Ok. Hello there. Here is the deal. Blogging on this particular trip has not been the easiest. We are offline more than we are on (which is not such a bad thing, by the way). Anyway, today, I decided I would start sharing the notes I take along the way. Let me know how you like them. Do they make sense? Or, are they too crazy to follow?
Right now Dave is telling us that it is time for bed. It is 12:51 PM. I think he is correct. We are spending our last night in Belgium. Tomorrow we head to Amsterdam. Our trip began in London. Then we headed to Paris, Brussels, and today we spent our time in Bruges. Train travel is new this time around. (We usually rent a car.) Eli and I also agree that we miss visiting random grocery stores and seeing little towns along the way. For the most part, however, I would say we have all really enjoyed the trains.
Notes from Bruges PAGE ONEThe Lovely Lady who tripped into Eli on the Train (See Page One)Bruges, BelgiumOur Day in Bruges, Belgium PAGE TWOThe Dark Chocolate Skull Candy I am obsessed withThe Chocolate Line, Bruges, BelgiumUs in Bruges, Belgium
SIDEBAR:
As I was Googling The Chocolate Line (you know the chocolate skull candy store) I learned they have an Antwerp location. My heart be still. Before we leave Antwerp in the morning, I will track down those skull candies. Cross your fingers!
Here is my Ellis Gourmet Burger review I wrote on my phone while sitting in their restaurant: “Be aware. As adorable as the city is, Bruges is a tourist town and they are in the business of fleecing tourists. This restaurant is no different. So technically because everyone in Bruges is fleecing tourists, in context, this restaurant is good. This being said, we are annoyed that they can only leave ketchup or mayo OFF the burger when they deem it not to be “too busy.” Oh and the 10€ pitcher of lemonade is the size of a large glass. Seriously, the pitcher is the size of a 20 oz glass.
Don’t order the chicken sandwich. The grilled vegetables consisted on green pepper and onions. Gross!. And the piece of chicken I was given was tiny and overlooked. The burgers were actually quite good, and if the lemonade would have been larger, or refilled for free, we would be much happier and more satisfied. Our waitress was very nice. Best part of the restaurant is the FREE bathrooms! Everyone else charges 50 cents. Oh, and to use the FREE wi-fi you MUST check in to their Facebook page. When I checked in to the FB page. the review for me to fill in popped up. Well, burger people, you asked for it…” (In Bruges, everyone charges 50 cents to use the bathroom).
Ok. I know the reviews for the Pita House are good. My issue was the non-English menu. I imagine it is time I learn Dutch. Aside from the fight Dave and I had in the Pita House, it was really our inability to translate the menu, the 2 euro small bottles of water, and the unhelpful wait staff that made this place a place to leave. Sorry pita house. As soon as I learn me some Dutch, and learn your cultural direct, yet non-emotive-ness, I will be back.
In Bruges, we highly recommend the canal tour. I wish I could remember our guy’s name. Any tour will do. They are friendly, and we were so delighted that they spoke French, English and Dutch. What a treat.
Dave mentioned Little Sebastian from “Parks and Recreation” earlier and the day, and then Little Sebastian became the theme of the day. Yay, Little Sebastian!
If you are in Belgium and you know you will be in both Bruges and Belgium, buy the waffles in Brussels. They are cooked and made fresh while you wait. The are less expensive and they taste better. Don’t bother with the waffles in Bruges. Instead spend your time walking around and enjoying this beautiful city.
Final thoughts on Bruges: 1. Bring a picnic lunch. The food os overpriced and the restaurants are not accommodating. 2. Take a canal tour. 3. Walk off the beaten path. Bruges is such a beautiful town. Get away from the tourists. Find the secret parks, and walk as far as you can along the waterways. 5. Whatever you do, DO NOT FORGET TO BUY YOURSELF SOME CHOCOLATE! The town is famous for it, and the do it right! PS. Ask for Britt (yes, two t’s). She is lovely, speaks fluent English, and will help you find your favorite treat!
