What’s your trademark travel ritual?
Maybe you tour the legislative buildings in every province, state, or country you visit. Or you rate hotel java—the winner being the one that most makes your tongue twist in on itself. Or perhaps you aim to a find a bobblehead with the most outrageous updo to add to your collection.
My middle sister purchases a piece of art, usually a painting, from everywhere she visits. Her home is doused in fun, funny, and sometimes outrageous stories from around the globe.
“Collecting is the sort of thing that creeps up on you.” Paul Mellon, art collector, philanthropist, and horse breeder
Do you have something you amass when away?
I have three. Maybe more if you classify the hunt for exceptional coffee and unique cocktails, but let’s stick to this simple trio for now.
1. Merry Ho Ho Ho
Knowing that I’m a wee bit of a Grinch, this one may surprise you. The goal: acquire an ornament (or something that can be used as one) that represents the location or trip.
For example, in Cuba, I found a wooden car keychain to remind us of hanging our elbows out the side of a 1950s Plymouth “almendron” taxi. Honestly, though, I’m usually rushing at the end of the trip, scouring the airport for something, anything that will somehow dangle from pine branches.
2. Rock On
“Even the smallest of stones can trigger vivid recollections.” Hugh Copland, geological engineer and rock collector
Anyone who has looked past cobwebs and gotten up close and personal with any of my plants will know that I’m a rockhound. Littering the base of my jade, succulents, and dolphin plant are enough rocks to ground a Cessna.
I should get smart like my youngest sister and label them. Maybe then I’d recall which was deviously pocketed in Pompei (a no-no which apparently induces a curse, yikes) and which dusty chunk was once part of the Berlin Wall.
3. Highway to Hell
“It’s not a real trip until you’ve scared yourself!” Mark’s mantra
The last custom isn’t an object but a regular phenomenon.
On every trip, we seem to end up on an unplanned off-road experience better left unmentioned when handing back the rental keys. Whether we’re on the east side of Barbados or the east coast of Newfoundland, we always manage to discover the not-quite-right way to go.
This story features not a hire-a-car but my then brand-spankin’ new VW earning her stripes on our return home from our Cross Canada Tour.
The Crazy British Columbia Shortcut
Along with 20 dolled-up bikers, we stopped for gas in Princeton, British Columbia. It was late afternoon on Friday, August 5, and our bellies were begging us to stop for dinner and the night in Kelowna, which was about two hours away.
“There’s a shorter way that will save us about 50 kms,” one of us said. I’m more than willing to take the blame, though I honestly don’t recall who first eyed up the almost-straight line on the map between Princeton and Kelowna.
It won’t surprise you to discover that the shortcut took us twice the time. We cheered when the speedometer hit 30km an hour—but that speed barely lasted as long as our animated hurrah. Most of the way, we were lucky to hit 20.
The width of the gravel got smaller, and the potholes got bigger.
At one point, the middle of what could loosely be called a road was a crater wider than our vehicle and almost as deep. Some considerate suckers had deposited an actual tree into it. This “warning” was the height of a flagpole and still sprouting leaves. As we eased around it, we sent up loud prayers that my brand-new baby Euphoria wouldn’t spend the rest of her days at the bottom of the murky mud swamp lining the edge.
“At least we’re bound to see some cool wildlife,” my Pollyanna voice singsonged once the immediate danger was in the rearview mirror. I crossed my fingers, hoping for a bear or an elk or, at the very least, the butt end of a hawk.
Spoiler alert: We didn’t see any of those creatures. We saw a single jack rabbit, which appeared to be in such shock at human presence that it stood perfectly still and practically waved to us as we passed by.
The last few kilometres of the trek almost scared away our hunger. As we careened down loose gravel only inches wider than our vehicle, I imagined spitting out the window and watching it nosedive into the canyon below. Our knuckles were a lot less white when we arrived in Kelowna, the western city that boasts over 300 sunny days a year.
We were more than ecstatic to sit our butts down on the patio at Okanagan Golf Club’s Table 19 and admire the view of Lake Okanagan, the 18th hole, and the mountains in which we were no longer driving.
What about you? Are there certain experiences that keep happening in Groundhog Day fashion or a themed souvenir for which you nose about? I’d love to hear about it in the comments below!
Read about our near-death driving experience on the Monkey Trail in Costa Rica here:
Find out here why my car’s called Euphoria.