Posted by Cheryl-Anne

March 21, 2013 1:10 p.m. - Updated: 1:10 p.m.

    I have a friend about to depart on a month-long solo trip to Paris. She’s excited and a bit nervous about striking out on her own, but exhilarated by the freedom to finally do what she wants.
    

   The number of women choosing to travel alone is climbing. What used to be the spunky college student backpacking through Europe is now more likely to be the mature woman exploring the world on her own terms. Women who have worked hard and have some disposable income or savings, or have raised a family and are celebrating their own graduation into an empty nest or, like my friend, weathered tough times, are breaking through stereotypes and fear and are heading out to see a few things.
    

   Travel is one of the best gifts we can give ourselves and sometimes traveling alone can deepen the experience and bring the added satisfaction of independence. Here are a few of the things I’ve learned along the way:
    



Be aware: It’s easy to get lost in the pleasure of being in a new place but the basic safety rules still apply. Pay attention to where you are and who’s around you.

Pack light. Nothing is more distracting—or attracts the wrong kind of attention—than dragging around too much luggage. If you’re struggling to maneuver a large suitcase over cobblestones or across busy intersections, you’re not paying attention to your surroundings. Plus, being held hostage by all the extras you don’t really need takes all the fun out of travel. (Tip: Pack everything you think you have to have, then try to eliminate half. Repeat the process. You’ll be surprised by how little you actually need.)

Prearrange transport to your hotel. The trip from the airport to the hotel is frequently the biggest hassle of traveling. If convenient public transport is not a practical option, when you book a hotel, ask if the property offers a shuttle to and from the airport or train station. If not, ask what private service they recommend. If you plan to take a taxi, stop by the airport or station Visitor Information kiosk to ask for taxi recommendations and what the expected fare should be.

Blend in:  Wearing a big camera around your neck or standing on the street puzzling over a city map can draw unwanted attention. So can the flashy designer purse hanging on your arm. Use a cross-body purse with pockets and a zipper. My favorite—actually a men’s messenger bag—cost three times as much as I'd usually pay but has been around the world with me. When the strap began to fray, the company repaired it for me. I’m not a big fan of backpacks but they’re sometimes necessary for day-trip necessities. Again, as with luggage, don’t over pack. A big load on your back slows you down and makes you vulnerable to thieves. When you need to study your map, step into an office building or hotel lobby where you can get your bearings without having to worry about attracting attention.
  

Plan ahead and get some rest: For many of us, just getting ready to get away is the hardest part of the trip. There are deadlines to meet, household details to take care of and family obligations. I can't count the number of times I've taken off on a journey without having slept at all for the last 24 or even 36 hours. That's no way to travel. For one thing, we're not at our best. Foggy from lack of sleep, it's easy to miss a flight or train connection. And, fatigue makes us vulnerable to illness and human predators. Do yourself a favor. Start packing and taking care of things early and don't get caught up in last minute emergencies.

Dress the part: The cliché that you can pick the American tourist out of the crowd is unfortunately all too often true. Europeans are casual but never sloppy; their clothes fit well and are age appropriate. Last year, at breakfast in the elegant dining room of the Hotel Sacher in Vienna, a man walked into the room. He was wearing khaki shorts and a souvenir t-shirt from an American national park. On each belt loop of his shorts he’d fastened a carabiner to hold his water bottle, city map and sunglasses. The man was in one of the most beautiful—and well-dressed—cities in the world, outfitted like he was setting off to explore the Amazon. A few minutes later he was joined by his wife who was dressed the same way. Their clothing was expensive and practical, but completely out of place.

Don’t bring the bling: Why advertise? Leave the extra jewelry at home. I’ve been on group trips where we were all asked to help find a missing gold bangle and traveling on my own I’ve seen tourists in a panic because an expensive, sometimes sentimental, earring or necklace was lost. Think about leaving the big camera at home and bringing along a smaller high quality point-and-shoot.

Choose a hotel that caters to women travelers. One of my favorites is the Georgian Court Hotel in Vancouver, BC. Their Orchid Floor is dedicated to women travelers, especially professional travelers, and the rooms are thoughtfully designed. Going beyond the hair dryer and bathrobe, room extras include a flat iron, curling iron, yoga mat and padded hangers. There are also extra “necessities” in the closet, including pantyhose.(Bare legs are an American thing. In Europe and other countries, well-dressed means covered legs.)

