Hang ten! (if people say that when they go sandboarding)

by Isaac Rosenthal

I am not what you would call the most coordinated individual.  It is by the grace of god that I can walk from one end a room to the other without falling flat on my face.  So when the suggestion was made that our class go sandboarding it seemed like a dangerous activity for me to embark on.  But in the spirit of trying anything once, so I strapped a heavily waxed three foot plank of wood to my feet and sped off down the hill.

A few less than glamorous wipeouts aside,  it was a blast, even with the horrible-terrible-no-good-very-bad walks to the top of the dune each time, and while that walk could have been entirely prevented by simply not getting back on the board, every time I got back up to the top of the hill I wanted to get back on the board.

It’s exhibit 48,000 in the case of going outside your comfort zone while traveling.  I’d been to Florence once before, and any dune related activity  was instantly scratched by my parents.  Had they known sandboarding had it’s roots in ancient Egypt–or so I’m told–maybe they wouldn’t have looked down upon it so much.

My time in Florence had previously been spent walking around the quaint little town, sifting through tchotchke shops and eating inordinate amounts of saltwater taffy–this was still done–while looking at the stores selling dunebuggy and sandboard rentals with a little bit of a “who would possibly think that was fun.”

Me, apparently.

But it’s a metaphor for any kind of travel.  Do things you’re not comfortable with. Don’t say no to anything, at least the first time.  What’s the worst thing that could possibly happen.