I have traveled 'round the world and the unthinkable has never, ever, happened to me. "Unthinkable" when traveling, could be anything-stolen/lost passport, getting lost, finding out you have no place to sleep when you land, or losing all of your pictures. I have been fortunate to depart and return, unscathed.
Which is why, the following incident has me so pissed off.
Last week, in the comfort and safety of my very own home, a person of ill will , chose to enter and take things that did not belong to them. Making them a thief, and us victims of their audacity.
One of those things was my laptop. My laptop that had nearly every photo I have ever taken of every country I have ever visited and every trip I have ever taken. Turkey, Nicaragua, China, Tanzania, just to name a few. All gone. When I discovered it, I felt as if someone had punched me in the face, then in the gut, then stomped on me.
My laptop had everything, everything on it. And no, I had no external hard drive to back things up, because that would have been the smart thing to do. I went about the next few days alternating between feeling angry and ill, with the ever-present insecurity of wondering if they are going to come back and do it again.
It's been a fun past few weeks, let me tell ya.
When I had time to process it, I decided that someone might as well have just stolen my identity. Because that is, in part, what my photos mean to me. I am very proud of my ventures around the world. They have made me who I am today. From the first trip to Israel, to the most recent in Nicaragua, I have been formed, shaped, molded by the things I have seen and done. My photos were my hard-copy memories, "proof" that I have seen the world and been changed by it.
Call me shallow, call me dependent on material things, call me whatever. But I've been pretty mad.
I have some stuff on Facebook, which helps ease the sting of my life in photos disappearing in the span of what probably amounted to a five minute job on my house. I have a few CD's of photos that I made pre-Facebook. Everything else is gone, probably already wiped off the hard drive so the thief can do whatever it is with my laptop they so desperately needed to have for themselves.
I have come to accept it, but I am not alright with it. A little perspective helps too. I have a roof over my head, I have my husband, and we are fine. With the exception of memories, every item that was taken is replaceable. Nobody was physically hurt, and we learned a valuable lesson. Worse things could have happened, and worse things DO happen every single day. Thankfully, one of those worse things didn't happen to us.
And now, since the link to my blog was a bookmark on my laptop, perhaps the thief has at least broadened their horizons to the world and is enjoying some leisure reading. So this one is for you, Thief.
Dear Person of Ill Repute Who Did Not Learn the Kindergarten Lesson of not Taking what doesn't Belong to You:
The laptop you stole was four years old, the screen isn't original, and the battery only holds a charge for a whopping 14 minutes. The new cord I bought for it probably won't last much longer, either.
The hotspot device you thoughtfully took to ensure you would be able to access the internet with my laptop. Really? You had to have known that the service would be cut off immediately. Enjoy the paperweight.
You left the charger behind for the camera you stole, so unless you can find another one to steal, you will probably have to actually pay for that. (*gasp!*)
I will leave the other items unmentioned, because you have either already used them or broken them. If you try to pawn them, we will find out your dirty little secret, so maybe best steer clear of the pawn shops.
Above all else, I hope you realize you were wrong and do something to make up for it. Maybe not to us, but to someone. Else, it will come back to you, in one way or another, one day. God, whether you believe in Him or not, does not and will not honor what you did.
That is a guarantee.
Also, if you come back, I have a 4 inch stiletto that my mother disdainfully refers to as my "lady of the night" shoes and I will not hesitate to use it somewhere on your body.
Hey, I had to get resourceful. You took everything else!
Friday, December 23, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Guest Post: Has Your Travel Bug Bitten Yet?
The following is a guest post by Kate, a reader who reached out to me and asked if I would consider hosting. When I saw what she had in mind, I didn't think twice, as just days prior I had found out some news on a little stick and was in the midst of freaking out. Her post was a little bit of a relief/reality check for me and I am happy to share it with all you. Enjoy!
I do think that you should only regret the things you've haven’t done as opposed to those that you have. I try to not to miss opportunities to do things when I can because I hate regretting anything.
Unfortunately travelling is one area where I do have big regrets. There is part of me now that wishes I’d made more effort to travel when I was young, carefree, didn’t have a mortgage to pay, little mouths to feed, and rocked a bikini! (Well, at least I looked better in one then than I do now).
I now feel that my poor Passport has been well and truly neglected. The travel bug never really caught up with me in my younger days. I didn’t feel the compulsion to grab a backpack and go off trekking around the world after I finished college/university like most of my friends.
I had different priorities at the time (which I don’t regret because my life would be very different otherwise). I met my husband at 19, we bought our first house, got married a couple of years later and I carried on studying until I was 26. By the time I’d finished my degree, diploma and professional training we were both itching to start a family, and now here we are.
Now, I have the most responsibility I've ever had in my whole life, a husband, two small people, a dog, a house and a sizeable mortgage to go with it, and a new business.
Never have I felt the urge to drag my suitcase out of the loft as strongly as I do now. My travel bug has finally arrived. It’s taken its time, but it’s here! And do you know why it’s arrived now, of all times?
It's mostly because of those little people I gave birth to. I’m raring to pack our suitcases, get out there and show them the world. They see everything so differently to us. They are astonished by the simplest of things. New places are far more impressive and exciting when you discover them with toddlers. Toddlers don’t rush. They take in the most microscopic detail of places and objects and if something looks good, they eat it! Although, that’s something I won’t be encouraging so much of, unless it’s tasty looking food.
And that’s exactly why I want to get out there right now. I want to visit as many places, countries and continents as we can while they’re still innocent enough to see all good in people and before they become tainted by politics, religions and other controversies. I know they actually have a lot to teach me. They help me to see things from a totally new perspective.
There’s been a few moments lately, that have also made me realise that I’m really eager to take them out into that big wide world so that they have an education, aside from that sat behind a desk at school. Yes, I know there’s a lot for them to learn there, probably most importantly social skills and interacting with their peers. But I think the actual skills learnt by travelling are hugely under estimated by a lot of people.
One thing I have learnt is that life experience is worth a lot. As is, experiencing lots of different cultures, customs and traditions. Not only knowing what these customs and traditions are and what happens, but truly understanding them. I don't think there's any better way to do that than to meet people who practice and believe in those customs etc, really get to know them and understand their way of life.
So, these little people are the reason that my travel bug has arrived (very unfashionably late). Unfortunately, they’re also the reason that our ability to go off travelling is severely hampered. Our income has been dramatically slashed during the last 3 years while I’ve had long periods of maternity leave. Our living costs are now the highest they’ve ever been and now, NOW I’m feeling the biggest urge in my whole life to go travelling. The irony is not lost on me!
I have also learnt a lot since having the first of the little ones 3 years ago. I now appreciate that, while enjoyed the holidays I had in my younger days immensely, the ones where I took time to chat to, and get to know the locals have much more significance than those where I just went and lay on a beach for a week. Those holidays might well have been exactly what I needed at the time but there were definitely some missed opportunities there to see more of the countries I visited, find out more about the people, and the photos I took, aside from one or two lucky shots, were also extremely rubbish!
Now I want to make up for that. I want to show my children the big wide world to make the most of this travel bug while it’s sticking around. Plus, they’re all packed and ready to go!
Kate is a proud mum of two tiny tearaways and a keen writer who works with the likes of Electric Dialogue and No 1 Traveller, a UK luxury airport lounge company.
I do think that you should only regret the things you've haven’t done as opposed to those that you have. I try to not to miss opportunities to do things when I can because I hate regretting anything. Unfortunately travelling is one area where I do have big regrets. There is part of me now that wishes I’d made more effort to travel when I was young, carefree, didn’t have a mortgage to pay, little mouths to feed, and rocked a bikini! (Well, at least I looked better in one then than I do now).
I now feel that my poor Passport has been well and truly neglected. The travel bug never really caught up with me in my younger days. I didn’t feel the compulsion to grab a backpack and go off trekking around the world after I finished college/university like most of my friends.
I had different priorities at the time (which I don’t regret because my life would be very different otherwise). I met my husband at 19, we bought our first house, got married a couple of years later and I carried on studying until I was 26. By the time I’d finished my degree, diploma and professional training we were both itching to start a family, and now here we are.
Now, I have the most responsibility I've ever had in my whole life, a husband, two small people, a dog, a house and a sizeable mortgage to go with it, and a new business.
Never have I felt the urge to drag my suitcase out of the loft as strongly as I do now. My travel bug has finally arrived. It’s taken its time, but it’s here! And do you know why it’s arrived now, of all times?
It's mostly because of those little people I gave birth to. I’m raring to pack our suitcases, get out there and show them the world. They see everything so differently to us. They are astonished by the simplest of things. New places are far more impressive and exciting when you discover them with toddlers. Toddlers don’t rush. They take in the most microscopic detail of places and objects and if something looks good, they eat it! Although, that’s something I won’t be encouraging so much of, unless it’s tasty looking food.
And that’s exactly why I want to get out there right now. I want to visit as many places, countries and continents as we can while they’re still innocent enough to see all good in people and before they become tainted by politics, religions and other controversies. I know they actually have a lot to teach me. They help me to see things from a totally new perspective.
There’s been a few moments lately, that have also made me realise that I’m really eager to take them out into that big wide world so that they have an education, aside from that sat behind a desk at school. Yes, I know there’s a lot for them to learn there, probably most importantly social skills and interacting with their peers. But I think the actual skills learnt by travelling are hugely under estimated by a lot of people.
One thing I have learnt is that life experience is worth a lot. As is, experiencing lots of different cultures, customs and traditions. Not only knowing what these customs and traditions are and what happens, but truly understanding them. I don't think there's any better way to do that than to meet people who practice and believe in those customs etc, really get to know them and understand their way of life.
So, these little people are the reason that my travel bug has arrived (very unfashionably late). Unfortunately, they’re also the reason that our ability to go off travelling is severely hampered. Our income has been dramatically slashed during the last 3 years while I’ve had long periods of maternity leave. Our living costs are now the highest they’ve ever been and now, NOW I’m feeling the biggest urge in my whole life to go travelling. The irony is not lost on me!
I have also learnt a lot since having the first of the little ones 3 years ago. I now appreciate that, while enjoyed the holidays I had in my younger days immensely, the ones where I took time to chat to, and get to know the locals have much more significance than those where I just went and lay on a beach for a week. Those holidays might well have been exactly what I needed at the time but there were definitely some missed opportunities there to see more of the countries I visited, find out more about the people, and the photos I took, aside from one or two lucky shots, were also extremely rubbish!
