If you don't count a trip to Niagara Falls when I was two and actually drove a boat, then I guess my first trip of note was to Sweden when I was eight.My parents took my brother, Michael, and me to Sweden in 1976. I remember visiting my grandfather in Göteborg, my aunt and uncle and cousins in southern Sweden, more distant cousins on the island of Öland and finally a trip up to the nation's capital, Stockholm, to visit more distant relatives and also to sightsee.
I remember both my grandfather's apartment in Göteborg, Sweden's second largest city, and his summer house at Näset on the shore. I remember picking black currants and red currants and gooseberries off the bushes in his yard. I remember meeting my Swedish cousins for the first time and Staffan, the youngest, could say a few words in English and to this day I can recall his "funny" pronunciation of "Chris and Mike." We played with toy soldiers and the dogs and ran through the university campus on which my uncle taught. All this on days when we didn't go for long walks to find cherry trees, which my uncle Birger and cousin Sune would climb like monkeys straight to the top and the rest of us would just stand in place at the bottom yanking every cherry within reach off the tree and shoving them in our mouths.
I remember visiting the Royal Palace in Sweden and learning about the king and queen (a real king and queen!). We saw (and touched) a ship that had been recovered from the harbor that dated back several hundred years. We met my dad's cousin Ingemar and his girlfriend. We went to Skansen, an outdoor animal park, with indigenous animals from all over Sweden and actual houses and barns from all different regions of the country. I still have a little donkey that I won in a raffle on my eighth birthday.I remember all of these things. But the story I tell most of all was of the initial flight over. We flew Air India, and either it was the spicy food or the air-travel-for-the-first-time, but I had to poop desperately and ran to the back just as the plane began its descent into Heathrow in London. There was, of course, a long line. So I ran back to my seat, told my mom the news, sat down and promptly had diarrhea right there in my airplane seat. Yelps of horror erupted and I was whisked by the stewardess back to the secret staff bathroom and cleaned up somewhat. When we got to Heathrow, my mother took me immediately to an airport bathroom where she threw out my soiled undies and I had to endure the humiliation of not only pooping on a plane, but walking through Heathrow airport without any underwear.
22 comments:
Your Air India story (I was too young to remember the full details) has me laughing out loud. All those people and that diarrhea!!!
My first memory of travelling alone was when mom and dad let me take the ferry from Long Island back to Connecticut by myself.
I was probably ten and the experience was thrilling. I felt so independent and dad had given me a few dollars to order a soda and pretzel.
I was beaming when they picked me up. And they were so proud that I had been such an "adult"!
Poop stories are the best! Regrettably, my first trip stories don't include any.
What felt like a real first trip to me came not too long ago, and it was (also) my first journey to Sweden. I'd had a few family excursions prior, but this time I was heading off to Europe alone (along with my friend Molly). We had just graduated from high school, and were pumped for a 6 week journey across the seas. Our parents brought us to the airport, kissed our foreheads, and we were off!
My journey was somewhat different than yours, Chris, because the primary purpose wasn't really to see family, or visit my homeland. Molly and I went to swing dance! Every years, in Herräng, a tiny village just north of Hallstavik and about an hour away from Uppsala, there resides a month-long international swing dance program, arguably the best in the world. Molly and I went for the full four weeks (but I took a week off to visit family with the parents and you, Chris).
It was crazy and amazing. Dance classes all morning and afternoon, a break for a nap in the evening, and then social dancing in the Folketshus
(people's house) until dawn, or later! We lived in converted classrooms packed with bunkbeds, and by the end of the month, we'd made friends, and cooked feasts with them in the tiny staff kitchen across the way.
One of the most notable moments about the trip came after the program in Herräng. We joined up with three of our new friends, and took a bus to Stockholm. However, we didn't think ahead, and hadn't booked a place to stay. And then, just as we were calling hostel after hostel (none of which had space), our cell phone died. So we arrived in Stockholm in the late afternoon with no place to stay and no way to find one. It was the first time I realized we were truly on our own, and had to fend for ourselves. No parents to plan everything.
Needless to say, we ended up charging our phone in a turistbyrå, and found space at the last hostel on our list. And the hostel ended up having a water park and mini-golf course on its roof, so we were more than satisfied!
Det var en mycket bra resa till Sveriga, och jag hoppas att jag ska åka tillbaka igen snart!
