Welcome. Passport, please!

One of the mundane necessities of international travel is the trial of passing through customs and immigration. I often chase the arrows in a burst of anticipation and rush small talk with officials whose care for my plans range from none to 100 as I heed the beckon call of an other world of flavors, scents and noises that I've never tasted, inhaled, or heard. My senses are overwhelmed with anticipation of adventures I'll encounter past the sterile high counters, after questions of local address and expected visit dates, beyond the occasional tussle through bikinis, cameras, dresses, and colorful scarves, and just on the other side of that final suspicious glare.

With my passport stamp and a wave-through, I'm in. Finally, I concern myself with the important issues: Will the dry heat of the desert press on my chest? Will the sea taste saltier? Will the exhaust of a smog-check free society smack me in the face? Will the fresh-pulled taffy scent the air? Do I have enough wet wipes to clean the grime off my hands before I grab a mango or a cactus fruit with my bare hands? How soon until I encounter the delicious danger and distinct delicacy of a street food cart? Wait...Did I bring enough charcoal tablets to soak up any questionable meat source+delicious flavor indiscretions? Yes. I did. And I'm ready to dive right in.

Between trips, I look back at the stamps that somehow made their way into my passport between sleep-deprived jet lag and pure naked ambition to reach the undiscovered world beyond customs and immigration. One scan through my passport carries me directly back to treasured moments: horseback riding along the green and black rivers in Baños, Ecuador; skinny-dipping at the isolated Playa Maguana near Baracoa, Cuba; cool floors and the sweet must scent lingering inside a wine cave in Bordeaux, sunset through the square windows of a gondola high above Barcelona, a single Gyptian hit blasting over and over from a cellphone on a beach in Anguilla, and the fresh squeezed orange juice of the Marakesh marketplace. Ah. That fresh squeezed orange juice is a sweet nectar unparalleled this life.

In the increasingly high-tech world of travel security, those beautiful and precious passport stamps are becoming more and more rare. I recently found myself cursing the empty passageways between airstairs and curbside in Italy. What? No physical stamp? How will I recall the experiences and savor the moments of this trip when I open my passport to plan the next?

Facing the hollow of an unstamped passport inspired me to embrace the new world; to stamp my own virtual passport with adventure, love, inspiration and spice.