Freshly stamped passports always make me giddy.

Once abroad the plane, I am free to daydream; eager to be where I've never been, flying clouds-above normalcy.

In hours, we can traverse the planet that we call home. Often, I'm unable to sleep; mesmerized by our progression across longitudes and latitudes proposed in the third century.

Already, my summer travels have dotted the globe...and even, time itself.

I began in Australia's Silver Bay. My nights were spent in the company of environmentally-conscious, local whale-chasers. The Silver Bay Hotel was authentic and personable due to the familial atmosphere fostered by the owner Kathleen Whittier Mostyn. She, her niece, Liza, and her daughter, Hannah, run the seaside house.

During my stay, I was privy to Liza's transformation. She fell for a reformed businessman, Mike Dormer, an Englishman who was an unexpected guest. He worked for an international building company, but developed a genuine love for the area.

Liza ran from an abusive husband in England and Mike sacrificed his job and fiancé to stand for the whales and Silver Bay's residential simplicity. Her freedom and his bravery were my inspirational souvenirs.

Next, I visited Samantha Moore in Illinois. Enrolled in Northwestern University's Medill School of Journalism, we bonded over our love for literature. She too was an English major in undergrad and offered me sage tidbits. However, by our visit's end, she still had not told me her story.

Sure, we discussed Austen's heroines, but not Samantha. With tears in her eyes, Samantha told me that her story is the hardest to write. Her bookish persona allowed her to hide behind characters; mimicking their behavior or even quoting them directly. She lost herself in the pages, quite literally.

In Arizona, I saw forked cacti and the garish lights lining the Las Vegas strip, but I also met Delia Hopkins. Displaced from New Hampshire, Delia found herself in Arizona supporting her Father while he was on trial for kidnapping her. Turns out that her Mother was a neglectful alcoholic and her Father absconded with Delia out of parental concern.

Then, a music festival in Austin, Texas connected me with the Woodward sisters. Originally from San Francisco, the sisters relocated their tea shop after their rent was raised. One would marvel at their tales of loss and love. As a matter of fact, they could be the modern-day Dashwood sisters of Austen's 'Sense and Sensibility.'

Soaring on the wings of love, I arrived in Paris alongside a jittery Englishwoman named Nell. At the age of twenty-eight, this was her first trip outside of England! Her loser boyfriend flaked on their romantic Parisian getaway and so I helped her find a cab. Later that same week, I saw her along the Seine with a handsome Frenchman in tow. I think she will be returning to 'the city of lights.'

Itching for some history that is not stored behind glass cases or in ruin, I crossed into World War II. Yes, I time-traveled, it is as easy as flipping a page.

Over two hundred miles from Paris, I wandered the shore of Saint-Malo, France. Most afternoons, a doughy woman and her freckled ward would slowly stroll in and out of the waves. Finally, I made their acquaintance and I learned that the girl was blind.

Before the Nazis occupation, the girl, Marie-Laure, lived in Paris with her Father, the Museum of Natural History's locksmith. He was arrested in Saint-Malo and sent to German work camps.

Worried for her Father's safety, I hurried to Germany. While in Berlin I met a fifteen-year old boy named Werner Pfennig. Enlisted into the Hitler Youth by his early teens, the boy had the eyes of a much older man. Werner said he was visiting a friend, Frederick, who had suffered brain damage at "school."

Think of the atrocities Werner had seen, and the one's that Marie-Laure felt but would never see.

I returned to Australia with a much heavier heart than when I left. After V-Day, I helped orchestrate the transport ships for war-time brides. The British HMS Victoria carted six hundred plus brides destined for new lives as mothers and wives.

In wartime, marital vows were made for a myriad of reasons. As a result, many of the women feared the telegram, "NOT WANTED DON'T COME." While others boarded the vessel with unfaltering confidence.

One woman, Frances, served as a navy nurse in the islands, but was now anticipating domestic life on foreign soil.

Back in the present, I run my hand down the spines of the places I've been and recall the people I've met.

I have a list of where-to-next. Books- unread- in piles around my bed.

Traveling on a budget is never easy, but flipping pages only costs your time.

For what else is travel, then becoming part of someone else's story.