From the Intro: My Love of Travel Goes a Long Way Back
The Christmas I was in the third grade, Daddy decided to see if we could drive all the way to Costa Rica. We only made it to Guatemala City before car problems and Montezuma’s revenge forced us to turn around. But I will never forget Mexico in all its Christmas glory. On Christmas Eve, we were staying in a small guesthouse in a remote village. Groups of children my age came around carrying branches that held nativity scenes. They would sing and dance for us. I was enchanted. In Oaxaca, I saw weavers and potters for the first time in my life. We stopped at a hot spring resort—the smell of sulfur still assaults me when I think of it.
When I was in the fourth grade, Mrs. Jones taught us geography for the first time. I embraced all the lessons as we pretended to travel to Japan, India, Ecuador, Norway and Egypt. I even made a sari for myself. Our family would go on camping vacations every year to New Mexico so Daddy could fish the pristine waters of the Rocky Mountains. I loved following our route on the gas station maps and finding places of interest along the way. |
A much-coveted horseback ride in New Mexico. Vacation 1960 |
I continued to love these vacations even as a teenager. My
mom took notice. In the eleventh grade, she received a letter that had been
sent to all foreign language students who had good grades. A group called the
Foreign Study League was offering a six-week educational tour to Europe for the
summer of 1971. The first meeting about the trip was only for parents to
attend. Mom asked if I was interested. I probably surprised her when I said
“No, there are a lot of places in the United States I haven’t seen.”
But she went to the meeting anyway. When she came home, she said the next meeting would be for parents and students. She wanted me to attend one meeting and if I decided I did not want to go, that would be okay. (This was a tactic she used often: try something once. It is how she introduced me to broccoli, a vegetable I love to this day.) Needless to say, I was hooked right away and in June a huge jet plane whisked me across the Atlantic to see England, France, the Netherlands, Austria and Italy. I rode in trains—even slept on one. I ate new food in the Netherlands, learned folk-dancing in Austria, visited the Anne Frank house when it was just a tiny museum, and walked through the temple of the Vestal Virgins in Rome. I would never be the same.
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| Folk dancing in Austria. 1978 |
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| A big hug from Daddy upon returning from Europe. |
In 1970, we visited the Grand Canyon for our vacation. I was
enthralled. Two years later, I asked my folks if they would take me back there
for a graduation present. I don’t think my mom blinked twice before saying, “Why don’t you see if you could get a summer job there?” And that is what I did! I worked for four
months in a gift shop overlooking the canyon.
From there it mushroomed. I spent the winter of 1973 traveling on a 90-day bus pass to Colorado, California, and Washington state. On the way back I stopped by the Grand Canyon, now blanketed in snow. That summer found me on a weeks-long solo driving and camping trip through East Texas.
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| Washing pottery as a volunteer on a dig. 1978 |
Friends of the family would ask my mother, “How can you let her go by herself all those places?” Of course, by then, I was an adult. But my mother’s wise reply? “She can’t live in a cave!”
Bless my mother—she knew I would be a traveler before I did.
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| One the beach near Haifa, Israel. 1978 |
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