There are so many places on the planet that I am content to never visit.
Any place with sand fleas is near the top of the list, no matter how picturesque that place may be, like Mexcaltitan in the state of Nayarit, Mexico. How could it not have some kind of pesky vermin, if not sand fleas?

I do remember a time when I longed to wander and it never occurred to me that I might encounter disagreeable factors like malaria or dysentery or bug bites or forest fires or earthquakes or poverty or ignorance or sinus headache. I blithely ventured forth and enjoyed the scenery come what may. Once I put aside the use of alcohol 20 years ago though, I noticed that my comfort zone became more important. Perhaps because there was no longer anything to soften the edges, numb the pain, distract me from accepting the 'what is', I learned to blunt my desire to wander impulsively.

These days I far prefer to enjoy a book than to book a trip of any kind. Picture books are great, my imagination does all the work, and I am satisfied to enjoy short, sweet, sober journeys. El Tajin, anyone?