Hello all, checking in for a moment.
I just have to say.....I am EXHAUSTED. So much for my love/hate relationship with your travel blog. This whole full-time job thing leaves me with barely enough time greet my new husband, let alone salivate over the adventures of blogging buddies. Oh I definitely try though. I turn on my computer first thing every morning to do a quick perusal of the night before and start to get sucked into my Google reader. That is, until the soft whisper of ungraded papers turns into a nagging scream. And if it's not the ungraded papers it's the lesson plans. And if it's not the lesson plans, it's the photocopying. If it's not the photcopying, it's the endless round of meetings I must attend. Geeeezzzz!!! Bring on the life of a substitute! In and out, a carefree jaunt in my step all the way.
Ok, but then I wouldn't be experiencing the satisfaction of an effective lesson plan, a happy student, or another Friday indicating the end of a good week. Exhausted? fo sho...Happy? Most def-minus the fact that breathing has now become second priority to lesson planning.
As for adventures on the horizon, there are a few loose plans in the works. You all know I can only work and salivate over OPTB (other people's travel blogs) for so long.
In another happy news, I threatened every single student with implied mutation and dismemberment if there was ever any misbehavior for a substitute teacher in my classroom. Six years in this virtually thankless position has made me slightly manic on this subject. Clearly, they took me and my not-so-vague threats seriously-I had my first sub the other day and she marveled at their behavior. Granted, the sub was my mother, who rules with almost as much of an iron fist as I do. But still! They behaved wonderfully, and for that, I am happy. Also on the plus side, I get respect much easier now that I am a real teacher. Oh, I had respect before, but it came as a by-product of the aforementioned iron fist and holding the title of Queen "B." And who really enjoys that?
Alright, secretly I enjoyed it at times. Substitute teachers are supposed to be mean and I took my job seriously. If I had a dollar for every time a kid commented on the fact that I never smile, well, I would be on a RTW right now! For a humorous, yet accurate, portrayal of my illustrious career of choice prior to now, check out this Washington Post article by a guy who opted to become a sub to fill in the gaps of his employment. Minus the pay rate (subs in WV actually get paid fairly decently) he is pretty spot on.
But that is all in the past. I have a steady paycheck, retirement, and a real profession. Now if only I could command my house into cleanliness as I once commanded a room full of unruly students.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
An Inauspicious Beginning (Part 1)
Saturday, May 1 dawned fair and bright. It was here. My friend had met his match-age 30 had arrived.
After plenty of festive celebration the night before, we made grand plans to depart for the Princes Marmara Islands promptly at 9 a.m. This was our first mistake. Planning to move ten people around in the US of A calls for some significant strategizing. Planning to move ten people around on a foreign continent calls for a cluster.
Some educational information first: The Princes' Islands are made up of nine islands in the Sea of Marmara, four of which you can visit. All are accessible by ferry, no cars are allowed, and it is a convenient day trip from Istanbul. Our island of choice was Buyukada.
The birthday boy himself did not even arise out of bed until past the time of intended departure. Which, if you know him at all, is not the least bit shocking. By the time we all made our way to the docks to find a ferry, the boat had of course, long ago left us behind. Furthermore, we weren't even at the right dock, due to the fact that in Turkey, most of the signs are in, well, Turkish. To be expected of course, but usually somewhere there is English. Not so much in Istanbul. To compound this, aside from the touts who want to sell you a million dollar ride on the Bosphorus, there are not a plethora of English speakers just waiting to help a band of ten straggle their way to a boat.
Aaaaah well, we were already late and there was no point hurrying now. Finally meandering our way to the proper dock a short time later, we got on with ease and awaited our departure. While we were waiting, this nice man on the right decided to ram our large boat with his large boat. We are not completely sure why, but I suppose it has something to do with how they like to dock boats. All I know is, it felt a little Titanic-esque without the iceberg. Why on earth anyone would try to parallel park a seagoing vessel?
Once underway, we find things a bit breezy and chilly, but not altogether unpleasant. Mostly we are just excited to get out of Istanbul for the day and see a little more of Turkey. After the eternal and blustery voyage, we finally disembark at Buyukada and immediately need food. Since we are way behind schedule, we are way behind on food. I am way behind on the bathroom, (the ferry had squat toilets and I had no desire to squat) so I speed race off to locate a civilized toilet. When I return, I find our group comfortably seated seaside, with a table square in the warm sunlight. Perfect.
