Write Inspired by a Travel Experience
Training It - Mike
Stephen stepped out onto the small balcony of the Jalta hotel that overlooked Wenceslaus Square. Prague had been an incredible initial stop on his family’s first ever European vacation. They’d come, eager naifs hauling suitcases the size of campers, seeking adventure in a city of Medieval architecture and pilsner beer. And in Steve’s estimation, they had found it. They, being his wife, Gina, their four adult children, Sheila, Marissa, Mavis and Earl, Mavis’ boyfriend Derick, and Earl’s sidekick, Frank. From hikes over Charles Bridge to exploring Stare Mesto, to a performance of Don Giovanni in its debut theater, to the 25 cent Wenceslaus dogs and beer sold on the sidewalk, they’d enjoyed it all. Now, though, they were leaving for their next stop –Vienna – and savoring one look from the balcony, Stephen wondered if anything in the rest of the trip could be this exciting.
The limo driver pulled up to the hotel early, as Earl and Frank raced back with fried cheese from a nearby stand. Stephen directed the driver to take them to the suburban train station at Holesovice. On arrival, knowing that they would be unlikely to return to Prague in the near future, Gina - always generous - gathered all of the remaining koruna and handed it to the grateful driver before he sped off.
This act of benevolence completed, they began pulling their bags up to the train station. Anticipating that they could be separated inside a station, Stephen stopped the group and pulled the train tickets they’d order out his pocket, checking to make sure that each of the party had their own ticket. As they started up again towards the station and looked for the door to the entrance, Gina noticed something odd. She pointed to the name of the station on the top of the ticket. Stephen’s stomach dropped like an elevator in freefall. Even in this unfamiliar language, one thing was clear. The name on the train station facing them did not match the station name on the tickets. They were at the wrong train station. The station they needed was Hlavani, back on the other side of the city.
Sensing distress from the tones of their voices, a taxi driver looked in their direction and Stephen waved him over where between the driver’s limited English and Stephen’s pointing at the tickets the group was able to convey the situation. The driver summoned them over to his car and the younger contingent hopped in the cab while the others desperately tried to shove eight leviathan suitcases into the drivers trunk, a feat that the driver realized immediately was impossible. He radioed to a friend who soon arrived in an even smaller taxi. The first driver pushed the trunk of his car down in a way that pantomimed closing and secured it with a length of cord. Stephen stuffed two suitcases in the second taxi’s trunk, leaving him and Gina to sit on the remaining two suitcases and Marissa on Sheila’s lap. All in, the taxis shot off with their occupants looking distressingly like the Beverly Hillbillies as they cornered the roundabouts. Stephen nervously checked his watch as they approached the station.
When they arrived, the driver seemed to intuitively know what to do. He drivers grabbed suitcases and headed into a back door of the station. With Stephen and the remainder of the entourage trailing, they raced across the train platform and then hopped down across a set of tracks where the train sat waiting with open doors. Stephen and Earl hopped up into the train car while the drivers handed up the suitcases, dragging each in and bench pressing them on to luggage racks. Between suitcases, Stephen watched Gina come to a realization. They’d given away all of their koruna and had no Greek money with which to pay the drivers. Sheila reached into her purse and grabbed out a handful of bills asking if they would take American money. After hesitating, the drivers agreed. Gina, Marissa and Mavis all emptied their wallets praying it was enough.
Inside the train a communal sign of relief rose to the ceiling as they all settled back in their seats. As it turned out, the train sat in the station for another half hour. But Stephen didn’t mind. He nestled down into his seat, his mind already replaying fond images of the time they had spent in Prague. Vienna lay ahead. They were now seasoned travelers.
Flying - Maya
Sarah had imagined that floating 1000 feet above the earth would feel terrifying. But as she watches the pinks and oranges of the sunrise creep above the horizon, she’s filled not with fear, but with awe. When Josh, her husband (she loves the sound of that!), had surprised her by booking this hot air balloon ride for the last morning of their African Safari honeymoon, she’d been uncertain, to say the least. She loves him for secretly planning what he thought would be the perfect newlywed adventure, and yet romantic was not the word that came to mind when she thought about being suspended in the air in a gas-powered basket. But as she casts her gaze over the landscape below, there’s a sense of calm. The motion of the balloon is barely noticeable - a gentle swaying that’s almost comforting- and the birds-eye view of the African plains waking up for the day is like something out of a movie. Below, amidst the greens and browns of the Masai Mara, she spots a family of elephants grabbing their breakfast from the trees. Zebras, impalas, and wildebeests wander in packs, likely the beginning of their migration towards wetter lands, as the dry season arrives in Kenya. As the balloon drifts over the river, she sees a hippo running with surprising speed across the banks, eager to make its way back into the water as the night slips away. The balloon captain points to a treeline in the distance and tells her that Tanzania is just on the other side. Sarah pulls out her camera with it’s zoom lens, placing the strap firmly around her neck to ensure that it doesn’t plummet to the ground. Staring through the viewfinder, she frames out the line of trees, their tops glistening with the first rays of morning sun overhead, and underneath, a family of lions lounging in the shade. She knows that she’ll never need a photo to remember of the wonder of this morning, but still, she snaps a picture. Proof that she is flying.
