By Marilyn Friedman
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Writing Prompt: Make a list of 5 bad things that have happened to you on vacation. Pick one and write about it for ten minutes, then post your mini story on this blog! If you've never had a bad vacation, then make it up!
Comment on this blog! Write about a bad vacation. You'll be entered in the comment contest to win a free class, and you'll get free praise from Marilyn.
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5 comments:
For the second day in a row, our boat broke down in the middle of the jungle in Venezuela. Our guides didn't have any cell phones or walkie talkies. There were 30 of us and only one bottle of water to share.
It was hot--90 degrees at least. My black bikini and greasy jeans stuck to my skin like they had been glued on. I was sure I was going to die.
After a couple of hours, another tourist company's boat came by, and the women and their American husbands were allowed to go on the boat. Just before my husband, Jeff, could jump onto the boat, a fat senior citizen in a red speedo said, "Hey, what about me?"
"Too full," they said! The rescue boat started to depart. I looked at Jeff as our boats separated. I started to sob.
"La mujer esta llorando!" The rescue boat returned and retrieved Jeff. I clamped my arms around him all the way back to Angel Falls. I shivered as the cold, brown river water sprayed us in the face and over our bare shoulders.
Marilyn
The worst trip I ever had was when I went with college friends to Europe for a week our junior year. The plan was to fly into London, take a train to Paris, hop on over to Bristol, and then back to London again. For some reason, I had the genius notion to stop in Sheffield instead of Bristol by myself and visit I guy that I was "sort of dating" when he was in the States (study abroad). He was kind of a jerk, and I realized as much once I was there; he had a girlfriend! Why he told me to come on out to Bristol was beyond me. What was gross is that he wanted to make out anyway.
I ended up staying with a mutual British friend of ours instead and taking the train back to London. I called my friend Vinnie and he gave me the name of the hotel they were at when they reached London and somehow, I lost it (This was before cell phones!).
I must have been frazzled from having my heart dashed. Once I reached London, I had no idea how to locate anyone, checked into a hostel, and spent the next day before flying out sightseeing in London by myself. My friends called my parents, and needless to say, they were frantic. After that, I decided never to entertain a half-wit romantic notion of Europe ever, ever again.
It all started with a 40-lb backpack. Because when you’re 13 years old and obsessed with Seventeen Magazine, three changes of clothes and a sweatshirt for the evening will not do, even in the wilderness. It was our first annual Dads and Daughters backpacking trip. My dad, my sister and I were joined by my best friend, her dad, her two sisters and one more friend for good measure. The trail started out flat and straight, cool with evergreens. We sang camp songs. We broke out the trail mix. And just as we were getting tired, the switchbacks started, zig-zagging up the face of the mountain. The sun bounced off of the boulders and onto my cheeks and by the time evening fell, I was red as a beet. Sunscreen was always an afterthought in those days.
After dinner, we dangled our backpacks on a wire between the trees, just out of a bear’s grasp. My best friend and I talked until we fell asleep in our own little 2-person tent. The next thing we heard was rain, pounding on the fabric of the roof. The dads came out, held their hands up to the sky and tried to start a fire. It was hopeless, we were stuck. We ate dry cereal, settled in and tried to stay warm. All day long, the rain came and went. Water ran through our campsite and into our tent. It dripped through the roof until our sleeping bags were soaked.
Finally, as day turned into grey afternoon, the rain slowed and stopped. We heard the dads come out, rattling around in the pots and pans. I unzipped the tent, ready to barrel outside and secure my place next to the fire. Instead of finding my dad holding a frying pan, I came face to face with a black bear! I jumped back into the tent without making a sound as the bear snorted, turned around and ambled off. I waited until he disappeared into the woods before I screamed at the top of my lungs. The next summer, I graciously bowed out of the 2nd annual Dads and Daughters backpacking trip.
Hi Erin,
I loved your story! I love your opening line, how the love interest wanted to make out any way even though he had a girlfriend, and that the narrator lost her friends' contact information because she was so frazzled.
Marilyn
Hi Julie--
I really enjoyed your story! I love that for a 13 year old three changes of clothes is not enough, I love the sound of pots and pans, and the sound of the bear snorting. Scary!
Marilyn
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