Scenes From My Life

It did not begin as a great trip. I arrived to find that my luggage was not on the plane. Much of my first night was spent on the phone with the airline, trying to track down my errant suitcase. This put me in a foul mood for the first day of my visit. By the second day, though, my luggage had been found and I was in a far better mood. Excitedly, I set out to begin my vacation. What ensued was what I consider to be one of the best trips I have ever taken. My visit to Washington, D.C. had its share of issues and unexpected events. There were changes in plan that did not come about until nearly the last minute. The weather, too, proved unpredictable, with the threat of a snowstorm constantly looming. It was certainly not what one might consider the perfect trip. But, for me, it was truly memorable. In the months since my trip, I have determined that it was not one, but several factors that made the trip so memorable. Having been to Washington many

Over the years, I have learned a number of tips about travel. Some tips I have picked up from friends and relatives. Others have come about as a result of trial and error. Here are a few of the pointers that have helped to make my travels smoother and more pleasant: General: Expect issues. Travel almost never goes as smoothly as you would wish. Seek the recommendations of people you know who have visited a destination. Utilize internet resources, including airfare-related search engines. Air: Arrive at major airports at least two hours early. If you are unable to reserve your desired seat when purchasing the ticket,            look again when checking-in for the flight. Join the airline’s loyalty program. Most are free and a great way to build            towards discounted or free travel. Purchase tickets online. Occasionally, airlines post lower fares on their websites          than can be found through other avenues. Avoid purchasing airfares over the

In December 2003, I thought my days of lost luggage were behind me. I had taken a number of flights with no baggage issues. I would arrive at my destination, and so would my suitcases. Given my history of luggage issues, it was a reassuring feeling to leave an airport, suitcase in hand. Then I flew to Seattle, Washington, for New Year’s Eve. I arrived in Seattle on the afternoon of December 30. My luggage, however, did not arrive with me. I had experienced such delays on past flights, so I did not worry too much. I gave my contact information to an airline representative and left the airport, confident that I would have my belongings in a matter of hours. It turns out that I had wildly underestimated the time it would take to retrieve my baggage. Late that night, when I still did not have my luggage, I made my first call to the airline. The representative assured me that it was an abnormal glitch and I would have my belongings shortly. The next

For a moment, I had to step back. I just wanted to take in what I was hearing. In the midst of the 1996 Summer Olympics, I was at a hotel in downtown Atlanta with a good friend. We were standing aside two other ladies, whom we did not know, listening to a speech on the highlights of Athens, Greece. My friend and I listened as the speaker, himself a native of Greece, spoke of Athens’ history, its culture, and its desire to host the Games. But, it was not the speech itself that caught me off guard. It was the fact that he was speaking in Spanish.   In the summer of 1996, I volunteered with the host committee for the Olympic Games in Atlanta. One of the benefits of volunteering with the Games was admittance into places and events otherwise off limits to the general public. One such area was the bid lounges for the cities competing to host the 2004 Summer Games. For the duration of the Games, the organizing committee of each city had occupied a room at a downt

In hindsight, we should have known something was not right. On our way home from an annual vacation in southwest Florida, we stopped in Orlando. Our plan was to spend a day at the area’s newest theme park, Universal Studios. The park had only been open a few weeks when we arrived. My family and I were excited to be among its first visitors. My parents, siblings, and I arrived just as the park was opening. We purchased our tickets and stood in line, waiting to enter the park. As we made our way through the gates, a park employee handed each of us something that looked like an index card. Excited to get to the rides, we only glanced at the cards, not really taking in what we were holding. It was not until we were in line for the first ride that anyone in my family really examined the cards we all held in our hands. A bright shade of blue, the front of each card was marked with the Universal Studios logo. On the reverse, alongside several lines of fine p

We had been walking for about forty-five minutes, making our way from Manhattan’s South Street Seaport to the Macy’s flagship store on 34th Street. When we were within fifteen blocks of our destination, some of my companions decided that we should complete our journey by cab. Despite my attempts to convince them to keep walking, they were insistent. The trip that ensued was a true New York experience. After a few minutes of trying, one of my companions was able to hail a cab. However, we wanted to go north. The cab that stopped was going south. It did not seem to matter, though, as my companions still got in the cab. One person sat in the front while I slipped into the backseat, between the other two. Hardly before the doors could close, the driver had fought his way into Manhattan traffic. Without warning, he took a sharp right turn onto a side street and began to head north, steadily increasing his speed. Within seconds, the cab was weaving a

