I admit it. I ran away to Holland to see tulips

Kate Flora: The advice one gets, as we age, is “travel while you can.” Of course, we never know when something will strike. But as the sand runs through the hour glass, my husband and I have decided we’d better be doing some of that traveling, and so as you are reading this, I am probably on a train from Amsterdam to Bruges, and then I will travel on to Italy to hike in the hills above the Italian lakes. The Italian lakes, if you haven’t been, are the most romantic place in the world. The hike, however, is a lot of uphill, and as an asthmatic with sciatica, going uphill is not romantic. I will huff and puff and groan but I will do it, probably with the able assistance of my friendly bottle of Advil. (Quick aside: Those yummy Italian wines. Which goes better with Advil, red or white?)

Then I will pick my head up, look at my lovely surroundings, and think: How could I have imagined, growing up on a chicken farm in Union, Maine, that I would ever be here in this amazing, gorgeous place?

I’ve gotten through the packing nightmare of only taking a carry-on for two weeks of cities and hiking. I know I am carrying less makeup than the secretary of defense. Years ago, to calm my anxiety about bringing the right things, my husband told me, “It’s okay. There are these places called stores.” It’s true. There are. Places that are rarely frequented by my kind of shopper. I am absolutely the thrift store queen. If I can’t get it for under thirty dollars, I probably won’t buy it, even if it is a great bargain, or cashmere, or the world’s cutest pair of shoes.

Next time I post, I will share some of pictures. Probably of flowers and lakes and not of me bent over and dusty, making a face that shows how much I’m enjoying toiling up hills. But then I will pick up my head and look around, inhale the beauty, and I will limp on.

Meanwhile, here are some photos from earlier travels:

Rheas in Patagonia

Ken learns the tango in Patagonia

K& K at the Taj Mahal