I’m pretty sure I’ve packed more travel into my life in the last two months than in the last several years. BK (before kids), I was a traveling fool, and my passport got a workout. Once the first boy arrived and the second one followed, I was fully tethered to them and our local environs. The farthest we went was Illinois, although there was a flight to Florida one spring.  Between the cost and the hassle, why bother? So, my passport languished and eventually expired, buried under a pile of winter socks. I’ve longingly followed friends via social media on their travels to exotic locales, wondering when it would eventually be my turn.

It only took 25 years to fire up a brand-new passport, but fire it up, I did!  On June 28, I hopped on a plane to London. I planned to meet one of my friends, Dana, from Austin, TX. We would then fly on to Mykonos, Greece.

As I mentioned, I used to be a world traveler. Sort of. I was more like a clueless 20-something college grad who got a student work permit to live in London in 1991, with plans to backpack through Europe that summer after my visa expired. That’s how I met and roomed with Dana, mentioned above, and Susie, the latter from San Jose, California, both student work visa holders. After Europe, Dana and I went to Australia and New Zealand. We flew to Scotland eight years later to celebrate Susie’s marriage to a Scotsman. It was all incredibly fun, and I have photos, journals, and memories to last several lifetimes. But that was all 25-plus years ago, and a lot has changed since I was last in London.

The best change is the advent of the cell phone! My gosh, between paying for everything by tapping my phone (the bus! The Tube! Dinner!) and navigating with my maps app, I was set. Just texting Dana about our rapidly changing plans made everything easier. I read books and watched movies on my iPad. I may curse tech, but it has its uses.

Dana and I spent five days in Mykonos and Paros. I won’t bore you with the details of complete relaxation, incredible local food, outstanding accommodations, and beach cabanas. It would only make you sad for me. I pushed through, however. You would have been proud.

We flew back to London and caught a cab to Henley-on-Thames, just outside London, to stay with Susie. She’s lived there since she married the Scotsman, and they have three girls a bit older than my kids. Our timing was fortuitous – we were attending the Henley Royal Regatta, which I quickly realized was their rowing equivalent of the Sheridan WYO Rodeo. A town of just over 12,000, Henley hosts the Regatta in early July over six days, with 300,000 participants and spectators worldwide descending on their riverside village. Like the WYO, locals either love it or rent out their places and flee. Going with a local, much like during the WYO, meant that we had tickets to the best places to eat, drink, view, and experience the entire event. And what an event it is – sure, people watch the races, but really, it’s about seeing your friends and being seen. Sort of like going to polo for me – I don’t actually watch any polo; I’m too busy eating, drinking, and chatting.  There are members of present and past rowing teams from all over England, the U.S., Canada, etc., identifiable by their specifically colored blazers and insignias.  So, between the blazers, the ladies’ hats (this is England, after all), and the dresses that must cover your knees (or you’re not allowed in the fancy enclosure), the people-watching was epic.  Again, it’s so much like the WYO, but exchanging the types of hats and maybe the buckles for the blazers. It was fun to watch another small town go all-in on their big event.

Now that I’ve broken the seal on my new passport, I’m ready to roll.  No way am I waiting another 25 years to use her. I just have to bank the funds and the vacay!