Superstition. Tradition. Tomato. Tomahto.
When the wheels left the ground, I was holding Gene’s hand, clutching my gold Miraculous Medal with the other hand and silently repeating the Hail, Mary. This went on until the plane leveled out, the earth disappeared below and we were deep into the clouds. I do this every time I fly. What started out 23 years ago as a first-time flyer’s plea for safety instantly became my “whew. Thank you, God” message to heaven for a safe flight. A message that I am afraid to stop sending, even long having become comfortable (or, maybe just fatalistic) about flying.
This little bit of drama seems harmless enough, right? Well, first of all, I'm now a lapsed Catholic, so the medal/Mary ritual seems pretty nervy of me these days. Shouldn't my God-centered plea be more generic? But, what if I change my airborne routine? What if I stop? I mean, I have the fate of approximately 250 people in my hands!
Once we've touched down, there is the “arrival” ritual. This one depends on where we've landed. This trip, it's London. After checking into our hotel and dropping our bags (and getting the usual reminder that rooms aren't ready until two o’clock,) we drag our tired and somewhat ripe selves to Harrod’s department store.
This started as a mindless activity to kill time until we could get into our room and nap. Museums, stately homes and gardens are a waste if you're sleep deprived. Shopping, however, can be done on automatic pilot. So, we purchase a few gifts, choose our annual Christmas ornament, and take a peek at the Dianna and Dodi shrine in the Egyptian elevator, (which we've watched become more faded, dusty and, if it's even possible, inelegant over the years).
Are these ritual must-do activities superstition or—more kindly put—tradition? And, does it matter? Well, it does if forgetting your medal or flying without your husband’s hand to hold fills you with—not yet panic—but definitely, angst.
I blame this on my father. The Irish Catholic grandson of a Northern Ireland-born Catholic lad, dad was raised in deeply-Irish superstitions that were not to be trifled with. I can easily conjure up the image of him saying “Shoes. Off. The table. NOW!” I know. It makes sense, right? Shoes on the table? Yuck! But, I'm talking about fresh from the store shoes, still in their box and bag. Heading through the dining room with that package? Keep walking.
Truthfully, I don't really question any more whether these little travel rituals are a hark back to familial superstition or just my own happy traditions. The result is the same: I'm able to begin my vacation relaxed and at peace.
Until the guy across from me takes off his shoes. Or the lady one row up opens her home-made tuna and garlic mayo sandwich. Or the “you-call-that-tortellini” dinner arrives. But, you know, you can't ask a Medal for everything.
Do you have any travel
5 comments:
Hi Mel! One tradition, kind of, is that if I am flying out of Dulles on a post-noon flight... I always try to get there at least an hour earlier than needed and go to Vino Volo and have a glass of wine and a cheese plate, sometimes charcuterie too. I am a "regular" in that the staff all know me and are excited to see me and we chat and catch up. I don't fly Dulles all that often anymore! It used to be just about monthly and now it is only international flights which seem to be around 5 times a year (so far).
'bout time you started this blog back up! Yes, I do have a superstition when flying - although I would never dare tell anyone - just you: I have to touch the door panel before entering the plane and ask God for a safe flight. Nope, not silly it's worked so far(smiley face inserted here)! Sending safe thoughts for your entire trip. I enjoy seeing your travel photos on FB.
i have a tradition too ... when i travel i 'binrg' my mother, my dad, my BFF's mother, and more recently my friend wendy with me ... they've all passed but they're with me represented by pieces of jewelry that belonged to them and now to me .. i wear them to keep me safe .. crazy maybe but so far its worked
Mel, the first time I traveled on a plane I was terrified. It was a class trip to of all places, Paris. I don't know what my parents were thinking sending me out of the country at that age. It was a travel agency that booked and planned this school trip with the AP History class of 9th graders (I know there were older highschoolers too). The travel agency gave us all an odd ugly brown passport wallet. It is hard to call it a wallet because it is so ugly, but I have always traveled with this thing. It is my superstitious tradition not to travel on a plane without it. It has also accumulated a few odd religious cards and I think there is still an old French franc inside.
Don't forget to show me!
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