A Traveler’s Nightmare

Tags

dreams, photography, travel

Okay, so the dream.

The last time I had it was in February, shortly after my return from Barcelona. At the time I did not remember having dreamt it at least twice before, so I was surprised when I came across it – twice – in a journal from 2009.

The details of the dream vary slightly – sometimes I am alone, and sometimes I am with friends. My location and my intended destination are always different. The last time I had this dream, I was about to embark on a cycling trip across France with Habib, Genevieve, and You Think of Something (which is weird, because none of us are into cycling.) But the central theme is always the same: I am about to board a plane for a trip to a foreign country when I realize that I have forgotten the charger for my digital camera. This realization sends me into a tailspin as I contemplate all of the missed photo opportunities that will follow the inevitable death of my battery.

Yes, I know. #firstworldproblems. But it never fails to distress me.

I always consider a frantic trip home to locate the missing cord but decide not to risk missing my flight. Next I contemplate buying a new camera charger in whatever country I am about to visit. Realizing that I am unlikely to find a matching charger (I wouldn’t even know where to purchase one in America), I weigh the merits of buying a new camera when I land. My head spins with thoughts of exchange rates, electrical adaptors, and instruction manuals in foreign languages. Finally, I contemplate the most upsetting option of all: rationing my camera use in a sad attempt to stretch my remaining battery life over the length of my trip. I really hate this idea.

One of the reasons I so frequently travel alone is that my fascination with photography (and writing) makes me a less-than-ideal travel companion. I do what I can to keep it in check when traveling with friends, but I have been known to spend an afternoon lying on my stomach in the middle of a WWII mine crater in Normandy, photographing thistles. I enjoy the the way in which the camera encourages me to pause, refocus, and reflect on each moment – a luxury I simply do not get to enjoy in my daily routine.

Though I may regard my photography hobby as both an artistic pursuit and an exercise in mindfulness, I would be lying if I did not acknowledge the other reason that this dream upsets me so much: I fear that if I don’t fully document my travel experience, it doesn’t count. As the popular meme clearly states: pics or it didn’t happen. If a tree falls somewhere in Europe and I don’t post it on Facebook, did it ever really fall in the first place?

I know this is ridiculous, because when I reflect on the most memorable moments of all my travels, they are invariably the ones that happened when I put the camera down. But still … if this dream were ever to come true as I crossed a security checkpoint at Boston Logan Airport, I’m not really sure how I would react.

A Surprise From My Mom

Tags

mother, travel

A package arrived at my door the other day. I found it in the front entryway near the end of a particularly exhausting week. I immediately recognized my mother’s handwriting – the address written in all capital letters with a black Sharpie. I couldn’t imagine what she had sent me – my birthday and Christmas are months away. I was caught off guard by the wave of emotion generated by this surprise. All of the anxiety that I’ve been suppressing from an unstable work environment and a broken friendship bubbled up to the surface at the unexpected sight of my mother’s handwriting.

I climbed the stairs to my apartment, feeling the weight of the package in my hands. I was certainly curious about what was inside, but mostly I was moved to know that she had been thinking about me. Somehow she knew to reach out to me from across the state during a week when I needed, more than I had even realized, to feel nurtured.

I am blessed to have a strong network of friends – friends who always good for a laugh, friends who take care of me after surgery, friends who encourage me to follow my heart, and friends who remind me of what’s important in my life. They are amazing. But there is something about a mother’s love that no friendship can rival.

The package was a treasure trove of Rick Steves travel guides – books about Europe, magazines, and his entire TV series on DVD. On the top was a note from my mother saying that there was no point in waiting for Christmas.

This is the kind of mother I have – she recognizes and celebrates my passions, even when they take me far from home.

Useful French Phrases

Tags

France, French, language, Let's Go, Paris, travel

Readers, I realize that what I’m about to share with you hardly counts as creative writing. In fact, I’m not even going to try to pass it off as writing. What follows is in no way my own creation. But I couldn’t bear to pass up the opportunity to share this with you.

With my upcoming travel plans, I spend a lot of time performing internet searches on various European cities. That is how I stumbled upon the Let’s Go site, which contains a wealth of valuable information about popular tourist destinations, from where to sleep to what to wear.

I noticed that they have mobile apps for a few of the most popular destinations, including Paris. While I am reasonably well acquainted with the city, I’ve booked four weeks there this summer under the assumption that there is always more to learn. So I downloaded the Let’s Go Paris mobile app from the iTunes store to see what it had to teach me.

