Twenty Years, Three Passports, and a Daughter

When PinF was 7 he got his first Passport, the world was his oyster so to speak. I look at my daughter Sophia today and she is on her second passport, having traveled to 5 countries already, and she is as blasé about this as I would be about going to the supermarket. This is her world, and she illustrates that so clearly and often when she is so surprised to hear that her papi didn't have the internet, dvd's, and microwave popcorn when I was her age. Of course my passport was a tad different, as were my travels at her age. PinF would have to travel through books and what he learned in social studies classes, because his first passport was made in Ms. Johnson's class at Garettford Elementary school in Drexel Hill. I took my first "trip" to Buckingham Palace London; the trip was great--the weather sucked as we were always told it did in England. This was a class project designed to expand our world in 1969 and introduce us to the concept of other countries. It wouldn't be until 16 years later the PinF would actually get to see that famed building in the heart of London, and I distinctly recall standing there on that cold day in December thinking of that first passport and that day in Ms. Johnson's class.

Today marks twenty years ago that PinF took the $1200.00 his father gave him to buy a car and like a twenty something year old is apt to do, spent it elsewhere. Of course the story isn't that simple and the facts are usually based on who's recalling them, but since it was me who spent it, you can take it from me. This was a classic tale of impetuous youth. I had "discovered" my then girlfriend was carrying on with my then best friend. Truth of the matter was she wasn't even really my girlfriend anymore, it was one of those slow dying adolescent relationships that you keep going back to. That isn't to say the betrayal of a friend didn't hurt-- it did, though looking back now I was as much to blame as anyone. Again, this is one of the best aspects of growing old, you're able to see much more clearly, accept much more balme, and give much more forgiveness.

Nevertheless, PinF reacted with a passion that wasn't understood until much later in life. PinF was born with wanderlust. He always wanted to travel, striking out early and often with silly follies of either running away, or just up and going places either by hitchhiking, or on a motorcyle. Never really "running away" so much as "running to" something. I wanted to know what was on the "other side" so to speak. Suffice to say this "incident" in my 22 year-old life would provide the catalyst to dare myself and just go-with no plan, and surely not that much money-- and so go I did. I told no one in my family-- selfish I know, but remember I'm doing the "wounded heart" thing, so I felt no need to be caring and adult like. As a parent myself I now realize how selfish and worrisome this was to those who loved me. I got a ticket with People's Express, which at the time was a cutting edge air carrier breaking down the barriers of cheap inter-continental travel, the cost was $79.00 well within my "budget". I was filled with dreadeful anticipation as I really had no plan other than to leave, just like so many ill-prepared forays into the world before. I remember first setting foot in Gatwick and hearing so many odd accents, seeing so many differently dressed peoples, and wondering OK, what now?

I met many interesting people from many countries and continued on to see the wonders of my then world, in Paris, London, and finally Amsterdam. I partook of the bacchanal that is Amsterdam, even meeting an old girlfriend from Demark and seeing all the city had to offer. I went to the VanGogh museum the Rijksmuseum and of course the famed red light district. Of course this was at a time when PinF was particulary interested in the offerings of this wonderful country. Throughout my two weeks I was constantly reminded of all I had left by the ever present Christmas themes throughout these three countries, and would, at times become a bit homesick for leaving. Nothing major mind you, though I was always cognizant of the Christmas season for sure. I continued on my "journey" and found myself standing in front ot the Mona Lisa, and then at the top of the Eiffel Tower, surely my trip would not have been complete without visiting Notre Dame Cathedral, and so I did. France, or I should say Paris, was a disdainfully hostile place, but I didn't care as I moved on full of wonder throughout the city via the Metro. It was here I finally broke down and called home 3 days before Christmas and spoke with my mother, she of course had put all the facts together by now and was aware of the circumsatnces surrounding my "trip", she told me to come on home for Christmas, and in that moment I felt for the first time very far away from home. Funny enough, I can still remember the drunk French guy banging on the phone booth door, and having to use some 'international adjectives" on him to get him to chill.

Of course in order to get home I had to get back to England and buy a ticket, so off I went the next morning, actually kind of sick of the rude French and looking forward to my cheery cousins on the otherside of the channel. Of course anyone who has ever been to France knows of their notrious labor strikes over the most ridiculous reasons, say for instance they work 32 hours, if you ask them to work 34 it's an all out invitation to shut down the entire rail sytem. This was PinF's luck, when he got to to Calias, France for his return ferry, the French had indeed staged a holiday strike. PinF was not to be outdone, he immediately partook of the holiday revelry amongst the overly friendly and never affected Brits, and was sauced within hours. Merrily reciting filthy british rugby songs and such, and generally insulting the French Gendarmes charged with watching us, we passed the time packed like holiday sardines for 7 hours while the British government tried to negotiate a way for the many returning citizens to be brought back. No dice. Eventually the Brits did what they've always done best, they went it alone. They dispatched 3 British ferries across the channel to fetch us poor, stranded, holiday drunks, I love the damn British, they always get it done, not matter the circumstances. Problem was when we finally boarded the Captain made an announcement that that seas were a "bit rough", no matter I thought, we're going home.

I had never really been on a "big" ship until I took a ferry from England. And for anyone who has been in rough seas you'll know what I mean when I tell I you it's the most God awful thing you can experience, especially on no sleep, 12 beers and passing a bottle of Jameson's. The ship was raised up and then raised down, one minute you would be climbing up the hallway, and the next running down, there was puke in every hall and on every wall. The bar was a veritable war zone of bodily fluids, spilled beers and broken glasses. Still, incredibly the mood was festive. Well, long story short, PinF got home. He still had to meet with his dad and suffer the ire of having wasted the $1200 he had been loaned three weeks prior to "buy a car". We met in the Plumstead, and I was sweating it kind of. I was with my brother and not eager to hear what I though I was to hear. Blame it on Christmas, blame it on understanding, but my father's first question was "how was London?" He wasn't mad, disapointed yes, mad no. He was quite happy actually to have me back, and I think if I could ask him now he was secretly happy and envious for having traveled so far on so little.

And so it went, we had a few beers and all was pretty much forgotten, my father was like that. It was afterall, only money. I suppose had I spent it on something less meaningful and educational it might have been an issue. This trip had awoken a deep desire to travel more, and see more and I have. PinF returned to Europe two years later and traveled exstensively, eventually living abroad for a year, and then would see parts south and central America on several visits. This all was started twenty years ago this week. How do I know? Sophia and I were looking at passports and we pulled out my first one, and there in the first page was Gatwick, airport December 10, 1985. I was again reminded of this trip when I heard the song for famine relief "Do They Know it's Christmastime" (Feed the World) in my car last week, this song was all the rage on the ferry ride to Holland that Christmas. I've often said that the truest and most pratical education any person can receive is to travel and expose themselves to the cultures, attitudes, and peoples of the world. I will definitely encourage Sophia to study abroad, though it may be no big deal to her when she's ready for college as she's such a seasoned traveler already, not to mention our world shrinks a little more everyday. Still twenty years has passed since I first struck out to see the world and I'm still longing to see more, to that ends PinF is planning a little trip soon that'll take him away for awhile and immerse him many cultures and experiences.......stay tuned.