Wherever the Water Takes Me

What makes for a fabulous vacation? Different things for different people, undoubtedly.

Growing up in Iowa in the ’50s and ’60s, my idea of a fabulous vacation was my family’s annual trek to Ideal Beach Resort on Lake Miltona in central Minnesota. Dad was an avid fisherman who spent dawn to dusk trolling the lake for walleye and northern pike while Mom held down the cabin, sweeping away the prodigious amounts of sand we kids dragged in and then frying each day’s catch for supper. God knows why she considered this a vacation for herself; for one 18-year period during which she often had babies in diapers, she had to boil the diapers on the stove after hauling water to the cabin, which lacked indoor plumbing until about 1960. Mom, always a meticulous housekeeper, cooked three meals a day for two weeks for five or six people in that rustic kitchen. I’m not sure whether a restaurant even existed within 20 miles of the place.

That two-week interlude each July was Shangri-La to us kids. For us, and apparently for Mom, too, what the resort lacked in amenities was amply compensated for by its location on a wonderful natural beach with an enormous, shallow, sandy-bottomed swimming area. Our days consisted of donning and doffing swimsuits hung out back on the clothesline between wearings, never quite dry because of the humidity. Running down the dock and hurling ourselves into a big tractor-tire inner tube. Shrieking in the rolling waves on a windy Fourth of July. Lolling lazily on a big beach blanket in the sand, transistor radio tuned to the Top 40. Catching minnows, building sand castles and collecting shells. Mining the treasures at the resort store, like Black Cows and Sugar Daddies and candy necklaces and those six-packs of miniature wax Coke bottles (what IS that stuff, anyway?). Roasting marshmallows at a beach bonfire, all the while reeking of the mosquito repellent which would never be strong enough to deter the blood-sucking hordes of those summer nights.

Somewhere in the nostalgic recesses of my mind lurks that carefree child splashing in the waves. Until the last few years, though, the sorry state of our finances allowed little more than an annual family pool pass to assuage my grown-up aquatic yearnings.

Finally in middle age, the kids out of college and Curt and I both gainfully employed, we began a serious pursuit of vacations combining my favorite water-based activities with plenty of QAT (the family acronym for Quality Ass Time, which itself is shorthand for Activities Best Pursued While Sitting on Your Ass). These have tended toward beach-bumming and ocean-gazing, with a few snorkeling excursions thrown in if we were feeling particularly energetic.

This weekend, though, we leave on a different kind of vacation, one that we expect will educate and illuminate. Destination: the beautiful blue Danube, starting in Budapest, Hungary, and ending in Nuremburg, Germany. One week being guided through ancient monasteries, castles and cathedrals, accompanied by on-board lectures and strudel-making demonstrations, fueled by hefty doses of Viennese coffee, German brewskis and a glass or two of European wine. We’re a little worried about the potential for rain, and yes, we heard about the toxic sludge making its way toward the Danube from a tributary. And yes, the U.S. State Department has issued a travel alert warning citizens traveling to Europe to be cautious of the threat of attacks. But we’ve had this trip planned and paid for way too long to let sludge or vague references to terrorists deter us.

And did I mention we’ll be traveling on the river? We will not only broaden our horizons, but we get to do it mostly on the water. Hopefully all that on-shore culturizing will allow plenty of time for QAT. After spending days trudging along quaint and historic cobblestoned paths, I’m envisioning our sore muscles soothed in the riverboat’s hot tub as we gaze in awe at the passing scenery reflected in the tranquil hues of the river. Is that asking too much?

I'll let you know.