Chet and I drove into Boise City, Oklahoma, population of 1,142, yesterday afternoon with plenty of time to nap and have a nice happy hour. However, finding a campground, which showed many on the google map, turned out to be difficult. There were only two in town, both tiny, and one was full.

Our trip from Valencia to Granada in the rental car was freeing and amazing. Freeing because we could go anywhere, instead of being stuck in a train to only go where the schedule took us. And it was amazing because we could see areas beyond the windows of the trains we rode. In the trains, we had to go through tunnels, under bridges, past towns, and the seaside with limited scopes of seeing what we passed from the faster speeds and landscapes that whizzed by in a blur.

I was fascinated by the haphazard way the streets came together and then veered off to what first looked like a cul-de-sac-like end, but, instead, continued around a sharp or curvy corner to yet another alleyway at a different angle. It was like a maze of stucco, or whatever material the buildings were faced with, and each alley had its own personality.

At Zaragoza, the cab driver who took us to our hotel in Old Town told us that Zaragoza was considered the wedding capital of Spain, and had hundreds of weddings throughout the year. He said the wedding festivities were quite a sight because they were often very elaborate.

Our hotel was a remodeled old building that melded the modern aspects of a remodel with the old original building itself. The antiquated brick walls were whitewashed in strategic places to show what was behind the new modern walls. The décor was the same mix of old baskets and wood with modern leathers and suede sofas. It was very charming and comfortable.

We have traveled through much of Canada, most of the U.S. states, including Hawaii, and have driven through all 31 states in Mexico because we’ve lived in Mexico during the winter months since 1998. And so, when our friends hear me say that we are going on our first trip off North American soil, their reactions have been: “What? Really? You have never traveled abroad before?” — with wide eyes showing disbelief. That fact is unbelievable, even to us.

One of our heart-stopping Mexico adventures was when we decided to stay a night not far from the growing town of Bacalar, located on the lagoon side on the southern end of the coastal state of Quintana Roo, which is on the Caribbean side of the Yucatan Peninsula.

My husband Marty, our daughter Bella, and I had been traveling in our pick-up truck pulling our tiny RV along the southern coast of Mexico for a few weeks and had just come into Quintana Roo. We needed a place to stay for the night. In our ‘RVing in Mexico’ guidebook, we read about an RV park located down a dirt road just before Bacalar that had been dubbed ‘The Goat Farm’.

At a recent class reunion in Kansas, when a group of old friends gathered, chatting about our lives since we’d last met, our families, new interests, hobbies, and jobs — or lack of because of retirement — the usual ‘catch-ups’, I mentioned that we live in Mexico during the winter months. Most were interested in that concept and asked lots of questions about where we stay and what we do while there for such a long period of time. Some even seemed interested in possibly doing the same thing. Yet there were a couple of friends who looked at me as if I had just sprouted a tail, from the flummoxed looks on their faces.

The Hills & Plains, Oh my!

To travel ‘cross

This desert plain,

While heat is bearing down

Naught for miles

But shadow’s stain,

No water to be found.

‘Til we see a glistening sea

Just barely up ahead

Let’s hurry, I beseeched

For thirst doeth abound,

But no matter the hurried speed,

Or the distance we would go,

that sea would ne’er be reached,

a truth filled with woe.