Globe Corner Blogs

National Geographic Trails Illustrated St. John Island

A guest post by Lorie K., winner of the Funny Family Vacation Story Contest

There are two ways to experience the Caribbean: The first is to enjoy a resort vacation with Mai Tais on the beach, massages, and fabulous meals while watching the sunset; the other is the way my family decided to do it – camping during monsoon season. After getting through the embarrassment of running through Laguardia Airport on Christmas Day to catch our plane with tents, sleeping bags, and coolers wrapped with duct tape in tow, I thought the worst of going camping on St. John island was over. I had visions of snorkeling, beach combing, relaxing with my parents and sisters after a harrowing first semester at law school, and possibly meeting a cute boy… oh, the folly of dreams! Instead, I found myself sleeping on the ground in a constant puddle due to sudden rain outbursts, slathering myself with aloe to relieve the sunburn, and trying to digest food cooked over a Bunsen burner. And no cute boys would deem to approach me on the beach with my dad lurking nearby in his black knee-high socks!
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Agile families are all alike; each clumsy family is clumsy in its own way.  (To slightly misquote Tolstoy.)

In every family there are certain traditions that must be followed on every vacation. You must play a certain silly car game; stop at the same ice cream stand on the way; get lost and not ask for directions. In my family we take tradition very seriously and therefore, every year without fail, one of us hurts ourselves or one another. And by “one of us” I mean my father or myself.

We suspect this tradition began when I was just a few weeks old  and my father took a strong graceful stroke in the pool and hit the bottom -  hard. The “thunk” was audible above water. But fortunately, rather than breaking his neck he simply scraped all the skin off his nose and forehead.

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Family vacations are ripe with opportunity for hilarity.  Just ask the Griswolds. And frankly, more so than each delicious meal you ate, the mishaps and adventures are what people want to hear about when you return home. And we want to hear about them, too!

Send us your funniest family story to be entered in our contest. The top three stories win a $25 gift certificate! E-mail the tales to events@gcb.com. Submissions will be accepted from now until June 10th. Winners will gleefully be notified by e-mail after the deadline.

Your hilarious pictures are also welcome, but please be sure to credit them to the photographer and give us permission to post them on our blog. Also, to be considered, please paste this disclaimer into the e-mail: “The Globe Corner Bookstore has authorization and permission to publish my story and the attached photographs.”

We look forward to reading your stories and laughing with you at your family follies.

Lake Erie Beach--photo by Llalan

I’ve said it once, but I’ll say it again: I don’t want you to go here. Last year I told you all the horrible reasons to avoid this tiny Ontario, Canada town; this year, I’ll tell you why I was lying.

The Food: The night we arrived our favorite fruit and vegetable farm stand (where the corn is so sweet and the peaches melt in your mouth) was closed. We were forced to go to the local pub, The Sand Bar. Everyone in the party ordered fish and chips (the two-piecer), a bottle of Blue (Labatt) and gorged themselves like the true Americans we were. I think we gave ourselves away, despite my father’s addition of “eh?” after every statement.

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Barcelona--photo by Adam

If I didn’t know better, I would have said that we were in an entirely different country.  Had the train ride been just a little bit longer and the Catalan spoken here a little bit less distinctive, it would have been easy to make that mistake.  Two days ago, when I went into the train station, I was surrounded by hay fields and barnyard animals (consisting of chickens, ducks, peacocks, and a horse).  When I got out of the train an hour later I found that the hay fields had turned into skyscrapers and the animals into a population of nearly two million people.

Two days ago we took the train from the small town of Flaça into Barcelona.  The common link between the two, more than anything else, seems to be their language.  Everything else–size, shape, lifestyle, food, pace, density, you name it–could not be more different.  But despite all of their differences, it is quite clear even to the tourist that the two places are linked.  This unity, I learned, dates back to the earlier parts of the 20th century, when Franco was the ruling dictator of Spain.  Wishing to crush any Catalonian sense of independence he officially abolished their unique language and enforced his ruling with marked brutality.  Naturally, his strict laws had the exact opposite that he intended.  The Catalan language became a way to show regional pride and rebuke the harsh dictator.  Following Franco’s demise, Catalan became the required language of everything–from schools to politics to cereal boxes.  Spanish was not allowed to be spoken for more than two hours a week in schools.

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36' Bavaria--photo by Creelea

May 24, 2009

Today we set sail from Anacortes–Dad, Mom, the Squirrel (my sister), and I. Our ship is a 36′ Bavaria named “Escape!”

