One of the reasons I write Kavey Eats is because I love to record and to share my memories; memories of food and travel with all the little details that delighted me at the time, and of course, lots and lots of photographs.
It’s no surprise that we notice so much more when we are travelling – stepping outside of our normal routine, our normal everyday life is bound to make us more alert, more open and eager to see and experience every new thing.
I might find it hard to remember what I had for lunch at yet another day in the office, choosing from the same few places nearby that I always go to, fitting in lunch between the same slew of meetings and tasks that make up most of my working days. Even though I love my work, it’s inevitable that the days blur into each other more often than not.
But ask me what the hot red sand of the Namib desert felt like as I scooped it up and let it run through my fingers. Ask me how the Japanese ladies laughed in delight when they saw my husband who was almost twice their height. Ask me how the ornately shaped bergs with their veins of deep blue compressed ice reflected the sunlight as they slowly turned in the currents of the ocean. Ask me about the smell of penguin poo as I lay flat on my belly on the beach amid a squawking colony of half a million of king penguins. Ask me about the rattle of half-moon wooden jiaobei blocks clattering across the floor of a Taiwanese temple as worshippers asked their questions of Buddha. Ask me why my heart leapt into my mouth and I pulled down on the zipline with all my feeble strength as I hurtled towards the tree trunk in front of my feet. Ask me how the spicy minced lamb wrapped in pastry tasted, served fresh out of the oven at the back of a butcher’s shop in Lebanon’s Beqaa Valley.
I love this quote by American actress, musician and record producer, Jennette McCurdy. Travel seems to heighten all of my senses and the memories made are so intense.
We first visited Namibia in 2001, and went back again a few years later. The Namib Rand desert captured our hearts, as did the beauty of the Sossusvlei and the haunting loneliness of the dead trees where the water no longer flows.
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