Eleven flights, seven airports, five languages, five countries, three currencies, two continents, two climates, two wardrobes, one month, and a cosmopolitan explorer whose soul is sufficiently nourished and at peace.
I’m not in the United States, yet, but I’m finally back home for the first time in 20 years: Belfast, Northern Ireland.
Images include City Hall, Belfast Botanic Gardens, and Titanic Museum located at the filled-in dry dock where the ship was built by Harland & Wolff.

Old, Dutch sailors don’t find me appealing.
I love The Netherlands. I’m glad I visited for a second time. What impresses me most about the country is its extensive exercise paths. As you’ve seen on TV, everyone bicycles in The Netherlands. I can’t say that everyone is svelt from all the exercise, but it does seem to keep morbid obesity at bay. I also envy that the residents love their king and queen and are happy with their new prime minister. I had the good fortune of being there on September 17—“hat parade” and the first day of the new parliamentary year.
Below are images from the town Medemblik and Den Helder farm and coast line.

While I was in northern Netherlands, Royal Netherlands Navy hired me to man a submarine because I’m a visionary. How will I fare if submarine Tonijn ever sees water again? My hair is an effect of being on the edge of the North Sea. Near the sub at Marinemuseum in Den Helder is the bridge house and radar globe of De Ruyter (“Kojak”).
Also pictured is a German favorite: beach community Callantsoog near Den Helder.

The Roman architecture and what they left behind from two thousand years ago is so mind-boggling I don’t know what to say. Below are photos of Baths of Antoninus in Carthage and their original source—natural spring—132 km away, transported by Zaghouan Aqueduct; Saint Louis Cathedral; “downtown” Testour; and the remains of a bustling Roman community in Dougga.

I didn’t know that I was traveling all the way to Tunisia to hire graphic designer Selima Benhariz. I entrusted my precious BeanMan in the hands of a very talented woman. I suppose that after 32 years it was time for my logo to catch up with the evolution of my brand.
Contact Selima for your graphic design needs. She works remotely–internationally.

Four continents down, three to go. Four heart attacks down, hopefully no more to go. I don’t know which was scarier in Tunis, Tunisia: being a taxi passenger, a pedestrian, or a bicyclist. None yields to another. I felt like a pinball.
This was not only my first time in Tunisia but also on the continent of Africa. The locals invited me to swim, but they could not convince me that there were no sharks in the Mediterranean Sea. Although always prepared to be Serial Good Samaritan, I stood watch next to a lifeguard stand for a few minutes.
Among my exploring, I visited Medina of Tunis, including Café du Souk; and Bardo Museum, which houses the world’s largest collection of Roman mosaics.
The most interesting and endearing aspect I learned about Tunis culture is that after a person dies in his home, female friends and family sit with him until the next morning when he is taken away, while men sit outside the home, door open for visitors of both genders.

After 13 years of putting the “finishing touches” on my US travel goals, I have finally resumed international travel. My phone and I are roaming, starting with London. I don’t normally travel where I have already been, including London, but I made the trip to meet a friend who lives there. Since the meet-up didn’t happen, I entertained myself with an evening stroll to Big Ben and Verdi’s La Traviata opera at Royal Ballet and Opera theatre, for example. One day in London I heard more languages than a year’s worth of travel in America. Fortunately I’m multi-lingual: Valley, Jive, Hawaiian Pidgin, Tijuanan, Canadian, and Chinese Food Menu. I did catch onto the Brits’ cycle of please, sorry, thank you.

Been there, done that. Touring Memphis marks my finishing working through Frommer’s U. S. A. guide book, which I bought in 1995 (the year that edition was published). Visiting Sun Studio*, where greats like Elvis Presley recorded their first songs, was inspiring. The microphone pictured is the original from Sun Studio and was held by the greats—including me.
I also visited W. C. Handy’s (“father of the blues”) house/museum, cruised the Mississippi river, walked along Beale Street, and stood at the gates of Graceland.
[*Sun Studio, which includes the radio station that was the first to play Elvis Presley songs, was inspiring toward the humorous radio show I’m creating. The development is coming along well. I’m still looking for a co-host and a home (radio station).]

When I was walking around Andrew Jackson’s The Hermitage, a two-horse-drawn wagon full of tourists rolled alongside me, and the guide said to me, “Check out the natural spring just ahead.” I said, “I’m not the ghost of one of the slaves.” No one laughed. I didn’t hear crickets; I heard mating cicadas.
Watching a show at the Grand Ole Opry was a lot of fun and nostalgic. When I was a child, I enjoyed watching Hee Haw. Though country music didn’t grow on me until the songs became “traditional” country, I enjoyed Hee Haw’s sketch comedy.

When I was in line at the ticket counter for my flight from Honolulu to Pago Pago, American Samoa, I found that I was the only Haole a.k.a. White Girl. All of the other passengers were Samoan and they were huge. Let’s just say that they looked like they were in line for the NFL draft—even the men. Being the only haole, I realized that mainlanders either have never heard of Samoa or they are too scared to visit. When my turn came to check in, the ticket agent told me that I couldn’t board the plane. “You’re underweight.” I said, “I’m an exercise physiologist on a mission.” She gave me a boarding pass.
When I went through customs at Pago Pago Airport, the agent asked the reason for my trip. I said, “It was a dare.”
I hiked on the north side of the island, straight up the thick rain forest to the ridge. It was so humid I could smell photosynthesis. What does photosynthesis smell like? Damp green, a new shade I invented. On the trail I brought plenty of water and, in case I became lost, agent orange.

Happy Anniversary to me and welcome to Purgatory . . . Resort. If I knew that Purgatory were a beautiful place to absolve my work sins, then I would have been a health & fitness quack. Instead, I’m celebrating 32 years of sainthood and a lifetime of exploring the globe.
I went on a two-hour tour with Snowmobile Adventures at Purgatory Resort. Four guests on 3 snowmobiles followed Ben aka Bella, a wise-cracking mountain goat. When I walked up to check in he said, “The hot air balloon ride was cancelled. Not enough wind.” I said, “Good. I was too scared anyway,” and walked away. He said, “Wait! Where are you going?” I turned back and laughed. I’m not an amateur at improv, ya’ know.
We rode 20-30 miles on freshly groomed—by us—fresh pow pow in the San Juan Mountains just north of Durango, Colorado. Up at 12,000 feet, 3,000 from where we started, I looked up at the sky and allowed the snow to speckle my face and I said three Hail Marys—just in case.