Archive for the 'Travel Difficulties' Category

And 4 Traits that Make Us Not So Good Travelers

Theresa April 17th, 2008

Because I am incredibly self-aware and always completely unbiased, I thought I’d follow up last Sunday’s post on the traits that make us good travelers with the other side of the coin. I already laid out some of my travel issues in an earlier post about why I wouldn’t be a good contestant on the Amazing Race, but here are four traits that both Jeff and I share.

1. We Like to Change Our Underwear Daily.
Jeff doesn’t always like to change his clothes every day, and I’ve been known to re-wear a thing or two, especially if I’m not going out in public or am unlikely to be seen by the same people who saw me wearing said outfit the first time, but we both agree that changing underwear daily is a good–and essential–thing. We own those Ex-Officio Underwear with the slogan “17 countries, six weeks, one pair of underwear,” and we’ve seen the many packing lists that claim there is no reason to take more than 4 pair of underwear. The reasoning being that if you take the right underwear (such as the Ex-Officio ones) you can easily wash them in the sink, dry them overnight, and put them right back on the next day. Sure, sounds good. But what about when you’re on that 7-day trekking trip, or you’re on an overnight bus? Yeah, you’re wearing dirty underwear. So though it’s good to know our underwear are up for the challenge of everyday wear, for our round the world trip we’re still packing 7 pairs each. We’re such over-packers.

2. We believe in the concept of the line.
Orderliness is good. Lining up…to buy tickets, to gain admission, to place an order…is a good idea. It imparts order to the process, keeps people from getting hurt, and promotes fairness. And though I think most Americans would agree with me, we are still a small minority. Other countries seem to like mobs and stampedes. Or if, by the grace of God, there is a line, people from these other countries see no need to stand in it. This is even true in Germany, which is, to many, the epitome of orderliness. Just go to Mass once there and see what happens. When it’s communion time, there’s no pew by pew procession to the front. No, sirree. Instead, it’s a mad dash, everybody at once, elbows flailing, as if the priest is going to run out of wafers. In a post about Latin America, fellow travelers at WanderingWhy confirm that this is also true in the countries south of the border.

3. We aren’t good at bargaining.
The bulk of the world expects you to haggle–over prices in the market, taxi cab fares, hotel rates…pretty much everything. Having grown up in a world where you pay the marked price period, we’re not used to that. Being averse to all forms of confrontation, bargaining is a true nightmare for me. And though Jeff is a bit better at it than I am, neither of us is particularly comfortable with it. Adding to the discomfort is the fact that almost everywhere we will be traveling, we’re far better off than the people who live here, and often what we’re haggling over is no more than a couple of bucks. It just seems wrong. But at the same time, it’s not good for us to hand over whatever amount is asked. We’ll feel like we got a raw deal, and we’ll also be negatively affecting the overall economy of that place. Though the seller will be a bit better off, every time he makes that first price, he’ll feel more and more justified in raising the cost until the market price is more than the citizens of that place can afford. Economics is weird.

4. We quickly get tired of eating out.
There are people who eat out every day. There are even people who eat out every meal every day. Others eat out a couple of times a week, once a week, once a fortnight, etc. We probably eat out about once a month. The rest of the time we cook. With eating out only about once a month, I look forward to it. I pick some type of food that we don’t prepare at home (usually sushi…mmm), and I enjoy the whole pomp and circumstance of eating out. But make me do that a few times in a row, and I’ll be annoyed. I get sick of the whole process…the looking through a menu, the waiting for your food, the dealing with the wait staff. I just want to cook what I want, put as much on my plate as I want, sit with my legs crossed under me if I want, talk about anything I want without fear of people overhearing me, get up from the table when I want, etc. After a week of vacation in which most meals are eaten out, all I want is my pantry, my dishes, my kitchen, my table. And while we do plan to cook when we can, it won’t be as frequent as I’d like I’m sure. It also won’t be the same. We won’t a stocked pantry to choose from–herbs and spices, jars of random things like fish sauce and curry paste, a selection of cheeses. We’ll only be able to buy what we plan to use immediately, and we’ll also have to work within the confines of the diet in the place we’re at…which will probably mean many things that we’re not familiar with nor have no idea how to cook. Hopefully we’ll learn. Otherwise, there’s always street food and picnics.