My very first trip would have to be to Coney Island by train when I was about three years old -- with my mom and grandmother. I remember the excitement of the big, fast train and their excitement about he fun we'd have. My best memory of Coney Island was at night (could I really have been three?--maybe I was five or six) with all the lights and sounds--and the Cupey dolls and drum major batons with silver glitter on the ball knob. I loved Cupey dolls so much that I bought one (in plasticized rubber) for Chris when he was a tiny baby -- great excuse to have one near me. To this day, I stop short on the rare moments when I see a Cupey doll in a store. Great memories--great trip--great excitement. Anne Andersson
So Chris, since I was inspired to write a little more than I think will fit comfortably in your comments, I've taken the opportunity to write a full blog post in response to your story and final project, and you can read it on Frivolous Motion. There's even a video (not what you expect!)
All I will say here is my first trip story is about a car ride my family took from Vegas (where we lived) to Disneyland, and ended with a day in Tijuana, Mexico.
For all the gory details (and perhaps, more likely, some general comments about the nature of trip-pery), you'll have to check out the post.
P.S. I know this seems an awful lot like spamming your comments to get some pageviews...but I'm being genuine! And the video alone is worth the click-through, I assure you.
All the best!
I agree with David: poop stories ARE the best!
While I try to remember my first trip, I'll relate my own, er, undie-soiling incident. My family moved from Korea to Germany when I was 3 or so. I guess I was 4 or almost 4 when I started pre-K, or the German equivalent of pre-K. Well on the first day of school I had to pee, but I didn't know how to tell the teacher I had to go. So I just sat in my seat, silent and scared, until I couldn't hold it any longer. I didn't move and kept quiet, hoping no one would notice. They did, of course, and I burst into tears of embarrassment and frustration. Sigh.
Thank you, all who've replied so far. These stories were very entertaining. I guess I'll have to write a second final project about poop stories. I'll entitle my blog: "What's The Poop?" or "Poop, There It Is."
From Isabel:
I am glad to read about your first trip and imagine
that it must have been very memorable. My first trip
on a plane (and I wish I could check this with my aunt
because she now has alzeimers)left an impression on me
because my uncle who worked for PAN AMERICAN AIRLINES
(This is an airline that no longer exists) was allowed
to travel free. Since I was a minor and traveled wiht
my aunt I also, at least so I think, went free. What
strikes me most to this day is how people used to
dress for air travel. They used to wear their very
best and I mean they really got dressed up.
Poop! There it is. Now that's a title!!! It's funny what we remember about a trip taken when we were young, it's not what arrested us as especially beautiful that stays with us but what surprised us as weird or humiliating. Perhaps it has something to do with the underlying fear of going through something new, the first time. But WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING ON AIR INDIA GOING TO SWEDEN???? It's like taking Air Nigeria to go to Alaska. I don't understand.
As a side note, Fiona, who just spent 8 weeks in India blogged about poop as well. She however did not take Air Sweden...
much love, DeRosa
I just now realized that you wanted to share our virgin voyages. My first trip overseas was with my parents and as usual I was the one playing the adult and they were kids going along for the ride. We had a Eurailpass and were late for a train from somewhere French to somewhere Italian, and at age 12 all I spoke were the words "Parlez vous Anglais?" Well we ran onto the train but as we were travelling toward the car where we had our seats, I got separated from my parents and the TRAIN SPLIT IN TWO! Leaving me with nothing but a bag full of hotel toiletries, berlitz guides and a half-eaten chocolate croissant. I burst into a hysterical fit of tears that I thought couldn't happen after age 5 but was comforted by several French people, one of whom responded to my mangled "parlez vous anglais?" with a "Yes I speak English". He told me the train only would be split for only one stop and reconnect in about 3 minutes at which point he would find my seats and my parents. When he did, my parents were not even aware the train had split, my father having stopped at the dining car to get cigarettes and my mother just assuming that if she yelled loud enough I would eventually appear. And so I did. From that moment on however, I never traveled without my passport, ticket and cash on my person. Rite of passage I suppose and yet another reason I am still in therapy.
love, me
Sadly, my first trip does not make nearly as interesting a story as some of the later ones, but I loved it just the same.
My family used to go camping at a state beach near Westport (Massachusetts). I don't remember when we first started going, but I do remember from about age 6. My Dad would pack up the old Volvo with all of our equipment and food for a week, and somehow fit all of us--my mother, me and my two sisters--into the car as well. (His packing abilities are astounding.) I remember sitting on coolers, luggage, and other assorted junk, with a tent pole across our chests. (These were the days before child protective seats and other safety niceties.)
