I am either getting old or getting lustful for far away places: this morning I reread my posts about my wanderings in Alsace, France. There was a prompt: I received an email from a couple who own the studio I rented while visiting the region several years back. One of those cheerful group emails saying -- we're open and waiting for you to travel again. Reading it, I was trying to decide if indeed Alsace would be on my list of top ten places I'd like to return to before I get ridiculously ancient and weary of travel. (Reading my post I decided it would probably make the cut, even though the competition is fierce.) Still, I don't often reread Ocean stuff. I'm more inclined to think forward (where to next?) then look back. So -- am I getting old?
Somewhere in the press today, I read that once the pandemic is behind us, we're all going to go roaring crazy with excess, having been ravaged by isolation, fear, loss and grief. I can't see Ed partying like there's no tomorrow, but I am wondering how I'll approach travel then. Will I rush back to old favorites? It seems that a return to past haunts invites a comparison: I was so innocent when I was here before! Little did I know that a pandemic would shut us down and destroy so much in life for so many! Perhaps, instead, I should make up a list of brand new destinations?
These are perfect thoughts to have on a cold April day. And it is cold. But pretty! There's no going back on spring pretty anymore!
Though breakfast is, of course, inside.
(with a view toward the farmette gardens...)
The chicks stay inside as well until I tell Ed that the sun room (where we keep them) is beginning to smell like the barn. Out they go. Get hearty, little girls! Soon, this will be your life!
But I cannot rev myself up for much outdoor work. A few weeds and I retreat. Maybe tomorrow!
In the meantime, there are a couple of more posts that I need to reread. Scandinavia? Scotland? Today I washed my winter sweaters and I irreparably shrunk the one I bought in Islay. Should I whisky my way through Islay again? As I read about the wild orchids on the island, about the local catch seafood dinners Andrew, my host, cooked up for me, I wonder about how he's doing. Is the Bowmore House bed and breakfast even open now? I check the website. Only for essential workers. With strict COVID precautions. Breakfast delivered to guest rooms. Phew. At least they're still functioning in some fashion.
I go back to other places where b&b hosts became friends. In Parma. In Giverny. Berwick-upon-Tweed. Marseille. Gargnano. Paris. Is everyone okay??
Yes, it's clear to me that when travel is safe again, a return to past favorites is in order. So that I can hug and listen. And smile at the future, together with those who have had the toughest of tough years and then some.