Go to the source: One of the first things I do when traveling is contact the local tourism office. They are one of the best resource for “insider” tips and information.

Use a travel agent. The internet has simplified travel while simultaneously making it more complex. A travel agent can help you with every aspect of travel from booking to insurance. And, if a problem arises, you have someone to call.

Resources: Check out these sites for more information about women traveling solo:

solotravelerblog.com
www.journeywoman.com
www.womentraveltips.com
  

Cheryl-Anne Millsap is a travel writer based in the Northwest whose audio essays can be heard on Spokane Public Radio and on public radio stations across the country. She is the author of 'Home Planet: A Life in Four Seasons' and can be reached at catmillsap@gmail.com

Posted by Cheryl-Anne

March 18, 2013 10:27 a.m. - Updated: 10:27 a.m.

I don’t want much. I just want the perfect suitcase.

I spend hours looking at suitcases and duffles and carry-on bags. I shop online, in department stores and at specialty shops. I read reviews and ask my friends for recommendations. I weigh the merits of outdoorsy rolling duffles, high-tech polycarbonate and ultralight nylon bags.

Occasionally, I make the sacrifice and buy the expensive bag and get my heart broken when it comes back to me with a broken zipper or missing wheel. Sometimes I make an impulse buy, snagging a bargain at an outlet or discount store and usually, but not always, after only a few flights, I’m disappointed.

Finding a good bag is no easy task. A suitcase has to be heavy enough to survive the battering it will take just getting through the airport and into the belly of the plane. But, it has to be light enough that I can manage it if I have to run through a busy terminal to catch a flight. It needs to fit in the overhead bin when I don’t want to pay a fee to check it. It has to be practical, with a place for everything. It needs wheels, but not just any kind of wheel. The perfect suitcase needs to roll in every direction, with only the barest touch. Oh, and I’d really like it to cost less than a week’s salary.

Of course, If I’m completely honest, there’s more than practicality involved. As with anything we wear or carry, a certain amount of vanity comes in to play.

I hate to admit it, but I think a suitcase can say something about its owner. Spend enough time in airports and you start to notice people and the bags they carry. You know what I mean. They don’t have to be in uniform; when you see men and women who have stacked and strapped their TravelPro bags into a tower of portable efficiency, you know it’s a flight crew.

Watching the older couple with the Avocado Green hard-body Samsonite you get the feeling they’re still using the suitcase they carried on their honeymoon, an investment that obviously paid off. And the woman who is holding the knockoff “Louis Vuitton” duffle while she scarfs down a Big Mac and waits with the crowd until time to board and squeeze into her economy seat? Well, she’s not fooling anyone.

I have a closet full of suitcases that promised great things and didn’t live up to expectations, but I keep on looking. Like I said, I don’t want much. I just want a travel companion that didn't cost an arm and a leg and won’t let me down. Oh, and if it happens to say to anyone who’s watching that “Here is a woman who
is really going somewhere,” well, so much the better.

Question: Have you found the perfect piece of luggage? I'd love to hear your recommendation!

Cheryl-Anne Millsap is a travel writer based in Spokane, Washington, whose audio essays can be heard on Spokane Public Radio and on public radio stations across the country. She is the author of 'Home Planet: A Life in Four Seasons' and can be reached at catmillsap@gmail.com

Posted by Cheryl-Anne

March 11, 2013 10:23 p.m. - Updated: 10:23 p.m.

When I arrived in the Northwest in the late 1990s, one of the first pieces of advice someone gave me was to find a way to enjoy the long winters, like taking up skiing—downhill or cross-country—or snowshoeing. The point was to embrace it, not simply try to wait it out. Since I'd moved from a part of the country where snow was rare and usually lasted only long enough to hurry outside and take a few photos before it all melted and life went back to normal, he knew there would have to be an adjustment on my part to the length and severity of the season here.

The second bit of wisdom was to run away at least once before summer returned, preferably to a warm, sunny, spot.

I took his advice on both counts. That’s how I discovered Kauai.

Leaving Spokane behind, escaping the brown lawns, the grimy snow berms and monochromatic landscape, fleeing my overbooked schedule, down-filled wardrobe, and the claustrophobic feeling of spending each day under heavy skies, I landed on an island so green and warm I could feel myself bloom.