Now I want to make up for that. I want to show my children the big wide world to make the most of this travel bug while it’s sticking around. Plus, they’re all packed and ready to go!
Kate is a proud mum of two tiny tearaways and a keen writer who works with the likes of Electric Dialogue and No 1 Traveller, a UK luxury airport lounge company.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
This Spring, the Ultimate Journey Begins
Last spring, I was pretty excited about spending half the summer in Nicaragua volunteering, eating delicious food, making new friends, having revelations about my travel self, and doing cool things. All of the above was accomplished and I feel pretty lucky to have had such an experience.
This spring, I can top that journey. Guaranteed.
It's gonna be quite the epic trip. It will cost tons of money, I won't be booking a return ticket, and it's completely uncharted territory for me.
Umm....I am gonna have a baby.
True story.
I have known since early September, but I have been much too busy attempting to wrap my head around the fact that I will be someone's mother to tell anybody anything.
You see, I have never been the girl who spent her free hours daydreaming of her wedding, her Prince Charming, and the babies they would have together. Quite the opposite, actually. I spent most of my time delaying all of those things and instead, traipsing off to lands near and far and daydreaming of those, instead. To compound matters, the level of repulsion I feel for the acts of childbirth and breastfeeding (yes, this blog just went there) is nearly absurd. I might have a phobia or something. Please don't write and tell me how beautiful they are, because quite simply, they are not. I am fully aware that both are necessary and life-giving, but to me, both are barbaric, savage and well, just plain gross.
So what finally pushed me over the edge into pregnancy and impending motherhood?
Let's be honest and tell the truth. When the idea of spending half the summer in Nicaragua occurred to me, I delicately broached the subject with the husband, who, didn't bat an eyelash when responding: "I would be pretty OK with you going if when you came back we could start trying to have a kid."
So yeah, I exchanged my uterus for summertime in Nicaragua. Don't judge me. Besides, I needed something to force me to make the plunge. I am 31 now, I would have probably hemmed and hawed over this for as long as humanly possible if I didn't have motivation. I went, I saw, I did, I returned, and now, NOW, the remaining part of the bargain is in full swing. When May comes, I will be a mother.
But nothing could prepare me for the moment when I looked at the plus signs on the multiple pregnancy tests and stared, in shock. Because really, nothing can prep you for that moment. Shock is where I remained for two days. On the third day, I cried the ugly cry, convinced my life was over and that I would never travel again and my poor passport would die a tortuous death. On the fourth day, I decided that I was angry and called a best friend and let loose a string of profanity that would push both of my living and healthy grandmothers much closer to the grave. On the fifth day, I woke up feel utterly peaceful and named him. (I am convinced it's a boy).
Since that fifth morning, I am still adjusting. I am no longer cursing at my friends (God bless them) or in shock, but this is big for me and thank God it takes babies 40 weeks to develop. I need every single one of those weeks. I swing from peaceful acceptance, to resigned acceptance, convinced that my traveling days are over, that I will become irrelevant, that I will cease to be me and enjoy the things that make me "me."
Some people have the maternal glow, the joyous anticipation, and ecstasy of knowing they will soon be a parent.
But not everybody does, and I think that's OK.
But here is what I do have: an amazing, supportive, and loving husband who couldn't be happier that we are taking this plunge together. I am beyond blessed to have him. I have a wonderful network of supportive family and friends who get me, and who say "Claire, it's ok to feel the way you do." I also have the blessing of being someone's mother. Although, to be clear, it is that very thing that terrifies me, almost as much as doing the things necessary to deliver a baby.
I have five months to find a more pleasant, dignified, and ladylike method of childbirth.
And you know what? I will travel again. Just not in the third trimester.
This spring, I can top that journey. Guaranteed.
It's gonna be quite the epic trip. It will cost tons of money, I won't be booking a return ticket, and it's completely uncharted territory for me.
Umm....I am gonna have a baby.
True story.
I have known since early September, but I have been much too busy attempting to wrap my head around the fact that I will be someone's mother to tell anybody anything.
You see, I have never been the girl who spent her free hours daydreaming of her wedding, her Prince Charming, and the babies they would have together. Quite the opposite, actually. I spent most of my time delaying all of those things and instead, traipsing off to lands near and far and daydreaming of those, instead. To compound matters, the level of repulsion I feel for the acts of childbirth and breastfeeding (yes, this blog just went there) is nearly absurd. I might have a phobia or something. Please don't write and tell me how beautiful they are, because quite simply, they are not. I am fully aware that both are necessary and life-giving, but to me, both are barbaric, savage and well, just plain gross.
So what finally pushed me over the edge into pregnancy and impending motherhood?
Let's be honest and tell the truth. When the idea of spending half the summer in Nicaragua occurred to me, I delicately broached the subject with the husband, who, didn't bat an eyelash when responding: "I would be pretty OK with you going if when you came back we could start trying to have a kid."
So yeah, I exchanged my uterus for summertime in Nicaragua. Don't judge me. Besides, I needed something to force me to make the plunge. I am 31 now, I would have probably hemmed and hawed over this for as long as humanly possible if I didn't have motivation. I went, I saw, I did, I returned, and now, NOW, the remaining part of the bargain is in full swing. When May comes, I will be a mother.
But nothing could prepare me for the moment when I looked at the plus signs on the multiple pregnancy tests and stared, in shock. Because really, nothing can prep you for that moment. Shock is where I remained for two days. On the third day, I cried the ugly cry, convinced my life was over and that I would never travel again and my poor passport would die a tortuous death. On the fourth day, I decided that I was angry and called a best friend and let loose a string of profanity that would push both of my living and healthy grandmothers much closer to the grave. On the fifth day, I woke up feel utterly peaceful and named him. (I am convinced it's a boy).
Since that fifth morning, I am still adjusting. I am no longer cursing at my friends (God bless them) or in shock, but this is big for me and thank God it takes babies 40 weeks to develop. I need every single one of those weeks. I swing from peaceful acceptance, to resigned acceptance, convinced that my traveling days are over, that I will become irrelevant, that I will cease to be me and enjoy the things that make me "me."
Some people have the maternal glow, the joyous anticipation, and ecstasy of knowing they will soon be a parent.
But not everybody does, and I think that's OK.
But here is what I do have: an amazing, supportive, and loving husband who couldn't be happier that we are taking this plunge together. I am beyond blessed to have him. I have a wonderful network of supportive family and friends who get me, and who say "Claire, it's ok to feel the way you do." I also have the blessing of being someone's mother. Although, to be clear, it is that very thing that terrifies me, almost as much as doing the things necessary to deliver a baby.
I have five months to find a more pleasant, dignified, and ladylike method of childbirth.
And you know what? I will travel again. Just not in the third trimester.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
The Winner, a Tiny Rant, and then I'll Leave You Hanging.
I really need to get in gear on multiple fronts in my life. Not the least of which is to refrain from my leaving all 33 of my readers hanging when it comes to announcing the winner of giveaways. Well, wait no longer. It is American Thanksgiving weekend, the turkey has been consumed (with more coming this evening), the cleaning has been done, the giant television purchased at an ultra-low price during Black Friday shopping, and now, just mere moments ago, the "husband picking the winner's name out of a Ziploc bag" has just been completed.
I should devote an entire post to Black Friday madness in America. Ridiculous. Some people in the world are starving and fighting over rice. Not here. My greedy fellow citizens fight over DVD players and the DVDs that go with them. I love my country, but THIS, this, I cannot condone, identify with, or find humorous. I feel a rant coming on, so I will end it now.
Oh, did you want to know the winner?!
DC Dana, COME ON DOWN!
She writes her own blog, and she lives in, you guessed it, Washington D.C. Anyway, for those of you who didn't win, never fear. You can still visit Reese over at her blog and, conveniently, she has just posted about all the new jewelry she has designed just in time for the holidays. And, she is running a special right now, so get on over there and scope it out!
And finally, you *might* want to check back here Monday for a Giant. Huge. Life-changing. blog post.
I should devote an entire post to Black Friday madness in America. Ridiculous. Some people in the world are starving and fighting over rice. Not here. My greedy fellow citizens fight over DVD players and the DVDs that go with them. I love my country, but THIS, this, I cannot condone, identify with, or find humorous. I feel a rant coming on, so I will end it now.
Oh, did you want to know the winner?!
DC Dana, COME ON DOWN!
She writes her own blog, and she lives in, you guessed it, Washington D.C. Anyway, for those of you who didn't win, never fear. You can still visit Reese over at her blog and, conveniently, she has just posted about all the new jewelry she has designed just in time for the holidays. And, she is running a special right now, so get on over there and scope it out!
And finally, you *might* want to check back here Monday for a Giant. Huge. Life-changing. blog post.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Sometimes, Travel Rears Back and Slaps you in the Face
Today's title is a little dramatic I suppose. But it's kinda how I felt last weekend.
Theme parks close for the season. Christmas tree farms close for the season. Pools close for the season.
Apparently the southern half of my state also closes for the season.
Hmmmmpfffff.
Last weekend, a good friend and I set off for Part II of the Best of West Virginia Road Trip. The friend in question was the "I"m so stressed about turning 30 that I will take all of my friends to Istanbul, Turkey to
As I mentioned before, I grew up here, but did my best to ensure that I never saw much of the state, preferring the big cities and exotic locales of places like.........Philadelphia. But the first time I journeyed around the state, I immediately fell in love with my home and became a true fan of the Wild and Wonderful-the good, the bad, and the ugly. Anyway, this post is not about that trip. This post is about the sequel trip.
We set a weekend to go, made a loose itinerary, and then promptly made no plans, made no phone calls, nor did any research until the morning of departure.
And by morning of departure, I mean, we did not start researching vital details until approximately 30 minutes after pulling out of the driveway and headed in a westerly direction. I live in the far extreme eastern part of the state, just under an hour from Washington D.C. We were headed to the far western part of the state, clear over to the blasted Ohio River and Blennerhasset Island State Park.
The very same Blennerhasset Island State Park that had just closed for the season a mere four days earlier.
Since when do state parks close? Since Halloween, apparently. But that wasn't the only place that calls it quits post scary holidays.
It was at that moment that my friend tossed the Crackberry to me, accompanied by a gasp of dismay that did not make me feel particularly hopeful that Blennerhasset was to be our only bump in the road. On the contrary. Our next stop-the exhibition coal mine-the ONE THING I had my heart and soul set on?