Preferring Morton's fish sticks to most freshly caught sea creatures, I elected to share a kebab and rice plate and a side of zucchini fries with Mary. Yes, zucchini fries. I was more than excited to find them in Turkey. At this point, the never-ending lunch commenced. We waited. And waited. And waited some more. Somehow, I was elected spokesperson of the group and had to continually get up to ask this guy (Mr.Fishy) when he thought our food would be arriving, per chance? Now, I am not that American who goes abroad and expects everything to be the same as it is at home. But THIS was really pushing it. His answer? "Oh, just a minute! Or two." And then, after a moment of thought and consternation he offered "maybe 5 more minutes?" Oh dear. Lunch didn't sound as if it had even been caught yet.
After a length of time that certainly exceeded the dubious promise of "maybe 5 more minutes" the food comes rolling out. When there are 10 people eating, it just sort of comes out in a tidal wave. First course of appetizers were decent, the zuch fries surprisingly good. The grape leaves, disgusting. Good thing I enjoyed my fries, because once the main meals started arriving, that was it for me. My little kebab never made it from the waiter to the cook and there I sat. Hungry. You know what happens when I am hungry. Bad things. Once more, I approach Mr. Fishy to assess when said kebab would be arriving. He looks at me, surprised, and tells me "two more minutes." Yeah right. We have been there at least two hours at this point. By the time he does actually bring our food, Mary is so put out by the length of the lunch meal, that she..... SENDS IT BACK!!! Are you KIDDING ME??! A reverse tug-of-war ensued, with Mr. Fishy attempting valiantly to put the plate down in front of her and with Mary adamantly refusing to allow him to do so. And all I can do is look longingly upon it, as its spicy, pungent scent wafts gently past my nose. She was sticking to her guns, I had no choice. We were apparently standing on principle.
Mary won the war and off went the kebab. It crept its way back into the bill though, at which point I trudged back over to Mr. Fishy to tell him we would not be paying for the kebab. He appeared not to understand, but eventually it disappeared from our tab. In its place? A "chef tip." Siiiiigh. 2 points-Fishy. 1 point-us.
Now, as I am on the eve of the birthday mentioned at the beginning of this post, I would like to know how you readers celebrated your 30th. If you are not yet 30, how do you plan to celebrate or is it just not that big of a deal?
After plenty of festive celebration the night before, we made grand plans to depart for the Princes Marmara Islands promptly at 9 a.m. This was our first mistake. Planning to move ten people around in the US of A calls for some significant strategizing. Planning to move ten people around on a foreign continent calls for a cluster.
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| Headed to Buyukada |
Aaaaah well, we were already late and there was no point hurrying now. Finally meandering our way to the proper dock a short time later, we got on with ease and awaited our departure. While we were waiting, this nice man on the right decided to ram our large boat with his large boat. We are not completely sure why, but I suppose it has something to do with how they like to dock boats. All I know is, it felt a little Titanic-esque without the iceberg. Why on earth anyone would try to parallel park a seagoing vessel?
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| Our sea chariot |
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| Mr. Fishy |
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| Zucchini deliciousness |
Mary won the war and off went the kebab. It crept its way back into the bill though, at which point I trudged back over to Mr. Fishy to tell him we would not be paying for the kebab. He appeared not to understand, but eventually it disappeared from our tab. In its place? A "chef tip." Siiiiigh. 2 points-Fishy. 1 point-us.
Now, as I am on the eve of the birthday mentioned at the beginning of this post, I would like to know how you readers celebrated your 30th. If you are not yet 30, how do you plan to celebrate or is it just not that big of a deal?
Monday, August 16, 2010
My Love/Hate Relationship With Your Travel Blog
There. I said it.
I love your travel blog and I hate your travel blog.
Who are you? Anyone with a blog filled with colorful tales of escapades abroad. You know, like the time you had to sweet-talk the Indian consulate into giving you a visa, got swindled by the taxi driver in Costa Rica, went partying with the Germans in Guatemala, sustained an injury on the Great Wall of China, or got mobbed by Bangladeshi street kids while handing out oranges.
