The ferry is on its way back to Salerno, and the wind tangling my hair makes me immediately regret not tying it up before I climbed the stairs to the upper deck.

The sun-reflecting white beaches made the Gulfport Terminal stand—perhaps even float—dark and ominous in the distance, like a threatening crow among a flight of doves.

I let Lana’s voice guide me on my aimless walk around grids of chain stores, Asian restaurants, and then again more chain stores and palm trees, art galleries, sleepy blocks of flats, boarded-up shops.

And to winter in Berlin, and to the thick white fog, I return. Because how fitting is a heavy layer of fog when it comes to exploring and walking around a city?

To this day I am not certain as to why we were taken to Gaza Camp. The group and I played with the local schoolchildren, sometimes barefoot, sometimes only wearing socks. I forgot most of what I was told during the visit, about the camp and its population, all I know is that some of the scenes I saw still haunt me to this day.

I should have known better than to sit down for that last cup of tea with the Bedouins. You see, even in Petra’s seemingly endless June sunshine, the sun eventually sets.

As I wandered around, I didn't feel any closer to that richness. Instead, there was an eerie sensation that something was out of place, and I felt sure that I wouldn’t find any gold in the town’s grid streets.

On the stage, an Ed Sheeran impersonator is singing rather depressing lyrics very loudly and out of tune. It all seems so chaotic and random; I wouldn’t be surprised if the crowd started throwing glitter bombs at each other and snatched the stilts off the performers walking along the parade.

The main intrusive thought finding its way to my brain was my dad’s voice telling me not to use my left foot in any way, shape, or form. Ever. “Why?” I kept asking myself, trying to delay the moment when my right foot would finally push down to make the car move forward. “I guess I’ll just have to trust him on this,” I reasoned, before slowly but surely leaving the rental car parking lot on my way out of Atlanta.

In the minds of many, California is often seen as the ultimate destination, with its iconic palm trees, golden sunsets, and endless beaches. Add to that the vast deserts, towering mountains, and, of course, the ever-present sunshine. Long before I ever set foot in sunny San Francisco, California already felt strangely familiar to me, as if the images I had watched on TV for years had painted a vivid picture.

We expected to see all this, but what we found was very, very different. And in a way, we are not mad.

Why wasn’t I longing for the blue skies of Lisbon? Was I doing ‘post-Portugal’ wrong? I found myself frustrated, trying to evoke a feeling of longing that just wasn’t coming.