（五伯写得。很漂亮的英语，认真读过，存在这里。）
A Journey That Sees No Ending: A Diary Around World in Sixty Days
Day 1: An Old Man and Bay
I woke up at six. After fifteen hours of flight I landed on another side of the globe, where days used to be nights and vice versa. The sleep, of only three hours, was light and brief. Yet I did not feel the fatigue nor the urge to go back into that dreamless sleep. Perhaps I had slept all the way on my intercontinental flight. I am not sure; maybe it’s more a faint loss of conscience, a resignation, or a willing wandering into the realm of half sleep, half awake.
Anyway, I was awaken, I reckon, by songs of the early birds and hymns of tireless cicadas. This place, a sub-tropical region hanging on the southern tip of the continent, is already in the dead heat of its notoriously long and suffocating summer. I was standing in front of the window. The guesthouse sits atop a steep hill full of greenery; lush bushes and foliages thrive.
The room overlooks the bay. Thanks to my host; he has always been considerate of my pity, superficial obsession in vision pleasure, and has always managed to arrange for a room with view. But this is no time for view. I rose before the view had. It was all too early. The sky was gray and somber, as if it had yet to gather its broken pieces together from dark night. This is typical, I know it well. In my numerous visits to this part of the world, the sky has perpetually felt foggy, wet, thick, creamy, and lonesome.
I made a cup of coffee for myself. You know, the kind of lousy, Nestle instant coffee you find in hotels all over the world. I hate its taste—that is no taste--and the more I hate its uniformity, one of the evils done by Industrialization and perfected by Americans. Speaking of the latter, I have constantly been marveled by the capacity of Americans to turn everything, every colorful, distinctive subject into one identical and boring. Can one say, being identical means no identity? Where would one find the curiosity to explore the unknowns then, if identity carries no significance?
Well, I know, I have let my thoughts wandered too far. And so I pulled myself back. I went back to the window. In sips of coffee, the sky was opening up a bit. I could tell, that the Sun is already up somewhere; though still hiding behind the thick clouds, it could not refrain itself from sneaking a few rays through. Then more of it unveils, not from above, but from the ocean surface. I see a goldenly bright part of the bay. The water appears to boil, and my eyes are scorched and pained by the stare.
So I moved my eyesight further. In a distance I saw a boat cuts across the bay. It moves slowly, almost still, and the white, prestine sail appears unmoving. Sail, sail, I mumbled to myself. It reminded me of a name, a name of someone who lives a world away. Would she ever know I am thinking of her at this moment? Most likely not; maybe she is watching the prime time news, or she is striving on her treadmill, trying to get a few ounces lean? I wouldn’t know. I have not been known to be good at imagining things. My imagination is often limited by my vision, but my vision now cannot go beyond the bay.
It is time to have breakfast, so I tell myself, that this is a way to cut the loose thinking. So I went downstairs, eight floors down. I walked in the bistro. It is Saturday morning, and the whole place seems so quiet and deserted. In fact, I was all by myself. I sat down, looked around, and to my amazement, in this neat, somewhat bourgeois little cafe, they hang two Van Gogh’s: Café Terrace by Night and Road with Man Walking. Oh, man, can you believe it? There I am, nothing else on the walls but two Van Gogh’s! The cypress, the crescent moon, the couple arm in arm, and the eternal starry Provincial sky, there they are, that have had so deep a mark on my life and have for so long and with such persistence evoked my deeply buried emotion. Would you ever know, how many times I have sit in a lonely roadside chair thinking of the nonexistent you, one just like in the Van Gogh’s? And could you ever imagine, how many more times will I do that again in my remaining journey?
So I thought I need to do something. Maybe writing a diary is a good way for an old man. But then I am not sure. I never kept a diary and I disdain routines; recording times and days that are so uneventful must be a dreadful routine, I surmise. I’ll have to see how far I can go. I also wrestled with the thoughts of whether I should write in Chinese or English. I decide on the latter, for I was told there are some top-notch bilinguists here who love translating one into another. To top it over, I heard there is a guy named Wu Zi Han who can chew and spit a dozen some world languages like doing a chewing gum. I need to leave some work to such able people like him …
我的跟贴，挑出 I made a cup of coffee 一节：我还以为这是中国特色，看来美国的流水批量生产能力更厉害。 幸亏幸亏不入主流。
想了一会，也没想通，是什么速度能使60天走一 Journey That Sees No Ending，如果地球是半径为R=6.4*10^6m的园，不计空气阻力,但要考虑地球自转作用。。。
Day 2: A Thunderous Night http://www.bbstar.com/viewtopic.php?t=46803
摘一段：[ It all started from the wee hours of last night, well before dawn. I was waken again, unexpectedly, from sound sleep. This time it was thunder and lightening. I lay motionless on my back, hearing the uproaring thunders like eruption of a thousand volcanos, and seeing the lightenings moving on the ceiling like waves. These are massively loud thunders and lightenings I have long forgot. It was sheer power and awe! Unable to sleep further, I got up, lifted the curtain, and expected to witness some spectacle. It was indeed. The lightening, so swift and intense, lit the entire bay and the ocean in an unbelievably brilliant moment. Everything, I mean every detail, is revealed under that crushing strike. I was awestruck, and even shivered, in total admiration of the nature’s power to carry out its will. If I could ever live my life the same way! ]
想想很想不通，昨夜也是电闪雷鸣，吵得一塌糊涂。 一个一个雷声在劈里啪啦德雨点里炸响，闪电，时不时地划破黑幕冲进我的房间。孩子们，我知道，他们被这白日的夜晚闹得不能入睡。 我拍拍身边的女儿，她便无声地靠过来，搂住我。 可是，当我转向文字，这个强大无比的令人敬畏的自然又变得诱人向往。。。
雷电渐渐远去。雨，一直在下，伴我绵绵入梦……人进人出。
梦里，我是知道在下雨的，我也知道在做梦，于是我打开大门。
Day 3: Where is your Ithaca, who is your home? http://www.bbstar.com/viewtopic.php?t=46832
摘两段：
But I must continue to write, for writing is the only means I have in my possession to “lure” a her back, so that she can see and feel how my heart thrills and trembles for her.
