Editor’s note: The IJ is reprinting some of the late Beth Ashley’s columns. This is from 2013.

We’ve been trying to figure where to go.

Both Rowland and I love to travel, and after almost three months at home, we’re itching to hit the road.

But where shall we go? No point in going just to be going.

And he and I have been to so many places already we can’t yet agree on someplace new.

Terrible problem, eh? I’m ashamed to make it sound weighty.

We’re looking for a trip that won’t be too costly. We’ve spent a lot on travel already this year — Japan for three weeks, Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, for one and six weeks driving back and forth for our 21-day vacation in Maine.

Rowland owns two timeshares in Palm Desert, so we could go there for darn-near free. Heck, we could even drive there!

We could also trade his timeshares for a week or so in Hawaii — Kauai, for instance. That’s pretty high on my list.

But as soon as the discussion starts, our eyes begin roaming. How about Bangkok for a week or so, with a side trip to Shanghai, where we had our first kiss? Rowland knows a great restaurant in Bangkok, and I’d like another boat trip on the river. Yes, Bangkok would sure be nice.

But while we’re talking about travel, the old bucket list returns. I want to get Rowland to Tibet, though I realize I could probably never again navigate the narrow plank entrance to the Potala Palace, and if I dream of returning to Papua New Guinea, I remember jungle walks and airplanes that barely made it through the fog. No, some places were fine in my comparative youth, but I no longer have the guts I had then.

In fact, for the first time, Rowland and I are admitting that we may be too old for some trips.

But our attitude for the most part is never say die.

We’d both like to go back to Russia, and keep toying with the idea of the Trans-Siberian Railway, which could be expensive and might even be boring. And I want to go back to China, where I worked two decades ago. I want to see the Three Gorges Dam, which was highly controversial back then, but which is now mostly in place.

How about Dubai, which I visited twice on the way to Afghanistan? What a jaw-dropping destination that was!

Oh, how I long to go, go, go.

But compromise is definitely in the air.

Knowing that our travel days are numbered, we begin to think of old favorites. Why not Paris again — beautiful Paris! — or Venice, the most romantic place on Earth? I see us traveling from one glorious spot to another on the ubiquitous vaporettos, perhaps stopping at Harry’s Bar for a glass of wine, or at the Guggenheim for a tour of incomparable art.

My old friend Chris, the newspaper editor from London with whom I exchanged houses 35 years ago, tells us London has added a remarkable building or two, including a conical one called the Shard at the end of the London Bridge. What’s not to love about London?

London, Paris and Venice — civilized enough for two old people to get safely through.

On and on goes the debate, where shall it be?

After weeks of discussion, we haven’t decided. But what a delicious dilemma.

To think about going someplace is half the fun. It’ll be OK if we end up staying home.