travels.of.tara

My travels this year have circled around a central theme, and that theme has been swirling in my head constantly as I navigate life at home. Still, I haven’t cracked the code, the deeper meaning of this clear trend and these simple words: going back.

I went back to New Orleans in February, spending a long weekend in a place I’ve called my “soul city” because of the self-discovery and deep meaning the place has given me. This was my 5th time visiting, but my first in ten years, a stunning revelation about time and age. I was hurt by the work emergency that shocked me out of my reminiscent coma the afternoon I arrived, but I recovered with miles of walking, breathing in the endless jazz and art and sunshine. I found pockets of new — my first time in City Park with its dripping oak trees and free sculpture garden at the art museum; a niche concert experience at the famous Tipitina’s club, where fans of the artist I had chosen randomly online told me they’d traveled from other states to see their favorite artist Tab Benoit live; and living locally by taking a yoga class at a space I’d spotted from the streetcar. I found the familiar in the spaces I’d been before, like chatting with a dancer in front of Cafe du Monde about how he had attached taps onto his sneakers — and thinking about a piece of art I had purchased over a decade ago of a tap dancer on Bourbon Street because of my own connection to tap. I made friends in the hostel and went on an organized music crawl on Frenchmen Street. It was a spontaneous and joyous trip. Though I was grumpy about having to work remotely during a busy time of year, I left feeling filled up, determined to not let another ten years go by before returning. When I got back I made a detailed google map travel guide and have already shared it with several friends who have since visited, and committed to visit again soon with friends.

In late April and early May I went back to Zion National Park in Utah, a place whose beauty has occupied my dreams since the last time I visited in 2018, and before that 2015. It was my first time there alone, something I reveled in as I came down from an intense and social work season and geared up for the next one. I’d been planning dream trips to Zion for several years, so when I decided it was finally time to go I went in with a mission, booking the cheap room in the nice nearby motel and setting alerts to remember when to enter the Angel’s Landing permit lottery, which I won on the first try (and apparently was very lucky to have done so). That hike was lying dormant in the back of my head since the first time I visited, before I was an experienced hiker and while coping with a stomach bug; and the second time when the trail was closed due to a rockslide washing out part of the trail. I don’t think I realized how much of a goal it had been for years until I was there and doing it, overcome by adrenaline as I got started. It wasn’t particularly difficult, and I wasn’t scared of the steep drop offs or chains to help keep your balance that have kept many people away. Still, its fame and crowds made it something to conquer. It was stunningly beautiful. I spent an hour at the summit just taking in the 360 degree canyon views and the colors. I hiked my heart out that week, repeating some old favorites and finding new hidden spots, and I’ve now done every hike on the park map. It was tough to find solace in the inexperienced hiker crowds but I explored enough to balance it with some quiet areas. The icing on the cake was making time for a new place, Valley of Fire State Park outside of Las Vegas, where I spent a day in the extreme desert heat just two weeks before they close the trails for the season for safety reasons. The park was incredible, aweing me with colorful painted rocks, petroglyphs, and slot canyons, and pushing me to keep hiking long into the day despite the mirage-inducing heat. I avoided late nights and the Vegas scene on my crunchy hiker trip, but enjoyed lots of relaxing in hotel pools. At one point I reflected on how I feel the same I did in my mid-20s, the world open for me to explore and enjoy. Post-covid 30s has been a strange time, watching everyone settle in to family life with babies and houses, while I’m happily hiking down my own path. Life gets a little lonelier, but the solo travel time reminds me of who I am and that I’ve absolutely chosen what’s right for me.

These two “going back” trips have been intentional this year, keeping the travel flame burning but the planning light. In less than a month I’m going back to France, a country that was burned into my soul in 7th grade when I started learning the language. This time, it’ll be a 3 week adventure, with aggressive traveling and deeply-planned itineraries that I’ve spent a year putting together. Some of the sites will be return trips, and some will be new. Two weeks of jaunting around solo in the south of the country will culminate in the trip my friends and I have been planning for literally years: the 2024 Summer Olympics in Paris. Having been to France twice before and feeling moderately comfortable with the language gives me some confidence about this monster of a trip, but it will certainly be a dominantly new experience.

As work finally starts to quiet down a little this week and I’ve been resting out a pollen/heatwave-induced cough, I’m emerging from the fog, putting words to the thoughts I’ve had for months. “Going back” trips started as a practical tool to get me through some busy months, but they’ve become more. In a way I’m pairing the old with the new. Each of my trips ultimately becomes a set of memories, layering into me and building into my sense of self. Going back has been like dusting them off the shelf, making those memories alive again, remembering what I saw, who I was with, and what I felt back then. I’m a different person today, bolstered by those memories and so many others. So to be able to swim in the memories of a specific place and time so vividly is more than just nostalgia, it’s a deep reflection of self and how far I’ve come, all in an environment where I’m satisfying my wanderlust with new experiences and exploration. And now as those trips become their own memories, I just feel richer and more whole.

Or maybe it’s not that deep. Maybe I’m just living my best life, re-visiting places I like and having a blast. Either way, I’m so fucking proud of myself and grateful for the privilege to live the travel-fueled life I want to lead.