“Turn out the lights, the party’s over.”—Willie Nelson
They say that all good things must end, added the troubadour, correctly. But as with all vacations, the memories linger on, powerful at first, less so in time, but always available for resurrection. This is part of the Great Magic of vacations. First, you create them in your minds, then you joyfully anticipate them, and then there is the actual physical—and often spiritual—experience, all of this carefully submitted to our memory banks for future consideration. Those memory banks are consistently kind, polishing up the Special Times, the emotional moments and placing them front and center on the mantel, while delegating that one-hour wait at the rental-car counter to the dustbin.
We need these vacations, these escapes from the mundane, these Visits to Elsewhere. The best places to go are places we’ve never seen, populated by people we’ve never met, destinations we can get lost in which give rise to thoughts and perspectives otherwise unobtainable. Vacations should push us a little, test the edge of the envelope, free us from some of the usual inhibitions. After all, none of the neighbors are watching. If I make a fool of myself and nobody notices am I that much a fool? And if so, who cares?
Individuals need vacations even if they expect to be lonely. There are few compromises to be made by the solo traveler, every minute is his own and there are often surprising people to be met. I have taken countless solitary trips—spur-of-the-moment getaways to New York, summer junkets to the cooler hills of San Francisco, long, winding automobile adventures through Central Mexico or coastal visits to Acapulco or Puerto Vallarta—always productive, never regretful for the lack of companionship. I got lost on Chicago’s El one time and again on New York’s Subway looking for Yankee Stadium, but learned from the experiences. And as for benefiting from “people we’ve never met,” I was standing on the side of the road in the mountains between Guadalajara and Puerto Vallarta one fine South-of-the-Border afternoon, the victim of a spent fanbelt on my rental vehicle, when a carload of locals happened by. Since this was Mexico, the rescuers merely opened their trunk, selected the correct fanbelt and installed it on the spot, no fuss, no muss. Unbowing to stereotypes, they wouldn’t take a penny for their efforts.
Couples need vacations to strip off the leaden garments applied by the daily grind, to reacquaint, remember the origins of their trysting, rekindle the flame. The day-to-day provides too many distractions, a boring retinue of obligations, responsibilities, unkind gifts which appeared from nowhere to take over unsuspecting lives, to steal time, to erect foolish barriers between lovers. To deny vacations is to forfeit opportunity. Keep throwing those dice on the table and see what eventually happens.
Vacations are revelations full of hilarity, struggle, constant surprises, jokes bad and good, strokes of genius and idiocy, misplaced laundry and searches for the secret to opening your new gas tank. During vacations, we learn far more on the average day than we do otherwise. During vacations, we are allowed to eat terrible food, never work out and gain five pounds. Maya Angelou would have it no other way:
“Every person needs to take one day away. A day in which one consciously separates the past from the future. Jobs, family, employers and friends can exist one day without any one of us, and if our egos permit us to confess, they could exist eternally in our absence. Each person deserves a day away in which no problems are confronted, no solutions searched for. Each of us needs to withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from us.”
Avove, Reverend Randy Nance, second from left, applauds the wedded couple; below, Noah and Siobhan on the Bright Angel Trail.
The People Of Vacationland
When it comes to vacations, no matter how much planning you do, no matter how careful you are with your itinerary, regardless of how many Tripadvisor forums you enlist, there is still one irreconcilable challenge to consider: you must still deal with human beings, some of them a bit faulty, others a considerable chore and the occasional nitwit with a brain placed in “Park.”
I got one of these once when scheduling a trip to Alaska, via the American Express Travel bureau. The lady on the phone took all of my information, arranged the appropriate flights, arrival day hotel and rental car. Unfortunately, not all for the same day. When Siobhan and I arrived around midnight in Anchorage, our appointed rental car desk told us we had no reservation for that day and, furthermore, there were no cars to be had. We did have a reservation for a date two months ago, however, and we had been charged for it. Not the kind of news you want to hear, especially at midnight in Alaska. The American Express woman had written the airline ticket dates correctly but had reserved the car for the date I had called her, two months earlier. Hertz eventually came to the rescue with a much more expensive car, but that wasn’t the end of the problem.
“Good thing we got the car,” I told Siobhan, “at least we’ll have somewhere to sleep.”
She looked at me, horrified. “You think she messed up the hotel, too?”
That she had. We wandered around and found a Super8 motel by three in the morning. Good news, though! The Amex lady got the return air date correct so we were not forced to leave two months before we got there. Siobhan spent the next few days on the phone explaining to American Express why we should have the earlier car charge refunded. We mostly use Visa now.
Top, Bill and Jack Gordon in their Mafia days; bottom, Dawn Sims in a shameless promotional photo for her business.
A Kinder, Gentler World
The majority of the time, and particularly on this trip, the People of Vacationland will prove exceptional. The personnel at the Chapel of the Flowers passed with flying colors, especially Reverend Randy Nance, who performed our wedding ceremony with grace and aplomb, invoking our better angels and reminding us what a marriage was supposed to be. Reverend Randy had probably searched out our matrimonial report cards and discovered us lacking, though he was kind enough not to bring it up. He gave us a little talk after the rites in the confines of his private chamber and advised us that he was always available for consultation in the face of difficulties, which is nice to know. We’re keeping his number for a rainy day.
Photographess Dawn Sims and her faithful Indian companion Nicole were a delight to do business with, always with smiles firmly entrenched on their faces despite our late arrival, difficult to non-existent cell phone communications and the 100-degree temperatures of the Valley of Fire outside Las Vegas. You’d think it was a day at the beach, which it might have been for local kids in their thirties. The photographic result, as you know by now, was smashing and both of us plan to use the girls again next marriage.
