I always dreamed of going to Australia and put this plan into action when I was 24. I'd only just arrived there when I met a charming Englishman and married him. He was heading to California. We married and the rest is history. Luckily he was with an airline so we have traveled the world ever since. We've stayed in a houseboat on a lake in Kashmir. We drove in a jeep up to Ladakh. We have visited Uluru and Kakadu in the Australian Outback. And I can't see us slowing down any time soon.
Whenever I get home I swear that I will stay put for a while. I will put down roots and enjoy my surroundings. But within a week or two I spot a plane flying overhead and find myself wondering where it is headed and where I might be heading next. So it's definitely in the genes.
I've come to the conclusion that humans are divided into two types: rolling stones and moss gatherers. When I was young there were people in my village who had never been up to London. What's more they had no interest in traveling more than ten miles from their home. I suppose there are still people like that today.
Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I'd stayed put in England and married the very suitable young man from Harrow and Oxford. Would I have been bored? Would I still have longed to travel? Would I have turned him into a traveler? Or would I have settled into the role of valuable village lady, running the women's institute and the flower show? (Somehow I can't picture this)
It is interesting that my fellow Jungle Reds all seem to do a lot of traveling too. We know that Hank is somewhere different almost every weekend, Debs is in England for part of the year. Lucy spends her winters in Key West, Julia spends most of her time driving her offspring these days but has lived in many parts of the world. So I'm wondering if the same inquiring mind that wants to see other places, other people, is what makes a good writer too? What do you think?
How about you, dear Readers? Are you rolling stones too?