The Feisty Traveler - A Quirky Memoir Read online

  © 2016

  Lil Cromer

  All Rights Reserved

  CONTENTS

  Introduction

  Chapter 1: In the Beginning

  Chapter 2: Traveling in General

  Chapter 3: Single Traveling

  Chapter 4: Ugly Americans

  Chapter 5: Getting Lost

  Chapter 6: Alaska

  Chapter 7: North Carolina

  Chapter 8: San Francisco

  Chapter 9: Australia and New Zealand

  Chapter 10: Italy

  Chapter 11: Cruising

  Chapter 12: Canada

  Chapter 13: Mexico

  Chapter 14: Eastern Europe

  Chapter 15: United Kingdom

  Chapter 16: Road Trips

  Chapter 17: New York City

  Chapter 18: Omaha

  Chapter 19: Eaton, Ohio

  Chapter 20: Miscellaneous

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Back Cover

  Introduction

  *

  My travels have never followed a straight line nor any semblance of order and neither does this account of them. This memoir spans the years from 1972 to 2016. Some of the stories relate to when traveling with my husband and some were after he died in 1998 when I struck out on my own.

  My aim was to write about my experiences, the people I encountered and interacted with, not to write a travelogue. I hope to encourage others to step out of their comfort zones and really experience the places they are visiting and the people who live there.

  One of the many reasons I travel is to get away from the stifling heat and humidity in Florida. I’ve been living in the Sunshine State since 1971 and really dislike hot weather causing me to wonder why not move? Apathy must be the only logical explanation.

  Every time the last page of the calendar is torn off, I realize it’s one year closer to being unable to travel. This energizes me to plan a trip or two for the upcoming year. My mom used to say, “You can’t have fun all the time,” to which I replied, “why the fuck not?”

  I’ve been privileged to visit every state in the union, Mexico and all provinces in Canada, with the exception of Newfoundland, as well as many countries in Europe and Australia and New Zealand. Cruising provided visits to many Caribbean Islands and some cities in South America.

  I entered this world crying and intend to leave it laughing. Traveling keeps the laughter coming, like the following experience on my very first trip.

  The love of travel has been with me as long as I can remember, though my first trip wasn’t until I was twenty years old — a trip to Florida with the husband from my starter marriage, which lasted three years. This trip was surreal! We left Chicago early April in 1967 for a honeymoon in Ft. Lauderdale, or Ft. Liquordale as we’d heard it called. The top was down on our green 1965 Oldsmobile as we sailed down I-95 smelling the salt air anxious to lie on the famous beach. We exited then drove down A1A looking for the hotel we’d booked on the strip. Couldn’t wait to change into my new bikini. Barely out of my teens my body cried out for a bikini. We spread out on the gorgeous white sand sipping something with rum, little paper umbrellas peaked above the rims of the glass as we enjoyed our new found freedom and blossoming love. Hubby warned of sunburn, suggested Coppertone, but I knew better. Wanted to show folks back home a great looking tan. The fun continued with dinner, dancing and drinking as if I’d just entered a magical world.

  The next morning I could hardly move, my skin resembled a pomegranate and burned like a jalapeño, especially my ample breasts. Without saying, “I told you so,” hubby went out for aloe lotion which he generously applied to my tender skin. He advised I keep applying it as he had a surprise in store that night.

  I stayed out of the sun the rest of the day and after a shower it was time to get ready for the “Big Surprise.” Turned out he’d bought two tickets to a Frank Sinatra concert at the Fontainebleau Hotel in Miami Beach. It was fortunate I’d packed a strapless evening gown because it was the only dress that didn’t hurt to wear. Old Blue Eyes was in rare form — crooning along with “My Way,” I felt like a princess! Since I moved to Florida in 1971, folks continually ask why my skin is so white!

