To clamber a thousand feet underground, through the labyrinth of opaque spires that perforate the cave of giants.

To saunter along Baobab Avenue, and in the dusty heat of the afternoon sun, fall asleep in the dappled shade of a tropical behemoth.

To promenade the endless spit of sand that splits the horizons of the Chukchi Sea from still lagoons.

To watch virgin sunlight paint the undulating walls of antelope canyon with a sunset of earthy red.


To lend an ear to the whispering mist as I climb the sandstone walls of A. C. Doyle's, 'Lost World.'

To enter a scissor dancing competition, in cobble stone streets of Lima, flexing and contorting like the laughing crowd.

To swim amongst the chirps of caroling belugas, under the reminiscent eyes of my grandmother.