It happens often on rental shuttles in international airports. There you sit, sharing space with people from just about everywhere elsewhere. Yesterday at LAX, it was a few Parisians who looked like they had just stumbled out of a bar, an elderly couple from New Zealand, two giggling Japanese girls, and a family of three from Phoenix. One after the other, Freddy the bus driver pulled up to his passengers' respective airline terminals. It was like reviewing a list of all the places I've always wanted to go, but never had the chance: Air New Zealand, ANA (Japan), and Northwest -- well, maybe not Minneapolis in the winter.

I call it "travelust". Freddy yelled out "Air Franz" as he opened the bus doors. The Parisians stumble off with their bags. Oh Paris! My home city and the most beautiful city on the planet. "Air New Zealand iz nixt!" he shouted out, navigating around the Honda Odyssey. That's the land of the Lord of the Rings -- snowy peaks, ocean beaches and green rolling hills. Can I come home with you? I looked longingly at the old couple as they yanked their suitcases down the stairs. The Japanese tweens float off the bus into the ANA terminal, back to udon noodles.

My stop was next: United Airlines to Denver. It could be worse; like coach on Northwest to Minneapolis.