Here's the thing: I have been possessed with a touch of the green-eyed monster as of late and I am not completely sure why. All of the above adventures are mine, so it is clear that I have not just been sitting at home on my duff for the last 10 years. Truly, I have been blessed with amazing opportunities to see our wonderful world. But I want more. And every time I read a blog post detailing some place I have yet to see, or even some place I have already been, I am overwhelmed with either wanderlust or nostalgia, or what I like to call "wanderalgia", a lethal combination of both of those. When wanderalgia strikes, I am stuck in a mopey, petulant child funk the rest of the day and that is when I know the madness must stop. Timeout from your blog is put in effect. But then I miss the updates and the stories and inevitably, I go back for more, just like a jilted suitor.
For most of the last 10 years, I have always had some sort of plan in the works for next adventure. Always a next destination, always something to look forward to. This past year has been no exception either-Tanzania/Zanzibar at the end of last year, followed by Turkey in April, followed by our Wild West honeymoon adventure. And now? I got nuthin.' Zip. The agenda is free and clear and I don't like it one single bit. Which is why I have troubles reading your blog sometimes. The nagging thoughts start at the headline and whisper their way through the entry--"what if I never go anywhere again? what if my adventures are over?
"WELL PLAN SOMETHING THEN YOU CRAZY PERSON!" you are probably thinking. Well, I'd like to, but I can't just go out willy-nilly and spend cold hard cash on airfare and souvenirs when I have newly assumed rent and other life expenses to pay right?
But that is nothing compared to the kingpin of negative thoughts, and here is my second confession for today: I am going to be 30 in just a few weeks. With 30 comes all sorts of adult things. Marriage is a recent development for me, THAT birthday is on the imminent horizon, and according to everybody who finds out about said recent marriage, kids will soon be coming along. Perish that thought right now. Eventually, yes of course, but right this second is not on the schedule. Soon"ish." Am I getting old? Washed-up? Settled? *gasp*. I hope not. But without a trip planned, it sure feels like it. So, right now, I live vicariously through you and yours, which is both the curse and the blessing.
Now, before you consider calling one of my loved ones and putting me on some sort of watch, here is the good news. As I have grown up, I have also grown to appreciate the "lesser" adventures. No, I don't need an African extravaganza every year to keep me happy. Sure, it would be fantastic, but it simply isn't going to happen. And if I don't accept that, I would just be plain miserable. I truly enjoy the smaller weekend adventures, the day trips, and the fun night out. It's not all about crickets on a stick or wild bus rides in the Andes Mountains with me.
Having clarified my mental state, I still would buy a ticket somewhere right now if I had the resources to do so. But here is the other good news: when I first started writing this post, I had only the plan of going back to substitute teaching this year, despite having finished my studies and gotten certified. Then came the phone call heard 'round the world. 36 hours and one 12 minute interview later, I am writing to you as the newest public school teacher in the WV. Woo-hoo! Benefits! Paid snow days! Aaaannnd.....most importantly, a steady paycheck with which to start planning my next trip! All is right with the world again. At least until I read your next blog entry with glowing reports of some back-alley gem of a restaurant in a Beijing hutong or the spectacular sunset on Bali. Then I may want to throw darts at my computer screen.
Am I alone here? Any other wanderlusters ever go through this period in life? Perhaps not, but it sure felt good to get all this down in print.
I love your travel blog and I hate your travel blog.
Who are you? Anyone with a blog filled with colorful tales of escapades abroad. You know, like the time you had to sweet-talk the Indian consulate into giving you a visa, got swindled by the taxi driver in Costa Rica, went partying with the Germans in Guatemala, sustained an injury on the Great Wall of China, or got mobbed by Bangladeshi street kids while handing out oranges.
Here's the thing: I have been possessed with a touch of the green-eyed monster as of late and I am not completely sure why. All of the above adventures are mine, so it is clear that I have not just been sitting at home on my duff for the last 10 years. Truly, I have been blessed with amazing opportunities to see our wonderful world. But I want more. And every time I read a blog post detailing some place I have yet to see, or even some place I have already been, I am overwhelmed with either wanderlust or nostalgia, or what I like to call "wanderalgia", a lethal combination of both of those. When wanderalgia strikes, I am stuck in a mopey, petulant child funk the rest of the day and that is when I know the madness must stop. Timeout from your blog is put in effect. But then I miss the updates and the stories and inevitably, I go back for more, just like a jilted suitor.
For most of the last 10 years, I have always had some sort of plan in the works for next adventure. Always a next destination, always something to look forward to. This past year has been no exception either-Tanzania/Zanzibar at the end of last year, followed by Turkey in April, followed by our Wild West honeymoon adventure. And now? I got nuthin.' Zip. The agenda is free and clear and I don't like it one single bit. Which is why I have troubles reading your blog sometimes. The nagging thoughts start at the headline and whisper their way through the entry--"what if I never go anywhere again? what if my adventures are over?
