Life On The Road

The other day the checkout gal at a supermarket in Victoria asked me, "Are you a visitor?" and I had to think how to answer. As far as I am concerned I live in Canada every summer,  then in Portland in the fall and spring, and spend some of the winter in Scottsdale. I consider myself connected and committed to these communities but I have no idea whether people in these places consider me a local or not.

A nomadic lifestyle does not fit easily into neat boxes like being a full-time resident does. Yet there are a lot of people doing it. There are more than a million Americans living full time in RVs. Presumably home for them is where they park for the night. I wonder what they answer when someone asks, "are you a visitor?"

"Where are you from?" has been a difficult question for me for my entire adult life. Apparently, I still have traces of a New York accent, despite havling left when I was 18. Yet just last weekend someone outed me as a New Yorker. But what makes me one? An occasional syllable?

It seems that an accent counts for a lot. I lived in the south for as many years as  I lived in the north, but I often got dubious looks when I told people I was from there.

But that was a while ago, before I moved to the west. As the Doors said,  The West Is The Best. But still, do I really have to choose just one place?

I saw this pillow or poster or whatever-it-is in Portugal last year and agree with the sentiment. It doesn't take a house. If Franklin is with me, then we must be home.

That said, I am about to do my first solo vacation in several decades. I'm heading to France for a few weeks, traveling by plane, train, river barge, bus, foot, and bicycle. Solo used to be my natural way to travel. I went around the world by myself when I was just 21 but the times were different, and so was I. So we'll see how this goes. As always, I hope it's fun.