Travel Book Extract

Catalyst For Adventure:

The True Story of Best Friends Travelling Through Europe

It was a sunny day and the white sand glowed, begging to be marched over. The Ionian Sea, I decided, was the prototype that artists used to make the color turquoise. Brown cliffs stood over the ocean like a concerned older brother. The pathway to our hotel was lined with lavender, which emitted a strong fragrance. The Island was like a girl dressed up for a date. She wore a tropical dress, with her hair tossed above her head in easy curls. She splashed lavender perfume on her wrists so that enchanted explorers would notice her when she subtly breezed by. This was the vacation from our vacation.

We checked into our hotel to find a plump Greek girl smiling with all sorts of promises.

“You get to stay one day free,” She began. “There is a complimentary breakfast every morning and a traditional Greek meal served every night—this is also complimentary. You can rent anything that you need, including cars and kayaks, and we have lots of tours that take you around the island. Would you like to see your room?”

Would we ever! The hotel had beachfront property and more perks than we could count. We wondered if the room would be as marvelous. Indeed it was. Summer and I had our own clean bathroom and breezy balcony. Our sheets were bleached and we even had a spare bed.

In disbelief Summer said to me, “I’m surprised there isn’t some sort of catch, this is the nicest place we’ve stayed so far.”

I agreed. After twenty-four hours of difficult travel, we were finally queens on a Greek island. We napped away our weariness until it was time for dinner.

Greek salad, baklava, and other indigenous edibles waited for us in the dining room. The anticipation in our palate was surpassed only by the anticipation of our company. We expected to meet interesting Australian backpackers or hunky Greek athletes. In this tropical place we predicted to kayak and explore with friends from around the globe. Instead, waiting for us in the dining room was a group of self-indulgent American exchange students with nothing to talk about outside of the realm of beer.

Placing my dinner on a big round table, I introduced myself to some girls from UCLA, “Hi, I’m Crystal.”

“Hi,” one replied, “I’m Buffy, what’s your major?”

This reminded me of my freshman year of college. Whenever college freshman meet, they ask each other a list of boring questions as if they were filling out a survey. The most common are: What’s you name? What’s your major? What’s your minor? What town are you from? and, What sports did you play in high school?

Humoring Buffy’s surface conversation, I told her, “Mass communications, political science, Keizer, Oregon, track and cheerleading.”

“Hi,” another girl said to me, “My name is Ashley and I go to the University of Florida. What’s your name? What are you studying in college?”

“I’m Crystal.” I responded, “umm, Mass Communications.”

Even though I had already graduated from college, I was sucked back into it, and only into the lame parts of it--the parts where people depended too much on course outlines and superficial relationships.

Glancing at Summer I overheard her tell a guy from Arizona State, “I’m Summer, and I majored in Business.”

Everyone in the room was American and sported a college sweatshirt. The ringleader of the group was a guy named Jordan. Jordan, I decided, spent more time at the gym than at class, drank protein shakes, and probably hadn’t read a book without pictures. He assessed the crowd, making a mental list of the hottest girls. Since the drinking age in Greece was much younger than in America, Jordan used alcohol to persuade half-witted girls to flash him. When he tried to talk to me I just avoided him, fearing that he might suck the intelligence right out of my brain. At midnight the hotel turned into a free-for-all, and I felt like I was trapped on an episode of MTV spring break.

That was the catch that Summer had mentioned. The resort was no less than a compound for young Americans to drink and make fools of themselves without parental supervision. The only thing Greek about it was the salad they served at dinner, and the staff never got anything done. There were no cars to rent and it was too secluded to explore the island by foot. We were trapped at the hotel and I wondered if it was all a communal religion, run by an alcoholic evil genius. Just in case my premonitions were correct, I avoided Kool-Aid that week. On nice days, being stuck on the hotel’s property was not a problem because we would suntan the hours away, listening to a sweet breeze rush through palms. However, when it rained, everyone had to sit around folding tables and create games as if on a long family road trip.

In the midst of a tropical storm, we befriended Bret and Ben, a couple of Canadians who had a million stories about bears.

“One time I was working in the forest, and this bear came up to me because she thought I was endangering her cub, and so I had to shoot her.” Bret said.

Bret told many other stories shooting bears. In Canada, he carried a gun on his person, because most Canadian men seem to work in forestry and carry guns. Summer theorized that you could ask any Canadian man to tell you a story about a bear, and they would have at least twelve. One out of five would have a story about a bear playing hockey. During our week in Greece, this proved to be true. The Canadians were great company because they were also fed up with all of the vapid coeds at the compound.

“If I have to answer the question, ‘like, what are you studying in college’ one more time I might run screaming into the ocean.” I said.

Everyone agreed with me. In response to this, Ben, Summer, Bret and I compiled a list of lame answers in case someone else asked what we studied.

“Dental Hygiene and the British culture”

“Narcolepsy and dating.”

“Broadcasting and the social trends of inbreeds, also known as daytime television.”

“Probability in concealed experiments, also known as ‘how many fingers am I holding up?’”

Sadie and Betsy, exchange students studying in Spain joined our table and suggested that we all play cards. Sadie and Betsy had thick Wisconsin accents, and I loved to mimic them.

“They say that the mid-western accent is the most phonetically correct way of speaking English.” Sadie informed me.

“Maybe that is true, but it doesn’t stop the splitting headache I get every time I go to a family reunion in Chicago.” I replied in jest.

In spite of my jabs at her speech, Sadie quickly extended an invitation for Summer and I to stay with Betsy and her in Madrid. There was something different about these girls. They were confidant and funny, and offered glances of peace and hope. What kind of a person would invite us to stay after only a day? Something was up. With that thought I continued, with Ben, to add to our fabricated list of studies.

“The psychological effects of post-celebrity incarceration, also known as E True Hollywood Story.”

“Electronic background music, also known as Karaoke.”

“Molecular botany as it pertains to dairy.”

“The social ramifications of methane emission.”

“Rapid eye movement and heavy machinery”

“Square dancing.”

At that point the list got too stupid for even Jordan to believe. Ben and I were amused, and that was quite a feat for a rainy day at the compound. 

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