Bandwagon Jumper

I've been away from the computer for a few days due to holiday cheer and all that stuff. Those of you who know me know that I'm a pretty big Scrooge around this time of year-some may even call me miserable. They wouldn't be too far off the mark, actually.

In the last week or two, I have been pondering my next post. Sometimes it can be difficult to come up with something if I am not currently on a trip, or have just completed one. As I logged on today and saw many of my fellow bloggers posts dedicated to retrospect of the year 2010, I decided not to beat them, but to join them and jump on the retrospect bandwagon. 
So here goes:

At this time last year, I was even more of a hateful Scrooge than normal. I had just come back from Tanzania, and with no trips planned, no permanent teaching job prospects, and the knowledge that my money would soon not just be mine to spend willy-nilly on overseas adventures, well, misery was my BFF.

Whew! Don't stop reading. It really does end up much happier.

 Then wedding planning really kicked into high gear, causing me to question nearly everything in life. Who I was, who he was, what on earth we were doing, and why on earth we were doing it? But then two trips popped up to restore my sanity and my faith in pushing through--The all girls bachelorette trip to Austin, Texas, and the "Of course it's a good idea to go overseas 30 days before my wedding" trip to Turkey. 

May 29th came around shortly thereafter and truly, everything did go as planned. It was a happy day-no last minute disasters, fights, or general chaotic moments. And then it was over, just like a raindrop's brief journey from the skies above. All that planning, a big splash, and then nothing left but to clean up the puddles.

We had to thank everyone, find a place to live, plan the honeymoon, go on the honeymoon, combine finances, hope I got a job, move, and work out the kinks of living together all at once. I am exhausted just reading that sentence, and I already lived it.

Everything fell into place (as things usually do) and now 7 months of marriage (tomorrow!) later we are amazed how time is speeding by us. Which brings me to Christmas. For the first time ever, we were able  to spend the day together. As per family tradition, I am always in Ohio to celebrate.  Conincidentally, this year, I did not encounter but a few shreds of my old Scrooge self. I looked and looked, but I didn't find her. A sap I certainly am not, but I can only attribute it to my wonderful husband and the life we are living together. Yep, there have been some tough moments/weeks/months, but we are learning volumes about life and each other, knowledge that can and has only increased our commitment to one another. Christmas wasn't so, so..... Scroogey with him around this year, and for that, I am grateful.

So there ya have it-a mini review of 2010. Somewhere in there I reached 50 blog posts, started writing for a local magazine, and got a full-time job as a teacher. I love it and that is the truth.

What's next? Well, just got my latest copy of Blue. Spain comes up in just about 7 weeks. Although I won't be going anywhere at all if I don't get the name in my passport changed. Just called the Department of State today and if I get it in the mail TOMORROW, I might have a chance of actually boarding the plane.

Clearly, Scrooge may be gone, but the procrastinator is still very much alive and well.

Up next: I really must change the description of this blog (the paragraph at the top). I have been pushing that off as well. Anyone want to write it for me?!!

I'm a Virgin....."Euro"peanly Speaking

As you already know from my last post, I am headed to Spain for a mini-vacation in a few months. What you don't know is this will be my first foray in the world of the euro.

I hate the euro.

Why?

Two reasons-wait, actually three.

1. At Amsterdam's Schiphol airport last year, I developed a serious need for a McDonald's Filet-o-Fish sandwich. I was on a layover from Tanzania and I had been eating goat and rice for two weeks. However tasty those items may be, I really just wanted tons of tartar sauce slathered atop a hot bun. Total cost of my sandwich, companion's sandwich, bottled water and fries to share? $27 US DOLLARS!! Yeah, I am still pretty miffed about it a year later. WHO SPENDS $27 AT McDONALDS?? Since I am already veeeery frugal by nature, this was an outrageous injustice. I wanted to choke the employee and any other nearby Europeans, but I refrained.

2.  I was at a hostel in Beijing when I overheard a conversation between two Europeans (speaking English) in the next room.  Actually, it was more squealing and shrieking than conversing. They were fairly giddy over the exchange rate of the yuan to the euro. Phrases like "This was nearly free!" and "This would cost 3x as much at home!" were bandied about and right then and there I knew I was not cut out for Euro spending countries. Granted, I bought my fair share of knock-offs and other important Chinese souvenirs, but the buying process was never without haggling and walking away. On repeat. These girls simply smirked at me when I casually injected myself into their conversation to ask if they had bargained the prices down at all. I took that as a
" Why would we need to do that when we have practically stolen these items to begin with?"

Which brings me to my final reason of hating the Euro.

3.  This currency has been the single most preventive reason I have not seen any of the things I dream to see-the Colisseum, a Greek island (any which one will do) the fjords of Norway, the Portuguese coast, or the concentration camps in Germany (is that weird? I will say no since I am a social studies teacher).  I can't afford Europe! I was in the Czech Rpublic before it was on the euro and Istanbul last May, while partially in Europe, is still lovingly spending the lira.


 I guess I've only been to first base in Europe.

My New Travel BFF is Not Actually a Person

So I have hit the mid-winter blues. It's not even December. There is one cure, and only one, for such an ailment.

Book a trip somewhere! Anywhere! Who cares!

In an effort to stave off certain mood swings brought on by winter and no trips in sight, I have done the right thing for myself and mankind. I am going to Spain. I mean, this is definitely an altruistic move on my part. Definitely. Just looking out for the welfare of others.

But anyway, on with the announcement of my New Travel BFF. It's a handy dandy little feature on kayak.com which allows you to specify your home city and then with one click of a button, a map of the world pops up and you can see airfares to tons of destinations all over the world. I am practically giddy just writing about it.

I first heard about it from the Birthday Boy (the one was responsible for the Turkey Trip. Which, incidentally, I left readers hanging after just writing Part 1 of the birthday story). I guess he felt bitten by the bug after Turkey, and was somewhat miserable, wanting to be anywhere but here. Birthday Boy stumbled across this amazing feature, and next thing I knew, he was jetting off to Italy for Thanksgiving.

Wait a minute here! I AM THE ONE WHO IS SUPPOSED TO BE ALL TRAVEL SAVVY AND KNOWS ALL THE TRADE SECRETS. Hmmmpfff.

I got over my angst rather quickly and set off to find my own travel deal. Realizing that a mere $372 from Washington D.C would get me to Madrid round trip, I pounced. No seriously, there was some pouncing. They call me Jungle Cat for short. (not really).

February it is. Madrid I shall see. And  hopefully Barcelona? Headed off with a friend and any others who care to join!

A Year Ago Today..........

..........I was frantically turning in the last of my schoolwork, adding unecessary last-minute items to my pack, sniffling over two weeks without Adam, pondering the stolen money, and finally, jamming on my shoes and comfy travel outfit in flash to hustle to Dulles Airport. Tanzania...here I come!

Well, there I went. What a blast that trip was, and a certain dream come true. I have been pondering my life in retrospect. And just so coincidentally in 8th grade this week, we are studying the early explorers of West Virginia. Perhaps not the most exciting stuff.

