Murphy's Law (of Travel)

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

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

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

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


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


Of course.


What seems to always happen to you when you travel?


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

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

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

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

No steady cash flow=alot of angst.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Touche.

Tale of the Timeshare

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

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

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

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

Sucker. Me, that is.

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

Sucker. Me, again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life as a Newly Minted Grown Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

An Inauspicious Beginning (Part 1)

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

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

Headed to Buyukada

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

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

Our sea chariot

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

Mr. Fishy

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

Zucchini deliciousness

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

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

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

My Love/Hate Relationship With Your Travel Blog

There. I said it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reeeealllly important call at the Great Wall. 

The Wedding Wrap-Up

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

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

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