An Ode to Convenience Stores & Pit Stops

Last night as I lay in bed reading, I had a sudden thought. 

I had just started a book called “The Prelude to Foundation.” It’s a Sci-Fi novel and in it, two characters are escaping from one part of a city into another. On their way, they decide to make a pit-stop to use the restroom and grab something to eat. 

Though the rest stop that was described in the novel was less than ideal, I discovered it invoked feelings of nostalgia and wistfulness in me. 

Suddenly, I was thinking back to my own travels and all of those short moments in convenient stores, eating to-go sandwiches or buying a candy bar in a gas station. 

For some reason, I’m incredibly fond of those memories. Part of the reason I write so much about my travels is because I have a terrible memory and will forget most of the adventures a few months after returning home. However, there is one thing I tend to remember from my trips: my meals in rest stops or small cafés during tours (as well as other in-between meals).

I remember walking the streets of Eastern Europe in college, ducking into a small restaurant where the waiter told me that “I ate like a bird” while my classmate ordered another round of baklava for the table. 

I remember being without any money in Berlin, thankful for the continental breakfast in our hostel, and filling ziploc bags with chocolate cereal, bread rolls, and slices of cheese so that we could have something to eat for lunch that day. 

In Japan, I thought my brother was ridiculous because he wanted to go into every convenient store. It turns out, he was doing Japan the right way. Now, I look back at the incredible assortment, how much fun it was to sort through everything, to look in awe at the wild variety of candy, snacks, and even full-size meals they had available. 

In Iceland, one of my standout memories is eating soup in a cafeteria before walking to see the geysers. I don’t know why this stands out to me, but I remember being in a modernist structure that felt like a plain cafeteria on the inside. You had to stand in line to order your food and the place was packed with other tourists. If I had been in San Francisco, I would have walked right out. But this was the only place to eat on our tour and I don’t remember minding the crowd or the wait. 

A few years later, I was eating a sandwich and some soup in a little shop near the Reynisfjara black sand beaches as rain whipped the glass windows of the small café. I remember loving that moment, the brutally cold weather outside. Inside, the small shop keeping us warm, our coats hung on the coat rack by the door, dripping onto the hard floors. 

In a museum in Ireland, while my family finished looking through the exhibit, I wandered into the small café that was attached downstairs to order a coffee. It was ugly, really. I distinctly remember an unattractive yellow on the walls and mismatched tables and chairs that looked like they had been thrown together from a yard sale. Still, I really liked sitting there, sipping my coffee, observing an older man reading the newspaper at one table, a mother trying to herd her children, and the woman behind the counter who just looked bored. 

On the way back from Tahoe on year, we stopped in a random Mexican restaurant. We were so hungry and I swear that burrito was the best thing I’d ever tasted. Another year, we stopped at a diner and I have to say that experience was less fun. But it sure was memorable. It had been nearly impossible to order, the longest wait between ordering and getting our meals, as impossible to get the check as it was to order, and we’d been stared down by an old man when we were outside. Still, I even look back at that with fondness.

There’s just something about these “in between moments.” You’re on your way from one location to the next, hungry, and also looking for an excuse to stretch your legs. 

It has no “wow” factor. No breathtaking view. Not even good food most of the time. But these seemingly meaningless moments always stand out to me. 

Maybe it’s because of how subtle the differences are between one country and the next. Almost every location has a rest stop. Almost every tourist spot has a cafe. Yet there’s something a bit different than the one you’ve been to before. 

To be honest, I don’t think I could pinpoint what made one spot different from the other, but there’s definitely something unique about each one. 

I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. But I sure do miss pulling over for a quick bite to eat before starting the next leg of a journey.