Closed for the season, a mere four days earlier.
I could feel a fit, as in hissy, coming on.
And so this is how the entire weekend went. Plan C, D, and E materialized, and then, just as quickly, vaporized.
The TransAllegheny Lunatic Asylum? You guessed it. Closed for the season, a mere four days earlier.
The glass-blowing demonstration in Weston, WV? Last one in 30 minutes, when we were still an hour away.
The Blenko Glass factory in Milton, WV? No tours on Sundays. We were there on a Sunday.
The Tex-Mex restaurant that my friend promised was well worth a stop? Not just closed for the season......noooooo..... closed permanently. FOREVER.
Various power and water outages at both overnight locations merely added insult to injury.
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| Hawk's Nest State Park |
SERIOUSLY?!!!
After the third travel slap in the face, all I could do was laugh. And find Plan F, G, and H.
We managed to salvage the weekend. Sulking is acceptable for only five minutes. Then it's time to buck up, and find the adventure in the misadventure. Enjoy a few pics of what we did manage to find to keep ourselves occupied.
It seems like I only have issues when traveling in my own state. Remember when I came home without any of my luggage?
 | ||||
| Pt. Pleasant Mothman pose. Creepiest little town in all of WV. Ever seen "The Mothman Prophecies?" |
 |
| In case I wasn't sure where to pose in the glass museum |
 |
| Our beautiful state capitol-Charleston, WV |
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| Dressed and ready to kill.......something. |
 |
| Hillbilly Hot Dogs. As featured on Diners, Drive-ins and Dives on the Food Network. The bus is the dining room. |
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Oh, the People You'll Meet!
Ok, so I wrote this yesterday, while it was actually October
I am livin' the dream today. Today, while it is still October, on a Monday, I am relaxing at home when I should be at school. That is because an unexpected pre-Halloween snowstorm has knocked out my school's power and therefore, the children cannot learn. There has not been an October snowstorm since 1979, before I was even born. Thank you gods of snow and electricity for waiting 32 more years. Now, let me assure you, I truly love my job. Love it. But after spending six years as a substitute teacher and agonizing over every snow day or holiday because it meant less money to cover my bills, I feel I have earned the right to be gleeful, joyous, even ecstatic, about days off.
Besides, it gives me time to catch up on your blogs, as well as my own. I know you've missed me. Don't deny it.
I have been thinking for a while now about the people I have "met" while blogging whose stories, while different from my own, are so very similar. We all love to see the world and simply can't get enough of the adventure that is travel. So this post is dedicated to all of you reading this (insert mushy air hug here), but I want to highlight one of you in particular. And I am giving something away so let's move on past the mushiness and get down to business. Oh, and the book from my first giveaway actually made it to Kalyan in India, thereby restoring my faith in the United States Postal Service. My faith was previously lost when a random postal worker STOLE some books out of a package sent to me from Arizona. Yes, I said STOLE.
So since I started blogging three years ago, I have encountered people who have traveled to Antarctica, or have settled down in Moldova, and still others who recount their adventures from Washington D.C. There have been regular commenters, and there have been random commenters. I love them all. I thoroughly enjoy the glimpses of your life on the other side of the world, or just down the road from me. Shivya from A Shooting Star keeps me informed and wanting more from India, while Kristina seems to never have a dull Vagablond moment wherever she is (Turkey right now). I am waiting for Scott to take the Shirt off his Backpack and depart on a RTW in a few months, and I found a book I must buy from Fearful Adventurer. Pretty cool huh? I have never even met any of you people.
But there is one fellow blogger whose been a constant here and you can find her comment on nearly every one of my posts. She just might get the award for Most Faithful Reader Whom I Have Never Met (Yet!). She has been there since just a few posts after my First Post Ever and has been around ever since. We started emailing after I bought some jewelry from her new shop and I feel like our "blendship" (blog friendship!) was settled. If I am ever in Italy, Reese will be the first person I contact. Anyway, if you have never stumbled over Rambles with Reese or her pretty cool new shop on Etsy, you should. If fact, I am giving you the chance today. For my birthday, she sent me an online gift certificate worth $15 USD to her shop. Since I already own some of her goodness, I am passing it on to one of you. (She said this was ok-and no, I don't normally give away people's gifts to me) All you need to do is leave me a comment and share a link to another blogger you like/appreciate/love/follow and you will be entered. I am always looking to read new material, plus it always helps when you spread the love. Guys, don't be afraid to enter this. Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Diwali is just around the corner.
Reese makes everything herself and she does a pretty darn good job. I ordered a bracelet and earrings, and I love them. She ships it fast and her prices are extremely reasonable. If you have been reading this blog for any length of time, you know that I like to......spend as little money as possible. There. We will just leave that at that. If she was doing this when I got married, my entire bridal party would have been outfitted in a sweet, sweet style. The pieces are simple, classy, colorful. Plus, it's also really fun to get packages from other countries that have lots of stamps on them. I can't deny it.
So what are you waiting for? Go and browse. Send Reese some love-she's a pretty nice person. If you don't win, dry those tears and click "purchase" anyway. Reese will thank you, and so will I.
You have until Monday 11/7 at 5 p.m EST to enter. The winner will be chosen via the trusty "husband picking your name out of a Ziploc bag" method.
PS-Apparently Diwali just passed. Must brush up on my cultural holidays. Thanks to Payal for mentioning this.
I am livin' the dream today. Today, while it is still October, on a Monday, I am relaxing at home when I should be at school. That is because an unexpected pre-Halloween snowstorm has knocked out my school's power and therefore, the children cannot learn. There has not been an October snowstorm since 1979, before I was even born. Thank you gods of snow and electricity for waiting 32 more years. Now, let me assure you, I truly love my job. Love it. But after spending six years as a substitute teacher and agonizing over every snow day or holiday because it meant less money to cover my bills, I feel I have earned the right to be gleeful, joyous, even ecstatic, about days off.
Besides, it gives me time to catch up on your blogs, as well as my own. I know you've missed me. Don't deny it.
I have been thinking for a while now about the people I have "met" while blogging whose stories, while different from my own, are so very similar. We all love to see the world and simply can't get enough of the adventure that is travel. So this post is dedicated to all of you reading this (insert mushy air hug here), but I want to highlight one of you in particular. And I am giving something away so let's move on past the mushiness and get down to business. Oh, and the book from my first giveaway actually made it to Kalyan in India, thereby restoring my faith in the United States Postal Service. My faith was previously lost when a random postal worker STOLE some books out of a package sent to me from Arizona. Yes, I said STOLE.
So since I started blogging three years ago, I have encountered people who have traveled to Antarctica, or have settled down in Moldova, and still others who recount their adventures from Washington D.C. There have been regular commenters, and there have been random commenters. I love them all. I thoroughly enjoy the glimpses of your life on the other side of the world, or just down the road from me. Shivya from A Shooting Star keeps me informed and wanting more from India, while Kristina seems to never have a dull Vagablond moment wherever she is (Turkey right now). I am waiting for Scott to take the Shirt off his Backpack and depart on a RTW in a few months, and I found a book I must buy from Fearful Adventurer. Pretty cool huh? I have never even met any of you people.
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| Love these! |
But there is one fellow blogger whose been a constant here and you can find her comment on nearly every one of my posts. She just might get the award for Most Faithful Reader Whom I Have Never Met (Yet!). She has been there since just a few posts after my First Post Ever and has been around ever since. We started emailing after I bought some jewelry from her new shop and I feel like our "blendship" (blog friendship!) was settled. If I am ever in Italy, Reese will be the first person I contact. Anyway, if you have never stumbled over Rambles with Reese or her pretty cool new shop on Etsy, you should. If fact, I am giving you the chance today. For my birthday, she sent me an online gift certificate worth $15 USD to her shop. Since I already own some of her goodness, I am passing it on to one of you. (She said this was ok-and no, I don't normally give away people's gifts to me) All you need to do is leave me a comment and share a link to another blogger you like/appreciate/love/follow and you will be entered. I am always looking to read new material, plus it always helps when you spread the love. Guys, don't be afraid to enter this. Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/Diwali is just around the corner.
Reese makes everything herself and she does a pretty darn good job. I ordered a bracelet and earrings, and I love them. She ships it fast and her prices are extremely reasonable. If you have been reading this blog for any length of time, you know that I like to......spend as little money as possible. There. We will just leave that at that. If she was doing this when I got married, my entire bridal party would have been outfitted in a sweet, sweet style. The pieces are simple, classy, colorful. Plus, it's also really fun to get packages from other countries that have lots of stamps on them. I can't deny it.
So what are you waiting for? Go and browse. Send Reese some love-she's a pretty nice person. If you don't win, dry those tears and click "purchase" anyway. Reese will thank you, and so will I.
You have until Monday 11/7 at 5 p.m EST to enter. The winner will be chosen via the trusty "husband picking your name out of a Ziploc bag" method.
PS-Apparently Diwali just passed. Must brush up on my cultural holidays. Thanks to Payal for mentioning this.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Philadelphia, I Love You
As I proclaimed in a recent Facebook status update, I have country roots, and I have urban roots. If you have been hanging out here for any length of time, you know my country roots lie square in the Wild and Wonderful beauty of West Virginia. (Although to be fair, it's not that reeeeally that country where I live. Wait, never mind. Yes it is). It took me a while, but I grew to love it here and here is where I shall remain for the foreseeable future.
My urban roots on the other hand, were not established until the ripe age of 17 when I went off to college, fresh-faced and clueless about most of life. I chose to attend Eastern University, just outside of Philadelphia. Nice suburban campus, twenty minutes to downtown. By the time I went to college, I had spent more time in foreign countries than I had in big cities, so count me in as a wide-eyed wanderer. My very first memory of a big city still leaves me amused and confused to this day. See if you can explain this one:
First Saturday morning on campus. I was piled into a van with a bunch of other freshmen, headed to begin our semester of required community service. It was my first venture out in my new city and I was craning my neck out with window when I happened to spot THIS scene on the sidewalk: It was early morning. There was a very handsome young man walking down the street. Head held high, shoulders back, walking with a purpose. He had no shirt on, nor was he clad in pants. He did have a very nice briefcase, very nice dress shoes (wingtip perhaps?) dress socks, and boxers. He was also carrying a briefcase. He did not look to his right or his left, he was on a mission. This man was definitely very secure in his near-nakedness. I was instantly mystified. Who on earth does this? Nobody else in the van seemed to really care or notice, but I needed this to make sense. I came up with two scenarios.
