The places we share
Creating life long memories with my Dad
Ayla Peden
Sydney Young
The June sun hung high in the sky, sending rays of light through the airplane windows. It was 10 a.m., but my body did not agree with me — it was 3 a.m. back home, and my eyelids drooped from exhaustion.
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I rose to try and regain feeling in my legs. Tingles ran from my toes to my hip, almost as if the static from an old TV had been injected into my legs.
The plane finally landed after spending seven hours in the sky. I looked around the cabin and made eye contact with my dad, Ken, who sat a couple of rows behind me. He smiled while I twitched my eye, impatient to leave the aircraft.
Finally moving, I grabbed my carry-on bag and hurried down the aisle and onto the jetway. Despite it being summer, I could feel a chill from outside. I rushed forward, eager to reach the warmth of the building. Down the last ramp, a man with the pointiest handlebar mustache I had ever seen stood, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist.
“Yep,” I thought. “I’m in Paris.”
***
During the summer of 2024, my dad and I, along with some of my high school classmates, spent a week traveling around France and Spain. While it was hectic trying to fit so many things into eight days, I wouldn’t have changed it for the world.
Paris was a blur of the most beautiful architecture and cafés a girl obsessed with pretty buildings and coffee could ask for.
After leaving the airport, we met with our tour guide, who immediately whisked us away to our hotel. They informed us that, after we dropped off our things, we would go to the Louvre and explore the museum for two hours.
Now, if there is one thing anyone should know about this place, it’s that it’s massive. You could easily dedicate a whole day to one wing, and you might get through it all. The Louvre has three wings — there is no way to see everything in just two hours.
At the news, my dad and I locked eyes. Despite us running on no sleep and jet lag, I knew that we were about to have the time of our lives.
As soon as we stepped into the museum’s entrance in the famous glass pyramid, we shot off like firecrackers and made our way to the Denon wing, which is home to the Mona Lisa. She wasn’t our main focus, but how could you go to the Louvre and not see her?
Along the way, I noticed that Dad had stopped to look up at the ceiling. I followed his gaze and took in a breath. It was stunning. Statues of angels and flowered molding encircled a painting of a woman with golden wings. We stood, transfixed by the room’s beauty and the hours the artists must have spent creating it.
I looked over as Dad pulled out his phone to take a picture; a smile was plastered on his face – my favorite work of art.
***
After two days in the heart of France, I waved goodbye to the Eiffel Tower and the best crêpes I ever had. Boarding a train to Nice, I was headed to the Mediterranean coast.
Nice is the picture-perfect town in the French Riviera. Colorful buildings in shades of red, yellow and orange sit atop each other, with narrow alleys pushing them apart. Locals and tourists alike tan on the rocky beach while the sea’s clear blue water splashes in the distance. And, best of all, rows and rows of stands line the main street in the evening, inviting passersby to partake in the town’s night market.
My dad walked beside me as I forced him to stop at every stand we passed. Almost everything laid out was handcrafted or locally grown. Everything from jewelry to flowers to pottery seemed to carry a story.
At the last stall, my dad stopped and picked up a ceramic sculpture of an owl.
“We should get this for your mom,” he said with a smirk.
My mom hates owls, but it’s become an inside joke to point them out whenever we get the chance. I snapped a picture and sent it to the family group chat.
“We definitely should,” I said while laughing.
Dad set down the owl and looked around. We had made it to the end of the street, and the rest of our group sat on benches behind us, clearly exhausted from our long day. We could either turn back and join them, or we could explore every nook and cranny we could find.
We obviously chose the latter.
For the next two hours, the alleys, shops and cathedrals became our playground. However, after spending most of our time in the narrow passages of Old Nice, we reached the edge of the neighborhood and found a staircase leading up the side of the hill that served as a wall, marking the edge of the city. The staircase seemed long, but I was intrigued.
“Should we?” I asked.
“Haven’t walked enough?” he said sarcastically.
“We’ve walked farther,” I retorted, and turned to start our exploration.
Further up the stairs, in between breaths, I asked, “Why do we continue to walk so much on these trips?”
I knew the answer: We wanted to see everything we possibly could. It’s what we do. On a typical vacation, if you could even call it that, we spend anywhere from one to three days in the same location, and we try to see and experience everything each place has to offer in a very short period of time.
“What if we never come back?” is a thought that rings through each tour, each hike and each alleyway — we only have one chance to see this magical place, so let’s make the most of it.
At that thought, I am propelled back in time, where the memories of other trips that left me with sore feet and weak ankles, but made me the happiest I’ve ever been, live.
New York, New York — Spring, 2024
And just like that, I am thrown back in time to a couple of months prior, when my family took me to New York City. My mom and little sister wanted to stay behind in our hotel, but I eagerly anticipated exploring the city — I know, quite the running theme. My dad offered to accompany me on a walk.
