One especially bleak winter day in Dubuque, Iowa, when blizzards and measles had conspired to keep her ten kids (only 13 years apart) home from school for weeks, my mother Rosie read in my father's Knights of Columbus newsletter about a family in Washington, D.C. that wanted to trade houses with a family in Dubuque, so they could attend a family reunion that summer. My mom wrote an essay about how she wanted her children to see the nation's capitol and the only way we could afford it was by driving and staying in a house for free.
Each evening we ran to the mailbox to see if our acceptance letter had arrived and after several months, Mom dejectedly said, "They must have picked someone that didn't have ten children." When we finally got good news saying we were selected out of dozens of applicants because Mom's essay was so moving, the ten of us screamed and jumped up and down. Later we found out that the D.C. family had called a friend in Dubuque to make sure our family wouldn't trash their home!
The next night my dad, Art, a manager at the Dubuque Meat Packing Plant ("the Pack"), brought home an empty ham container and cut a hole in the top to serve as our vacation bank. During supper we prepared for our drive across America by naming the state's capitols. Over dessert we'd contribute to the holiday fund. Babysitting money, allowances, and birthday checks all went in, and the bigger the sacrifice the bigger the applause. We were each responsible for packing our own entertainment for the trip, including books, puzzles, and stuffed animals. My brother Bobby insisted on bringing his "bee wee" even though he was embarrassingly old for a baby blanket.
One especially bleak winter day in Dubuque, Iowa, when blizzards and measles had conspired to keep her ten kids (only 13 years apart) home from school for weeks, my mother Rosie read in my father's Knights of Columbus newsletter about a family in Washington, D.C. that wanted to trade houses with a family in Dubuque, so they could attend a family reunion that summer. My mom wrote an essay about how she wanted her children to see the nation's capitol and the only way we could afford it was by driving and staying in a house for free.
Each evening we ran to the mailbox to see if our acceptance letter had arrived and after several months, Mom dejectedly said, "They must have picked someone that didn't have ten children." When we finally got good news saying we were selected out of dozens of applicants because Mom's essay was so moving, the ten of us screamed and jumped up and down. Later we found out that the D.C. family had called a friend in Dubuque to make sure our family wouldn't trash their home!
The next night my dad, Art, a manager at the Dubuque Meat Packing Plant ("the Pack"), brought home an empty ham container and cut a hole in the top to serve as our vacation bank. During supper we prepared for our drive across America by naming the state's capitols. Over dessert we'd contribute to the holiday fund. Babysitting money, allowances, and birthday checks all went in, and the bigger the sacrifice the bigger the applause. We were each responsible for packing our own entertainment for the trip, including books, puzzles, and stuffed animals. My brother Bobby insisted on bringing his "bee wee" even though he was embarrassingly old for a baby blanket.
As the date grew closer my father made ominous noises about how it was impossible for him to take vacation during the Pack's busy season, so one night Mom said she would go without him. The thought of my mom driving across country with ten kids apparently scared my Dad more than being stuck with us in a car for days and he managed to get the time off.
Mom bought us all new matching outfits to make a good impression in the big city and we got up at the crack of dawn so we could drive as long as possible and save on hotel expenses. We didn't leave till hours later, after Dad had strapped the suitcases on top of our avocado-colored station wagon and placed the rest of the bags under our feet. Mom, Dad, and baby Carrie sat in the front seat, Susan, Jane, Debbie and I squeezed in the second seat, Cathy was in the compartment between the seats, and Bill, Paul, Bob, and Dave sat in the rear. This was 38 years ago, before child restraining seats and seat belts were required. We finally drove down the driveway, only to have Debbie say she had to go the bathroom, which started a chain reaction and all of us had to run to the toilet.
On the road, I remember Mom turning around to look at us and smiling with so much naked love in her eyes it felt like a warm blanket. To keep us happy she doled out treats like licorice and we played the usual car games, slug bug—hitting each other when we saw Volkswagen bugs—and yelling out license plates. At rest stops we got a Dr. Pepper from a machine, an unheard-of luxury in our world where soft drinks (generic only) were reserved for Saturday night after our baths. As we piled back into the car, Dad would count noses to make sure we weren't missing anyone. Amazingly no one was ever left behind.
At one point we got caught in a monster traffic jam and Mom convinced Dad to let my brother Bill, then 17, drive. They traded places and Dad climbed in the last seat, which faced backwards. It was 102 degrees so Dad rolled up his pants, stuck his calves out the window, and fell asleep. Those pale legs turned a bright red and bothered him the rest of the trip but Bill finally got a chance to take the wheel. Did I forget to mention that we didn't have air conditioning? It would have cost extra.
