It is an entirely different experience traveling with your
parents. It takes about 2 hours longer to get out of the house, 3 hours longer
to walk from point A to B, and you end up having to endure comments about your
“drinking problem” after your first glass of wine. To make this trip a little more interesting- my
father, mother and I were all suffering from some sort of injury.
My father is in no way to be laughed at for being a total
gimp. He has terrible knees, worse feet, and recently had a stroke making every
ailment a little more painful and noticeable. This has caused him to slow down
a lot, yet he will never admit it. It has also made him extremely grumpy. If
you tell him to sit in a handicap seat, he may flip you the bird while screaming
he is not handicapped, then sit in the very seat you pointed out. Perhaps
senility is also one of his issues.
My mother and I are a totally different story. Last year, while home on my R&R from
Afghanistan, my mother fell down the stairs and broke both her legs. It was my
second day home and we were getting ready to go to the wedding of a very dear
family friend. I was upstairs and needed scissors for something, and asked if
she could bring them to me. She had been on her way up the stairs when I
yelled, so she turned around to head back to the kitchen to retrieve them for
me. I am not really sure how she managed
this, but in the process of changing directions she fell and broke both her
legs. I feel responsible for this since I am the one who asked for the scissors,
but she has made me even more the evil child by telling everyone that I had
pushed her down the stairs. I think the worst part is that people actually
believed her! She thinks it is hilarious, I do not. I also think she likes to
milk the attention because she went classy when it came to her casts. She chose
to have one leg neon orange, and the other neon pink.
Mom looking Classy in Orange and Pink
My injury is just another cause of embarrassment for me
because it proves I am completely accident prone. I tore my ACL and fractured
my tibia playing ultimate Frisbee (the embarrassing part is that there was no
one around me- I just fell over on my own). I injured my shoulder last winter
snowboarding. Again nothing happened except that I just fell. But for this
particular trip, I was recovering from a back injury. This again was just me
being a complete moron and tweaking my back while weight training. The only
plus of this injury were the muscle relaxers that I was given which made me
giggly.
When you combine the three of us together, we looked like a
team from the Special Olympics: Family Edition.
This trip had been a surprise birthday/ mother’s day gift. I
grew up in a home that was decorated with the theme of the French Countryside,
with a few pieces of Paris thrown in. I get my love of France from my mother.
For as long as I can remember, my mother has expressed her dream of visiting
Nice, Cannes, St. Tropez, and Monte Carlo. Although we have made numerous trips
to Europe, to include yearly visits of my parents to Germany around the
holidays, we have never made it to the South of France.
When I was 17, I
travelled with my high school basketball team to New Zealand and Fiji for a
summer. It was on the flight home, that I met my German connection Christoph. I
used to have a problem sleeping on planes, and had spent the entire red eye
flight to New Zealand staring at the back of the seat in front of me in the
dark, not wanting to wake up those around me by turning on the light to read.
My walkman (yes, I said walkman) had run our of batteries, so I was literaly
sitting in silence. I had been worried about the flight back and purchased 4
packs of batteries, which I never ended up using because of Christoph.
The flight was
from Fiji to L.A with a stop in Hawaii. On the flight, along with my basketball
team, was a boys soccer team from Germany who had spent the summer playing soccer
in Australia and were now on their way to Hawaii for a week. As a child, I had
always wanted to learn German so I was over the moon to meet some actual
Germans! Christoph, 15 years old at the time, humored me for the entire flight
teaching me words and phrases. As we pulled onto the tarmac in Honolulu, he and
I exchanged addresses and promised to keep in touch. We wrote eachother my
entire Senior year in high school, and when my parents told me that they were
taking me to Europe as a graduation present, I wrote Christoph to let him know.
He lives in a
small town in the middle of Germany, and our trip was scheduled where we spent
our entire time in the east of Germany visiting the family of Sylva, an au pair
who helped raise the children of my fathers best friend. They lived in Erfurt,
which was several hours away from Christoph and his family. I phoned him and
told him that we would be unable to meet, but gave him my flight information
out of Frankfurt for the following day.