The cold spring air stung my cheeks as we walked out through the hotel’s front door. It was roughly 7 p.m., and the sun had already begun to set.
“Where to first?” Dad asked.
I pulled out Google Maps to find the direction of Times Square. We were only a couple of blocks away, and I wanted to see the glow of all the billboards at night, so we set off in that direction.
On our trek, Dad listened as I ranted about my classes and extracurricular activities, which he had already heard me talk about the week before. We shared our love of “Star Wars,” and when we passed by the New York City Public Library, the backdrop of a scene in “Ghostbusters” prompted him to mention his love for the movie. He even listened to me repeat “This is exactly like an episode of ‘Friends!’” a hundred times when we passed by anything NYC-related.
Eventually, we made it to the heart of Times Square. The ads shone brightly on the gigantic screens of every building. If you didn’t look up, you wouldn’t have known the sun had fallen beneath the skyline. It was all so overwhelming.
“This is a lot,” I said, my dad nodding in agreement.
Turning back in the direction from which we came, we started up our chatter once again.
Providence, Rhode Island — Summer, 2023
In a city not too far from NYC, my dad and I walked along the streets of Providence. We had just spent two days in Boston attending college tours, and we were about to go on another at Brown University. But this tour was different — this one was at an Ivy League school. While I didn’t anticipate getting accepted, I at least wanted to explore my options.
Walking around the city’s Kennedy Plaza, I noticed something odd: The typical urban noise was absent. Despite being in the heart of the city on a Friday afternoon, we only saw a few cars pass by.
“Strange,” I thought to myself, and continued walking toward the university.
My dad and I averaged 20,000 steps a day on our trip. We walked everywhere, trying to take in as much of every new place as possible.
As I walked along College Street and crossed the bridge over the Providence River, I envisioned what it might be like to live there. It felt safe and calming, like I could curl up on a park bench to read a book and not have to worry about a thing.
Before I knew it, we arrived at the front gates of Brown. The university’s crest looked down on us as we passed under the gate’s crown. The campus was the definition of collegiate. Old brick buildings surrounded an expansive green.
“This is so ‘Dead Poets Society,’” I exclaimed, stepping into the center of the lawn. “You want to take photos for me sooo bad.” A grin spread across my face, revealing the dimples I inherited from my father.
Sarcastically, Dad rolled his eyes and sighed through a smile while grabbing my phone out of my hands. In the couple of months since I taught him, he had become an expert at taking my photos — I didn’t even need to tell him how to take them anymore, he just knew.
I walked along the green, trying to find the best place for my photoshoot. We stopped at the oldest building on campus, the library, and a statue of a bear, the school’s mascot. After making our rounds, Dad stopped and turned to me.
“I really want you to apply here,” Dad said.
I smiled and nodded, my heart full of joy because I knew he truly believed in me.
Zion National Park, Utah — Summer, 2019
“Come on, you got it,” Dad said as I dragged my feet up the trail.
“I think I’m dying,” I said with a groan.
The desert mountains of southern Utah surrounded us. We had been hiking the Angel’s Landing trail for about an hour and a half, and we had just reached the 1.8-mile-long series of 21 switchbacks that lead up the side of the mountain — appropriately named “The Wiggles.”
The hot sun beat down on my arms and legs; it wouldn’t be long until my skin turned a bright pink. Mom panted with me, and Dad looked around while we climbed, taking photos of the scenery.
The Wiggles were my number one enemy on this trip. However, it would soon become a story and accomplishment that Dad and I would revel in for years to come.
A quarter finished, my feet ache. Halfway up, my shins turn to jelly. Three-quarters complete, I suspect I’m due for a hernia.
And finally, the top. We stood overlooking miles of the valleys and mountains that populate Zion National Park. Despite the desert climate, trees and shrubbery covered the valley floor, bringing greenery to the otherwise yellow, orange and red color palette.
“See, look how beautiful,” Dad said.
I take in my surroundings. He’s right: It’s stunning.
After a moment, I take a deep breath and close my eyes, letting the sounds and atmosphere engulf me.
Nice, France — Summer, 2024
I breathe out, opening my eyes to see the beautiful streets and coastline of Nice below me. The agonizing steps that appeared out of nowhere led us to a terrace overlooking the city where a castle had once stood.
Down a path and off the overlook, a waterfall ran steadily down the mountainside. I could feel the soul that once thrived within the hilltop castle. The memories of those long passed, buried in the dirt and gravel under our feet.
Their memory isn’t the only thing that lives on. The hundreds of memories that have brought my dad and me to this moment have also shaped everything I do.
I don’t know who I would be without the trips, the experiences or the everlasting bonds. They have molded my love for learning and motivated me to work as hard as I can. Our travels have reinforced my obsession with history and the different cultures around the world. It has even informed what I want my future to look like.
But, most of all, it has helped me create a connection with one of my favorite people in the whole world.
