Innovatia

ing up with a nightclub bouncer in his early 20s. Duly chastened but still reeling, I needed to get a grip on things. I was about to turn 50; if ever I was to achieve something of genuine, personal meaning—perhaps the peace I so des- perately craved—now was the time, while I still possessed the necessary physical, financial and spiritual resources. All at once, I knew: I would walk around the Mediterranean! Almost 10,000 miles around the world’s largest inland sea would be at once the ultimate spiritual quest and the adventure of a lifetime—full of danger, romance and God only knew what else! In truth, this was not an entirely new thought. It had in fact first occurred to me at ten, when, entranced, I’d read Greek and Roman myths about epic voyages and the Golden Fleece. I’d even already had a bit of practice in serious-dis- tance walking, having once on assignment walked with my dog, Bogart, from the south of France to Paris. Still, on some level, I knew it was fanciful. Strolling west from my home near Antibes, I stayed the first night at a Cistercian monastery on an island off Cannes. Setting out the next morning, I thought maybe I’d make it to the Spanish border. I figured my identity crisis by then would be resolved. But I was still at it a couple weeks later, walk- ing through the world’s largest nudist colony in Le Cap d’Agde. (Guess where I put my pedome- ter!) Pretty soon, I was writing articles for Time and other publications about my journeys— spiritual and otherwise.

I made it to Spain and (like Forrest Gump) kept on going. Somewhere on the Costa Blan- ca it occurred to me that (according to Homer) it took Odysseus 20 years to leave home, fight the Trojan War and meander back to his palace in Ithaca. In a flash, without a moment’s reflec- tion, I made a commitment to keep walking around the Mediterranean Sea (albeit intermit- tently) for 20 years myself—so I did. “It was too late by the time I more or less came to my senses. My wife had one- upped me by taking up with a nightclub bouncer in his early 20s.” About halfway through, I began the first book in what would become The Idiot and the Odys- sey trilogy—narratives about my footloose ad- ventures – in interactive ebook format, no less. Adventures? I had even more than I’d im- agined, let alone bargained for. I lost my pass- port in the sea in Morocco, got robbed by Gyp- sies in Italy and was arrested in Lebanon as an accused Israeli spy. Yet it was the more personal, quiet, sometimes mystical stuff that led to serious reflection and self-examination. On a pilgrimage to the Siwa Oa- sis near the Libyan border to consult the oracle of the god Ammon, I met a Polish “light worker” whom I dubbed “The Woman in a Scarf.” During my third trance of the quantum-hypnosis ses- sions that followed, I actually time-traveled and

MIDLIFE WANDERLUST Ask anyone who has made it out the other side of a midlife crisis in one piece, and they’ll likely tell you that roaming is the remedy that holds up where shiny cars and new sex fall down. By Joel Stratte-McClure L ike most younger guys, I was confident I could avoid a midlife crisis when I hit my 40s. I recall chuckling when a friend bought the come a hopeless workaholic and needed a real break. I was jaded; even exotic assignments had come to smack of déjà vu. I needed direc- tion in my life, and purpose.

proverbial red sports car to sprint around Boston. “That will never happen to me,” I declared when another pal left his 50-something wife and three kids for a sexy, 31-year-old PR whiz. I could hardly believe it when one of the smart- est guys I knew quit his job as a corporate VP for a three-year retreat to a Tibetan monastery. But me? Never! As a reporter based on the French Riviera, enjoying the rewards of an expense account, a blossoming family, lots of friends and a healthy bank balance, I had it all figured out— or so I thought. Nope. It hit suddenly, without any dramatic casus belli or a single hour of psychotherapy. I joined the midlife-crisis crowd. I told anyone who would listen—or pretend to—that I’d be-

I grew a beard and ponytail, began going into the garden every morning to gather olives one by one—never mind that sensible people put a net on the ground. I stopped accepting assignments and cut my income in half. I started leaving home—days at a time—for soulful, spiritual sojourns to monasteries and other idyllic spots. I abandoned my wife for a spiritual goddess. Mine was truly the midlife crisis of midlife cri- ses; no one had ever been so frenetically avid in his pursuit of wisdom and women. Well, women anyway. It was too late by the time I more or less came to my senses. My wife had one-upped me by tak-

INNOVATIA

512

INNOVATIA

| Travel

513