My first experience with travel magic was probably in Ft. Myers Beach, Florida, where we visited my grandmother every winter break. We took two days driving and the minute I stepped foot on her gravel driveway I remember getting hit with the strong brine scent wafting off the shrimp boats and barnacle covered piers.
"Touch Mickey to Mickey," the Disney employee instructed me, a tinge of frustration creeping into her mandatorily sunny Disney disposition. "I'm trying," I replied, tempted to add a profanity or two before remembering that, this being Disney World, there were bound to be children nearby. Not my own, but children nonetheless.