Despite my Dad frequently asking David, the youngest boy and a wise acre, if he wanted to walk home, we only pulled over once when the radiator overheated. While Dad was frantically looking around for something to untwist the hissing radiator cap, Bobby surprised us all by handing Dad his bee wee. My father looked him in the eyes and asked, "Are you sure?", realizing the blanket would be ruined. Bobbie nodded and we all cheered. He had finally become a big boy who didn't need a security blanket.
We went to every monument in Washington, D.C. but four decades later I remember the drive more than the nation's capitol. Today my parents are both dead, but they left us a great legacy, each other. When we complained as children about having to share, Mom would say, "Someday you'll be glad you have all these brothers and sisters." Today my siblings are my best friends and each year we pile our kids into minivans and drive from different corners of the U.S. to meet in a vacation spot. No one has more than three kids, but when the 16 cousins unite they get a taste of our crazy upbringing. Fortunately, there are enough young ones so we always have a bee wee—just in case there are any car emergencies.
About Iowa Writes
"Iowa Writes" is a two-year project showcasing the writing of Iowans. Curated by the staff of The Iowa Review, "Iowa Writes" features a poetry, fiction, or nonfiction piece several times a week on the 'Palette.' "Iowa Writes" is part of the university-wide Year of Public Engagement.
Ruth Wertzberger Carlson grew up in Dubuque, Iowa, and attended Wahlert High School until the summer following her junior year, when her father was transferred to manage the Dubuque Meat Packing Plant in South San Francisco, CA. The rest of the family, including three who attended the University of Iowa, now live on the West Coast. Ruth is a freelance writer who specializes in travel, profiles of women executives, sailing, golf, and fashion. She and her husband Richard Carlson live in Santa Cruz, California, and she hopes to get him back to Dubuque this summer to see her hometown.
RELAX Magazine/Issue 2
Travel Blunders By: Ruth Carlson
One of my most vivid early memories is a beautiful spring Saturday. I bounced out of bed and hopped on my bike, heading for an adventure. I was about five years old and while nothing exciting happened that day, I always remember that feeling of endless possibilities. I still have that blissful sensation, 42 years later, when I’m exploring new places. While I’ve learned over the years that planning is necessary for a pleasant vacation, some of my best memories are the holidays where things went wrong.
Take my honeymoon--please. Just 26 years old at the time, I had a burning desire to visit Paris. Never having traveled outside the country, all my information came from guidebooks that said hotel reservations weren’t necessary. Riding the bus from Charles De Gaulle airport into town, the endless billboards welcoming an international public relations conference gave me a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
This was 20 years ago, in the days before luggage had wheels, and as we trudged from hotel to hotel, Rich and I each lugged a super size backpack. Despite the cold and rain, my aching feet, and Rich’s sneezes and complaints about catching a cold, I was immune to everything but the beauty of Paris. Finally we found a room in a run down hotel with a lumpy bed. At four in the morning we realized why we got lucky when we heard the shouts, brakes squealing, horns honking and crates dropping of a farmers market setting up right below our window.
We found another hotel but our troubles were far from over. To save money I booked our flight home out of Germany and we missed the connection to our plane. We caught the next train and while Rich napped in our railroad car I quizzed the conductor about faster routes to the airport. He looked through dozens of train schedules for me in between talking on the two-way radio and answering questions from co-workers. Meanwhile Rich woke up and started panicking. He walked from car to car looking for me, imagining I had been kidnapped, murdered or fallen off the train. After several hours the conductor found a bullet train that would get us to Dusseldorf with 12 hours to spare, about the time it took to calm down my husband. Wandering around town, we saw colored columns cross the sky and followed the lights until we came to an amphitheater filled with thousands of people. It was a free outdoor laser and light show that we would never have seen if we hadn’t arrived in Germany early.
In retrospect I’m glad our honeymoon had so many problems Coping in foreign countries where we didn’t speak the language brought us closer together. Despite this awkward beginning, two decades later we both love traveling because you learn as much about yourself as you do about the destination. Here are some self-discovery tips:
1.Get lost on purpose. Schedules are fine for everyday life but on vacation you should have some built in downtime. Leave the Franklin Organizer and pda at home because there should be nothing on your schedule except free time to explore.
2.Talk to strangers. You never know what will happen. My friends Linda and Bob were on a train in Hungary when they struck up a conversation with an elderly woman and her daughter. Linda offered to take their picture and asked for their name and address so she could mail the photo. Bob was surprised when their uncommon last name was the same as his surname. As they talked he learned that the older woman was the first wife of his father, a marriage Bob never heard about. Now he’s getting to know his new stepsister.
