By now the doorbell sound was iconic, announcing the start of another episode of
House Hunters International Global House Hunt.
Dale liked to think of himself as a “citizen of the world,” although the paltry number of stamps on his passport proved otherwise. Now, a show let him
peer into see private homes, of all types, in a wide variety of countries. A travel magazine might show neighborhoods, tourist attractions or spas, but now he got a taste of how people actually live. Dale shrugged off any sense of creepy stalkerishness.
Dale met Carlos
eighteen five ten years earlier, and before the year was out, they had bought a 1938 English colonial, a creaky-floored charmer set on an acre on “the hill,” an enclave surrounded on three sides by Long Island Sound. They enjoyed being the “kids” of the neighborhood for a few years, and didn’t even mind it when they were referred to as “the boys.” How quickly boyhood passes! Now that he was on the wrong side of 45, Dale and his husband Carlos, now in his 50s, still loved their house, but it slowly dawned on them that they were ready for another whirlwind. They might not have noticed, however, that (Note to self: put a narrative here that describes 10 (or 18) years in this house in 10 words or less.) Shows like Global House Hunt were becoming more than a light diversion. They felt more like a sign post. And Dale started to realize how empty his “citizen of the world” claim really was.
Then one night, the program featured a colonial Mexican city that resembled a cross of old Europe and present-day Havana
, and Dale found himself ashamed his grasp of geography was so pitiful. They had Googled expat communities along the Pacific Ocean, and in the central highlands, and of course Oaxaca.
“Why didn’t I know about
Mérida Meridia Fredoña (insert fictionalized name of Mérida-like city here) before?” Dale wailed, to no one in particular. “Because you rely too much on basic cable for your education,” replied the voice inside his head.
To be continued…