After months of slogging through freezing fog and navigating slushy streets and icy hills, the sand and sun and sea were heavenly. I checked into my room at the Grand Hyatt, slathered my winter-white skin with sunscreen and headed to the beach. At that moment, I didn’t want to do anything more than just lie on a chair on the beach and relax.

Eyes closed, the heat of the sun warming my body down to my bones, I could hear the distant sound of children playing at the pool, the cries of sea birds calling as they circled overhead, and the constant, soothing sound of waves hitting the shore.

I felt the weight of winter lift away.

Kauai is a small island, one of the most natural and undeveloped of the Hawaiian Island chain. I spent the next few days exploring as much of it as I possibly could. I hiked to the Waimea canyon and watched whales and sea turtles as I cruised the Napali Coast by catamaran. The big splurge was a helicopter ride to the volcanic crater that is both geologically significant and culturally sacred to the island.

I ate seafood and barbecue and pie and I got to know more about the island’s history and culture at the museum.

But now, deep in the middle of another Spokane winter, what calls me back to Kauai is the peace and the quiet, the sun, the sea and the sound of one wave after another crashing on the rocks and sandy beaches. After more than a decade in the Northwest, I’ve learned to love the beauty and challenges of winter. But, and this is just as important, I’ve come to appreciate the benefit of escaping it, if only for a day or two, to do nothing more than soak up the sun.

You can read more about about my visit to Kauai, here and here.
.
Cheryl-Anne Millsap is a travel writer based in Spokane, Washington, whose audio essays can be heard on Spokane Public Radio and on public radio stations across the country. She is the author of 'Home Planet: A Life in Four Seasons' can be reached at catmillsap@gmail.com

Posted by Cheryl-Anne

March 4, 2013 5 a.m.

   You hear a lot about how uncomfortable modern travel has become and it’s all true. Long lines, security screenings, cancelled flights and cramped seats can take the fun out of getting from one place to another. But, for the sake of argument, I’d like to point out things can go terribly wrong when we get too comfortable.

    It was the earliest flight out and we were a bleary bunch as we boarded. I’d scored an upgrade and sank gratefully into my first class aisle seat. Some people closed their eyes as soon as they sat down and you could already hear snores in the cabin even as the line of passengers was still filing down the aisle and fighting for space in the overhead bins.

     The woman beside me immediately opened her computer, her fingers flying across the keyboard. Across the aisle to my right, two men, dressed in suits and ties, were silently drinking cups of coffee and scanning emails on their Blackberrys. Finally, the plane took off and after breakfast was served the cabin was silent, except for the sound of my seat mate's typing.

   Later, folding back the pages of my newspaper, I glanced over at the two men across the aisle and realized they were both asleep. The thing is, they weren’t just dozing. They were deeply asleep, dead to the world and sort of folded toward one another. Not quite touching, but close. Very close.
 
    Smothering a laugh, I went back to my paper and it was some time before I glanced their way again. But things had only gotten worse. The two men were by then, shoulder to shoulder, face to face. They looked like an old married couple sleeping nose to nose, with eyes closed and mouths wide open. Still not touching, but close. So dangerously close.

    I tried not to stare but it was hard. I’ve flown a lot of miles and seen a lot of sleeping passengers, but I’ve never seen anything quite like the two men across from me that morning.

    The flight attendant came down the aisle with coffee and did a double-take when she saw them.  Startled, she looked over at me and then hurried back to the galley. Soon another flight attendant was peeking out. By this time the woman beside me had noticed and was laughing softly.

    Our flight attendant returned and, obviously thinking ahead to what might happen if one of the men woke first and, well, took offense, leaned in and asked softly if she could get either of them a pillow. At the sound of her voice their eyes opened, each immediately taking in the closeness of the other, and they flew apart, retreating as far as possible to the edge of the seats.

    The men sat up and with extreme nonchalance, straightened ties, checked wristwatches and brushed invisible lint off their trousers. It reminded me of the scene in Planes, Trains and Automobiles, where John Candy and Steve Martin wake up and realize they’ve been sleeping spooned together, hands tucked where they shouldn’t be, and try to shake it off with a lot of harrumphing and throat clearing.  I had to hide my face behind the newspaper in my hands again.