3. Travel during the off-season Visit Australia in our summer (their winter) and Europe during the cold months. You’ll find cheaper prices, fewer crowds and friendlier people with more time for tourists. One Christmas Eve my girlfriend Beth and I arrived at the Louvre, only to learn it was closing in a half hour! We raced through the halls with a checklist of the important works of art. We had the museum to ourselves and stood directly in front of the Mona Lisa, an experience you’ll never have in the summer when massive crowds surround the masterpiece.
4. Go with the Flow One Thanksgiving I used my sister’s flight attendant pass to travel to Paris. Her tickets are standby but I assumed there would be plenty of seats since this is an American holiday weekend. Unfortunately, a lot of other airline employees, with more seniority than my sister, thought the same thing.
Returning home from Paris, the flights to San Francisco and Washington D.C. were full. Finally I got a seat to LA and thought my troubles were over, but at midnight I was stranded along with dozens of other travelers, and we had a slumber party at LAX, crashing on lounge chairs. My sister lived about an hour away but I didn’t want to wake her in the middle of the night. The next morning I learned she was in labor with her first baby and I grabbed a cab to the hospital. Thanks to the full planes, I was one of the first people my nephew Ryan saw when he came into this world.
5. Bring home unusual souvenirs With the proliferation of chain stores it’s hard to find anything original, which is why Rich and I like to buy original artwork on our travels. During a trip to Cinque terre, Italy we kept seeing unusually vivid paintings with images of these five beach towns. Every time we spotted one in a store we asked about buying it and the answer was always the same,” It’s not for sale.” Raphael, the artist, had traded his paintings for food or drinks and the owners were hoping he would be famous one day. We finally found an art gallery displaying his scenics but it was closed and we were leaving the next day. We called the owner and explained that we wanted a canvas with fishing boats similar to one we’d seen in a restaurant. “But he doesn’t work anymore,” he said and explained that Raphael had been a top executive who painted as a hobby until the fumes from the oils he used in an unventilated room had damaged his health.
Rich doesn’t give up easily and convinced the agent we should visit Raphael to try and change his mind. We walked up three flights of stairs to the apartment of an elderly, portly man who didn’t speak English. Using his arms he managed to communicate that I had to take a snapshot with him and we should both sit down and drink wine with him on his patio. We didn’t speak Italian, and spent a long time trying to tell Raphael that we wanted an original fishing boat painting while he kept shaking his head no and the agent tried to sell us another one of Raphael artworks. Suddenly Raphael stood up and stomped to his studio where he began throwing thick oil paint on a canvas, creating a blue and orange harbor sunset scene. Then came the scary part-the oils had to dry for 5 months. We took a leap of faith, paying the agent $250.00 and wondering if we’d ever see our painting. In November a big box arrived on our front steps our original Raphael is now proudly displayed in our living room.
6, Try things on vacation you wouldn’t normally do. When Rich and I went to Australia I heard rave reviews about a New World music concert. Rich was not keen on going but he wanted to see the famed Sydney Opera House. He turned out to love the African drumming, singing and dancing extravaganza, and I loved learning something new about my husband after 20 years of marriage.
7. Make your own luck On a recent trip to Key West, Florida our flight was overbooked and the agent said the plane wasn’t leaving until someone volunteered to catch the next flight. We thought it was a great opportunity to make $400 each toward a future ticket for just a few hours delay.
8. Be observant One summer day in Santa Barbara we saw homemade flyers for a Jimmy Buffett concert that evening. Turns out Buffett was going on tour and decided to have a dress rehearsal at the Santa Barbara Bowl. It was a beautiful warm night and one of the most memorable concerts we’ve ever experienced and would have missed if we hadn’t taken the time to look around.
9. Be cautious. You want vacation adventures that are positive. On my first trip to New York I made a beeline for Bloomingdale’s, a mythical department store for me at the time. I wasn’t there half an hour before my wallet was stolen. I got my billfold back from the lost and found, without the cash, and hailed a cab for the bank. While I told my driver my sad story he slammed on the brakes in the middle of the street and said, “You don’t have any money? Get out.” Since then I’ve learned not to be so trusting. Make sure your purse or wallet is secure especially in crowded public places, make a copy of your passport in case it’s stolen and don’t look at guidebooks or maps in public, a sure sign you’re a tourist.
10. Don’t be afraid to change your plans Probably the best story of altered vacations involves my sister Debbie who lived in France and went through an acrimonious divorce. My family rented a home in Burgundy to give her moral support, I had planned to go but at the last minute cancelled and my brother David invited his friend Doug, a bachelor, to take my place. It only took a week for he and Debbie to realize they shared a love of music, cooking, her three children and each other. Debbie moved to America and they’ve been together for a year now
