Vacation Destinations, Part 1

We've taken Huckle and Sally on some incredible trips in recent years. On many of these trips, our family stayed in fancy hotels, thanks to the "frequent stay" points Husband amasses on business trips. In fact, Husband patronizes a certain chain of hotels so frequently that the staff at any outpost makes a point of greeting him by name and dispatching a special Guest Services employee to guide us to our suite. By nightfall, they've lavished us with wine and chocolate-covered strawberries. Another knock at the door, and they're handing in milk and warm cookies for the kids.

It's a bit overwhelming for a non-fancy person like me. I catch a glimpse of my style-free hair in the hotel mirror or see Sally's orange-shirt-with-pink-sweatpants combo and wonder if the staff is a tad disappointed in us. Maybe they expect more glitz and glamor from their "special" guests.

View from our balcony. Oh my!

Sally and Huckle don't notice. They've caught a glimpse of the pool or beach from our balcony, and soon they're tearing through our luggage in search of swimsuits and snorkel gear. They speedwalk through the gold-toned lobby in their flip-flops, unfazed by the crystal chandeliers and attentive staff nodding indulgently. I trail behind, goggling at the opulence and wishing I had thought to pack lipstick. 

I don't take these vacations for granted. I grew up in a large family for which every trip was a camping trip, often cross-country and always accompanied by a streak of unseasonably wet weather. My dad was the driving force behind these trips, driving us out West with few plans or expectations beyond week after week surrounded by his beloved Great Outdoors. Mom was the long-suffering one. We only stayed in motels when she reached her breaking point, which corresponded with everything we owned -- tent, sleeping bags, clothing, skin -- being damp and starting to smell of mildew from day after day of rain. Our tiny room in some cheap roadside motel would be draped with tents and sleeping bags and take on "that smell" as our belongings dried. We kids were excited but not about dry clothes and hot showers. We were excited because motels meant dinner couldn't be cooked over the Coleman stove. And THAT meant the pinnacle of vacation splurges:  McDonald's for dinner!

Sometimes I think about how different my children's concept of vacation is from my childhood experience. I wonder if, when they're on their own as young adults, no accommodations within their means will match their high expectations for hot tubs on hotel balconies and pools with water slides and hidden grottoes.

But then I remind myself that our vacations are more than fancy beach hotels. We still camp at least once each summer, thanks to Husband and I both feeling nostalgic about our childhood trips. Huckle and Sally love playing with fire ("building campfires") and stuffing themselves with s'mores ("cooking"). They spend their days exploring a stream behind our campsite or scrambling up gigantic boulders. These are happy times with happy (and dirty) kids.

Huckle on a recent camping trip

I also remind myself that Huckle and Sally aren't impressed by opulence of our fancy destination hotels any more than I as a girl was cowed by the another dark cloud rolling over our damp tent. For kids, it's often the little things that make a trip memorable.

What do I remember most of childhood camping trips? Fitting a family of seven in our canoe (two of us were towed behind on inflatable rafts); falling asleep to the gurgle of a stream outside our tent; the enormous banana slugs in Olympic National Park; Dad betting us one dollar we couldn't dunk underwater in Lake Superior; campfire stories and Jiffy Pop popcorn; and of course McDonald's. I don't recall feeling damp or dirty. (Car sick, yes; dirty, no)

Sally in Ephesus

Last year, we spent a week in late November exploring Istanbul and its surroundings. (Yes, Turkey for Thanksgiving. It's too splendid a pun to let pass without comment.) This was one of Sally's all-time favorite vacations. Why? Not because she finally got to see the Hagia Sophia and the ruins of Ephesus. Those were Husband's and my dream-come-true destinations. Sally loved Istanbul, because it's crawling with friendly stray cats who are fed and petted by the locals. While Husband and I strained our necks looking up at the elaborate domes and mosaics of the mosques, Sally was sitting cross-legged on the floor, looking down with adoring eyes at the kitten purring on her lap.

This fall, we took a trip-of-a-lifetime to Africa. Our itinerary included a safari in Tanzania (that ruined us for zoos for the rest of our lives) and camel rides beside the pyramids in Egypt (that ruined us for antiquity museums in the U.S.). It was truly incredible.

Before we had recovered from jet lag, Husband asks over dinner, "Where shall we go next?"

He and I laugh. After all, we just returned from the Mother of All Vacations. Nothing could top it, so why even bother trying?

Huckle looks up from his plate. "I know! We should go camping!"

"Yeah!" says Sally. "We haven't been camping in ages. Can we go soon? Pleeeeease?"

I think they're going to be okay.