Traveling and living the high life

My daughter says I pay too much for taxis abroad and that I should rely on the bus system which is easy and affordable. My standards for traveling in my retirement years have changed a bit since my youth.

Years ago, my friend Irene asked me how I planned to navigate my way from the airport to the hotel and I quipped, "When I leave the baggage claim, I want to see a good-looking young man holding a sign with my name on it!"

Of course when I was young, I could never have afforded a taxi. I was also strong enough to lift the suitcases on and off platforms and up several flights of stairs. And I didn't bring many clothes - just the shoes on my feet and an extra pair of jeans. I am embarrassed to say how many pairs of shoes I packed on my most recent trip.

Vacations back then were spent sharing a house with singles or several couples, and many times I slept on the floor in a sleeping bag. One winter weekend in a cabin in Deep Creek Lake, several of us took night shifts stoking the coals in a fire furnace so we didn't freeze to death. At night I could hear the mice scurrying across the floorboards. The cross-country skiing was worth it, and I can still taste the pancakes and maple syrup.

The summer I graduated high school, my boyfriend and I drove his 1963 VW bug across country from Maryland to Englewood, Colorado. Our dinner of canned Dinty Moore beef stew was heated on a hibachi. Our pup tent was usually sandwiched in between rows of Winnebagos. We thought we were surrounded by rich people, but now I realize they were just wealthy retired people.

I remember this sweet elderly couple (maybe they were as old as 60, even) who kept checking on us during a bad thunderstorm and begged us to join them before we were swept into a ravine. The next morning they stopped by bleary-eyed and said they hadn't slept much because they were worried about us. We were fine.

Except the next day the starter in the car went out somewhere in Ohio and we had to park on any hill in Indiana, Illinois, Missouri so we could jump-start it for the next thousand or so miles. I painted flowers and peace signs on the roof while my boyfriend Bill drove through the tedious flat state of Kansas. We finally got a Motel 6 room and a hot shower in Topeka.

I have just returned from a rented three-bedroom villa in Pasito Blanco in the Canary Islands in the south of Spain where I slept quite comfortably in a bedroom with my own balcony overlooking the ocean and more than a hundred yachts. We had Indian food delivered, which we ate on the lanai. Alas, I did wash my own dishes.

Yesterday we needed to go back north to Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, and I didn’t want to tell my daughter how much the taxi cost us. Our driver was a young father of two, and I even tipped him, which she said not to do.

In most of the world, people work all of their lives and don’t earn enough money to ever retire, let alone afford to travel. There are no words to express my gratitude for my good fortune. Now I am staying at a sixth-floor walk-up, which is good for my heart. I thank God at every step I take and for every step I see my granddaughters take as they dart about the planet.