1) His clothes has been stolen after a one night stand. He was on his way home and had no money for cab/bus fare.
2) He had just been robbed, was really embarrassed about it, and was attempting to pass his outfit off as the new normal. I am telling you, there was no shame in his game. That man was confident, head held high and no clothes on to speak of, and a briefcase.
Wooowwwwww. This place was wild. I was HOOKED!
And that is the moment where I threw off my country roots and embraced the city life. I quickly declared my major as urban development and began attending classes on EU's downtown campus.
Philadelphia is where I learned to:
A) Love all things food. From Pat's Cheesesteaks on the gritty south side, to Penang in Chinatown, to the pretzel factory at midnight, my love affair with food was cemented here.
B) Drive like a woman on fire. Philly traffic is where my hatred of gridlock reached epic and fiery proportions, and I learned to weave, cut people off, honk my horn, and slam on my brakes with the best of them
C) where I learned that white girls can actually dance if they just follow the beat of the music. 18 to party, 21 to drink nights at various clubs were in abundance, and I made sure to frequent them as often as possible. Especially on school nights, so that I could ensure academic success.
Ahhh Philly, I love you.
I love to return as often as possible and last weekend was one of those opportunities. We had a wedding to attend and it was very nearly like old times. I ate cheesesteak, thoroughly enjoyed Malaysian curry and roti canai at Penang, and my husband was white-knuckled in the passenger seat beside me as I determined to beat everybody else on I-76 to where ever they happened to be going.
I have lived in Washington D.C and Atlanta since college, and while I love both of these cities, neither holds quite the pull that Philly does for me. I embraced it all- from the 'hood to the grit to the glam, I had found a place I loved.
And still do.
What about you? Where do you love to go back to, and why?
A few random pictures for you
My urban roots on the other hand, were not established until the ripe age of 17 when I went off to college, fresh-faced and clueless about most of life. I chose to attend Eastern University, just outside of Philadelphia. Nice suburban campus, twenty minutes to downtown. By the time I went to college, I had spent more time in foreign countries than I had in big cities, so count me in as a wide-eyed wanderer. My very first memory of a big city still leaves me amused and confused to this day. See if you can explain this one:
First Saturday morning on campus. I was piled into a van with a bunch of other freshmen, headed to begin our semester of required community service. It was my first venture out in my new city and I was craning my neck out with window when I happened to spot THIS scene on the sidewalk: It was early morning. There was a very handsome young man walking down the street. Head held high, shoulders back, walking with a purpose. He had no shirt on, nor was he clad in pants. He did have a very nice briefcase, very nice dress shoes (wingtip perhaps?) dress socks, and boxers. He was also carrying a briefcase. He did not look to his right or his left, he was on a mission. This man was definitely very secure in his near-nakedness. I was instantly mystified. Who on earth does this? Nobody else in the van seemed to really care or notice, but I needed this to make sense. I came up with two scenarios.
1) His clothes has been stolen after a one night stand. He was on his way home and had no money for cab/bus fare.
2) He had just been robbed, was really embarrassed about it, and was attempting to pass his outfit off as the new normal. I am telling you, there was no shame in his game. That man was confident, head held high and no clothes on to speak of, and a briefcase.
Wooowwwwww. This place was wild. I was HOOKED!
And that is the moment where I threw off my country roots and embraced the city life. I quickly declared my major as urban development and began attending classes on EU's downtown campus.
Philadelphia is where I learned to:
A) Love all things food. From Pat's Cheesesteaks on the gritty south side, to Penang in Chinatown, to the pretzel factory at midnight, my love affair with food was cemented here.
B) Drive like a woman on fire. Philly traffic is where my hatred of gridlock reached epic and fiery proportions, and I learned to weave, cut people off, honk my horn, and slam on my brakes with the best of them
C) where I learned that white girls can actually dance if they just follow the beat of the music. 18 to party, 21 to drink nights at various clubs were in abundance, and I made sure to frequent them as often as possible. Especially on school nights, so that I could ensure academic success.
Ahhh Philly, I love you.
I love to return as often as possible and last weekend was one of those opportunities. We had a wedding to attend and it was very nearly like old times. I ate cheesesteak, thoroughly enjoyed Malaysian curry and roti canai at Penang, and my husband was white-knuckled in the passenger seat beside me as I determined to beat everybody else on I-76 to where ever they happened to be going.
I have lived in Washington D.C and Atlanta since college, and while I love both of these cities, neither holds quite the pull that Philly does for me. I embraced it all- from the 'hood to the grit to the glam, I had found a place I loved.
And still do.
What about you? Where do you love to go back to, and why?
A few random pictures for you
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| Occupy protest. Don't see this in WV. |
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| City hall with William PENN at the top. Thanks Jonathan Hobbs for the correction to my glaring oversight. |
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| The beautiful bride and crew at Bartram's Garden |
Monday, October 3, 2011
A Little Shame and Embarrassment Abroad
We have all been there. Embarrassment happens and we find ourselves scarlet-colored and shame-faced. The moments that happen abroad though, can find us with an extra deep hue of red and sense of mortification.
"What if they think all __________(insert nationality) act like this?
"What if they think I am THAT tourist?"
"Why is there toilet paper coming out of my pants in the middle of this bus station?"
I bring you three of my most embarrassing moments, all experienced on foreign soil.
1. The "I don't care if you're kosher!" incident.
This one occurred at the ripe age of 14, a time when not many of us know very much about life or love, or about the kosher diet of Jews. The location was Israel and I was on a tour with my mom, best friend, and some members of our church. It was the second time out of the country for both me and my best friend and we were living the life. We thought we were pretty hot stuff and we took that hot attitude wherever we went. Including to lunch one day, where my friend attempted to order butter to go with his bread. Acting appropriately as only teenagers can, it was our assumption that our every wish would be granted, in life and especially in restaurants. Imagine our shock then, when the nice lady serving our lunch denied the request for butter in an incredulous tone-"But we don't serve butter. We are kosher!" This little piece of information was digested by both of us with confusion and a sense of indignation. But..... but....WE are not kosher, therefore our need for butter should be fulfilled! Right? Of course not. We were in their country, eating their food, abiding by their customs. Ahhh, fourteen year olds are clueless, aren't they? My friend decided to voice his outrage by informing anyone within earshot....(brace yourselves)....
"I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE KOSHER!"
Oh. No.He. Didn't
Did he just announce that for the whole kosher restaurant to hear?
Affirmative.
Odd looks ensued. The nice lady huffed. It seemed like all conversation within a two mile radius stopped.
I wanted to crawl under the table.
She probably spit in our food.
I may have been just 14, but I did know that telling someone that their religious dietary restrictions mean nothing to you was ummmmm....crossing the line.
Shame face.
2. The "Lost in Translation" incident.
I actually devoted a whole post to this one-my second post ever on this blog. It was my first time in Myanmar. I was living the life, thinking I was pretty hot stuff and generally behaving as without a care in the world. If that sounds similar to Embarrassing Moment #1, it is, except now I was 24, not 14. Burmese is not a language I ever intend on learning, let's be honest. There are way too many circlely looking letters and tonal sounds. But I thought I should at least master a few phrases. I happily learned "Let's go!" and used it quite liberally-on public transportation, amongst the group I was with, and towards the Burmese friends I made. I did this for approximately eight days before one of the aforementioned friends kindly and finally informed me that the way I was pronouncing it actuallllllly meant something else.
What, pray tell, did it mean then?
With a giggle, Mii Mii whispered to me on the crowded bus "I have black teeth!"
Well isn't that just fantastic?
3. The "Inappropriately Dressed" Incident.
A few years ago, I spent two months in southeast Asia. I hung out in Thailand, Myanmar, and hopped over to India, but most of my time was spent in Bangladesh. It was my first time on that side of the world and each experience was wilder than the last. I attended quite a few weddings while there and was happy to do so-I loved dressing up in a sari, watching the dancing, and eating the food. Loved it. Imagine my surprise one evening when I out for a little neighborhood stroll with a friend and we heard a commotion coming from a nearby home. Of course, we just had to find out what was going on and craned our necks to peek over the wall. We quickly realized it was a wedding and tried to scoot on past.
Too late.
We were spotted and exuberantly invited in. I was wearing sort-of clean sweatpants and a green hoodie with a rainbow on it. My hair was a hot mess, as it usually is when I am in foreign countries. My friend wasn't looking much better. Going into the wedding was absolutely unthinkable and we thanked them and pointed to our clothes and attempted to continue on our merry way.
They wouldn't hear of it and after approximately 15 minutes of polite arguing, we realized that we would need to attend the stranger's wedding reception or risk offending said stranger and possibly an entire country.
Siiiiiigh.
Our reluctant acquiescence was met with exultation and we were led into the reception where everybody, and I do mean everybody, was dressed to the 9's and looking beautiful and magical.
Everybody except us. I tried to slink past the guests of honor, never making eye contact, looking wildly around for the first corner in which I could hide. It's bad enough crashing a wedding, but crashing one in SWEATPANTS?!
Not gonna lie, we did get a few looks that night. Ones that I read as "Oh look at those poor ratty Americans. Don't they have any better clothes?" But mostly, the wedding guests were thrilled to have us join them. We stayed as long as was possibly polite and then hightailed it out of there.
I sent telepathic apologies to the bride on the way out.
What about you? What are your most embarrassing travel moments?
"What if they think all __________(insert nationality) act like this?
"What if they think I am THAT tourist?"
"Why is there toilet paper coming out of my pants in the middle of this bus station?"
I bring you three of my most embarrassing moments, all experienced on foreign soil.
1. The "I don't care if you're kosher!" incident.
This one occurred at the ripe age of 14, a time when not many of us know very much about life or love, or about the kosher diet of Jews. The location was Israel and I was on a tour with my mom, best friend, and some members of our church. It was the second time out of the country for both me and my best friend and we were living the life. We thought we were pretty hot stuff and we took that hot attitude wherever we went. Including to lunch one day, where my friend attempted to order butter to go with his bread. Acting appropriately as only teenagers can, it was our assumption that our every wish would be granted, in life and especially in restaurants. Imagine our shock then, when the nice lady serving our lunch denied the request for butter in an incredulous tone-"But we don't serve butter. We are kosher!" This little piece of information was digested by both of us with confusion and a sense of indignation. But..... but....WE are not kosher, therefore our need for butter should be fulfilled! Right? Of course not. We were in their country, eating their food, abiding by their customs. Ahhh, fourteen year olds are clueless, aren't they? My friend decided to voice his outrage by informing anyone within earshot....(brace yourselves)....
