Road to Ithaka
A Memoir
by
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Driving to the airport on a cold and icy New Year’s Eve, we watched in mutual silence as the gloomy scene passed by our car window. With a lump in my throat and a sinking feeling in my stomach, I felt as if I had a date with a surgeon. What had I been thinking? Overwhelming feelings of guilt at “abandoning” my family alternated with fears of traveling alone left me on the verge of tears. I had never travelled alone, but in my usual impulsive way I had signed on to a one week sailing course in the British Virgin Islands. Now a thousand worries blurred my mind. There was a connection in Puerto Rico, what if I miss it? I can’t even speak that language! What if I mess up while sailing, how will I cope living on a yacht for seven days with complete strangers? As we walked to the gate I turned to say goodbye and prayed my husband would say “Don’t go, let’s do this together someday.” At the departure gate I searched his face for a sign, but his steady gaze and impassive look told me nothing. Muttering a soft goodbye I turned doggedly round and walked towards the customs officer. “Where are you going?” “British Virgin Islands” I whispered, and with trembling hands I pushed my passport at him. “Where?” he demanded As if ashamed of the very word, I looked about me and repeated softly “The British Virgin Islands”. He looked at me over the desk and frowned. Now another officer joined him. “What are you going to do there?” “Sail” I gulped. My heart began to beat a jagged rhythm and a lump floated up to my throat. Why won’t he let me through? Why is he so suspicious? I felt doomed I wanted to go home. “How much money do you have?” asked the second officer. “A hundred dollars” “Is that all?” he said incredulously. “Isn’t that enough?” I cried, and mentally made a quick review of the course outline. The brochure had said “fully provisioned” and “only spending money required” what else should I have brought? Remembering our itinerary, I quickly thrust the crumpled paper on his desk. Reading it carefully he eyed me with a cool official stare before silently nodding me on my way. With no small relief I dragged my bags and sagging confidence to the boarding gate. On the long flight I sat glued to my seat. Feeling like an escapee, and hiding inside the pages of a book I took a deep breath and tried to relax.
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About the Book
Born in England during World War II, author Diane Campbell Thompson, a war child, tells of bomb shelters, air raid sirens, meager food, and clothing rations. In Road to Ithaka, she narrates an honest account of her life beginning with her birth in 1941. Raised on the rugged north east coast, the beach and sand dunes become a happy playground. But as Thompson happily built sandcastles in the sand, her father built castles in the air. Home became shifting sand, and a series of moves eventually saw the teenager leave the family to live on more stable ground with her grandmother. Through selected journals and short stories, she shares the stories as she traveled across Spain on the famous Santiago de Compestella, trekked the meanest thirty-three miles in history, drove a dog team in the Yukon, spent afternoons with a grandchild, and watched forlornly as a parent descended into that abyss known as Alzheimer’s. Sometimes introspective, sometimes humorous, always amusing, the stories and journals in this memoir reflect a free spirit in a world of endless possibilities.
About the Author
Diane Campbell Thompson is an active hiker and founded the Bancroft Hikers in 2009. Thompson also enjoys reading and music. She and her husband, Richie, live in Bancroft, Canada. She has two grown children and six grandchildren. This is Thompson’s first book.