Tag: Travel

Family, Holidays, Life, Marriage, Travel January 5, 2010

Six Month Anniversary

“So, every once and while I look up and go, ‘Oh, hey! We have a fan in our kitchen,’ because I forget about it and you have these short little arms that can’t reach.”
“Shut up!”
-J. and C.

We spent January 1, 2010 flying in from London at 2am, crashing at my in-laws so we wouldn’t have to drive home at that ungodly hour, sleeping until 10 (jet lag), and lounging around waiting for nieces and nephews…who didn’t show up until ten minutes after we left, reading The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie (which I couldn’t put down, go read it at once!), and crawling pitifully back in bed for a fitful night’s sleep.

It was also our six month anniversary.

Now, J. might have an awful penchant for cracking short jokes, think that me getting furious is about the funniest thing possible, and not do the dishes as often as I would wish, but he also tolerates my stupid TV shows, kisses me at every opportunity, and flat-out orders me to a masseuse when my jet lag weariness won’t abate.

And that, my dears, is a very nice sort of husband to have. I am terribly fond of him!

(Editor’s note: YES! England trip updates are coming, I just keep forgetting to upload the – very sparse – photos we took!)

Family, Holidays, Home, Humor, Travel January 2, 2010January 2, 2010

Thoughts on Air Travel

“How much sleep have you gotten in the last three days?”
“…twelve hours…maybe…”
– Parents and C.

Hello, darlings! J. and I have returned from Merrie Olde Englande but I’m not at all intact! For some reason I didn’t adjust to English time at all this trip, and no amount of Tylenol PM could fix me. And rest certainly wasn’t on the agenda because J. had never been and there is SO MUCH TO SEE/DO. All of which I will faithfully recount, as soon as I have recovered from the exhaustion induced headcold fog I’m currently clawing my way out of. Thank goodness I’ve the weekend to rest before going back to work.

And now, a few observations.

Item the first. Some women look good when they travel. I am not one of them. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been flying at least a couple times a year for a good portion of my life, how much I hydrate, how many naps I squeeze in, whether or not I put on makeup, how many vitamins I’ve popped, or whether I’m seated next to the banshee child from Hades or a perfectly silent baby, I will inevitably arrive looking haggard. My hair will be in desperate need of a wash, my skin will have turned to an ashen mess, and my eyes will be rimmed in red agony. And also inevitably, on every flight there will be a leggy blonde in skinny jeans that fit her properly, a flowy cardigan, the perfect carry-on bag, at least one unobtrusive and flattering accessory, flawless skin, and perfectly mussed hair that will come out of the jet in the same lovely condition it went into it with. I hate this woman.

Item the second. Terrorists will make an appearance. I’ve had some experience with the fallout of their behavior. A few years ago I was flying out of Brussels back to the States, my family was on their way to the UK and I was back off to university. It was a day after the UK-based terrorist plot to use liquid explosives on airliners had been discovered and dismantled (2006, if you don’t recall in these fast-paced times) and the resulting chaos was ricocheting around airports world-wide.

Do be safe, dear, and don't talk to extremists. See you at Christmas, maybe! — Goodbye, dear. Be safe and don't talk to extremists. See you at Christmas...maybe.

My parents drove me to the airport, waved a cheerful goodbye, and off they were down to Calais to take the ferry across the Channel to Dover. And there I stood in the Brussels airport staring blankly into the pandemonium. There were security guards everywhere, dogs, and barking airline employees informing me that I would not be permitted a carry-on on my flight so I would either need to repack everything or throw my carry-on and everything in it away. I had turned in my European mobile phone (and so had my parents) so there was no way to keep in contact, and exchanged all my money for US dollars so there was no way to pay for anything unless I wanted to eat the exchange rate fees on my US credit card. And they were on their way to France (without me!). A very nice Middle Eastern family made room for me with their group on the floor where we all repacked, stuffed, sat on suitcases to close them, and repacked again to make sure we were within weight requirements. Going through the security screening took nearly two hours, but it didn’t matter because my flight was delayed for five.

After the foiled terrorist plot this past week, Heathrow had stepped up security but J. and I actually made it through in good time with only a frisking. Unfortunately, after we were frisked and shown into our containment area, we weren’t allowed out again and so I had to forego breakfast.

And item the third. Continental’s new entertainment system?! Amazing! You should fly with them just for the countless movie options!

Fashion, Humor, Sad, Shopping, Travel July 30, 2009July 30, 2009

Adios!

