The driving trip my husband and I took in March 1997 included a tiny corner of Holland. We stopped in the city of Maastricht to look around. There's always something to see in any town or city in Europe, so we were able to find historic buildings:
and enjoy beer in yet one more country:
As usual, however, at least one thing has to go wrong on every trip. Notice the "pained" expression on my face as I sip my beer?
We were exploring the parks and climbing around on old walls in Maastricht, and as I came down the steps, intent on photographic opportunities, I stepped onto a worn dip in the stone and lost my balance. As I tumbled to the ground, I kept thinking, "The camera. Don't break the camera."
The camera was fine, but I had sprained my ankle on the third day of our trip. I hobbled along for the next week, using the coldest water possible in the bathtub each night to bring down the swelling so I could jam the foot back into a shoe the next day. I just kept thinking, "It could have been worse," and "I'm not going home early, no matter what."