There is more to travel than itineraries and guidebooks. Travel should be an experience. A time to try something new. To discover a new place. To step out of one’s comfort zone. To make the most of my travel experience, I try to remember four guidelines: Eat somewhere . . . or something . . . new: Travel is a time of discovery. Discovering new places. Meeting new people. That discovery should also extend to dining. When traveling, I always try to eat a new type of food. If the options are limited, then I at least try to find a restaurant where I have never eaten. Even if it is a city I have visited many times, I still look for these new foods. Go where the locals go: Guidebooks can provide great information on any number of destinations. They can offer suggestions on sites to see, places to stay, even how to get from place to place. But, they cannot cover everything. Sometimes, the best recommendations can come from local residents. Whether it is a friend

Growing up, I usually traveled by car. Several times every year, my parents loaded me, my siblings, and the occasional cousin into the car. We would set off for a variety of points around the country to visit family and friends. This led to occasionally close quarters. . . and the need for careful packing. With at least five people in the car, luggage overload was a real possibility. Today, I do a fair amount of travel by airplane. I find the luggage restrictions to be much like they were during my childhood travels. Between cramped airplanes and overloaded cars, smart packing is a definite must. There are four simple points to remember when packing for a trip. The first is to consider your destination. Pack those items that are necessary for the time and place to which you are traveling. If you are visiting Maine in January, chances are slim that you will need beachwear. Likewise, if you visit Las Vegas at the same time of year, a heavy

          It was a photo opportunity that could not be missed. Why else would I be doing this? Typically, I was a very cautious person. But, there I was, with a friend, standing in a short line waiting to have our photo taken in this precarious-looking spot. I looked around me. The view was simply stunning. I could see why this was a popular photo spot.           I was nearing the front of the line. When the people ahead of me reached the front of the line, they gave me their camera, took a few steps forward and posed. I took their picture and returned their camera to them as they passed me by. Then, it was my turn. My friend and I passed our cameras to the people behind us and took our places a few steps ahead. Separately but quickly, our photos were taken and it was the next person’s turn. Before I left, though, I could not resist taking a look at where I had been standing. I briefly turned to face the late morning sky, which was cloudless and blue. The rocks, in

The neighborhood was full of people enjoying the summer evening. People standing in their front lawns, casually talking with their neighbors. Fathers guiding their children as they unsteadily steered their bicycles along the sidewalk. Mothers pushing strollers while the children riding inside stared out in wonder, attempting to take in the activity around them. Families exiting the neighborhood ice cream shop, cool, frozen desserts in hand. A steady stream of cars passing along the neighborhood’s narrow, curving streets. At the neighborhood’s center was a large manmade lake, rimmed with tall, green trees. A curving concrete path wound through the surrounding meadow. Couples jogged along the trail, careful to avoid anyone who crossed the path. A wading pool which at any other time would have been a noisy, chaotic scene, was nearly silent, save for the occasional splash of water. Even the lake itself was still, with nothing to disrupt the calm, slow mot

The southern accent. It is one of the most recognizable of the various American “dialects.” Like many of these speech styles, there are various types of southern accents. Having spent my formative years in the south, I had grown quite accustomed to hearing the southern accent in its many forms. But, I did not feel that I spoke with any discernible inflection. Over the years, though, an accent would occasionally become noticeable, especially when traveling outside of the south. Something I said or, rather, the way I said it, would cause others to react. Even the most harmless of comments would elicit curious looks from those around me. It was as if they could tell something about my speech was different, but could not pinpoint exactly what it was. Though it did not happen often, my style of speech seemed to prove confusing. In 2001, I traveled to Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, to visit a friend. The airport most convenient to Hilton Head was locate

It was quiet. The nearly empty streets of the National Park were illuminated only by the headlights on the occasional passing car. The trees lining the driveway blocked any clear views of the Grand Canyon only yards away. Slowly winding our car along the darkened streets, my friend and I came to a sign directing visitors to a viewing area. We had spent the entire day exploring the South Rim of the Canyon from numerous vantage points, each more impressive than the last. Yet, we had chosen to explore the Park further, seeking out additional views. Vague as it was, this sign piqued our curiosity and we turned off of the main street and onto a gravel-covered parking lot. The view changed immediately. Gone were the towering evergreen trees. In their place was a clear, unobstructed view . . . of nothing. The gravel lot extended a few yards beyond the parking area before it blended with the rocky ledge of the Canyon. Above it, the nighttime sky was imposing