Or is it?

As I am lecturing this week and the kids are diligently taking notes, I realize--- these guys (and maybe a few gals) embody the very essence and spirit of travel. They were all about the adventure, the exploration, the unknown, and the excitement of a new place. Just like me!! It dawned on me after the first day of lecture-what a way to get the kids interested in what could potentially be a very dull subject. (Hey, I can't lie to you folks. I may teach it, but I don't have to love it!)

Long story short, I have just assigned them their second of four major projects this year. They are writing a journal from the perspective of one of the early explorers, with all the sordid details of mutinies, hangings, exultations, newly claimed land, and  formed alliances. Where do you think I got such an idea? Why, this blog of course! And along the way, we have discussed what it takes to travel, what kind of person just sets off into the unknown, and more importantly, what kind of traveler they think they would be, given the chance. Trust me, I am doing my part to encourage love of our globe, one WV 8th grade student at a time. To jumpstart their forming brains, I printed a post I wrote prior to Tanzania, removed some identifying details, and asked them to read and describe the traveler's attitude. They described me to a "T" and then I told them I was the author. I love a good surprise, and gauging from their reactions, it went over pretty well. I am currently awaiting their two paragraph essay entitled "What Type of Traveler Am I?" If I inspire just one kid, I have done my job.

Speaking of travel...........I have got something in the works and while I am not ready to share the details yet, it would be another dream come true! Hint: summer on a teacher's workschedule=GO GO GO!

Murphy's Law (of Travel)

Murphy's Law states that anything that can possibly go wrong, does. 

Somewhere out in Bloggerville, someone else has written a similar post, I am sure. But I would like to maintain that Murphy has his own category of laws made expressly for travelers. And each traveler is subjected to his or her own personal travel demon. You know, those things that always seem to happen to you and you alone. Never, ever, anyone else. For example, you might be that traveler who, no matter which line you choose, whether it's at the airport or the border, you will wait twice as long as the person in the same spot as you, two lines over. There is no rhyme or reason to it either-sometimes it's the passenger with the monstrous amount of baggage, or the passenger who apparently thought they could pass smoothly from one border to the other with proper documentation. It doesn't matter-it will happen on whatever day you are taking your journey.

My own personal is....drum roll rhythm please....Murphy's Law of Connecting Flights.  This states in the event of a connecting flight, the first flight will be late in order to ensure that  I can and will be forced to either rebook and/or languish in a transit lounge. Or, I will create a sheer spectacle of myself as I sprint through the airport to find the gate from which the next connecting flight is departing. In that case, this gate will always be, at minimum, two terminals away and boarding will already have begun.  My history speaks for itself-from the debaucle at JFK a few months ago to the time I was forced to spend a night in an hourly establishment (shudder) while trapped in Singapore transit hell.

Case in point: Last weekend, I traipsed off to Florida to for some fun in the sun and female bonding with a best friend from college.  From DC, I had a connection in Charlotte and as per my usual routine, my flight arrived late. The next flight was supposed to be boarding and we were still taxiing. To compound matters, my carry-on had to be tagged on the jetway (along with most of the other passenger's) and stowed underneath. So there would be no frantic sprint out of the plane to my connection. Instead, I would wait, along with the masses, for the grandmotherly gate agent to be handed the bags from the tarmac and  place them  two at a time on the jetway. Mine was dead last. Of course. Upon sighting it, I snatched it as if it was a long-lost child and began my dash. Except I am not exactly in shape for sprinting and neither were my sequined slip-ons purchased on a whim while in Thailand. Cute? Yes. Functional? Not so much. I was winded within 20 seconds and considering my options when I spied the man driving the little golf-cart apparatus. I usually scoff at the notion of being transported to a gate, and poke fun of the passengers who have caught a ride. On this day though, I realized I was going to have to choose between my pride, and getting to Tampa on time. He already had a few passengers and was moving along at pretty good clip, but I seized the window of opportunity as he was whizzing by me to politely ask beseech him to take me wherever he was going.  He stopped and in a flash, I was on the cart and whirling through three different terminals before arriving at my gate. THREE. There is no way I would have made it in my sequined slip-ons doing the Olympic dash.


Unceremoniously, I lunge off the car and panic-stricken, confirm with the nearest passenger that the plane was indeed headed to Tampa. And, as it turned out, the flight was slighly delayed for some unknown reason and boarding had only just begun. All that drama, panic, and cursing of Murphy/my luck/the airlines for virtually nothing.


Of course.


What seems to always happen to you when you travel?


Enjoy a few pictures of the sunny weekend. As you can see, the eventful 10 minutes in Charlotte was the only stressor of the weekend!

50 is the new 100, and ThankYOU, dear Reader!

Yes, I know I just turned 30. But this is so much more monumental. This is my 50th blog post! Waaaaaay back at #1 (click here) , #50 seemed a dream. I know some bloggers like to celebrate at 100, but I am quite content with 50. Here is the long of the short:

It all began over a grumpy summer. As a substitute teacher, summers often turned grumpy and dismal. Why?

No steady cash flow=alot of angst.

My friend Karl had quite enough one day of my aforementioned grumpiness and said I need to stop talking and start writing. I pondered. I decided I had nothing better to do, so I put fingers to keyboard and blog post #1 was born.

49 posts later, I am happily plugging along. You know what I discovered? I like to write and even more, I like the feeling of productivity I have while writing and the sense of accomplishment after.  It's like I just cleaned the house or something. Only the house is not nearly as clean as it would be if I actually cleaned it.

Along the way I have developed a writing style, preserved some stories for posterity, ranted a little, and ultimately, have realized how blessed I am to have stepped foot outside of my world and experienced a taste of life as the rest of the world lives it.

But here is the real focal point of this post..YOU! Would I still write this blog without people reading and commenting? Hmmm.....probably. I like writing too much now to stop. But would it be nearly as interesting? Fun? Engaging? Nope. I like to read your comments, your reactions to my story/thought process. I feel like I have a few friends in random places around the world now, except I just haven't met them. So without further ado, and in no particular order, I would like to give a few props to a few people who have read my stuff, commented, or whose stuff I read regularly. Without you all, I would just be, well......writing a blog and then reading it. Alone.

First up is Reese over at Rambles with Reese. She is living in Italy and her honest insights and variety of postings keep plenty of readers coming back.

Then we have Mary (who just started a cooler version of her old blog :) over at World Curious Traveler. She has got plenty of experience to draw from, ranging from Peace Corps in Namibia to life in Japan, where she currently calls home.

Candice of Candice Does the World just makes me laugh. Really, don't waste time. Just go there and see for yourself.

Sabina is a Solo Female Traveler who writes some pretty darn good (true) stories. I particularly enjoyed her 3 part tale of the Jerusalem jeweler.

Then there is  Emily at Maiden Voyage, who is always finding cool travel contests to enter and is nice enough to share them with us! She is getting married soon, so be nice to her.