In addition to a listing of accommodations, restaurants, and museums, it contained a small phrasebook. What follows is the collection of French phrases that Let’s Go has deemed most useful for visitors. The list is unedited and presented in order. I considered including a running commentary regarding the utility of each phrase, but I decided against it. I think you will agree that there is so much to say, and yet sometimes no commentary is best.

Hello!/Hi!                                                      Goodbye!

Yes.                                                              No.

Sorry!

Emergency

Go away!                                                     Call the police!

Get a doctor!                                                Police station

Hospital                                                       Liquor store

Food

Waiter/waitress                                           I’d like …

Thank you!                                                 Check please!

Where is …

Other Useful Phrases

I am from the US                                        I have a visa/ID

I will be here for less than six months.         You are the woman of my dreams.

Your hostel, or mine?                                  I would like a round-trip ticket.

Can I see a double room?                            Where is the bathroom?

What time is the next train?                         What’s the problem, sir?

I lost my passport/luggage                           Perhaps I can help you with that?

Do you have protection?                              Where is the train station?

How much does this cost?                            Is there a bar near here?

Do you have this bathing suit in another size?

Please don’t arrest me!                                I’m in a committed relationship.

It was like this when I got here.                   I feel sick.

Actually, I’m from Canada.                          You talkin’ to me?

I don’t speak much French.                          Leave me alone!

I don’t understand.                                      I don’t vote for him, I swear.

Worth Keeping

Tags

change, choices, fashion, travel

How do you decide when something no longer suits you?

I’m talking about clothes, of course.

There is a gauzy tunic hanging in the back of my closet. The fabric is a swirled pattern of bright pink, orange, and white, and it is studded with gold beads. I have never worn it. I bought it years ago upon returning from a summer yoga retreat at which my monochromatic black ensemble was in stark contrast to the turquoise, orange, purple, and magenta of the women around me. I was intrigued by their loud laughter, their funky jewelry, and their bright, look-at-me clothing that clearly did not come from the clearance rack at the Gap.

Driven consciously by a desire to invite a little more color into my life, and unconsciously by the presence of a shopping partner (good for entertainment, bad for a budget), I bought the tunic. I envisioned it as a perfect poolside cover-up, forgetting that in adulthood my trips to the pool could be counted on one hand.

The summer slipped away, and the tunic still had tags on the sleeve. I took it out several times and contemplated pairing it with cropped leggings and some oversized sunglasses, but it looked so flashy compared to my uniform of boot cut jeans and solid tops. Many times since then I have cleaned the extraneous items out of my closet and eyed the tunic, wondering why I ever bought it. But I’ve never been able to throw it out. Hanging on a plastic hanger in its dark corner, it whispers to me of tropical vacations, caipirinhas, and big earrings.

There are no tropical vacations in my immediate future, but there will be a six week exploration of the bonne vivante life in Europe. And since the southernmost tip of Spain is only a short ferry ride away from Morocco, I’m awfully tempted to include it in my itinerary. Should I book the excursion, it will be my first time setting foot on the African continent and my first visit to a Muslim country. So far my understanding of Morocco in August is that (a) it’s really freaking hot, and (b) women dress conservatively. My itty bitty tank tops and black dresses (so versatile for travel, so hot in the sun) are not going to cut it. But a lightweight, gold-studded tunic that covers my shoulders? That might fit the bill.

So I am hanging on to the tunic, for a few more months anyway. I’m glad I didn’t toss it when it looked out of place. It’s not always an easy decision, though. Styles change, fabric wears out, and my weight fluctuates. Sometimes even an old standby starts to feel a little restrictive around the hips, and I am faced with the dilemma: do I hang onto this in the hopes that it comes to some kind of truce with my body, or do I accept that it is time for a new favorite outfit?

Fashion is complicated.

Still Searching

Tags

blog, breakups, Buck, dog, search, travel, writing

Today someone stumbled upon my blog when they did a google search on “how to be creative with small talk.” What they found, no doubt, was my post from several weeks ago about how small talk makes me feel incredibly uncomfortable.

Sorry, reader. I don’t think you got any creative tips from me. But at least now you know you’re not the only person who has no clue what to say in response to “what’s new with you?”

Search terms are funny. Every day a few of them get logged in my blog stats – WordPress tells me what terms people have searched in order to end up on my blog.  Many of them make sense – it comes as no surprise when people search “amandaroederwrites” or “creative exfoliation.” Certain topics of mine have also generated lots of search engine activity – there have been twenty two search terms involving the name “beth delforge,” and there were also a number of “james macrostie power and class” hits a few weeks ago. “creative peanut butter brownies” has also brought quite a bit of traffic to my blog. (You’re welcome.)

