Before the Journey Turns Toward Texas

Six days.

That is what remains before we hand over the keys to our apartment and point a Penske truck southeast toward Texas. The living room has shifted from a place we lived to a place we are leaving. Storage bins line the walls. The couch sits in the center like an island, the last piece of ordinary life surrounded by the signs of departure.

This week carried a steady rhythm of sorting, labeling, and letting go. Catholic Charities took two carloads of furniture. Facebook Marketplace absorbed much of the rest. What remains has been reduced to a practical grid of bins in the garage, with a handful of larger pieces in the apartment, ready to load into the truck.

The mornings turned colder as if in conversation with the moment. December in Reno has a particular clarity. The mountains look closer than they are. The light falls clean across buildings and familiar places. On errands we take mental snapshots without announcing it. The coffee shops. The gym. The route to the grocery store. The things you do not notice until they are almost behind you.

Reno is a hidden gem.

The next steps are set. The truck arrives on December 17 along with help to load it. We will address the larger apartment items first, then the bins from the garage. At sunrise on December 18, we begin the three-day drive to Texas. This is the week before departure, the hinge between our time in Nevada and the familiar ground we will return to.

A trial run for the journey ahead

We also spent part of this week doing a full packing trial. The goal was straightforward: pack as if we were flying abroad tomorrow and see what actually fits. The exercise took most of Saturday and required a level of precision we had only discussed until now.

Every item had to justify itself. Weight, size, purpose, and long-term value all came under review. Tech gear occupied more space than expected. Shoes consumed disproportionate room and will need to be limited. Vitamins and supplements, which seem minimal on a shelf, expanded into bulky containers and will be consolidated into small labeled bags.

We checked the weight of each suitcase, reconfiguring until everything fit under the fifty-pound threshold. Battery-powered items filled carry-ons. Some belongings were donated. Others will go into storage for a later season of life. The process turned packing from theory into something real. It clarified what we value for the road and what we must leave behind.

A three-year lesson in living with less

The trial run carried another reminder. This downsizing journey did not start here. It has unfolded in stages over the past three years.

We went from a three-story house with two sheds in the Wallingford neighborhood of Seattle to a high-rise apartment in South Lake Union, supported by a large storage unit. From there we downsized again for the multi-state move to Reno, fitting our lives into an apartment with a small garage. Now we are compressing even further into a ten-by-ten storage unit in Texas, a few items left with family, and the luggage we will carry abroad.

It has been a steady reduction of weight, complexity, and possessions. Not an embrace of minimalism for its own sake but an adjustment to the kind of life we want to build next. Each move sharpened our sense of what matters. This final round brings the idea to its natural conclusion. The next chapter will be lived out of suitcases and small apartments, not sheds and storage rooms. In many ways the shift feels appropriate.

What we learned about international pet travel

Another part of these recent weeks was spent understanding whether our cat Shadow could join us on a 26-month journey through twelve countries. The conclusion became clear only after tracing the details.

The costs alone are significant. An international flight with required documentation ranges from $700 to $1,500 when handled independently. Over seven or eight moves, the total reaches between $8,000 and $18,000. With a relocation service it rises higher.

But the true barrier is timing and requirements.

Most countries require a veterinarian-issued health certificate within ten days of travel. That means finding a USDA-accredited vet in each country, completing the exam, sending paperwork for endorsement, and ensuring it all lands within a window that has no flexibility. Miss it and the process resets.

Turkey and Montenegro require a rabies titer test. Blood must be drawn at least thirty days after vaccination, sent to an approved lab, and followed by a three-month waiting period. If the booster lapses by even a day, results become invalid and the clock restarts.

The EU simplifies movement once inside, but entry from the outside requires the full documentation cycle. Argentina requires paperwork through SENASA. Each border crossing introduces new conditions that must be met exactly.

And when something goes wrong, the consequences fall on the pet. Official language from Turkey, the EU, Argentina, and several Balkan countries includes the same warning: non-compliance may result in quarantine, refusal of entry, or destruction. There is no appeals process.

We read stories of travelers who made it work. We also read stories of travelers whose pets were denied entry due to timing errors or inconsistent interpretations by officials. The latter were not rare.

Shadow will remain with family in the United States. She will have stability, consistent care, and people who love her. We will miss her. That is the responsible choice.

Preparation is sometimes the work of accepting limits, not pushing past them.

Winter traditions along the Riverwalk

Last weekend we visited the Holiday Lights Festival at the Riverwalk District. The Reno Christmas Tree stood at the center of City Plaza. Vendor booths framed the walkway. Families waited for photos with Santa. Music from a local band drifted through the cold air. The river carried the light in long wavering reflections.

It felt unapologetically local. Not a production for visitors but a gathering for residents. A reminder that communities create their own traditions even when they remain modest in scale.

The Santa Crawl returns

This coming Friday is Reno’s annual Santa Crawl, now more than two decades old. Somewhere between fifteen and twenty thousand people put on Santa suits and make their way through downtown. It has become one of the largest events of its kind in the country.

We hope to attend, schedules willing. It feels like a fitting way to close our time here, surrounded by red suits and the cheerful excess that a city occasionally grants itself.

Coffeebar has been a favorite place of ours. Their seasonal lattes marked the beginning of long work sessions. The consistency of a familiar space is a small anchor in a week of constant change.

El Pollo Loco earned its place out of convenience between donation runs, but its citrus-marinated, fire-grilled chicken and fresh salsa bar delivered more character than expected. A practical stop, but a good one.

Aladdin’s Market and Kitchen reminded us why we seek out family-led spots. Radi, the owner, arrived in Reno from Jordan decades ago and built a grocery and restaurant that reflects the work of one person’s long investment. He is proud of his family, proud of what he has built, and speaks with warmth about sharing the foods they love. These are the places we hope to find everywhere we go. Not the largest or the most photographed, but the ones where the meal carries the maker’s story.

Reno, NV

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Next week’s newsletter will be our final issue from Reno. It will mark the close of our fourteen months in the high desert before we begin the drive to Texas. The letter will be a simple farewell to the place that shaped this season of our lives.

We will write it in the quiet of our apartment during the last days of packing, and then send it on the morning we pull out of the parking lot and begin the three-day route through Las Vegas, Flagstaff, Albuquerque, Amarillo, and finally Dallas. We already know where we will stop to eat in Albuquerque. It will be either Sadie’s or Church Street Café, both long-standing local favorites for southwestern cuisine that we enjoy.

The issue will not follow our usual structure. It will be more of a farewell note than a standard format, written in the middle of a move, but the rhythm of weekly writing remains in place, even as we turn the car toward Texas.

Leaving Reno carries a quiet weight. What we will miss is not only the scenery. It is the ordinary details that form the texture of daily life. The route to the grocery store. The people we recognize at the gym without knowing their names. The weekly fellowship with friends. The winter light on the mountains. The familiar pattern of a place we learned by living in it.

In a week we will cross the desert toward Texas. It is where we were born and raised, where our families live, where we married, and where our children spent their early years before our time in Seattle and our fourteen months in Reno and Tahoe. The return will be a homecoming, even if brief, before the larger journey begins.

Next week marks the transition. The week after that lands on Christmas Day. Then the new year. Then Texas adventures in January. Then a new chapter abroad.

Until next week,
S&S

Some Great Place
Living local in a global world