    When the plane landed the two men quickly gathered up their belongings, walked out into the crowded terminal and never looked back.  And I’m willing to bet that’s one extremely uncomfortable travel story neither of them will ever tell another soul.


Cheryl-Anne Millsap is a travel writer based in Spokane, Washington. Her audio essays can be heard on Spokane Public Radio and on public radio stations across the country. She can be reached at catmillsap@gmail.com

Posted by Cheryl-Anne

Feb. 25, 2013 8:09 a.m. - Updated: Feb. 26, 8:09 a.m.

   We travel to experience the unique culture of another place. We travel to explore history and to broaden our view of the world around us. But I’ve come to realize that there is another benefit to travel. At some moment, usually when we least expect it, usually wrapped in fragrance, color or some other sense, even the most seemingly insignificant moment is stored somewhere in our memory and can return like a gift.

    It is winter here now. The days are short and sunlight is scarce. For weeks the temperature has hovered just over, but usually under, freezing. Fog rises and lingers. Clouds the color of lead hang over us. I’m not complaining. That’s just how it is in this part of the world at this time of the year. But the other night I reached into the refrigerator for olives to serve with our meal.  As I put them on a tray for the table, I suddenly remembered standing on a pathway in Italy, just under the branches of an olive tree on a narrow terrace above the sailboats in the bay of Portofino. The ground around me was littered with fruit and leaves that had fallen. It was mid-October, just before the start of the Italian harvest season but there were already a few dark ripe olives on the pathway. I stooped and picked them up and held them in the palm of my hand, appreciating the frisson of pleasure at the memory of being in a beautiful place so far from home.
  

   At home the weather was already beginning to change. Winter was only weeks away. But I’d claimed a few days grace in the sun by making the journey to Italy.  I remember so much from that trip. The scenery was beautiful, the food was delicious and the climate was warm and hospitable. I remember the sun setting over Rome and the shadowy stillness of the Coliseum, the energy of Florence, and all the interesting people along the way. But I’d forgotten that moment on the path along the coast, in the shadow of trees that were heavy with olives.
    

   Winter has a hold on us now, but the bowl of briny olives brought back the simple pleasure of warmer weather, of feeling the sun on one’s back. I’m always surprised by the way a travel memory can lie dormant, deep within us, surfacing when we least expect it. Travel brings many pleasures. But some take their time, finding the way home across the miles like a slow postcard, bringing with them the image of a beautiful place and another day.



Cheryl-Anne Millsap is a travel writer based in Spokane, Washington. Her audio essays can be heard on Spokane Public Radio and on public radio stations across the country. She is the author of ‘Home Planet: A Life in Four Seasons’ and can be reached at catmillsap@gmail.com

Posted by Cheryl-Anne

Feb. 18, 2013 10:28 a.m. - Updated: 10:28 a.m.

    Walking down a street in Paris, I had to step aside to let the woman pushing an infant in a pram pass on the narrow sidewalk.
    My first glance was for the baby, small, bundled in blankets against the cold, damp, winter weather. Then I looked up at the woman. She was about my age, dressed for a stroll, yet still effortlessly elegant in that Parisian way. As we waited at the corner for the light to change, our eyes met and we returned one another’s smile. Our eyes met again.
    I smiled down at the baby, tapped my chest and said “Grand-maman.”
    “Oui,” she replied, nodding back at me and smiling. “Grand-maman.”
    I don’t speak French and I have no idea if she speaks English. But some things are universal.

    In the year since my first grandchild was born, as I’ve traveled I’ve become aware of a new kind of landscape. Grandmothers. I see them in parks, on busy sidewalks, on busses and trains. Sometimes they are with sons or daughters, an extra pair of hands or simply along for the ride. Often, like the woman in Paris, they are alone. Taking care of children while mother and father work. Exactly what I do when I am not away from home.

    My phone is loaded with images of beautiful destinations. On it is a visual record of the places I’ve been for work and for the pure pleasure of traveling. I also have photos of my children and the whole family together. But the images I go to so often, when I’m on a plane or in a quiet hotel room in some beautiful city thousands of miles from home, are those of a little girl smiling up at the camera or sleeping in my arms. My grandchild.
    My favorite is a copy of the first photo made of us together. She is only hours old and I have just walked into the hospital room my son-in-law has just gently given her to me. I am wrapped around her, cradling her, focused only on the tiny person in my arms.
    Now, each time I look at that photograph, I see myself, in the instant the photo was taken, falling hopelessly in love.