What’s That You Say

Theresa February 26th, 2008

Flagging down a cab in Athens is hard work. Driver’s merely slow down as they approach you, lowering their windows to hear what destination you’re yelling out. If they feel like going there, they may stop and let you in. Otherwise they just keep on rolling. So on one of the first days I’d ventured down into the city by myself after I moved to Athens, I was loathe to get out of the cab I was in even though the driver couldn’t understand me and I couldn’t understand him.

He knew the neighborhood I wanted to go to, but he didn’t know exactly where Athens College was, so he needed me to direct him. He didn’t understand English, and my Greek was still so minimal it didn’t exceed far beyond “thank you” and “Do you speak English”. Signaling wasn’t getting us far, and you could feel the frustration building up in the cab. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, the cab driver asked “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”

Suddenly everything was fine. We both spoke German. I quickly gave him directions, which he easily understood, and then we set to talking about how both of us had come to know German. He reminisced about the years he’d spent there, regaling me with stories all the way to my house. It was a moment of serendipity.

On our upcoming trip, Jeff and I are going to land in many places where our language skills won’t extend far beyond the phrases back in our guidebook. We’ll do our best to learn those, so that while we won’t be able to carry on a conversation in the language of our host nation, we will be able to approach its citizens with at least a greeting in their native tongue. We are fortunate that our mother language is perhaps the one most useful around the world, but we have to realize that there will still be many places where people do not speak it, nor should we expect them to. But if we’re willing to risk bad pronunciation and terrible accents in attempts to speak the language of the country we’re in, we believe that people will be more open to helping us, more willing to find us someone who does speak our language, more likely to try their nonnative-English out on us. This will probably be the best we can do in Southeast Asia and Africa, where we’ll encounter multiple languages in relatively short periods of times.

But since we will be spending five months in the Spanish-speaking countries of Central and South America (Portuguese-speaking Brazil the lone exception), just the basics isn’t going to cut it. Thus Jeff and I have made the first specific itinerary decision. We’re going to spend the first couple of weeks our trip learning Spanish at an intensive language school in Nicaragua. Jeff, who has a solid knowledge already, will take advanced level classes, while I, my Spanish limited to the few podcasts I’ve been able to get through, will work at a more elementary level.

Why Nicaragua, you ask? Well, Nicaragua has been a hopeful destination on our itinerary for some time. Jeff was able to spend some time there in high school and is eager to return and show me around. Additionally, Nicaragua is very inexpensive, and there are many respected schools in the country. Offered on a weekly basis, the classes are usually 4 hours per day with group size limited to 1-4 people. It’s a total immersion experience with the classes conducted entirely in Spanish. For accommodations, schools offer home stays, which Jeff and I are eager to take advantage of. Not only will a home stay give us an opportunity to practice our Spanish in everyday situations, a home stay will also give us insight into the daily life of Nicaraguans.

While we haven’t yet picked a school, we’re leaning toward Granada as our base. Granada is supposed to be a lovely city, so we’ll have things to do in our off-class hours. It’s also conveniently located near other places we want to visit. We’re also considering doing one week of language classes in one place and one in another, but that’s just an idea we’re tossing around at this point. Here are links to two schools in Granada that have gotten good reviews from other travelers and seem to offer what we’re looking for: One on One Tutoring and Casa Xalteva.

Hopefully after a bit of study at one of these schools, I’ll have the basics down and be better tuned to pick up more of the language as we travel. It’ll certainly be nice to be able to have conversations that are a little more interesting than “Hello. Where is the toilet? Thank you.” Though I can’t say for certain that there’s any more useful conversation than that.

Is a minimalist technophile an oxymoron?

Jeff February 22nd, 2008

Those of you who know me know that I am a bit of a gadget and gear junkie. For those of you who don’t know me: I’m a bit of a gadget and gear junkie. To be fair, I don’t have an iPhone, so I guess I can’t be that much of a technophile. But we do have lots of video game systems, an HDTV, DVR and a storage space full of bikes and camping equipment, skis and snowboards, golf clubs and golf shoes, and so on and so forth. I’ll readily admit, I do like having all of my own gear to go camping or skiing or golfing on a whim (and avoid rental expenses), or to host Super Bowl parties or Rock Band parties.