Here is what I say, and honestly, I cannot say these things enough. First, please learn from my dumb. I sincerely hope my own experience can prevent any undue pain in your own life. Know that these words come from every misstep, impatient move, miscommunication, inconsiderate choice and completely unnecessary fight I instigated. And because I am so slow, it was only recently that I got it.
Where it happened will stay with me forever. We were standing on Rome’s Palatine Hill. It was an unusually warm late November day. Instead of looking at the amazing Roman structures, Dave and I only notice our anger. We stood shouting at each other while boys slowly backed farther and farther away. I am sure they were bowing their heads, rolling their eyes, and saying, “can you believe those crazy loud people? I wish they would stop.” Consumed, I actually did not see the boy backing away. Instead, I was transfixed with my fierce rage. I was screaming, “Dave, shut up! Stop it!” He was mad at me for something I cannot even remember now. Isn’t that how it often goes? And somehow in that utterly consuming moment I stopped myself. I started connecting the dots. And in my mind I said, “Beth, come on. Stop. Think. You are in freaking Rome! You are standing on Palatine Hill. You are with your family. You are with Dave.” My lovely and controlled thoughts are not as glorious as I make them sound. Nevertheless, they were there. The clicks and connections continued. And as we stood on the birthplace of Western Civilization, I got it. Life does not escape any of us. And somehow the simple knowledge that life-continues-no-matter-what moved me past my rage.
Dave and I were looking down here when we were having our epic fight.
Staring at Dave, and listening to him yell, I began seeing every single trip we had ever taken together. On Palatine Hill, he was mad, and I understood. I shut up. I stood motionless. And as remembered all of our travels, I also saw our home life. It was all making sense. I wanted Dave to see it too, and that is when I blurted out, “Dave, stop saying that we cannot travel anymore! Stop saying you will not travel with me! We will fight here! We will fight in Moab! We will fight in Hawaii! We will fight at home. It is not the trip. When we are mad at each other, we fight. The end. And I love you because you fight for me.” Ah-ha, it is not the trip, or even the place. It is the “us.” It is not what we do; it is how we do it. I am still crossing my fingers, but our travel has never been the same.
Me Standing in the Coliseum Rome November 2013
My advice continues, and if I can save you any discomfort now, especially while traveling, please remember this. This is your trip, not mine, or anyone else’s. It is not what you do; it is how you do it. Remember that every personality is different. Do the things you like to do. Do not stress about making your trip perfect. If you are traveling with other people, remember their needs will be different. They always are. Communicate and compromise. Do not assume — no matter what. This is a big one. It is also what I like to call it-is-too-late-to-do-anything-about-it-but-nevertheless-I-am-still-going-to-punish-you backend guilt. Instead, remember to measure expectations ahead of time. People love knowing what to expect, especially when traveling to a new and unexpected place. Bottom line is this. We are not mind readers, especially under the duress of jetlag or a new culture. Ask when you need to ask. Be patient. Forgive yourself and forgive your fellow travelers. I promise that forgiveness will move you quickly past the uncomfortable moments.
Mostly, remember this. Even when you are far, far away, and even when you are on your fantasy vacation trip of a lifetime, lower your expectations. Seriously, lower them right now! Do not fall apart when we do not live up. I promise you we won’t. You will fight. You will get hungry. You will be tired, and I will have PMS. No matter what, we will let you down. It is ok. Seriously, do not let the humanness of humans ruin your trip. Don’t. Instead, make these unexpected moments delightful, the fights on Palatine Hill an epic tale of love and learning, getting lost in Kowloon a hilarious and most bizarre memory. Laugh. Breathe it in and enjoy.
PS And we loved Rome so much we went back a year later.
