Viza, Vizum, Visto

I hate the word visa. This word has defined my existence for the past decade in more ways than I am willing to admit. It's as if I come with a bar code that identifies my source, my expiration date, my location. I willingly afix a number to myself and confine to the rules and so many are they. Confirmed reservations for accomodations and transport. Insurance coverage that covers evacuation, medical coverage that exceeds $50,000 for overseas. Detailed itinerary that state when I'm arriving, when I'm departing, where I am staying and how long. Authorization for the country from which I am arriving from and departing to. Original and copies of driver's license, residence cards, recent bank statements, passport photographs. I'm surprised they don't ask for your spleen. Sucks the romance of travel, but I take these all aside and I look at my passport with all the visa stamps from Czech Republic, Republic of Croatia, and Italy and already I feel the story shaping up and although I have still much to do before I actually start my trip, I stop for a moment and revel under spell of these words....Viza, Vizum, Visto. One more and I will be on my way.