"WELL PLAN SOMETHING THEN YOU CRAZY PERSON!" you are probably thinking. Well, I'd like to, but I can't just go out willy-nilly and spend cold hard cash on airfare and souvenirs when I have newly assumed rent and other life expenses to pay right?
But that is nothing compared to the kingpin of negative thoughts, and here is my second confession for today: I am going to be 30 in just a few weeks. With 30 comes all sorts of adult things. Marriage is a recent development for me, THAT birthday is on the imminent horizon, and according to everybody who finds out about said recent marriage, kids will soon be coming along. Perish that thought right now. Eventually, yes of course, but right this second is not on the schedule. Soon"ish." Am I getting old? Washed-up? Settled? *gasp*. I hope not. But without a trip planned, it sure feels like it. So, right now, I live vicariously through you and yours, which is both the curse and the blessing.
Now, before you consider calling one of my loved ones and putting me on some sort of watch, here is the good news. As I have grown up, I have also grown to appreciate the "lesser" adventures. No, I don't need an African extravaganza every year to keep me happy. Sure, it would be fantastic, but it simply isn't going to happen. And if I don't accept that, I would just be plain miserable. I truly enjoy the smaller weekend adventures, the day trips, and the fun night out. It's not all about crickets on a stick or wild bus rides in the Andes Mountains with me.
Having clarified my mental state, I still would buy a ticket somewhere right now if I had the resources to do so. But here is the other good news: when I first started writing this post, I had only the plan of going back to substitute teaching this year, despite having finished my studies and gotten certified. Then came the phone call heard 'round the world. 36 hours and one 12 minute interview later, I am writing to you as the newest public school teacher in the WV. Woo-hoo! Benefits! Paid snow days! Aaaannnd.....most importantly, a steady paycheck with which to start planning my next trip! All is right with the world again. At least until I read your next blog entry with glowing reports of some back-alley gem of a restaurant in a Beijing hutong or the spectacular sunset on Bali. Then I may want to throw darts at my computer screen.
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| Reeeealllly important call at the Great Wall. |
Monday, August 9, 2010
The Wedding Wrap-Up
First, the Relationship: Together 3.5 years, Engaged for 14 months, Married just over 2 months.
Love at First Sight?: We met playing volleyball. He was convinced that I was going to be his next girlfriend. I spent the next six months trying to prove him wrong. He won that argument.
The Engagement: Occurred March of 2009 in Independence Park, Philadelphia. It's where I lost my full independence ;) but gained a partner.
The Wedding: May 29, 2010 in the backyard of his grandmother's house. Beautiful location. Reception at an old historic hotel in Shepherdstown WV.
Week before Wedding: Hell On Earth. It deserves its own capital letters and everything. I do not ever, EVER, want to live through a week like that again. And we are fairly simple people, none of this hooplah over minutiae, no drama. Bridezilla, I am not. I cannot imagine planning a wedding where details are king and everything must be perfect. I have complete and upmost empathy for any brides-to-be and will now bend over backwards to be of service to them. Luckily, I have an amazing group of girlfriends that pulled through. And Adam, for being like most men who does not care about colors, seating, and lighting, was pretty decently helpful. Good work love! (He reads this blog, must say nice things. And in this case, they are true!).
Best part of the day: The Vows. Nobody bothering us, just me and him.
Enjoy a few pics of the day!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
The Sedona Sunglasses Incident
I have a good man for a husband, and you will note this by the series of photos below. To give a little background, another honeymoon adventure was a side trip to Slide Rock State Park, just outside of Sedona, Arizona. If you have never been there, this area is famed for its red rocks, its vortexes, and its rough, but unique landscape.
Slide Rock is is a swim/walk/navigate at your own risk kind of park. There are LOTS of rocks, more rocks than water it seems. As a result, the terrain is slightly dangerous. Beautiful, but certainly not complying with any OSHA standards. Just getting down into the water proves to be an exercise in acrobatics and I feel that perhaps I may need a stunt double. Plus, I am wearing my brand new swimsuit which I am not about to ruin. Once in though, the water is so cool and refreshing and we elect to just sit in it and enjoy. Then we saw all these kids leaping into the water from a huge rock above and decide to get a better view.