Ayngelina at the quirkily named ( in a good way) Bacon is Magic is currently traipsing about Central and South America, firing off short and sweet posts AND pics on everything from delicious vegetarian food, to some amazing salsa dancing she recently encountered in Columbia. Good stuff.

And to my awesome group of  friends and family members who faithfully follow and read...Thanks!

Now, although the above are in no random order, I do need to reserve two special spots for two special readers. Gayle has known me since I was an angst-ridden teenager, who was sure her life was the worst EVER. Gayle has been a faithful reader and encourager and I am so grateful to have her in my life.

Last but not least, there is Adam, also referred to sporadically as "husband." He also reads faithfully and although he doesn't comment, retains the information for future use. For example, I balked at traipsing through the woods with him the other day to find his tree stand (he is a hunter). I used the age old excuse-"But I don't have proper shoes on!" He was pretty quick with the comeback--- "Whatever," he scoffed. "You can traipse around South American mountains in flip-flops, so I think you can handle the woods."

Touche.

Tale of the Timeshare

I was inspired to write this post by Ryan over at Here There Be Dragons, mostly because I find him funny. Plus, it brought back my own recent little timeshare tale, at which I am still shaking my head.

So we were at this "totally bitchin' BBQ festival duuuude" (not my phrasing, but an exact quote from a local who told us about it) when we unwittingly asked one of the non-BBQ vendors there if she could tell us the time.  Mistake #1.

She told us, then asked if we had ever been to Sedona. I happily told her that we were planning on going the very next day, and that we were on our honeymoon. Mistake #2.

At this point, she begins telling us all about this fabulous Jeep tour we could take around the red rocks and the Mogollon rim if we signed up to tour a property. Still unaware of what she was getting at, we politely told her we had already blown the budget with a helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon and that it was out of the question. It was then that she uttered the magic word (free) and said all we had to do was tour a property and listen to a presentation. No further obligation, and it would only take 90 minutes of our time.

Sucker. Me, that is.

Prior to even heading out west, we had been warned of the timeshare trap in Vegas. Inwardly, I scoffed at such a notion. I don't get suckered into anything, and besides, timeshares are for octogenarians. And if per chance, we did encounter a timeshare tout, I am very good at saying no and walking right on past.
Well, let me tell you that we had not been in Vegas FIVE minutes, (five!) before we found ourselves pensively listening and nodding to a seemingly nice man who wanted us to sign up for the 1 PM presentation of a nice property 10 minutes outside of the city.  In return for our time, we could have a Vegas show of our choice. At this point, I realized that all of my derision had been in vain....I had already been fooled.

Sucker. Me, again.

We walked away, telling him we would think about it. Yeah  right. So what happened between Vegas and Sedona, where I nearly offered my right arm to be able to partake?  I don't know. What I do know is that I really wanted to ride in a Jeep out by some nice red rocks.

So we get there, and the resort is crawling with other people who have been similarly suckered. After a brief tour of the place, we all get down to business. That is, they get down to the business of selling us something, and we get down to the business of feigning interest and masking our boredom, while still attempting to be polite, visions of a wild Jeep ride dancing in our heads. This is actually a difficult balance to maintain. Try it sometime.

After the spiel was over, we are left on our own to "think it over." No thinking necessary. Here is what we were offered: For the bargain start up price of $9,000 dollars, we would have 80,000 points to use on lodging in a destination of our choice. I cannot even begin to describe all the details associated with how to use the points. My eyes glazed over and my jaw dropped at the mentioned of the words "nine" and "thousand" in the same sentence. I was fully expecting it would be thousands, but I thought two or three at the maximum! All of the trips I have taken, near and far,  in the last 10 years may have equaled 9 grand. Here, they want 9 grand before I have even packed a bag and stepped out of my front door. Seriously?  Surely this arrangement is for the very rich, very old, or the very naive. I am none of those (barring my recent birthday), and so I did not feel that we qualified and I nicely told them so.

"No" is not a word in their vocabulary. At the first hint of "no" our representative brought over one of her buddies to throw in some extras to sweeten the deal. I am not even sure what they were, because I wasn't hearing anything but the words "nine" and "thousand." I thought we had all agreed that we would not be purchasing a timeshare that day, when I realized that WE had not all agreed. Well, Adam and I were certainly united in our decision, but the timeshare people did not appreciate our husband and wife togetherness.

The rep, a big fan of timeshares herself, kept regaling us with stories of freshly caught shrimp and fish on their luxury Hawaiian vacation, caught near an exotic waterfall, and directly consumed for dinner. She acted as if this opportunity would never present itself by any other method, unless and until we purchased the timeshare straightway. The bargain price of course did not include any transportation expenses incurred getting to said exotic location. And we would still need to pay $187 for the week of lodging. And still need to pay for food and any activities. HOW IS THIS A GOOD IDEA???

While all of this is going on, cheers erupted from the other side of the room, and champagne bottles were popping.  Some people had apparently just sold their souls to timeshare purgatory purchased a timeshare. Might I point out they that were well into their golden years? Adam and I exchanged knowing looks.

Finally, as a last resort, they brought over someone from corporate. We stood our ground, informing them that adding another monthly payment to our life was simply not going to happen and we thanked them for their time. I guess they finally believed us, because 20 seconds later, we were in the prize department, collecting our voucher for the wild Jeep ride around the Sedona red rocks. Which, I will just go ahead and tell you know was the worst tour we have ever taken, and if we had actually paid for it, would have been left scratching our heads wondering what in the world just happened. The pictures I have attached are what I snapped just  driving around Sedona, happy in the breeze of our top-down Jeep, and free of persistent salespeople.

Does anyone have any further insight on timeshares? Am I missing something?

Life as a Newly Minted Grown Up

Hello all, checking in for a moment.
I just have to say.....I am EXHAUSTED. So much for my love/hate relationship with your travel blog. This whole full-time job thing leaves me with barely enough time greet my new husband, let alone salivate over the adventures of blogging buddies. Oh I definitely try though. I turn on my computer first thing every morning to do a quick perusal of the night before and start to get sucked into my Google reader. That is, until the soft whisper of ungraded papers turns into a nagging scream. And if it's not the ungraded papers it's the lesson plans. And if it's not the lesson plans, it's the photocopying. If it's not the photcopying, it's the endless round of meetings I must attend. Geeeezzzz!!! Bring on the life of a substitute! In and out, a carefree jaunt in my step all the way.

Ok, but then I wouldn't be experiencing the satisfaction of an effective lesson plan, a happy student, or another Friday indicating the end of a good week. Exhausted? fo sho...Happy? Most def-minus the fact that breathing has now become second priority to lesson planning.

As for adventures on the horizon, there are a few loose plans in the works. You all know I can only work and salivate over OPTB (other people's travel blogs) for so long.

