My first major road trip was a nearly two thousand kilometre minibus journey with a group of friends in the United States 17 years ago.
We also brought a little taste of Hungarian folk music to the neon-lit world of Las Vegas, courtesy of my friend Papp Ancsa.
Actually, it just happened to me. I don’t think I really understood it. I was completely preoccupied with the absence of my family. It’s probably better to prepare for it consciously.
But we have been to some amazing places. But we did get to stomp around in the Pacific (it was February and we were wimps, so it was just barefoot stomping), hug… hug what! At the most, clinging with arms outstretched to a piece of the monumental redwoods of Yosemite National Park, thinking about the sign on the Golden Gate Bridge warning against suicides…
We rented some American one-room car, maybe a Chrysler Voyager… Sometimes we spent the night in a campsite in a western movie-style dump, but mostly in run-down roadside motels (poor was the ecclesia, no! ), where we tried to use our non-existent English skills with the Chinese owners.
The nice thing is that I was not afraid of this trip. It really wasn’t conscious on my part. I was given an opportunity and drifted with it… The funny thing is that before my Divine Inferno, I had already consciously prepared for the big trip and I was pretty scared.
