Our last few months in Bangkok had been intense. I resigned and started informing clients, some of whom I’ve known almost 20 years. Nori sold our beloved “Black Bull” van, most of our furniture and a good share of our books, toys and art. We moved out of “Baan Brixen”, our Gatsby-esque triplex apartment in the sky. We cancelled our broadband service and extended our international driver’s licenses. There were leaving drinks and leaving dinners, occasionally with the same people multiple times. By the end, the organizing, pre-packing, packing, unpacking and repacking had drained us completely.
Nori still hasn’t caught on to one of my greatest deceptions: I find places and activities that I really want to experience and then I pitch them as ‘something the kids will really enjoy’. Of course, it helps that my kids are all boys and that I have childlike desires. What Scott likes, the boys will like, she thinks – and in general, that’s accurate. Still, I was surprised that she wasn’t more heavily revising my plans to visit a half-dozen wadis during our Oman/UAE trip.
We never expected to return to the Maldives. Not that we didn’t want to. It’s just one of those unique places – like Bhutan, the Galápagos or Antarctica – that you dream of visiting once in your lifetime. Beautiful, remote, romantic and take-your-breath-away expensive, the Maldives is for honeymoon splurges, silver anniversaries or “closing the deal” on that special relationship. It’s not a repeat destination, and it’s not appropriate or affordable for families like ours.