In another happy news, I threatened every single student with implied mutation and dismemberment if there was ever any misbehavior for a substitute teacher in my classroom. Six years in this virtually thankless position has made me slightly manic on this subject. Clearly, they took me and my not-so-vague threats seriously-I had my first sub the other day and she marveled at their behavior. Granted, the sub was my mother, who rules with almost as much of an iron fist as I do. But still! They behaved wonderfully, and for that, I am happy. Also on the plus side, I get respect much easier now that I am a real teacher. Oh, I had respect before, but it came as a by-product of the aforementioned iron fist and holding the title of Queen "B."   And who really enjoys that?

Alright, secretly I enjoyed it at times. Substitute teachers are supposed to be mean and I took my job seriously. If I had a dollar for every time a kid commented on the fact that I never smile, well, I would be on a RTW right now! For a humorous, yet accurate, portrayal of my illustrious career of choice prior to now, check out this Washington Post article by a guy who opted to become a sub to fill in the gaps of his employment. Minus the pay rate (subs in WV actually get paid fairly decently) he is pretty spot on.

But that is all in the past.   I have a steady paycheck, retirement, and a real profession. Now if only I could command my house into cleanliness as I once commanded a room full of unruly students.

An Inauspicious Beginning (Part 1)

Saturday, May 1 dawned fair and bright. It was here. My friend had met his match-age 30 had arrived. 

After plenty of festive celebration the night before,  we made grand plans to depart for the Princes Marmara Islands promptly at 9 a.m. This was our first mistake. Planning to move ten people around in the US of A calls for some significant strategizing. Planning to move ten people around on a foreign continent calls for a cluster.

Headed to Buyukada

Some educational information first: The Princes' Islands are made up of nine islands in the Sea of Marmara, four of which you can visit. All are accessible by ferry, no cars are allowed, and it is a convenient day trip from Istanbul. Our island of choice was Buyukada.

The birthday boy himself did not even arise out of bed until past the time of intended departure. Which, if you know him at all, is not the least bit shocking. By the time we all made our way to the docks to find a ferry, the boat had of course,  long ago left us behind. Furthermore, we weren't even at the right dock, due to the fact that in Turkey, most of the signs are in, well, Turkish. To be expected of course, but usually somewhere there is English. Not so much in Istanbul. To compound this, aside from the touts who want to sell you a million dollar ride on the Bosphorus, there are not a plethora of English speakers just waiting to help a band of ten straggle their way to a boat.
Aaaaah well, we were already late and there was no point hurrying now. Finally meandering our way to the  proper dock a short time later, we got on with ease and awaited our departure. While we were waiting, this nice man on the right decided to ram our large boat with his large boat. We are not completely sure why, but I suppose it has something to do with how they like to dock boats. All I know is, it felt a little Titanic-esque without the iceberg.  Why on earth anyone would try to parallel park a seagoing vessel?

Our sea chariot

Once underway, we find things a bit breezy and chilly, but not altogether unpleasant. Mostly we are just excited to get out of Istanbul for the day and see a little more of Turkey. After the eternal and blustery voyage, we finally disembark at Buyukada and immediately need food. Since we are way behind schedule, we are way behind on food. I am way behind on the bathroom, (the ferry had squat toilets and I had no desire to squat) so I speed race off to locate a civilized toilet. When I return, I find our group comfortably seated seaside, with a table square in the warm sunlight. Perfect.

Mr. Fishy

Preferring Morton's fish sticks to most freshly caught sea creatures, I elected to share a kebab and rice plate  and a side of zucchini fries with Mary.  Yes, zucchini fries. I was more than excited to find them in Turkey. At this point, the never-ending lunch commenced.  We waited. And waited. And waited some more. Somehow, I was elected spokesperson of the group and had to continually get up to ask this guy (Mr.Fishy) when he thought our food would be arriving, per chance? Now, I am not that American who goes abroad and expects everything to be the same as it is at home. But THIS was really pushing it. His answer? "Oh, just a minute! Or two." And then,  after a moment of thought and consternation he offered "maybe 5 more minutes?" Oh dear. Lunch didn't sound as if it had even been caught yet.

Zucchini deliciousness

After a length of time that certainly exceeded the dubious promise of "maybe 5 more minutes" the food comes rolling out. When there are 10 people eating, it just sort of comes out in a tidal wave. First course of appetizers were decent, the zuch fries surprisingly good. The grape leaves, disgusting. Good thing I enjoyed my fries, because once the main meals started arriving, that was it for me. My little kebab never made it from the waiter to the cook and there I sat. Hungry. You know what happens when I am hungry. Bad things. Once more,  I approach Mr. Fishy to assess when said kebab would be arriving. He looks at me, surprised, and tells me "two more minutes." Yeah right. We have been there at least two hours at this point. By the time he does actually bring our food, Mary is so put out by the length of the lunch meal, that she..... SENDS IT BACK!!! Are you KIDDING ME??! A reverse tug-of-war ensued, with Mr. Fishy attempting  valiantly to put the plate down in front of her and with Mary adamantly refusing to allow him to do so.   And all I can do is look longingly upon it, as its spicy, pungent scent wafts gently past my nose. She was sticking to her guns, I had no choice.  We were apparently standing on principle.

Mary won the war and off went the kebab. It crept its way back into the bill though, at which point I trudged back over to Mr. Fishy to tell him we would not be paying for the kebab. He appeared not to understand, but eventually it disappeared from our tab. In its place? A "chef tip." Siiiiigh. 2 points-Fishy. 1 point-us.

Now, as I am on the eve of the birthday mentioned at the beginning of this post, I would like to know how you readers celebrated your 30th. If you are not yet 30, how do you plan to celebrate or is it just not that big of a deal?

My Love/Hate Relationship With Your Travel Blog

There. I said it.

I love your travel blog and I hate your travel blog.

Who are you? Anyone with a blog  filled with colorful tales of escapades abroad. You know, like the time you had to sweet-talk the Indian consulate into giving you a visa, got swindled by the taxi driver in Costa Rica, went partying with the Germans in Guatemala, sustained an injury on the Great Wall of China,  or  got mobbed by Bangladeshi street kids while handing out oranges.

Here's the thing:  I have been possessed with a touch of the green-eyed monster as of late and I am not completely sure why. All of the above adventures are mine, so it is clear that I have not just been sitting at home on my duff for the last 10 years. Truly, I have been blessed with amazing opportunities to see our wonderful world. But I want more. And every time I read a blog post detailing some place I have yet to see, or even some place I have already been, I am overwhelmed with either wanderlust or nostalgia, or what I like to call "wanderalgia", a lethal combination of both of those.  When wanderalgia strikes, I am stuck in a mopey, petulant child funk the rest of the day and that is when I know the madness must stop. Timeout from your blog is put in effect.  But then I miss the updates and the stories and inevitably, I go back for more, just like a jilted suitor.
For most of the last 10 years, I have always had some sort of plan in the works for next adventure. Always a next destination, always something to look forward to. This past year has been no exception either-Tanzania/Zanzibar at the end of last year, followed by Turkey in April, followed by our Wild West honeymoon adventure. And now? I got nuthin.'  Zip. The agenda is free and clear and I don't like it one single bit. Which is why I have troubles reading your blog sometimes. The nagging thoughts start at the headline and whisper their way through the entry--"what if I never go anywhere again? what if my adventures are over?