There is one point in our maneuvering around the rocks in the water that it becomes necessary to contort my body into a circus shape and attempt to squeeze around an extremely large boulder. Below is water and more rocks. The ledge to squeeze around is barely big enough for the width of one foot, especially one clad in a flip-flop. Which brings me to an important side point: Why in heaven's name can I not ever find more appropriate footwear for these perilous situations? First the Andes Mountains in Ecuador, then that monster hill in Istanbul, now this. If we fall, we are going home with a nasty bruise, gash, head wound, or broken limb. Maybe all of the above. It is at this point that I decide to take off my sunglasses so that they do not fall of my head in all the maneuvering-because of course, sunglasses are priority in any dangerous ledge situation. And it is at this point that I forget about them and leave them there.
After spending part of the afternoon watching small children and teenagers hurl themselves into the air, miraculously bobbing to the surface unscathed, it's time to go. It is only after we navigate the boulders, climb the steep bank, and cross the hot rocks, that I realize....I no longer have my sunglasses. I look at Adam. He looks at me. I don't even have to ask. He turns around to revisit the path from whence he came. I decided to make good use of the wait and document his journey.
Slide Rock is is a swim/walk/navigate at your own risk kind of park. There are LOTS of rocks, more rocks than water it seems. As a result, the terrain is slightly dangerous. Beautiful, but certainly not complying with any OSHA standards. Just getting down into the water proves to be an exercise in acrobatics and I feel that perhaps I may need a stunt double. Plus, I am wearing my brand new swimsuit which I am not about to ruin. Once in though, the water is so cool and refreshing and we elect to just sit in it and enjoy. Then we saw all these kids leaping into the water from a huge rock above and decide to get a better view.
There is one point in our maneuvering around the rocks in the water that it becomes necessary to contort my body into a circus shape and attempt to squeeze around an extremely large boulder. Below is water and more rocks. The ledge to squeeze around is barely big enough for the width of one foot, especially one clad in a flip-flop. Which brings me to an important side point: Why in heaven's name can I not ever find more appropriate footwear for these perilous situations? First the Andes Mountains in Ecuador, then that monster hill in Istanbul, now this. If we fall, we are going home with a nasty bruise, gash, head wound, or broken limb. Maybe all of the above. It is at this point that I decide to take off my sunglasses so that they do not fall of my head in all the maneuvering-because of course, sunglasses are priority in any dangerous ledge situation. And it is at this point that I forget about them and leave them there.
After spending part of the afternoon watching small children and teenagers hurl themselves into the air, miraculously bobbing to the surface unscathed, it's time to go. It is only after we navigate the boulders, climb the steep bank, and cross the hot rocks, that I realize....I no longer have my sunglasses. I look at Adam. He looks at me. I don't even have to ask. He turns around to revisit the path from whence he came. I decided to make good use of the wait and document his journey.
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| The sunglasses, snug in their spot on the ledge |
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| Creeper |
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| At this point, he may be wondering how he got stuck with me |
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| Success! But that means one handed rock-climbing |
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| I was waiting for him to fall here |
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| Or here |
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| Contemplating the route back to his lovely wife |
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Me, amusing myself with my shadow while I wait |
Friday, July 23, 2010
Our Restaurant.com Experience. Epic Failure.
You may remember how pre-honeymoon I wrote about how I went all willy-nilly and ordered $100 worth of gift certificates to McFadden's off of the website before reading the fine print. Since I had already spent $8 on this endeavor, I was determined to make good on my investment and at least eat there once. Good news: the restaurant.com gift certificates are not scams. Bad news: our dinner was terrible. As it turned out, we would have been better off never darkening the door of the establishment and going hungry instead.
Since the first night found us exhausted in bed at 9 p.m and sound asleep by 9:01 p.m, (after a romantic $ menu dinner at McDonald's), our only option left was to dine there our second night. Luckily for us, Bally's had a free shuttle that ran to Rio, the casino/hotel in which McFadden's was located. After an eternal wait, in which Adam and both fell into the red zone of hunger (this is the zone in which we should not look at or talk to each other until hunger is satisfied) the shuttle finally arrived and we were on our way. We walked inside Rio to find lots of slot machines, poker tables, blackjack dealers, chain smokers, little old ladies, and no restaurant. We walked upstairs. We walked downstairs. We walked towards the back, we walked towards the front. Nothing. The red zone of hunger is rearing its ugly head. Just when we are about to give up and cross lanes of traffic and parking garages to get to the T.G.I Friday's we saw on the way in, we spy it. Apparently it's closed. Curses upon the Irish. But wait! It's not closed, there are just no customers inside. Bad, bad sign. We go in anyway, as we needed food right that instant.