As my parents and
I stepped off the train at the Frankfurt Airport, I saw a kid staring at me. We
began to walk up to the departure area to check in and drop off our bags, when
I noticed the kid was following me. I told my parents that it was creeping me
out, and that we needed to move faster. At that moment, I felt someone touch my
arm and I spun around to see the boy and his father. He stared at me for a few
uncomfortable seconds, then said my name. I couldn’t believe it was Christoph!
His father and he had driven two hours to the airport in the hopes of running
into eachother.
I believe in
fate. Christoph finding me at the airport set me on the path of where I am now.
This meeting sealed our friendship and years later, when I decided to move to
Germany to study, his family took me in. We became like brother and sisiter,
his parents became like my parents and mine like his. We built such a bond,
that when my father had a stroke and the doctor asked him how many children he
had, he said two. Confused, the doctor asked for their names. “I have a
daughter named Morgan, and a son named Christoph.”
This summer, my
brother Christoph married a wonderful and beautiful woman in her hometown of
Amsterdam. My mother and father flew out for ther wedding, and planned on
staying for a month, which would include the 4th of July weekend.
My brother and his bride
My mothers birthday
falls on or around mothers day every year and I decided that I would give her
the one thing she had always wanted, a trip to Nice. I bought four tickets; one
for myself, my mother, my father, and my mothers best friend from high school,
Johnny. My friends Sylva, Sydney and
Emma would meet us there.
One word of advice that I can give after our first night in
Nice is not travel in France during the World Cup, especially if you are
traveling with someone from the country they are playing and they lose! We were traveling with our friend Sylva who
decided not to hide her German pride and cheered wildly when the German team
schooled the French (although not as badly as they schooled Brazil a few days
later- ouch). It is also a good idea to not let said person, Sylva, call for a
taxi after such a devastating defeat. I think the operator could tell by her
thick accent where she was from, and refused to send a taxi our way. My poor
father couldn’t walk another step, the busses and trains had stopped running,
and we were at least a few miles from our apartment. Sylva called first and was promised a taxi in
10 minutes. 30 minutes later I called back and was told they would send one
whenever they decided to send one. After waiting another 20 minutes, Johnny and
I decided we would start walking in the direction of the train station in hopes
that there would be a taxi there. We started asking people where the taxis were
and the most common remark was “France lost. Most of the drivers won’t feel
like driving tonight.” Damn
Taxi drivers always crack me up (when they are not pissing
me off). This is not my first nutty taxi experience. I remember one time in Paris when my friends
and I went out dancing. When I say dancing, what I really mean is drinking…a
lot of drinking and a little bit of dancing. And again when I say dancing, I
mean trying to look sexy on the dance floor without falling on my butt which
usually means that I end up falling on my face instead. We exited the club when
the sun was coming up and gave the taxi driver our address. We drove around
FOREVER! At the time, all I could think of was how I had no idea we had
ventured so far out from our hotel! The bill came out to be $100. The next
morning (and by morning I mean 3 o’clock in the afternoon) we emerged from our
hotel for breakfast. We took a left and about one block down the street was the
club we had been at the night before. I have never felt like a bigger idiot in
my life, and if you know me at all, that is saying a lot.
Paris trip aside, I would say Korea was the worst in regards
to shit taxi experiences. When I first arrived, we heard stories about Soldiers
beating up taxi drivers. I was so appalled! I couldn’t believe that anything
could be so bad that you would want to punch a taxi driver. That is, until I
got to Seoul. I consider myself to be a
relatively patient person, although I think my parents will disagree wholeheartedly
on this. I remember the first encounter was near the train station when I asked
to be taken to Itaewon, the area around the Army base. He looked at me, said “Get out! I no drive
Americans” and pushed my shoulder towards the door.
