The most telling sign of aging has become the degree of discomfort I am willing to put up with during travel.
A dear friend makes his home in the Andes in Peru, and recently returned from a week-long trek at 17,000 feet of altitude. During his trip, he exceeded the height of Everest base camp at times.
We spoke on a tenuous cellular connection during his drive back home, and he mentioned that I was one of perhaps two people he'd consider taking this type of trip with in the future. He meant it as a compliment (and I received it as intended) - but I confessed to him that my days of looking to spend time in punishing cold were behind me.
He thought it over - and reluctantly realized that he might not seek out this type of travel going forward. The last time he'd made this particular trek was decades ago, with his father. In fact, he was precisely the age that his father had been when they'd made the pilgrimage together that first time.
He had fond memories, but resolved to call his dad and ask him: had he felt as uncomfortable as my friend felt on this attempt? Did he accept his pain as the price of spending meaningful time in an activity his son felt enthusiastic about pursuing? Or was his father just in better shape then than my friend was in now?
This friend and I have a history - a decade ago, along with the third in our trio, we committed to a long and memorable weekend taking a puddle jumper plane to a helicopter that airlifted us down to whitewater raft the Grand Canyon with a tour group.
Being a sucker for a discount, I persuaded the others to take the trip in the shoulder season for the $100 discount that was dangled irresistibly by the river running company for taking the trip in May instead of June.
What a difference a couple of weeks make. It snowed at the rim of the canyon during our stay, and the cold was the most striking feature of the trip. Rafting trips are wet. Cold to freezing and wet are not an ideal combination. Despite packing layers of gear, we'd planned for hot summer rather than chill spring weather.
We enjoyed the scenery, company, and cowboy coffee immensely. My friend lent his gear to the unwitting Brazilian tourist who thought a string bikini was sufficient for a weekend of rafting ("I bring extra gear because there's always a Brazilian on trips like these," said my friend, an experienced tour guide).
We froze our butts off.
I returned home and stood for a half hour under a steaming hot shower as I told my wife about our boys' weekend, explaining that this was the most I had ever paid to feel uncomfortable.
I remain a dirtbag at heart.
The greatest difference between then and now is that where I formerly spent more funds to reach distant places and then accepted levels of discomfort on arrival, I'm now willing to pony up a little more on ensuring the destination meets threshold levels of comfort.
I'll spend on the airbnb instead of the dorm hostel.
I've gone soft, but I've learned to reframe my new frailty as a sign of my good fortune.
It comes with a) living long enough to sustain the physical wear and tear, and hence feel greater discomfort because more body parts hurt at the end of the day, and b) being in the fortunate financial position to splurge a little more to let them hurt less.
Not too shabby.
Comments 4
Loved the story as I have the same mindset. I do consider rafting the Grand Canyon a bucket list item and have been able to experience it twice. The first trip was great. In my mid twenties with 3 of my golf buddies, we hiked down to the bottom of the canyon, met our rafting company and had a tremendous time whitewater rafting and exploring the many side canyons from the inside. In my late 50’s I thought I might try to recreate this and have a bonding trip with my then teenage son. While the rafting experience was still fantastic, the hike down not so much. Despite considering myself to be in good physical shape, it was much more strenuous than I recalled. While my teenager was pulling ahead encouraging me to keep up (later admitting he was in a hurry to get to the meeting point so he could remove his backpack) I was developing signs of heat exhaustion with some lightheadedness, difficulty concentrating and a wobbly gait. Thankfully this occurred close to the end of the hike and upon reaching the rafting crew I was promptly hosed down with cold river water and was given copious amounts of wilderness electrolyte solution though I didn’t feel truly restored until the next morning.
As you astutely observed we paid for the discomfort. However I now realize I would rather pay up for comfort. No more economy class for me!
Author
GasFIRE,
It’s a pleasure to hear you weigh in. Sounds like that second trip was skirting danger too intimately, I’m grateful you made it to the river in time to cool off and rehydrate.
I have yet to upgrade from economy (I’m hoping to build to that once we are empty nesters), but it leaves me some time to eagerly look forward to that future luxury.
Warmly,
CD
I sooo resonate with the ideas here. We used to balk at paid CAMPING back in the day, always searching for the completely free option! I think having kids changes you on this too, if they’re along – now safety and comfort are not all about me.
As an aging woman I will tell you my cold intolerance is becoming more and more pronounced. Grateful to be able to afford slightly more comfortable accommodations nowadays.
Author
Dawn,
I’m not yet flying anything other than economy class, but the airbnb instead of the hostel – those elements certainly make an impact out of proportion to their incremental cost. And as for cold intolerance, there are many who feel the same – perhaps we’ve become so much more fit as we’ve aged, and consequently have less insulation than we used to?
So appreciate your stopping by,
CD