Side Bar:The Forum and The Coliseum tickets are purchased as a package. The secret short line is at the Forum. Not the Forum entrance close to the Coliseum, but the one up the street from the Coliseum. I will find more accurate directions once Dave wakes up 😉
As Eli and I sit in the huge hotel dining room amidst the new construction and amber-colored dangling glass pendant lights, I think about travel. I look around and listen to the sounds. People are traveling here from everywhere. There is the Brazilian family I see each day. This morning they are sitting near the coffee makers. They are laughing as the father butters a toasted bagel. I wonder what is so funny. Moments later I walk through the dining room with a banana-for-my-oatmeal in hand and hear the not-quite-German-sounding voices of three men, who I assume are Russian. As I look at one of the men in particular I am drawn to his obnoxiously printed black and white v-neck tee. The words I hear in my brain are, “I want to go to Prague, (which yes, I know is actually in the Czech Republic, not Russia).” And that is how it always starts. I see or hear something, that gets me thinking and my conclusion is always, “I need to check that out.” This morning it was, “Could I take the boys to Prague the last two weeks of May? Prague is safe, right?” My brain immediately shifts to Miles and Points mode. I literally see the American Airlines online award screen in my head. And yes, it is American Airlines, because they have the most user friendly Awards Miles interface, and I think we have enough AA points saved up to get the three of us to Europe. I see the screen and I think, “How can I make this work?”
Breakfast now finished. I grabbed some mint herbal tea for the road. Hotels always seem to have some brand of mint tea. Today it is Tazo, one of my favorites. As we leave, I stop and tell the lovely Polynesian girl with her big, long ponytail that, “Yes, there is no more Zen Tea. I know. I am always the one who tells you.” She stopped wiping the table and looked up and in her super easy-going-friendly voice said, “thank you.”
“It is our last day.” I said.
“It is?”
“You will not have to hear about the Zen tea anymore.” I laughed.
“Oh no. You are always so nice. We will miss you.” She responded.
“You are sweet.” I said.
“Not everyone is like that.”
“Well thank you.”
She told us to enjoy our trip home as I thought, “she has no idea that we do not have one.”
Here is where I need to stop, and here is where today’s issue lies. Yes, it is no secret that I love travel. I basically told you as much in my fist paragraph. My issue here is that so much of my (past) writing has been solely based solely on working out issues, whether they be fertility issues, mean girl issues, or parenting woes. I feel bad and wonder. Because I have used an online platform to ruminate out loud, has my real passion (travel) been missed? See, I am even doing it now. I am trying to work through how my travel love is watered down when I write.
Don’t get me wrong. Feelings talk is good. And when I talk about my feelings, I process. There is a place for feelings talk when it comes to travel. That being said, I have spent many years writing out the feelings, and what I see is that as much feelings writing I do, I will never have control over how someone else feels about. And what I see and felt in the hotel hallway this morning is that unlike feelings talk, travel does not keep repeating itself. It gets better and it moves forward. It really is an adventure. Ultimately, travel makes me feel possible. I can plan a trip and then I can go. The end.
Eli and I walk in the elevator. “There were more people than usual at breakfast today.” I say. He pushes the elevator button. “I think it is because it is the weekend.” He answers. The elevator stops. The doors open, we exit, and head back to our room. Somewhere between the elevator and our room I think it again. “I love to travel and I love to write.” I think more about writing. Wait. Wait. Hold up. Ok, so before you fall asleep reading this and while I fight the urge to go back to bed myself, can I tell you something? You see, I think I had an epiphany. And in the upheaval of vagabond-living a.k.a. homelessness, an epiphany is something I need. The epiphany happened while I was both rounding the corner and scolding myself. Eli, of course, had no idea I was scolding myself, because the scolding was all in my head.
Ok. Maybe I did not scold. I admonished. I told myself this, “Beth, maybe if you write out all the whiny stuff, you will write about what you really love – travel. And that whole ruminating thing you do, well, that can simply be an entertaining (or not) aspect of your adventure.”
