For me, traveling has always fallen into three distinct categories: the planning/anticipation part; the journey, itself, with all the attendant surprises and unforeseen adventures; and the aftermath — re-living the experience with interested friends, pouring over the once-in-a-lifetime photos, staying in touch with new acquaintances, even trying to replicate a recipe from that quaint bistro along the Seine.
Each travel experience, of course, includes all of the above parts, but I think my focus differed according to my age. It was the journey, itself, that was of greatest importance when I was a child. By the time I was old enough to plan my own trips, it was probably a toss-up between the planning and the actual journey that I most enjoyed. And, by the time I reached my seventies, I confess that the aftermath of most trips was what I liked the most — safely home in familiar surroundings, basking in the memories..
And now? The jury is out. I’m not even sure how much more traveling I want to do. Do I have the energy? The stamina? Do I want to be one of those old ladies who spends much of a trip “resting” in her hotel room while my companions are out and about? And for that matter, do I really want to travel with a group? Or am I too set in my own ways of travel? A lot to ponder…
On the other hand, I spoke to my son about the idea of traveling with me to the East Coast — maybe this Fall or next — “to visit the relatives.” All of my first cousins (and several seconds) plus my good friends Barbara and John are “back east” and none of us are getting any younger. Charlie, too, has relatives on his Father’s side back there. I thought maybe this Fall — but it’s getting here way too quickly. Maybe a year from now — if Charlie is still willing…