Emily is Smiling

There is something about travel that makes my heart sing.

I love the feel of climbing into a car, surrounded by bags and suitcases... or settling into an airplane seat... or checking into a hotel where everything looks and smells brand new.  I love to travel.

Even small road trips excite me.  Once my mom needed to drive an hour away to a tiny Texas town.  I went along for the ride, simply because I love the feel of travel. 

On one of our most recent college road trips, it was incredibly warm outside.  In fact, the thermometer read 116 degrees at one point, which was insane.  That's the nice thing about having a car with a good air conditioner.  You can admire the cloudless blue sky, the mesquite trees, the cacti... without feeling the agonizingly hot sun beating down on your face like a firey sledgehammer. 

Whenever we left the car to grab a bite to eat or make a pit stop, we felt that awful heat.  The sun can be a vicious tormenter.  Although summer is my favorite season, I'll admit I'm looking forward to semi-cool weather.  Autumn weather.  NOT snow.  I don't think I'll ever feel desperate enough to wish for such an awful thing as snow to fall around me.  I'll take the beating sun any day over snowfall.

When I was younger, hotel swimming pools were my favorite part of traveling.  We didn't have a pool at home until I was eleven, so getting to stay at a hotel with a pool down the hall was a source of great excitement.  In fact, my parents were careful to reserve a hotel based on whether or not it had an indoor pool.  (Outdoor pools were either always too hot outside of the water or too cold inside of the water... or both.)  The moment we arrived at the hotel, my sister and I were already begging, "Can we go swimming?  Please, please, can we swim now?" 

After a few minutes of haggling, my parents would finally sigh and allow us to put on our swimsuits.  We'd wriggle into our polka-dotted and flowery one-piece bathing suits before wrapping up in the white hotel towels and scampering down to the pool.  We'd swim and flip and dive into the water, performing trick after trick in front of Mommy and Daddy, who would either watch us wearily from the poolside or tolerate our antics while attempting to play along with us in the water. 

The best thing ever was when Daddy came in with us.  He was so big and strong that I could climb all over him and neither of us would ever sink.  Sometimes he'd throw me across the pool or put me on his shoulders and fall backwards into the warm water, which was always fun.  Whenever I jumped off the side into his arms, I knew he would catch me. 

These days, I don't swim in hotel pools.  I'm not much of a water person.  In fact, my mom doesn't even pay attention to whether or not our hotel has a pool unless we have my younger brother or sister along with us.  They still enjoy swimming.  Occasionally, however, I'll still meander down to the poolside and stick my toes into the water. 

There is something especially inviting about a hotel pool.  Good memories, perhaps.  Or a glimpse of that early childhood longing.

I love to travel.  Don't you?