A self-professed workaholic who started to twitch if her Blackberry was out of sight for more than a few minutes, the decision to give it all up and run away from home came surprisingly easy. I sold my home and quit my job all in the same week.
Friends and family responded with shock and questions. Unfortunately, I had no definitive explanation of why I needed to do this or even what my plans would be except that France and Italy were on the agenda.
Armed with a plane ticket, a Eurail pass and a few choice phrases in French and Italian, I boarded the plane to Paris without looking back.
Landing bright and early, I managed to find the right airport bus into the Opera district of Paris, which only cost a few euros. (Cabs from the airport are a fortune.)
It was 7:30 a.m. when I hopped off the bus and tried to get a taxi to my hotel. Shaking his head, the taxi driver insisted the hotel was just around the corner so I must walk. An hour later, after stumbling in circles with two bags and a knapsack, I was ready to camp out on the street. No one was helpful with directions but they were all good at pointing.
Finally I found Hotel Edouard VII. That was the good news. The bad news was I couldn't check in until 2 p.m. After a sleepless plane ride, I really needed a place to rest.
I noticed the five-star Hyatt down the street and a plan began to form -- book a treatment at Spa Hyatt and spend the entire morning getting a massage, hanging out in the Jacuzzi and snacking on fruit and other goodies in the lovely lounge area. By the time I checked into my own hotel, I was a revitalized woman.
After a day of wandering the streets, stopping at cafes and people watching, I returned to the hotel, where I was surprised to see a central vacuum cleaner in the bathroom. Upon closer inspection, I discovered it was actually the hairdryer. But after testing this strange contraption I find it works better as a vacuum cleaner -- I now bear a striking resemblance to Einstein.
Since it was my first night in Paris, it seemed appropriate to splurge. And there is no better place to do that than Bar Hemingway in the Ritz, named after the esteemed author who apparently frequented this establishment among many others. The drink choices were plentiful -- from the Platinum Bullet and Death in the Afternoon to an endless choice of martinis -- all for the bargain basement price of 28 euros (about $43). So I decided to drink my dinner and convinced myself it was the best raspberry martini on the planet.
A New York trader sitting next to me asked why I had made such a daring decision to sell my condo, quit a great job and travel Europe alone.
It is hard to explain. Certainly the sudden surge of friends being diagnosed with cancer and the idea of seeing more of the world while I was still healthy made it compelling to get on a plane. How could I pass life by without seeing cities like Rome and Paris? But, I also have a feeling that the real answers will be found along the way.
This is first in a series of articles by Sherri Haigh who is documenting her adventures as a middle-aged woman who has given up her job and home to travel and discover the real meaning of life. Readers can send tips to sherrihaigh2@hotmail.com
