Why do we sometimes remember the table more than the viewpoint?

Anyone who has traveled with us might finish reading this post remembering someone. As I was writing, I remembered several people.

And a few tables, too.

That time when everyone comes back from the outing, takes a shower, and sits down to eat. The community's home-cooked food arrives, along with conversations with those who prepared it, and someone asking for the name of an ingredient. We were starving, but even after feeling full, we stay right there.

You probably have a memory like that. From one of our trips or any other. A lunch that lingered, a coffee at the guesthouse, a conversation that started when it was already bedtime.

If I asked for a photo, you might not even have one. But you can tell me exactly how it went.

Before long, the conversation moves on

I don't know at what moment a conversation about the outing turns into a conversation about life. But it does.

A job change comes up, a feeling of longing, a dream someone isn't sure they'll have the courage to pursue. Someone shares they went through something similar. Another person listens without having an answer, and the conversation keeps flowing anyway.

There is a sense of relief in being able to finish a thought without being interrupted by a notification. And in listening to someone with whom, outside of that place, we might never have sat down to talk.

Sometimes, a story stays with me because it is so different from mine. Other times, because I could have told almost the exact same story.

And, of course, at some point the story of an ex might come up. There's always one, right? Before we know it, even the person who was just listening wants to know how it ended.

I love this mix. The conversation can get serious, someone might get emotional, and right after, everyone is laughing at something that won't even be that funny when we try to tell it back home.

Little by little, we feel comfortable participating without needing to have a grand story. You can share something silly, ask a question, say “me too”.

Afterwards, the guesthouse has a name and a face

Before a trip, we look at photos of the room, want to know what the stay is like, where we will sleep. Of course, that's part of it.

But when you remember a place where you were welcomed so warmly, is it just the room you remember?

Sometimes, breakfast comes first. The little corner where you liked to sit. The voice of the person calling everyone to eat. That meal that was so good you wanted to know the recipe, even suspecting it wouldn't taste the same back home.

In the communities that host us, I like having time to get to know a bit about the people there. Asking about how something is prepared, listening to the person who learned it, understanding how it's part of daily life.

They also ask where we come from, what life is like over here. One thing leads to another. Differences lead to great conversations, similarities surprise us, and there is curiosity on both sides.

We stay for a few days. Our hosts remain there, living a life much larger than the small piece we get to know. I like to remember that whenever I feel like I still have so much left to ask.

Afterwards, when we talk about that guesthouse or that community, we already have real people in mind. And when it's time to leave, we have people to say goodbye to.

Food also tells where we are

Maybe you're already remembering

Maybe you're already remembering

The person who sat next to you. A dish you never tasted anywhere else again. That night you stayed up chatting, even knowing you had an early morning ahead.

The place remains beautiful in your memory. It's just that now it's hard to remember it without remembering all of this together.

I look at a photo of the landscape and remember a conversation along the way. I see a photo of a table and know who was making everyone laugh, even if that person isn't in the shot. Some photos are blurry, poorly framed. But we understand it's not about that, right?

I wanted to launch the blog with these memories because many of the people reading this are part of them. And because I want to take my time writing about the places, the people, and the things that stay with me after I return.

You might not even remember what was served at that dinner anymore. But you remember it was good, that you stayed late, that it had been a while since you had talked like that.

Tell me: when you think of a trip you miss, who pops up in your mind?

Ah, and thank you for sticking around until here. See you in the next one.

Let's live.