Myrtle Beach or Bust

The world seems to have gotten awfully chaotic and complicated lately, doesn't it? It feels like all the news is bad news, and collectively, there is an awful lot of frustration and irritation. Last week, I was busy avoiding any and all news for fear of hearing more horrible/terrible/upsetting things (and who needs to know about even more of those kind of things? Personally, I have reached my quota), when I heard a commercial for Myrtle Beach--the one with that jingle, "Let go and unwind, on Myrtle Beach time." It put a huge smile on my face. Not because I have plans to visit Myrtle Beach any time soon--I haven't been in at least two decades--but because of all the childhood memories I made there on our family vacations over the years. Before we traveled to more far flung locales like the Caribbean, the Myrtle Beach Grand Strand was our annual summer trip. And for a small town Georgia kid in the 1980s and 90s, it was absolute heaven.

Depending on the level of holiday traffic, the car ride to Myrtle would usually take us somewhere around six hours. To keep us occupied and happy, my mother would take a grocery sack filled with candy bars and kid-adored snacks and put it between my brother and me in the back seat of the car. We giddily sang along to songs on the radio, played the alphabet game and I Spy, and munched our way to our most wonderful, blissful destination. As I got older, it became more fun to make signs for passersby as an added form of entertainment: "Myrtle Beach or BUST" was a natural choice, and one year "Honk if OJ's Guilty" created quite a timely flurry of activity along our drive. 

Here we are in the back seat of the car, all smiles on our way to Myrtle Beach!

We stayed in hotels that seemed like palaces to my ten-year old self, resorts with names like Coral Reef and The Captain's Quarters. I remember the first time I ever saw a lazy river, with all those inner tubes being self-propelled along in a wondrous, chlorine-scented loop. Mind blown. Our Myrtle Beach vacations were days filled with riding waves on a red and blue canvas raft, making sand castles on the beach, and swimming in my t-shirt after inevitably getting a sunburn on day one. Planes would buzz overhead flying banner ads for Wings, the one-stop-all-your-beach-needs store with glamourous and exotic merchandise like shark's tooth necklaces, tiny bottles filled with real beach sand to buy and take home, seashell wind chimes, and all those magnificent t-shirt choices. I would stare at that wall of decals for what seemed like forever before carefully choosing the number for the design I wanted heat stamped onto a shirt. 

Myrtle Beach was a place filled with endless possibilities. This was the place where I first tasted a dill pickle flavored potato chip,--clearly, a land where any good thing could happen! Along the strip, I saw bikers on motorcycles sporting black leather and arms full of tattoos. I was frightened and fascinated all at once. We ate salt water taffy because we thought it was made with actual ocean salt water. You could see oddities like the world's tallest man at the Ripley's Believe It or Not! museum, or wander off the hot and sunny sidewalk into a cool, dark room to see alligators and sharks on display right before your eyes (well, swimming slowly in three feet of very murky water as you walked above them on a strange, fenced-in catwalk, but still). Yes, magical, mystical Myrtle Beach was a wonder of the world to us.

My brother's shirt said "My First Myrtle Beach T-shirt."
And believe me, it was the first of many.

Those Myrtle Beach summers were as good as it gets.

That's me, dressed to the nines in (undoubtedly) a new shirt.
I had to laugh at the two coolers behind me in our hotel room: we have always been a family that believe in having a bevy of snacks on hand.  

Souvenir heaven.

I miss those simpler times, when we hopped in my mom's car to cruise the strip and pick up a dozen fresh Krispy Kreme doughnuts for the next morning's breakfast (doughnuts for breakfast! The vacation diet was everything a kid dreamed of). I loved going to the boardwalk for a foot-long hot dog, watching the Klig's Kites employees fly their wares down by the shore, and nervously waiting in line for the Scrambler ride at the Pavilion Amusement Park. We had days filled with surf and sand, seafood dinners, and then carnival rides, souvenir shopping, and wildly competitive games of putt-putt (some may refer to it as miniature golf, but we as a family have always prided ourselves on being fun, not fancy, so we play putt-putt).

Taking in the thrills at the Pavilion Amusement Park.

I have no idea what arcade game this is, but look at our faces. 
New technology can't even compete with that.
(Also, yes, my hair is a work of kinky, curly banana clip art. It was the style...I'm sticking to that story.)

Another favorite vacation past time,
putt-putt at some place I'm reasonably sure had a pirate theme (didn't they all?)

I'm not sure which Myrtle Beach restaurant this was,
but I bet there was a sign outside promising "Calabash Seafood."

Even before the days of smartphones and social media,
I never missed the chance for a photo op.

That annual trip to Myrtle Beach was something we dreamed about all year long. Our beach vacations meant the biggest worry was what to eat, ride, or see next. Tough decisions were choosing between the ocean and the pool, or what color golf ball to use for the evening round of putt-putt. Things got complicated trying to pick between fried popcorn shrimp or fried clam strips, and nerves got frayed watching the Flying Dutchman ride zoom higher and higher while waiting our turn to get on board. So during these summer days when the talk turns to pandemic or politics and the topics of conversation get heavy, I'm going to let go and unwind, back to those good old Myrtle Beach times. From the Bowery to the boardwalk, and the Magic Attic to the Gay Dolphin, those were the days.

I'm not sure we knew how good we had it back then, but we sure know now.