Maybe it was simply something I saw, like a loud black and white v-neck T, or maybe all of this is on my brain because I am helping read essays for a scholarship in his name. Or possibly it is because I thought of him after my friend Jody, emailed pictures of my poems from his Creative Writing and Poetry class. And then there is the whole truth that National Poetry Month ended yesterday. Whatever it was, my very favorite creative writing teacher’s loud German-accented words entered my brain. “Write the garbage out and then you will find the beauty.” Once again I was having my own little Archibald-Machleish’s-Ars -Poetica moment right in our hotel hallway, “A poem should not mean/But be.”
We were almost to our room. As I reached for my key card, Eli grabbed his and said, “I’ve got it.”
Wednesday, February 11, 2015, I traveled, along with Kyle, Eli, and my lovely and long-time friend Emily, from Rome to Barcelona, landing of course in Barcelona’s El Prat Airport. We flew a low-cost European carrier, Iberian owned, Vueling Airlines. As my boys correct me, “Mom, it is Welling, not Vueling,” I picture myself in a SNL sketch dressed as a circa 1983 lip-glossed flight attendant, with an Eastern-European-looking fur hat firmly attached to my big 1980’s hair. In my mind, I begin speaking, and as the words escape, earnestly I replace the v’s with w’s. “Thank you for flying, “Welling.” I giggle out loud as I imagine my arms waving. Directing passengers to their seats I continue, “We are wery happy you are flying with us.” Smacking my lip-glossed lips together I conclude, “Buckle up! Now we fly you to wisit your willage. Ahoy!”
Dave, Kyle, Eli and I travel as much as possible. I have mentioned our travel addiction so many times before. When we are not day tripping, we are road tripping, and when we are not road tripping, we are flying. I am often asked “are you ever home?” And honestly, I do not know how to respond. When I do (depending on my mood), I answer with a warm laugh, maybe an eye roll, or by uttering the familiar cliché, “home is where the heart is.” In all seriousness, that is what I believe. My home is wherever Dave and the boys happen to be. Our life is nuts. It always has been. A life of travel compliments our insanity, and consequently our money, credit card points, and every free second is directed toward adventure. Most importantly, travel pushes us out of our familiar and constantly teaches us how to flexibly bob, weave, and adjust to our unpredictable everyday. We are currently living in a San Francisco Bay area hotel, by the way. Our car was broken into two days ago. Bobbing and weaving is what we do.
European travel is my current favorite. Our trip to Rome, Barcelona and Southern France is our third trip to Europe in thirteen months.
Here is how we made this trip happen. We were flying to Europe on American Airlines miles. I could get us to Rome, but not fly us out of Rome. Last time we were in Rome, we flew out of Milan, but this time, after working the Award-Miles system, I found that there were no flights out of Milan. Instead, I found that we could fly out of either Barcelona or Paris. I am not a fan of gloomy weather, and I knew Paris in February was cold, wet and dark. I knew Barcelona was at least ten degrees warmer and sits on the sea. We also wanted to hit the road once Dave arrived midway through our journey. I knew if Paris was anything like London, and I have been told it is, that it would be hard to get out of Paris by car. Plus, we were traveling right after the Charlie Hebdo attack. I knew my mom wanted to know we would be safe, meaning she wanted to know that we would avoid Paris. I opted for the warmer weather, easier access, and my mom’s peace of mind. It was that simple – a dice roll of pros and cons.
Flying between European countries is most economical, even cheaper and faster than taking the train (sorry to burst your bubble, Europass-backpack-romantics). Using online forums, research, and now our personal experience, I have deduced that low-cost European carriers are the best way to get from point A to point B, if not the only way. Most of the low-cost carriers are owned by larger airlines. Vueling is owned by the Spain-run Iberian Airlines. Lufthansa owns Germanwings, and if a major airline does not own a low-cost carrier, and you buy your ticket through major airline, you will most likely be flown on a low-cost carrier regardless. Along with Vueling, we have flown intra-Europe on EasyJet, Flybe, and British Airways. In truth, I didn’t see much difference between British Airways and EasyJet. Meaning on all of these airlines if you want any food or beverage, you pay for them. It seems like today on both low-cost and major airlines the flight attendants operate like sales associates, advertising their goods the entire flight, even trying to sell the passengers jewelry. Yes, jewelry.