I will spare you the tense dinner and most of the gory details. Suffice to say, our food was only one notch above "we just found this in the garbage can and served it to you" variety. The picture does not do it justice. We started with the quesadilla which was an enormous glob of somewhat melted cheese ensconced between decrepit flour tortillas. Hoping for better luck at dinner, Adam ordered shepherds pie (a McFadden's specialty) and I had the chicken ceasar wrap with fries that were veritably scrubbed in garlic and oil. Disgusting and Disgusting"er."
And, to add insult to injury, we somehow STILL ended up paying over $25 for dinner! Which means that $50 was spent on half-heartedly melted cheese, tasteless shepherds pie, and slimy chicken in a wrap. We got out of there in a hurry and attempted to erase all McFadden memories by heading back to the Strip and drowning ourselves in one of those giant fruity beverages that come up to my waist. It very nearly did the trick, along with the soothing calmness of the light and music show of the Bellagio fountains. One of the best moments of the trip, in general, and one of the best moments with Adam! I only wish I had captured it on video, but I was too enthralled by it to remember that my camera actually had video function.
On an end note: I did contact the good folks at Restaurant.com and explained that I had made a bit of a mistake by ordering so many certificates. They were kind enough to offer to exchange them for another restaurant, so all is not lost. Kudos to them for being willing to look over my haste. Perhaps better luck next time. But I do know....that next time will not involve McFadden's at Rio in Vegas. Steer clear!
Since the first night found us exhausted in bed at 9 p.m and sound asleep by 9:01 p.m, (after a romantic $ menu dinner at McDonald's), our only option left was to dine there our second night. Luckily for us, Bally's had a free shuttle that ran to Rio, the casino/hotel in which McFadden's was located. After an eternal wait, in which Adam and both fell into the red zone of hunger (this is the zone in which we should not look at or talk to each other until hunger is satisfied) the shuttle finally arrived and we were on our way. We walked inside Rio to find lots of slot machines, poker tables, blackjack dealers, chain smokers, little old ladies, and no restaurant. We walked upstairs. We walked downstairs. We walked towards the back, we walked towards the front. Nothing. The red zone of hunger is rearing its ugly head. Just when we are about to give up and cross lanes of traffic and parking garages to get to the T.G.I Friday's we saw on the way in, we spy it. Apparently it's closed. Curses upon the Irish. But wait! It's not closed, there are just no customers inside. Bad, bad sign. We go in anyway, as we needed food right that instant.
| Umm. Gross. |
On an end note: I did contact the good folks at Restaurant.com and explained that I had made a bit of a mistake by ordering so many certificates. They were kind enough to offer to exchange them for another restaurant, so all is not lost. Kudos to them for being willing to look over my haste. Perhaps better luck next time. But I do know....that next time will not involve McFadden's at Rio in Vegas. Steer clear!
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| In front of the Bellagio with Adam and his purse |
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Little Bullet, Big Problem
Never ever in my travels, EVER, have I ever encountered a TSA airport screening like the one in Las Vegas last week. And since it involved live ammunition, I hope never to do so again.
We were on the blasted 1 AM flight back to the East Coast. Note to self: never again. We arrived home feeling like death warmed over and then reheated again. I digress. Before we actually arrived home, we of course had to go through all the proper screenings at various airports and whatnot. In Vegas, we pick a line and begin to trudge through it. Our carry-on suitcases come through just fine, and we peer expectantly down the line for our backpacks. Nothing. In fact, nothing much at all is happening in our line, and there is a bunch of people just standing around. The screeners are very intently looking at their screen, the passengers waiting to go through the machine are intently looking at the screeners, and we are very intently looking for our luggage. At last, one of them arrives with Adam's bag in tow, and politely asks "Is this yours?" Indeed it is. He informs us that it will be over yonder and that we need to be there as well. Wonderful.
We put ourselves back together and head over to the nice TSA man who looks ready to do business. Opening the bag, he roots around a little and pulls out.........a rock. Adam had grabbed a rock from the Canyon. Whew, ok! Let's move on now.