"WELL PLAN SOMETHING THEN YOU CRAZY PERSON!"  you are probably thinking.  Well, I'd like to, but I can't just go out willy-nilly and spend cold hard cash on airfare and souvenirs when I have newly assumed rent and other life expenses  to pay right?

But that is nothing compared to the kingpin of negative thoughts, and here is my second confession for today:  I am going to be 30 in just a few weeks. With 30 comes all sorts of adult things. Marriage is a recent development for me, THAT birthday is on the  imminent horizon, and according to everybody who finds out about said recent marriage, kids will soon be coming along. Perish that thought right now. Eventually, yes of course, but right this second is not on the schedule. Soon"ish."  Am I getting old? Washed-up? Settled? *gasp*. I hope not. But without a trip planned, it sure feels like it. So, right now, I live vicariously through you and yours, which is both the curse and the blessing.

Now, before you consider calling one of my loved ones and putting me on some sort of watch, here is the good news. As I have grown up, I have also grown to appreciate the "lesser" adventures.  No, I don't need an African extravaganza every year to keep me happy. Sure, it would be fantastic, but it simply isn't going to happen. And if I don't accept that, I would just be plain miserable. I truly enjoy the smaller weekend adventures, the day trips, and the fun night out. It's not all about crickets on a stick or wild bus rides in the Andes Mountains with me.

Having clarified my mental state, I still would buy a ticket somewhere right now if I had the resources to do so. But here is the other good news: when I first started writing this post, I had only the plan of going back to substitute teaching this year, despite having finished my studies and gotten certified. Then came the phone call heard 'round the world. 36  hours and one 12 minute interview later, I am writing to you as the newest public school teacher in the WV. Woo-hoo! Benefits! Paid snow days! Aaaannnd.....most importantly, a steady paycheck with which to start planning my next trip! All is right with the world again. At least until I read your next blog entry with glowing reports of some back-alley gem of a restaurant in a Beijing hutong or the spectacular sunset on Bali. Then I may want to throw darts at my computer screen.

Am I alone here? Any other wanderlusters ever go through this period in life? Perhaps not, but it sure felt good to get all this down in print.

Reeeealllly important call at the Great Wall. 

The Wedding Wrap-Up

 In case I hadn't mentioned it in every travel post from March through May...I got married! A few of you have asked for details and pictures and so today, I deviate from the theme of this blog to bring you Wedding 2010 in the Wild and Wonderful.

First, the Relationship: Together 3.5 years, Engaged for 14 months, Married just over 2 months.
Love at First Sight?: We met playing volleyball. He was convinced that I was going to be his next girlfriend. I spent the next six months trying to prove him wrong. He won that argument.
The Engagement: Occurred March of 2009 in Independence Park, Philadelphia. It's where I lost my full independence ;) but gained a partner.
The Wedding: May 29, 2010 in the backyard of his grandmother's house. Beautiful location. Reception at an old historic hotel in Shepherdstown WV.
Week before Wedding: Hell On Earth. It deserves its own capital letters and everything.  I do not ever, EVER, want to live through a week like that again. And we are fairly simple people, none of this hooplah over minutiae, no drama. Bridezilla, I am not. I cannot imagine planning a wedding where  details are king and everything must be perfect.  I have complete and upmost empathy for any brides-to-be and will now bend over backwards to be of service to them. Luckily, I have an amazing group of girlfriends that pulled through. And Adam, for being like most men who does not care about colors, seating, and lighting, was pretty decently helpful. Good work love! (He reads this blog, must say nice things. And in this case, they are true!).

Wedding day: Calm and peaceful. No rain. Oh, did I mention that a full meltdown occurred the day before when upon checking weather.com, angry looking lightning bolts and black clouds were graciously pictured right under "Saturday, May 29th"?  Outdoor weddings do not mesh well with water.
Best part of the day: The Vows. Nobody bothering us, just me and him.
Enjoy a few pics of the day!

The Sedona Sunglasses Incident

I have a good man for a husband, and you will note this by the series of photos below. To give a little background, another honeymoon adventure was a side trip to  Slide Rock State Park, just outside of Sedona, Arizona. If you have never been there, this  area is famed for its red rocks, its vortexes, and its rough, but unique landscape.

Slide Rock is is a swim/walk/navigate at your own risk kind of park. There are LOTS of rocks, more rocks than water it seems. As a result, the terrain is slightly dangerous. Beautiful, but certainly not complying with any OSHA standards. Just getting down into the water proves to be an exercise in acrobatics and I feel that perhaps I may need a stunt double. Plus, I am wearing my brand new swimsuit which I am not about to ruin. Once in though, the water is so cool and refreshing and we elect to just sit in it and enjoy. Then we saw all these kids leaping into the water from a huge rock above and decide  to get a better view.

There is one point in our maneuvering around the rocks in the water that it becomes necessary to contort my body into a circus shape and attempt to squeeze around an extremely large boulder. Below is water and more rocks. The ledge to squeeze around is barely big enough for the width of one foot, especially one clad in a flip-flop. Which brings me to an important side point: Why in heaven's name can I not ever find more appropriate footwear for these perilous situations? First the Andes Mountains in Ecuador, then that monster hill in Istanbul, now this.  If we fall, we are going home with a nasty bruise, gash, head wound, or broken limb. Maybe all of the above. It is at this point that I decide to take off my sunglasses so that they do not fall of my head in all the maneuvering-because of course, sunglasses are priority in any dangerous ledge situation.  And it is at this point that I forget about them and leave them there.

After spending part of the afternoon watching small children and teenagers hurl themselves into the air, miraculously bobbing to the surface unscathed, it's time to go. It is only after we navigate the boulders, climb the steep bank, and cross the hot rocks, that I realize....I no longer have my sunglasses. I look at Adam. He looks at me. I don't even have to ask. He turns around to revisit the path from whence he came. I decided to make good use of  the wait  and document his journey.

The sunglasses, snug in their spot on the ledge

Creeper

At this point, he may be wondering how he got stuck with me

Success! But that means one handed rock-climbing

I was waiting for him to fall here

Or here

Contemplating the route back to his lovely wife

 Me, amusing myself with my shadow while I wait

 I wish I could say one of these girls was me. But nope.

Our Restaurant.com Experience. Epic Failure.

You may remember how pre-honeymoon I wrote about how I went all willy-nilly and ordered $100 worth of gift certificates to McFadden's off of the website before reading the fine print. Since I had already spent $8 on this endeavor, I was determined to make good on my investment and at least eat there once. Good news: the restaurant.com gift certificates are not scams. Bad news: our dinner was terrible.  As it turned out, we would have been better off never darkening the door of the establishment and going hungry instead.

