Love, love, love. During the Valentine’s Day season (I’ve been spotting heart-shaped candy boxes in the shops since December), you either love hearing about it or love to hate it. This time of year, travel is all about the romantic getaway. As if true lovers really need spa treatments and roses and for romance. (Not that they hurt, you understand … )
Well, we say love happens whenever and wherever and sometimes … whatever. So we’re just gonna tell you what we think about when we think about this romantic and overwrought of holidays.
Our guest writer this week is Malecia Walker (nee El-Amin), whom I met when she held the same job I had many years ago: assistant travel editor of The Dallas Morning News. During Malecia’s stint at the paper, she sat on Jefferson’s head at Mount Rushmore, held a baby alligator, and ate a different gator right afterward, which, she assured me “…does not taste like chicken, but it is good.” Love and marriage lured Malecia from Dallas; she’s now a newlywed copy editor in New York City.
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Bethesda Fountain says love to Malecia. Photo by kitonlove via Flickr (Creative Commons)
My husband and I are not Valentine’s Day people; we’d rather celebrate our love noncommercially, thankyouverymuch. That said, Aug. 30, 2008, started out normally, though I was suspicious when I caught James putting something in his armoire that he called “top secret.” I was visiting New York City from Dallas, and James and I went to meet my friend for brunch. Then the three of us went to a street fair. From there, we parted with my friend and went to Central Park. We watched the Afrobats perform near Bethesda Fountain, and then we went to sit on a big rock nearby. He told me he had something for me, and out came the ring box. “Will you marry me?”–Malecia
Up in the air out west. Photo by Jenna Schnuer
Aside from a possible flight attendant “happy blahblah day…” announcement, there’s no better place to shut away the day than up in the air at a cruising altitude of, say, 32,000 feet. It’s not an anti-Valentine’s Day thing and it’s just partially a don’t want it jammed down my throat thing. It’s that up in the air is all about promise–of what’s ahead, of the people around, of the beauty out the window. As a woman flying solo these days, I can’t imagine a more romantic way to spend the day. And, if, say, the handsome man in 6B doesn’t pan out, I’d cap the day off with a room service dinner and wine consumed while wearing my hotel bathrobe. Holiday? What holiday?–Jenna
Who loves ya, baby? Photo by Sophia Dembling
If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: I would never have married Tom if our first road trip together had not been a success. We’ve road tripped many times since that first drive from Dallas to Los Angeles and every one is like another little honeymoon. Sure, we squabble sometimes—but not often. Mostly, we laugh at the same road signs (in a rest stop: “Pet Area to Rear”), brake for kitsch, take turns controlling the music, and play our own little road games. (Inventing small-town slogans: Terrifically Tumcumcari! Sherman? Sure! Now it’s your turn.). We fear no fried food, get grubby and road worn, take silly photos, and fall in love all over again.
