Snap chat
Photo app
DSLR.
How do you remember your adventures?
As I previously wrote, it’s different to remember a place by the way it smells. The briney humid inhale of a New England beach is completely different from the soft winds coming off the South Atlantic in Itacare.
Tracking
Sounds are what makes a place home, to me.
When Shane first moved to Davenport, he was so scared by the bangs late at night. Whether they were from the Arsenal, rogue fireworks, or actual weapons, Shane was sure that every bang was a gun.
When we were in Seabra, there were chickens next door. Growing up on and off in rural Iowa, I was pretty aware that roosters crowed more than once at the crack of dawn. My beloved thought that they crowed once, like in the story books. Regardless, we were both squacked awake daily.
You won’t notice some sounds until they don’t happen. Leaving the TRNC for the other side of Cyprus, it was bizarre to not hear the call of prayer echo off the mountains into the Greek side of Cyprus. The church bells of Itacare sounded like a manic person was banging on them with a hammer. I missed that the night that I left.
Newport, RI has huge rocks on parts of the shoreline. The water washes back and forth over them, they shift, making the most unique dysrhythm.
The soundtrack to my office. I barely notice when the fans turn off, but the whole room seems louder. Rowdier.
The rains of Iowa are harsh and loud . . . beating against the metal roof of the lifeguard shack I spent my high school summers in. The constant rush was only interrupted by the clash of lightning, often being heard while able to see the sun on the not so distant horizon.
I could be anywhere in the world, and ‘Wagon Wheel’ will take me right back to the side of 28 September Road, Nicosia.
In the Loire Valley, the rumble of the truck engines was absorbed by the vineyards, the birds’ chirp outweighing the wind.
Sometimes, it’s the sounds of humans that distinguish a place. In whatever language, it’s not easy to distinguish what’s going on. Banging on instruments, harsh tones giving way to compliments and commands simultaneously.
The sound of a passionate group of people singing will always bring the hair on the back of my neck to attention. The sound of Amazing Grace on bagpipes will always bring me to tears.
It is the soundtrack of a place as much as anything that sets one place apart from another. As we travel about the world, we leave one sound track for another, until we are back to the familiar sounds of home.
Nickel, lady? Nickel, lady? I can have a nickel, lady?