What is that great quote from Erma Bombeck?
“When you look like your passport picture, it’s time to go home”
I have travelled around a fair bit, I think at my last count I had racked up 42 countries. And while every trip, no matter how grand or how humble is a privilege, there are things I will not miss while traveling:
Sketchy internet Always promised, but good Wi-Fi is the unicorn of travel. Apps disappear, texts arrive in bunches, Netflix downloads that were available yesterday are suddenly verboten. By no means a tragedy, still as perplexing as is annoying.
Bartenders who think a Martini is lukewarm vermouth poured in a class with a splash of vodka Honestly, its just the two ingredients. In Sydney my bartender had to ask two others, having no idea what I was ordering or in what language. The hotel where the Wi-Fi password was Bond 007, thought a Martini referred only to the vermouth brand (bianco at that). Oh, the irony.
Not being the captain of my own coffee Having to cajole, finesse and decipher the in-room option erodes my usually buoyant morning mood. Plunge pots, slow drips, filter sachets, dreaded pod crushers - I’ve bested them all, only because my motivation was that acute. Or worse still, trying to dress in the dark in yesterday’s clothes to go forth and procure a cup made by professionals. At home I can’t wait to jump out of bed and skip downstairs where my beloved Gran’ Dama waits, grinding out a successive stream of perfect cappuccinos at my command. Heaven.
Wearing my favorite jeans day after day until there are bare spots in embarrassing places Of course it’s my own fault, I rolled the dice and didn’t pack for every weather contingency and my DL 1961s paid the price for my hubris. Oh sure, in theory I can replace them, but favorite jeans aren’t lightbulbs. They are one-of-a-kind and magical, and our shared time together all too fleeting.
Feeling the miles between me and my children I miss them more when I’m away, I just do. The time difference means I can’t just text when I feel like it and getting to them would take a whole day instead of a few hours. It sets me off kilter.
Ice! Lots and lots of ice Americans love ice. I don’t know why, but we are known for it. Though the day is hot and you’ve journeyed far, and endured buses, trams and planes - the drink you order to slake your powerful thirst will likely fall short. Knowing it’s better for me served a gentle tepid does not help at all.
Being fooled by the items on a breakfast buffet. Quark, I’m looking at you. Having given up red meat over 10 years ago, I’ve gotten pretty good negotiating a buffet, after all that is the point of the buffet’s plethora of choices. Still, there are some edible pranksters which often make their appearance on European buffets. Quark, a dairy product that can’t decide if it is... cheese? Sour cream? Yogurt? is chief among them.
For a high school graduation gift we partially funded a trip for young Nicholas and his girlfriend to go backpacking for 6 weeks in Europe. Just 17 at the time, I found myself saying decidedly non-parental things to him like: “when you stay in a hostel, try to get a room just for the two of you” and “use the credit card to treat yourself”. He didn’t check in often, I think the deal we struck was once a week, but just before he flew home to Vermont (considered by some to be a comparatively boring place to the capitals of Europe, as if) he phoned to confirm his arrival information and catch me up on his latest adventures. After listening with a bittersweet sense that my boy had matured a lot in the last month and a half, I said, “Oh Nick, is there anything you’re looking forward to about being home?” I remember what he said, now 10 years later, because I feel the exact same way.
“I can’t wait to get home. I can’t wait to sleep in my bed. We’ve had the best time, just fantastic but I’m so tired of planning where we’re going to sleep and how we’re going to get there and what we’re going to eat every night.
I just can’t wait to get home.
