With only nearly a week away before my departure to Europe again, I can't help but feel like a 5 year old anticipating his first trip to Disneyland, even though this is really my third trip. I do have to admit, I’m a bit stressed out about it since this trip was such short notice. Originally we were all suppose to go to Cuba, but for one thing or another, the embargo has convinced us to stay away from the island. It’s not the political side of it all, rather the outcome it has on the cost of getting there. . . . . .Oh well, some other time I hope.
Visiting Europe is more of a religious experience, one that puts me in a blissful state of ecstasy. Being in a foreign country does cause me to be engrossed in my new surroundings, and that's conceivably the sensation that I tend to value further. Not automatically an escapists approach, but instead one where I can in fact say that my visual senses and imagination are stimulated by what I can truly submit to as genuine historical remnants of our past. The issue here is that it forces me to set such high expectations for my own locale, one that gives me this sense of sullenness towards our cosmopolitan way of thinking where chic and luxury are the fundamentals of this nation’s view on what is referred to as "art".
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