I had already been planning to post about this book today, but in light our our current situation the title seemed especially appropriate (read: ironic). Our Heart’s Were Young and Gay is a memoir about two young women who traveled across Europe in the 1920s and had one hilarious adventure after the other. It seems exotic and rare to get a glimpse into 1920s Europe from the eyes of two Bryn Mawr graduates, that I’m desperate to enter their world. I especially wish I had a copy with me today as we enter day two of waiting in airport terminals.
Yesterday we kissed Luke’s family goodbye and flew home from the UK. Everything was going sufficiently well until we got to Newark. You know where this is going. Storms rolled in, we sat on the runway for two hours before finally being trundled back to the airport. Our flight to Atlanta had been canceled along with many, many others. Nothing else was available that night. It was off to an airport hotel for us. I should mention that this has happened to us before in Newark around the time of the Iceland volcanic eruption. We spent the night in the airport that time and vowed never to do that again. (This is after being awake from 5am in the UK, so our body clocks were already pushed ahead.) So we had a (not so) lovely but restful night in a crummy Newark hotel last night and this morning managed to get a direct flight to Atlanta for this afternoon. They’re predicting thunder storms again today, so we’re preparing to do the same thing all over again today.
You always wonder in hindsight if it would not have been better just to rebook the flight a couple days from now, once all the other folks on canceled flights have gotten home and the storms have rolled away, and spend a couple days in New York. Why not extend our ridiculously long holiday an extra 2 days, huh? But you know how it is. There comes a point in your travels where you just want to get to your destination. And we just want to go home.
So it must be said, today our hearts are not so gay, and if it weren’t for our surprisingly comfy hotel bed, we probably wouldn’t be feeling too young either. But we’re looking forward to future travels and we’re grateful for these latest ones, grateful for having experienced our own set of adventures which may well make for good stories when we’re long gone and readers in 2113 are saying, “My wasn’t that such an exciting time to live?”
I’d love to know, have you read any unputdownable travel memoirs? When you find a good one, they can be the best form of escapist literature.
(top photo of Diana Lynn and Gail Russell playing in the 1944 movie based on the book; bottom photo of us after we’d spent the night in Newark airport the last time. The following morning we discovered we were on the same 5:30am flight as my former Italian exchange student, Alessia. We were all on our way to my sister’s wedding and had been diverted because of the volcano. Our hearts were very happy that sleepy morning.)