Tag: tourism

Tourist Of Lives

I kind of like tourist traps. I don’t like crowds. I don’t like sweating. I don’t like overpaying for things. But I do like seeing the things everybody goes someplace to see. And a good gift shop never hurt anyone. Maybe it is because I grew up in the shadow of Disneyland and now live forty miles from the “Most Magical Place On Earth.”  Maybe it is because the only time I have been out of the country, I went on a nice, safe, prefabricated bus tour. Maybe it is because I do not trust my own ability to entertain myself and others. Anyway, my travel orientation has always been touristy. I have a fine, virtually invisible line between “kitschy” and “tacky.”

When people visit me, I tend to take them to the kind of touristy places for which Florida is known- Disney, beaches, Universal, waterfront dining, outlet malls. I live close to The Villages, which is a retirement city on steroids. It has become its own tourist attraction. I take people through the gob-smacking experience of the themed town squares.

My very dear friend Judy has a completely different perspective on tourism. She and her husband do quite a bit of traveling all over the world. They do some tours but have also done extensive traveling on their own. I’m sure they enjoy seeing the things that everybody goes places to see, but they tend to prioritize experiences that show them what it is actually like to live in the location they are visiting. I must admit; the idea intrigues me. Still, I have always struggled to slip the leash and trust myself to create such an experience. As I get older, I become more keenly aware that the time I have remaining when I will be able to navigate leash-slipping is limited.

A couple of years ago, we went to the Great Smoky Mountains. I thought I was being very adventurous because I booked a mountain cabin on Vrbo. Also, I made the brave decision to drive us all the way from central Florida to Tennessee. These choices were both outside my comfort zone and I congratulated myself on my courage all the way there. When we entered Pigeon Forge, however, I was amazed to find out that my tolerance for tackiness does actually have a limit. The aging sparkle and whimsy on the main drag and the huge hordes of crowds on the sidewalks grated on me. There was a seediness about the place. It kind of gave me the “ick.”

It was odd that the Dollywood, which one might imagine to be the crown rhinestone in the Pigeon Forge plastic tiara, was quite restrained. Well, maybe “restrained” is not exactly the right word for anything affiliated with Dolly Parton. However, the park was immaculate, the décor and theming beautiful, and the crowds were not overwhelming at all. The days we spent in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park and Skypark in Gatlinburg were amazing. No taint of tack at all.

Overall- despite the oppressive vibe of the main tourist drag (consisting of “roadside attractions” junk food, and Great Smoky Mountain made-in-China gift shops)- I left the state of Tennessee feeling that the trip was a triumph of Terri brand tourism. It felt good to have a few adventures mixed into my normally staid trips to see the things everybody goes places to see. And I did get to see the things everybody goes to the area to see- just maybe a little more than I wanted to see!

Recently, I traveled to Vermont to see my dear friend Delcie. I was in Vermont twice before when my goal was to see the sights that people always want to see. I decided that this was the time to try my friend Judy’s Modis operandi- I wanted to see what Vermont was like up close and personal. I wasn’t going to see VERMONT. I was going to see Delcie’s Vermont. My priority was to see her life in Vermont, not the Vermont Department of Tourism and Marketing’s Vermont. Since I had a safety net- Delcie would make sure I made it out alive- it could be carefully controlled adventure.

It was a huge success. We did sightsee. We went on a quest to find the Cabot Creamery store. You honestly don’t get kitschier than driving a couple of hours to see a mega store dedicated to cheese. I admit to insisting on a return trip to the Vermont Teddy Bear Factory. I may or may not have also spent a rather long time in a Christmas store that looked like the North Pole had vomited all over Vermont. On the other hand, we explored a number of places that I doubt figure prominently in any tour book. They all delighted my soul.

We went to the Robert Frost Interpretative Trail in the Green Mountain National Forest. We spent an hour or so hiking through an absolutely gorgeous forest, alight with dappled sun and sparkling brooks. Wildflowers danced in meadows and beneath the canopy. Every hundred yards or so, there was a wooden post with a plaque engraved with a Frost poem. The poem on each post fit what it overlooked.

One day, we took a ride through Smuggler’s Notch and stopped at the side of the road to explore. It is one of the best proofs ever that God’s architecture is superior to anything man can build. Winding through a corridor of the Green Mountains, you see that the walls around you are chiseled sheets of the most exquisite stone. The shading of the stone is remarkable. It is silver and gray, with hints of sage, rust, and garnet weaving through it. It could be a jewelry grade gemstone- all the way up the mountains all around you when you stop at the side of the road. The precise, oddly angular traveling of the stone to the sky is striking, as well.

