All vacations come to their inevitable end. And that feeling born in childhood of not wanting the trip to be over - the mourning that begins on the last days - always returns. Staring out the window at one of those magical horizons you see from the air you feel lucky for being able to live in this era when we do what for mist of humanity was only the privilege of Gods and the domain of science fiction. Then the melancholy sets in. The new person you became while away slowly fades and you realize that like a spinning top that has come to rest the exhilaration has come to an end. And you're back where you began. Thankfully the jet age - this time of massive abrupt displacements - also comes during the age of photography, so that we can preserve moments that seem so fleeting sometimes we wonder if they happened at all.