Loosely speaking.
I think the most astonishing visual experience I had on this trip took place on the journey back, from Rome to Gatwick, when, at about 6:30 in the morning, we started flying over the Alps.
Now, some of you world travelers have done this many times, but allow this neophyte to marvel a bit.
I’ve flown over the Rockies, but this was different, partly because of the difference in landscape, and partly because of the time of day.
What is it you see from this vantage point?

Pure white undulating peaks pinched from the earth. As you approach, the shadows shift and what seemed like it might be flat reveals itself to be a massive ridge.
It is all searing white and shadows.
Most fascinating, though, are the lights. The lights of settlements, of hamlets, of small towns. In the early morning half-light, they glimmer soft yellow, clustered on the side of a mountain, streaming through a valley.
The lights reveal a living map of the unexpected places people choose to settle and remain. Being deeply averse to cold, I cannot imagine settling in this place, despite the magnificent vistas, and marvel at those who do. Why are they here? Why would you stay?  Even more curiously, why would people have come here hundreds of years ago when it would have been so much more difficult to leave?
As we continue to fly, and the mountains do not stop, I think of centuries of traversing this landscape. Passes were found, routes were established, and it was not just the traders and adventurers who made the journey. To get from here to there, this is what you did: you packed up your animals, tightened the wheels on your carts, wrapped yourself up, and you started riding, knowing at some point you would have to walk.
My journey high above the ancient way is marked by comfort. Odd, then, that it prompts a nagging sense of unease.