No Matter Where You Go, There You Are by Vonnie Davis

A year or more ago, my Calvin told me during a serious conversation that he wanted some of his ashes spread on the Left Bank of Paris. He specified a small green area in front of the apartment building where he lived during his year of sabbatical. Paris was the place of his heart.

His son and I talked about it. Kelly said, "If that's what Dad wanted, that's what we'll do." I made plans to fly there. Kelly would meet me after his business trip to Tai Pei. I'd never traveled alone before but, really, how difficult could it be?

My youngest son, the out-spoken one, said, "Mom, a woman seventy years old has no business travelling to places where terrorism is active." When I told him I was flying on to Scotland after my week in Paris, I thought he'd bust a gasket. Then...then he had the nerve to tell me to be in my hotel room by dark and not to ride the Metro.

He said WHAT???

"Watch me!" I shot back. "Just remember you're not the boss of me!" My older son, the reasonable one, told bossy son to step out of my business. That I was smart enough not to roam the streets at night or ride the Metro alone. Then they both burst out laughting. Heathens, the both of them.

My hotel was across the busy street from the Seine, so I had a great view. Pardon the lousy picture taken through the window glass. Those are artists' stands jam-packed along the walk facing the river.

I went to a few cafés Calvin and I always ate at when we went over. But each meal was bittersweet. Memories didn't compare to having him with me, holding my hand as we walked and talked. I confess to spending a day in bed in tears. It doesn't matter where you go, you can't escape grief. It follows you like a piece of gum stuck to the sole of your shoe.

Kelly and I spread the ashes in front of 21 rue Galande. I had to make two trips to work up nerve to do it. And Kelly, just like his dad, indulged me.

I took a day trip to Giverny where Monet painted. The gardens were spectaculat; so was the French countryside. His home was fabulous.

My trip to Edinburgh was a blur of layovers and customs and finding my luggage. My hotel was a block below the Royal Mile--the distance from the palace to the Scottish Parliament. A great walk I made daily. The bars were open until 5am and bands played out on the streets until then. The Scots love to party.

I took a day trip to a whisky distillery and sampled four types. Or was it five? I doona recall... We rode through the Highlands and stopped at the William Wallace monument. Another day trip took us to the Kelpies, huge iron statues of mythical creatures and more hikes through the Highlands.

View out of my hotel window. The Royal Mile and castle is at top of the hill.

Me in front of the Kelpies. See how small they make me look? 

After two weeks away, I was ready to fly home. I did take a lot of pictures and take notes for future stories, especially my Scottish bear shifters.

How about you? Do you ever travel alone abroad? Or here in the States? Where's the best place you've ever traveled to?

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