My Evolving Life as a Traveler — Is the Glass Now Half Empty or Half Full?

Learning to ask for help along the way makes a huge difference (prompt #35, traveling as an older person)

I’m a military BRAT.

I grew up traveling. Or at least moving.

But even within our moving, we traveled.

After all, not everybody gets to an all-expenses paid three-year excursion to England or Japan. And we got both. Yes, my dad had to work, but he would be working anyway, and the Air Force foot the moving bills.

As a ninth grader in Japan, I joined a pen pal program. We wrote regularly and got to visit each other. Mieko spent a few days with me and my friends, riding bicycles, visiting our school, practicing her English, sleeping on a bed, and using our kind of toilet.

And I got to spend a weekend with her. Out in the remote country, during winter. All of us in the program had a day of skiing under the shadow of Mt. Fuji, followed by a dip in natural hot springs.

The rest of our group stayed with their pen pals in town. Mieko lived in the country. In a thatched roof farmhouse. With central heating.

By that I mean, there was one ‘stove’ in the center of the one-room house. Down in a well with a low table over it. We sat on the floor at the table with our feet comfy warm down in the well.

The tablecloth extended out and doubled as a blanket we tucked around ourselves to keep the heat in. At night we slept on tatami mats with our heads toasty by the table/well, and our feet bundled in extra socks. Seen from above, we radiated out like petals on a flower.

While I’d pass on those accommodations today, I appreciate the adventurous spirit I had back then. With the key words being back then.

A Life of Adventure

I’ve camped, I’ve backpacked, I’ve stayed in hostels, and I’ve trekked all over Mexico with a close friend. I went to Nicaragua with a healthcare brigade during the heady Santinsita days.

My most memorable trip was being a ‘fellow traveler’ with La Pena Community Chorus at the International Choral Festival, in Santiago, Cuba. We met folks from all over the world, but, sad to say, in 1995, we were the only participants from the States.

Cuba doesn’t just love music. It IS music.

Everyone sings and/or plays an instrument. All day and all night long. We heard some of the very best, in choir performances, at concerts, on street corners, and even at secluded beaches.

We swam in tropical water, explored historical sites, and enjoyed the local food. We marched in parades; we sang and we danced. In clubs, in the streets, and on the beach to that wonderful band.

I didn’t bring back any rum, but the US customs officials let me have my box of cigars. This was before they lifted the travel ban, which didn’t happen till Obama came along. Imagine having to sneak back into your own country.

A Funny~Sexy Story from That Trip.

We brought boxes of medical supplies for a clinic there. Going through Cuban immigration, we were scared they would confiscate these supplies for government use. So each of the thirty of us took a box. We were coached to say, if asked, These are for my personal use.

Only one of us got asked to open their box. Sweet, innocent-looking Allison, who happened to have a 12 x 12-inch box chock full of condoms. When they opened the box she tried to keep a straight face while saying, “These are for my personal use.”

No confiscation. The official closed the box and with the biggest grin imaginable said, “Have a wonderful time in Cuba!” She did. We all did. But we donated the condoms to an AIDS clinic.

Fast Forward to 2019

By then I was 65, three years retired, with a decent county pension. Time on my hands. Money in the bank. The world awaiting.

The waiting stopped when my niece over in England had her first baby and invited me to visit at the three-month mark. My sister, the new grandma was there within month number one. I was honored.

And traveled there and back alone, but not alone. I reached out to strangers wherever I went. Sometimes it was as simple as asking the hunkiest guy on the platform to help me lift my bag onto the train. No one turned me down.

I had a lovely time with my niece and baby Moira. Low key, with lots of excursions into town for tea and scones, as pushing the buggy did wonders for getting her to sleep. And as long as she slept in her pram, we stayed put, scarfing down the sweets. Besides, it was raining.

On my train trip-within-a-trip north to James Harriet country, I sat with a charming local couple. They gave me travel suggestions and do’s and don’ts. I got to spend a weekend with my niece’s in-laws who run an ecumenical retreat center on some acres just outside of Thirsk. So of course we visited James Harriet’s house and veterinary.

And stuck our arms into the arse end of a ‘cow’ to extract the calf.

During my final weekend in London, I befriended a traveling professor steeped in anthropology and heard her adventures over a series of three otherwise disappointing breakfasts. Note to self, their idea of bacon is Canadian, not the strip kind we have here. Stick to the cereal.

One of the high points was hooking up with my Medium friend, Marla Bishop. She treated me to a homemade Caribbean feast, with curried goat, and other delicacies.

She showed me the South Bank Centre and when a muscial we went to see wasn’t happening, we toured the West End on a Double Decker bus. Enjoying the Christmas lights in late November. Thanks to planes, trains, and Uber, I had no trouble getting around.

I only got lightheaded one time. I was with Marla dashing for an Uber. She grabbed my arm and we made it.

So Where to Next?

I have to admit, I’ve slowed down about travel. In part because of COVID. Airports and planes just did not feel safe. Till last year. I went to Albuquerque to be with my family and meet my niece’s new baby, a boy this time. None of my fears about getting lightheaded in that altitude came true, though it’s happened there before.

We’re gathering again in September, in Ohio this time.

One of my friends keeps telling if I have any bucket list destinations, go soon. While I have some health and mobility challenges, chances are, they’ll only get worse. Not if I can help it. But who knows?

My late aunt and uncle went on educational Elder Hostel trips whenever they could. They went to Charleston, South Carolina. There they learned about the literature, cuisine, and biology of the marshlands in the world of The Prince of Tides author, Pat Conroy. My favorite author!

They also came out here to San Francisco and stayed in a tiny hotel room in Union Square and heard talks about politics. I joined them and their group for a performance of Oscar Wilde’s play, Gross Indecency.

I wasn’t even 50 then. I qualify now for (new name) Road Scholar trips.

They don’t currently have a Pat Conroy trip listed, though there is one exploring the life and lit of C.S. Lewis.

And there’s a mystery lover’s cruise over to Oxford, England, to explore the turf and lore of PBS’s popular sleuth, Morse, with classes and lectures along the way. They even give you a reading list for each excursion. I might have to twist my sister’s arm but since she loves that show, it’s more the issue of getting coverage at her clinic.

Something I never have to worry about! I’ll send you a postcard.

Oops. It’s sold out.

Thanks to Robin James for the inspiration:

Marilyn Flower’s a sacred fool who writes every day — fiction, poetry, and blogs — inspired by a process called SoulCollage®. She’s the author of Creative Blogging and Bucket Lister: Get Your Brave On. Follow her Sacred Foolishness or SoulCollage® for Writers, and Stay in touch!