I'm going on another adventure tomorrow morning, and as always when I drag out my dashing little purple four-wheeled carry-on, I feel a sense of excitement.
"Where are we going now?" say the little voices in my head. (Yes, I admit to hearing voices in my head. If you don't, I feel sorry for your sense of wonder and imagination.)
I love travel. It's eye-opening and mind-boggling and chim-chimmering and all those good things. You get to go places where literally everything is new, and remember that sense of wonder you felt all the time as a little kid: "What is that for? Where does that go? What does that taste like? Who's that?"
Tomorrow, it's something old, something new: I'll be flying to my home town of Geneva, Switzerland, but immediately catching the train around the lake to the town of Vevey for a big work presentation on Thursday. Come Friday, though, I'll have time to play.
Because I'm a good big sister, I'm packing favorite British snacks for my favorite redhead. They should survive the journey, but I'm not making any promises.