A Sandwich and an Apple

The waiter came to our table three times, and every time, a three-year-old looked up from his menu and said the same thing: “I want a sandwich and an apple.”

If you watch the brilliant British show Taskmaster, you know the comical episode titles. This one earns its name.

Tom and I recently traveled to Cyprus to visit friends who bought a beach house 400 meters from the Mediterranean. We hadn’t seen them since attending their wedding in Spain four years ago. Since then they’ve started a family, and now there’s a precocious three-year-old. We’ll call him Sam.

Before we left, a friend at home told us to make beautiful memories and to enjoy our practice for retirement. We didn’t have a bucket list of sites to visit and things to do. We wanted time with friends who live a life we’d like to emulate.

Sam’s parents are semi-professional ultra marathoners. They met during a 100K race in Greece…or maybe it was a 100-mile race. Mom is also an avid hiker and paddleboarder. Dad still skateboards at 53 and is constantly in motion. When we took a half hour to relax by the pool, he was putting another layer of spackle on the garage they’re building. So it’s no surprise that Sam is a brave, fierce, fearless kid.

* * *

The first night I was exhausted and wanted to collapse. Tom, meanwhile, was ready to jump in the pool with Sam, who was armed with his floaties. He came to bed later, giggling, telling me how sweet it had been.

The next morning I threw on my suit and joined Sam for a swim. We raced back and forth to the edges. Then I’d hoist him high in the air and bring him back down to water level. He wasn’t ready to go under, so I tried to be brave for both of us, ducking beneath the surface to show him how easy it was to pop right back up. Each time I came up, he giggled, “Do it again!”

I’m not a water person, but I would have done just about anything to hear that giggle. My heart was giggling right along with him.

* * *

Our friends have homes in four countries, but don’t picture keeping up with the Joneses. It’s the opposite. They moved abroad six or so years ago and bought this house last year, hoping to live in it full-time within a few years. They work for themselves, serial entrepreneurs on the forefront of work with AI, and they’re figuring out how to be expats in Europe.

Their days are simple. Get up and go for a long run (they alternate, so someone is always with Sam). Have coffee. Work on the house. Work for work. Play with Sam.

Between pool time and sightseeing, we had the long conversations we’d hoped for. We talked about how countries grant long-term residency, and how citizenship can follow from there. It’s easier than we expected. We had assumed the only way in was an expensive golden visa.

* * *

By the end of the trip, we learned more about ourselves than we’d planned to.

Cyprus is beautiful. Never-ending blue skies. Water so clear you could poke your head under and see schools of fish. It was warm, but not bathwater warm, just warm enough to lose yourself floating for hours.

But we cannot handle hot, and we can do beach vacation for three or four days, max.

More importantly, we’re looking for the place we’ll call home, and Cyprus isn’t it. It’s too hot, and it doesn’t offer the nature we want: more mountains, less beach.

* * *

The second night we went out to dinner, and Sam demanded his own menu. He studied it with great seriousness, then announced to the server that he wanted a sandwich and an apple. Every time the waiter came back, he said it again.

He knew what he wanted, and he never wavered.

We’re still working out our order: mountains, cooler air, a place to call home.