All You Have to Do is Buy a Ticket

A co-worker asked where Clyde and I were going on our next big trip. When I told him we were going to Hong Kong and Tokyo right before Thanksgiving, his eyes opened wide and he shook his head with disgust.

"You ... jet setter!" he said.

He didn't mean anything bad, I don't think. But it amazes me how most people think that world travel is beyond them. I used to be that way until I met Clyde.

My annual trips to San Diego were the extent of my travels. I bought the least expensive plane tickets - the ones with a stop in Houston (a thousand miles out of the way) in the middle of the night. I rented cars from the low cost places where they often ran out of the economy model I reserved. So they bumped me up to something huge like a Yukon which I had to fit into the tiny parking spot at the cheap hotel, where the shampoo comes in a paper envelope.

Then I started hanging out with Clyde and realized, and I said this to my co-worker, that it's easy to go to Hong Kong. All you have to do is buy a ticket and go.

The world is so small now. You can go anywhere. All it takes is money. Then again, my perspective may be that of a relatively financially well off old white man. My dental hygienist, Chris, who I also saw this week (my teeth are fine thank you) is young, I would guess in his 20s. He went on a "once in a lifetime" trip to Japan last spring. Chris is still paying off the credit cards he maxed out to go and he says he won't be going anywhere again for a while.

I remember travel in my 20s. I never saved up to go anywhere. All of it went on credit cards. I never stayed in hotels, always with friends or relatives. Or friends of friends or relatives. I slept on a dining room floor on my first visit to San Francisco. I got around on BART and the public bus, not in a rental car. I hung out with lots of other young people, including some sailors I met who were on leave. It's not what it sounds like, but I did become acquainted with someone under that dining room table.

Anyway, back to the present. Clyde and I put travel at the top of our priorities. We live in a modest home. We drive ordinary cars. We have no debt except a small mortgage, so we can afford two big trips a year and a couple of small ones.

We do get around. But jet setters? I guess I've been called worse.

And with Clyde, I no longer stay in cheap hotels. He has years of corporate travel under his belt with all the benefits. So we rarely stay anywhere but the Marriott. I love the Marriott with its all you can eat breakfast buffets and wonderful coffee. Even in the most humid cities (Hong Kong, Rio), our room is chilly with air conditioning.

That's how grownups travel.

My poor co-worker just bought a house in Arvada. As Clyde and I watch YouTube videos about Japan in order to make plans for our trip, he's probably scraping together his next house payment and college tuition for the kids.

It was fun all those years ago, but I prefer traveling in my 50s with Clyde to crashing under furniture even with, um, temporary travel acquaintences.


If you would like to receive email alerts whenever a new BillsWeek entry is published, click here (wjcalkins@yahoo.com) to send me an email. Thanks for your interest in BillsWeek!

Open Up that Golden Gate – Maybe (Part 1)

I’m seriously considering a move to Southern California. That’s a big temptation considering we’re in the middle of one of those famous Colorado March snowstorms. But this has been on my mind a long while.

I’ve considered the Golden State many times over the decades. When first graduating with my teaching degree in the 1980s, I interviewed with several California school systems. I even passed the California Basic Educational Skills Test (CBEST) to qualify.

Later, I married a man from San Francisco who made the move east to be with me. He nearly talked me into returning to the Bay Area with him, and then decided to go - alone. I came that close to living in Frisco (that’s passive aggressive for San Francisco – they hate it when you say Frisco – and while you’re there, ask them about their trolley cars – they hate it when you call the cable cars trolleys).

Probably best I didn’t go.

The past decade I’ve vacationed in San Diego once or more a year. Southern Cal is warmer and less densely packed than San Francisco, which has a somewhat Manhattan feel to it – including the provincialism and snobbery. I did time in Manhattan long ago. No need to repeat that miserable experience.

Historically, Colorado’s Front Range is a stop on the way west. Many young Boomers were on their way to California when their VW vans ran out of gas near Boulder and they ended up staying. Perhaps I’m gassed up again and ready to go.

I know what you’re thinking, but Denver has traffic and smog too.

Last month in San Diego, for some perhaps fortuitous reason, I ran into a lot of people who had lived in Colorado for many years. To a person, they loved California and had no regrets about relocating. When I asked about contending with traffic, high cost of living, and earthquakes, they replied that it was, and I quote, “Totally worth it.”

Regular readers will remember that in September, I considered a move to Chicago. Well, as the temperature dropped and relatively mild Denver began its annual six month chill, I realized that one winter in Chicago would kill me dead.

Now it looks like if I want to pursue them, some opportunities may soon arise on “the coast.” Even if those particular opportunities don’t materialize, I may just go find some more.

It’s also possible that as April arrives and the grass greens up, I’ll forget all about it – until November.

In the next BillsWeek, some pros and cons of picking up my middle aged ass and heading into the sunset.