Nicia, secret identity of a charter member of Las Vegas’ fabled Glam Squad, had the job of showing up at our room three hours before the ceremony and converting Siobhan into a movie star. No job is too big for Nicia, however, who pulled off her magic in a mere 45 minutes before flying off to her next assignment, leaving only a silver bullet in testimony to her appearance. One wedding guest told the bride afterwards, “I barely even recognized you!” Siobhan is still trying to decide whether or not this was a compliment.
And then there was Wilma, the manicurist deluxe we turned up in a far corner of the Fashion Show Mall. Wilma, a grandmotherly African-American lady of good humor, took one look at Siobhan’s hands, compromised by years of veterinary enounters and extensive gardening battles, and cried, “Oh my goodness, girlfriend, we’ve got some work to do here!” Two hours worth, as it turned out, but the results were outstanding, as was the conversation. I wandered in and became “boyfriend” for the last half hour.
Jack Gordon and I have known one another for nigh onto 70 years. That’s right, 70, many of them spent schlepping bats, balls and gloves through the neighborhood on our way to the B&M Field for pickup baseball games. We hitchhiked to Boston for Red Sox games, spent endless hours wearing out a long-suffering Cadaco-Ellis All-Star Baseball Game and philosophised long into the night on Jack’s front porch while pondering the wisdom of radio rock ‘n’ roll disc jockeys Alan Freed and Arnie Ginsburg. When I asked Jack to be Best Man at the wedding, he said “I’ll be there if I’m breathing.” Many people think of the Best Man as merely an adornment without realizing that somebody has to subtly grease up the ring so that it will fit on the bride’s finger without attracting undue attention. Noone does it better than Jack, a man of endless talents.
A Summer mule ride to the bottom of the Grand Canyon is not for sissies. The saddles are hard, the temperatures high and the customers half baked by the time they arrive at the Phantom Ranch on the ground floor. If the trip required a note from your doctor, there would be far fewer participants. The wranglers entrusted with the health and wellbeing of their clients must pay close heed to each rider, always prepared to intervene before one flops to the ground, rolls over a cliff and falls 400 feet to an unseemly death, incurring very bad publicity and bringing about monstrous law suits from grouchy family members. Noah, a gentleman, a scholar and a man of compassion guided us down the trail with the eye of a hawk and the empathy of a grandmother, then reconfigured the mule train for the trip back, making for an easier ride, a more pleasant experience and a bigger tip.
Siobhan, center back, enters Antelope Canyon with Mary and Dennis, right.
The Happy Wanderers
“Forget your troubles, come on get happy, you better chase all your cares away!”
Remember old Shazam who sat on a throne in a subway tunnel just waiting for Billy Batson and Freddy Freeman to find their separate ways in so he could anoint them Captain Marvel and Captain Marvel, Jr.? Well, I do, so good enough. All Billy and Freddy had to do when trouble lurked was shout out the name of the old wizard—SHAZAM!—and a lightning bolt would appear from the blue (the lightning bolt even had its own panel in the comic books) and instantly convert the puny humans into powerful superheroes with snazzy suits. Freddy was, by the way, a crippled newsboy so we always wondered why he ever changed back, but we’ll leave that for another day. The point is, there are remarkable things out there which can create instant changes in human beings. If most of us can’t find that subway tunnel, well, we can all go on vacation. Scoff if you will but Vacation has powers of its own.
How can we easily forget Marge and Eddie, the Vortex Vaulters, cavorting over the hills of Sedona untroubled by Eddie’s emphysema? Eddie, who can barely make it across the yard in New Jersey, is suddenly transformed into a Kenyan marathoner at vacation time. Oh, you protest, but that’s obviously caused by the mighty vortexes of the area. But is it? How much is Vortex and how much is Vacation? And even if you are correct, aren’t the vortexes part and parcel of Eddie’s vacation? Didn’t Eddie find his thrill on Blueberry Hill and not in Newark?
Then there are Mary and Dennis, encountered on a fine, sunny afternoon in dazzling Antelope Canyon. Dennis had some form of cancer and was undergoing chemotherapy, but you’d never know it. He was smiling ear to ear throughout the canyon visit, remarking on the exceptional beauty of the place, thrilled to be there. I spoke with him after we had traversed the mile-and-a-quarter miracle and were poking around outside the far exit before heading back.
“Vacation is so much different than home,” Dennis offered, unsolicited. “Home is fine, home is necessary, but Vacation is like traveling to another planet. You don’t think about your problems. It’s just ‘What incredible sight will we see today? Where are we going tomorrow?’ There’s no downside, no humdrum. It’s never boring. I realize we can’t be on vacation all the time because then it wouldn’t be vacation, but boy, give me all of it I can get. Everytime I travel, I feel like a new man.”
Listen to Dennis. Maybe you won’t be transformed into an orangutan like Eddie and perhaps your cancer won’t skulk into remission, but hey, who knows? There’s Magic out there. “There’s gold in them thar hills.” Maybe you’ll be the one who finds the new digs of old Shazam, waiting patiently these many long years for another acolyte. Could be you’ll discover a Vortex of your very own. Alice was swept up in a tornado and wound up in Wonderland. John Carter walked into a cave and came out on Mars. Anything can happen. Eventually, somebody wins the cosmic lottery. Maybe this time it will be you.
That’s all, folks….
