I was about 10 or 11 when my parents took me on a trip to Japan. The castles and temples met my expectations of what Japan looked like, but I was surprised by how modern the cities were, so it seemed both foreign and familiar at the same time.

One night we were invited to dinner in Tokyo by a rather prominent lady who was a friend of the family. It was a very elegant Japanese restaurant, with kimonoed waitresses, hardwood floors, tatami mats in the room overlooking a beautiful garden.

As we entered our dining room there was a huge iced display of sashimi, magnificently laid out; bluefin tuna, snapper, mackeral, lobster, shrimp, salmon roe, sea urchins and many more I couldn't even guess, only the freshest most expensive seafood available. I turned to my parents and said, "This is dinner? But everything is RAW!"

Seeing my dismay, our hostess discreetly spoke with the head chef. Midway through the meal which everyone was devouring with gusto, me taking a polite nibble or two, the chef entered with a large platter of freshly cooked shrimp tempura and placed it before me. Now that I could eat.

As a sushi and sashimi lover today, I could never afford that kind of dinner in that kind of restaurant in Tokyo without taking out a second mortgage.

Like many of the previous posters, our summer vacations generally revovled around driving from our home in PA to visit my grandparents in Alabama. In the early years there were few interstates and no car air conditioning, but we made it, stopping in small motels and, if we were lucky, visiting Rock City in Chattanooga or riding the Lookout Mountain incline. We used to give a prize for the first person to see a "See Rock City " birdhouse. We usually added a few days on the Florida panhandle in a little fishing village called Destin. To his dying day my dad insisted that the beaches around Destin were the most beautiful in the world, and I loved it there too. There was a little restaurant called the Wharf which was exactly that, a building over the wharf with the best fresh shrimp. Now Destin is so grown up and developed, with gourmet restaurants, but the beaches are as beautiful as ever. We did take one 4 week trip out west one year when my dad got extra vacation, and to me the highlight was Disneyland. I still remember planning out my E-ticket rides, and I still have the used book somewhere.

We didn't take vacations either, just trips to grandparents & aunt's family in Florida. Neither did we ever eat at restaurants except on these trips, back in 50's & 60's.

At 5 years old, I still remember stopping a a rest. that had car-hops outside (we went inside). My dad said we'd have banana splits for dessert. I didn't even know what a BS was, but it sure sounded good. He said he'd buy us ice cream cones to go after, if we finished our BS's. We did, but couldn't have eaten a bit more, yet got mad when Dad wouldn't buy cones. Other things I remember from early trips that were unknown at home was wrapped sugar cubes, hamburgers served with pickle slices speared & "hovering" above the burger (we usually ate at diners & truckstops). We stayed at "motor-courts", which I still try to find when traveling, if I can find a clean one.

We went to a "zoo" type place near Boca Raton called "Africa-USA" where I saw monkeys, elephants, ostriches, giraffes & other for the first time. I remember Dad getting coconuts from trees. I still remember the "Boca Club" -- a super fancy looking place I knew I'd never stay at. All this at age 5.

Shift ahead 10 years, my father would haul a 33' housetrailer down in the fall, rent it to "snowbirds" during the winter, and haul it back in the spring. We then slept in the trailer at truckstops or roadside "reststops". We showered at truckstops, and ate very few meals not prepared in the trailer. We kids rode in the back of the truck, one of those "utility trucks" with both outer sides all "compartments", and a sliding lid over the "bed" of the truck. Not very comfortable, but we mischievous kids compensated by holding up signs, making faces (and occasionally worse) at the occupants of vehicles behind us.

My first fulltime job was at a Holiday Inn (both in restaurant & hotel), and I vowed I'd never travel again like I did as a kid. But every once in awhile I do crash at a reststop. I still haven't shaken my thrifty upbringing.

I remember going to Lake Norman, NC for a water-skiing weekend with my married older sister, when I was 13. I stayed in a Holiday Inn for the first time, and fell in love for the first time.:-; (He was 12, tow-headed and freckled, and taught me to swim!!!) For some reason, those sweet memories are very strong!:-)

bonnie, we lived in Charlotte and on summer afternoons we were always out at Lake Norman! My dad built a house there, but it never had the same appeal as when we were kids.

Scarlett, read your post about moving from Hawaii to meet your new N.C. grandparents............ how old were you when you met them for the first time?

I was 6. Just a pipsqueak.

Ellen Griswold-

I had to laugh when you mentioned staying in the Holiday Inns. When we did our cross-country marathon we stayed in a Holiday Inn as often as we could. They were new and at 7 I considered them very plush!

My favorite was a road trip from Houston to Grand Lake (or was it lake Gandby, something like tht) in Colorado when I was 7. My parents had friends from their prior life in NY, and those friends were building a vacation home on the lake. My parents and two older sisters (9 and 10 yrs older) and I drove to see them. I remember that my father did NOT like to stop for ANYTHING- we just kept driving and had to "hold it" or get really hungry and complain wildly til he stopped. When we got there, the cabin was only half done. The studs were in but no drywall. This was quite a shock to my family, I thnk they expected it to be a finished cabin, but an adventure for me. I guess there was plumbing as we stayed there for a week, like on matresses on the floor. It was kind of like camping indoors. It was a fateful trip, as my oldest sister met a young man on that trip and ended up marrying him a few years later (after she entered and left a Catholic convent as a novice- another story). Good memories. And when I was planning my very small and modest wedding 19 yrs ago, and my own father had long since passed away, I called that man who owned the cabin, and whom I had not seen since my Dad's funeral, and I asked him to walk me fly in and walk me down the aisle. And he did. I think my dad must have been smiling down on that one.