We had a theory back then -

drivers were more likely

to pick up hitchhikers 

carrying a small suitcase

than a bulky rucksack.

It worked like a dream,

a cardboard case of dreams

that we carried inside and out.

We revelled in the excitement of it.

Usually we were directonless,

always without maps or money,

using our meagre annual leave,

unpaid leave

and time between jobs.

We travelled for the sake of it,

for the love of different languages, cultures,

the wonderful people encountered on the way,

and even to even a country that no longer exists,

destroyed as it was by war and its aftermath.

Yesterday 

I came across it again, my old suitcase

buried in a heap of debris in my attic.

It was battered from its long travels

and even longer vacation.

Its cardboard was torn

and frayed as a dream

waiting 

to be carried away.

Memories buried 

in the debris

of the past

now 

recovered

unwrapped

like a present

in the present.

https://poetsonline.org/archive/arch_travel.html