The travel motto of my parents, if they’d had one, would have been, “Explore what you can with what you’ve got.” Translation; with whatever vacation days, gas money, and peanut butter you can scrape together, go and see something you’ve never seen.
My parents were immigrants to the states, one was Asian, the other European, but both curious, education-oriented people. My dad was a teacher during the week and a minister on the weekends. We had summers, a station wagon, and access to the highways crisscrossing the country. On the last day of school we’d pack up 5 people, 3 dogs, and an epileptic gerbil to become summer nomads in search of national parks, mountain vistas, and any building with the word “museum” on the front.
We lived in the center of the country, St. Louis, Missouri. My dad would ask if we should head to the Gulf, Dakotas, Pacific or Atlantic. Then we drove until the car broke down, which was often, sometimes living in the mechanic’s parking lot for days until the part arrived. We never went to restaurants, but ate buckets of peanut butter and discounted dented canned goods. Hotels were also beyond our budget. We slept in the car, which sometimes looked like a strange road-side octopus with legs stretched out various windows.
Those hot summers in the car with the windows down, singing songs in four-part harmony, reading through boxes of perpetually overdue library books, wondering what view I’d have with my next sandwich, was when my love of world exploration began. It’s no surprise that unconventional travel not only doesn’t scare me off, but leaves me feeling a bit nostalgic… and wanting a peanut butter sandwich to go with my view.