Strangely, my mind also digresses a bit to Odysseus, the man who on twenty years of voyage thought nothing but the return to his home. I wondered, in his subconscience, deep in his heart, was he really thinking of that architecture or rather, Penelope, the woman living within? Why would he be so much at loss after he actually returned to his own land? Is it really because he had lay his fortunes of twenty years outside Ithaca? It is so said, but I doubted the wisdom; at the very least, one cannot be so assertive in reaching this conclusion. What could be the true cause then? Could it be Calypso? Has anyone ever thought, that on his wandering of twenty years, Calypso might have, just might, become his Ithaca?
第一眼我就问了，这第一句，严重需要中文翻译.
翻译的说：何处是你魂牵梦萦的故土，谁人又是你心的依归？
看了一晚上的伊萨卡或者绮色佳。我喜欢这个伊萨卡，他使我感觉到那种州在异乡街道上一刹那涌出的熟悉，时空错乱的感觉。什么是魂牵梦萦的故土？如果回到过去，是否也会在窗口，怀想起这个伊萨卡的时光呢？那简直就是一定的。每次回国归来，车一上路，就有那种熟悉的久违的回到伊萨卡的感觉。我觉得Ithaca 点明更好些。
何处是你的伊萨卡，谁人又是你心的依归？
Day 4: Moon Hangs over the Bay http://www.bbstar.com/viewtopic.php?t=46865
摘出很美的，流浪者之歌：
Songs of A Wanderer |
想起这个：解剑独行残月，披衣困卧清风。 梦蝶犹飞旅枕， 粥鱼已响枯桐。
写下这个：
寒雨沥沥夜不明
独行，
卵石巷陌漫无期
寻寻觅觅
何处剑走冠遗
非帝非臣骑非王骑
名矣，
逍遥浪游旅人
无国无城无寸地
寻寻觅觅
不为卡米洛城传奇
。。。。。
Day 5: Three Amigos http://www.bbstar.com/viewtopic.php?t=46984
载一段：Dubbed Three Tenors, we reached our heyday at essentially the same time. That was the year 2000 at Sydney. We bathed in glory, and gleefully called ourselves the Three Amigos. The days of glory were short though. We were quickly over the hump. Seven years later, look at where we are, declined, spent, and utterly defeated by time. It seemed never possible to reproduce the glory, even for a fraction of a second.
难道7年后，或者5年后我会想起着段话？ 如果要换一说法，是不是该注意 1）结义不可三瘦子，2）bath 不要在山顶， 3）旅途选那种山峦起伏的风景地。。。。
BTW， you guys are still in glory in my eyes and probably more charming~~ --ZTZT
Day 6: Tonight I am lonesome
I have no strength nor desire to write, in fact.
Went to dine at the city’s most upscale restaurant with the two friends. It was a visual extravaganza. The view is unparallel, the surrounding is romantic, and the food is exquisite. Everything, of course, is pricey, but well worthwhile.
Such wonderful night, such spectacular view. But I found it hard to focus. It makes me sad that I was having all these while you don’t. It makes me even sadder that I have them all but you.
Tender is the night, but how am I going to rest my longing in this seemingly endless night?
读后感：浪人之歌
浪人歌， 人生如寄可奈何。
春秋来去传鸿燕，朝暮出没奔嫦娥。
青丝冉冉上霜雪，十年风华弹指过。
山顶未必胜庭院，何处不是浪人窝。
清风明月不用买，上岚风景同下坡。
浪人歌，人生如寄可奈何。
鸿燕高飞浮云下，蝴蝶不能过海河。
水光林影碌碌忙，天荒地老也寂寞。
千古帝王归墓陵，画饼功名空奔波。
良辰易失梦终醒，旧江新愁情难磨。
浪人歌，逍遥旧曲为君酌。
临风饮，笑呵呵
醉亦一梦婆，诗亦一梦婆。