But probably a bigger reason why I have all of these things is that I’m a sucker for a good deal. Pretty much all of these things I’ve gotten at a steep discount to retail price. This is great when its something we’re looking for at the time we need it. It is, however, less useful when its something we don’t really need at a time we won’t really use it. I’ve been working on curtailing these kinds of purchases the past few years, since like Theresa says, everything we get will have to be packed up and stored so there’s no sense in getting things we won’t use. They’ll just take up space. But there’s one particular event that’s my greatest weakness: the REI super clearance sale.

For those who don’t live in an area with one, REI is an outdoor gear outfitter based out of the northwest, though they have stores all around the country. It’s a great store with all sorts of gear at decent prices and sales people who - gasp! - actually are knowledgeable about what they are selling. Whenever we are in Seattle we try to go to the flagship store downtown - it’s amazing. But twice a year, it gets better: they mark their regular clearance items down another 50% in their super clearance sale. Now, in the past, I’ve gone way overboard and bought multiple jackets, bags, etc. But this year we narrowed the focus to just things we would need for our trip. Yet still I sit here tonight after picking up our order with my floor covered in gear from REI. Actually having something to shop for rather than just casually looking for good deals may be even worse for my deal seeking habits. We got a set of titanium camping cookware to match the camping stove we also ordered. We bought three backpacking bags trying to find the perfect one for our trip. I bought two soft shells and a pair of pants that don’t fit. Though I think we found a winner with the thin yet warm travel blanket for $8 (to solve Theresa’s trouble shaking the “chillies”).

Anyway, the larger point I’m trying to make with this is that I’m planning on spending a full year on the road with just what I can carry on my back. If I want to get to the finish line without a permanent hunch, I’m going to need to be very selective and minimalist with what I take. This is not something I am used to, or particularly good at, doing. Sure, I’m good at taking relatively few clothes, shoes, and toiletries. We rarely have to check luggage for trips under a week. But everywhere I go I seem to take my laptop, Sony PSP, Nintendo DS, iPod, a couple of magazines, etc etc. And its exactly those things I’m going to have to eliminate or seriously pare down. Plus, the open ended nature of the trip is going to lend itself to all kinds of convincing … “I just might need that warm fleece plus the soft shell” or “Why not one extra pair of pants, they could come in handy.” So I’m going to have to be really honest and really critical of how much I will use something. But thankfully, I have Theresa, who’s very good at eliminating excess in many ways. I have a feeling I’ll lean on her a lot through the packing stage (or at least acquiesce when she berates my desire to take something frivolous). I’m gonna say it right now though, one place I will not skimp will be underwear. I’m gonna have enough of those, by god.

A Setback, Literally

Theresa January 14th, 2008

The start date for our trip has always been fluid, tied not to a date on the calendar but to an event, namely Jeff’s completion of his PhD. As anyone who has ever worked toward a PhD or anyone who has lived with a PhD seeker knows, nailing down a graduation date can be tricky. The finish line can be squarely in sight, seemingly so close, but then as you’re about to pump your arms in triumph at completing this marathon—this Ironman—you learn that you have another lap to complete before you can break through the tape. This ambiguity seems particularly true with the sciences, though I’ll be the first to admit I don’t have experience with other fields. Jeff can work all day, every day, (weekends included) and do everything “right,” but if he doesn’t get the results he wants, it doesn’t matter. Science is fickle. As I mentioned in an email I sent to many of you announcing this Website, we hoped to leave in July, neuroscience gods willing.

Well, folks, it doesn’t seem the neuroscience gods are on our side. (Who wasn’t making the proper offerings to the gods? Go ahead, fess up.) In some ways, July was always a pipe dream. For us to leave in July, everything had to go right. Everything. Even if you never took anything beyond high school chemistry, you probably could have figured out the chances of that happening were slim to none, and that’s looking at the odds in a positive light. But damn it, for once, I was being an optimist. And for a while, it looked like things would go our way. The head of Jeff’s lab here in D.C. gave the nod of approval to the June graduation plan in the pre-Christmas weeks. (Apparently he’d been drinking too much eggnog, especially considering his wife is due to deliver their first child in June, which makes me think the chances of him booking a flight to Stockholm for a June defense date were, again, slim to none.) A schedule was drawn up, dictating what paper would go where when. This was going to happen. Jeff would be working like a madman, and we’d have to cram all our planning into the wee hours, but this was going to happen. Maybe those optimists know something.

