I used to spend a lot of time (between apologies) explaining to Staci my vacation philosophy (read- excuses).
This is based on a pay-as-you-go sort of Karmic balance principle that each moment of pleasure must be balanced by an equal moment of pain. The "moment of pain" in question consists of travelling with me in odd numbered years and can stretch out to a couple weeks so I suppose "moment" doesn't do it justice...
The even numbered year trips would be magnificent; full of perfect moments, memory snapshots that never fade and nicely composed photos with native wildlife waving to the camera while double, full arc rainbows framed the perfectly centered flight of swans silhouetted against the dawn sky...
And that was outside Gary, Indiana.
Then there were... the other trips.
I'd like to offer my friends the chance to relive these memories and test out the other theory I propounded to Staci that "the odd number year trips make for great memories and stories. It just takes some time (sometimes years) for the initial trauma to wear off and reveal the underlying fun" (She never bought into that. I guess she doesn't like fun.)
My brother, Bill, joined me on a simple trip to southern Illinois for my Uncle's funeral. I figured we could save some time by flying to St. Louis and then driving over. That worked out; didn't it, Bill?
My buddy Bob joined me and George on an exciting cross-country van excursion to the Rocky mountains. He got to relax in the back of the van while I did all the hard driving work. (In retrospect, we probably should have poked some breathing holes in the back of the van but, in my defense, we did give him plenty of exercise on the mountain roads.) Good times, right, Bob?
Staci will never forget our romantic trip to Belize. Sometimes she still sits straight up in bed at 3 AM, screaming with delight. I'm sure she's getting closer and closer to realizing how much fun we had. As a matter of fact, last time she told one of our friends about our "being hopelessly lost in the jungle" (Which is an exaggeration. I'm sure I would have found the way out eventually.) she had a bit of a smile on her face. Not a particularly pleasant smile, but...
It was also an odd-numbered year in the mid-seventies when I was camping in the Yucatan, being chased through the jungle around Coba by wild pigs as iguanas and large spiders dropped off branches onto my head and shoulders. (I don't believe I was being targeted. They were probably just startled by the high-pitched screams that seemed to follow me around everywhere until I'd run out of breath.) I finally got some rest after stopping at what passed for a food cart in the jungle, a metal pan cooking over a oil drum fire, and bought myself some nice iguana soft tacos. I believe in trying out local cuisine when I travel.
As I lay in a hotel bed drifting in and out of consciousness and a colorful melange of bodily fluids for the next week, I had a gradual revelation about the "local cuisine" concept. A hotel maid nursed me; bathing me, forcing medicine and water into me and checking for continued respiration. (I vaguely remember Mexican children poking me with sticks and giggling but, then, I also seem to recall long, rambling conversations with St. Anthony and a tiny Morey Amsterdam about our favorite sandwich spreads...)
Ah, memories...
Next time- Travel provisioning!
1 comment:
Ah, yes. The Rocky Mountains road trip you, George & I took. I remember coming back from that trip with photographs, souvenirs, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I remember the night when you and George screeched off in the van, leaving me alone on a dark, desolate mountain road, my head filled with the frightening imagery of hungry, wild bears that you two darling imps strategically placed in my head prior to your little prank. I remember frantically chasing after you, and, although I may have been hallucinating, I'm pretty sure I passed a speeding Roadrunner, Wiley Coyote on an Acme rocket, and Forrest Gump. Good times!
Post a Comment