Since the first night found us exhausted in bed at 9 p.m and sound asleep by 9:01 p.m, (after a romantic $ menu dinner at McDonald's), our only option left was to dine there our second night. Luckily for us, Bally's had a free shuttle that ran to Rio, the casino/hotel in which McFadden's was located. After an eternal wait, in which Adam and both fell into the red zone of hunger (this is the zone in which we should not look at or talk to each other until hunger is satisfied)  the shuttle finally arrived and we were on our way. We walked inside Rio to find lots of slot machines, poker tables, blackjack dealers, chain smokers, little old ladies, and no restaurant. We walked upstairs. We walked downstairs. We walked towards the back, we walked towards the front. Nothing. The red zone of hunger is rearing its ugly head. Just when we are about to give up and cross lanes of traffic and parking garages to get to the T.G.I Friday's we saw on the way in, we spy it. Apparently it's closed. Curses upon the Irish. But wait! It's not closed, there are just no customers inside. Bad, bad sign. We go in anyway, as we needed food right that instant.

Umm. Gross. 

I will spare you the tense dinner and most of the  gory details. Suffice to say, our food was only one notch above "we just found this in the garbage can and served it to you" variety. The picture does not do it justice. We started with the quesadilla which was an enormous glob of somewhat melted cheese ensconced between   decrepit flour tortillas. Hoping for better luck at dinner, Adam ordered shepherds pie (a McFadden's specialty)  and I had the chicken ceasar wrap with fries that were veritably scrubbed in garlic and oil. Disgusting and Disgusting"er."

And, to add insult to injury, we somehow STILL ended up paying over $25 for dinner! Which means that $50 was spent on half-heartedly melted cheese, tasteless shepherds pie,  and slimy chicken in a wrap. We got out of there in a hurry and attempted to erase all McFadden memories by heading back to the Strip and drowning ourselves in one of those giant fruity beverages that come up to my waist. It very nearly did the trick, along with the soothing calmness of the light and music show of the Bellagio fountains. One of the best moments of the trip, in general, and one of the best moments with Adam!  I only wish I had captured it on video, but I was too enthralled by it to remember that my camera actually had video function.

On an end note: I did contact the good folks at Restaurant.com and explained that I had made a bit of a mistake by ordering so many certificates. They were kind enough to offer to exchange them for another restaurant, so all is not lost. Kudos to them for being willing to look over my haste. Perhaps better luck next time. But I do know....that next time will not involve McFadden's at Rio in Vegas. Steer clear!

In front of the Bellagio with Adam and his purse

Little Bullet, Big Problem

Never ever in my travels, EVER,  have I ever encountered a TSA airport screening like the one in Las Vegas last week. And since it involved live ammunition, I hope never to do so again.

We were on the blasted 1 AM flight back to the East Coast. Note to self: never again. We arrived home feeling like death warmed over and then reheated again. I digress. Before we actually arrived home, we of course had to go through all the proper screenings at various airports and whatnot. In Vegas, we pick a line and begin to trudge through it. Our carry-on suitcases come through just fine, and we peer expectantly down the line for our backpacks. Nothing. In fact, nothing much at all is happening in our line, and there is a bunch of people just standing around. The screeners are very intently looking at their screen, the passengers waiting to go through the machine are intently looking at the screeners, and we are very intently looking for our luggage. At last, one of them arrives with Adam's bag in tow, and politely asks "Is this yours?" Indeed it is. He informs us that it will be over yonder and that we need to be there as well. Wonderful.

We put ourselves back together and head over to the nice TSA man who looks ready to do business. Opening the bag, he roots around a little and pulls out.........a rock. Adam had grabbed a rock from the Canyon. Whew, ok! Let's move on now.

Not so fast. The nice TSA man roots around a little more and pulls out the grand prize-None other than an unspent 9mm bullet. Ummm.....what does one say in such a situation? TSA man looks down the end of his nose at us and sternly, but still politely, wonders  aloud, "And is there a reason you are carrying a live bullet with you tonight?" Well, no actually, there is no reason at all that will suffice in this situation. And since we know we are not terrorists or have any motives other than just getting home, we both just start grinning. The situation is just so ludicrous, we couldn't help ourselves. Nice TSA man does not think anything is remotely funny and marches away with the bullet and the bag, telling us to have a seat. Good thing we are way early for this flight-mystery bullets usually mean a nice little delay.

We sit down and of course my first question to my newly betrothed is "oh dearest one, why do you have a bullet in your bag"? Simple explanation really. He has a few guns, he is a hunter, we just moved, he shoved a bunch of stuff in a bookbag (side note about my husband's packing/moving style-it's really quite heinous and involves lots of large black lawn and leaf bags) and somehow this little bullet never made it out-which says alot for TSA at Reagan airport in DC where the mystery bullet went undetected. Anyway, we sit there a bit and ponder our future. I do this rather dramatically as I consider a life on the no-fly list, a stint behind bars, or at the very minimum, a late arrival home. Adam doesn't seem to be concerned in the least.

As it turns out, apparently bullets are a not-so-rare occurrence. The lady that resolved our issue told us so matter-of-factly, and that there had been another one just night before. She also indicated very strongly that we should leave the bullet with her and we were happy to oblige. Taking his phone number, she told us that TSA may come calling.

So that is the story of the bullet. One for our children, one for this blog, and one that prior to a honeymoon with my husband, I never thought I would tell. Anybody care to share any similar airport security moments?

On How the Honeymoon and/or the Marriage almost got cut short

In the last few posts, I have mentioned how frugal I am and how I really like to find a deal and save a buck. Read: cheap. Anyway, this trait of mine nearly landed us in a fine mess  just yesterday traveling Arizona Highway 180 from the Grand Canyon to Flagstaff. In short, we needed gas. We left at 4:45 AM to make it to the Canyon for sunrise, well before the "cheaper" gas station closest to us was open. The next gas station a block away was selling gas at FIFTY WHOLE CENTS MORE!!!  Of course. We only got $20 worth and went on our merry way.  After a few hours enjoying the views of this world wonder, we headed out of the park. More on the Canyon later, let's just get to how the happiness nearly ended here. The conversation went a little something like this:

Him: We need gas, should we get it here?
Me: No, it's way too expensive. Oh, and let's take this shortcut instead of what the GPS is telling us.

Seven miles later down the shortcut road which so far, is all clouds, sky, and road. Absolutely nothing else.

Him: What if there isn't any place to get gas on this road?
Me: Um......what if there isn't? (A quick check with GPS had confirmed that there was indeed nothing between us and our destination, nearly 50 miles away. Oh dear. )

Five minutes later:
 Him: The gas light just went on.
Me:
(No response from me here. Just mortified silence. Feverish prayers begin).

Twenty minutes later:
Him: The needle is almost  below "E."  Check on GPS and see where the closest gas station is!!
Me: I already did. It's back on the other road we just came from! 
Him:
(No response from him here. Just tense silence.)

About 30 miles to go. 

And so this is how our ride went. Tense silence marked by frequent glances at the GPS to assess our progress. During this time I avoided looking at and speaking with my beloved husband, preferring instead to imagine the worst while looking out the window at....nothing. Not even a house around. In fact, we were in the Coconino National Forest. No gas stations there. Siiiigh.  Running out of gas would definitely ruin our day, cut into the budget, and certainly put a damper on our fledgling marriage. Prayers heavenward were accelerated, even invoking the Jesus turning water into wine story. Only we really just needed waning fuel to turn into.......more fuel. But you get the idea.


