Retirement: A Full-Time Job

A Vacation from Vacationing

(Photo details:  Italy, 2017--biking out of the seaside town of Oltranto after an al fresco lunch)

 

Yesterday I wrote a test-drive post, which has made me in the mood to tell you more about some of those things I touched on in that post.  This one is to answer the travel question.

On our last big trip, to Italy two years ago, I made Doug sign a piece of paper on the flight home that said, “I, Doug, hereby certify that I am never travelling again.”  That was on the flight that was cancelled, well the one we ran to with three minutes to spare because our flight had been cancelled. Wait, let me start at the beginning.

In general, I was already souring on travel before this trip.  I miss my piano, my friends, and my cat when I’m on gone (not necessarily in that order).  Travelling has always been a trade-off between fun and hassle.  When I was working it was worth the hassle to get to spend quality time with Doug.  Now I get near full-time quality time with Doug, so travelling to do something I can already do for free without the hassle is less appealing.  Not to mention the aforementioned friends, cat and piano.

This trip started with the usual discomforts of air travel, hassles of connections, and time-zone-change exhaustion.  After spending two hours getting from gate to curbside at the Rome airport, in my jet-lagged haze, I left my purse behind in the taxi from the airport to the hotel. You know, the purse with my wallet, phone, and both of our passports.  My phone ringer was off and the battery was dead anyway, so I couldn’t call my purse to get the attention of the driver.  Luckily, I had arranged the ride through the hotel when I booked the room, so, they were able to track down the right taxi company who called the driver who brought my purse back within the hour.  But that didn’t stop us from worrying and then ruminating on the what-if’s all afternoon.

After two delightful days in Rome, we were flying to Brindisi for our organized bike trip through Puglia.  I’ll spare you the play-by-play on the three separate delays of our flight so I can get right to the escalator story.   After we all finally queued up for the flight, a fourth announcement about our flight was made.  We would now be leaving from a different gate.

The agitated mob now made its way to the new gate.  At the end of the terminal we all stepped onto an escalator that would take us down to a gate where a bus would drive us out to the plane.  As soon as an older Italian woman stepped on the escalator behind Doug, she promptly fell down and rolled between Doug and me on the escalator. As Doug and I tried unsuccessfully to lift her, her friend, who was in front of me, tried to reach back and help, and fell herself. 

So I tried to lift the woman in front, Doug tried to lift the woman in back, all as they are each yelling in Italian.  As the bottom of the escalator approached, and visions of a massive pileup spun in my head, I gave up and jumped over the first woman to the landing.  Then Doug leapt over the two women to the landing.  By this time, everyone behind us was running UP the down escalator away from the melee.  

An airport worker raced over and hit the emergency stop button (why didn’t I think of that?!?), but nothing happened!  I can’t even tell you how it was this ended because I was in such a state of disbelief.  I mean they were both ok, but I don’t even know how!

The bike trip through Puglia was fun, but we already established that vacation is fun.  What we are talking about now is the trade-off between fun and hassle. 

At the end, after enjoying Rome for another couple days (yes fun, again not the point), we took another taxi out to the airport.  Doug somehow misplaced the 50 Euro bill he withdrew from the ATM the night before, so we didn’t actually have enough money to even pay the taxi driver the full fare. No, they don’t take credit cards. We tried to supplement the difference with American dollars, but he was not interested.  He said it’s fine, just give him what Euros we had. 

Yes, I know this also turned out to be a happy story, but you know that sinking feeling before you know it’s all going to work out?  That’s the one I’m tired of having by now.

But we must do it once more. Because the flight from Rome to San Francisco was delayed.  It had been cancelled the day before because of equipment problems.  They tried to fix it the problem, and Doug overheard one of the mechanics telling one of the airline workers they need to cancel this flight too. The fix was unsuccessful.

We wound up second in the line to make alternate plans at the gate agent, since Doug had overheard the conversation before the official announcement was made.  And since we had no checked luggage, we were able to get moved to a different airline’s flight six gates away that was boarding NOW and connecting through Vancouver.

