I sent off my 3000+ word story about our Hungarian cycling trip to Adventure Cyclist magazine. When I was going through the photos from that trip, I found this photo of geraniums. What is it about geraniums that seems synonymous with Europe?

This photo inspired me to replace the little impatiens to their new spot in the back garden and to fill those pots with geraniums. There is something so damned cheerful and irrepressible about geraniums. They’re one of those never-ever-give up kind of flowers. Maybe that’s why they’re everywhere? I actually entertained the thought – albeit briefly – to do something other than geraniums this year, but it seemed rather heretical so I’m back to the tried and true plan.

I can pretend my terra cotta pots are sitting on a balcony in Hungary, Italy or France, though I just recalled now that my favourite scene of geraniums was in a little coastal village in Turkey. I just remember all those olive oil tins and other odd buckets and cans repurposed into a extravagant show up the steep steps to the balcony of the one house.

It was just past dawn. I had woke up from the muzzein’s call to prayer.  We were sleeping under olive trees and I can still see my mosquito net swaying above my head, the olive branches and the brightening skies. The morning breeze was cool but still warm enough to feel like a caress.  I left Kevin and the other sleeping campers, and walked through the little seaside village where I came upon this display of geraniums. Maybe it’s their floral cheer against such humble surroundings… maybe that’s what was so powerful.

Funny, how one photo and one type of flower can lead you to entirely different places and memories.

This is why I travel…my hope is that when I’m decrepit and sitting in a rocking chair, I will still have a smile on my face because all these stories and memories will be unspooling in my brain.

 So, don’t worry if I look lost, it’s okay. I’m traveling somewhere amazing.