We drove out to Delcie’s cabin on Lake Champlain. I got to glimpse her summertime life out in the woods. I was instantly enveloped in the peace and beauty of her very own forest. I learned about the difficulties in maintaining this breathtakingly sacred space. I learned about invasive flora. I learned about septic tanks. I learned about snowplowing. I learned about winterizing. I also learned about feeling like a different version of oneself simply by changing one’s environment.

I attended a church service with Delcie. I met one of her daughters and sons-in-law. I loved on her sweet dog Coco. On several evenings, I walked the community track across the street from her home for exercise. I enjoyed the fresh, cool evening air. I reveled in the sweet fragrance of lilac outside Delcie’s verandah. I drank in a beautiful sunset on St. Alban’s Bay while eating a “creemie”- a Vermont gourmet soft serve delicacy. I ate more than my share of delicious food. I came home over-snacked, but I enjoyed it while I was in the moment.

I liked coming home. I love my own life. Still, I am a tourist at heart. I always thought that meant touring amusement parks, museums, historical monuments, internationally famous landmarks, and the all-important gift shops. I find that being a tourist can be more intimate than that. I am learning that I am a tourist of lives!

The Big Crabapple- Part One

Back in 2019, Max and I planned a vacation to New York City for May of 2020. As you may recall, the world wasn’t vacationing anywhere in May of 2020, least of all to New York City. We all spent the spring of 2020 hunkering down in our bubbles. We tried not to breathe when we made our potentially deadly trips to the grocery store. We hoarded toilet paper. We collected large wardrobes of fashion-forward face masks. We called driving through a temporary medical facility to get a COVID test a “date night.”

The hotel we had booked in Manhattan was open in May, but it was too soon for most people to even consider traveling for pleasure. I had a relaxed attitude about COVID, but even I felt faintly queasy about shooting my shot with New York City. Besides, nothing besides the hotel was operational. I couldn’t see the point of being tourists when the only sights we could see would be within the four walls of a cramped hotel room. We cancelled our trip.

Somehow or another, the idea of New York became permanently tangled in my brain with the idea of a deadly worldwide pandemic. After there was a vaccine, after the pandemic waned, after the world started breathing in the produce aisle again… I still became overwhelmed with the thought of another New York trip. It was not that I could not face traveling. I led the charge to re-engage with tourism in November of 2020. It was just New York that paralyzed me. It may be that the whole process of planning a trip to New York City scared me as much as COVID. Once the first trip got shoved to one side, the momentum of my tourist courage shattered in an irrecoverable kind of way.

I was born in the Bronx and lived on Long Island until I was five. I have memories from a few trips when I went to see family as an adult. In those instances, I visited New York City, but I always had a keeper. I never needed to be responsible for any decisions or directions. I just kept both eyes and one hand on whatever family member accompanied me and hoped for the best. I found even that to be scary.

So, what in heaven’s name made me think it was a clever idea to become the designated travel agent for a fun New York City vacation? I blame it on my cousin Raymond. Last year, I decided it had been way too long since I had seen him and his family. His younger son, my godson, was going to be celebrating his 21st birthday in July and I decided to visit them on Long Island for the occasion. On one of the days I was visiting, we planned a trip to Manhattan to see a play. I survived the ordeal easily. The thing is- my beloved Raymond and his wife made it all too easy for me. They helped me select a hotel near them, provided my airport transportation, picked me up at the hotel every day to shuttle me around to anywhere I wanted to go, and provided all my entertainment. When we went to Manhattan, I was able to employ my tried-and-true method of getting around by keeping both eyes and one hand on some member of my New York family at all times. Their generosity, in every way, was almost embarrassing. I certainly did not expect it. I did not want them to feel they had to make that kind of effort again- at least not without me making a similar effort for them in my own stomping grounds.

Bottom line- I was duped. Because this foray into New York tourism was a spectator sport for me, I convinced myself that it was possible for me to do it on my own. Nope. Not even a little bit. Our five-day trip (including two travel days) showed me that I am delusional about my competency in this arena. I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count all the mistakes I made.

My original plan was to use Uber to get to the hotel from the airport and for all our transportation needs on Long Island. We planned to take the train into the city on our three whole days of the trip. I had hop-on/hop-off bus tickets for transportation around Manhattan. In the week or so before we left, I started re-thinking- something that is almost always an error in judgment for me. I noticed that the drive from the airport to the hotel was only 18 miles and I did not remember it as being a bad drive when Ray transported me last year. Eighteen miles, I thought… how bad could it be? I decided that, if I rented a car, it would be more convenient to get to the hotel and, also to get to the train station, restaurants, etc. on Long Island. I checked the prices for rental cars and found a great deal. I made the reservation and convinced myself that I could do this thing.

