Egypt and Dubai, Oh My!
Dear Friend,
My family took annual road trips to Las Vegas for a few years during my childhood. My parents would wake up my brother and me when the moon was still shining in the wee morning. We’d gather our prepacked luggage and climb into a car my parents rented for the trip to spare their Cadillac mileage.
My memory of those trips is vague, but my body recalls their thrill. Nearly thirty years later, remnants of that thrill have ignited wanderlust within me.
I wonder how far it will take me. More precisely, how far will I allow it to take me?
I’ve had an on-and-off relationship with travel. When I was younger, I relished opportunities to explore new regions. Traveling was jalapeno cheese grits: every bite burst with flavor and zest. Traveling began tasting like iceberg lettuce as I grew older–dull and underwhelming.
A recent visit to my father’s home reignited my passion. As I lingered in his kitchen, watching him and my stepmother prepare a take-home plate of her mouth-watering veggie lasagna, my stepsister asked, “Do you like to travel, Ebony?”
I squinted my eyes as the lasagna my father was scooping morphed into iceberg lettuce. Memories of a crowded LAX airport thundering with the sounds of luggage wheels and screaming toddlers ruined my appetite. “Not really,” I said, “It’s exhausting and not as fun as it used to be.”
“Hmm. You’ve never been on a family vacation. It would be nice if you could join us this year.”
My family loves to travel, and every year they go on vacation. Although most of their excursions are domestic–Orlando, Honolulu, Las Vegas–they recently spent two weeks in Spain, visiting my sister as she studied abroad.
I thought, I could vacation with my family in Hawaii, swinging on a hammock between palm trees and sipping a mai tai! That sounds relaxing, breezy, easy.
I asked, “Where are you guys going?”
“Egypt and Dubai,” she said.
The hammock dissolved as I fell flat on my back, mai tai dripping from my grass skirt.
Egypt and Dubai? Is that safe? Why so far from home? I was thrilled sipping a cocktail in Maui.
“That sounds interesting,” I said, “Will you let me know the details as they develop?”
“Oh, I have details!”
My stepsister proceeded to show me her slideshow detailing the two-week getaway. As she projected it on the television, I felt I should be taking notes. Photographs of the Egyptian Pyramids, plush hotel rooms with sweeping views, all-terrain vehicles racing through dunes, kaleidoscope-colored Arabic lanterns, and sizzling steaks trimmed with edible twenty-four karat gold accompanied the itinerary.
I tried to picture myself riding a camel to the pyramids, barely keeping my balance between its humps while sweating in the scorching heat.
My eyebrows furrowed.
Then a rush of excitement zapped me. A spirit of adventure whirled within my stomach, and my passion for travel erupted like a dormant volcano.
I can’t explain where this passion came from suddenly. Perhaps the road trips from my youth planted wanderlust seeds that had begun to bloom. Or maybe my stepsister’s knack for organization and striking photographs enchanted me.
Whatever the cause, one thing was clear: I heard travel calling me, and I was ready to answer.
I’m not sure if I can afford the family trip this winter. But I can travel to places I’ve never been to in this beautiful state of California and document my adventures.
My local trips are humble starts to a grand vision. They may not all turn out to be a bowl of jalapeno-cheese grits, but I bet they’ll be more impressive than iceberg lettuce.
Love and Light,
Ebony
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