The Morning Came as a Surprise - Melissa
The morning came as a surprise. It took a concerted effort for Maria to remember where she was, who she was and why she was there. Weeks of traveling with her best friend Ona had left Maria feeling rundown and homesick. Adventure and beauty had accompanied them through Central America, but the intrigue of this companion had been replaced by the burden of reality. Maria had grown tired of living out of a backpack. She was tired of sustaining on papas fritas and Gallo beer. Her senses were overwhelmed and she longed to crawl into the cavern of her own bed at the end of the day. She craved a place where she could hide from the world rather than experience it.
Maria was frustrated with her thoughts and felt betrayed by her emotions. Here she lay in a twin bed in a small Cabana on a Honduran beach. Her childhood friend was just feet away, sleeping soundly. She was fully saturated. She wasn’t able to sample any more culture, beauty or even relaxation. As It turns out, Maria was not as much of a free spirit as she had believed herself to be. As It turns out, she preferred clean drinking water to beer.
That morning something magical happened. Honduras rolled out it’s opinion of Maria in response. As if to say, “I agree you aren’t tough enough”. It began with sound. It was a tap, or maybe a drip. It was a sound that shouldn’t have been. Maria had become accustomed to being woken in the early, dark morning by roosters or wild turkeys pecking around outside. She and Ona were simultaneously endeared and infuriated by this routine wake-up call. This was different. The smallness of the sound was unsettling. It was a constant and mocking noise of “Still here. Not stopping. Don’t bother going back to sleep”. When she had arrived at full consciousness, she sat up, opened her eyes, and gazed over at Ona.
Ona wasn’t a gentle sleeper. Her blankets were twisted and tangled around her limbs. Her disheveled bed evidence of a restless sleep filled with dreams of a mystical return to Tikal, Guatemala. On closer look, it was clear that Ona’s bed was disturbed by more than just her dreams. Her white sheets were smeared with light brown. Her legs, like windshield wipers, had been fervently trying to deflect the intruders. Thousands of termites were falling from the ceiling, some immediately meeting their death by Ona’s bare legs.
“Ona!” Maria interrupted the cycle. “Ona, get up!” Ona quickly sat up, still in Tikal, she quickly dropped back into her body on the Honduran coast. The friends jumped from their beds as the scene continued to reveal itself. As expected, termites covered Ona’s bed. They also covered Marias, her blankets narrowly protecting her from the infiltration. An unproductive moment or two followed as the two circled the room in disgust waiting for a “real” adult to take charge of the situation.
In the dark, early hours of this slow living, beach town, there was no one awake. With no other options, they brushed off their clothes and stuffed them into their backpacks. Tiptoeing through the ruins, Ona pushed the front door open and the friends found two hammocks on the porch. With the Ocean feet away and termites behind closed doors, they slept until the crow of the roosters.
El Chupacabra - Amelia
One night on Euegene’s family vacation to Georgia, the group decided to stroll down to the beach to watch the stars and enjoy the calming atmosphere of the ocean at night. The house they stayed in wasn’t too far away from the beach, only about a five minute walk. As they started to make their way through the streets leading to the water, he observed the houses they passed, noticing just how different Georgia was from his home in Washington. The most obvious factors are the contrast in weather and vegetation, but as he looked at the home designs and front lawns, it still felt like a foreign place, even at night when details are hidden in the dark. They approached the end of the street, entering a treed area with a cleared path, which would lead to the beach. Eugene knew that he was perfectly safe, being surrounded by at least ten family members, but reason couldn’t erase worry from his mind as he walked through a pitch-black forest. He tried not to think about his surroundings too much, but the path seemed much longer than it did during the day, and he couldn’t help questioning where they were. His family's chatter was abruptly broken by a voice shouting, “CHUPACABRA!” Eugene’s heart rate shot up immediately, but after the initial shock dissipated, he recognized the voice as his uncle’s, and laughed along with the others. “Chupacabras don’t even live here,” said his brother, who conveniently happened to have an interest in the paranormal. “Plus, they only come out to suck the blood out of goats.” They kept walking and talking for another minute, when he began to hear strange noises coming from the darkness further ahead of the group. Eugene began to grow nervous once again. His brother wasn’t all-knowing, and if Chupacabras are so elusive, then what’s to say they can’t live on multiple continents? As the fragmented scratching continued, he gave into his apprehension and pulled out his phone to turn on the flashlight. The path looked just as it had during the day, nothing out of the ordinary. There was one last scratch, and Eugene saw a dark shadow shoot across the ground in front of him, but as he looked down to the origin, it was just a squirrel. He relaxed his shoulders and turned off the flashlight. While couldn’t definitively declare that no Chupacabras inhabited the southern United States, he figured that at least there were none in these goat-less bushes.