We would be pulled from our beds and set in the car before dawn. Then we would make what seemed like an endless journey (really only 2-3 hours) to the beach. After waiting in the long queue of cars hoping for a camping space, we would get our space--right on the beachfront.
I still remember the smells of salt water and barbeques and the sounds of the surf. We haven't gone in a while, but it is still one of my best memories of childhood.
Chris even came along once, although long after what either of us could consider 'childhood'.
It's in the details...
From Michael's soda and a pretzel to David's dead cell phone to Anne's glittered knobs (humor intended, don't be offended, Mom!) to Kevin's Mexican marionette (read his blog) to Yongsun's question of what's-German-for-pee? to Isabel's eye for style to Steve's half-eaten chocolate croissant to Erica's three-hour tour with a tent pole across her chest.
What do we remember?
And what do we learn?
David said, "It was the first time I realized we were truly on our own, and had to fend for ourselves. No parents to plan everything."
Steve said, "From that moment on however, I never traveled without my passport, ticket and cash on my person. Rite of passage I suppose."
Do we learn more from the confusion in a foreign airport or from the blurb about Michelangelo's David in the guidebook?
It is true, Erica. FAR from childhood. But lovely nonetheless. Thanks for the memory.
How much of it has to do with luck?
David said, "...we ended up charging our phone in a turistbyrå, and found space at the last hostel on our list. And the hostel ended up having a water park and mini-golf course on its roof, so we were more than satisfied!"
Steve said, "...as we were travelling toward the car where we had our seats, I got separated from my parents and the TRAIN SPLIT IN TWO!"
A lot.
I don't think my summer camps as a boy scout growing up in South Italy (yes, we have Boy Scouts too) can be considered traveling experiences, they were more like a non-televised Survivor.
So, I guess the first traveling experience I can remember must be my high school trip to Romania. We were told to be the first western school to visit Romania after the fall of Chausesku, meaning after becoming a democratic republic.
The country was presented to us as a third world country, so we left Italy with plenty water bottles, pasta, sause and cothes for poor children in our luggage. We arriveded in Bucarest late at night and the hotel rooms were so crapy and dirty that we agreed to sleep 4,5 people in the same room for the first night. The day after we complained and the organizers were forced to move us in a 5 star hotel in the middle of the city that had an adults show in the evening and a prostitute servise in the afternoon. Over all it was a nice esperience and I can still refer to that trip as my first time (and that's not only taking a plane)
So I haven't read the other comments but this is what popped into my head after reading the message that Chris sent soliciting travel thoughts...I saw "The Pursuit of Happyness" on Wednesday night and there was this scene in the film in which a mother is carrying her child home and placing him in bed after a long day. It's quite poignant and a turning point of sorts in the story (which I won't go into here) and as I watched it I immediately felt the sensation of being in that position...of being carefully transported up the stairs and lowered into my bed by my father, barely conscious of it happening, at day's end after a long car ride home. And I was thinking that as enjoyable as my childhood adventures may have been there was also something special about returning home.
The first real "trip" I remember was visiting Disney World in the early 70's. I don't remember exactly when, but I was between 5 and 7.
I remember that we stayed in a rented a camper across the lake. Disney had some sort of campground at the time. This was my first time camping as well.
I remember how excited I was to be able to ride the "E-Ticket" rides like Space Mountain, which is still a great coaster. That shows my age, I actually know what an E-Ticket is...
Nicola, that story of your first trip to Romania is hysterical. Please, everybody, take a peek at it.
Anonymous said, "...being carefully transported up the stairs and lowered into my bed by my father, barely conscious of it happening, at day's end after a long car ride home. And I was thinking that as enjoyable as my childhood adventures may have been there was also something special about returning home."
The relationship to home is very important to the travel blogger. It may be the overriding reason why we write. It gives us a point of reference for our new experiences. It gives us an end, for we will be back there someday, when we've given up world exploration, at least for now, to check in, re-group, center ourselves, refuel for that new journey that's just around the corner.
The first trip I remember clearly was to Miami with my older brothers, sister, and parents. Unluckily for the other hotel guests, there was a joke shop right around the corner, and the boys promptly got us kicked out for setting smoke and stink bombs in the hallways and terrifying the elderly guests. "Jaws" had just come out, and I remember being at the beach with the boys and a small but highly realistic rubber shark, which they dug a pool right by the sea for, pushed it by a fin so it sped along, then set a pack of girls screaming by yelling that the shark they'd caught was making a break for it. What a pack of delinquents--great fun.
