During our vacation, we traveled almost every day, sometimes into the mountains, and sometimes down along the coast, making a big circle in an attempt to get to cool beaches and scenic hiking trails. My husband had planned the trip, using google maps and online sites.
On the first day of the trip, he glanced at the printout directions and said, “This doesn’t make sense. We’re going less than fifty miles, but it says it’s going to take us hours.”
He looked at the map again. That dotted line that looked like a bridge? Turns out it was a ferry crossing.
So that’s how we began the trip. We waited for about half an hour in a long line of cars, then drove onto a ferryboat. Once we’d parked, we climbed up onto the deck, with a crowd of people who were excitedly clambering for spots at the rail.
From the highest deck, I could see across an expanse of blueness. I looked back to the little town beach, with its rocks and driftwood, and then at the green islands in the distance. Wind came whipping across the deck, bringing the smell of salt and dead fish. Seagulls screeched and swooped down, looking for scraps of food.
The engines purred into action beneath me. The boat moved slowly away from land. I went off to explore, checking out every deck. Two kids on the boat were running from place to place and yelling to each other in excitement. The wind was pretty cold, so most people went inside, but I didn’t want to risk motion sickness. Soon I saw our destination across the water: a little town piled on the side of a hill, with a big dock in front for the ferry. That’s how the vacation began.