February 26, 2008

Every time we take a trip, I come back exhausted. I start regretting ourdecision to travel during the drive to the airport – on the day of departure. Inevitably, we are starting out late. I usually have not eaten or showered. I am frequently packing curbside as we are unloading the car.

By the time we get through security I am sweaty and disheveled, with three bags hanging from my neck, trying to get shoes on the kids, while my husband is being strip-searched by security because no matter how sweetly he smiles, the man just LOOKS suspicious.

Our recent trip was basically status quo, but with a twist. We flew to Honolulu, grabbed a cab, and headed for the port. We were going on a cruise! The idea of cruising has appealed to me in many ways, especially the all-you-can-eat aspect. But there is one fairly significant drawback. I get seasick. I get really, truly, terribly seasick. The ferry to Molokai will forever be “The Vomit Comet” in our family. So taking a cruise was a risk.

Another risk – taking the children.  Both kids are pretty well traveled. Each child was making transpacific flights before they were eight weeks old. Both have passports, and have stayed at resorts all over Hawaii, the U.S. and Mexico. Unfortunately, both of them also infinitely prefer to be in bed watching cable TV (which we don’t have at home) then sightseeing or eating in restaurants. 

The defining moment in my son’s traveling life was when we made the trek to New York City for Thanksgiving. The trip required 24 hours of travel by planes and trains and cars.  We arrived after midnight in Manhattan, checking into a glamorous downtown hotel with a bouncer at the door and a thriving club scene. I could barely hear the front desk clerk during our check-in. The hotel was owned by Ian Schrager, who was an also owner of the venerable Studio 54 – and this was as close to that club as any of us are going to get these days.  It was pretty intense – neon lighting, crazy outfits and young celebrities were all prominently on display in the lobby.

After wedging our bags into the tiniest hotel room imaginable, we  wandered downstairs with Max in his footie pajamas, to have a late night snack with the glitterati before going to bed. After all, it was only 7 p.m. in Hawaii!
I figured, at the very least, it was a good photo op. He was a big hit with the ladies. The next morning we were up and standing on the curb in time for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. I was thrilled – this was a lifelong memory for him, what a great experience, how many other kids from Hawaii would experience this?  And suddenly, about 15 minutes into it, Max turned to me and from his perch high on his father’s shoulders leaned over and said… “Let’s go back to the room and watch this on TV.”

I should have learned my lesson right there and then. But, a glutton for punishment, I continued to travel, adding his sister to our troop of gypsies. And this latest trip, I convinced myself, was going to be different. After all, this trip was for THEM! On the ship, there would be a kids club for them to play in from morning until night. And then, Disneyland, the embodiment of every child’s dreams waited at the end of the cruise! Over-priced, over-hyped, oversized! Cartoons and colors everywhere! And even in the face of that excess, Max stayed true to form.
We spent more time then I ever thought possible in our tiny, windowless inside cabin. And then, from virtually the moment we arrived in the theme park, Max began asking when we were going back to “the resort.”  No No! I chirped, we are spending the Whole Day Here! And so began two full days of whining, complaining about waiting in lines, begging to go back to the room to play with Legos, and wondering when we were leaving.

And so, blessedly, after those two days, we loaded up the car and headed south. Before we had even gotten on the highway, Max leaned over and said “aren’t we going to Disneyland today?” HAH! Fat chance, little dude, I am not falling for that again! No no, we are going to THE ZOO. So we drove to the San Diego Zoo, which was another adventure in-the-making, or so I hoped. I was smart this time, I interspersed the long walks between exhibits with rides on the tram and the double decker bus. We got snacks, and bought souvenirs, and we left early... a truly successful day!

We followed up this big day with a good nap, and then – refreshed – we headed out for dinner in Little Italy. I could write pages about the fresh pasta, the amazing sauces, the tender meat, the glorious vegetables… and this entire column could be about the contents of their pastry case. Suffice to say, we ate well, I jumped off the wagon and enjoyed a nice glass of wine, and then we took a box of desserts back to the hotel “for later.” In typical fashion, our last night was the best, the one we are still talking about – and a perfect illustration of how I get suckered into taking another family vacation in the future.

You would think those glorious memories would be completely erased by our horrific departure the next morning. That I would remember THAT portion of the trip, and wisely swear off any future excursions. For instance, you’d think the part where we woke up and realized no one had set the alarm would stick in my mind. Or throwing our possessions into plastic grocery bags and running for the car in a panic – forgetting to check out of the hotel.

Maybe I would remember returning the rental car without filling the gas tank, and paying an outrageous penalty. Or learning – too late – when my husband dropped me off with all of our bags at the curb, that there was no curbside check in. Perhaps the part about checking in the bags only to realize my husband still had the car seats – and their storage bag was in the trunk of (you guessed it) the rental car. Or going through security and having our son’s bag checked, and a beloved souvenir confiscated because it contained water, and he could somehow break that toy open and use the water to create… well, I’m not sure what he could have created. Anyway, for once it wasn’t my husband that was held at security, but my seven-year-old. Times, they are a changing. But even after all of that. Even after running for the gate and getting in the end of the line to board the plane. Even when we found ourselves not on the direct, non-stop flight in the first row, but the very last row of a flight that was headed to Kona. Even when we realized that the overhead bins were filled with equipment for the flight attendants… we still had a great flight home. This was helped considerably by my presence of mind, when running out of the hotel room, to grab the box of pastries from the night before. Because folks, there is a lesson here.
A cannoli makes everything better.

Vanessa Ghantous