Where would you be going this summer if not for COVID-19? I was headed to Europe. I鈥檝e been quite a few times actually, and while I鈥檓 certainly no expert, I find that with each trip I learn to be a better traveller and have successfully taken many others along for the ride.
This year though, the closest I鈥檒l come to the Eiffel Tower will be when I hold a hanky to my nose. Let me explain. Recently, I was given a packet of tissues with an image of La Tour Eiffel embossed in gold on the front of each folded square. Problem is, they鈥檙e too nice to use! While I enjoy looking at the picture as I raise one to my snuffling face, it feels almost sacrilegious to blow the contents of my nasal cavities onto the great monument.
When I have been able to travel, my husband, Tom, will sometimes accompany me, although his idea of a 鈥済ood trip鈥� is when he walks from the couch to the refrigerator and finds a cold Pepsi lurking inside. However, there are certain memories he raves about, the good and bad.
Tom鈥檚 pretty picky with food and drink. If coffee isn鈥檛 served in a 12 oz. paper tumbler, he鈥檚 not happy. 鈥淭hese people don鈥檛 know how to make coffee,鈥� he鈥檒l gripe, looking at the tiny porcelain cup of espresso with disgust.
鈥淏ut the reason people travel is to experience another culture. It鈥檚 important to sample the flavours of a foreign land,鈥� I say, rolling my eyes. 鈥淚t broadens our perspectives and opens our minds.鈥�
鈥淚f it opened the door to Tim Hortons, I鈥檇 be happier,鈥� he鈥檒l mumble with a sour look.
Of course, this was the same man who refused to eat in Paris unless it was purchased from the fast-food empire symbolised by golden arches. Can you believe it? We stayed in one of the cuisine capitals of the world 鈥� and he ate hamburgers. I mean, I like a burger as much as anyone, but a Quarter Pounder in Paris is just wrong. In an act of protest I stood outside, refusing to darken their door on Avenue des Champs-脡lys茅es.
But once, down a lonely back street in Madrid, we found a restaurant that he loved. They had an interesting variety of dishes on their menu; duck tongues, jellyfish salad and chicken feet are a few I can recall. However, even I鈥檓 not that adventurous. No one there spoke English, but we managed just fine with pointing and smiling.
After eating, daughter Aliyah and I said how we鈥檇 enjoyed our meal, but Tom smacked his lips and declared he鈥檇 never had anything finer. He flung down his fork, scraped his chair back, and leapt to his feet, waving and beckoning to the proprietress.
鈥淢adame,鈥� he yelled. 鈥淢erci, to come here please.鈥� (He was unperturbed when I whispered we were in Spain, so the two French words he鈥檇 learned weren鈥檛 applicable any longer.)
Warily, the woman shuffled toward our table. Her thoughts were easy to read. Was this man crazy, drunk, choking on the claw of a hastily prepared chicken foot?
鈥淵our food was delicious!鈥� Tom cried with a grin. She looked stricken, and for one awful moment I thought he was going to dash forward and embrace the woman, but then, lifting his fingers to his mouth, he closed his eyes and kissed them rapturously. Finally, she understood. Smiling warmly, she nodded her head in thanks.
Ah, those travel memories. I can hardly wait to make more.
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