"I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE KOSHER!"
Oh. No.He. Didn't
Did he just announce that for the whole kosher restaurant to hear?
Affirmative.
Odd looks ensued. The nice lady huffed. It seemed like all conversation within a two mile radius stopped.
I wanted to crawl under the table.
She probably spit in our food.
I may have been just 14, but I did know that telling someone that their religious dietary restrictions mean nothing to you was ummmmm....crossing the line.
Shame face.
2. The "Lost in Translation" incident.
I actually devoted a whole post to this one-my second post ever on this blog. It was my first time in Myanmar. I was living the life, thinking I was pretty hot stuff and generally behaving as without a care in the world. If that sounds similar to Embarrassing Moment #1, it is, except now I was 24, not 14. Burmese is not a language I ever intend on learning, let's be honest. There are way too many circlely looking letters and tonal sounds. But I thought I should at least master a few phrases. I happily learned "Let's go!" and used it quite liberally-on public transportation, amongst the group I was with, and towards the Burmese friends I made. I did this for approximately eight days before one of the aforementioned friends kindly and finally informed me that the way I was pronouncing it actuallllllly meant something else.
What, pray tell, did it mean then?
With a giggle, Mii Mii whispered to me on the crowded bus "I have black teeth!"
Well isn't that just fantastic?
3. The "Inappropriately Dressed" Incident.
A few years ago, I spent two months in southeast Asia. I hung out in Thailand, Myanmar, and hopped over to India, but most of my time was spent in Bangladesh. It was my first time on that side of the world and each experience was wilder than the last. I attended quite a few weddings while there and was happy to do so-I loved dressing up in a sari, watching the dancing, and eating the food. Loved it. Imagine my surprise one evening when I out for a little neighborhood stroll with a friend and we heard a commotion coming from a nearby home. Of course, we just had to find out what was going on and craned our necks to peek over the wall. We quickly realized it was a wedding and tried to scoot on past.
Too late.
We were spotted and exuberantly invited in. I was wearing sort-of clean sweatpants and a green hoodie with a rainbow on it. My hair was a hot mess, as it usually is when I am in foreign countries. My friend wasn't looking much better. Going into the wedding was absolutely unthinkable and we thanked them and pointed to our clothes and attempted to continue on our merry way.
They wouldn't hear of it and after approximately 15 minutes of polite arguing, we realized that we would need to attend the stranger's wedding reception or risk offending said stranger and possibly an entire country.
Siiiiiigh.
Our reluctant acquiescence was met with exultation and we were led into the reception where everybody, and I do mean everybody, was dressed to the 9's and looking beautiful and magical.
Everybody except us. I tried to slink past the guests of honor, never making eye contact, looking wildly around for the first corner in which I could hide. It's bad enough crashing a wedding, but crashing one in SWEATPANTS?!
Not gonna lie, we did get a few looks that night. Ones that I read as "Oh look at those poor ratty Americans. Don't they have any better clothes?" But mostly, the wedding guests were thrilled to have us join them. We stayed as long as was possibly polite and then hightailed it out of there.
I sent telepathic apologies to the bride on the way out.
What about you? What are your most embarrassing travel moments?
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| The hair and sweatshirt. Same trip, but on a more appropriate occasion. |
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Lost Girls Winner and a Lazy Labor Day
I am finally getting around to posting the winner of my copy of The Lost Girls (read my review here). It has been a crazy week, causing me to miss my customary Monday posting. Life happens.
So without further ado.......Kalyan over at Heaven's Garden is the lucky recipient of some girls.
Hope he enjoys ;)
Woohoo! And thanks to all for stopping by and making my first little giveaway a success. I loved all of the book suggestions and will need to get started on them. Winter is coming and I will need some good reading.
On to other things:
We just celebrated Labor Day here in the US of A and our was a pretty lazy weekend. But I did venture out on a kayak, which requires a tiny backstory.
The number one question (or some variation of this) I was asked before and after my trip to Nicaragua was "How will/did your husband do without you for so long?"
Let me assure one and all, here and now. He did just FINE. To sum up, I arrived home to a refrigerator that still had the dinner I cooked the night before I left, and a new boat. Ok, a kayak.
But still. Gross to the dinner and ???? to..... a kayak? He doesn't even like water sports.
I had an inkling of the boat, but was under the apparently wrong impression that he was going to wait until my return to purchase. I received a nice little surprise when checking the back account from an internet cafe in Granada that the boat had indeed made its arrival pre-wife's return.
I was completely miffed and stomped out of the internet cafe to find the nearest international phone so that I could place an irate call to my husband. He of course did not answer, as he was probably out enjoying said kayak. By the time I finally reached him, I had had all sorts of time in which to fume, and rant, and rave, and vow things. One of those things I vowed was that I would NEVER, under ANY circumstances, EVER, go out on the kayak with him, or be remotely involved in any kayaking type activities. When I found out it was a one seater, this heaped coals upon the flames of ire (despite my vow to never use it, I still wanted to be asked, of course) and I made a new vow to refuse to even look at it.
Anyway, guess what I did on Labor Day?
So without further ado.......Kalyan over at Heaven's Garden is the lucky recipient of some girls.
Hope he enjoys ;)
Woohoo! And thanks to all for stopping by and making my first little giveaway a success. I loved all of the book suggestions and will need to get started on them. Winter is coming and I will need some good reading.
On to other things:
We just celebrated Labor Day here in the US of A and our was a pretty lazy weekend. But I did venture out on a kayak, which requires a tiny backstory.
The number one question (or some variation of this) I was asked before and after my trip to Nicaragua was "How will/did your husband do without you for so long?"
Let me assure one and all, here and now. He did just FINE. To sum up, I arrived home to a refrigerator that still had the dinner I cooked the night before I left, and a new boat. Ok, a kayak.
But still. Gross to the dinner and ???? to..... a kayak? He doesn't even like water sports.
I had an inkling of the boat, but was under the apparently wrong impression that he was going to wait until my return to purchase. I received a nice little surprise when checking the back account from an internet cafe in Granada that the boat had indeed made its arrival pre-wife's return.
I was completely miffed and stomped out of the internet cafe to find the nearest international phone so that I could place an irate call to my husband. He of course did not answer, as he was probably out enjoying said kayak. By the time I finally reached him, I had had all sorts of time in which to fume, and rant, and rave, and vow things. One of those things I vowed was that I would NEVER, under ANY circumstances, EVER, go out on the kayak with him, or be remotely involved in any kayaking type activities. When I found out it was a one seater, this heaped coals upon the flames of ire (despite my vow to never use it, I still wanted to be asked, of course) and I made a new vow to refuse to even look at it.
Anyway, guess what I did on Labor Day?
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| Borrowed a friend's kayak, is what I did |
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| The offending kayak and a pretty happy husband |
Sunday, September 11, 2011
A Sunny Tuesday in September a Decade Ago
I don't normally post on a Sunday, but today is special. I am putting aside my customary humor and travel adventures to give you something else.
The frivolity of summer and the anticipation of fall came to a halt today as Americans reflected, prayed, worshiped, wept, remembered, and celebrated. We all know what happened on September 11, 2001. It is nearly impossible to be unaffected by it, whether positively or negatively, or whether or not you knew someone in the planes, in the towers, or in the Pentagon.
I was a newly-minted college senior and living the dream. That sunny Tuesday morning, I was puttering around my apartment just outside of Philadelphia, attempting to get ready for my first class.
My phone rang. It was my mother. Not unusual.
What was unusual was her first question, fired at me without even the briefest of hellos.
"Do you have the TV on?"
I did not, but that would soon be remedied.
She insisted that I turn on the television immediately and what greeted me was confusing, horrifying, and bizarre. All at the same time.
The rest of the day is a blur. I honestly don't remember much of it except trying valiantly to contact my best friend who had just moved to DC for a semester internship. For hours I got busy signals and automated messages from the phone company. By the end of the day, I had word that he was fine. One sweet relief in the midst of an ever growing national tragedy. I remember thinking on September 12th, that it was weird it wasn't September 11th anymore.
Life crept back into normal. The events of that day impacted me, sure. But at 21 years old,, the world was mine for the taking. I had nothing holding me back, nothing to lose.
Ten years later, I am not that same person. Ten years later, this tragic drama holds more meaning and value to me than it ever did on that bright Tuesday morning in 2001.
The other night I was watching a program in which the events of that morning and the aftermath were told from survivor's perspectives. One story in particular made my gut wrench.
There was a woman whose husband worked in the South Tower, the second one to be hit. He called her after the North Tower was hit and before the second plane crashed and assured her that he was fine, but wasn't sure of what he should do. A few minutes later, his range of options became significantly limited. He called her again, from the 105th floor, twenty floors UP from his office. She was instantly panicked-why was he above his office? Why was he still in the building? How was he going to get down? He told her he tried to get out onto the roof, but the door was locked. She begged him to try again. He promised her he would and put the phone down. He came back on and told her it was a no-go. He was by himself. There was nothing left to do.
He couldn't go down and he couldn't go up. The realization that this would be their final conversation in life was suddenly present between them.
She said goodbye forever to her husband on the phone, watching his certain fate play out on the television before her. Knowing that when she put the phone down, the father of her children and her partner in life would be gone.
Can you imagine? I cannot.
Since that fateful day in September, I too, am now somebody's wife. Watching her story the other night was heartbreaking. I watched and cried, and then cried some more.
Since that fateful day in September, I now play the role of teacher. I do this in fairly conservative and largely homogenous West Virginia. There are certain pockets of anathema towards the ethnicity and religion that perpetrated this deed. But I cannot allow that in my classroom. Hate already finalized the events of that day, I cannot allow it to perpetuate. It is my job to encourage my students to consider the humanity of it all.
Life has changed in the last decade. I have changed.
Hold your loved ones a little tighter today.....and every day.
