The bed in my spare room is heaped two feet deep with the stuff that won the vacation lottery and is earmarked for Paris. On a dry run last Sunday I filled my have-to-check-it medium-sized suitcase and then had no room for actual clothes. I'm rethinking my "stuff" strategy. Even though the suitcase has wheels, I suspect at some point I'll have to lift the damn thing.
Those butterflies in my stomach aren't from the 77th can of Campbell's Tomato Bisque soup which is all I can eat these days -- they've taken up their fluttery residence because I'm getting really, really nervous about this whole proposition. I'm not even sure I remember where this fantasy came from, why I agreed to it and then donated half my fortune to achieve it.
Surely, Shirley, it couldn't have been simply to watch the effect on others of saying, "I'm spending all of April in Paris this year." Let's face it -- I don't talk to that many people and the ones I do speak with are no longer impressed with anything I have to say. Could I really be that nauseatingly superficial? Nahhhh.
So am I looking for Monsieur Bon Temps in Paris? Noooo. Every French woman I've seen is under 40, wears a size zero, has shining dark hair and a piquant, petite face, so I'm quite sure every French male would consider me the archetypal anti-woman. Besides, I gave up men for Lent -- in 1982.
Each book, article and blog I've read on the subject of "a woman traveling alone" offers the comforting advice: don't worry, dearie, every individual female traveler will, one way or another, meet up with like-minded singles. For heaven's sake, meet every glance with a smile, start conversations with strangers, ask to sit with others in restaurants -- anything so you won't suffer by being alone.
Excusez moi? What about we wackadoo weirdos who actually prefer being alone most of the time? You know, the ones who have temporarily been let out of the home for the antisocial?
Those articles will concede some advantages to traveling by oneself, such as: meeting your own agenda and not having to consider others' wishes; stopping when your feet hurt; eating whenever and whatever you want, and going to bed at 7 if that's what suits you. The very same articles do, however, assume that NO ONE is capable of having FUN by oneself and that being alone is by far the lesser-desired alternative.
They obviously haven't met the imaginary friend who lives in my brain and keeps me company -- who makes me laugh out loud (and not always when I'm alone).
I wrote at some length (of course I did) HERE about the difference between vacationing introverts and extroverts, based on my own experience. I recently borrowed a book from one of my co-grandmothers entitled The Introvert Advantage, How To Thrive In An Extrovert World. The author, Marti Olsen Laney, Psy.D., based a great deal of her book on the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, personal interviews of self-confessed introverts and her own research. Surprisingly, oh ye who put little faith in anecdotal evidence, her conclusions are very similar to mine in the above blog post, at least as far as the variance between the way introverts and extroverts experience and assimilate activities. If you'd like to see if you're an innie or an outie, take the MBTI test HERE.
Part of the secret pleasure of being an introvert is the ability to enjoy things by oneself. We introverts do not share the flocking/herding instinct that most extroverts do and, except for the very shy among us, "table for one, please" can be uttered without choking on our gum and blushing. Also, unlike most of the single-traveler articles I've read, we're capable of sitting at a restaurant table ALONE without a book, laptop, newspaper, magazine, notebook and pen, or any other device designed to make us look "normal."
What I find I miss now, however, is that traveling companion to share this most delicious portion of the vacation pie -- the a-n-t-i-c-i-p-a-t-i-o-n. I'm also going to miss that someone who is more knowledgeable than I in figuring out train schedules, rail passes and reservations, and the same someone to blame everything on when plans go awry. I won't have that nearby captive ear when general bitching erupts about the length and discomfort of the long flight, my aching feet, how we didn't sleep a freakin' wink on the plane and the dog poop on Parisian sidewalks. Splitting the tab for dinner wouldn't be bad, either.
Having to do without that companion this time, I've had to consciously jog my memory for the reasons for this extended trip.
- It's a big, fat treat to myself to celebrate the downsizing of about 60% of my business-- not yet retired, but at least able to see that rainbow glowing on the horizon.
- It's adding at least one interesting line to my obituary, as "She Worked And Had Twins" is a little too succinct for my Aries ego.
- It's a pilgrimage to the 12th and 13th centuries via the Gothic Cathedral time machine -- to an era that's been called the Great Age of Faith. Yes, I know, there were abuses then by the Church involving too much power, wealth and influence -- but I can't say I'd necessarily vote "no" to a Crusade today, and I think our sleazy modern culture could use a shot of medieval Catholic faith.
- As introverts are always uncomfortable during chit-chat small talk, I'll have at least two minutes of conversation fodder for Christmas with the in-laws.
- It's a chance to spend a month in la belle France to BE, not to DO, and if I miss a museum or two this time around, or forget to see something on the must-see list, oh well.
- ...and then there will be the opportunity AND requirement to drink that fabulous coffee and eat those French croissants and heavenly butter.
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