Not so fast. The nice TSA man roots around a little more and pulls out the grand prize-None other than an unspent 9mm bullet. Ummm.....what does one say in such a situation? TSA man looks down the end of his nose at us and sternly, but still politely, wonders aloud, "And is there a reason you are carrying a live bullet with you tonight?" Well, no actually, there is no reason at all that will suffice in this situation. And since we know we are not terrorists or have any motives other than just getting home, we both just start grinning. The situation is just so ludicrous, we couldn't help ourselves. Nice TSA man does not think anything is remotely funny and marches away with the bullet and the bag, telling us to have a seat. Good thing we are way early for this flight-mystery bullets usually mean a nice little delay.
We sit down and of course my first question to my newly betrothed is "oh dearest one, why do you have a bullet in your bag"? Simple explanation really. He has a few guns, he is a hunter, we just moved, he shoved a bunch of stuff in a bookbag (side note about my husband's packing/moving style-it's really quite heinous and involves lots of large black lawn and leaf bags) and somehow this little bullet never made it out-which says alot for TSA at Reagan airport in DC where the mystery bullet went undetected. Anyway, we sit there a bit and ponder our future. I do this rather dramatically as I consider a life on the no-fly list, a stint behind bars, or at the very minimum, a late arrival home. Adam doesn't seem to be concerned in the least.
As it turns out, apparently bullets are a not-so-rare occurrence. The lady that resolved our issue told us so matter-of-factly, and that there had been another one just night before. She also indicated very strongly that we should leave the bullet with her and we were happy to oblige. Taking his phone number, she told us that TSA may come calling.
So that is the story of the bullet. One for our children, one for this blog, and one that prior to a honeymoon with my husband, I never thought I would tell. Anybody care to share any similar airport security moments?
We were on the blasted 1 AM flight back to the East Coast. Note to self: never again. We arrived home feeling like death warmed over and then reheated again. I digress. Before we actually arrived home, we of course had to go through all the proper screenings at various airports and whatnot. In Vegas, we pick a line and begin to trudge through it. Our carry-on suitcases come through just fine, and we peer expectantly down the line for our backpacks. Nothing. In fact, nothing much at all is happening in our line, and there is a bunch of people just standing around. The screeners are very intently looking at their screen, the passengers waiting to go through the machine are intently looking at the screeners, and we are very intently looking for our luggage. At last, one of them arrives with Adam's bag in tow, and politely asks "Is this yours?" Indeed it is. He informs us that it will be over yonder and that we need to be there as well. Wonderful.
We put ourselves back together and head over to the nice TSA man who looks ready to do business. Opening the bag, he roots around a little and pulls out.........a rock. Adam had grabbed a rock from the Canyon. Whew, ok! Let's move on now.
Not so fast. The nice TSA man roots around a little more and pulls out the grand prize-None other than an unspent 9mm bullet. Ummm.....what does one say in such a situation? TSA man looks down the end of his nose at us and sternly, but still politely, wonders aloud, "And is there a reason you are carrying a live bullet with you tonight?" Well, no actually, there is no reason at all that will suffice in this situation. And since we know we are not terrorists or have any motives other than just getting home, we both just start grinning. The situation is just so ludicrous, we couldn't help ourselves. Nice TSA man does not think anything is remotely funny and marches away with the bullet and the bag, telling us to have a seat. Good thing we are way early for this flight-mystery bullets usually mean a nice little delay.
We sit down and of course my first question to my newly betrothed is "oh dearest one, why do you have a bullet in your bag"? Simple explanation really. He has a few guns, he is a hunter, we just moved, he shoved a bunch of stuff in a bookbag (side note about my husband's packing/moving style-it's really quite heinous and involves lots of large black lawn and leaf bags) and somehow this little bullet never made it out-which says alot for TSA at Reagan airport in DC where the mystery bullet went undetected. Anyway, we sit there a bit and ponder our future. I do this rather dramatically as I consider a life on the no-fly list, a stint behind bars, or at the very minimum, a late arrival home. Adam doesn't seem to be concerned in the least.
As it turns out, apparently bullets are a not-so-rare occurrence. The lady that resolved our issue told us so matter-of-factly, and that there had been another one just night before. She also indicated very strongly that we should leave the bullet with her and we were happy to oblige. Taking his phone number, she told us that TSA may come calling.
So that is the story of the bullet. One for our children, one for this blog, and one that prior to a honeymoon with my husband, I never thought I would tell. Anybody care to share any similar airport security moments?
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