Another time, at about 10 minutes before curfew (yes- we had
curfew in Korea and you do NOT want to get caught out after!) I hopped in a
taxi and asked him to drive me towards Yongson. Knowing full well that we have
curfew, because most taxi drivers in the area are swarmed around 0045-0055 with
Soldiers trying to get back to post, he starts driving in the opposite
direction. When I told him he was going the wrong way, he started laughing. I
ended up having to check into a hotel that night because I didn’t make it back
to post on time.
But the kicker was after a Linkin Park concert. Most of my
other taxi situations were experienced while highly intoxicated. This
particular event I was sober since I was headed to the field for a training
exercise the following morning. My friends and I had met the stage crew for LP
the previous weekend while in a bar in Tokyo and had received free tickets and
partied with the crew afterwards. I was so excited to be seeing another concert
that I really didn’t care that I couldn’t party it up with everyone else, and
got in a taxi immediately after the show. There were two girls waiting in line for a cab
as well, and said they were going in the same direction. I though “What harm
could this do” and said they could join. I asked the driver how much the ride
would cost, and he said it would be around 30,000 won (about $30). I jumped in
and we drove towards my hotel. It took 5 minutes. I looked at the driver and
said that there was no way I was giving him 30,000 won for a 5 minute drive and
handed him 10,000. When I tried to get out, he locked the doors and refused to
open them until I gave him the other 20,000. When I looked back at the girls in
the back seat, they started laughing and yelling “You stupid American! You
pay!”
I need to make sure that you all understand that this was
not normal in Korea (aside from the asshole taxis). I found that Koreans are
some of the nicest people I have ever met (although they have no idea what
personal space is while standing in line). I still keep in contact with some of
the Soldiers I worked with, and had great experiences working with the Korean
Army. I volunteered at an orphanage, and found that Korean kids get even more
hyper on tootsie pops and Reese’s peanut butter cups than American kids do
which I found to be rather amusing. Side note- don’t bring candy to the
orphanages! The staff will not find hyper children as amusing as you might. So
on this particular evening with two mean girls in the back of a cab, and the
meanest taxi driver I have ever met, I lost my shit. I am not proud at the fact
that I screamed at the top of my lungs, roaring like a tiger, and banging on
the window. I think I scared him because he eventually unlocked the door.
Back in France Johnny and I eventually found a cab, but he
refused to take the five of us. I asked him to just take my mother and father,
and then come back for the rest. My mother told him she would show her cleavage
if he would take all five of us. He said he would oblige as long as she didn’t
show her cleavage and we all squished into the back of the car.
I may have embellished the previous paragraph a little, but
I think it is a funnier story this way.
My family before the Taxi frustration
The beaches of Nice
If you ever plan on traveling to Nice, I would suggest
spending a day in the town of Antibes. It is breathtaking! From the main train
station, Nice-Ville, it is about a 20 minute train ride along the coast. There
is a beautiful port where we had our first glimpse at the rows and rows of
yachts that litter the cote d’ azure. There is a beautiful little enclave with
a small beach just outside the city walls where we chose to have a picnic
lunch. We hadn’t planned on spending time at the beach that day, so none of us
had packed our bathing suits. What I love the most about my family is that we
just don’t give a crap! My dad threw his shirt off the second the beach was in
site and my uncle Johnny stripped down to his tighty-whities. “We are in
France!” he screamed. “All men wear
bathing suits like this!” Actually, what
we would find out the following day in St Tropez is that many men wear far
less. My mom whipped out her DDD’s and we spent the afternoon drinking wine,
eating ice cream, and shopping.
Around 4pm we hoped back on the train and headed into Monte
Carlo. This was one of those experiences that I think about before going to
bed. When I was younger, I used to day dream about meeting Prince William and
him falling so in love with me that I would be made a princess. Then that
perfect specimen of a human, Kate Middleton, came along and my dreams went up
in smoke. With new dreams of Grace
Kelley, I arrived in Monaco in the hopes that some rich Sheik would hand me a
million dollar chip and my mother and I could by the adorable apartment we were
staying in while in Nice.
