"Where will you be?"

WHERE WILL YOU BE?



Five friends and I spent a dismal evening in July, 1984 at a camp in California listening to a raving lunatic preacher screaming, "Where will you be? WHERE WILL YOU BE? Where WILL you be? Where will you BE? WHERE will you BE?" over and over again, until he was hoarse and we answerwed for ourselves by slipping out the window. It was the 4th of July. Our answer was clear, we would be at the beach in Santa Cruz, watching the fireworks. That's where we be. [Byron, dear, RIP.]

The question has remained, and not just as a joke. The preacher was hoping we'd be in heaven but before I get there, and he's probably certain I'm not going, I have other plans. "Where will you be?"

Just because I've been ill for several years and spent more time than I'd like, or ever expected, answering that question, "safely alone in my own little corner, in my own little chair," where I can be securely away from all the creeps and people who mean to hurt people, I still have bigger plans. I went back to Poland a few years ago when I realized that the icky meanie people would not be there, "I come to Poland because nobody here wants to kill me." There are many more places I can think of, and want to experience, places that feel likewise engaging and compelling. I want to go. That's where I'll be.

So, in answer to the age-old question, "WHERE WILL YOU BE?" (in no particular order)


Antarctica.
Mongolia.
Casablanca.
Venice.
Hallstadt.
Nice.
Como.
Bungee jumping in New Zealand.
CapeTown.
Damascus.
Ramallah.
Marrakesh.
Tripoli.
Pskov.
Boden.
The Faroe Islands.
The farthest island closest to the North Pole.
Greenland.
Bora Bora.
The Cook Islands.
Patagonia.
Victoria Falls.
Madagascar.
Selma.
Beijing.
Hanoi.
Sochi.
On a rock in Lappland as reindeer thunder past.
Cabot's Point.
Nantucket.
Sarajevo.

And on and on and on. I do have a list, with details, written in a journal. Some of these are return visits (above) and some are new. And all are captivating for one reason or another, or twenty-six. This is just off the top of my head so some special hopes are no doubt lost in the fog of afternoon sweets. But you get the idea.

What about you? Where will you be? Where WILL you BE?

Will you go to see Venice before it sinks?

Alta aqua


There is a delightful, charming palm tree in the center of Warsaw but Venice is sinking.

Is it time to see Venice before it goes under? What to do? Where to go? So many places to experience, so little time. The palm tree will wait.

I was put on this earth, I'm clear on it, to wander. Like Chancey Gardner, in Kosinski's Being There, I like to watch. I could happily wake up in a new city or town, or forest, or ocean, every week. Antarctica, the northernmost islands in the Atlantic (I've figured out how to get there), Marrakesh, the sand dunes of Namibia, racing horses in Mongolia. trekking in the far reaches of tribal Afghanistan, watching a thundering reindeer herd in Lappland. And maybe even watching the waves lap the beach in Bali.

It is a grace to have experienced so much. But it's hardly the beginning. I had no idea I did such a good job of keeping my 'bucket list' to myself but Dave just looked at me with amazement when I mentioned the Norwegian post boats. "The fords of Norway! " (Old Far Side aficionados will recognize this) Yes, Dave, the fjords and fords of Norway and the mists of New Zealand. And the Rock of Gibraltar. And the villages of Uganda. (Even though I am SOOOO not a jungle, creepy-crawler, snakey person, I'd go for the people.)

He's worried now. "And what else?"

And so, in answer to the question, now what? the next blog post will list my list of where I need to go. And, c'mon, now, don't be shy, please add yours to mine. We don't have to go together but do tell us. I'm pretty sure I haven't yet thought of EVERYthing.