Him: The needle is below"E" now.
Me:
(Pretending not to hear. Accelerated efforts at prayer).

Twenty miles to go, and I feel as if there may be a light at the end of the tunnel. Twenty miles from civilization isn't all that far if we run out, right? At ten miles, I started to breathe, but only a little. Five miles found me wanting to sing the Hallelujah Chorus. The tension in the jeep though, prevented me from doing so.  At three miles, I knew we had made it. And the sight of the Sunoco just ahead? Priceless. I could have kissed the man working there.

Him: I don't know how we made it this far.
Me: I do. ;)

Vegas, Here We Come! (oh and Grand Canyon---comin' for you too....)

Our honeymoon is now three days away and we are both pretty darn excited. First time to Vegas and Grand Canyon for both of us, and actually, first extended trip together, period. We went to Chicago for a few fabulous days last summer, but we were in a giant herd of friends and annoying people. This time it's just the two of us. Insert cute song here.  After months of research and price-checking, we decided on dates (June 29-July 6), hotel (Bally's on the Strip), vehicle (top-down Jeep) and another hotel for when we get to Arizona and the Canyon (The Lodge on Rt. 66). Lots of decisions.

After two days in Vegas, we will ride with the open road out to Williams, Arizona and this will be our spot for the next few days while we explore the Canyon, Sedona, and Flagstaff. I can't think of many things more nostalgic then spending the 4th of July in a small town in the southwest,  off Rt. 66, no less. Am I more excited about this, or the giant barbecue that will be held while we are there? That, my friends, is a tough one. You all know how I long for and rhapsodize over food. See my post about Austin, Texas if there is any confusion. And speaking of food! Have you guys ever utilized Restaurant.com for some serious discounts? It's either the world's biggest scam and my bank account is being depleted even as I write this, or the best-kept secret. Right now, if you visit the website and use the promo code "summer," you can order a $25 gift certificate to certain Vegas restaurants and pay $2. My eyes were as big as saucers when I found this deal. Clearly, I let all that excitement get to my head because I promptly ordered $100 worth of coupons (paid $8) and then realized you can only use one per visit in a month. So now I have just gone and wasted $6 which sort of defeats the entire purpose of saving money.  Perhaps I should learn to temper my frugality with some fine print.  Aah well, maybe I can find some other kindred soul on the streets of Vegas and give it to them.

Then off to Williams in our rented Jeep. This is the husband's one "must-have" of the entire trip and so top-down Jeep ride we shall enjoy! I sort of orchestrated everything else on the honeymoon and so the man needs to have one thing he picked out. And by "sort of" I mean that essentially, all plans have been made by me. He is fine with that and well, let's face it, I am too.

I think we will have plenty to occupy our time this week and even more importantly, I think it's gonna be great. Just me and him, exploring a little Southwest together.

Taking any and all suggestions for things to definitely do, and things to definitely avoid. We are Virgin Vegasers. I could go some many places with the previous sentence, but I will keep this all G-rated for ya. Hey!- as a newly married woman, I've got jokes.

To Guide or Not to Guide?

As promised, I am going to elaborate a bit more on this trip to Turkey (and show some pictures). Specifically, the merits of having a guidebook or wingin' it on some vague information and a prayer. The was a first time event for me-traveling without a Lonely Planet of my very own that I keep by my side as if it was my last dollar, use as a pillow, and lovingly caress before I go to sleep each night.  You think I'm joking. So venturing to the city that marks a division between East and West sans Lonely Planet was one small step for my fellow travelers, one giant leap for me.

During the weeks leading up to the trip, I had plenty of time to head over to Amazon, find my book, click and buy. Aahhh, that shiny, glossy, Blue cover, just begging to be bought. Yet each time I looked, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Perhaps it was my inner traveler begging me to do it just once, just ONCE go wild and free! Live dangerously and don't figure out in advance how to get from the flat to the metro! Don't find out how to say thanks! Find the bus station by following the crowd! However, I suspect it was actually my inner cheapskate preventing me from purchasing LP's guide to Istanbul. Those of you who know me and/or have traveled with me, know I am frugal by nature-I travel on a dime and only splurge on the big things. I have been known to get out of a cab because he charged us a dollar (one little dollar!) more than I thought was fair. And with a wedding in the very immediate future and the myriad of expenses that go along with it, I decided that this one time, I would forego the Blue.

My resolve lasted until just off the runway after an Amsterdam layover.  The lady in the row ahead of mine had what I coveted. I could practically read along with her if I angled my neck just right. I was sitting beside the birthday boy and we both realized how little we knew about where we were going. I started to feel panicky, and completely uneducated about this foreign place. What if I never made it to the must-sees? What if I missed the best place to find a kabob? What if I never learned a single thing to educate my students? Seizing the moment when she laid the book on the seat beside hers, I pounced. "Excuse me, but do you mind if I look at your book for a few minutes?" Looking somewhat nonplussed and startled, she handed it to me. High on life! I felt how an addict must feel when they finally get a fix. I crammed all the pertinent info into my weary brain and sat back, somewhat relieved.

Now, fast forward to our first morning there and we are all making our plans to head out for the day. I am somewhat confident because two other people have Blue, so I know our day's journey will at least be well-informed. But I don't have it, so I feel like I am missing a limb. Or my eyesight. Again, I am not kidding. Even as I write this, I realize how crazy I must sound. But when I travel, my M.O is to have the logistics down (how to find transport, rough costs of food, fees,  ideas for hostels, etc), and then the plan will fall into place. I usually only know for certain where I am staying the first night and then the rest just happens.  As we head out, I realize I cannot be in control of anything, because I don't actually know anything. As we proceed through that first day and encounter innumerable mishaps, confusing directions, and the loss of various people at different points, the awakening occurs. I am FREE! I have no book, therefore I have no authority, I have no pre-obtained information. By the third day, when we all proceed en masse to the wrong ferry dock, only to find that not only were we at the wrong dock, but at the right dock, our ship had already gone and sailed down the Bosphorus without us. I stood back, amused, and without a slight care in the world. I had no book, I was not in charge, I was not responsible for incidents like this one. Pretty cool huh?

Will I be adopting this as my mode of travel from now on? Nah, probably not.  I am on to planning the honeymoon and I have not one, but two guidebooks.  Disclaimer: both were given to me.  Next stops: Vegas and Grand Canyon! But it was pretty nice to not have the Blue, I will admit.   After all, isn't the adventure in the journey, not the destination? (I know, I know, some other wise person authored that quote, but it fit pretty nicely here to wrap up this post).

What do you fellow travelers think? How do you like to travel-guide or no guide?