Dad passed out at our apartment
I am sad to say that I did not walk away with any kind of
winnings, but I did get some fantastic photos!
I have no idea why certain things happen to me, but I know
that I have the strangest traveling luck. On our third day in France, my friend
Emma and I decided to start our day off with a jog. I had been eating nothing
but Pain au raisin (raisin croissants), pain au chocolate, and 2-3 ice cream
cones per day for the last 3 days so I had already gained 10 pounds. We were
near the end of our jog, about 10 minutes away from our apartment, when a boy
named Iman decided to join us. We were running along, minding our own business
when out of nowhere this boy with the most amazing afro started running alongside
us. He was drunk and hadn’t been to sleep yet, so I thought he would run for a
few moments and then leave. He didn’t
leave. Instead, he told us how he never runs, is completely hammered, that he
needs a coffee and would we like to join him for one.
“I can’t believe I am
running! I never run! But I am from Africa so it must be in my blood.” He was
dressed in a pair of loafers, jeans, and a button down shirt carrying a man
purse while running faster than us! What
I found to be most hilarious, was that he was high fiving everyone as he passed,
and kept cheering Emma and I on to run faster! His hair was massive and curlier
than mine, if you can believe it possible.
As we turned a corner he lifted up an arm and smelled his
armpit. “Oh dear!” he said while picking up the pace. “I smell like a man! I
love me!”
We ran up to the bakery that we frequent and sat down to
have the coffee. He was 22 years old,
from Tunisia, and had more energy at 0800 in the morning after a night partying
than I do after 13 hours of sleep. I thought he was a very nice young man until
he said something that made me feel like an old cat lady. When I told him how
old I was, he replied with “Really? I hope I am just like you when I am 34!” I
wanted to punch him in the face, which I think he noticed. “No, no madam! That
is a compliment! You look so young for your age!” Emma, being only 25 found
this to be hilarious! This was one of those moments that I never thought would
happen to me. Don’t get me wrong, I have said the same thing to quite a few
people in my life and always meant it as a compliment! Like “Wow! You look
great for your age!” Now, having the tables reversed by a 22 year old who was
young enough to be my kid if we lived in the Middle Ages, caught my old ass off
guard. We finished our coffee, thanked
him for entertaining us on the run, and headed back to get ready for our
planned day at the beach in St. Tropez.
I had made the decision to rent a car while in France since
having one had come in handy on my last few excursions. I would advise against
this. The public transportation (during the day at least) is pretty great and
there is SOOO much traffic in and around Nice. But since we had the car at our
disposal, we decided to take a drive out to St. Tropez.
I absolutely love trashy magazines like US weekly and read
them far more frequently than I would like to admit. My little tradition is
curling up with my magazine and eating a bag of Swedish fish. It is a wonderful
pastime that I look forward to. I always say that if I was Catholic, this would
be what I would give up for lent. In reading these beautiful displays of
journalism, I have noted that St. Tropez is the place to vacation in the South
of France. I can only say now that I
think famous people are retarded. The town is pretty, yes, but there are so
many other beautiful places that don’t cost an arm and a leg to enjoy! Perfect
example: I ordered a bottle of still water. They brought me an evian and bill
for 9€!! That is, like, $12! We were
also charged 22€ per person for a lounge chair.
You may be
wondering why we would pay so much for a chair, and for this I have an explanation.
The town of St. Tropez does not have a
beach so you have to go to the outlining area. We just plugged in St. Tropez
into the navigation so we were on our own for finding a beach. Luckily there
are signs that read “Les plages” for you to follow, which we did. We reached an
area that had a handful of beaches and decided to park. We gathered our gear
for the day ahead (towels, food, and most importantly wine) and made our way to
the beach. We all stopped in our tracks
when we reached the water. Everyone was naked! We had unintentionally stumbled
upon a nude beach and now we weren’t sure what our next move was going to be.