On the day of our trip, we arrived at the Orlando airport in plenty of time. As we sat in front of Starbucks, I received a call from the hotel. They were calling to tell me that the two-bedroom suite I reserved over six months ago was, unfortunately, not going to be available after all. The hotel assured me it was not a problem because they were going to comp us another room so we would have separate sleeping spaces. Not ideal, but we could live with it. It did leave us with the question of how a room that we reserved months ago could suddenly not be available, but we decided to go with the flow.

Our flight was scheduled to arrive at JFK at 1:00pm. We got there around 1:30, thanks to some random pre-flight taxi-ing around the Orlando airport. While in the air, I received a text from the rental car company. They were cautioning me to bring proof of insurance. No car rental company has ever asked for that in my experience. I, of course, had not packed my handy-dandy insurance card. Still, I told myself not to sweat it; I could probably access my account online and get a digital copy of the card. Then, I kept reading (the text had many, many words.) The rental company clarified that said handy-dandy insurance card was not sufficient. They required a copy of the policy as well. No need to fret, they said, because they conveniently sold insurance at their counter.

Well, fret I did. I felt faintly sick to my stomach thinking of how much they probably charged for such “convenient” insurance. Still, I was not yet in despair. The text gave directions on how to get to their pick-up counter at JFK. After we picked up our bags, we embarked on that adventure. The first stage was getting on the AirTrain out of the terminal. We boarded the AirTrain, despite Max’s protestations that we should wait for the next “less crowded” one. About 843 people, give or take 122, piled on behind us on the already overfull car. I had nothing to hold onto as the train lurched forward, but that was okay because I was unable to move. When we reached the place we were to exit the train, Max made it out, but I was trapped in the horde of people who were paying no attention to my pleas that they “excuse me.” Finally, a lady several layers closer to the door than I took hold of my suitcase and used it as a battering ram to get it (and me holding on behind it) out the door.

We exited the train in front of the office for two rental car companies. Neither, unfortunately, was OUR rental car company. Still, not to worry- of course the cheap rental car company would not have a premium location. I opened the War and Peace length text from the company again. It informed to “follow the signs” to their location. I looked to the left, and I looked to the right. No signs. The text also mentioned turning left and walking to the traffic circle to find their office. We did that. We found the traffic circle. Sadly, however, we found absolutely nothing resembling a rental car office. Undeterred, I thought maybe the right and left got reversed so we retraced our steps and went past where we disembarked from the train. We found another traffic circle. Sadly, however, we STILL did not find anything resembling a rental car office.

At this point, if I had had a single brain cell that was still operational, I would have reverted to my original plan to get an Uber and rethink the rental car issue when we arrived at the hotel. However, I did not have a single remaining operational brain cell. I was hungry, tired, and faintly shell-shocked. I already had a significant case of Travel Trauma. As is likely to happen when infected by this disease, I made an extremely poor decision. I decided to rent a car from the company located right next to the train stop. There was a sign announcing that they had cars available.

I entered the office and joined the line that looked like it probably stretched to New Jersey. Max, who was beyond ready to get on the next plane back to Florida, waited outside the office guarding our luggage. After a lifetime or two, I reached the front desk and rented a car. I rented a car for THREE TIMES the cost of my original reservation with the apparently mythical company of The Office That Did Not Exist. I immediately went on my phone, transferred the astronomical cost of the car rental from my savings account to my checking account, and made a payment of that amount to my credit card. I could not bear the thought of seeing a credit card balance taunting me for my financial stupidity.

The good news? Nobody asked for proof of insurance.

Another minor piece of good news is that the car came with GPS. My car at home comes with GPS, so I thought I understood what that meant. On this rental car, though, there was no navigation button on the dashboard or screen to view the directions right in front of me. The GPS was a tired old tablet with, as it turns out, several different directions apps. It thought even slower than I was thinking at the time. Also, I somehow managed to have several apps going at the same time. I tried my phone but could not get it to talk to me through the car’s tech system.

By the time we accomplished all this, it was about 4:30pm On Friday afternoon. In New York City. On the way to Long Island. That 18-mile trip looked vastly different at 4:30pm than it probably would have looked at 1:30pm. Also. The various voices in the GPS choral rendition of driving directions took us through many neighborhoods that I am certain we had no business being. I understand that GPS systems are programmed to avoid traffic. Avoiding threat of bodily harm might be a good consideration, as well.

The 18-mile trip took almost 2 hours. We finally reached the town where we were staying and me Raymond and his oldest son for dinner. That was the eye of the hurricane… a time of peace, fun, and family bonding. It seemed that the worst might be over.

Nope.

Have a peaceful day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

See Ya Real Soon!

I cannot let another week go by without acknowledging the 50th birthday of Walt Disney World. On October 1, 2021, a baby laughed, and my happy place was born. Oh no, wait, that is what happens when fairies are born.