I did not know how fast I was walking and I did not care. All I knew was that I had a connection to make . . . and I was not going to miss it. I arrived at the gate just in time to see the boarding door closing. What was I going to do? This was the last flight of the day. It had been a long day and I really wanted to get back home. Now I was not sure I would. My day had begun around 8a.m. when I arrived at the Phoenix airport for my 10a.m. flight to Atlanta. Because of a great fare, I had purchased a ticket that included a connection in Detroit. It had been very much out of my way, but the fare was better than anything else I could find. My return flight had a two hour layover in Detroit, plenty of time (I thought) to make my connection. I did not anticipate a three hour delay in the Phoenix airport because of a malfunctioning airplane. By the time everyone was on the plane, it was after 1p.m. When the plane landed, I briskly walked dow

I recently returned from a long weekend trip. I traveled to a favorite city, one that I know well. I had planned to spend my time seeing good friends and visiting places I have seen many times. Yet, in the days leading up to the departure, I was still apprehensive. My concern had nothing to do with the trip itself, though. Instead, it was because of my track record when it came to visiting this particular city. Prior to this trip, I have flown into this city four times. All four times, I have taken a direct flight on the same airline. Three of the four times, I have flown into the same airport. Three of those four times, my luggage has not arrived with me. I could not help but wonder if this trip, flying in to the same airport, on the same airline, would have the same result. Or, would I be able to leave the airport without a visit to the airline’s baggage services office? My flight arrived at the airport just ahead of schedule. I made my way to the

“Come on. Let’s go,” my brother said, leading me by the arm, out of the cavernous train station. “We don’t have time,” I argued, as he continued to lead me towards downtown Portland. “Yeah, we do,” he retorted. “And, besides, it’s close to the station.” My brother had been telling me about this doughnut shop in Portland, Oregon, for a long time. He had repeatedly promised to take me there on my next visit. My visit came and nearly went without a stop at this shop. I was supposed to catch a train to Seattle that afternoon. After I checked my luggage at the station, I had about forty five minutes before my train left. Enough time, my brother decided, to get a doughnut. I was not so sure. I was scared that I was going to miss my train. My attempts to suggest that it was not a good idea to leave the station proved futile and we were on our way to the doughnut shop. In addition to traditional doughnut flavors, this

In March of 2004, I made a week-long trip to Arizona, for a good friend’s wedding. When I left Atlanta, temperatures had been in the high 60’s and it had been raining for days. I flew into Phoenix, where it was bright, sunny and the daytime temperatures hovered in the low-90’s. At night, it never got below 70. Following the wedding, another friend and I drove to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, where the skies were clear and daytime temperatures were in the 40’s and 50’s. At night, it dipped to near-freezing levels. Following a few more days in 90-plus degree weather in Phoenix, I returned to Atlanta. My return flight had a connection in Detroit, Michigan. The plane landed, only to be greeted by falling snow and temperatures in the low 30’s. The plane had to be de-iced before it could take off again. A few hours later, I landed in Atlanta, where it was 70 and pouring rain.

We were in search of theater tickets. That is why my friend and I had wandered from our midtown hotel to the South Street Seaport, at the southern tip of Manhattan. Considering that New York’s Theater District is in midtown, our being at the opposite end of the city may seem odd. But, we had gone to the Seaport to buy tickets. TKTS, a discount ticket retailer, had a reputation for having very long lines at its Times Square location. In my pre-travel planning, I had read that there was a second booth at the Seaport with considerably longer lines. And, so, hoping for a faster experience, my friend and I were in search of the Seaport TKTS booth. My friend had grown up in a town just outside of New York and was quite familiar with Manhattan. She was not especially familiar with the Seaport TKTS booth, but knew its general location. We had wandered down Broadway, through the financial district, and were nearing the waterfront. We looked around the area for the famili

Driving through a city in a car or tour bus, there is only so much one can see. Most of the city goes by in a blur. Stops are made on a preset schedule. For a true tour of any city, the best way to see it is by walking. When walking, one can see a city at their own pace. As many or as few stops as desired can be made. In my travels, walking has provided some of my most memorable experiences. One of my more memorable walks happened late at night. It was not so much the walk itself that was memorable, but the circumstances surrounding it. It was January 1, 2000. A group of friends and I had spent much of the evening on the National Mall in Washington, D.C., welcoming in the new millennium with countless other people. After 1a.m., the crowd began to disperse and we were faced with a decision. Earlier that evening, a friend had dropped us off near the Mall before continuing onto her own New Year’s celebration. Did we join the throngs of people waiting for