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of time. For our trips to Greece, Tanzania, and Ireland, he put flight information, driving directions, hotel confirmations, and printouts about key tourist sites in a three-ring notebook, all in the chronological order of our trip. On the rare occasions when our trips changed mid-itinerary, we exclaimed with mock anxiety, “We’re off the notebook!”
My husband’s plan-everything-ahead-of-time way of travel was in sharp contrast to how I had been accustomed to traveling when I was single. All through my 20’s and 30’s, I played it by ear. I made few arrangements ahead of time, just airline tickets, as well as hotel reservations for the first and last nights, and the occasional hard to book location. The rest of my trip I figured out as I went along. I loved it.
I liked the person I was when I traveled alone. That young woman was bold, not self-conscious, and unafraid. I would initiate conversations with anybody -- old ladies resting on a park plaza bench, young moms shopping in the market, waiters in the local restaurant. Bus drivers and taxistas were my favorite. All started as sources of information about the location of various sites, or what I should order from the menu or the identity of a mysterious vegetable. But as we talked, I learned more about who they were and about the community where they lived. I was open to making friends and having new experiences. I trusted myself to make decisions and figure things out. I discovered a world ready to receive me. After getting kicked in the teeth by my divorce, I needed to prove to myself that I could do life on my own, make the decisions, take action, and figure things out. I wanted to again feel held by a benevolent universe that revealed its mysteries to me one step at a time.
But my trip was off to a rocky start. The day before the drive to Flores, I woke up to a pair of broken eyeglasses. My budget hotel didn’t have bedside tables, so I’d set them on the other side of the bed on top of my book, and in the night I had rolled over on top of them. I could see well enough without them to get by if I squinted to read street signs and held my book just the right distance from my face.