How mishaps become great memories

The trip to Egypt – the first time my brother and I had grown up with our parents – flew by quickly.

After spending Christmas in the Sinai Peninsula, we drove our rental car back to Cairo. At the hotel, a well-dressed man, whom my father thought was the hotel valet, offered to move the car. “Thank you,” my father said with a smile as he handed over the keys. The only thing the cheater left behind was a 10-foot skid mark.

The car theft leads to a series of surprising encounters. First, we need to convince the car rental agent that we are not trying to scam Toyota from the company. Then we had to fight the police – who came to the hotel at 3 am – armed with a dusty book filled with thousands of mug shots – who insisted on baksheesh, or a small bribe, before publishing a crime report.

Then we have to arrange for bare necessities, such as buying underwear, because our luggage was stolen along with the car. At least we can get comfortable Egyptian cotton.

We thought about going home, but we cut short our visit to Kenya, the second destination on our itinerary. I will never forget the surprised reaction of the Kenya Airways staff when the four of us produced a small plastic bag of clothes as our only check-in “baggage”.

That first African adventure was the template for twenty years of globetrotting with his parents.

We ventured into unfamiliar places at least once a year – often twice. My significant other, a friend, and later my son, participated in several of these vacations, which ended up spanning more than 40 countries.

The only rule we follow is to do something new every time. In doing so, we soon see a pattern: We Millers iron magnet for mishap.

Our second African adventure was even more dangerous.

In Zimbabwe, we decided to raft the mighty Zambezi below Victoria Falls. This area is considered to be the biggest and worst whitewater rafting destination in the world, with a variety of Class V rapids with names like “Mother” and “Oblivion.”

We were hanging with white knuckles and clenched teeth as our raft navigated a disgusting section called “Stairway to Heaven,” which drops 30 feet over a 50-foot distance.

Then our raft capsized. The only thing worse than going down the Stairway of Heaven in a raft would be passing them without one. My stepmother and I were swept under. I was too preoccupied with avoiding the stones scattered throughout the churning river to care for the crocodiles that populated the water.

Then it got hyper real. Pulled into the powerful whirlpool, I gasped for air and struggled to stay afloat in the swirling vortex. I don’t think death is inevitable, but I immediately recognize it as a possibility.

I don’t know how but somehow the vortex spit me out. I then swam into calmer water and found the raft and the rest of the family.

That episode happened 25 years ago. Forever seared into the brain is the memory of the father on top of the capsized raft, the angelic white ass shining high above the water, which has stripped people to the ankles.

A disastrous rafting trip is an accident, but no family adventure is accidental.

Every jaunt requires serious planning and scheduling. I have a demanding corporate career at a major Hollywood studio that involves business travel. So sometimes I piggybacked family trips on top of work trips; other times I was forced to leave a gap in the otherwise crowded calendar.

Usually, I plan a year in advance, making sure to block time for family first. We are dedicated to traveling together. Quality time with my parents is, right now, the best investment I’ve ever made.

These shared experiences enrich our lives and strengthen our relationships. You become a different family, a tighter family, after passing through Central America. The joy, laughter and tears that come out of travel are the core of the family fabric.

We still laugh about Cairo. We may have lost things, but we have gained something more valuable.

Travel has a way of upending family dynamics and hierarchies. At home, it’s easy to fall into familiar patterns, many of which were set in childhood. But on the road? It’s a whole new world. Role reversal between parent and child is common.

Usually, I propose travel ideas – and my parents are open to almost any adventure. The conversation usually goes something like this:

Me: Have you been to the camel fair?
Parents: They don’t have them in Kentucky.
Me: If you only visit one, I heard Pushkar is the place.
Parents: When are we leaving?”

Then we go into planning mode. We choose exotic and far-flung destinations, often combining multiple countries and authentic experiences into one trip.

But sometimes things get too original.

In Tikal in Guatemala, we booked a jungle lodge near ancient Mayan ruins. We were stunned when we opened the door to a sparse room with two metal-framed beds, a dirty concrete floor and a single bulb dangling from the ceiling.

The bed sheets are dark beige and sweat rings adorn the pillows. It was decrepit – the shock was magnified by our last hotel, the luxurious Blancaneaux Lodge in the rainforest of Belize and former film director Francis Ford Coppola’s retreat.

I covered every surface area of ​​my body, head to toe, with my clothes before going to bed at night – re-recording another Miller misadventure.

We still laugh about our trip to Cuba, where our attempt to drive the length of the island – from Havana to Santiago de Cuba near Guantanamo – resulted in hours of driving in circles.

These were the days before GPS. There were no road signs, and everyone pointed us in different directions. We went around looking for the “national road” which was then two lanes. That humor all builds our resilience to carry on.

Then there’s the mother-of-all-camel fair, a celebration held every November in the small town of Pushkar in the Indian state of Rajasthan. Every year, temporary but impressive tents are erected to accommodate visitors.

We stayed in the luxurious Royal Tent with ensuite shower and butlers, and we enjoyed a lavish meal in the regal tent dining hall. Pushkar was an unusual trip for us because, for once, everything went right.

We started these family flings when I was in my mid-20s and my parents were in their 50s. After decades, adventures became less bold, happened less often, and happened closer to home.

Then the adventure stopped.

We are thankful that we have tried to explore this world together. The reality is this: There are limited opportunities, and that window often closes sooner than we think.

This holiday season, if your family rhythm has become your default setting, and if you want to see the world, here are some thoughts:

Mix.
Make life interesting.
Go out with your loved ones.
Go beyond your comfort zone.

This will not happen by accident, and it will take some effort. But you can always be grateful that you did.