Member-only story
Having a Limoncello With You
A memory from the Camino de Santiago
Last week, the course of a conversation with a friend fortuitously stirred a memory that had been dormant for quite some time, of a hilariously strange woman I met on the Camino de Santiago in 2018. I hadn’t thought about this little story in years, but after recollecting it, I couldn’t think of much else anymore.
I was struck not only by what a fond memory it was, but also by the fact that I hadn’t thought about it in so long, and that in that time bumbling around in the back of my brain, some of the details and texture had eroded away.
It’s bizarre how we can’t do much of anything to stop even our sweetest travel memories from fading like a favorite piece of clothing in the wash. I think it was the unsettling nature of this fact, more than anything, that had my mind replaying the memory over and over in the days following the chat that resurrected it. And I think that’s why I feel so inclined to tell you about it now, if for no other reason than I ought to write it down before it floats from my brain entirely.
It also made me think a lot about what we take away from travel. When time has passed and the intricacies of each site and each day dissolve, what are we left with from a treasured trip?
