Who Needs Travel? I do!
Years ago, I worked with a young woman—her name was Alice— who was reasonably bright, performed her job with competence, was fairly attractive, had married a nice guy—high school classmate. They had a little girl, who I remember as being about two years old. Alice herself was in her late 20s.
Everything about Alice was average . . . typical . . . normal . . . you could even say unexceptional in almost every way. Every way but one: Alice didn’t travel.
We were working at a private school located in a small town near Hartford, Connecticut. Boston is about 100 miles to the north; New York City is a few miles farther to the south. Alice had never been to either city. What’s more, she could see no reason to go there.
I remember the conversation we had. I had spent the summer following my senior year in high school living with a German family. Even back then, fresh out of college and not yet 20 years old, I knew then that experience had changed my life . . . that I was going to travel as much and as often as I could.
The thing is, it’s frustrating in a way because, rather than going to new places, seeing new sights, I keep going back to some of the same special places. For instance, to the French town of Azay-le-Rideau, just to gaze on the perfect small chateau there (“small” compared to several of the other chateau in the Loire Valley).
And I will soon pay my fourth visit to the medieval French town of Domme where I will settle into a chair on the hotel patio, overlooking the Dordogne River Valley, knowing that when it arrives, the omelet I’ve ordered fo my lunch will be perfect.
Poor Alice. She never knew what she was missing.