…and I’ll go mine.
She’s gone, and I did not go with her. Things happen like that sometimes. It’s the nature of travel.
This is beginning to sound like a marital mishap, and the picture above of Louise dragging her bags down the sidewalk, unaccompanied, while her friend Jeanette awaits to take her to the train station doesn’t dispel the notion. I’d better explain:
A few weeks ago we received an email from Louise’s old friends Christopher and Clare McCann inviting us to spend a week aboard Merlyn III, their Discovery 55, which at this time of the year is moored in the Canary Islands, off the Atlantic coast of Morocco. We just happened to have a week of unscheduled time between Girona and Greece, and the McCanns just happened to have an opening in their schedule for that week.
“Of course!” said we. “We are thrilled.”
That was before April – before my myriad medical issues.
So that week has come, and Louise has flown off to the Canaries. I have not.
The explanation is predictable: I’m not out of the medical woods yet. My blood pressure is still a little capricious, and I fidget at the thought of being at sea off the coast of Africa should another medical hiccup occur. Doctors have assured me that the likelihood of that happening is remote, but for the time being I feel more comfortable being among friends, telephones, and hospitals.
It was my suggestion that Louise join her friends while I remain in Girona. It’s only a week. I’ll rest up while she sails. It’s a logical arrangement and we’re both comfortable with it. Travel is not a time to be obdurate. This little change of plans is not a marital mishap; it’s just versatility.