Last night, Eric returned home from two weeks in Sweden, where he was traveling alone. He was hairy, tired, happy, and, I am sure, somehow changed. On the drive home from the Omaha airport, he told us about nearly being robbed, about staying in a deserted hostel at the end of an empty block, about wandering a nude beach and about visiting great art galleries.
He also said that he'd probably never travel alone again, because it was strange to have no one to share his experiences with. This from a self-proclaimed introvert.
When Mark was a senior in high school, he and his friends planned a hiking trip in the Colorado mountains. On paper, I suppose, it sounded like a great idea. The carrying out of that idea, though, proved more difficult. For starters, one of the guys packed little more than cigarettes and he lugged them in his Samsonite. . . which he dragged up the mountain.
In a few days, I leave for Boston, my second-ever "girl" trip. The first was to visit my friend, Kristie, in Cincinnati, where she was teaching. While it was exhilarating to abandon family and home for a few days in exotic Cincinnati, it's possible that the highlight for me was buying cigarettes at a local Walgreens.
None of us smoke, but that didn't stop us from buying a pack. Well, actually, we pretty much bullied our friend "Meredith" into buying them, while the rest of us stood behind her, like a bunch of giggling adolescents who'd just lined our pockets with loot. I could not quit laughing as "Meredith" drew closer to the cash register, quietly repeating the words "Marlboro Lites," so that she wouldn't forget them when it was time to talk with the cashier.
Tears pouring down our faces, we somehow managed to make it outside the store, only to discover that, of course, none of us had matches. Like it mattered.
It was the best $4 I'd ever spent on a trip.
I think it's no coincidence that the word "vacation" has "vacate" at its roots. Clearly, we vacate our home spaces when we leave for a few days. But we also vacate our tired selves, too, suddenly and giddily free to reinvent ourselves, if only for a handful of days.
When Mark and I went to Italy two years ago, celebrating our anniversary with friends Barry and Jeanne, I did more than vacate a space. I rewired my brain. My motto for that trip? Just Say Yes. Which is why I ate the eyeball from Jeanne's fish. And the pickled octopus tentacle. And drank the espresso. And choked down the limoncello.
It was the perfect motto for that trip.
As I prepare to head to Boston, where I know that it's more than likely I'll pee myself with laughter, I've chosen the antithesis of my Italian motto. For Boston, my attitude will be: Whatever. I have vowed to read nothing, research nothing, practically pack nothing, leaving myself open, instead, to the whims of my very funny and capable friends.
I'm pretty sure it's the perfect motto for this trip, but I'll have to get back to you on that.
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