When the sun illuminates the distant hills and spills over their silvery edges, tumbles down and bounces glinting off the gentle ripples of the cerulean waters, comes sliding in through the sheer curtains hushed and whispering at the window, settling gently warm and orange on your eyelids, eyelashes flutter open, you awake, fully, lit from within, imbued with ancient light, energy, the day begins. A day begins that will rip you open, split you in pieces, leave little bits of yourself on the whitewashed stones walked by thousands of years of men and women, and your heart will grow bougainvillea, ring midday bells long after you've departed, smell spice and fish and saltwater where there is none. This is travel. A dismemberment of the small world carefully built inside you, a restructuring of the parameters with which you view the world. You can never undo it, you are forever changed.