"There is a hand written sign saying the tracks are still under water." I turned around and she navigated while we drove as fast as I dared to another station. She made it to New York, barely, in time for her international flight.  She has crossed the pond five times now, including a trip to Sweden with one friend, to France with another, to Italy in high school and Puerto Rico last summer. I was excited about that trip up until an hour before she left. 

 

"Where are you staying this time?" I asked while she packed. 

 

"We are couch surfing."

 

I gulped. Surely this could not be as bad as it sounded. "I found someone on the internet who will let us sleep on his couch." What could I possibly do to avert a catastrophe? I hoped her companion knew karate. Or the Vulcan nerve pinch. Was the world so different from when my sister drove across the country in a not exactly borrowed VW bug? At least she was on the same continent. How could I keep my daughter safe on an island in the Caribbean? I thought about slipping a weapon into her bag. 

 

It turned out she was fine. The owner of the couches had no malevolent intentions. Or at least he did not act on them.

 

In the car today I asked her about the different girls she has traveled with.

 

"You learn a lot about someone when you make a trip together. Small differences like being late or losing things can create problems. It is stressful finding your way in another language, with different currency."

 

If I were ever to invent a Marriage Test, like the ubiquitous Driving Test, I think I would include a day trip to the Big Apple with not quite enough change for the subway.

 

 

Photo by Chara Odhner

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