It Rained on My Vacation

It’s an interactive blog today. I’d like to hear your worst “It Rained on my Vacation” stories. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.

As I’m writing this, we’re in Isle of Palms, South Carolina (close to Charleston) in a junior suite in a resort hotel that offers all the amenities: pool, tennis, golf, bicycle rental, kayaking, eco-adventure walks and boating – you know: OUTDOOR activities. We aren’t likely to do any of those things, but it’s nice to know we could. If we were so inclined. If it weren’t raining.

We have a balcony with an ocean view. Our room is within short walking distance to a gorgeous, long sandy beach with crashing breakers where we could be strolling slowly along, holding hands, leaving our footprints in the sand, picking up seashells, gazing philosophically out to sea, dipping our toes in the shark infested surf. There’s a great pavilion steps away from the sand where we could be relaxing with a nice cold beverage and a snack.

But it’s raining cats and dogs. Forecasted probability of rain? All day. Go for a romantic walk on the beach in the rain? Nah, it would be more like a rat-drowning walk in the rain. Ducks would find this weather too wet.

Oh, I know. It could be worse. It could be a hurricane. Or a tropical depression. It’s just a hard, steady, bone-soaking downpour. It’s me who has the tropical depression.

And I know we ought to be more resourceful than that. Yeah, we could read. Yeah, I brought playing cards and a book of crossword puzzles. Sure, there’s a TV with pay per view movies. Yes, I brought the lap top, but the hotel’s Wi-Fi is totally booked with every other guest getting online, so there will be no internet. Ah well.

Again, it could be worse. I feel badly for the scores of parents, dealing with disappointed toddlers or sullen teens, who well could be wondering if anyone would take the kids if they put them on e-Bay. It rained for a while yesterday, too, but the second it stopped there were a hundred kids in the pool.  

I shouldn’t complain. At least we were able to get away for a week and can stay in a nice place like this. But I’ve been longing for “Beach” for months and now we are so close – and yet so far.

So much pressure rides on the “perfect vacation” doesn’t it? We all want gloriously blue skies under which we can frolic and play, or relax and soak up some rays. We take pictures of ourselves wearing our sunglasses and hats and radiant smiles as bright as the sunshine testifying to the lovely time we’re having. We go home again feeling as though heaven has blessed us. As much as we might say things like, “I don’t care! I’m on vacation! If it rains, I’ll really relax and read my book!” we don’t actually mean it. Not on vacation we don’t.

Wait a second! Is the rain letting up? Is the sky clearing? Do I hear kids in the pool?

Quick, honey! Let’s hit the beach!

Look for photos on Facebook later!

                                    

BONUS BLOG: A BLOG BOGO

The Atlantic Canada Laundry Tour

Sometime back in the mid-90s, Ken and I took a trip to Quebec and the Atlantic provinces. It was our worst “It Rained on our Vacation” story. It was June. We flew from Vancouver to Montreal, and from there, on to Quebec City where we intended to see the historic Old City over a couple of days, and then we would fly to Halifax, get a rental car and tour the Maritimes. Our plane landed in Quebec City late in the evening. Next day, it was apparent that the morning rainfall wasn’t going to let up all day long. Our choices were three: try to squeeze onto the overcrowded bus tours with all the other tourists, stay in our hotel room all day, or get out there and walk. Thinking ourselves very clever for having packed rain jackets, we headed out on foot.

By the time we had gone a couple of blocks, our jacket hoods and shoulders were already soaked; our pant legs were wicking water upward from our ankles to our knees. We stopped at a souvenir shop to buy ponchos and umbrellas. Not a big improvement. The umbrellas were useless against the rain being wind-driven sideways under their canopies. The edges of the ponchos spouted water directly along the knees of our jeans which wicked up the legs, soaking us, undies and all, literally to the skin. Our runners (US translation: sneakers) squished. Once wet, we figured we couldn’t get wetter, so we soldiered on.

Later, in the hotel room we hung our wet things over every available tap, rod and hook in the bathroom. We laid socks out on the radiator in the bedroom. The runners were beyond hope, but we put them on the window ledge anyway. But what to do with all this wet laundry when we had to pack up and fly to our next destination? It all got stuffed in plastic bags, of course. But wet clothing doesn’t dry out in plastic bags, does it? It just stays wet. Especially runners.

In every hotel room for the next week, through Nova Scotia, Cape Breton Island and PEI, we hauled out our wet duds and found places to hang the jeans, the socks and the underwear. Window sills for the runners. None of it was getting dry before it had to be bundled up in plastic again when we hit the road. By the third or fourth day, it was all taking on that musty, damp, mildewy aroma that wet things get. Our hotel rooms looked like we were in a community theatre production of “The Grapes of Wrath.” Our car smelled like a damp basement. We had to do something. I think it was in St. Andrews by the Sea, New Brunswick that we finally found a Laundromat. The laundry came out fresh and sweet, but I think we tossed the runners.

To this day whenever we are on vacation and one of us says, “It’s only a little rain! What will it hurt if we get wet?” the other quickly invokes the image of underwear hanging on the backs of chairs with the words: “Remember the Maritimes!” It’s enough to make us stay indoors and read a book!