I admire avid travelers who can recount events, name famous places, and give a coherent travelogue on the spur of the moment. I am not one of them. Since I have never had a reliable memory, I experience travel. I might close my eyes and recall the scent of saffron and cinnamon, the lights on the mosque, the tune of a street musician—and inevitably, the cry of “One dollar, only one dollar, miss!” as a vendor shoves an armful of bracelets at me. I will not be able to tell you the name of the market or the mosque. Although the one I’m recalling at the moment is in Cairo—and I didn’t take a single photo because I was living it, not recording it. Fortunately, my husband was not so lax!