And there, perhaps, lies the answer. People are drawn to these extraordinary places despite the tourist numbers, not because of them.
Generally I will go out of my way - and in doing so go out of other folks way - to find my own destinations and locations: hence isolated Greek islands. My joy in India was not seeing the Taj alongside thousands of others but was walking the streets of the smaller, lesser known villages, towns and cities - thankfully free of other tourists - and interacting with the people. Even within areas of high tourist density it's possible to find one's own nirvana. But I do make exceptions. Venice was an exception, her beauty was such that I admit to being moved to tears, the crowds, the hustle and bustle a part of the fun.
Rob, perhaps being marooned on an isolated island for a quarter of a century has dulled your wanderlust?
;-)
Longer than that by twelve years!
However, it didn't damage my wanderlust at all: we used to ferry to Barcelona, and drive up through Andorra sometimes, or take the longer eastern Spanish coastal route to France and on to Calais (eventually, Zebrugge (?) on our last trip pre-heart attack, which ended all that once and for all). Loved every minute of it, and we used the non-motorway routes mostly, though we also tried them out too, and they were superb.
We went, usually in September and were back in Mallorca in earlyish November. The buzz, getting onto the southbound motorway in Calais en route towards Abbeville, looking at those modern art sports silhouettes (I remember them as white) planted on the side of the road was always my spiritual confirmation, telling me that I belonged to the south. If there was a tearful moment of joy, that was it. Got the same migratory feeling before we used to leave for home, driving through Perthshire in the rain, looking at the geese flying in for the season with the same migratory compulsion... some years we did the trip twice, leaving here in April.
I often felt like returning to France on my own, but knew it would just crack me up even more than doing nothing.
There remain two options: if the lottery comes up, I just close the apartment and drive away and do a grand tour of the Relais & Châteaux offerings and buy myself a place in Scotland; the other option, if I simply manage to sell up without any lottery bonus, then I drive back anyway, drifting, and if it all goes pear-shaped somewhere in France due to health, I don't give a fuck anyway - the finances will have been cleared up for the kids and that will be that. On the other hand, the wrong kind of Brexit will possibly have screwed even that possibilty of smooth, medical sailing.
So no, not lost the urge, just the circumstances to make it worthwhile again.
It was one of the downers of last month, knowing I should really be half of a couple heading north on another road trip.
To anyone thinking of putting off life "for when we retire" you are crazy: you never know what's gonna hit you next week, never mind in the years ahead. That chance may never arrive. I regret a very few things I have done, but for sure some that I did not whilst I had the chance.