Our Rome to Barcelona travel day was typical, which meant I would insist on early airport arrival. And here is how I would get us to the airport on time. First, I would not sleep the night before (not a wink). I would also pack the night before (and re-packed the next morning). I would set my alarm to go off at two separate times (3:30 am and 3:45 am – done). I wake up before my alarm goes off (I did), only to have it go off while I was in the shower (that happened). I would second-guess my steps (always), and thus to help me unravel my second-guessing, I would constantly Skype my travel agent, Dave (done, did, and photo verification included here). Dave is a most awesome Skype back-up, by the way. I would triple check everywhere and everyone (just ask). “Where are our boarding passes and passports?” I exclaimed! To which the boys would answer, “Mom. Look, See. They are in your hand.” Travel days never get easier.
Skype-ing with Big Daddy
I wanted my boys to feel safe, even though I was utterly confused (on the inside). I arranged for a car to pick us up, which is a big deal, because I make my boys walk everywhere, or take public transportation. At 6:55 am our car arrived, and we said goodbye to Rome, the place I like to call Disneyland-town, Italy. We drove through the city reminiscing about what a great trip it had been. Let me add this travel tip: if you need a travel companion, may I suggest my friend, Emily. Not only does she know her way around a map, she is not afraid to talk to strangers, to ask for directions, or to laugh with a group of nuns. She can disarm a meltdown-y child, or children, as the case may be: “Hey Eli, if I am your favorite jerk, I know it means that I am part of the family.” Best part is Emily is absolutely no drama. She did not impose a strange PMS regimen on us. We did not have to give her space to be sad, or figure out any of her moods, for that matter, because she wasn’t moody. She did not demand. She did not boss. She did not dominate, and we did not have watch her drink herself into a stupor. She laughed when I swore, and I swore a lot. “Swear more if it helps.” She urged. She walked because we like to walk (I think she does too), and she ate gelato everyday without complaint. High fives to you, Emily! You will always be our Amelie [smooch]!
We arrived at the Rome Airport earlier than we needed to. We checked in our luggage, which was not necessary, even though all the online forums insisted it was. We found our way through security where I noticed we lost Emily. I looked back to see her luggage being searched. And here is another reason our travel companion rocks. “Did they take anything?” I asked as she walked back up to us. “No. They let me keep all of it.” And by all, Emily meant everything that we had left back in our Rome refrigerator. Eli heartily supports my claim as he relays the story to Dave, “Dad, she cleaned our refrigerator out.” She had a stick of butter, a half a bottle (way more than 3 ounces) of the yummy balsamic syrup, some yogurts, maybe a loaf of bread, and a selection of fruit. “Airport Security did not take any of it?” I exclaim!
Circled in green is the infamous Balsamic Syrup
Time to get on our plane came. We were exhausted. The line was long. Emily and I stood there while the boys sat close by. Emily and I talked about how we met all those years ago. Even though we were in college at the same time, our friendship began because we both worked as writers in high tech. We talked about the first Los Angles-based Internet World we were at together. “Remember when we sat in the hall talking?” “Yes. Vaguely.” Emily responded. “I was pregnant with Kyle and I did not know it. The only odd thing was I could not stop eating Lucky Charms.” We laughed. The boys were standing with us again. The line moved along. We gave the gate agent our boarding passes and accompanying passports. We were moved to a shuttle bus, not a plane. What? On the shuttle bus we held onto our remaining luggage and waited. Finally, they drove us to our plane. By the time we boarded our Vueling Airbus A320, the boys were literally punching each other as I simultaneously whisper-shouted (ah, the whisper-shout, a trick of all moms. I was probably death-gripping at least one of their wrists too), “Stop it! Stop!” We saw the plane was not as full as they told us it would be and thank God. I took this opportunity and quickly I pointed to one side of the aisle, “Kyle, stop talking. Sit by the window. Now! Move.” Pointing at the opposite window in the same aisle I urged, “Eli, stay. Stay by that window and do not talk! Look out the window and shut your mouth!” Both boys complied. Emily and I first say next to each other, and with the extra room, she moved next to Kyle so that we were positioned in the aisle seats across from each other. We took in a deep breath and then ate an apple from Emily’s refrigerator stash. In seconds I heard snores from a sleeping Eli, and Emily and I continued to reminisce.
