2008 Woodie Awards
Disney World and the East Coast experienced in a mini van
Nicole Dellasanta
Issue date: 9/30/04 Section: Feature of the Week: TRAVELING
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Mickey Mouse. The Magic Kingdom. Donald Duck. Space Mountain. A 1990 Ford Aerostar van packed with three kids aged ten, four, and three, a four-month pregnant mother, and a highway-cautious father.
The ideal vacation? Well-maybe not.
But for my first time traveling out of New England as a mere fourth-grader, it was the greatest vacation I thought anybody could ever go on. When my mother first told me we were going to Disney World, I immediately feared that I wouldn't like the plane ride. Laughing, she told me that we would be driving right down through the Northeast coast to get to our precious destination. Skeptical, and wanting only to meet Tigger as quickly as possible, I reluctantly piled into our newly-acquired, suitcase-stuffed Ford van with my four-year-old and three-year-old sisters on the day we left. I knew it was going to be a long ride.
But as bad it sounds, and as obnoxious as my sisters got, the trek that seemed to be the most out-of-the-way route to Disney World turned out to be one of the most interesting vacations my family has ever taken.
Our first two stops at Salisbury, Maryland and outside of Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, after driving straight through each day stopping only for meals and bathroom breaks, weren't too exciting, except for the fact that we got to stretch our aching legs. Our third and final stop before arriving at Disney, however, nearly made me want to stop right in our tracks and put off seeing Goofy for at least another day. The most vivid recollection I have of Savanna, Georgia, and the reason I wanted to stay and live there for the rest of my life, is the gargantuan size and old-fashioned beauty of nearly everything I layed eyes on. The enormous willow trees looked like something out of National Geographic, and the giant brick buildings with ancient verandas conjured up images of Civil War colonels smoking cigars and planning their next attack in the glow of the setting sun. Even at ten years old, the writer in me longed to stay and talk with the Southern-drawling hotel clerks and ask if any of the local newspapers were in need of a younger writer.
The ideal vacation? Well-maybe not.
But for my first time traveling out of New England as a mere fourth-grader, it was the greatest vacation I thought anybody could ever go on. When my mother first told me we were going to Disney World, I immediately feared that I wouldn't like the plane ride. Laughing, she told me that we would be driving right down through the Northeast coast to get to our precious destination. Skeptical, and wanting only to meet Tigger as quickly as possible, I reluctantly piled into our newly-acquired, suitcase-stuffed Ford van with my four-year-old and three-year-old sisters on the day we left. I knew it was going to be a long ride.
But as bad it sounds, and as obnoxious as my sisters got, the trek that seemed to be the most out-of-the-way route to Disney World turned out to be one of the most interesting vacations my family has ever taken.
Our first two stops at Salisbury, Maryland and outside of Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, after driving straight through each day stopping only for meals and bathroom breaks, weren't too exciting, except for the fact that we got to stretch our aching legs. Our third and final stop before arriving at Disney, however, nearly made me want to stop right in our tracks and put off seeing Goofy for at least another day. The most vivid recollection I have of Savanna, Georgia, and the reason I wanted to stay and live there for the rest of my life, is the gargantuan size and old-fashioned beauty of nearly everything I layed eyes on. The enormous willow trees looked like something out of National Geographic, and the giant brick buildings with ancient verandas conjured up images of Civil War colonels smoking cigars and planning their next attack in the glow of the setting sun. Even at ten years old, the writer in me longed to stay and talk with the Southern-drawling hotel clerks and ask if any of the local newspapers were in need of a younger writer.