Alas, no. Jeff’s been doing everything right, but the universe is not on our side, or to be more specific, Sweden isn’t on our side. Apparently Sweden is going to extract a toll in exchange for those cheap visa fees. Jeff’s mentor in Sweden isn’t on board with the June graduation plan, and if he’s not on board, there’s really very little that can be done, considering he may just be the only person on the planet who has any true idea of what the Karolinska graduation requirements are, since they seem to change with the wind. One requirement I have been made aware of, however, and which you may find interesting, is that Jeff must apparently publicly declare his intent to defend some months before the actual event by literally tacking his thesis to some board. Very Martin Luther, me thinks. I suggested that he just email the thesis to someone else and tell them to print and tack up the dang thing, but he says that’s not allowed. Seriously? What kind of weird system is this? He’s supposed to fly over to Sweden in order to tack some paper to a board? While we all wish his thesis might be as earthshattering as Luther’s theses, I just don’t think it’s going to be (no offense, Jeff). Email seems a plenty viable option to me.

He also must recruit an opponent, someone well-established in the field, but someone with whom he has never worked, to show up at his defense and challenge him (this in addition to his committee). Perhaps that also happens in the U.S., but I’ve never heard of it. What is this, a boxing match? And don’t even get me started on the general bureaucracy, which seems to require that once he actually finish his research and thesis, he then spend months wading through paperwork. Even if every single experiment goes right, every paper gets accepted, I still don’t think he could manage to graduate in June.

So if no June graduation, what about July, August? Oh no, folks, this is Sweden, land of endless vacations. If not early June, then September. Those are the options, the only options. And so that’s that. It seems, unless you all—and I do mean you all–start reciting novenas, that happy day of defending will not happen until September, which means that we will probably embark on our trip in October.

It’s not by any means the end of the world, but I must admit that I’m a bit disappointed. Though I knew the timing was fluid, I had really started to think of July as departure time and to build my plans around it. I was already counting down to my quit date at work. Guess I’ll have to refigure that. As for the trip, one major thing will change, and that’s the route we’ll take. Instead of the Southeast Asia to Africa to South America journey we had been envisioning, we’ll now be going Central/South America (approximately October to February) to Southeast Asia (March to May) to Nepal/India (June) to Africa (July to September).*

And while I’m disappointed, aren’t you excited? This gives you three more months to spend with me before I hit the road. Lucky you.

*All dates are approximate. One day we’ll nail down an actual itinerary, and when we do we’ll post it right here.

Practice Run

Theresa December 28th, 2007

Wednesday night Jeff and I returned from our Christmas trip to Louisville. And while we hadn’t planned on it, we ended up having a bit of a practice run (and I do mean that literally) for our upcoming RTW trip.

As anyone who has traveled before knows, things don’t always go according to plan. You can research all you want, make only the wisest and most well-thought decisions, and yet, something can still go wrong. Planes are late. Traffic jams occur. Strikes happen. You fall ill. Your luggage gets lost. Your dream destination actually turns out to be a nightmare.

One of the biggest lessons the road teaches you is that you can’t control everything. Life happens. And sometimes life is messy. Patience is required. A sense of humor is mandatory. “Being Zen” is something I’m working on–learning to let go, to accept things as they are, to not get my panties all in a wad over things I can’t control. (Does anyone else hate the word panties like I do? If that wasn’t a common phrase, I would have opted for the much more dignified term underwear.)

So anyhow, back to Wednesday night. In order to make the most of our holiday, we’d booked an evening flight back home.–8:20 p.m. to be exact. It was a direct flight on Southwest to BWI. Once at BWI, we would use public transportation to get back home. Now public transportation isn’t necessarily the most efficient way of getting around but we opted for it because A) it’s free for us thanks to the commuter benefits we each get through work, and B) it’s better for the environment. Also, public transportation will be our primary means of travel on our trip so we might as well get used to it. With our flight scheduled to arrive at 9:45 and with all our luggage carried on, we shouldn’t have had any trouble making the 10:20 bus. This bus would take us to the Greenbelt Metro station, from where we would take the Green Line to Gallery Place, at which point we’d switch to the Red Line and ride it to our stop, arriving at home right around midnight. If we missed this bus, well, um, uh… But wait, who cares, we weren’t going to miss this bus. We had plenty of time. Heck, maybe we’d get lucky and the plane would be early and we’d make the 9:40 bus. We had a great plan.