Our flight was quick and uneventful.
Before Emily moved to her aisle seat. Rome to Barcelona, February 2015A Sleeping Easy E
Life, choices, perspective, chance, are all words I have been thinking about today. I also keep asking myself, “Should I be afraid? Should I stop flying?”
Just over a month ago I stood in Barcelona’s El Prat Airport. Dave’s return flight took him from El Prat through Germany. He flew Lufthansa Airlines. I wonder about these 149 people, 149 people who had their choice taken from them. I am certain they could replace the words I have written here with their own. I am sure they could tell you what it is like to travel from Northern Virginia to Europe, or what it is like to be a foreign exchange student from Germany. I wonder if they thought the Barcelona airport was as weird as I did with its two very separate terminals. Did they use the same bathroom? Did they fall for the trick we had? And by trick I am referring to the signs that direct you past all of the stores instead of the exit? Did they find the “free” airport internet as annoying as I did? I am sure they were on Facebook, and I am certain they called a loved one to say goodbye, or “I will see you soon.” Did they need to spend their remaining Euros like Emily did? She bought a shirt for herself and her daughter at the airport Desigual store. Were they nervous like I get? Or was flying easy? As many planes as I have flown in, as much turbulence as I have felt, I cannot imagine what it would be like to know that I was going to die. I can’t imagine the pain of those they left behind. I do not know them. I do not know the 149 people who died on Germanwings Flight 9525. The closest I can come to knowing them is our shared experience. Meaning I know the El Prat airport and I know that type of plane. These people were living their lives. They were setting their alarms once and maybe twice. They were late. They were early. They had dreams. They had bad days and good. I am sure of that. I have no words for them except to say that I am sorry your days were taken. I am so sorry your choice was removed, and I am very sorry you had to be afraid. No one deserves to die like you did.
One of the reasons I went to Barcelona instead of Paris is because I wanted to assure my mom that we would be safe. And we would be safe because we would be far away from the Charlie Hebdo attacks. It is a false sense of safety, I know. None of it makes sense. The Charlie Hebdo cartoonists had their choice taken away too. Even though there had been threats, and they had security, I bet the Charlie Hebdo people thought they were safe when they went to work that day. My guess is that these 149 people did not have to think about whether they were safer than the Charlie Hebdo cartoonists. They did not have to because facts and logic would tell us all that they were safer than an outspoken political cartoonist. I do not know what to do with this information. Processing it hurts my head. If I look at it one way, it would seem that none of us are safe. Another reality is that none of us should stop living.
My mom recently told me that she is afraid to fly over the ocean. I told her that I share her same fear. I also said that I make myself breathe past it. “Mom, every time I fly I am afraid. Instead of checking out or giving into the fear, I make myself pay attention. I listen to the flight attendants. I locate the exit doors, and then I remind myself that some things are out of my control.” I buckle my seatbelt, grab the hand of “my closest” family member, the engines rev up, the plane begins to move and it takes off. All the while I remind myself to breathe.
Vueling Literature
It is not easy. Meaning, not being afraid is not easy for me. How I move past my fear is this. If I remain afraid, I remind myself that I will not move forward. If I let my fear of flying take over, for instance, I would not have seen what I have seen. I would have never stood inside the Coliseum. I would have never been able to drive the crazy Amalfi Coast road. I would have never seen a sea turtle on a Kauai beach, or ridden on a Hong Kong funicular railroad. The Cliffs of Mohr would be a postcard image, and Carcassonne would simply remain a board game my boys love to play. I most certainly would not have seen my dear friend try and then get a half-full bottle of balsamic syrup through the Rome airport security. And most importantly, I would not know how well my boys, Dave and I do wherever we are. I would not know that you fight everywhere. You get tired everywhere. People are mean everywhere and people are also awesome everywhere. I know life happens. I know accidents happen, and if I had refused to get on an airplane, or push myself out of my comfortable, I would not know a life different than my own.
