... and Work your Plan

Two worrisome aspects of this trip in planning loomed over me, each offering a bone juicier than the last to my inner OCD.

Unable to gather enough energy (and awake time, if truth be known) to obsessively over-analyze both of them in tandem to my usually proficient level of zeal, vigor, and bullet-pointed list-making, I decided to harness the power of compulsion first in planning the trip to the nth degree.

I will save the panic over traveling alone for a time closer to the date of departure, confident that once I book flights, accommodations, cars, etc., there is no way my ego would allow me to cancel.

Divide and conquer I always say.

Plan your work........

When I started chatting up my idea to make a foundational Retirement-in-Italy journey, I naturally met with a 180 degree spectrum of reactions and suggestions -- ranging from predictably knee-jerk where-Amuricans-should-live advice to excited encouragement and offers to keep me company in my lonely wine-soaked exile.

Unexpectedly, I got a lot of interest from various friends wanting to tag along.

Some Francophiles currently biding time in India thought it might be a nice leg off their own vacance. Take the train from Nice, meet up with me. Museums, antiquities, oregano and basil in their tomatoes instead of cumin and curry. A good time had by all ultimately was derailed by aging parents and needful planning for the re-immigration (emigration? immigration!) to the good ole US-of-A. (And troof be known, prolly my disinterest in 5-star dining didn't help!)

I had a couple of serious conversations about making a combo Franco-Ital tour with my GBFF (another Francophile with plans to déplacer en France). But his plans to actually RETIRE from his job at the end of this calendar year (damn your good planning, Marcel!) put the kibosh on him travelling in 2015.

A friend from work briefly approached me about coming along with her and her childhood friend on a package dealio -- but that is not the scene for me (see throwing up in my mouth) and (secondarily!) I wouldn't want to be the third wheel in an all female band. (Nightmares from high school/summer camp/ freshman dorm, anyone?)

 So that left me going alone.

Planning for Retirement

Since the death of my sweet doggie The Nutt a few years ago, I've been in (an initially unconscious [subconscious? unconscious? subconscious!]) financial contraction.

I discovered that funds previously allocated each month to the care of my special needs (furry) child could be diverted into my 401k with nary the blink of the eye or an empty feeling in my jeans pocket.

Then, I found myself Offended and Outraged (both with capital "O") at the amount I doled over for cable and mobile each month -- especially since you could hardly tap a key without a news article flashing onto your screen about the joys of streaming television or alternative mobile phone coverage. Barely two hours with my friend Google and a temp Excel file and I had cut those expenses by 50%. Out of the way of my Ginsu knife!

It became a game to me -- benefits enrollment time came around and I sliced my monthly costs by betting on my continued good health. Slice! I started shopping for food at the local farmers' market and cooking at home more often. Rip! A slow dawning mindfulness brought me the understanding that I was, in a way, 'nesting'... I was preparing for retirement!

I realized that I had been daydreaming about being awakened by the sun each day instead of a noisy jolt, and taking walks in fresh air instead of listening to hardly earth-shattering complaints. I imagined painting and cooking and writing every day. And even more vivid, my daydreams of retirement were always more about where than about what.... and I always saw myself in Italy.

So on a dark winter evening with freezing rain falling outside, wind howling across my balcony, and a forecast of 24F the next day, I Googled the temperature in San Lorenzo al Mare... and saw that everyday for the next seven days the temps were 45F - 55F.... And I knew I wanted to be there...

It's just not quite right.................

Once upon a million years ago some friends visited Spain. They brought back amazing photos of Moorish tilework... and just for me they brought back a pair of flamingo feathers they had picked up on a beach (I could divulge how they had strayed onto a beach in a 'restricted and protected' area and how they were chased off the beach by park rangers, but that's a story for another day). For the briefest moment on a 6F evening I considered going to Barcelona to spend a week taking tango lessons. But decided before I could embark on an intensive course of tango I would need some well broken-in dance shoes -- and of course to be in right country (Argentina! who knew!?) to learn the tango!! So, that moment passed.

I thought about Portugal. I always think of Lisbon and the "letters of transit" But I'd need time to learn more about the country than just passing references to WWII -- I'll save this trip for the future when I have time to research.

I thought about going back to Germany -- the land of large, beautiful shoes and great beer. But this is not the year for a Deutsche experience.

Nothing felt quite right.......I kept searching my brain.

Where to go?

Lounging at home on my sofa during the dark cold hours of our bizarre winter, shivering under a blankey and taking solace from Netflix, I debated what type of adventure I should have in 2015.

Clearly there was no way to top my month in India in 2014 -- especially from the sheer unlikeness of my daily existence, and if truth be known, an almost complete antithesis of my life to date. And why would I want to try? Did I want that much differentness this year? Did I need such a challenge? I decided not.

Each time I face this decision I always consider taking a heritage tour. Going to England... going to Scotland... buying some scratchy clan plaids (what would I wear under my kilt? I can assure you it's not the future of Scotland) and visiting castles. Maybe I'd get to witness a log throwing in person!

Perhaps I would discover that Doctor Who is a long lost cousin. Or maybe I'd happen upon my very on Aspergerish village doctor with a lovely water view who can't bear to live without my acute spatial reasoning skills.

But so many things struggle in my mind against taking this trip, most prevalently the thought that I would spend a long flight only to be met by cold, gloomy weather and the same collection of ruddy, teetotaling Campbells, Stewarts, and Johnsons I could meet up with in my own one-stop-light hometown. 

Once again, I decided against a trip to the Homeland. 

I quickly discounted Vietnam / Laos / Thailand as being too exotic and different -- can't do that two years in a row -- especially without a support group such as I experienced in India (thank you Lek and Lax! Love you girls! You too BB!). Or without taking a package tour -- which I find so Fonzie-saying-"Wrong" that I have thrown up in my mouth just typing the words. 

Where to go... where to go?