For the early evening

My childhood was beautiful.
Every summer, our green family “Zhiguli” would rumble toward the lakes and the seaside.
But I never had the chance to go on farther trips as a child.

My first “encounter” with an airport happened… during my university years.
When I set off to “conquer” America.
Alright, alright.
“Settle down, V…”

I didn’t feel like a conqueror at all, because my first flight—with layovers through airports too big for my mind to comprehend—made my eyes grow to the size of coconuts. Almost lifting them out of my face.

America smelled, first and foremost… like dollars.
Like taking home MY OWN “bucks.”
For my first-ever wheels—this felt like cosmic-level success.
And luck smiled at me.

After four months of “conquering” America and bending my back in two jobs—
A Toyota of unprecedented (to me) beauty rolled into the driveway.
True.
It was a 1994 model.
But…
Terribly beautiful.

A few rust spots on its sides didn’t spoil the perfection at all.
To my awe-filled eyes, they were like charming “beauty marks.”
Which Dad promised to spray over with some paint.

And even though on my first trip to Vilnius my “dream car” started winking its “check engine” light—
I loved it.
Because it was the trophy of my first “lived” journeys.

Besides the “bucks” brought for my dream,
I saw Niagara Falls, Broadway theaters, and stood with my head thrown back in New York.
Because I believed that coming to America and not seeing the most famous sights was, at the very least, a “sin.”

After graduation, I slipped into wedding shoes.
Then came the HONEYMOON trip.
We didn’t dare dream of terribly faraway lands yet, as our thoughts were busy with acquiring our own family nest.

We flew to Egypt.
Africa!!!!—I shouted in my mind.
And I didn’t allow myself to think that being THERE, I might miss the mummy museum, of all things, at +40°C… and the pyramids.
Which we had to reach AFTER AN ENTIRE NIGHT of travel!

My husband and I stood, exhausted after a sleepless night on the bus in a remote spot, trying to take in the beauty of this world wonder.
But we didn’t see it.
Not a bit.

We just didn’t say it aloud to each other.
But during the night ride back, we quietly admitted that even a postcard from the hotel would have been enough.
Yet some “must see with your own eyes” instinct drove us to rush through the trip, ticking off visited places.
Otherwise, it wouldn’t “count” that we’d been there.

Later, our travels gained momentum.
They were only paused for awaiting miracles and the first years of raising Do-Pa-My, when I was basically a walking “kitchen.”
And returning home to leave the children with the grandparents—trips hit with a bang.

Finally, on a long-awaited vacation,
I realized that “breaking free from the chain” isn’t necessary.
And if I visit a new country without ticking off a pile of must-see sites, no one will condemn me.
No one will scold me.
No one will poke at my soul with a “lazybones” stone.

I learned not to rush, but to enjoy.
To travel and explore as much as I want.
To see what we discover ourselves, not what sits on the “must see” lists, usually crowded with tourists.

I return from yet another vacation
with my mind full of impressions:
Slow walks along the coast.
Exploring a coral reef.
Collecting beautifully shaped shells.
Swimming in unbelievably blue waters.
A birthday safari full of extreme experiences.
Eyes feasting on cute little boats gliding along the marina.
Cozy evenings in local taverns, where the friendly service and memories will hold the incredible taste of seafood.

Finally, I understood that the best travel memories
aren’t “checked pluses.”
They are about slowing down.
And allowing yourself to breathe in what daily life lacks most—
A sense of calm and “stop, what a charming moment.”
A feeling you can not only “grab” but also savor.
As much as you want.
Even…
To your heart’s content.

Directly from the plane, flying home to the ones I miss,
V.