“My doctor grabbed me by the wallet and said, ‘Cough!'”
-Henry Youngman

My Alma Mater does not have a Spring Break, but while I worked at the International Students’ Office as an undergrad, I found a way to circumvent this. Our director would round us up every spring saying, “It’s, ahem, very important that you realize how difficult it can be for the students coming to our university to get in and out of the country” [Item: nearly every girl who worked there was an international, and every girl who worked had been out of the U.S. multiple times in her life] “and so we’re going to give you a little tutorial.” And thus we were annually whisked off to Mexico!

This trip had to include a trip to an embassy/consulate to make it right and proper with the university, but after that we could do just what we…actually whatever Dr. F. wanted. But as this always meant a trip to the beach, open air markets, and the good doctor’s favorite restaurant (which highlighted a mariachi band with what appeared to us to be excruciatingly tight pants…but that never seemed to diminish the musicians’ enthusiasm for dancing up to our tables, looking like their gut/bum/whatever were about to burst free any second), we were happy to go along for the ride.

A couple of years ago, we were down in Sonora in Hermosillo and going through an open air market selling all things cheap and designer knock off. I was on the prowl for a new wallet as my old was a shabby wreck and where better to get an abominably fake looking wallet than Mexico?

I’d all but used up our allotted hour and was trying to seem as if I did not hear Dr. F. calling while I frantically searched case after case of goods. Finally, at the very instant I was turning around to trot after my friends in defeat, I saw it. Laying in the case was a so-not-Coach-but-maybe-from-far-away-it-would-fool-somebody brown wallet that needed me as much as I needed it.
“How much?” I enquired in broken Spanish.
“Five-fifty,” the woman answered in accented, but much superior to my sad attempt at her language, tones.
“Done,” I said. I probably could have talked her way down, but Dr. F. was motioning sternly so there was nothing to be done.
I stuck my hand into shirt and snatched my money from under my bra strap (where else was I supposed to carry it?!) and plopped my pesos down on the table in front of her.

Something about my humor/pathos amused her because she burst into laughter (which had a You Poor Thing! undertone to it) and said, “You can have it for just five.”
Gracias!

My wallet had finally outlived its usefulness and the inside was starting to come apart, so the other day I traded it in for this sassy red, ultra thin clutch. But I felt bad tossing my old one and the entire day whenever I caught sight of it in the bin my first thought was that I’d made some horrible mistake (like tossing our marriage certificate again…still think J. did it), and even now I go searching frantically through my bag for it until I recall it’s been replaced.

Home, Travel January 2, 2009January 21, 2009

Happy Christmas/New Year

“Ma’am, there’s something a little off with your passport.”
“(Ulp).”
“Ma’am?”
“Cold hand of fear. What’s the problem?”
-UK border guard and C.

border-control Apart from that one tiny hiccup, I had a great holiday. Apparently, despite current dates, special stamps, and a British visa, my passport lost its premium when I was no longer a legal military dependent of my father (graduation day in August). Luckily for me those visas, stamps, and current dates seemed to convince Her Magesty’sGovernment that I was not coming into the country for nefarious purposes and I was admitted to “sort it all out with the Americans.”

My mother and I got into a fight (predictably) the first day I was there, my first brother Giovanni is now HUGE and my second, Buddy, is not far behind. Somehow since summer my ragamuffin little sister Snickers has turned into a girl who wants to cut and dye her hair and wear clothes that are not my brothers’ castoffs, it’s weird. I took my dog on long walks through the English countryside, feeding ponies, letting her chase birds through farmers fields, and taking pictures of Gypsy caravan wagons (I hear Marie, Kels, and Abfab grinding their teeth already, but I did bring Cadburys, girls, so don’t hurt me!)

My mother (after the fight was forgotten, which took about a day), sister, and I took a girls day and went to one of my favorite villages, Lavenham. It’s a medieval wool town that’s absolutely charming, mostly because sometime in the Victorian period someone decided to resurface some of the houses and pulled off the drab outer layer…to discover perfectly preserved Tudor bases beneath! The whole old town was similarly stripped and now High Street is a marvel of wildly crooked houses in striped black and white! We went to the world’s greatest antique shop so my mom could expand her collection of 18thcentury crockery, I could find a few presents, and Snickers could root through everything. We finished with lunch at The Swan, a fantastic hotel made from a medieval ale house with massive fireplaces, old dark wood, and great food!

The Swan, even better on the inside that out, if you can believe it!

The Christmas party we went to was full of Americans as well as Brits so we combined Cajun-fried turkey with paper-crowns for a mixed holiday! We had Victorian fortune telling fish (put the little cellophane slip in your hand and however it moves reveals something about you, but I’m not telling what mine was!) and cracker (you and a mate each hold an end and deafen everybody).

New Year’s Eve was spent packing, New Year’s Day was spent flying, now I’m home and trying to think up some resolutions, I’ll get back to you on that. Hope 2009 brings all the best, friends!

Small Dog Syndrome