There was penis everywhere, and when the men emerged from the water they looked
like creatures from the blue lagoon coming to attack and I was slightly
terrified. We didn’t want to look like
the typical puritan Americans that can’t handle nudity, but there was also no
way in hell that I was going to participate while with my dad. Plus, I think I
was making people uncomfortable because I couldn’t stop staring at penis.
We meandered
about for a while, my uncle Johnny beaming with happiness, when we saw there
was a little beach club that was separate from the nude side. The only problem
was that you had to rent a beach chair to stay there. So this is how we spent
132€ on beach chairs (we got one for free).
Since my father
was having some difficulty, we decided that we would have dinner near the Nice
train station. We read in Rick Steve’s book about a small Brasserie that was
affordable and delicious. I mention this because I HIGHLY recommend this
restaurant. It is called Voyageur Nissart and it was the best meals we had
during our trip. They offer 3-4 course meals for under 20€ and bottles of wine
for 11€. I had the most amazing rabbit since S.E.R.E school (survival school
for the Army) after not eating for 5 days and finally getting a rabbit that we
killed, skinned, and cleaned with a can of beer we had found in the woods. It
had tasted like bacon, although I think that is only because I had wanted it to
taste like bacon. I am WAY off topic at the moment. Voyageur Nissart- great
restaurant.
Enjoying dinner
After dinner, the
girls and I decided to walk around the old city and have a few drinks. It being 2200, it was past my parent’s
bedtime and they decided they were going to catch a train home. I love my parents
and I usually don’t find them too incompetent unless technology is involved. A few days prior to our trip I had decided to
stay the night at my boyfriend Chris’ house so we could watch the final episode
of “Game of Thrones.” I had set up my computer and TV for my parent’s so they
could watch “Parks and Recreation” and showed them what they needed to do to
start the next episode and expand the screen. We were about 5 minutes into “GoT”
when my phone rang.
Dad- “We can’t
figure out how to make the picture big on the computer”
Me- “Go to the
bottom right corner where the little box is and click it.”
Dad- “What little
box?”
I had put my dad
on speaker phone because it is always funny to hear parents when they are
confused, and thought this would be a nice treat for Chris to understand where
I came from. He was shaking his head and trying to control his laughter.
Me- “Dad, hold
on. I will take a picture of what you need to do and email it to you. I will
call you back in a few minutes.”
Chris had already
closed out GoT and was pulling up Parks and Rec.
Me- “Why are you
closing GoT? I can just take a picture without changing shows.”
Chris- “I figure
if they see Ron Swanson, they will be less confused.”
With my parents finally
back to watching their show, Chris and I were able to settle back in to GoT. Twenty
minutes later we got another call from my dad. They couldn’t remember how to
put on the next episode.
Chris- “Man, I
love old people.”
Knowing full well
that my parents can have a difficult time figuring things out, I wrote out for
them what platform they needed to be on, the direction of the train, the time
of the train, and the stop they needed to get off at. At this point, I felt
pretty comfortable that they couldn’t mess anything up. I was wrong.
When the girls
and I arrived home at 0100 we found that my parents had only arrived about 15
minutes prior.
Me- “What happened?”
Mom- “The train
didn’t stop at our stop. We ended up in Monte Carlo.” This, by the way, was a
perfect example of my mother’s exaggeration. What she meant to say was that
they got off at Villefranche, one stop past the stop they needed. She just felt
that saying Monte Carlo was more glamorous.
Me- “That is
ridiculous!”
Mom- “We saw it
pull into the station, but the doors never opened.”
Me- “Did you
press the button?”
Mom- “That could
be why the doors didn’t open.”
Yup, I also love
old people. But what I love more are the
stories I get while traveling with them.
