How shall I know...

unless I go, to Cairo and Cathay, whether or not this blessed spot is blest in every way? Now it may be, the flower for me is this beneath my nose: How shall I tell, unless I smell the Carthaginian rose? The fabric of my faithful love no power shall dim or ravel whilst I stay here, -- but oh, my dear, if I should ever travel! (Millay) I've had the good fortune to travel in the last few years, seeing places I've dreamed of seeing since childhood. With each there's been the delight of recognition, as of meeting a pen pal("You look just like your pictures!") coupled with an inward--and embarrassed--disappointment. ("But I thought you'd be taller, and your teeth are so crooked.") The pyramids and the Sphinx were as grand as I'd imagined. (But there were so many people! Hard to get a picture without including other sightseers. And, oh, the pitiful scrawny dogs and the intimidating vendors: "one dolla, one dolla!")