The frivolity of summer and the anticipation of fall came to a halt today as Americans reflected, prayed, worshiped, wept, remembered, and celebrated. We all know what happened on September 11, 2001. It is nearly impossible to be unaffected by it, whether positively or negatively, or whether or not you knew someone in the planes, in the towers, or in the Pentagon.
I was a newly-minted college senior and living the dream. That sunny Tuesday morning, I was puttering around my apartment just outside of Philadelphia, attempting to get ready for my first class.
My phone rang. It was my mother. Not unusual.
What was unusual was her first question, fired at me without even the briefest of hellos.
"Do you have the TV on?"
I did not, but that would soon be remedied.
She insisted that I turn on the television immediately and what greeted me was confusing, horrifying, and bizarre. All at the same time.
The rest of the day is a blur. I honestly don't remember much of it except trying valiantly to contact my best friend who had just moved to DC for a semester internship. For hours I got busy signals and automated messages from the phone company. By the end of the day, I had word that he was fine. One sweet relief in the midst of an ever growing national tragedy. I remember thinking on September 12th, that it was weird it wasn't September 11th anymore.
Life crept back into normal. The events of that day impacted me, sure. But at 21 years old,, the world was mine for the taking. I had nothing holding me back, nothing to lose.
Ten years later, I am not that same person. Ten years later, this tragic drama holds more meaning and value to me than it ever did on that bright Tuesday morning in 2001.
The other night I was watching a program in which the events of that morning and the aftermath were told from survivor's perspectives. One story in particular made my gut wrench.
There was a woman whose husband worked in the South Tower, the second one to be hit. He called her after the North Tower was hit and before the second plane crashed and assured her that he was fine, but wasn't sure of what he should do. A few minutes later, his range of options became significantly limited. He called her again, from the 105th floor, twenty floors UP from his office. She was instantly panicked-why was he above his office? Why was he still in the building? How was he going to get down? He told her he tried to get out onto the roof, but the door was locked. She begged him to try again. He promised her he would and put the phone down. He came back on and told her it was a no-go. He was by himself. There was nothing left to do.
He couldn't go down and he couldn't go up. The realization that this would be their final conversation in life was suddenly present between them.
She said goodbye forever to her husband on the phone, watching his certain fate play out on the television before her. Knowing that when she put the phone down, the father of her children and her partner in life would be gone.
Can you imagine? I cannot.
Since that fateful day in September, I too, am now somebody's wife. Watching her story the other night was heartbreaking. I watched and cried, and then cried some more.
Since that fateful day in September, I now play the role of teacher. I do this in fairly conservative and largely homogenous West Virginia. There are certain pockets of anathema towards the ethnicity and religion that perpetrated this deed. But I cannot allow that in my classroom. Hate already finalized the events of that day, I cannot allow it to perpetuate. It is my job to encourage my students to consider the humanity of it all.
Life has changed in the last decade. I have changed.
Hold your loved ones a little tighter today.....and every day.
Monday, September 5, 2011
I Am Giving Away Some Lost Girls. Do You Want Them?
This is my first giveaway, so please keep reading. And comment.
But we'll get to that in a second. First things first:
I love to read. I love to read while traveling, and I especially love to read books about traveling. So that is why I was pretty excited when I came across The Lost Girls, and determined to hold off reading it until my next big trip. It took me a few years to arrange that (getting married and becoming a teacher kind of took precedence over really long trips) but when I booked my ticket to Nicargua, my next thought was Yes!! I get to read the book! Finally. (Did you actually think I was giving away humans today?)
Here is my very unprofessional (and slightly miffed at the end) book review.
First the synopsis. Three New York City girls quit their jobs with 30th birthdays looming and decide to step way out of the box and do something crazy and take a 'round the world trip. Leaving jobs and boyfriends behind, they book their first ticket to Peru.
What follows is 500 pages of all three girls taking turns telling their story. The 500 pages is partly why I wanted to wait until I was traveling to read it-I knew that is when I would have long stretches of time where there would be nothing much to do. Several hundred pages is a long story to tell, unless you are War and Peace. As a result, I feel that at times, the dialogue was a bit overwritten. Since I am no literary genius/critic/expert, I was trying to think how I could describe these parts of the book and "overwritten" was the only word I could come up with. It was as if they were trying too hard to replicate their experience for us, trying to force the feeling of the reader being right there in the moment. Ehhh.
My other major issue is that they each came home at least once during their year of travel. One of them came home twice. Is it just me or is that cheating the definition of RTW if you come home? Twice even?! Because to me, that's just going on three really long trips, back to back.
And that is where my criticisms end. Here is why: Have I ever set out to travel the whole entire world in one specific amount of time? No. Have I ever written a book about that, or anything else? No.
Enough said.
It was an entertaining read, easily accomplished in about a week.
However, I might have been just a teeny bit more gushing in my review if I had not received the following reply when I posted a comment on their blog right before I left on my trip. (please note that it does say the message may not have been sent by them, so who actually knows?)
The Lost Girls lostgirlsworld@gmail.com to me
show details Jun 15
This message may not have been sent by: lostgirlsworld@gmail.com Learn more Report phishing
Hi Claire
Thank you for your comment at The Lost Girls (http://www.lostgirlsworld.com/). Be sure to come back soon.
Thank you,
The Lost Girls
You posted the following comment:
---------------------------------
Hi ladies,
I just got my copy, via Amazon, in the mail today. I am taking it with me on my month long jaunt to Nicaragua. Heard great things about it. Gave it a plug on my latest post ;)
*gasp* *clutching hands to heart*
A FORM REPLY?
Maybe I have high expectations in the blogging community, because we all have started somewhere, and that's usually at or near the bottom. Or are still at the bottom. But I am pretty sure this is the first form reply I have ever gotten. I think I would have rather just have gotten no reply at all.
Moving on.
Would you like to read this book? Because I am giving my copy away! All you have to do is leave me a comment with a recommendation on your favorite book that has to with a traveler, a journey, or anything travel-related, by September 12 at noon EST! I will choose the winner at random (i.e. my husband will choose your name out of a Ziploc bag) and announce it here next week. I will mail it anywhere, so if you live in a mansion in Massachusetts, that's cool. Or if you live in a hut in the Himalayas, that's cool too.
For two books that I absolutely love, go here.
But we'll get to that in a second. First things first:
I love to read. I love to read while traveling, and I especially love to read books about traveling. So that is why I was pretty excited when I came across The Lost Girls, and determined to hold off reading it until my next big trip. It took me a few years to arrange that (getting married and becoming a teacher kind of took precedence over really long trips) but when I booked my ticket to Nicargua, my next thought was Yes!! I get to read the book! Finally. (Did you actually think I was giving away humans today?)
Here is my very unprofessional (and slightly miffed at the end) book review.
First the synopsis. Three New York City girls quit their jobs with 30th birthdays looming and decide to step way out of the box and do something crazy and take a 'round the world trip. Leaving jobs and boyfriends behind, they book their first ticket to Peru. What follows is 500 pages of all three girls taking turns telling their story. The 500 pages is partly why I wanted to wait until I was traveling to read it-I knew that is when I would have long stretches of time where there would be nothing much to do. Several hundred pages is a long story to tell, unless you are War and Peace. As a result, I feel that at times, the dialogue was a bit overwritten. Since I am no literary genius/critic/expert, I was trying to think how I could describe these parts of the book and "overwritten" was the only word I could come up with. It was as if they were trying too hard to replicate their experience for us, trying to force the feeling of the reader being right there in the moment. Ehhh.
My other major issue is that they each came home at least once during their year of travel. One of them came home twice. Is it just me or is that cheating the definition of RTW if you come home? Twice even?! Because to me, that's just going on three really long trips, back to back.
And that is where my criticisms end. Here is why: Have I ever set out to travel the whole entire world in one specific amount of time? No. Have I ever written a book about that, or anything else? No.
Enough said.
It was an entertaining read, easily accomplished in about a week.
However, I might have been just a teeny bit more gushing in my review if I had not received the following reply when I posted a comment on their blog right before I left on my trip. (please note that it does say the message may not have been sent by them, so who actually knows?)
The Lost Girls lostgirlsworld@gmail.com to me
show details Jun 15
This message may not have been sent by: lostgirlsworld@gmail.com Learn more Report phishing
Hi Claire
Thank you for your comment at The Lost Girls (http://www.lostgirlsworld.com/). Be sure to come back soon.
Thank you,
The Lost Girls
You posted the following comment:
---------------------------------
Hi ladies,
I just got my copy, via Amazon, in the mail today. I am taking it with me on my month long jaunt to Nicaragua. Heard great things about it. Gave it a plug on my latest post ;)
*gasp* *clutching hands to heart*
A FORM REPLY?
Maybe I have high expectations in the blogging community, because we all have started somewhere, and that's usually at or near the bottom. Or are still at the bottom. But I am pretty sure this is the first form reply I have ever gotten. I think I would have rather just have gotten no reply at all.
Moving on.
Would you like to read this book? Because I am giving my copy away! All you have to do is leave me a comment with a recommendation on your favorite book that has to with a traveler, a journey, or anything travel-related, by September 12 at noon EST! I will choose the winner at random (i.e. my husband will choose your name out of a Ziploc bag) and announce it here next week. I will mail it anywhere, so if you live in a mansion in Massachusetts, that's cool. Or if you live in a hut in the Himalayas, that's cool too.
For two books that I absolutely love, go here.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Packing Heat on a Sunny Day at the Pool
It was a hot day, one of the hottest I experienced the entire time I was in Nicaragua. The kind that depletes your very soul of energy. Rivulets of sweat were my fashion accessories, and I could barely string a nice sentence together-I was grumpy because I was hot and I was hot because the temperature exceeded inferno- like levels.
 |
| Complete happiness |
That does it, I decided. I'm going to the pool. 113 cordoba ($5) or not, I will gladly pay for the luxury of not swimming in my own sweat. Anneriet (roommate) had the same idea and off we went towards Hotel Granada, our steps a bit lighter in anticipation.
Upon arriving at the oasis of blue, we were convinced that we had arrived in paradise. The crystal chlorine water beckoned and it took all of two seconds to dive into it. It was only slightly more refreshing than, say, bath water, but anything is cooler than a desert, right?
We proceeded to thoroughly enjoy ourselves over the next few hours-reading, napping, people-watching, swimming, splashing around and generally living the dream. It was fantastic.
Then we made friends, and our day became much more interesting.
