Making Change

I used to have a long list of Places I Must See Before I Die: Israel, Hong Kong, New Zealand, the Amazon, Egypt, the Maldives, Florence. As I’ve aged, my list has shrunk. My life is crazy busy. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but new places to discover? Meh.

I like the places I already go. San Francisco, Lake Powell, Portland, New York – Paris and Stockholm on a good year. When planning a trip these days, I don’t even consider somewhere new.

Once a year, my husband and I have a standing date in Las Vegas with several other couples who fly in from all over. We go the third week of August, admittedly the hottest possible time to be there, but we are celebrating the birthdays of the wife in one couple and the husband in the other. Once there, we settle in for three days and nights of fun. Much longer, and alcohol poisoning sets in.

Admittedly, Vegas is many things to many people. My husband says being in Vegas is like being at the prom every night. Everyone dressed to the nines. Everything over the top. Vegas is endless limousines, world renowned chefs, delectable wine flights, sumptuous suites, ultra-polite concierges, lovely cabanas, mint mojitos, gorgeous nightclubs, and one driver after another.

On our most recent trip to Sin City, we clambered in the back seat of a cab, happy to escape the oppressive heat at one in the morning. I love seeing the cabbie’s name, talking to him about where he’s from, hearing his views on a thing or two before we scramble back out at our destination. It's like we're in a stranger's living room for a moment, and in Vegas, that stranger is never from Elko or Winnemucca, but from Romania, or Iran, or Venezuela.

As we slipped into this backseat, I got an interesting read on the driver. His presence was so powerful, but I couldn't place it . . . Jamaica? British Virgin Islands?

“Niger,” he told me, calmy. He was in control but relaxed, weaving in and out of traffic, attentive but undisturbed. I was fascinated.

“I’ve never been there,” I told him, “Africa.”

“You must go. You must see Africa,” he replied, and something about him, about the way he told me, convinced me in a heartbeat. Africa had never been on my original list. But I was enraptured, transported, convinced.

My husband had opened the door, slid out, and turned around to give me his hand to help me out. I hadn’t noticed. I was astounded, mesmerized.

I must see Africa.