Category: 2019

I found Costco yesterday. As it turns out, it’s across the street from La Organica, a vegetarian-friendly restaurant recommended by my hosts. Jorge even drove me there as he was on his way out to get beer. Viviana was home preparing for her meditation class, held on the main floor of their home. The night I arrived, she was having a class on Middle Eastern mysticism or something of the like. Viviana is a renaissance woman.

At Jorge’s suggestion, I walked to el Parque Urbano Kabah this morning. I wanted it to be brisk so I did not have coffee beforehand, The thought of that caffeine fix made for a pace that would make my running group proud. The park is in the middle of busy downtown Cancún, however when you are within its perimeters, the city and it’s noise fall away and peace abounds. Lots of walkers and runners, and even an outdoor gym where a handful of young men were getting their reps in.

I even came across a critter. Dr. Google says it’s a coati…part of the raccoon family. It was having breakfast and though it kept an eye on me (and vice versa) it did not appear flustered. I’ll admit I was a bit, only because I had no idea what it was. Now that I know it has very long sharp teeth, I will continue to keep a respectful distance.

Haven’t made it to the beach yet. There’s lots of time for that and I’m enjoying being in the midst of Mexican life instead of the tourist bubble. The pool here is gorgeous and mostly empty. Ahhh…

So this post isn’t about travel, but it’s a story that needs to be told.

On October 24, 2018, I went to a flu clinic in the building adjacent to mine for my annual flu shot. The shot itself was quite painful, and I noted that the clinician – a pharmacist from a nearby national drug chain – had injected me high up on the arm, close to my shoulder. The pain was quite intense but it eased after about 48 hours. 

I’ll make a very long story short. The pain returned about a week after the shot, and it affected daily life significantly. I saw a duty doctor in December who diagnosed nerve pain and prescribed something that did nothing for the arm but made me seriously contemplate suicide (stay away from old antidepressants). In December I saw another duty doctor with more experience. He gave me a strong anti inflammatory (and told me to stay away from anyone who wants to give me a flu shot who isn’t a doctor).

The second round of meds helped a lot with symptoms but the pain and weakness persisted so I saw my own doctor in February. She ordered an X-ray (it didn’t show anything) and wrote a referral to a local physiotherapist who she said was the best.

She was right! Andrea’s diagnosis got right to the heart of the issue and within a week or so, with some work on my part, I started to feel a lot better. I continued my visits and the exercises, seeing her for the last time on Monday of this week. Immediately afterwards, I submitted my claim to Sun Life for more than $500 in physio fees. 

This morning, I received notification from Sun Life that the claim had been processed. And denied. Reason? My doctor had failed to include the word “physiotherapy” on the referral. She had gone a step too far and written the name and location of the physiotherapist she wanted me to see. It apparently doesn’t matter to Sun Life that they have this physiotherapist in their data base…that they know she’s a physiotherapist….the word must be on the prescription.

Yes, I will fight this. But I gotta tell you, I’m gonna think twice before I let anyone approach me with a needle. Unless it’s filled with something that’s gonna make all this go away…

Sitting in Marco Polo, the coffee lounge on the ground floor of the building I used to call home. It’s fitting somehow…Marco Polo was an explorer, and looking ahead, I feel a certain kinship with him. Beyond the urge to travel, we have nothing in common of course. Imagine what the early explorers could have done if they’d had internet…keeping tabs on the castle via Alexa, setting up online banking to make sure the rent on the catacombs was collected on time…Speaking of internet, I’ve been a week without it. I am every bit as hooked and dependent as any 20-something. I’m developing a nervous tick as I think about all the crap I missed this week.

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So…moving….not a gift. Despite my best efforts, I still own way too much stuff. And the fact that I’m heading out for an undetermined period of travel doesn’t seem to have deterred me from wanting more. I was looking at a linen dress in Winners a few days ago…after all, I only have five…and only two blue ones…I can justify anything. And no, I didn’t buy it. But I really wanted it.

Not much left to do. After experiencing total mental exhaustion worrying about how to prepare the car for storage, I’ve decided to take it for a long drive, wash it and park it. This Golf is such a diva. I never worried about leaving the Echo for any period of time, and it never let me down. This computerized puff ball has all kinds of wants and needs in comparison, but I’m practicing tough love.

Four days…

I received an email yesterday morning from a woman I don’t know. She said she was at Cardamom House near Athoor Village, Dindigul, South India and had just picked up a book I left there in 2011. The book was Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand (excellent as I recall), and I apparently left a note with my email address inside of the front cover along with an invitation to visit Nova Scotia. I remember Cardamom House…an oasis in the middle of nowhere with excellent food and staff who catered to my every whim. It was my first visit to India, and I was travelling with a driver…staying at places hand-picked by a travel agent who wanted to present the best that his country had to offer. I don’t travel that way anymore, opting instead to find my own way through the most chaotic country on earth, so the memories this evoked were sublime.

Back to the email. Jane said she didn’t foresee being in Nova Scotia anytime soon, but she invited to me look her up in the event that I was ever in the UK. As it happens, I finalized two bookings in the UK about a week ago – one in Cheltenham in the Cotswolds and the second in Swansea, Wales. Guess where Jane lives. A 30-minute drive from Cheltenham. And guess where Ruth lives…Ruth whom I met three years ago in Bangkok. Ruth lives in Swansea. I didn’t remember that until it was pointed out to me by Lucinda, a friend of Ruth’s whom I met exactly two years ago in India. 

The universe in general and this planet in particular are astonishing places. Had this email arrived ten days or two weeks ago, it would have been a pleasant diversion. But it arrived yesterday., after I had finalized the Airbnb reservation. Nearly eight years after I penned that offer of Nova Scotian hospitality. So instead of looking ahead to complete solitude over the summer of 2019, I now have two solid connections in these unknown places. Because I do intend to contact Jane when I get to England. I just can’t ignore this obvious signal that there is something there for me to explore. It may be uplifting, it may be downright depressing, but undoubtedly, it will teach me something. And I’m looking forward to seeing Ruth, Kate and Lou again to take up where we left off in Asia.

The countdown to March 27th is on!  On that day, I will be officially homeless. All of my earthly belongings will be in storage, and I will have borrowed an address to satisfy societal norms. I do hope you’ll come with me…