RIP my beloved Keds

RIP my beloved six dollar blue and green plaid Keds.

My pile of dead shoes continues to grow as I travel more and more around Europe. I have now lost two of my most favorite pairs of shoes.

Barcelona saw the end to my black flip flops that I have had since I was 12. They were perfectly molded to my feet and even though they were wearing millimeter thin in spots they were the most comfortable pair of shoes I have ever worn. The bottoms of the flip flops were so worn that they have almost killed me several times. They have zero traction. Whenever it rained I had to walk perfectly flat or I would fall right on my face.

When I was a senior in High School, my band traveled to Victoria, Canada for a parade. One afternoon there was a freak rain storm and as we walk to the olden day photo shop I slipped and sprained my wrist; yet I still love them.

They also almost killed me another time. The spring of my freshman year of college my friends and I decided to go rafting down a river near Sweet Home, Oregon. I wore my beloved black flip flops because I have really soft feet and hate walking on the rocks. It also happened to rain that day, but we decided to float the river anyway. It was below 50 degrees outside and I’m sure the river was well below that temperature because the rain almost felt warm when you were out of the water. About half way down the river, exhausted from high water and I’m sure almost hypothermic we decided to cross the river and hike up the bank to the road and call our friends to pick us up. Stupidly I decided to wade across the river with my flip flops on. The water was up to my chest and strong. All of a sudden one of my flip flops slid off of my foot and began floating downstream. Knowing I loved those shoes and could not lose them, I reached for shoes and left my raft. Yet the current was too strong and started to carry me down stream. I reached one flip flop as the other came off and I hit the rapids. Crying out to my friends I desperately tried to grab at the rocks beneath me but they were to slick. Finally I turned on my stomach and landed on some rocks that brought me to a halt before I hit the second rapids. Crying, bruised, and scratched in only my bathing suit I laid of the rocks and called for my friends to come get me – but also to make sure to grab my flip flips. I was not going to leave without them.

Barcelona brought an official final end to my flip flops. As we went out to find some dinner one of my travel buddies accidentally stepped on the heel of my shoe, ripping the strap from the sandal and tearing the weak rubber. I thought I might cry – but the first thing that ran through my head was my sister laughing – see absolutely hated those flip flops, thinking they were the ugliest things she’d ever seen. To make the situation worse, we were too far from the hostel to return for me to put on a new pair of shoes so I had to improvise and tie off the strap and basically walk on one foot around the dirty floors of the Barcelona metro and grainy sidewalks along the beach.

However, my six dollar Keds made it through that trip to Barcelona and up and down all the stairs. They even survived my trip to Florence – horse back riding and being chased through the streets. They saw more laps around Paderno then I would like to admit and even made it to Prague, Czech Republic. But that is where the fun ended.
The historically old streets of Prague are rough and uneven with small cobble stones that make walking difficult. I can’t even imagine trying to maneuver those streets in Stilettos, but my Keds were going great. The smooth sole and light weight fabric traveled great over the rocky pathways; yet by the second afternoon a large hole in the heel started to appear and by the end of the day my shoes were “talking” the flap opened so far.

With a deep sadness I packed up my Keds back in my bag and went to the mall in Prague and bought myself a new pair of tennis shoes. Again only the equivalent of six dollars, my new black and gray high tops roamed the streets of Munich, Germany, up the frozen paths to the Disneyland castle in Fussen and wondered the barren streets of Bratislava. Each day I was reminded of my loss, seeing my Keds sitting out-of-service in my bag – yet I could not throw them out.

Now sitting in my room in Paderno are my sad, broken, shoes that have been through so much with me. I feel as if throwing them in the trash and leaving them in Italy just doesn’t seem appropriate.

Would haling them back to the States and burning them in a good bye ceremony be too much?