One of these days I am going to sit down and write a Guide to Traveling for the Fabulous Fifties. It will include all the invaluable information that I have learned the hard way in the field of action. Things such as Never lick your crystal deodorant stick, how to cope with a hot flash whilst in the middle of a human stampede and other jewels of priceless information. Living on the road, its easy to miss the passage of time, the signposts that mark life’s passages often remain in the land that you left behind. I forget that times passage marks itself on the body. Gravity rules and even arches fall.
If you happen to be fabulously fifty and out there on the road, there is stuff you need to deal with that you never have a thought of when your breasts are as perky as your walk. So yeah, have something more than a cup of coffee and a cigarette for breakfast and think of your aching arches when you look at your footwear for stalking mountains in the humid jungle. Other invaluable advice contained within the book I am going to write One Of These Days will be advice on what to do when you see a kid on the street and your heart springs with a pang of love for your grandchildren so far away. In this book I am going to write One of These Days will be advice on managing love affairs on the run….oops I mean, on the Road. But yes, running is a major component of that advice.
Other things I would tell women is to make sure you get your daily dose of comfort. Mine is to chat to my girlfriends at home online. Living as a foreign woman in India, you don’t get a lot of girlfriend time. The women are occupied with inter family squabbles and the men are all busy spouting their own version of Applied Vedic Practise in the Modern Day to foreigners with shiny eyes. I would much rather talk to my women friends at home who keep me grounded and in touch while at the same time keeping me going.
In a way all my friends travel with me in my heart and mind. Walking in the market I see a flash of color and remember Jane who goggled at the blinged out wedding market in Old Delhi and wish her beside me. Alone in the Himalaya I imagine Jenny beside me chatting away about the flowers and plants and for a moment she is walking in step. I can’t wait to tell Stella my latest long drawn out drama in my life so she can write to please in pink italics.
Last year when I was home in New Zealand, I went to the funeral of my friend’s father. There were other friends at the funeral whom I hadn’t seen for twenty years and we talked about aging and how we did it. One friend said that he had been given a ruler for his fiftieth birthday, on it the average life span of a kiwi man market in red. “It really made me think about life at the end of the ruler.” Since I have lived my life on a razor’s edge for many years, I appreciated the metaphor. But it gave me pause for thought. Shit, now I am not only on the razors edge but skidding rapidly toward she end of the ruler! What to do?
A woman (actually the woman who married my cousin) who has lost a husband and a breast during the time when she was growing their daughter to adulthood. Now she has decided now to sell her house and set out from New Zealand to Alaska. She is a grandmother already and now her battle with caner is won she is off to find her own adventure. “My family think I am crazy,” she said. “But I think I am just crazy enough to do it!” I applaud her wholeheartedly and know that the only real advice I can give her is the following.
If Your Family Says “Mum Are You Crazy? “Then that is exactly what you should do.