I have a bad case of the wanderlust this week. Not really sure why, but I feel like I should be going somewhere; don't even know where. It's a restless feeling that serves up a heapin' helpin' slice of discontent with it. I don't like that. It's not about going somewhere, it's about going. It's something I've not felt in many years.
So where would you go for two weeks if time, money and responsibilities were non-issues?
I'd like two weeks in Merida, in a refurbished 200 year-old Colonial in El Centro, where I can drink beer and dance in the street in the evenings after laying in a hammock suspended over a pool in a shaded bower. Oh yeah. I'm there.