I threw open the hotel drapes and gasped at the view of Hong Kong below. The streets looked like something out of National Geographic magazine. There were people everywhere, cars honking, rickshaw drivers hauling goods and laundry dancing on lines between tall buildings. I called out to Mother, urging her to wake up. “You’ve gotta see this!” She groaned and rolled over. After hours of international travel and a middle-of-the-night arrival, she was exhausted. I, on the other hand, was 16, full of youthful energy and ready to embrace that amazing city. Toto, we weren’t in Kansas anymore.
That was my first international trip, and images of that Asian adventure are still indelibly imprinted on my mind. My widowed mother couldn’t stand the thought of going two years without seeing my newly married sister and her husband while they served with the Peace Corps in Malaysia, so off we went on the trip of a lifetime.
During a stopover in Bangkok, Mother got back at me for waking her early in Hong Kong. She woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to ride elephants at Timland, a recreational park near Bangkok. I rolled over, groaned and grabbed my stomach. I had dysentery, a hazard of overseas travel. I still marvel that Mother navigated through Bangkok alone that day and rode an elephant.
After that trip, traveling got in my blood. I love experiencing new places and like a good book, traveling has opened my mind and helped me better understand our interconnected world.
As a teen, I was awestruck by the grandeur of the Grand Canyon. Later, I returned to the canyon with my husband, Mike, and fulfilled a bucket list dream when we took a six-day river rafting journey.
On a Canadian camping trip with Mike and our boys in the mid-1980s, I conjured up enough high school French to order a pizza in Quebec. The waitress tried her best to suppress a laugh as she listened to me speak rusty French with a Hoosier accent.
In California, I marveled at giant Sequoias and was amazed by the rock climbers in Yosemite looking tiny as ants while scaling the face of El Capitan.
In 2008, I spent a week in Rye, New York, learning to craft inspirational stories with the editors of Guideposts magazine and fellow writers. I made forever friends that week. There was one hitch during that adventure, though. I found out my Midwestern habit of waving and greeting strangers on walks was not appreciated in Rye. New Yorkers are very uncomfortable with that. They looked askance at me – kind of highfalutin-like – as if I was from someplace like, well, southern Indiana.
Mike and I just returned from a family vacation in Door County, Wisconsin. We love the peninsula that is surrounded by the waters running from Green Bay and Lake Michigan. This year, we enjoyed making memories there with our youngest granddaughter. The little ones grow up so fast.
When I was younger, I always wanted to experience new places on vacations, but as I’ve gotten older, I like returning to Door County every summer, where we’ve built up a bank of family memories. Being there is like wearing a pair of comfortable, well-worn slippers.
Traveling refreshes my spirits. Someday, ambitious trips will be beyond my abilities, but I’ll always have wonderful memories to treasure. Everywhere I’ve traveled, I’ve met kind and loving people and a few grumps, too. But everywhere you travel in this world, whether to the next state or across the ocean, people are just people. We may look or dress or worship differently, but we’re all in this together, no matter what corner of the big blue marble we call home.
Sharon Mangas is a Columbus resident and can be reached at [email protected]. Send comments to [email protected].
