Travel. I’ve always loved it, seeing new places, seeing how other people live. The anticipation of change.
My family always took summer vacations to Mexico to visit family; my Dad preferred driving down, but occasionally we took the train which was just another crazy kind of adventure.
Trips started out with loading the car (a baby blue Hudson) with the suitcases, and then all of the “encargos” (things not available in Mexico that relatives had asked for) and then my Dad cursing because it didn’t all fit. For some strange reason seeing his craziness in trying to stuff everything into the car made me laugh, and usually until tears ran down my face, the more he cursed the more I laughed. I used to get in so much trouble right off the bat before a trip.
And then we were off. Days of adventures; crossing the Texas-Mexico border, driving through all the little towns, down dusty cobblestone streets. Kids selling Chiclets or wanting to wipe the windshield while we were stopped at a red light. We would stop by a local grocery and buy ready cooked meats and tortillas and then find a place along the road with shade to have a picnic…most often followed by Montezuma’s revenge.