"Is Peter going?" they always ask.  "No, he has other plans," I
reply.  I am a loner when it comes to vacation. To the
bewilderment of some, and the horror of others, I vacation
without my spouse. I'm no Hester Prynne, but I feel the shame
and then defy it.  Part of my rationale is logistical. I am an
obsessive birder (a term I prefer to the more passive "bird-
watcher"). I invest an irresponsible amount of my disposable
income and the bulk of my vacation time on my loopy ambition to
see as many of the world's birds as possible before I die. To
spend day after day of a vacation, from dawn to dusk, in this
pursuit is insane, I know. To subject a non-birder to it would
be cruel. Peter has no interest in joining me. I understand.
I've been to Ghana and Brazil, China and Colombia, Borneo and
Australia and a dozen other countries in between -- all to see
birds. Most often I join organized groups, so these trips are
not ornithological walkabouts where it's just me and the
sunshine and the call of the jacamar or the