Die Alpen

There is so much adventure in a map--they're like banners of endless choices, possibilities, and adventures.
One of my classes is held in a room that is nearly wall-papered with maps. I spend the entire two hours of lecture on hypothetical roadtrips. Driving to the soundtrack of my professor's lectures, I have explored the wrinkly coast of Italy, from Genua to Marselle. I've poked my nose in peculiar ports of Portugual. I've even dived through all the shades depicting depth in the Adriatic Sea.
Based on the two-dimensional symbols used on a map, I have recreated a living picture in my mind of how I think the earth really looks at those destinations represented on the map. Take Viareggio, for example. On the map, it's an insignificant red dot. Directly to the left of it is a gap of pale blue labeled "Golivon". To it's right is about four inches of pale green, and above it is a patch of rough, brown texture. Its just colors on synthetic paper. But in my head, Viareggio is a quaint, village painted thick with Italian authenticity. It's perched almost precariously at the lips of a hungry sea, being gently nudged toward it by a river of mountains. I imagine that the air in this village is alive, always moving as a result of synchronized breathing between the mountains and the ocean