So yes, it all worked out, and Doug got the excitement of sitting behind Steve Kerr on the flight home. But still it was very easy to get Doug to sign the never-travelling-again pledge.

 

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Related Posts:

    Having a Great Time, Wish You Were Here Instead of Me

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Having A Great Time, Wish You Were Here Instead of Me

(Photo details:  Chinatown Shophouses, Singapore)

Ok, I’m going to be honest.  I didn’t want to go to Bali.  At all. 

Doug and I met a new friend when we went biking in Southeast Asia two years ago.  April is her name.  She lives in Switzerland but she also owns a home in San Francisco where her kids live.  So over the last couple of years, besides being Facebook friends, we’ve also been real live friends.  And April wanted to do another bike trip with us.

I was not excited.  First I didn’t want to travel because my uncle was sick and I wanted to be here for his remaining days.  April got that and proposed a trip for way out in the future, which we all knew meant when my uncle would be gone.  We didn’t have to say that out loud.

But after Jim died, I still didn’t want to go on this trip.  After we sold our Calistoga house, I wanted to stay home with my cat and relish the fact that I only had one house to take care of.  I did not want to fly to Singapore by way of Tokyo.  To Bali, then Lombok, then Tokyo by way of Bangkok, then home by way of Los Angeles.  I did not want to live out of a suitcase in six different hotels over two weeks.  I did not want to get on a bike in humid heat.

I wanted to nest.  I wanted to do yard work, clean my windows, unpack the few belongings I kept from our Calistoga house.

So on the morning we were leaving, when Doug said, “Do we really have to go?”  I understood.  I reminded him that it was HIS idea to go, and I hoped he would remember this feeling next time our friends proposed a trip.

On the plane ride to Singapore, I counted down how long it would be until I would get to go home.  Only two more weeks.

When we finally arrived in Singapore, I was so happy to see the hotel bed, but I wished I could turn around and get in my own, snuggled up with my kitty.

What happened next was that I had the most amazing time over the next two weeks, despite my constant refrain, “Can we go home yet?”

It is no secret that I’m a control freak.  I feel best when I feel in control of all aspects of my life.  I guess most people do.  But, as we all know, we don’t really control much.  On this trip, I relinquished control and basked in the freedom of it.

In Singapore, we were traveling with our friends Kevin and Art.  Art should be a trip designer, it’s his natural talent.  Well one of many.  He planned out the first 48 hours of our trip.  The first day we learned about Singapore’s history, culture, and culinary delights on a street food tour of Chinatown.  I tried so many new delicacies, although I drew the line at frog porridge.  Note, I didn’t say frog-leg porridge.  In Singapore they eat the whole damn frog.  I ate the porridge part.

(Frogs at the market--no not for pets, for eating.)

I’m not going to take you hour by hour through the whole 48 hours, but they included the Gardens by the Bay--with their solar power, water collecting supertrees--the Marina Bay Sands Hotel, Little India, eating at a wonderful dive cafe where I was sure I would contract some horrible disease, shopping, drinking at a speakeasy that required us to guess the password to get in, and more eating and more drinking.

(Popcorn infused bourbon with a shot of popcorn at The Library)

By the time we flew to Bali, I felt like we had been gone for a month.

In Bali, our biking group consisted of six women and Doug.  We called ourselves the sister wives, or Doug’s harem depending on the mood. We biked, hiked and snorkeled our way through Bali and Lombok’s temples, rice fields, and waterfalls. 

(The reason for Doug dressing in drag, we had to cover our knees to enter the temples)

We went to a Balinese family’s home and learned how to cook Balinese cuisine.

(Cooking class)

On the last day of the bike trip I was so sad to leave these women and our wonderful guides.  Yes, I was still looking forward to going home, but I didn’t want the trip to end either.  How do you reconcile those two things?  I don’t know.

In Singapore, in Bali, in Lombok, in Tokyo, I planned nothing.  I went with the flow.  I relinquished control and loved every minute of it, even while I was hating some of the minutes of it (the early ones, the hot ones, and the ones riding bikes on scary terrain). 

