Last New Years' Eve, between reading really depressing non-fiction and watching clips of the movie, "Gravity," I decided that I needed to do at least one, courageous, adventurous something this year. Getting a passport and going somewhere, anywhere, would be the courageous, adventurous thing. Six months later, with the year half gone, I took a really lousy passport photo and headed off to the post office to start my journey being a courageous and adventurous person.
At first, I wanted to go to Paris. I thought The Lovelies would enjoy that. I booked a room at a charming boutique hotel right off the Champs de Elysees. But as the weeks ticked by, I had second thoughts. I don't speak French. Oh, I know some colorful French-Canadian phrases but nothing useful like, "I'm bleeding, please help." My French-Canandian grandmother was a pretty grumpy lady...what if they're all like her? Getting to France would take two non-revenue flights which would mean sweating out getting three empty seats on two different flights. In the summer. What if we get stuck in Charlotte, North Carolina? For days. Then what?
Virgin Atlantic has a non-stop to London out of LAX. One flight. To a destination that speaks my language. Plus, I've known a number of English people and they're pretty friendly. I cancelled the hotel in Paris and booked a single night at a hotel close to Heathrow. I decided we'd go and just figure it out when we got there. We would travel like gypsies. So that's what we did.
Of course, had the trip been carefully planned, we probably would have seen and done more things what with having an official itinerary to stick to. But we got to walk around the city and be tourists, visit the Science Museum because that was first on Cassandra's list and walk the crosswalk on Abbey Road because that was first on Sabrina's list. We rode buses and the tube, went on the Jack the Ripper walking tour over on the East End, ate lousy food that had dollops of mayo for no justifiable reason, and sat outside the hotel bar every night drinking and chatting. It was a wonderful trip.
Had my mother been alive, she'd have had kittens over my non-plan, vacation plan. My mother was fully organized in every facet of her life and even in the most innocuous setting, she could conjure up at least six potentially deadly scenarios and would gladly share them with you. For example, she was very concerned when, a few years back, I went to New Hampshire alone. New Hampshire. "You're going alone? Jesus Christ, find someplace safe to stay," she advised me, as if I were going on special assignment in a hostile country. "Don't talk to people. Don't tell them that you're traveling alone. Don't forget to lock the door and keep the TV on when you shower."
Driving to LAX, with The Lovelies in tow, I thought, "If I can pull this off...out, there, and back; I will be a rockstar. No matter what stupid things I do in future or whatever self-loathing nonsense I happen to be chattering in my head, at any given moment, for the rest of my life, I will be a rockstar. Forever. Remember this: A rockstar.
I am a rockstar.
