smell of burning garbage. I fall in love with the way the ground feels under my feet, be it concrete, cobblestone, gravel, or mud. I find myself imagining what it would be like to spend my life in this city or town. I imagine what it would feel like to walk to and from work. To go on a vacation, and dream of calling this place home. I fall in love with the feeling of a place. Some places are laid back, some busy, some quiet. I love them all. I want to experience them all. And not in the travellers sense, spending a few days here, a few days there. I want to live there. I want to find the little local coffee shops that sell the best coffee, but tourists don't know about. I want to learn the local language and converse with the same people every day.
This is why, when offered a week long trial run, teaching yoga at a hostel in Seville, Spain, I jumped at the opportunity. If all goes well, I will be spending the next six weeks here. Living here. Teaching yoga to travellers. Of course it won't be enough time to learn the local language. And the walk to work consists of a flight of stairs. But for a period longer than a few days, I get to call Seville home. Sometimes, a period longer than a few days is all you need to fall head over heels.
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