I’ve been flipping through my friend Kristen’s Facebook album of photos from her trip to Ghana with the Yale Service Club, trying to imagine the stories she’ll be telling tomorrow morning at Jazzercise. It appears to have been quite an adventure — rustic living, colorful customs, audiences with both the king and a crocodile, lessons in batik dyeing, a canopy walk through the rain forest and heaven knows what else.
Seeing photo after photo of exotic beauty, I’m struck by the stark contrast of my own small trip starting tomorrow. We are going to the Jersey Shore for a few days.
Yes, a few weeks ago, I wrote about my penchant for armchair travel, but as with most things in our house, I was outvoted. Plus we were the recipients of some unexpected generosity and it seemed fitting to get off the new couch, away from the new oven and out into the world for a few days at least.
Our brains, and computer-calloused fingers need the break. In fact, when I punched out today, I felt a little like Fred Flinstone leaving the quarry. (That theme song is in your head now, isn’t it?)
The bathing suits, towels, sunscreen, snacks, and plenty of reading material are packed and ready to go. I don’t know how many suitcases Catherine will require.
Tomorrow afternoon, we’ll be on our way.
The Shore will be a world away from Ghana, but no less colorful, I’m sure.
We won’t be staying in a hut, showering with a bucket of hot water, meeting the king or visiting the rain forest, but if memory serves from last year’s trip, there will be some stellar people watching and plenty of sights to generate interesting conversation.
Meanwhile, I’m sure Kristen won’t mind if I share with you a photo of one of the interesting signs she saw in her travels last week.
I plan to use it as my mantra until I’m safely in Old Greenwich once again.
No extra explanation necessary.
Pushing on a Rope 
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