The promise of a getaway looms. And it got me thinking of the last time we traveled. It was at the end of last year, which honestly feels like it only just passed us by.
I think wistfully of the amount of travel I had the privilege of last year. Thinking of the ease with which I made umpteen, nearly monthly, visits to Goa, four mini holidays across the year three of which were in the last three months of 2019, I can’t help but feel what a distant reality that now seems like. Forget travel, even a trip to one of the city’s favourite bars to get a drink seems remote right now.
How and when will we go again? Move, travel, spread ourselves in corners of the world.
And what will become of the idea of travel itself?
Where will we go to quench our neverending desire to explore, photograph, exploit, destroy, flaunt the miles to which our restless feet and beings will take us?
How will the industries that stem from this need of ours transform, and how quickly? What will it mean for travellers like us?
I have a special dislike for what’s become of the word wanderlust. But today I think wanderlost, might be a modification I am willing to allow.