Next May is a “big” birthday for me. Don’t ask. I want to do something special. My childhood friend Joan was born the same year, except her birthday is in June. When I visited her in tiny Morland in North Western England in April, after not seeing her since we were twenty-years old in our home country of Zambia, we made a pact to get together to celebrate this milestone. Of course this was in a pub (pronounced poob in that neck of the woods) after a couple glasses of wine. We talked about meeting in London.

But here’s the thing, she never mentioned that pact again and well, I don’t want to remind her. I mean after all we have all these starchy British/South African/German/French genes that preclude “pushing” oneself on another. Know what I mean? Plus, I started getting these brochures from The Sierra Club advertising hiking trips to The Great Wall of China, Ecuador, the Patagonia Circuit, Argentina and Chile.

And America. I’ve always wanted to explore the U. S. of A., ever since I was eleven years old, plotting my escape from Africa. But after thirty years in this country, I still have a lot of exploring to do. Not one for making as they say, a “bucket list,”–I hate cliches–I’m making a list nonetheless, just not calling it that.

Here’s my plan, rent or buy one of those little old teardrop caravans, which were popular from the early 30’s to the mid 70’s, hitch it up behind my nine-year-old Nissan Altima and tool around the country with my dogs. Maybe I’ll even hook up with “Sisters on The Fly” (We Have More Fun Than Anyone)—Caravans, Campfires, and Tales from the Road. What do you think?