Me Driving the Amalfi Coast. How crazy is that?
And really, maybe that is why I travel. I want to see beyond myself and I do not want to be afraid.
I only wish being fearless and pushing personal boundaries would cancel out the fact that we also live in a world where some of the really bad and preventable things happen because of someone else’s terrible and irrevocable choices.
On the nights I decide we have not been sufficiently active I demand the boys (yes Dave too) walk the 1.2 mile, giant, steep, and heart-thumping hill close by. The hike is fast. The climb is hard and in a very short amount of time you can get in a good workout. The boys go to bed at 9:00 PM on school nights and wanting to make their bedtime, at 8:25PM I declared, “We must walk and we must walk now!” Moments earlier Dave asked if we were going on a walk. I was trying to finish up some research so I put him off. I feel badly because he and Eli were ready to go.
Yet with the clock ticking I insisted we were still going. As this pronouncement left my lips, Eli completely blew a gasket. Tears streamed down his face as he urged, “Mom, I worked very hard to get all my homework done so I would have enough time to watch t.v. and I WAS READY! If we go on a walk now then I won’t be able to! Mom, I never have time to watch [insert loud scream here]!”
Believe me I wanted to give in. Eli did work hard and he had a lot of homework. He was ready minutes before and I was not. I did not even know if we could be back by 9:00PM. I took a deep, am-I-doing-the-right-thing-by-forcing-my-boys-to-go-on-a-walk breath and said, “Eli, get your jammies on. Let’s get out the door and if we walk really fast I think you will be able to watch television for ten minutes.”
“No! Mom! No! It will take too long!” Eli insisted as I placed his pajamas (track shorts and an old t-shirt) in his hands. And of course as I readied Eli I thought of my own childhood and the time my own parents had the wacky idea of waking us up at 6:00AM everyday to “jog” (walk) the local high school track. Many-a-day did I shake my fists at Jim Fixx and his damn running book. And now Eli was shaking his fists at me and I really could not blame him. Not a Tiger Mom am I, but I sure want my boys to learn the joy of an active lifestyle. I am grateful my mom always urged us to walk around Lake Harriet every Sunday. I am glad she, and for that matter, my grandma (her mother), taught me to move.
Lake Harriet Summer 2010
“Guys! Guys! Kyle! Dave! Let’s go! We need to be back before 9:00PM!” I yelled.
Dave and Kyle met us at the front. It was a dark, moonless night, so dark that stars had no problem shining through. “Mom, look. It’s the Big Dipper!” Eli exclaimed. His tears were gone and we raced ahead of Dave and Kyle.
“Mom, my leg hurts. Slow down. I can’t walk fast.” Kyle pleaded. “Dave, Kyle, will you walk together? I made Eli a promise and I want to keep it.” Dave graciously turned back and I heard them talking about stars, literature, science and all the things they love to talk about. Their voices faded as Eli and I hustled up the hill. Not another sad word was uttered. I do not even think Eli cared if we made it home by 9:00PM.
We heard crazy dark-night-noises and laughed about my very sensitive startle response. As Eli grabbed my hand he giggled and said, “Mom, remember the other night when we were walking up the hill? You screamed when you thought the man wearing a backpack was a moose?”
“Eli. I startle. I startle easily and I am glad you have better eyes than I do. You can see all the scary things coming for us.” We both laughed and Eli piped in, “Like that garbage can right there. You night think it is a bobcat.”
“I couldn’t do it without you, Eli.”