Fabiola and Walter were splashing around on the other end of the pool, and when I eventually made my way down there, Fabiola began speaking to me in Spanish, asking me what I thought of Nicaragua, where was I from, and what was I doing in her country? We all began chatting back and forth, racing each other to the center of the pool, telling jokes, and just generally having a grand ole' time. Walter hadn't said much up until then, but I just assumed he was the quiet one in the relationship. At one point Fabiola announced she was famoso, (famous) glanced at Walter, and then laughed a deep belly laugh and we couldn't help but join her. But when she mentioned it again, we began to wonder...."hmm...is she?" So we asked. Fabiola laughed again and told us to ask Walter. Walter confirmed, telling us that he was her "guadespalda."
Bodyguard.
Say whaaaaaaat?
This day at the pool just got way more intriguing.
Apparently, Fabiola is a cousin to the chief of police in Nicaragua. Due to people having vendettas against him, corruption issues, and lord knows what else, all family members are under 24 hour police protection.
I didn't know whether to feel extremely safe, or like the bullseye on a target.
It was right about then that we noticed it was getting dark and because of a recent spate of robberies a few of our fellow volunteers had unfortunately experienced, we decided to do the smart thing and head home.
But why? questioned Fabiola. We will take you where you need to go!
Well of COURSE we can get a ride home with police!
And do you like pizza? came the next question.
Well of COURSE we want to eat pizza with her and the police!
So that is what we decided to do. How to get there though? Well, as it turns out, Fabiola and Walter had arrived by motorcycle, which will transport only only two at a time. Time to call in reinforcements. A quick phone call later, Fabiola informed us that one of her other bodyguards was on his way.
Well of COURSE he is!
She began divvying up drivers to riders, placing me with the new bodyguard and Anneriet with Walter. She would stay behind and wait for one of them to return for her. Wouldn't that mean she was left alone? Wait a minute. I thought she needed a bodyguard at all times? And that is when a stab of fear invaded my heart. Isn't that how they do it in the movies? They separate the friends, take them to a wooded area, and that is the last anyone ever sees of the friends? Oh dear me. What have I gotten myself into now? Surely this violates one of the rules my mother charged me with before I left. And I don't even have to wonder what my husband would be saying right now. I glance at Anneriet to see if I can detect any fear. Nope, not a shred. Just me then. Great. I run through escape scenarios in my head, ranging from announcing that "ummm... no thanks, you're very nice, but I actually hate pizza and it's against my religion to eat it" to conveniently falling off the motorbike en route to the woods. Siiigh. How do I get myself into these situations?
 |
| Giddy with a touch of terror |
On the way out of the hotel, we pass by a piano and Fabiola decides we need a concert. First Anneriet plays a little tune for us. Then it's my turn and I play an old church hymn, one that was sang at my wedding. Then it's Fabiola's turn.
She plays the same exact hymn, but with all the scale and finesse of a concerto masterpiece. I mean, the woman is practically Beethoven. Seriously. She finishes with all the flair of an encore and then tells us she used to be a church pianist. I am instantly relieved. She can't possibly be in cahoots with murderers if she can play "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" on a moments notice, right?
I feel better after the impromptu concert, but I will feel much better when we are all happily eating pizza.
Which we all were, in short order, post-concert. Fabiola, one uniformed bodyguard, one plainclothes, and the two of us. And everybody in Telepizza seemed to know her and want to talk to her and spend a minute with her. Fabiola really was famoso. With that infectious laugh, deep smile, and a generous heart, how could she be anything but famous? That episode is one of my best memories of the whole trip. New friends, a random encounter , a good story, and a shared meal. We never ran into Fabiola again, but I wish we had. I consider her a friend.
What about you? Ever find yourself in a potentially questionable situation that ends up being a favorite memory?
 |
| Fabiola and her fans |
Monday, August 22, 2011
This Is What Panic Looks Like
1) Find and consume crab cakes (I might eat crab cakes every day if I could)
2) Find and consume copious amounts of crab legs (due to the fact that we spent more on one dinner than I did in one week in Nicaragua, I am trying to pretend this never happened)
3) Find and ride go-karts (I am a fairly agressive driver with what my father describes as a "lead foot." But apparently not in a go-kart. There were small children taking each and every opportunity to cut me off and/or lap me)
4) Find and walk the boardwalk (good people watching)
5) Find miniature golf course and beat my husband (accomplished for the first time ever!)
5) Find sun and increase deep golden bronze skin tone so as to enhance youthful glow (not actually his plan, just mine)
And then I got a curious little text message from a friend who just happened to be headed to the same beach on the same dates. The message inquired as to whether I would be interested in parasailing with her.
Para what?
Yes please. Sign me up.
Now remember, I don't like activities that scare me shameless or that raise the question of whether I will live, die, or get seriously injured. After all, it did take me approximately 30 minutes to inch my way down a volcano.
Apparently, that experience quickly became a distant memory because I almost immediately began planning on partaking in this para whatever thing. My knowledge of the activity was minimal: I knew that it involved floating above the ocean while suspended from a giant parachute or something. How one actually ascended into the air though? That remained a mystery.
I would soon find out though. Making our way to the dock that morning, I started to feel the first prick of nerves. I needed to keep them at bay though, because I had managed to convince Adam, who hates heights, that this would be woohoo! fun. Although he appeared not to believe that this would turn out to be true, he begrudgingly agreed that he would go. Such a good man.
I am all smiles until the moment we get on the boat and the captain and his buddy inform the three of us that we will be going first.
I don't do "first."
I do "wait and see if/how other people meet an untimely demise and then decide a course of action."
But seeing as how as the nice young man was at that very moment cocooning me into some sort of harness, attaching me to very scary looking cables and stuff, while simultaneously telling me that everything was going to be fine, there was very little to do but await my fate.
That is when the panic set in. How exactly would we ascend into the air? Would we be shot off the back of the boat like human cannonballs? Would a gust of wind blow us into the air? Would there be some sort of jet propulsion involved? Would our method of ascent involve me getting bloody and/or breaking something?
But why waste time describing my state of mind, when you can see it for yourself?
Because all of that was documented on film. And if you are in need of cheering up today, then really, look no further than this little series of photos. When finished, please believe this is one of the coolest things I have ever done, despite what my face is telling you.
Monday, August 15, 2011
My 7 Links: I'm One of the Cool Kids Now
Thanks to Shivya over at The Shooting Star, I can stop wondering if I am cool enough to avoid being the last pick in dodgeball during gym. Woohoo! She nominated me to participate in the ongoing 7 Links project, an online blogging initiative sponsored by Tripbase. To sum up directly from their blog, "The idea is simple: bloggers publish 7 links from their blog to
share lessons learned and create a bank of long but not forgotten blog
posts that deserve to see the light of day again."
Enjoy!
1) My Most Beautiful Post
This short and sweet entry shares the anticipation I feel before I go on a big trip. I hope I never lose this excitement and wonder.
On the Move Again
2) My Most Controversial Post
As I like to keep things light around here, "controversy" is a foreign topic on this blog. I want you to laugh at my stories, not leave four letter words and evil comments. I have succeeded almost entirely, until I wrote this post. There was one person who did not care for my lighthearted hatred of the euro and essentially told me so in their comment. So read the post, and then read the comments. Mr./Miss CrankyPants is not hard to miss. As this is only comment (ever) that has even come close to being "controversial," I consider my "keeping things light/making people laugh" mission accomplished. Now, this is not to say that you can't disagree with me on here, because you totally can. It just seemed that this person was unnecessarily grumpy about my status as Eurovirgin!
I'm A Virgin....."Euro"peanly Speaking
3) The Post I am Most Proud Of
I did a little bit of growing up in this one. So I suppose I am pretty proud of that.
Bandwagon Jumper
4) A Post I Feel Didn't get the Attention it Deserved
Come on people. Everybody loves a good bathroom in a foreign country story!
The Most Disgusting Bathroom in the Whole Entire World
5) A Post Whose Success Surprised Me
As if there aren't ongoing wars, famines, and natural disasters occurring in every corner of the globe, I chose to focus on a less pressing matter: myself and the funk that I was in. Your exciting travel updates did nothing to raise my spirits and this post is what happens when I have too much time on my hands. Thankfully, things took a turn for the better by the time I finished writing it and I pulled myself together. Geeeez!
My Love/Hate Relationship With Your Travel Blog
6) My Most Helpful Post
I do not normally tout causes or organizations on this blog, but this is one group that I can personally endorse. Having visited the school, met the girls, hung out in the home of the director, corresponded with its board members, and even done some editing for their website, I can vouch for Nurturing Minds. If you have some extra cash you are looking to spend on a worthy cause, I urge you to consider sponsoring a student.
Sega School for Girls
7) My Most Popular Post
According to the Blogspot counter, my most popular post is the one you see at the top left of your screen. However, I don't actually believe this. I think Blogspot is playing with my emotions and/or subject to some sort of erroneous counting practices. You see, I don't get tons of traffic pouring in to Travel Funny Travel Light each and every day. I'm doing pretty well if I get 500 pageviews in a month. However, in the span of only two hours on the day I published that post, I somehow, miraculously, defying all odds, got over 500 views on that post alone. Now, I will say that I did submit that post to Suzy Guese and her weekly Stumble segment, which I have done with other posts without getting these astronomical (for my humble blog) results. So I simply chose not to believe the numbers. I am going with this post instead, which I just so happen to like better anyway.
A Traveler's Regret
To continue in the spirit of the project, I want to nominate Reese at Rambles with Reese, Miss Footloose of Life in the ExPat Lane, and Matthew at Expert Vagabond.
Enjoy!
1) My Most Beautiful Post
This short and sweet entry shares the anticipation I feel before I go on a big trip. I hope I never lose this excitement and wonder.
On the Move Again
2) My Most Controversial Post
As I like to keep things light around here, "controversy" is a foreign topic on this blog. I want you to laugh at my stories, not leave four letter words and evil comments. I have succeeded almost entirely, until I wrote this post. There was one person who did not care for my lighthearted hatred of the euro and essentially told me so in their comment. So read the post, and then read the comments. Mr./Miss CrankyPants is not hard to miss. As this is only comment (ever) that has even come close to being "controversial," I consider my "keeping things light/making people laugh" mission accomplished. Now, this is not to say that you can't disagree with me on here, because you totally can. It just seemed that this person was unnecessarily grumpy about my status as Eurovirgin!