  Throughout this travel memoir, you’ll note a possibly distressing lack of history and for good reason. I’m not now, nor was I ever, a history aficionado. But I do appreciate some odd facts of history, many that have been swept under the proverbial carpet, like the Pope Joan item in the chapter 10, as well as other weird tidbits.

  Chapter 1

  In the Beginning

  *

  Travel makes us modest — you see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.

  If I have one regret in this world, it’s not keeping a journal when traveling with my late husband during the years between 1972 to 1996. He was the one primarily responsible for my love of adventure; the man never met a stranger and that rubbed off on me. Each year when kids went back to school, we would leave Florida, driving wherever the spirit moved us. We looked for a new golf course to tackle, places that served home cooking, and for the kinds of folks Charles Kuralt met and wrote about. Like all travelers, I have seen more than I remember and remember more than I’ve seen.

  The first time we set out cross country to San Diego I was like a kid in a candy store. The one and only vacation my family ever took when I was a kid was a trip to Virginia Beach to visit relatives. I can still remember the huge semi truck tire inner tube we piled in and drifted in the Atlantic Ocean. Lots of kids today have been to Disney World and numerous other places before they can even walk.

  I’ve had a lot of good years in my life, but if I had to choose one it would be 1972, the year of my twenty-fifth birthday. It was the second year living with my husband-to-be, Hal. Already retired, he loved to travel.

  So, off we went westward, traveling at a leisurely pace. This was all new to me, so the learning curve was a huge one. For example, I was born and raised in a small town in Indiana where everyone, including my parents, even some priests, used “shit” freely when communicating. Hal decided to put a tin can in the console between the bucket seats in our Camaro when we set out on our trip out west. If either of us said “shit” during the four month trip, a quarter would go into the can. Needless to say, most of the quarters ended up being mine. But it did break me of the habit.

  Another memorable, but not pleasant event dealt with reading maps, something I was unaccustomed to doing. After a motel layover, Hal would take the wheel then when we’d get to a crossroad he’d hand me the map and asked what exit to take. I became so frustrated I threw the map back at him suggesting that we could have looked at the map in the motel before getting on the road.

  Our first major stop was New Orleans, a vibrant, noisy, dirty city. I left my wallet in a gift shop and luckily a customer turned it in. In my opinion, some of the worst drivers in the country live in Louisiana. Next we stopped in Texas. Since it’s nearly 900 miles from the east end to the west end of the state, we were there several days. I remember walking under the city of San Antonio which boasts a river walk, in awe of the architecture as well as the numerous restaurants and shops. Next we toured the gorgeous hill country along the Pedernales River where President Lyndon Johnson grew up. The home cooked food in the numerous small German towns was memorable. Our next stop was Arizona, which I found too hot and stifling. After several days in the car Hal decided we needed to walk the golf course rather than take a cart. It was pleasant at 9:00 but as the day went on the heat intensified. About noon, I could go no further and plopped under the meager shade of a dinky palm tree and waited until Hal came back for me in a golf cart. Finally we made it to ou
r destination, San Diego.

  Hal had cousins living in San Diego so we rented a nearby apartment and visited them often as well as toured the beautiful city. San Diego could have the most perfect year round climate in the country. Their world famous zoo fascinated me; it was built into the sides of hills and canyons thus eliminating many cages.

  But the real reason this was my favorite year came when Hal offered me a choice of traveling to Mexico for a month or two or flying to Hawaii. At first I thought I misunderstood — Hawaii had been a dream of mine since my teenage years.

  Flying over the Pacific Ocean on a jumbo jet had my stomach loaded with butterflies. Before we landed in Honolulu, after a nearly six hour flight, the stewardess came through the plane and gave each of us a stark white washcloth dipped in hot water for cleaning our faces. Then when we deplaned, beautiful girls placed leis, made of exotic multi-colored flowers, around our necks. I gawked at the landscape during the cab ride to a high rise hotel right on the Ala Wai Canal which was six blocks from Waikiki Beach.

