I’m sitting on a roof deck overlooking the tailored grounds of a Twelfth Century pillared building, lit by a street lamp below me. Roses and geraniums adorn it’s entry, leading into one of numerous art museums in Winterthur, Switzerland. At 1:27 am, it is closed.
It is not because of jet lag that sleep eludes me. That has come and gone. After days of cycling through the Alps, I’ve adjusted to the time switch (which is now 2:00 am, according to the magical gong of Swiss church bells).
This body exhaustion-brain wired state of insomnia reflects the strongest of my PD symptoms. Travel tends to feed into it even more.
But I’m not willing to give up exploring the land, culture, food of different places. No, PD takes too much as it is, I’m handing over the old bell tower that was our inn the night we rode into Sedrum, nor the winding trails though sheep pastures walled by peaks that spike into the clouds. Every village we pedaled into featured buttery pastries; each town spire chimed the time.
On the trip over, there was a girl two rows back who launched into wails and kicking. The screaming did subside, sometimes for only moments, sometimes longer.
Travel with PD is a bit like boarding a plane with a toddler. They cry. They cry at home, too. So why not travel? Try to keep them comfortable and enjoy those quiet moments between screams that are filled instead with the sound of church bells.