Travel Would Be so Much Easier if I Were a Nudist

Simbelmyne is Sparkler whose last post about teacher crushes was such a huge hit, we've asked her to blog about her life. In this post, her first installment of her summer blog series, Simbelmyne prepares for a month-long trip to Greece with her best friend. Enjoy! —SparkNotes Editors

Ah…travel.

The exotic locales, the interesting people, the airplane food, the strange bugs the size of small dogs, the sand in your shoes (and everywhere else, for what seems like weeks after you’ve been anywhere near a beach), and of course, the pictures you take of some gorgeous seascape, only to realize that some European woman is sunbathing topless in the background. Which you discover while showing said pictures to your grandparents.

This summer promises all these delights and more, and by more, I mean one month in Greece with my best friend, Tory, my little brother, my grandmother, Sophia, (who doesn’t speak English but cooks like a goddess) and my uncle Spiro. We leave at 7 p.m., and at the moment I’m contemplating my plan of attack regarding my luggage.

My usual method of preparation is:

• Pack.

• Repack.

• Wrestle with the suitcase, grunting occasionally.

• Jump from my bed onto my suitcase in a dramatic attempt at getting it to close all the way. Spend five minutes nursing a stubbed toe.

• Take out one pair of socks, feeling like this is a great sacrifice.

• Repack.

• Resign myself to becoming a nudist. Go downstairs to announce my intentions to my family. Turn around halfway down as I remember my legs, which at the moment are so pale they practically glow in the dark. Nudism is out…for now.

• Remove four pairs of pants, five shirts, two pairs of (adorable) boots, one bathing suit, three books, and one hair clip. With much trepidation, grab the zipper and yank as hard as my little arms will let me. To my surprise, it zips all the way closed. Go figure.

• Stare woefully at my bloated luggage, thinking of the stairs.

• Go eat some chocolate.

We’ll be traveling from Logan Airport in Boston to Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam, and then on to the airport in Athens, which has a terrifyingly long name that I’d definitely spell wrong if I tried. Our layover in Amsterdam is only for a handful of hours, so sadly we’ll be confined to the airport. Not so sadly, however, I’ve compiled a list of things to keep us occupied.

Things to do in Amsterdam:

• Find someone wearing those little wooden shoes.

• Find Dutch bathroom-wall scribblings. Extra points if wooden shoes are involved.

• Chocolate.

• Buy the strangest souvenir offered in any of those little gift shops.

• More chocolate.

• Ask to pose with random travelers while one of us takes a picture. Extra points if they look frightened in the photo. Minus points if they call for security.

• Ride the escalators until nausea sets in.

• Find three blond boys in skinny jeans. Yum.

• Buy a newspaper. Sit across from a reasonably nonthreatening-looking traveler. Peer at them suspiciously over the top of the newspaper, muttering into what appears to be some sort of earpiece, but is really just an iPod earbud. Occasionally take out a notebook and scribble down notes. Extra points if Tory sits right next to them and does the same.

• Listen to Bohemian Rhapsody on my iPod, singing the words loudly and acting out the lyrics. Extra points if passersby throw change in my hat, which will undoubtedly have fallen off my head around the epic guitar solo.

• Start a singalong in the bathroom. Possible song choices: "Greased Lightning" the Oscar-Mayer Weiner song, "Super Freak" by Rick James, and the SpongeBob theme song.

Well, I think that’s enough planning for now. I have a month’s worth of socks in the washing machine and almost as much underwear in the dryer. I figure I’ll wear about six pairs of each on the way over to save packing space. Now I must download something loud and obnoxious to keep me up during the flight. I feel like the soundtrack to High School Musical might be in order...

Vaarwel voor nu!
-Simbelmyne

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