    The light changed and the woman, leaving me with one more smile, crossed the street and walked briskly away, turning down another street.

    There was a time, when my children were still small, in my arms, on my hip or walking beside me, that I exchanged glances and smiles and unspoken empathy with other mothers. Women who, like me, were navigating sleepless nights, nursing, tantrums and all the countless little milestones of mothering. Now, I am in a new club. I look into the eyes of women all over the world and acknowledge the deep happiness of being the Grand-maman.


Cheryl-Anne Millsap is a travel writer based in Spokane, Washington whose essays can be heard on Spokane Public Radio and public radio stations across the country. She is the author of ‘Home Planet: A Life in Four Seasons’ and can be reached at catmillsap@gmail.com
  

Posted by Cheryl-Anne

Feb. 14, 2013 11:21 a.m. - Updated: 11:21 a.m.

   If you're looking for a way to strengthen your relationship, try hitting the road. Together.

   According to a survey by the U.S. Travel Association, couples who travel together find more satisfaction. They experience better communication and have longer-lasting relationships. They are more romantic.

   Today is Valentine’s Day and millions of cards, boxes of candy and restaurant dinners will be purchased. And then tomorrow morning life will go back to the old routine. But that’s the thing important thing about travel. After a trip, nothing is ever quite the same again. Even if it is only the addition of a few more photos on your cell phone, or a kitschy souvenir on a shelf in the living room, the everyday world we live in has been subtly changed.
 
   Shared experiences deepen our connection with one another. We can be one of thousands of passengers on a cruise ship but the memories we will bring home are intimate and singular: sunsets watched from the deck, wine at dinner, a kiss in the dark.

   Whether it is crossing Europe by train, watching geysers in Yellowstone, thrilling to the sight of whales breaching off the coast of Alaska, exploring ancient ruins in Mexico or even a spur-of-the-moment weekend in the city, what comes back with us after any shared travel experience is the sense of having been a part of something that now belongs to us alone. We linger over memories of having had an adventure, of overcoming the ordinary obstacles that complicate any kind of travel. We celebrate the planning and saving and scheduling that made the trip happen or the exhilaration of giving into an impulse to escape.

   Travel with the one we love sparks the imagination and teases curiosity. It soothes us and relaxes us. It helps us remember what drew us to one another in the first place.

   Humans are hardwired with a need to share and couples who travel together fall into another kind of love. They get hooked and want more. They look forward to another destination, another pin on the map, more photos in the album. And, always, one more kiss.


Read the U.S. Travel Association study here

Cheryl-Anne Millsap is a travel writer based in Spokane, Washington. Her audio essays can be heard on Spokane Public Radio and public radio stations across the country. She is the author of ‘Home Planet: A Life in Four Seasons’ and can be reached at catmillsap@gmail.com

  

Posted by Cheryl-Anne

Feb. 11, 2013 2:04 p.m. - Updated: 2:04 p.m.

(Photo of the Hotel Welcome 'Bali' Room, by Cheryl-Anne Millsap)      

       For many of us, there are few elemental pleasures that can equal a long hot solitary soak, especially when it is in a tub filled with bubbles or scented oil. Time and troubles seem to vanish with the steam.

        I think this is especially true for bath-loving travelers.

            There have been times that the first thing I’ve done after checking into a hotel and discovering the room came with a tub, was fill it with hot water and let the stress of travel melt away before I set out to explore. And then later, after the day was done, I’d slip back in for one more soak before turning in for the night.

            Looking back at the places I’ve been, most stand out for the scenery, the history and the culture of the destinations. But a few trips, in addition to everything else, are also memorable because of the bathtub. The white marble bathroom and expansive downtown view from the tub at the Shangri La in Vancouver, British Columbia comes to mind. Or the big tub in my private cottage at Blackberry Farm, in the rolling countryside of Walland, Tennesse. Or the deep soaking tub, complete with champagne and chocolate, at the Hotel Le Littre in Paris.