I'm A Virgin....."Euro"peanly Speaking
3) The Post I am Most Proud Of
I did a little bit of growing up in this one. So I suppose I am pretty proud of that.
Bandwagon Jumper
4) A Post I Feel Didn't get the Attention it Deserved
Come on people. Everybody loves a good bathroom in a foreign country story!
The Most Disgusting Bathroom in the Whole Entire World
5) A Post Whose Success Surprised Me
As if there aren't ongoing wars, famines, and natural disasters occurring in every corner of the globe, I chose to focus on a less pressing matter: myself and the funk that I was in. Your exciting travel updates did nothing to raise my spirits and this post is what happens when I have too much time on my hands. Thankfully, things took a turn for the better by the time I finished writing it and I pulled myself together. Geeeez!
My Love/Hate Relationship With Your Travel Blog
6) My Most Helpful Post
I do not normally tout causes or organizations on this blog, but this is one group that I can personally endorse. Having visited the school, met the girls, hung out in the home of the director, corresponded with its board members, and even done some editing for their website, I can vouch for Nurturing Minds. If you have some extra cash you are looking to spend on a worthy cause, I urge you to consider sponsoring a student.
Sega School for Girls
7) My Most Popular Post
According to the Blogspot counter, my most popular post is the one you see at the top left of your screen. However, I don't actually believe this. I think Blogspot is playing with my emotions and/or subject to some sort of erroneous counting practices. You see, I don't get tons of traffic pouring in to Travel Funny Travel Light each and every day. I'm doing pretty well if I get 500 pageviews in a month. However, in the span of only two hours on the day I published that post, I somehow, miraculously, defying all odds, got over 500 views on that post alone. Now, I will say that I did submit that post to Suzy Guese and her weekly Stumble segment, which I have done with other posts without getting these astronomical (for my humble blog) results. So I simply chose not to believe the numbers. I am going with this post instead, which I just so happen to like better anyway.
A Traveler's Regret
To continue in the spirit of the project, I want to nominate Reese at Rambles with Reese, Miss Footloose of Life in the ExPat Lane, and Matthew at Expert Vagabond.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Misery and Illness Love Company
In anticipation of a mini-family vacation ("mini" as in, it's just
the two of us, and we will only be gone three days) that Adam and I
will be taking this week, I thought I would repost this gem from 2009.
While I love this story, it did need to be taken down a peg from its original version. People don't want to read a novel when they have only subscribed to read a few paragraphs.
It was an industrious itinerary, one that was intended to be accomplished over two weeks. First stop: Ohio to visit the grandparents. After that, we would then venture from there into Michigan, through the Upper Peninsula, Canada through Manitoba, and back into the states by way of the Dakotas.
All starts out well and good, if a little on the boring side. The cute little family of black bears on the side of the road was probably the highlight of this portion of the trip.
It all went downhill from there.
Somewhere in the Upper Peninsula, I began to feel ill, with what I hoped was not strep throat. However, college dorm life guaranteed not only that I contracted it every year, but that I was fairly well-versed in its symptoms. After a full day of a suspiciously sore throat and aching body, I knew the game was up. I informed the family that I had strep throat, to which my father responded "Nonsense, it's just a cold."
The man can be heartless sometimes.
And his remedy? Over the counter Tylenol and sleep. Anybody who has ever had strep knows this only prolongs the feeling of imminent death. For the next few days, while the family explored without me, I stayed in whatever frumpy motel room we had landed in, attempting to nurse myself back to health without the aid of an antibiotic. After two days of this, I started to turn evil. No amount of reasoning would convince him that I needed a doctor, so this went on for a few more days. So did my grouchiness. Grouchiness and illness do not a happy traveler make. No fun, no sightseeing, no happiness.
Finally, hours outside of Winnipeg, headed southbound, I could stand it no more. Dear Dad got out to gas up, and I took the opportunity to inform my mother that my personal next stop would either be a hospital or an airport. My misery had reached the end of its rope. Surprisingly, she took me seriously, and announced (rather cheerfully) the ultimatum to my dad. Even more surprisingly, he grudgingly (and this is a kind description of his acquiescence) agreed to stop at the first doctor we found.
As we were in the prarielands of Saskatchewan, Canada at the time, this anticipated visit to a medical facility did not occur until an eternity later when we finally crossed back into the great US of A. First town we came to? "Murder free for as long as anyone can remember" Crosby, North Dakota. I am not kidding. There may have been absolutely nothing going on in this bucolic village, but we were certainly safe from any thugs trying to murder us. (Check out Crosby here, to begin planning your next vacation.
Crosby was my personal utopia, regardless of its murder status. Why? Crosby is where the healing began. Since there are approximately only five people that live in Crosby, finding the hospital was relatively easy. The sign tells us that we have arrived in the emergency room, but it was as silent as a cemetery. There was certainly no emergency except my throat and the fire burning inside it. The lights weren't even on. Our shouts of "Hello? Hello?" went unanswered until we finally stumbled upon the nurse station. After explaining my problem, they then told us we would need to wait a little bit for the doctor to arrive. As in, he had only been in the US about a week, fresh from Pakistan, and today was not one of his days to work.
Shouldn't there be a doctor at a hospital at all times? And possibly more than one?
*Insert pause here for slight consternation*
Only a slight pause though, because I didn't care; I was not leaving there without drugs. I would have waited if he was still on the plane from Pakistan because that is how miserable I felt. Fortunately, the wait was much shorter than that and when he arrived, he was quite nice and cheery, ran a strep test, and set me up with an antibiotic. I felt this should have proved to my dad that I did indeed have strep, but to this day, he insists that it was just a cold, and that I was overly dramatic. Seven years later, I have conceded (not to him though!) that I may have been a tad bit overzealous in my demands, but I will never believe that the strep test lied.
Post-doctor visit, my condition vastly improved, but my attitude did not. Within two days, I was able to regale the family with my snarky comments and demands once again. I was quite miffed over being left in motel rooms, lying in a pool of sweat, yearning for antibiotics. I took each and every opportunity, then and now, to remind him of his cold heart.
I should mention that I love my dear old Dad, and that our personalities are two peas in a pod.
Life lesson learned at age 30: Appreciate it when your parents want to take you on vacation!
What are your family vacationhorrors stories?
Monday, September 14, 2009
It is June of 2002 and I have just graduated college. My parents want to relive their young married days and take another cross country trip, similar to the one they took shortly after they became a family. I had the option to go or not, but I felt that as a big college graduate I should of course, grace them with my presence one last time on vacation. (By the end of the trip, "grace" will have turned out to be a very misleading description of what I contributed to the family dynamics).It was an industrious itinerary, one that was intended to be accomplished over two weeks. First stop: Ohio to visit the grandparents. After that, we would then venture from there into Michigan, through the Upper Peninsula, Canada through Manitoba, and back into the states by way of the Dakotas.
All starts out well and good, if a little on the boring side. The cute little family of black bears on the side of the road was probably the highlight of this portion of the trip.
It all went downhill from there.
Somewhere in the Upper Peninsula, I began to feel ill, with what I hoped was not strep throat. However, college dorm life guaranteed not only that I contracted it every year, but that I was fairly well-versed in its symptoms. After a full day of a suspiciously sore throat and aching body, I knew the game was up. I informed the family that I had strep throat, to which my father responded "Nonsense, it's just a cold."
The man can be heartless sometimes.
And his remedy? Over the counter Tylenol and sleep. Anybody who has ever had strep knows this only prolongs the feeling of imminent death. For the next few days, while the family explored without me, I stayed in whatever frumpy motel room we had landed in, attempting to nurse myself back to health without the aid of an antibiotic. After two days of this, I started to turn evil. No amount of reasoning would convince him that I needed a doctor, so this went on for a few more days. So did my grouchiness. Grouchiness and illness do not a happy traveler make. No fun, no sightseeing, no happiness.
Finally, hours outside of Winnipeg, headed southbound, I could stand it no more. Dear Dad got out to gas up, and I took the opportunity to inform my mother that my personal next stop would either be a hospital or an airport. My misery had reached the end of its rope. Surprisingly, she took me seriously, and announced (rather cheerfully) the ultimatum to my dad. Even more surprisingly, he grudgingly (and this is a kind description of his acquiescence) agreed to stop at the first doctor we found.
As we were in the prarielands of Saskatchewan, Canada at the time, this anticipated visit to a medical facility did not occur until an eternity later when we finally crossed back into the great US of A. First town we came to? "Murder free for as long as anyone can remember" Crosby, North Dakota. I am not kidding. There may have been absolutely nothing going on in this bucolic village, but we were certainly safe from any thugs trying to murder us. (Check out Crosby here, to begin planning your next vacation.
Crosby was my personal utopia, regardless of its murder status. Why? Crosby is where the healing began. Since there are approximately only five people that live in Crosby, finding the hospital was relatively easy. The sign tells us that we have arrived in the emergency room, but it was as silent as a cemetery. There was certainly no emergency except my throat and the fire burning inside it. The lights weren't even on. Our shouts of "Hello? Hello?" went unanswered until we finally stumbled upon the nurse station. After explaining my problem, they then told us we would need to wait a little bit for the doctor to arrive. As in, he had only been in the US about a week, fresh from Pakistan, and today was not one of his days to work.
Shouldn't there be a doctor at a hospital at all times? And possibly more than one?
*Insert pause here for slight consternation*
Only a slight pause though, because I didn't care; I was not leaving there without drugs. I would have waited if he was still on the plane from Pakistan because that is how miserable I felt. Fortunately, the wait was much shorter than that and when he arrived, he was quite nice and cheery, ran a strep test, and set me up with an antibiotic. I felt this should have proved to my dad that I did indeed have strep, but to this day, he insists that it was just a cold, and that I was overly dramatic. Seven years later, I have conceded (not to him though!) that I may have been a tad bit overzealous in my demands, but I will never believe that the strep test lied.
Post-doctor visit, my condition vastly improved, but my attitude did not. Within two days, I was able to regale the family with my snarky comments and demands once again. I was quite miffed over being left in motel rooms, lying in a pool of sweat, yearning for antibiotics. I took each and every opportunity, then and now, to remind him of his cold heart.
I should mention that I love my dear old Dad, and that our personalities are two peas in a pod.
Life lesson learned at age 30: Appreciate it when your parents want to take you on vacation!
What are your family vacation
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