At 14, I dreamed that one day Tom Rogers would send his lopsided smile my way and say “Hey.” It was a hopeless crush, me being a lowly nothing and Tom being gorgeous, smart, and on the football team.
Books were an escape. One day after school I discovered The Royal Road to Romance in my parents’ library. Why had I never noticed such a lusty title before? I pulled it from the shelf, hoping it would lead me into forbidden territory and help me forget about Tom. The cover was dark green, old, and worn. The author had the romantic name of Richard Halliburton. What juicy scenes must be inside!
Even though no-one else was home, I felt unseen eyes upon me as I moved the other books around to fill in the empty space where it had been. Hurrying to my room, I peeked at the first words: “May had come to Princeton.” Princeton, wherever that was, in springtime, seemed like the right place for royal romance to happen. I slid the book under my pillow, hiding it till later.
That night, lying in bed, face to the wall, I began to read in earnest. There was a moment of disappointment when I discovered that “romance” meant adventure and following dreams, but Halliburton’s story was so compelling I couldn’t stop. He searched in the farthestmost corners of the earth for the beautiful, the joyous and even the love type of romance. He sailed to foreign ports, swam the Hellespont, climbed great mountains, communed “in solitude with the moonlit Taj Mahal.” My obsession with Tom Rogers faded as dreams inspired by Halliburton began to take its place.
In the 11th grade, a Career Day counselor asked what I wanted to do in my life and I replied, “Travel the world.” He shook his head and actually smirked. Maybe he didn’t believe that such dreams could be achieved, especially by girls from poor families. I knew otherwise.
I knew from Halliburton’s example that a person can do anything if they work hard enough for it. His parents had been wealthy, but he worked his way to Europe on a steamer, and then earned money as he needed it. He had planted a seed that began to grow and become a part of me.
Six years later, I graduated from UCLA with a BA in Theater and a job offer to work as a secretary. My roommate Mary and I chose adventure instead. Working through the summer, we saved every penny we could, sold all our belongings including my car, and drove her car to New York. From there it was logical to go on to Europe. Icelandic Airlines flew us to Prestwick, Scotland, the first stop on what became an around-the-world journey.
I had loved how Halliburton traveled with no reservations and no itinerary, seizing opportunities as they came. That’s how Mary and I did our trip. We took trains, hitchhiked, motorscootered, walked, and rode rickshaws. We worked when we needed to. Our accommodations were hostels, train stations, native hotels, and YM- YWCAs. After more than a year away, we sailed home on a Japanese freighter with six passengers and a delightful captain who baked us an apple pie.
Other fine adventures came along including living and working in new places, getting married, and raising four children. The most recent adventure was moving from tree-rich mountains to the Mojave desert.
On my morning walks down unpaved Royal Roads I see the mountains to the east aflame with sunrise. A tarantula might meander across my path. Frequently I pass a sidewinder curled up digesting last night’s meal. Bright red scorpions have danced their mating dance, taking no notice of me. There is adventure here! The summer air is rich, smelling of spices and warm sand. There is time for meditation under the stars.
Sometimes, though, when the west wind feels as if it comes straight from the ocean, I find myself stopping in mid stride to taste it, to imagine where it has been, what it’s bringing to me. Then I’m aware that Richard Halliburton is still at my side giving me a lopsided grin and saying “Hey!”
April in Normandy? Hitchhiking again?
Why not!
The right book can do that to you.