            So many trips, so many tubs, but my favorite might be the big bathtub in the exotic garret “Bali” room at the Welcome Hotel in Brussels.

            Each of the 17 rooms at Hotel Welcome is decorated in the theme of an exotic location around the world, accessorized with furniture, textiles and objects d’art brought back from the travels of the owners.

            The walls of the Bali room are painted a deep red and gold. Rich fabrics and authentic architectural elements and decorative objects accessorize the space.  Elaborately carved wood doors open to reveal a large jetted tub, surrounded by a pebbled floor and faceing a set of French doors and a narrow balcony that overlooks the city.

            I’d spent a week in Belgium before flying on to Estonia and then Lithuania and I had returned for one more night in Brussels before catching my return flight in the morning. The hotel, part of which is in what was originally a 19th Century home, is located in the beautiful and historic Saint Catherine district, adjacent to the Fish Market. Surrounded by wonderful shops and restaurants, the hotel is only a few minute’s walk from the bustling Grand Place, and yet it feels like a private hideaway.

            After strolling through the historic heart of Brussels, stopping for one more Belgian beer and one more plate of delicious food, I made my way back to my room, packed my suitcase and prepared for the next morning’s flight back to the United States.

            Finally, just as the sun went down, I filled the tub with hot water. Turning out the lights, I opened the French doors and stretched out in the big bathtub. From the privacy of the dark room, I could see the city come to life. Lights came on in apartments and hotels. Footsteps rang out on the cobblestones of the street below. Voices and laughter floated up to where I was. Church bells and music serenaded me.

            I thought about all I’d seen and done in the last weeks. Relaxed, well fed, my mind still replaying images from the trip, surrounded by the trappings of Bali but cocooned in Brussels, a city I love, I was filled with a deep contentment. The moment sealed my happiness.

            Travel is about new experiences and new frontiers. But there are times when the ancient pleasure of the bath is enough.

Cheryl-Anne Millsap is a travel writer based in Spokane, Washington. Her audio essays can be heard on Spokane Public Radio and on public radio stations across the country. She is the author of ‘Home Planet: A Life in Four Seasons’ and can be reached at catmillsap@gmail.com

Posted by Cheryl-Anne

Feb. 5, 2013 7:55 a.m. - Updated: Feb. 26, 7:55 a.m.

   It was not the first time I’ve taken a daughter to Paris. Two years ago my middle daughter and I spent a January week in the City of Light, but that’s where the similarity ends. There is a world of difference in 17 and 21.

   At 21, my middle daughter was living away at college and was getting close to graduation. She’d missed me and was ready for time together. Not so with my 17-year-old. She sees a lot of me. Maybe, if I’m reading the subtly of closed doors and rolling eyes correctly, a little too much of me.

   This is her senior year. College comes in the fall. She is so close to independence, to getting out from under my wing and stepping out into her own life, that it’s all she thinks about. She’s been left here at home with us, without her brother and sisters who have grown up and have lives of their own. She wants what they have. She wants out.

   Still, a trip to Paris is a trip to Paris. When I suggested we go just after Christmas, she signed on. For a while it looked like her sister, the one who’d gone with me before, might join us. But the real world—in the form of a real job—stepped in and it was back to one (disappointed) girl and her mother.

   We landed in Paris, checked into the hotel, napped for a couple of hours and that was it. She never looked back. The minute we walked out the door of our hotel each morning, the race was on. We picked a direction, a museum or monument or quartier to visit, and she would set out, quickly leaving me to lope behind her like the family dog.  Occasionally, she would realize she’d left me too far behind and would wait, her impatience only barely masked, until I could catch up. Then, after a block or two, she was off again.

    She’s tall and her long legs speed her along. I am short and was carrying the bag full of cameras, umbrellas, maps and everything else that marked us as tourists. She looked like a local. I looked like a porter at the train station.

   I quickly quit trying to keep up and began to enjoy the sight of her moving across the cobblestones, toward the Eiffel Tower, down narrow lanes and along the Quai Saint-Bernard skirting the Seine. I have a series of photos snapped on my phone as I trotted along behind her, sometimes quite a distance behind her. My beautiful daughter melted into Paris and I was able to watch.