Well, whatever, Walt Disney World opened its gates on October 1, 1971. I was just 12 years old. Because I lived in California (Anaheim- Disneyland’s hometown- as a matter of fact,) my family saw no great need to sojourn across the country to a swamp in central Florida to visit the new House of Mouse. In fact, there was always a certain, imperceptible disdain for Disney World amongst us original Californian Mouseketeers. We had the “real thing.”  Why would we want to go to the eastern imitation?

At least, that was my parents’ take on things. I think, deep down, I really wanted to see Disney World for myself. When I was in my twenties, my New Yorker aunt and uncle bought a mobile home in central Florida and began to winter in a town about an hour from Disney World. At that time, Disney World only included two parks- Magic Kingdom and Epcot. I went to visit my aunt and my uncle and, nonchalantly (not really) also went to visit Disney World.

I did enjoy the trip very much. I agreed with the party line in my house that the Florida Magic Kingdom was not quite as good as Disneyland in California. Epcot, on the other hand, was so wonderful. I also loved the Lake Buena Vista shopping area. It was not a perfect trip by a longshot. My aunt and uncle were not superfans. We did not eat at any of the restaurants or stay to watch nighttime fireworks and shows. I had brought $200 worth of cash with me (remember, it was the eighties and I was poor. Two hundred dollars was a veritable fortune to me). I remember hiding it somewhere safe. Unfortunately, that was as much as I did remember. Where that something safe was did not make it to the long-term memory banks. My aunt and uncle were fine lending me whatever money I needed or wanted, but every time I drew from that loan account, my aunt made a notation in her ledger (yes, an actual ledger). As a result, I was very aware of the money issue and ended up scrimping on everything. If I did not absolutely NEED it, I did not want to impose on my aunt and uncle. Luckily, I did finally end up finding the money in the airport on the way home, hidden safely away in an eyeglass case.

So, with this background, you will understand when I say that I finished my trip to Disney World with a sense that something was missing. It was a nagging feeling that I missed something. It was not FOMO (fear of missing out.) It was COMO (certainty of missing out.)  I knew my experience, while very fun, was not the experience it could have been.

Shortly after my trip, I began the descent into darkness into my marriage and divorce. Life happened personally and professionally. Other trips, expenses, experiences took precedence over my desire to take an “all in” Disney Vacation. I visited Disneyland and, later, California Adventure at least once a year. I watched all the television specials about the expansion of the Walt Disney World experience with longing but did not do anything about that longing for many, many years.

Finally, in 2003, Max and I made our first trip to Walt Disney World. It was supposed to be our “once in a lifetime” trip. We spared no expense. If we wanted to do something extra, we did it… a character breakfast, a horse and carriage ride in Port Orleans, a hotel with a phenomenal water recreation area. We planned every detail. I obsessed about doing it “right” and not missing anything important. I think the only reason I survived that planning process was that I had a friend who had just spent a couple of weeks on Disney Property when I started the planning process. It was calming to tell her what was going through my head and validate whether my thought process would line up with reality. I made such a big deal over this trip; I became almost convinced that there was no way it could live up to all my self-induced hype.

It did. And more. I cannot describe the feelings that I experienced on that trip. It was nostalgia over a place I had never been. It was a childhood I never allowed myself to have. It was a brainstorming board of exquisite creativity. It was a glitz-a-thon beauty pageant for the senses. All of the feels I had every time I went to Disneyland came rushing over me in some super-sized fashion. The tears fell down my face. My heart expanded throughout my body, settling in an awkward yet familiar place around my appendix. I know Disney pumps in various fragrances to give guests the sense that they can smell comforting aromas like chocolate chip cookies baking. Part of my brain (the part that was not impaired by joy drunkenness) wondered if they were also pumping in some nitrous oxide variant.

After our “once in a lifetime” trip, we made four more trips from California to the Most Magical Place on Earth. On the last trip, in 2012, I bought a very special souvenir. Some people buy t-shirts. I bought a house. When I retired in 2014, Max and I pulled up stakes and moved to Florida. Mickey and his friends are now our neighbors. We visit them often with our Florida resident weekday passes. I know that Disney World has enriched me in many ways. My spirit is always rejuvenated by a day at Disney. My heart is always more hopeful. My mind is more carefree. There is nothing I do not like about going to Disney World- except maybe the trip from the parking lot to the Magic Kingdom. Really, the imagineers knew enough in California not to build a huge moat around the main attraction! Ferry rides aside, Disney World has certainly enriched me. I am also certain that I have enriched Disney. The Disney Corporation leaders are no fools. They sell me a ridiculously cheap annual pass, which is in essence a license to purchase. I have way more than my share of Disney swag.

At any rate, I have to say, “Happy Birthday, Disney World!”  And many more!

Who else out there is a Disnerd? Any noteworthy experiences from the 50th birthday celebration? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a magical day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