The day we finally got home I was so happy.  I was so happy to see my kitty.  I was so happy to go on a walk in my neighborhood.  I was so happy to sleep in my own bed and play my piano.  I vowed not to leave my house again until 2018.

And then this morning I found myself perusing the bike-tour company’s website for our next trip.

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            Happy to be Home

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            Then and Now in Retirement:  Travel

 

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Then and Now in Retirement: Travel

  (Photo details:  Our lodging on Ha Long Bay 2014.  The trip that was too long even for me.)
 

This post is one in a series I promised comparing my concerns in early retirement with how things are turning out now, eight years later.  My first in the series was about boredom in retirement.  Since I’m on my way to Singapore on today, I thought I’d tackle travel next.

Then:

When I first retired the thing I was most excited about was the freedom to travel more frequently and for longer stretches of time.  While working, I only had three weeks of vacation time each year.  And I used some of those days for short trips or personal days here and there.  So really I had more like two weeks and even then, I didn’t want to “spend” it all at once.  We usually took two vacations during the year no longer than a week each.

One year though, I negotiated a month-long vacation.  I would take two of my weeks of vacation and go without pay for the other two weeks.  That way we could spend an entire month in New York City.  That was my first taste of such a long trip and I loved it.  Doug was exhausted, but I was invigorated.  I couldn’t wait to retire so we could do more of these types of vacations, living for a month at a time in various major cities around the world.

When I retired, it became clear that this travel-fantasy was not shared by Doug.  He was a trouper and accompanied me on two more month-long trips to New York, a bunch of three-week trips:  to Australia, to Southeast Asia, and a few more to New York.  But it was too long for him to really enjoy being away and on our last lengthy trip something new happened.  It was too long for me too.

The first eight years of my retirement, I was willing to downgrade the luxury level of our trips so we could afford more days of them.  No longer confined to two or three weeks, I wanted to be away as long as possible and I didn’t care if I had to clean my own apartment or move a few times during our stay.  All I cared about was being gone for as long as possible.

Now:

We leave today for a two week trip to Indonesia.  And that’s all I really want.  For the entire year. 

And since I really only want to be gone for two weeks this year, I’m willing to spend the entire year’s vacation budget, a budget that used to fund several months’ worth of trips, on just two weeks.  No home exchanges, we’re staying at luxury hotels, travelling with a luxury bike-tour operator, and flying business class (well that’s on free miles of course.)

I’ve come full circle.  I’m now happy with the measly two weeks I was allotted during my working life and I’m back to blowing the wad on those two weeks. 

Why is that?

I guess because I’ve finally figured out I’m not trying to get away from my life.  I’m not looking for the antidote to work.  The truth is, I love being home.  I love having a glass of wine in my wonderful back yard after a day of gardening.  I love entertaining friends here.  I love going on my walking dates, my lunch dates, and being with my kitty.

I’m totally looking forward to experiencing Bali, Singapore, and Tokyo, and sharing that with some wonderful friends.  But I’m looking forward TO that rather than looking forward to being AWAY from the stresses of the workplace.

Don’t worry.  It doesn’t mean I want to work again.

 

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Looking Forward

(Photo Details:  The view from Roosevelt Island to Manhattan's Upper East SIde--July 2014)

So this is my last day in Manhattan, for this year anyway.  I am always sad to go home.  Not only will I miss the thrill of living right up next to other people’s lives, I will miss the way this place continues to surprise me every time I come here.  More about that later--this is a post about looking forward.  Instead of being sad about leaving, I’m working on looking forward to going back home. 

When I’m away, especially for such a long time, I am more removed from the things that weigh heavily on me back home.  One of my friends is worried about her marriage, another friend just lost his father, and one of my relatives is coping with a serious health issue.  While I don’t escape these worries completely, I am a more removed from their intensity when I’m far away from home.  

I’m also removed from the more day-to-day obligations back home, my volunteer work, yard work, and housework.  Nothing really difficult or stressful, I am retired after all.  But there’s definitely more on the to-do list waiting for me when I get home.

