In traveling some memories stick out, while others fade.

In Udaipur, I recall the view from the hotel window. The window faced away from the city center. There was a small stream below, where I saw dogs, cows, hogs, horses, and birds. The stream was heavily polluted. Across the stream ran a bridge, with nonstop traffic in both directions, and endless stream of mopeds and motorcycles and honking.

One morning, while eating breakfast, I saw a transformer explode. Moments later the power cut out.

At night, the city would grow dark: very few lights were visible. It's hard to appreciate the luxury of even a lighted room.

During the day, young kids would fly kites from the roofs. Throughout the cityscape, kites flew.

I traveled to Spain this month, visiting a colleague. I recall standing in the Mediterranean Sea for the first time, feeling the sand, the wind, the sun, the water washing over my feet.

I recall small moments of excitement, like the first bite of fresh hummus and pita. The power cutting out in Barcelona first at a bar, and later at a sushi restaurant.

I recall standing in the cold mountain stream outside Segovia. The humidity washing over me as we excited the train station in Barcelona.

It's easier for me to transcribe these memories than to try to translate the experiences. I find I get tired of finding synonyms for incredible, fantastic, delicious. In someone else's hand these words could paint a picture, but in my own they fail to capture the souvenirs I've brought home.