This blog entry just introduces you to our driving trip, and part 2 and 3 give practical ideas about eating right on the road.
Last month I was on a road trip to Jackson, Yellowstone, and Sun Valley. It was my Western Party itinerary, designed by my lovely friend Bonnie Smith. I drove Ulf, Petra, and Freddy all around.
Ulf and Petra (the director and M.D. who run Paracelus al Ronc in Switzerland) grew up behind the Berlin Wall, and thus didn’t learn any English until they were in their 20’s. This was only their second time in the U.S., and their first time in the West.
Being a Western-themed trip (we did a covered-wagon dinner with fiddle entertainment in Jackson), I played country music nonstop in the car. I told Ulf I would stop only when he yelled out, “I LOVE COUNTRY MUSIC!” He finally broke on Day 3.
How do you explain lyrics like “Chew-tabbaco-chew-tabbaco-chew-tabbaco-SPIT!” (Blake Shelton’s Boys Round Here.)
Highlights of the tour included the very calm and staid Dr. Petra busting out in a rendition of the Rolling Stones’ I Can’t Get No Satisfaction.
Highlights included my trying to explain the slang and jokes I apparently use constantly. Like what having to “park in BFE” means—and how I talk around the middle word in that acronym–what “skinnydipping” is, what it means to be “on the edge of your seat” (my making a joke about waiting for Old Faithful to erupt).
Highlights included my daughter trying to jump across a stream to chase 2 bull moose with me, and sinking so deep in mud she lost her flipflop.
My daughter Emma is the only one of my children who came along on the trip. She and I have long-standing tension, all centering around one central question:
WHO IS THE ALPHA FEMALE HERE?
One day, Emma and I being so very similar, we will be best of friends. We have a blast together on trips. But she’s the kid I fight with. A number of things about me really tick her off on a regular basis. What I wear, what color my hair is.
Ulf’s birthday was coming up, and I promise him that on his 60th birthday in 4 years, I will find an American rock-star of his choice and get him/her to his party. He wants Mick Jagger. I shoot that down: “Not American.” He thinks, and thinks some more, and keeps coming up with more European singers.
I suggest Americans he just rejects. Bruce Springsteen. Bon Jovi. “The guy from U2?” he asks.
“Bono. Not American. Disqualify,” I reply.
He has clearly, however, continued stewing about it, and an hour later shouts:
“TINA TURNER! That’s who I want!”
She already lives in Switzerland, he said, so should be cheap for her to attend Ulf’s party.
Help me! I’ve gotten myself into a commitment that may be hard to pull off. I believe in 4 years Ms. Turner will be 75 years old.
My next two blogs will be about my STRATEGIES for eating whole foods, while on the road, with a minimum of fuss. So that we come home without feeling run down and needing a vacation from the vacation!