Well, we all know about those best laid plans of mice and men. Yeah, that’s right, they often go awry. It started off with a 10 minute delay. No big deal. But the 10 minute delay stretched and stretched and stretched until it was about a 30 minute delay. Our plane was late arriving because of other delayed connections in Chicago, and then we had to load and get the luggage onboard and all that jazz. Now, I’m all for airlines holding a plane for a few minutes for passengers delayed by another flight–we all know how much it sucks to miss a connection–but I can’t say it didn’t make me a bit frustrated. Just like that the 35 minutes we had between our plane landing and our bus leaving was down to single digits.

But what could I do? We grabbed seats in row six, the closest to the front we could get, and just hoped for the best. No amount of arm flapping would make the plane go any faster. When we landed, luck seemed to be at least a little bit on our sides. We had 15 minutes. And it looked like we were headed straight for gate A1, which would have popped us out right by the airport exit. But at the last minute, we turned, and started rolling further and further away from the exit, all the way to the gate at the very end of the terminal. To top it off, another plane was blocking the way, so we had to sit idle for another couple of minutes before we could get to that far, far away gate. The anxiety level was high, I admit, and I had to physically stop myself from checking Jeff’s watch every few seconds.

As soon as the plane was at the gate, we hopped up and prepared to get our butts and our bags off the plane, down the terminal, and onto the bus. But, oh no, not so fast. The people in the front row decide to take their sweet, sweet time getting off the plane. Which is all fine and dandy unless you’re blocking the entire freaking aisle so no one can disembark. Courtesy, people, courtesy. If you’re not ready to go, keep your butt snug in its seat until everyone else is off. Then you can mosey your way off the plane at your own chosen speed.

Eventually, of course, we did make it off the plane and started running like madmen through the airport, swerving around slowpokes and those families who are apparently only able to walk in a horizontal line that spreads across the entire terminal. My heart was racing wildly and I was breathing like I’d just climbed Mt. Everest, but I felt like I was running through water. I wasn’t going anywhere fast. Let me tell you, even if your luggage is on wheels, hauling an extra 30+ pounds plus a shoulder bag is not easy. At this point, it’s save yourself, so I yell to Jeff to go on without me. Naturally, he’s a bit faster, and I’m hoping that if he can get to the bus, he can get the driver to wait the extra minute or two it will take me to get there.

Soon I’ve lost sight of him, as I run, run, run what seems like miles and then pop out into the cold and dash madly in front of the incoming traffic. Thankfully no one runs over me. I spot Jeff. And then I spot the B30. It’s barreling right past him. Shit.

But, wait, the bus makes two stops here at the airport. We have one more chance. We just have to make it all the way to the other side of arrivals faster than the bus can get there and load however many passengers are waiting. No problem, right?

And so once again, we’re off. This time we don’t even bother making our way over to the the sidewalk, but dash along right on the edge of the road. It’s a long curve, and I keep expecting to see the bus stop up ahead, but it’s always just a bit further. Finally, I spot it, and it’s there. The bus is there. Still loading. Again, I tell Jeff to go on ahead, and he takes off, running as if his life depended on it. As he nears the end of the bus, the doors shut. The bus is ready to depart again, without us. But before it can pull away, Jeff charges to the doors and bangs on them until the driver re-opens them. I, about 20 yards behind, hustle up while he stalls on the stairs. As the bus lurches away into the night, I pay my fare.

Today I’m still trying to catch my breath.

But we made it.

On our RTW trip, I know they’ll be times when we aren’t as lucky. At some point, we’ll run as hard as we can only to be left panting, hands on our knees, staring at the tail lights disappearing down the road. I can only hope that this won’t happen too often and that when it does, we’re Zen enough not to let it ruin our trip for long and savvy enough to figure out what to do next. Even if that’s just sitting and waiting for the next bus to roll up.