But there are also friends and family I haven’t seen in weeks!  Five weeks of their lives have happened and I don’t really know anything about them.  There are long lunches and long walking dates that will be filled with interesting stories of things I have missed.

There are ripe tomatoes on the vine in my back yard.

There is a king-size bed and lots of space in my house to spread out.

There’s the possibility of shedding the pounds I’ve gained eating and drinking to my heart’s content in Manhattan--the silver lining of living in dining wasteland.

There is my piano.

And there are a few things I want to bring home from New York.  Each morning, Doug and I went for a walk around the reservoir in Central Park.  It’s a nice way to start the day.  Not having Central Park at home is not a good enough reason not to do this at home.  Sorry, that was a lot of nots.  I’m going to start each day with a walk when I get back home.

I have watched virtually no TV news since I’ve been here.  I’d like to keep that abstention up at home too.

I have survived five weeks with one suitcase of clothes.  It’s actually kind of nice--I’m going to do some serious purging of the closet when I get home. 

Until then, I’m going to relish this last day of having Doug all to myself, and look forward to connecting with all the people I’ve missed over the last month.

 

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How to See Retirement With a Tourists Eyes

(Photo Details:  Top of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York--June 2014)

I’m just finishing up a five-week visit to Manhattan on our annual home-exchange vacation.  I get a lot of questions from people about why I like to return to New York year after year.  Why not go somewhere different?  Why go for an entire month?  And why go during the hottest time of year?

And I do have answers to all those questions.  But this post is about the value of seeing something that you’ve seen before in a totally different light. 

I just calculated that I’ve visited New York City 14 times over the last three decades for a cumulative total of eight months here.  We used to come for a week at a time.  We’d stay in a hotel, run from one activity to another--all day and all night--and then go home utterly exhausted.  Since we started visiting for a month at a time seven years ago, we haven’t had to run ourselves so ragged.  We take lots of time to recharge in between activities.  But we still return home pretty tired.  New York City has that effect on us.

In any case, I get why people are perplexed that I would want to do the same thing year after year.

Doug hits his limit of Manhattan about three weeks in.  I could probably be here a couple months before I’d tire of this city.  So this year, we tried something different.  I flew out alone a week before Doug did.  I invited a girlfriend and her daughter to join me for the week. 

I spent the week playing drill-sergeant travel guide.   In four days we covered a lot of territory.  We went to many places I’ve been before: the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Guggenheim, the Brooklyn Bridge and the High Line, The Book of Mormon, a comedy club, Grand Central Station, and Times Square.  I took them to my favorite restaurants and my favorite walks in Central Park.  We also enjoyed a couple of sights that I had never seen in all my time here:  the Statue of Liberty and the top of the Empire State Building.   And this year the new 9/11 Museum opened just in time for their visit. 

But while I was playing tour guide, I was seeing these familiar sights with fresh eyes--through the excited eyes of my friends.  My friend Kendra is an artist, so she was giddy at the Met.  Taylor is a civil engineering student in college, so she was enthralled with the Brooklyn Bridge and the museum inside the Statue of Liberty. 

Every time I come here I have a completely different experience from the previous time.  Some of that is simply from the changes here over the last 30 years.  Some is because I have changed a lot in the last 30 years.  The last few years though, it has been because friends have come out to visit while we are here.  Even if we take them to do things we’ve done over and over again, we see things through their eyes.   Appreciating all over again the things we love about this city.

It’s the same thing with retirement.  I’ve been retired for six years now, and I don’t always look at retirement with those fresh, tourist eyes.  Then I get an email from someone like Terri, who sends me joy-filled updates from Sun City about how much she appreciates having so much TIME.  Or like Kaye who enjoys “a slow wake-up, with coffee and quiet time to read and reflect” each morning--a luxury that she didn’t have while still working.  And especially like Jill, who is “playing at being at holiday,” enjoying her local museums, galleries, and concerts.  Reminding me to take my tourist eyes home from New York and use them back at home all year long.