Indecent Proposal

 I'm back from marriage and all that good stuff ;)

You know it's going to be an eventful trip when a random Turkish man offers 125 camels, 7,000 sheep, and his jacket in exchange for one of your fellow female travelers. Yes, this actually happened. We were sitting in Sultanahmet Square, relaxing, enjoying the view of the Blue Mosque, when Terra apparently struck Turk's fancy. The man was persistent, I'll give him that. At first it was just the 125 camels he offered-a proposal at which we scoffed. (Surely she's worth at least twice that amount. ha!)  When Turk realized we were not down with the 125 camels, he threw in the sheep.  I think he sensed his prize slipping away. Throwing in his jacket for last desperate measure, I assume he truly believed that we would actually be persuaded  to give up poor Terra in return for a Noah's ark of smelly livestock animals and one nondescript men's jacket.  Although........such an exchange wouldhave  likely made us extremely wealthy by Turkish standards. Hmmmm. Camels and sheep don't appeal to me though. Now, if he had offered  a few Turkish rugs and a lifetime supply of Turkish baklava, I might be writing a different Turkish story. Have you ever in your life had chocolate baklava??
A. Maz. Ing.  A scene was almost created over the sheer deliciousness of this dessert.

Oh fine. I wouldn't really have let my friend go for mere household goods and a sweet treat. But seriously, eat some chocolate baklava while reclining on a sumptuous rug. You too might be tempted.

(just kidding Terra!)

Here is the chocolate baklava in all of its glory. Below that is a photo of me acting the part of tourist in the Square, behind is the Blue Mosque.

Timeout!

I know, I know, I have been gratuitously negligent (I really just wanted to use the word "gratuitious" right then and there) on updating everyone on my latest adventure. I went on a rampage over the airport debaucle, and now some of you probably think I had a terrible time in Turkey and am just covering it up with tales of woe. That is so not true. But you see, I am getting married next weekend and life is just a wee bit hectic at the moment. I have a to-do list several yards long and unfortunately, none of the items on it has anything to do with blogging,  or for that matter, anything fun at all.   So, I must take a brief timeout while I get this whole marriage thing together. Here are a few snippets of trip recap and two pictures to assure you that not only did I actually go, but that I had a grand 'ole time.

1. I did not purchase my wedding ring. Low point of the trip. But those darn Turks were having none of my amazing bargaining skills. One of them practically spit at the price I offered.
2. I did indeed find the Bosphorus Strait! It's kind of hard to miss while in Istanbul. However, there was no frolicking in it. As Lonely Planet guide puts it, unless one has a death wish, swimming in the Bosphorus is not advised.
3. Speaking of Lonely Planet, I have mixed emotions on traveling sans guidebook. Luckily, other people on the trip did, so it was more of a "baby steps" trip for me. There was one at my fingertips at any moment I so chose, but I did not have one of my own. Part of the trip, I felt as if I was wandering around in a fog, blindly following the lead of others. The other part was strangely exhilarating-I wasn't responsible! I didn't know a thing about anything, so therefore, I could not be responsible for mix-ups, wrong turns, and misinformation-of which all were in abundance on this trip. The logistics of traveling with 10 people is nothing short of a small nightmare. More on this later.
4.  The best day was the last day-took a drive out to the Black Sea. Simply gorgeous.

5. There are feral cats everywhere in Istanbul. I found this little guy in the public square outside of the Spice Bazaar.  He appears to really be enjoying his nap time.
6. I passed my Praxis exam. Nothing to do with Turkey, just super relieved and happy about it.

Must go get married now. More on everything later.

Part 2, Just a Freaking Cluster (Ode to JFK airport).

We got our boarding passes and looked around wildly for where to go. I asked a gentlemen who appeared to be working (leaning against a table) where Terminal 2 was, and he said if we would just wait five minutes while he used the restroom, he would take us there. Confident in my supreme abilities to navigate an airport and not wanting to waste another second, I politely declined his offer and we off we dashed. Into oblivion. You see, the person that designed that airport had to have just drawn a bunch of stick figures and buildings on  random pieces of paper, threw them all in the air, stomped on them, made a magic wish and then, with eyes closed, placed them into his blueprint.

We jumped on train that looked like as if was going somewhere important, such as a departure terminal. No such luck. In reality, we were headed out towards New York City, and I realized this at the last possible moment before it would have been too late. My traveling companion was not of much assistance, as this was her very first international trip, and only her second time flying. I was depending completely on myself and the kindness of strangers. We lunged off the train, and I asked the kindest looking person on the platform how to get to the Terminal 2. She pointed directly behind her, to the other side of the platform and told us to jump on there. Wonderful! It is now about 7:35, less than an hour until depature. We hop on, and wait what seems like an eternity until the train finally chugs into the stop we need. We get out. We see nothing even remotely "departure/lounge/check-in/security" like. Nothing. Perhaps if we head down the elevator. Oh but wait, there is a giant woman and her equally giant cat in a giant cat carrier blocking our way. Seriously??!! A giant cat?

Finally making it down the stairs, we find ourselves in no man's land, aka, a parking garage. This is where I start to feel myself crumble into a million little pieces. Back up the stairs, practically shrieking at yet another employee to find out where in all of God's creation is that blasted Terminal 2? She points to the direction from whence we came. no, No, NO! That was a parking garage! Back we go though, in hopes that a giant terminal will suddenly appear (perhaps to go along with the giant woman and her giant cat).  Of course we end up at the same spot in the same parking garage. Major meltdown is imminent. I am going to lose it right there on the asphalt. It was 7:47 and we were no closer to anything important, except large masses of parked cars. I literally had to give myself a peptalk/shakedown, ordering myself to GET IT TOGETHER!! We could not miss the flight and I was the only one that was going to get us to where needed to be....and I would be of no use to anyone if I was in a sad heap in the parking lot. Lo and behold, that same employee comes strolling out past the garage. Half-hysterical, I call out to her once again....beseeching her to tell me where in this forsaken place was TERMINAL 2??!!! She casually points over her shoulder to a large hangar-like building emblazoned with the words I so desperately was seeking. How was anybody supposed to find that? There were no signs leading or pointing the way, and one must arrive there by traipsing through a parking structure!! WHO DESIGNS THIS STUFF?? We dash for the Promised Land, run through the doors, gasp our way through the security (partly from panic, partly because it was 188 degrees inside, no AC). 7:57. Oh no. They want to take my snowglobe that I so lovingly packed into my checked luggage that became carry-on when all the Delta drama started happening. Blast. But another bright spot-the TSA officer let me keep it but took the box so that it would like she did her job. She then told me to just look really upset and/or angry when I left the screening area. No problem.

Finally, gate 27 is just a few steps away. We arrive, panting and sweating. There is some sort of medical emergency occurring in our waiting area, it is hot as Hades, and come to find out the next day, the would-be Times Square bomber was on the loose somewhere in the airport. Oh, and to cap everything off? Our flight is delayed one hour.

To finish this epic, (oh there is more, but I am over it) we arrive home safe and sound at 2 AM, only 5 hours after our intended arrival. It could have been worse. Enough of the airport drama, on with Turkey!!