Travel365 It is not down in any map; true places never are -Herman Melville

I’m on my way to Newark Airport, my departure from Pennsylvania is bittersweet. I’ve had amazing time here, thanks to my conservation science career, where it all began. I recall Hawk Mountain Sanctuary, the place I’ve called home for the last four months; recall my fellow conservation science interns from around the globe; U.S.A, Spain, Argentina, Philippines, Mexico, Panama; I’ll miss the multicultural interactions.

I recall the hikes in the Appalachian trails, the Turkey Vultures’ graceful flights as they hunt for fresh kill, Peregrine Falcons as they swoop down for a quick pigeon-snack. The summer multi-coloured landscapes that have filled my days go by. Colourful monarchs flit southward; do they know they have few days left to live?

I get to the airport after two hours; waiting to check in, my heart heavy with emotion. I’ve longed for home; the sight and smell of red earth, rain and evening fires, probably the first time I’ve felt closer to home than ever before. After my mom’s accident and tragic death before my travel to the States, my perspective on life took a twist.

I was so lost in thought that after loading all my bags on a trolley-I’ve to travel light next time-I pushed them through the busy terminal and on to the escalator. I was brought back to reality when all they scattered all over the staircase. At the top I held an empty trolley in my hand, the bags on the ground. Silly me. A guy helped me reload them. Aha, welcome to the world Martha, you’re ready to roll!

I finally check in and arrive in Amsterdam after nine hours. While waiting for my connection at Schiphol airport, I see an empty bench in the quieter part of the enormous lounge. I sit across a mother and son, of Asian origin. I smile at them, the son, about ten years old, bursts out laughing. It’s contagious; I laugh too, his mom smiles. As I switch on my computer to type my day’s journal, the boy sits next to me and stares at my screen-it has a photo of a lion on it. I tell him my name, he doesn't understand English and he laughs again. I smile; instead of typing into my journal, I show him my Kenyan wildlife photos. The look on his face is priceless.

He suddenly stands up and whispers to his mom. She looks, smiles and nods at me. He comes back and says, pointing at his heart, “Sarfee”. I smile back, point at my heart and say, “Martha” and head to board my next plane, happy that even without so many words, we communicated, I presumed we told each other our names!