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Happy to Be Home

(Angkor Wat, Siem Reap, Cambodia)

Wow, that vacation sucked the life out of me.  I have now recovered just enough energy to wade back into blogging.  For those of you that don’t like to travel anymore, I totally understand.  There are so many things that are hard about traveling, especially when you add the heat and humidity of Southeast Asia in April. 

Let's talk heat.  People always think I am crazy to go to New York in August.  The heat!  The humidity!  Picture that right now in your head.  Now multiply that heat and humidity by a gazillion, take away the air conditioned shops and restaurants lining Manhattan’s swanky avenues and stick that whole image in a third world country.  And really, you still have no idea.

It took 23 hours to get to get to Bangkok.  And Doug’s luggage did not arrive with us.   We had each packed some carry-on luggage with necessities to get us through a few days of our trip—biking clothes, swimsuit, going-to-dinner outfit, and walking-around-town outfit.  For exactly this reason.  But still, not the best way to start our adventure.  Between jet lag and worry, neither of us slept that first night.

The next morning, Thai Airways called to tell us they had located Doug's luggage!  It missed our connection in Beijing.  It would be arriving on the very next flight.  Unfortunately that flight would be arriving after we departed for Cambodia. 

When we arrived in Cambodia that night, our pre-arranged ride from the airport to the hotel never showed up.  Did I mention that it was really hot?  We tried to call the hotel, but our cell phones didn’t work.  We eventually got it all worked out.  Eventually.  The following morning, Doug was reunited with his luggage and we spent the day floating in the pool.

(The pool at the Raffles, Siem Reap)

That afternoon we strolled around Siem Reap to get a feel for the city.  It took us six blocks to work up the courage to cross to the river-side of the busy street.  There are no stop signs, stoplights or crosswalks.  The way you cross the street is to simply step off the curb and walk at a steady pace across the street.  The sea of motorbikes, tuk-tuks, cars, and trucks fills in around you.  Somehow you wind up on the other side of the street not dead. 

(Tuk-tuk in Laos)

Ok, so you’re hot, you are breathing air that is thick with exhaust and humidity, and you are happy just to have crossed the street alive.   So now let’s add a bike to the mix—we were on a bicycle tour, remember?

(Cycling in Laos)

By the end of the trip, I was so thankful to be healthy and in one piece.  Half the group had either fallen ill (short-lived but intense--all requiring antibiotics) or had suffered a bicycle accident (mostly minor, although one required stitches.)  Actually, I didn’t walk away totally unscathed.  On a hike into the temples one day, I got a bad case of chigger bites.  The resulting rash on my ankles and hands was an itchy reminder of that excursion for the remainder of our trip.

(Making Doggy friends all over the world, here at Ta Phrom-Siem Reap, Cambodia)

So it's true that half the fun of a trip is planning it, and the other half is looking back on it.  And I am looking back on it with fondness, even though we were miserable practically every minute of every day.  It's hard to explain but I had fun and was miserable at the same time.  It was hot and it was exhausting, but I truly appreciated the experience.  Doug, not so much.  So far he just remembers the miserable part.

In Cambodia it was the people that impressed me so much.  Every person we met was so generous in sharing their personal life stories with us, all of them marred by the violent history of life under the Khmer Rouge.  How fortunate we are in the U.S. to complain of the types of things we consider hardships.   Really.

(Family in passing tuk-tuk, Siem Reap, Cambodia)

In Laos, it was the calm, spiritual feel of Luang Prabang that enchanted me.  In Hanoi, I was charmed by the French colonial influence on the city’s architecture and ambiance.  And in Thailand, it was being surrounded by the familiar faces of friends that made the unfamiliar surroundings most enjoyable.  And the food--everywhere the food was delicious.  I ate as much as I wanted, much of it fried, and came home three pounds lighter!  

(Early morning with the monks in Luang Prabang, Laos)

I have never felt so removed from my life on a trip before.  Travel usually wakes my brain up in a way that hanging out at home never does--this trip even more so.  I came home with a greater appreciation for my own life circumstances, a lower tolerance for the noise that passes as political discourse here, and a clearer idea of commitments I want to keep and those that I’m ready to let go of.  Oh, and a resolution to never complain about our own weather ever again!

