Wish you were here... (Wish you were here...)
Vacation. It makes me think of palm trees, beaches, bikinis, and Wally World.
Just before I started fourth grade, my family embarked on what I remember was our first, big vacation: We went to the state fair in Des Moines, then drove north to Hampton and visited relatives, all over the course of three days (seriously, how poor were we?). As my dad guided our big, Oldsmobile 88 around the cloverleaf to get on Interstate 80 and begin our journey, he announced, “Wally World, here we come!”
For those of you who don’t know Wally World, it’s the fictional amusement park in “National Lampoon’s Vacation.” The Griswold’s arduous adventure across the country was to visit “America’s Favorite Family Fun Park” (Magic Mountain was used in the movie), and my parents loved to joke about “going to Wally World” when we left for vacations. I never got the reference until I saw the movie.
Back to my visions of vacation. Palm trees, beaches, bikinis…sounds a lot like Huntington Beach, where I live. Since moving to California, it’s felt like I’ve been on perpetual vacation, yet a vacation where I have a job and get paid. So, where do I go on vacation when I’m already on vacation?
A lot of people in SoCal, especially those living along the coast, drive east to the desert to ride dirt bikes and 4x4s, or go boating on the Colorado River (ironically, everyone who lives inland and in the desert areas drives west to the beach towns — Californians are weird like that). For the long Thanksgiving weekend I’m planning to go north and camp at Sequoia National Park, but I don’t consider that a vacation. A vacation is when you spend days traveling in a car, or hop on a plane to fly across the country. I have an itch to go to Europe that’s getting worse and worse (it’s a good itch, in a good place — trust me) and I want to go to Australia at some point in the next few years, but I don’t have any long-distance traveling plans set in the near future. Except…
The Old Capitol, the Iowa River, and The Que Bar don’t cross my conscious when I think “vacation,” but going back to Iowa City was my first real vacation since moving to California. Sure, I went home last Christmas, but that was to reset my life and ready myself for yet another move and even more change; it eased the transition into another unknown. I’ve made plans to go back again for Christmas, and that trip will be much like the one I made a few weeks ago. Even though it doesn’t have palm trees, beaches, or girls walking around in bikinis (though I’ve realized the women in IC are definitely more to my liking), Iowa City does possess certain vacation qualities that makes it a get-away destination for me.
Compared to the Los Angeles/Orange County megalopolis, Iowa City is a prairie trading post. The big city is crowded, noisy, and congested; everything is fast paced and on the brink of overloading (some things already have). There are tons of people everywhere, all the time. You can’t escape the city — it feels like you’re hemmed in by the barrier of mountains to the north, east, and south, and the endless Pacific to the west. In contrast, Iowa City is quiet, sparsely populated (except for South Johnson Street), and has no traffic. Time moves slowly there, and the nights are pitch black and silent. It’s a peaceful, restful place, where I can take off my sandals, sit down and put my feet up, open a beer, and enjoy a calm, cool night watching the cars on First Avenue (I love watching traffic; there’s something about the movement and flow of cars on the road that lures my interest and attention, and puts me in an introspective, contemplative mood).
LA/OC is an amazing and beautiful place — it offers exponentially more than anything IC could ever dream of — but it’s not home, not the place I want to spend the rest of my life. It’s a place for adventure and youth. My friend and I thought of a good analogy for Iowa City: It’s like a landing strip, where you take off to go somewhere else and land when your endeavors are over.
It was nice to go back and get away from the hustle and bustle of the big city, my parent’s house serving as a board free bed and breakfast. It was a relaxing visit, although some things started to get to me. And then I flew back to California — to palm trees, beaches, girls in bikinis…
Ah, vacation.
Just before I started fourth grade, my family embarked on what I remember was our first, big vacation: We went to the state fair in Des Moines, then drove north to Hampton and visited relatives, all over the course of three days (seriously, how poor were we?). As my dad guided our big, Oldsmobile 88 around the cloverleaf to get on Interstate 80 and begin our journey, he announced, “Wally World, here we come!”
For those of you who don’t know Wally World, it’s the fictional amusement park in “National Lampoon’s Vacation.” The Griswold’s arduous adventure across the country was to visit “America’s Favorite Family Fun Park” (Magic Mountain was used in the movie), and my parents loved to joke about “going to Wally World” when we left for vacations. I never got the reference until I saw the movie.
Back to my visions of vacation. Palm trees, beaches, bikinis…sounds a lot like Huntington Beach, where I live. Since moving to California, it’s felt like I’ve been on perpetual vacation, yet a vacation where I have a job and get paid. So, where do I go on vacation when I’m already on vacation?
A lot of people in SoCal, especially those living along the coast, drive east to the desert to ride dirt bikes and 4x4s, or go boating on the Colorado River (ironically, everyone who lives inland and in the desert areas drives west to the beach towns — Californians are weird like that). For the long Thanksgiving weekend I’m planning to go north and camp at Sequoia National Park, but I don’t consider that a vacation. A vacation is when you spend days traveling in a car, or hop on a plane to fly across the country. I have an itch to go to Europe that’s getting worse and worse (it’s a good itch, in a good place — trust me) and I want to go to Australia at some point in the next few years, but I don’t have any long-distance traveling plans set in the near future. Except…
The Old Capitol, the Iowa River, and The Que Bar don’t cross my conscious when I think “vacation,” but going back to Iowa City was my first real vacation since moving to California. Sure, I went home last Christmas, but that was to reset my life and ready myself for yet another move and even more change; it eased the transition into another unknown. I’ve made plans to go back again for Christmas, and that trip will be much like the one I made a few weeks ago. Even though it doesn’t have palm trees, beaches, or girls walking around in bikinis (though I’ve realized the women in IC are definitely more to my liking), Iowa City does possess certain vacation qualities that makes it a get-away destination for me.
Compared to the Los Angeles/Orange County megalopolis, Iowa City is a prairie trading post. The big city is crowded, noisy, and congested; everything is fast paced and on the brink of overloading (some things already have). There are tons of people everywhere, all the time. You can’t escape the city — it feels like you’re hemmed in by the barrier of mountains to the north, east, and south, and the endless Pacific to the west. In contrast, Iowa City is quiet, sparsely populated (except for South Johnson Street), and has no traffic. Time moves slowly there, and the nights are pitch black and silent. It’s a peaceful, restful place, where I can take off my sandals, sit down and put my feet up, open a beer, and enjoy a calm, cool night watching the cars on First Avenue (I love watching traffic; there’s something about the movement and flow of cars on the road that lures my interest and attention, and puts me in an introspective, contemplative mood).
LA/OC is an amazing and beautiful place — it offers exponentially more than anything IC could ever dream of — but it’s not home, not the place I want to spend the rest of my life. It’s a place for adventure and youth. My friend and I thought of a good analogy for Iowa City: It’s like a landing strip, where you take off to go somewhere else and land when your endeavors are over.
It was nice to go back and get away from the hustle and bustle of the big city, my parent’s house serving as a board free bed and breakfast. It was a relaxing visit, although some things started to get to me. And then I flew back to California — to palm trees, beaches, girls in bikinis…
Ah, vacation.
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