Finding my detour

It was the 80s. My world was always very small. I was raised in a small town, and my parents didn't travel any farther than the family station wagon could go on a tank of gas. My father didn't trust planes. "One too many close calls," he would say. He was the breadwinner, so we never had the chance to travel. If he didn’t fly, we certainly couldn’t. In fact, as a child I believed that if you traveled by plane, you were certain never to return.

Side note: planes are the opposite of dangerous—at least the way I travel now. In the air you can have a lie-flat seat, watch new movies, sit at a bar, and chat with a flight attendant. I’ve had soup served from a tureen, and I’ve been gifted a small Delft-blue ceramic house full of liquor. I’ve even stared at a starry LED sky complete with a shooting star. It’s all very civilized—certainly not dangerous. It would be a long time yet until I would be in the sky sipping free champagne. 

I was very much sheltered from the larger world. What I thought was great fun—and mind-expanding—was going to yard sales on the weekend. We would search for valuable treasures from around the world to resell and make extra money. We were Long Island gypsies, riding our trusty steed: a light-blue Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser station wagon, complete with wood grain, a blue velour seat, and the necessary roof rack. Very regularly, in these driveway retail experiences, we’d find cheap souvenirs from other people’s trips overseas. We’d toss them aside because the value was little to us. What I didn’t realize were the stories each little piece of plastic or metal or cloth held—and how, in the future, they might be the most valuable items of all to the person who bought them. I always joked that I was searching for one of those lost Fabergé eggs, and that when I found one, I’d be rich and life would be grand. What I didn’t realize was that what I was searching for was round, but it wasn’t an egg. It was the world.

I grew up and moved once—to Virginia. I hated moving and having to discover a new place. I wasn’t ready yet for travel; I usually looked more inward than outward. But ever the creative, imaginative type, I went to design school in Richmond, Virginia, earned my degree, and became an interior designer. Later I moved to DC to broaden my horizons and ended up running my own business for 20 years in the Washington, DC area. That is not this story. In that same timeframe, I didn’t find the egg—I stumbled upon it.

I found my metaphorical Fabergé egg in my partner—the person who introduced me to the world. He was “in travel.” He would go to the most exotic places for work and come home with stories, little treats, and an invitation to join him next time. To me, it might as well have been Mars—or one of those planets that just has numbers for a name. I’m not getting on a plane; they are not safe. I was in awe, but also apprehensive. Would I have to go with him around the world one day? I was scared to even think about it. I didn’t yet understand why it would become necessary for a multitude of reasons.

Finally, early on in our relationship, I was given a bit of an ultimatum: “Start traveling with me or get going on your own.” At the time, I thought it was harsh, but now I see he was trying to help me. That choice proved to be the most eye-opening, mind-broadening, healing, exhilarating—sometimes scary (but good-scary)—decision of my life. I can’t begin to tell you how much I’ve grown as a person by taking a small leap of faith, putting one foot in front of the other down the jetway, and crossing the threshold of a plane.

As I began to travel, my career as a designer started to feel boring and stale—and it offered little chance to go anywhere outside my own city. After my partner introduced me to places like India, Africa, and Australia, I was bitten by the travel bug. I became obsessed. Then the midlife crisis hit hard. I wanted a big change. I wanted to turn this love of discovering the world into a business so I could do it all the time. It was time to leave the life I knew and jump into the unknown.

From here forward, I’ll document in this blog the new destinations and discoveries I’ve made since the day the station wagon grew wings—and I found my egg in the world.

I now buy those “frivolous” souvenirs from overseas. To me, they’re precious and priceless because of the stories and experiences they hold. I can tell you this much: you will not find them at my yard sale. So, if you’ve read this far and you’re interested in travel, come along with me on my adventures. Maybe—just maybe—it will inspire you to become a Detourist like me.

I’ve been to many of the highlight cities in the world. They’re awesome—and necessary to see—but now I’m looking for the hidden gems, too: off the main road, behind a door you wouldn’t open without an expert guide. The treasure that exists when you’re willing to take a detour.