Chris, I love reading your blog. And I agree with everyone about the entertainability (if that's a word) of poop stories.
I really didn't travel so much as a child. My family took plenty of car trips, but nowhere that I considered exciting. Our annual vacation was to New Hampshire. At the time I loved it--a trip to the beach, woo-hoo! But in retrospect, not so exciting.
What I always wanted as a kid was to go on a plane. I was so jealous of my high school classmates whose families went on winter vacations to warm locales that could only be accessed by airplane. I was dying to go on a plane. But my dad would have nothing to do with it. He would say: "At least if you're in a car accident, they can tell who you are. But if you're in a plane crash, all they can do is try to scoop up a tooth and hope they can indentify you!" That was my dad's view of plane travel. As long as my vactions were being planned by him, we went by car.
So the travel memory I treasure is my first international flight (which was only my second time ever on a plane, the first time having been at age 19). I was 20, the year was 1988, and I was flying to Tel-Aviv to spend my junior year of college in Israel. I was thrilled to be traveling internationally for the very first time, to a destination of my own choosing. I was disappointed to have an aisle seat, but I still managed to glimpse the Alps as we flew over them. I got a lesson in airplane etiquette. I had to get up the nerve to confront the parents of the kids who were sitting behind me. The kids seemed to think it was great fun to take down the serving trays that were on the backs of the seats in front of them and then slam the trays against those seats. After an hour of trying to fall asleep and being slammed awake, I finally asked the parents if they could help me get some sleep by asking their kids to leave the trays in place.
I was unprepared for the landing in Tel Aviv. As the plane touched down onto the runway and taxied into the terminal, everyone on the plane (except for me, because at the time I didn't know the words) broke into song--they were singing "Shalom Aleichem." That was quite a sight. All kinds of people--young, old, Americans, British, Israelis, secular, ultra-Orthodox, moderately religious--singing the same song at the same time. All games, horsing around, etc., stopped at that moment and everyone was focused on singing the song and landing in Israel. Some people had tears in their eyes as they sang. It was a lesson for me in the power a place can have on a person, or an entire people.
My dad wrote to me frequently that year, and he often included in his letters limericks that he had written for me. Here's my favorite one:
There once was a girl from Mt. Kisco
Who wanted to see San Francisco
Instead she went east
On a jet-powered beast
And wound up in an Arabic disco.
What a fun idea!
Well, I think my first big trip was when I was 6 or 7 years old...we went to FL to visit friends who moved away, and then we went to Disney World.
Maybe I was 7, because my parents promised my sister and I we could go to Disney World when she was 5, and we went when she was only FOUR! Whoo hoo!
But, I don't remember much about the Disney portion of that trip. We were staying with friends who had moved...one of them was a 7 year old BOY from my first grade class. He was a little crazy. He even got his mouth washed out with SOAP when we were there. And, since we were only 7, we were allowed to share a room.
The other thing I remember from that trip was that I feel in the pool early one morning. I was fine, but I'm sure that was pretty scary for the adults in the house!
Marian, those are great memories. From the detail of the slamming trays against your seat to the spontaneous beauty of the moment of landing. Amazing. And that limerick killed me.
Jackie, too, remembered small details over the big trip to Disneyland. The unfairness of Michelle getting to go earlier than promised. The SOAP incident, followed by the early morning dip.
It seems we have many formative or, perhaps, influential or memorable moments while we travel. Is it that we've been taken out of our element for the first time (at least in this exercise)? Does that add an additional level of magic/excitement/uniqueness/import to these experiences?
Is that maybe why we blog/journal/email while we travel? Because these new experiences are so far from our usual ones, so new to us and maybe our friends who read our ramblings. Is it the heightened sense of really everything we have when in a foreign land? When everything is new, that we have to re-learn how to communicate, how to navigate, how to flush the toilet (you pull it UP???). That is very humbling. You no longer know-it-all. You must respect and learn from this new culture. You are vulnerable. You are out of your element. You are re-born, in a way.
Are travel blogs a second chance to record the newness of things? Would we have blogged as we emerged from the womb, had we the technology and the know-how?
A friend of mine says children remember their births for about three years. She has asked her kids about theirs and they have broad conceptual answers, but they remember. She is essentially recording their birth experience for them. If they could write, she could have asked them to journal it. If they could type, she could have asked them to blog about it.
Some people say we like music with a beat because it reminds us of our mother's heartbeat while still inside her. Maybe our fascination with new experiences goes back to our very first breath in this new world.
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