   Chasing her, I remember wanting desperately to be on my own at that age, without the weight of parents and siblings to slow me down. I wanted to travel alone, unencumbered. If, at 17 I’d found myself in Paris with only my mother for company, I would have done my best to shake her like so much dust out of the rug.

   She led me on a merry chase from one end of Paris to the other but I’ll win in the end. She’ll go to Paris again, on her own or in the company of friends. But it will be too late. I will have marked the place. She’ll remember the little hotel I like so much, the one on a quiet street with a school and a market and rows of beautiful apartments.

   She’ll order in French and think about the way I simply couldn’t pronounce Croque Monsieur without traces of my Southern accent coming through. She’ll get tired and remember the way I insisted on stopping each afternoon for a cup of chocolat, demanding a moment to savor the strong flavor and rest my sore feet.

   She’ll return to Paris on her own terms but memories of our trip together will be folded into every crepe, waiting around every corner and strung like lights across the Pont Marie.


Cheryl-Anne Millsap is a travel writer based in Spokane, Washington. Her audio essays can be heard on Spokane Public Radio and on public radio stations across the country. She is the author of 'Home Planet: A Life in Four Seasons' and can be reached at catmillsap@gmail.com



  

Posted by Cheryl-Anne

Jan. 30, 2013 11:49 a.m. - Updated: 11:49 a.m.

(Photo by Cheryl-Anne Millsap)

    Crossing the deck of the busy cruise ship, on my way to get something for lunch, I noticed a little boy crouched quietly, oblivious to the crowd around him as he bent over his shoe. He’d dropped to fasten the buckle and his mother stood patiently by, parting the sea of passengers that streamed around them. That, as every mother eventually learns, is what you do when you have a preschooler. You stand and wait while they master each new, seemingly monumental task. To do anything else is to invite tears and tantrums.

    I watched the boy’s fingers, small and deliberate, as they worked at his task and I remembered my son doing the same thing at that age. I remembered the way my breath caught at the tender vulnerability of his neck, his thin back curved over knobby knees, his concentration evident by his frown and the tip of his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth.

    I was on board the big ship to cover the launch of the brand new Carnival Breeze but the ceremonies were over and we were underway, already out to sea. I had nothing but time so I stayed where I was, watching the boy while fragments of other conversations drifted around me.

    “We’re on our honeymoon,” I heard a man’s voice say, and I turned to see two couples, one young, the other old, on lounge chairs by the pool.
 
    The old man replied that he and the old woman beside him had been married more than 50 years.

    “Wow, that’s impressive,” the young man replied, his voice lacquered with a gloss of interest and respect. “So, what kind of advice would you give us?”

    I knew, and the old man knew, it was a superficial question.  Still, the old man seemed to take it seriously and was silent for a long moment and I waited to hear what he would say. The little boy worked on his shoe. The young woman smoothed sunscreen over her flat belly and along her arms. The old woman, her skin browned and leathery from years in the sun, rummaged through the basket on the deck beside her chair until she found her sunglasses. The young man sipped his beer.

    Finally, the old man, his voice rough and graveled by years, spoke.
    “You got it pretty good right now, son,” he said, nodding his head toward the young woman. “But one day, when the sun ain’t shining on you, and you’re mad at your pretty little bride over there and you hate your boss and the kid needs braces, you might think about doing something stupid. You might think about walking away.”

    The young man looked a little shocked at the old man’s plain words.

    “My advice is to remember how you feel right now because one day you might need it.”

    “Yes, sir,”  the young man said. “I sure will.”

    The old man, having said his piece, closed his eyes and the young man went back to his beer.

    I looked back at the little boy just as he finally slipped the strap through the metal buckle. Dusting his hands on the back of his swimsuit, he stood up and said “Okay,” in a satisfied tone. With his mother beside him, he walked on and disappeared in the crowd.

    I moved on too, got my food and walked back to where my husband was reading. He looked up from his book. “What took you so long?” he asked, and I realized I’d lost track of time. Again.

    “Oh, you know me,” I teased, sitting down beside him. “I was just watching all the boys.”

Cheryl-Anne Millsap is a travel writer based in Spokane, Washington. Her essays can be heard on Spokane Public Radio and on public radio stations across the country. She is the author of  'Home Planet: A Life in Four Seasons' and can be reached at catmillsap@gmail.com