(Cooling off in Koh Samui)

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Southeast Asia in April--well this is the only comfortable place to be.  After a week of biking in 90+ degree temperatures, this is welcome relief.  

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Picturing Retirement: Off Riding Bikes and Elephants

Photo Friday:  Not an excuse, I'm just explaining my blog absence.  We rode bikes through Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam last week.  Super hot, super humid, and super interesting.  I would not recommend April for this activity--I was exhilarated while at the same time miserable.  Now we're recovering on an island in Thailand.  I'll post that photo tomorrow.

Now a note about the estimated demographics of our 10-person bicycle tour group.  Couple #1:  Age 70 and mid-50's, neither retired--best bikers.  Couple #2: Both 60-something, both retired--husband front-of-the-pack biker.  Couple #3:  One working, one retired, both 70-something, husband also front-of-the pack biker.  Two singles:  Both 50-something, work status ambiguous--good to great bikers.  And yours truly, Couple #5:  The youngsters at 50, retired and back-of-the pack bikers.  Go figure.

(Photo:  Luang Prebang, Laos)

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Another Way to Save on Travel Costs in Retirement

(Photo Details:  Sydney and Doug overlooking the Lido Deck)

We just got back from a cruise, my first ever, to Mexico.  My parents-in-law splurged and treated the entire family to luxurious mini-suites with adjoining balconies.  I only gained one pound, which was a real feat considering the quantity of food I consumed while onboard.  

But even for people without such generous parents, there's still a way to enjoy vacations without paying for lodging.  That's the subject of my article in yesterday's Wall Street Journal--sorry for the delay in posting:  Home Exchanges Can Stretch Your Travel Budget.

 

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Save More So You Can Splurge More

(Photo Details:  Sydney and Doug on the splurge-more side of the equation in Hawaii)

Despite the fact that I do a lot of things to save money, I would not describe myself as a frugal person.  While I do like to save a buck, or thousands of them, I do not shy away from spending when it’s something that I really want.  We saved a ton of money on flights to and around Southeast Asia, but our first week’s tour is something no frugal person would approve of.   I don’t save money just for the purpose of saving money, I save it so I can spend it on something I really value.  We have a set budget we must live on each year, but I can splurge as much as I want in one category if I can make it up in another. 

Which brings me to property taxes.  It gives me no pleasure to pay property taxes.  I’m not saying that in an I-hate-taxes sort of way.  I’m not one of those people that views taxes as evil.  But if I can find a way to save on spending in an area that does not give me a lot of pleasure, like taxes, insurance, or utilities, so that I can spend it on things that do make me happy like trips, clothes, and piano lessons—well that’s worth the effort.

Which is why I didn’t mind spending a fair amount of time to save thousands of dollars in property taxes.

We bought our house as the housing market was still on the rise.  So every year our property taxes were increased by the maximum 2%.  When the bottom fell out of the market, our county sent us a letter telling us that they were reducing our property tax valuation to reflect the current market conditions.  So that reduction took no effort whatsoever.

But I appealed it anyway.  I took a look at all the recent sales in my neighborhood and thought it should be even lower.  I submitted a spreadsheet with my findings to the county.

It was rejected, so I called the assessor’s office and had a nice, long chat with the clerk.  She explained in detail why they were rejecting my appeal, and told me that as of the date of our conversation—the values had continued to drop even further, so I should call her back next year.

Which I did.  I didn’t even have to submit another appeal.  We just had a conversation and she reduced our tax base, saving us a few thousand dollars. 

So we did the same with our vacation home.  That one took a lot more time and I’ll spare you the long, drawn-out story.  We just got the refund check yesterday for the 2010 tax year.  Just in time for our big trip!  The lesson here is to be persistent and don’t be afraid to pick up the phone and actually talk to the assessor—they really are knowledgeable and in my experience, very reasonable people.

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