Lounging at home on my sofa during the dark cold hours of our bizarre winter, shivering under a blankey and taking solace from Netflix, I debated what type of adventure I should have in 2015.
Clearly there was no way to top my month in India in 2014 -- especially from the sheer unlikeness of my daily existence, and if truth be known, an almost complete antithesis of my life to date. And why would I want to try? Did I want that much differentness this year? Did I need such a challenge? I decided not.
Each time I face this decision I always consider taking a heritage tour. Going to England... going to Scotland... buying some scratchy clan plaids (what would I wear under my kilt? I can assure you it's not the future of Scotland) and visiting castles. Maybe I'd get to witness a log throwing in person!
Perhaps I would discover that Doctor Who is a long lost cousin. Or maybe I'd happen upon my very on Aspergerish village doctor with a lovely water view who can't bear to live without my acute spatial reasoning skills.
But so many things struggle in my mind against taking this trip, most prevalently the thought that I would spend a long flight only to be met by cold, gloomy weather and the same collection of ruddy, teetotaling Campbells, Stewarts, and Johnsons I could meet up with in my own one-stop-light hometown.
Once again, I decided against a trip to the Homeland.
I quickly discounted Vietnam / Laos / Thailand as being too exotic and different -- can't do that two years in a row -- especially without a support group such as I experienced in India (thank you Lek and Lax! Love you girls! You too BB!). Or without taking a package tour -- which I find so Fonzie-saying-"Wrong" that I have thrown up in my mouth just typing the words.
Where to go... where to go?
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