Wanderlust

     Midlife crisis hit me with a wanderlust that got under my skin like a cactus barb in the barefoot heel of a hillbilly child.  Sure, I have loved adventure and travel all my life, but when I hit my 40's that barb spread it's hallucinogenic toxin throughout my bloodstream and into all my vital organs as if it were a mainline drip.

     I love everything about travel.  I love the airport people watching, the sound of my suitcase wheels click clacking over the sidewalk lines, the adrenaline rush of takeoff and landing, the gossipy airplane staff oblivious to their voice decibels because of the constant pressure on their inner ear, and the cornucopia of single serving friends that Tyler Durden spoke of before I obtained my first passport.

     Deciphering the ins and outs of a new place feeds my wanderlust like Gouda feeds Bordeaux. (Yes please, I'll have seconds! and, are you going to eat that grape?)  When my feet hit new ground, the quests begins.  Olly, Olly, All Come Free!  Time to find the perfect sun drenched path leading to the best local lunch, happiest happy hour, and most breathtaking place to watch the sun rise and set.  I play association games to remember subway stops and street names.  In Madrid last spring I remembered the Tirso de Molina stop because it was like Tiramisu, only different.  I would smile every time I saw it, and I smile now remembering how silly it was, and how well it worked.

      I think it’s also worth mentioning that I have been able to travel because of lucky breaks and inventive ways to make it affordable.  Also, I really haven’t traveled abundantly compared to many people I know.  But all that will be changing soon.  Soon I will be traveling to distant lands and living in a another culture.  Coming to a theater near me, big adventure in old Siam!  Look out Thailand, here I come!