
I am not without trepidation, mostly regarding things like feral dogs and monsoons and malaria and flies in the spaghetti and no hot water for days at some fleabag hotel with stained sheets and strange infestations. On the other hand, I have already stayed at so many fabulous hotels with 24-hour room service and fruit baskets and fireplaces and fluffy robes and slippers that a week at one of those is even less appealing.
The real reason behind my decision is this: Starved for something more "real" than what's offered on reality TV, I am desperate to leave my comfort zone and see what life is like for those less fortunate. (Or maybe, as my husband truly believes, more fortunate.) My companion will be my best friend, a brave and fearless explorer who has sailed the seven seas...well, one of them at least--in a sailboat for a month and climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro, to name but two of the impressive feats Debra has accomplished. I'll be putting all my eggs in her basket on this trip, and letting her carry it for sure.
Since it is three months away, I am still excited and not yet petrified. Surely fear will come, as it always does with me thanks to a traumatic childhood. Anyway, I am determined to work through it. Until then I will enjoy my ho-hum, middle-class existence and partake of the Christmas frivolities at a neighborhood party this afternoon that promises to be jolly, given enough eggnog.
We are going to have the best adventure ever.
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