My father and I travelled a lot when I was younger. We still do, though the responsibilities of adulthood has lessened that considerably. When my younger brother and I each turned ten he took us on an "around the world" trip that lasted all summer. We started on the east coast and quite literally flew around the world at a leisurely pace, stopping at predetermined locations on the way. My brother spent more time in Asia and the southern hemisphere, while I spent more time in Northern Europe and the northern hemisphere.
Whenever I hear the BBC on the radio or the international broadcast on any television, I am immediately reminded of early mornings in lonely and distant hotels. My father would turn on the BBC to wake up every morning. At times the memories and melancholy nostalgia are suffocatingly affecting. How I long to sit in bed as a wide-eyed youngster listening to the happenings of this great big world before we head off to the hotel restaurant for an early morning breakfast. I miss Copenhagen as it was, and Cairo and Bali and everywhere else. But most of all I miss those times with my father.
He is still around but I am no longer a child. The everyday obligation of life tend to get in the way of times like those, and it is bitter to be reminded that one can never return to the freedom of childhood. But I can always tune into the BBC world service, and remember.