  I could go on and on describing the magical two month visit in Honolulu but will only hit a couple of highlights. There was a shortage of toilet paper due to a longshoremen strike, so folks were hoarding it. We had to get up at 6:00 a.m. to watch a football game. It costs $12.00 to make a short phone call to the mainland. Our next door neighbor was a visiting professor from China. Each day I flirted with his four year old son out on the balcony. The Hawaiian desk clerk at our hotel invited us to a pancake supper at his church one night and treated us like royalty. Our table was set with fresh flowers, fresh fruit, real china and silverware. Tired of taking buses to get around the island, we bought an old 1958 Chevy with rusted floor boards and windows that didn’t roll up for $75.00 from a military man leaving for the states. We drove all over the island in that clunker and then sold it for $35.00 when we were ready to return to San Diego.

  On Easter Sunday we ate brunch at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, an iconic pink building on Waikiki Beach, which dates back to 1927. I bought a green flowered dress Mumu for the occasion and felt like a queen. After a sumptuous meal, we were standing outside the main entrance people watching when a busload of Japanese tourists pulled up. One gentleman stepped off the bus into a small puddle of water. He moved to the curb, snapped his fingers and pointed to his shoe. Couldn’t believe what I witnessed next: a woman, I’m surmising his wife, knelt down, opened her purse, removed a handkerchief and wiped off the man’s shoe! My husband with a big smirk on his face said, “Pay attention Lil!”

  But the most impressive goose bump inducing place was Pearl Harbor. While standing on the USS Arizona memorial you suddenly realize this is the grave of nearly 1200 officers and crewmen. Oil is still bubbling up to the surface.

  The drive back to Florida, while enjoyable, can’t compare to the drive out there and the visit in Hawaii. It’s a year that I will never forget!

  We returned to San Diego several times, but the first time will forever remain etched in my memory bank, unless my brain turns to oatmeal, which I’m trying to avoid.

  Long about 1978, while in San Diego again, Hal asked if I wanted to get married. We’d been living in sin for years, so I wondered why now. My theory was that poor Hal was afflicted with that horrible guilt Catholicism bestows on its flock. Since his starter marriage lasted one year, he believed the dogma that he was not entitled to receive the sacraments after his divorce. Searching and searching he found a liberal thinking padre in Old Town and arranged for our marriage. It’s a good thing we took no photos since I was dressed in jeans and sneakers.

  While Hal served in the US Air Force during WW II, he bombed the Germans, the Italians, the Hungarians, the Austrians and maybe the French, which could be one reason he was reluctant to take me to Europe, even though I asked on a regular basis. His answer was always, “Lil, your unfiltered big mouth would get us in trouble over there.” So our travels were confined to Canada, Mexico and the US.

  In 1994 I should have realized something was going on with Hal, but my head was stuck in the proverbial sand. He suffered a stroke right after we returned from this trip. We packed up our trusty Chrysler minivan and started out from Florida on a two week vacation with our eight year old nephew Brandon in tow. This road trip turned out to be the vacation from hell! The itinerary included stops in Kentucky, Indiana, Wisconsin, Tennessee and North Carolina.

  Our first stop was in Lexington, KY where we dropped off an antique clock for neighbors. Next we went to Indiana to my mom’s place where we dropped off Brandon and continued on up to Wisconsin to visit cousins in Eagle River. After a little fishing, drinking and visiting we traveled back to Indiana to pick up Brandon. My poor mother was beside herself, her patience stretched thin due to Brandon’s lack of discipline. I piled us back into the van and we headed south intending to stop in North Carolina for a few days. While in Tennessee we hit a rock slide and were stuck in traffic — if seemed like forever. While I sat behind the wheel fuming, the two “boys” were playing in the back of the van. When we arrived in Chattanooga, we stopped for the night. While unloading the van, I noticed a pierced bottle of motor oil which had leaked all over the place; Brandon said they were playing soldier. To top it off, Hal had an accident in his pants. I stripped him, put him to bed for a nap then took Brandon to the laundromat. I questioned my sanity for making the decision to take him along on this trip. Turned out there was a little ray of sunshine — the laundromat was called Suds and Duds and I enjoyed a cold beer while doing the laundry.

