It’s funny…people we meet often assume that Phyllis and I are great travelers. And it’s easy to see how they might come to that conclusion. After all we have spent most of the last 20 years moving from place to place around the Atlantic rim. But actually nothing could be further from the truth.
That reality has been reinforced lately. You see, we left our base camp some 10 weeks ago, escaping the horrors of a Nova Scotia winter in an uninsulated cabin, and have been on the road ever since taking a good look at the western part of Phyllis’ native, and my adopted, land. I would be the first to say how incredibly fortunate we are to have this opportunity. And by and large we have had a wonderful time.
But guess what? We’re really missing our just perfectly soft pillows and perfectly firm mattress. And don’t get me started on the “pleasures” of road food, when eating out, and the frustration of cooking in ten different unfamiliar kitchens equipped with cheap thin pots and blunt knives, when we eat in. Then there are the joys of moving in and out of a new abode several times a week.
Now I’m not complaining…well not really, but what this experience brings home to us is how wonderful voyaging on a liveaboard boat is. We get to go to wild and stunningly beautiful places. We explore. We hike our buns off. We meet nice people and learn about interesting cultures. But at the end of a day we get to go home to our stuff, our way of doing things, and our food.
Phyllis and I call it running away with home, and it’s wonderful.