miles away, missed

Was it the brief interlude of respite that I miss? A free soul - almost - wandering in a foreign land, alone for short moments but feeling more than a pang of slight liberatation. Moving through unfamiliar streets, gazing langurously at new sights, feeling one's presence in a foreign land: a sense of detachment and foreigness quickly emerges to occupy one's consciousness. One's state of mind and being? Tender yet vulnerable; light and contented.

Or was it the joy and thrill of travelling? Being away from the familiar, the claustrophobic, the ceaseless; the promise and anticipation of the unfamiliar, the unseen, and the exotic. The excitement and desire to go beyond one's shores - these feelings never disappear.

Or was it the place - its particularity and character - that makes me think of it, miss it? Was it Shanghai and Shanghai itself that makes me recall fondly that brief interlude?