Seeing the sights on a dream vacation

The two years that Vertis and I spent in Benghazi, Libya got traveling in our blood. There have been several trips I especially remember; this is one of them.

Our daughter Lara had just graduated from El Dorado High School and son Ashley had finished his sophomore year. Several months earlier we had a discussion as to where we would like to go on our family vacation the next summer. A trip to Europe was decided upon. So Vertis and I started making reservations for the journey, planned for mid-May.

We intended to visit three major European cities, and five days apiece with travel time equaled 21 days in Rome, Paris, and London. Lara, our artist, had the Louvre in Paris all mapped out; that was her top pick. Ashley, who would one day be a Special Forces soldier, was focused on the Colosseum in Rome, and I was looking forward to playing tennis on the European red clay courts.

At the time, I played three times a week, and Ashley was on the El Dorado High School tennis team. That meant we would have our rackets as carry-on luggage. No serious tennis player would check their rackets.

Our flight to Rome arrived at 9 a.m., and after checking into our hotel, we started seeing the sights. Naturally, St. Peter’s Basilica and the Vatican were high on our list. By noon we were dining on pasta at a restaurant a block off St. Peter’s Square.

The kids were overwhelmed by the magnificent church, and Lara couldn’t get enough of the art. I had a detailed map of the area, and as we started walking back to our hotel, I spotted another church. We walked in, and couldn’t believe that a simple neighborhood church could be so beautiful. That started the search via my map to wind through the old city streets searching for churches. Six wonderful structures later the kids were about to mutiny.

Over the next few days we had to drag Ashley out of the Colosseum. He wanted to explore the maze of tunnels under the seating area where the gladiators came through to enter the arena.

Then it was on to Paris, where the trip offered one of its surprises. We were waiting for our luggage to come, and Ashley and I were standing there holding our tennis rackets when I recognized one of the passengers waiting for their luggage. It was Jimmy Connors, the No. 1 tennis player in the world at the time.

I nudged Ashley and said, “Look who is standing there waiting for his luggage.” Ashley didn’t recognize him for a moment until I said, “It’s Jimmy Connors.”

I wasn’t going to bother him, but Ashley darted over, carrying his racket, and said, “Mr. Connors, I play on the El Dorado High School tennis team.”

I didn’t know what to expect, but Jimmy Connors exceeded my expectations, and while we waited for our bags the two of them had an animated discussion, Ashley came away beaming, and I had added respect for someone who spent 10 minutes of his time encouraging a young tennis player.

Then, after we checked into our hotel, Ashley insisted we work out on the nearby red clay tennis courts.

The kids wanted to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I thought that was a great idea until I saw the long line and how slowly it was moving. Then I noted a very short line, and asked the man escorting people to the lift if we could go up in that line.

“Certainly, sir, if you have reservations for the restaurant.”

I glanced at the regular line one more time, and then asked the man if could he get us reservations.

“Let me see if they have a table available,” he said.

They did, and up to the restaurant we went for a rather expensive lunch. The view was breathtaking. As we were about to ask for the check, Lara said to the waiter.

“Sir, I would like raspberries and whipped cream for dessert.”

Those raspberries must have been flown over from northwest Arkansas, because they became the top of the mark for any one item on the trip. And we didn’t have to stand in line to see the view from the Eiffel Tower.

After Lara dragged us to the Louvre where we spent hours before she had to be pulled out, we headed for our big dining splurge of the trip, La Tour d ’Argent, a one-star Michelin restaurant. The menu was in French, and we were saved by a wonderful English-speaking server. The food was fabulous, and as the restaurant roof parted, our kids marveled at how far they were from a burger and fries. I choked when I was handed the check, but it was worth it … almost.

Then it was on to London, where we checked off visiting every top attraction possible in five days. Finally we hopped in one of the city’s famous black cabs and headed for the airport. That’s when our first major problem almost ruined the trip home.

There was a wreck on the road, and all traffic was stopped. Our supposed hour-long ride to the airport took over two hours. When we arrived, the plane had boarded and was scheduled to depart in 10 minutes. I dashed ahead to the ticket counter and breathlessly explained to the agent why we were late. Much to my surprise he called the gate, then announced, “They are holding the plane for you.”

That prompted a mad dash to the boarding gate, and an agent ushered us into our plane. As we sat down, Ashley looked out the window, and almost yelled, “We’re flying on the Concorde!” That was our final surprise. We had managed to book the supersonic Concorde well in advance, and it was little more than a regular first-class ticket.

We were barely seated when takeoff under full throttle pulled us back in our seats. Then after 3½ hours and 3,000 miles, we landed in New York City. The Concorde aircraft were retired in 2003; we were lucky to experience it when we did.