We reached the top and Eli noticed a man in the darkness standing behind his car smoking. It was weird for us to see him there, especially after talking about all the nighttime surprises. Eli grabbed my hand again, we turned and headed down, passing Dave and Kyle. Dave tried to walk with us and Eli and I both insisted he walk to the top too.
Easy E off-roading in Mexico
And somewhere between the huffs and puffs and creepy-night-noises, I asked Eli, “how does travel make you a better world citizen?” (thank you Wendy Smith). My friend had asked me the same question earlier, her question and travel were on my mind.
“Mom, travel makes me less afraid. It makes me feel like I can go anywhere and do anything. I like to see how the rest of the world gets along.” Great answer! Travel does make us brave. Eli and I agreed it also makes us open. What I didn’t realize in that moment is that you do not have to travel far. Just moving and pushing yourself does just that; you are pushed and pushed out of your comfort zone. Eli began our walk completely irritated and he had every right to be completely irritated. We persisted. No was not an option and we both rose above. Because we opened the door, left our house and moved we had one of my favorite mom/som experiences ever. I am proud of Eli for pulling through. And yes, we walked fast enough! We came home, he had his ten minutes and then he happily went to bed.
The only way to describe it is, “Out of Body.” When we were planning our trip, I looked at the big world map. Thought about what I saw and then I looked again, staring at this tiny speck in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I could not imagine that this is where I was going to be. Up until then I had always stayed landlocked in North America. Trips to Mexico and Canada were as exotic as it got. Ok, I know Hawaii is part of the United States. To me, it seemed like I was heading to another planet.
I really wanted to get somewhere warm and sunny. California was not as warm as I wanted in February. Arizona has no ocean and Florida is just as far away from Utah as Hawaii is. I put aside my crazy fear of flying over the ocean and told Dave he could buy our tickets. Because the boys were attending a very flexibly scheduled Montessori School, we decided to take an extra week. Of course I did not sleep the night before our flight or the night before that. The boys were set with movies and video games, Dave was satisfied with a book and I was a deer in headlights riding the Roller Coaster, otherwise known as our flight over the Pacific Ocean. Supposedly the turbulence was particularly bad this time across. Now, having flown several times over the Pacific Ocean, I can say it is always a turbulent flight. As I walked to the bathroom the turbulent bumps threw me into another row. I felt comfort in the fact that the woman I landed on looked as scared as I did. As the plane dipped down and then jerked back up I made my way, grip by grip to the bathroom. I sat in that tiny stall and prayed. Sweat dripped down my face and I prayed some more, willing myself out the door. Upon exiting the stall I noticed the male flight attendant sitting strapped into his jump seat. I asked him, “What is up? Is it always this bad? Seriously? This really sucks!” He gently explained physics and engineering and told me how many times he had flown over the ocean and how much force it would really take to crash. He made me feel a little better, better enough to safely climb my way back to my seat. Truth be told, I should not have gotten up, but I really had to pee.
I took a Benadryl and drifted off.
There it is was, the tiny speck of land surrounded by water, the tiny piece of land I had seen on the giant world map. It was evening and I was in a Benadryl fog. We landed in Oahu and made our way to our Oceanside hotel where we were met by the concierge who promptly gave the boys a cool ocean print backpacks filled with all sorts of goodies. We were offered a cookie and checked into our room. After dropping off our luggage we promptly took the elevator back to the ground floor and made our way out to the ocean. I looked at the Ocean. Then I closed my eyes really tight and looked at the ocean again. I grabbed Dave’s hand and held it tightly. I honestly wanted to make sure I was not dreaming. I looked at the ocean and closed my eyes tightly again. Breathlessly, I held onto this moment, this feeling. We were in the middle of nowhere and I felt like I was in the middle of a dream. I kept saying, “Can you believe we are really here? Can you believe it? Look? It is so beautiful. Look! We are surrounded by water! Look.”
We have been to Hawaii three times since. We have visited other islands and nothing will ever take away that very first hazy, surreal, amazing moment.
These moments are why I am so in love with travel.