  The next day we pulled into Franklin, NC where we’d summered for many years, got a motel room and relaxed around the pool. Brandon and Hal were all wound up. When we got back to the room, Brandon jumped from one bed to the other laughing and shouting. At the end of my rope, I swatted him and threatened to skip the gem mining the next day and head back to Florida, which we did a couple of days later.

  Chapter 2

  Traveling in General

  *

  I haven’t been everywhere but it’s on my list

  There may be an anxiety, a kind of intimidation that the place you’re going to visit may make you appear like a fool because you don’t know certain things about the culture. Also, when you travel you’re in a place where you don’t have a social network, which means you are on your own and very much at the mercy of strangers. Not that they’ll necessarily victimize you, they’re simply strangers. You don’t know who gives good advice and who gives bad advice. It’s been my experience that most folks will bend over backwards to give good advice, like the two men in NYC who could barely speak English trying to help me decipher a map and give directions. Or the two old guys in North Carolina who set me back on course when I came off a logging road which I inadvertently got on in the dark. The only bad advice came from a big football player type sporting lots of jewelry in Manhattan who purposely directed my girlfriend and me to a pizza place several blocks away that was out of business.

  I also ignored my mother’s admonition about not talking to strangers, and what fun! Can you imagine traveling and not talking to strangers? Talk with people. Behave as if you’re at a party. It’s the party of life, you’re expected to mingle. You’ve got to be in shape to travel. I don’t want to brag but I can still wear the same earrings I wore in high school.

  At this stage of my life I want to do the things that I enjoy the most and be with people whose company I enjoy. I want to go on traveling to different countries while I still have the time, the money and the health. Several years ago, while visiting my wheelchair bound octogenarian Uncle John in the middle of relating an interesting travel story, he said, “If there’s one thing I regret is that your Aunt Marge and I didn’t travel more when we were able.”

  I vowed there and then that I would not let that happen to me, so I replied, “Uncle when I’m old and maybe sitting in a wheelchair, I’ll be thankful that I traveled when I could.” Twenty years from now you’ll be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you
did.

  When traveling you need to decide if you want to be a traveler or a photographer. I bought an inexpensive point and shoot Nikon that takes decent photos. It’s been my habit to take twice as many notes as photos.

  To tour or not to tour, that is another question. I’ve found it convenient to take a tour and not worry about any of the plans. The “Buckshot” tour is my favorite; it goes all over but doesn’t penetrate deeply. Sort of like some guys I’ve known over the years. Kind of gives you an overview so you can get the flavor of the place. The tours I take leave plenty of free time for me to wander away from the group to explore and meet the natives. You can be sure there will be at least one whiner on every tour and at least one know-it-all! You’ll hear about some of these folks in the chapter on Ugly Americans.

  Travel with curiosity. It’s not how far you go, but how deeply you go that mines the gold of experience. For example, while in Ocala, FL looking at the beautiful horse farms, I stopped in a restaurant for a late breakfast. Chatting up the table next to me, I discovered the family owned one of the more famous breeding farms. After breakfast, they invited me to tour their farm. If I won the lottery tomorrow, which would be most difficult as you have to buy a ticket to have a chance, I’d buy a horse farm in Ocala, not for breeding but for keeping horses. It would bring me great pleasure to have a place I could take kids as well as friends just to ride and enjoy life.

  The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page. Several of my friends are content in their homes and have no desire to travel. They have a difficult time understanding what motivates me to seek new places to travel to. My answer is because each trip is pregnant with possibilities, new people to meet, and novel adventures to experience. Never one to be shy around strangers, I relish having a captive audience, whether flying or on a ship. The willingness to experience the excitement of making new friends is a great motivator.