I suppose we are escaping, as the yellow bluffs of Guemes slip back and flatten against the silhouette of Mount Baker. By 5:30 pm we are all adding layers of silk and smartwool against the wet chill that settles on limbs too long at rest. After fighting the spring tide for some hours, we’ve changed course and put in at Spencer’s Spit on Lopez Island. Mom and I served omelet, smoked salmon, and arugula for dinner. Dad poured a Champagne toast. Around us boats at anchor plash gently, drifting closer then farther.

At dusk, the shoreline is etched white in parched timber. After dark, camper’s tents glow like festive lanterns under bristling black pines.

Storm in Spain--photo by Adam

…at 5 o’clock. Two days ago, 4:30 pm: lightning crashes, my mom freaks out, and we still have 20 kilometers left to bike before we reach home.  Ambulance sirens pierce the air as they speed past us.  Yesterday, 5:30 pm: even the closed window can’t stop the deluge of water from finding its way into the house.  The floor shakes with each peal of thunder.  Today, 5 pm: black clouds gather in the distance and forked lightning illuminates the darkening sky.

Today is the third evening of a four day biking trip in Spain, over the course of which we (my parents and I) have been traveling in and among the farm houses and fields in an area slightly north of Girona. It’s amazing here. The views around the countryside are absolutely spectacular, ranging from wide sweeping corn, wheat, and sunflower fields to steep wooded hills, all the while with huge jagged mountains forming an imposing background in the distance.

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Memorial to Fisherman--photo by Llalan

The first stop on “Cape Ann Curiosities” in Lonely Planet’s New England Trips is Gloucester. Curious is not the first word I would use to describe the town, but maybe they couldn’t resist the alliteration. I probably would have gone with charming or simply lovely. My parents would have gone with, “It’s time to move here.” The main street, lined with budding trees and locally-owned businesses, winds down to the ocean and the iconic fisherman statue and memorial. Facing the ocean were old houses with widow’s walks around their roofs. Given the number of fisherman lost at sea who are honored at the memorial, Gloucester has known its fair number of widows.

The next “curiosity” we visited was an artists’ colony in East Gloucester. We walked down one street populated only by artists who were more than happy to show and explain their works to us. Even the

Cape Ann Brewing Company--photo by Llalan

shops themselves were artsy, each one decorated to match the personality of the artist living there. And there was something for everyone: paintings for my mother, jewelry for me, miniature replicas of ships for the boyfriend, and real ships bobbing at the docks outside for my dad. My parents’ desire to move there increased manyfold. Our visit to the Cape Ann Brewing Company further convinced Dad and me that it was time to order a U-Haul.

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Pike Place Market -photo by Lisa

I have many rituals I have to complete every time I return home to Seattle for a visit. I must have almond-fried chicken at any Chinese restaurant because I have never found it in Boston. I must have Ivar’s halibut and chips. I must meet up at cafes with friends and drink lots of vanilla lattes. And I absolutely have to go to my favorite place in the world: The Pike Place Market.

Pike Place Market is one of the most popular and

Crafts at the Market -photo by Lisa

iconic sights in Seattle. After having worked there for five years as a barista in one of the many cafes, I have spent lots of time wandering around. Pike Place Market is a huge maze of small shops with everything from Polish pottery to magic shops, cheap and not-so-cheapish ethnic foods, flower stalls, arts and crafts vendors, coffee shops (including the first Starbucks, which whether you like it or not, has become a pilgrimage destination), street performers, tourists, locals doing their shopping, and most importantly, fish mongers.

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Insiders' Guide to St. Louis

My family and I took a trip to St. Louis to spend Christmas with my brother and his family.  This was our second Christmas in a row in which we managed the daring thousand mile drive.  It was brutal: the first three hours of the trip we drove through a treacherous snowstorm where the average speed on the highway was 20 mph.  Not to mention three backseat drivers that were of minimal use.  Eventually we made it and the 19 hour car ride was topped off with a beer at two am with my brother.

We spent the week at his house relaxing and driving the kids crazy with the pending arrival of the mysterious Santa.  The food was delicious and St. Louis was fun.  I was finally able to catch up on some long-awaited reading and movie watching.  Then disaster struck…

There I was on Christmas Eve at about ten o’clock at night.  All was going great and my brother’s kids were about to go to bed.  Continue Reading »