Home > Still Traveling > Archives > 2005 > January
January 2005
Spring Break? Ha!
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Paula’s all concerned with spring break plans — and she’s right, it’s really not too early to make plans. But I can’t seem to think beyond Valentine’s Day, especially because of its potential for a three-day getaway. Can anyone recommend a perfect, romantic inn that’s inexpensive? I know a lot of people are willing to pay megabucks for this special occasion, but really, you can have just as much romance for half the price. So, let’s see how low we can go. Where can you stay for $50-$100 a night that’s really nice?
Spring Break: Just Around the Corner
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
The chill of Janu-weary is still with us (although, despite the current cold snap, this hasn’t been such a bad winter so far), but it’s not too early to start planning for Spring Break and even booking reservations. Earlier this week I had dinner with two friends whose daughters and my daughter want to spend a few days in Destin during their break. They’re high school juniors and seniors, but we’re going with them. There’ll be five girls and three moms. Not that we don’t trust them, but — oh, well no need to explain.
Anyway, we settled on the Hilton Sandestin and I promptly booked two suites. So I’m set. What about you? Where are you taking the rugrats or the teens in your family? Where have you been in the past that was fun? We’d love to hear about your Spring Break experiences and maybe we can pick up some pointers on having a safe but fun holiday.
No doubt, if you want to avoid the madness of girls gone wild (and the boys who love them), don’t get anywhere NEAR Cancun or Panama City Beach. Amazingly, though, I was in Daytona Beach during Spring Break last year and — probably because most college kids had already come and gone — it wasn’t a crazy scene. Lots of families, actually, at least where we stayed (at Ocean Walk, which used to be an Adam’s Mark, but is reopening as a Hilton).
And I’d really like to hear your thoughts on whether teens should be allowed to travel alone (that is, without adult supervision). Fact is, most places I contacted don’t allow anyone under 25 to rent without an adult accompanying them (and even then, there’s usually a requirement that there must be one adult for every two (or in some cases, four) underage youth. It does seem like lots of kids get around this somehow based on what I’ve seen.
What are your thoughts?
My Favorite Vacation
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Amanda came up with this topic — then flew the coop! While she is most likely lolling a beach somewhere in Florida, I am left to get the ball rolling on the favorite vacation thing. Trouble is, I never have an answer when people ask me what my favorite vacation was or even my favorite destination. So, while you are all welcome to share your favorites, I’m copping out and telling you about a few of my most memorable trips. There are plenty more, but I’ll save them for another time.
I’ve been to Scotland three times and would return in a heartbeat. I love that place! I love the accents, the music, the culture, everything. I have friends in Ayrshire (that would be Burns country) and that’s where we’re usually based, but I’ve traveled the Highland and Lowlands and in between. A few years ago, after Braveheart, I explored the area around Stirling — fascinating. Also, there’s a wonderful little artsy, off-the-beaten-track town near in the Borders called Kirkcudbright.
Northern Ireland is beautiful. We took the SeaCat ferry from Stranraer to Belfast and drove up the coast through the Glens of Antrim and to Giant’s Causeway and on to the Bushmills Distillery! That was a brilliant trip. The scenery is amazing along the coastline.
I visited the Republic of Ireland two summers ago but didn’t have nearly enough time. Spent time in Shannon, Dublin and in between, but took a special liking to County Clare, specifically the darling town of Doolin, which is known for its pubs, where we listened to fabulous Irish music, sang and raised a pint (or two or three…) Cliffs of Mohrer are breathtaking.
Another favorite trip was to Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. Again, it was the music that lured me, and during the summer, there’s music somewhere every night. I am determined to return in October for the Celtic Colours festival.
Then there’s New Mexico. Santa Fe and Taos were delightful places to visit — I was there in December when it was cool and the farolitos were aglow and the aroma of burning pinon filled the air.
The best-laid plans
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Now you might think that a person whose job is to travel (as mine is) would not make stupid mistakes when booking a trip. You’d be wrong. My husband will never let me live down the time we showed up at the airport on a Friday to catch a flight to Shannon, Ireland. We had arrived in plenty of time and everything was going well until we stepped up to the check-in counter. We were nowhere to be found on the flight I had booked (or thought I had booked). Long story short: Our flight was Saturday. I somehow booked the wrong DATE even though I knew the DAY I wanted to leave was Friday. We begged them to get us on the Friday flight, but, alas, it was booked (overbooked, actually) and there was just no way. To make matters worse, we were outside the cancellation window for the country hotel we had booked for the first night, at a cost of more than $300 as I recall. So, we not only lose a day in Ireland, we lose money. We went home and did not even take our luggage out of the car. Lesson: Always check and doublecheck your itinerary and make sure you are booking the correct dates before you purchase your tickets.
Holiday trip gone wrong
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
“The nightmare trip” is the shorthand my family uses, and there’s no doubt which trip we’re discussing. It’s the first and last time I’ve ever tried to fly during the holiday crush, and 25 years hasn’t made the prospect any more appealing.
Here’s the story, in ugly detail:
We take off from Medford, Ore., heading to San Francisco, then Memphis, on our way to Arkansas for Christmas. It’s 7:30 a.m., and we’re more than an hour late for takeoff on an overbooked flight, a flight that never, ever leaves late. In San Francisco, we run down the concourse to discover the doors to our flight to Memphis have closed. We make the flight, thanks to a kind agent, but our luggage doesn’t.
We land in Memphis in an ice storm and upgrade the rental car to a Cadillac, figuring it will hold the road better for what should be a four-hour drive to Arkadelphia, Ark. Wrong on both counts. We slip along for five or six hours, then stop in Little Rock at midnight, believing conditions will improve overnight. Wrong again.
The next day, ice on the interstate is four inches thick. The one-hour drive to Arkadelphia turns into a six-hour ordeal: We dodge sliding and jackknifed tractor-trailers, and we don’t move at all for long periods of time. Finally off the interstate, less than a mile from the first stop on the family tour, we slide into a guardrail and scrape the whole side of the car. But we look on the bright side: the guardrail has kept us from slipping into a deep ravine.
Three claustrophobic days later, the ice melts, the luggage finally arrives from the airline and I can change out of my mother-in-law’s clothes. We think the nightmare is over. Wrong again.
A week or so later, we head back to Medford, catching an early morning flight from Memphis to Denver, where, naturally, our connecting plane has mechanical trouble. Five hours later, we board a flight for San Francisco, where we’ll catch the one-hour flight to Medford.
We land with relief - nearly home - and look up at the screens to find our gate. Flights to Medford and most of Oregon are canceled because of thick fog.
We might be able to fly in around midday the next day, airline officials say, after we stand in line for more than an hour, but they can’t guarantee it - fog has been dense for several days, about one flight a day is landing and seats may not be available. Or we can rent a car and drive nine hours in the fog. We contemplate these great choices.
It’s midnight when hope surfaces: The airline says the fog has lifted enough in Eugene and there’s room on the plane. Driving three hours from Eugene to Medford is better than nine hours, so we board for the 1-hour flight, then circle Eugene for a half-hour as the pilot laments the fog has worsened and we may have to return to San Francisco.
But finally, we land. We rent a car and creep along I-5 in fog so thick it’s impossible to see 10 feet away. At last, we arrive home at dawn, exhausted, just in time to get dressed for work.
Who said flying isn’t fun?