But sometimes a search term surprises me because I know that my blog is not what the reader was seeking. Consider, for example, the person who was looking for tour dates for the “talk to animals band” but landed on this blog post about my dog’s efforts to learn Spanish.

I’d really like to know what was going through the head of the person who searched “cost benefits analysis in a relationship.” I imagine they had already made up their mind that the relationship was over and were searching the internet for supporting evidence that a breakup was a good idea. I wonder if they were disappointed to find that my blog post was about a dog.

To the person who searched “creative breakups” – what, you wanted to make sure your soon-to-be-ex would never forget the unusual and innovative way that you dumped them? What exactly were you hoping to find? A good “it’s not you” joke? A song and dance routine? Perhaps this is what you were looking for.

“timothy reynolds inheritance scam email” resulted in three hits on my blog. It’s nice to know that some people recognize a scam when they see one. Ahem.

No fewer than six people found my blog by searching “elvia assurance bagnolet,” and I imagine that they probably searched this term for the same reason that I did last winter: I wanted to know who was behind the mysterious charge on my credit card statement. I discovered, thanks to the magic of the internet, that I had inadvertently purchased travel insurance from Elvia Assurance, a French company that offers cancellation protection to customers of the SNCF railway. That is, unless said customers have a mailing address in the United States, which is not an option in the dropdown menu of their contact form. In that case, elles sont vissées. I hope my six readers had better luck than Eileen and me.

(On a related note, two people found this blog by searching the term “americaine stupide.” Yup. Hey there. That’s me.)

Four people found me when they searched “facebook secrets.” I don’t really know why, for I am not exactly BFFs with Mark Zuckerberg. The dude hardly tells me anything.

To a few others who were led astray and ended up here: thanks for stopping by. I may be able to help you:

“food exfoliation” – I recommend oatmeal, coffee grounds, or brown sugar.

“linguistic cartoons” – here’s one.

“email address for aer lingus” – ccu@aerlingus.com, but don’t hold your breath waiting for a response.

And after much puzzling, there still remain a few search terms that I simply can’t figure out. Either they make no sense or I just don’t understand why they led to my blog.

“la scala middleman dog”

“what’s this you slip she gnp”

“willie nelson and friends live and kicking”

“trojans’s effort is half baked”

Thoughts?

Today’s Shopping List

Tags

Airbnb, France, grandfather, Paris, travel

I went shopping today. Shopping is generally not my thing. I strive to resist the siren song of consumerism. But sometimes even the most disciplined avoidant shopper needs to break out the credit card, because necessities do arise. For instance, today I purchased the following:

• 3 woven cotton handkerchiefs in varying shades of blue, because my grandfather is turning 88 tomorrow and has expressed the need for handkerchiefs.
• 1 bottle of moisturizer with SPF 15, because it is getting sunnier and I’m not getting any less white.
• 1 bottle of tea tree oil, which is useful as a mouthwash, scalp cleanser, and antiseptic.
• 1 flight with the famously spartan Ryanair, because they offer the best price on flights to Paris, and because their somewhat alarming “oxygen reservation fee” turned out to apply only to those who owe a surcharge for bringing portable oxygen tanks on board. (Actually, come to think of it, that’s also kind of awful.)
• A 4 week Airbnb lease on the spare bedroom of my new Parisian friend Javier who, I discovered after booking, is a renowned professional tango dancer and artist. (Do I really need to explain why this is a good idea?)
• 16 bars of Ivory soap, because they are cheaper in bulk and, well, I need soap.

Okay, I’ll admit it. Shopping is kind of fun sometimes.

Split Ends

Tags

hair, teaching, TESOL, travel

One of my worst habits as a student is my occasional fixation on my split ends.

My hair care routine is incredibly lax – I will confess that on some lazy mornings I don’t even bother to brush it before twisting it up into a loose chignon and securing it with a spider clip. I don’t highlight it or straighten it or deep condition it. Most days I barely remember it’s there. But there are moments – usually in a classroom setting when I am unable to focus but obligated to sit still – when my hair utterly fascinates me. I grasp a tuft of it between my fingertips, hold it a few inches from my face, and study my split ends. I examine and silently curse each one. Very rarely do I have access to scissors when this happens (and for that matter, very rarely does it happen at a time and place that hair trimming is socially acceptable behavior.) So I stare and stare and stare.

This happened during today’s TESOL class. Now, I feel obliged to point out that my class is far from boring – my teacher and classmates are lively and intelligent, and the subject is interesting to me. But on this first official day of April vacation, morphology and syntax did little to hold my attention. My mind drifted from my summer travel plans (hmmmmm, did you know that Europe and Africa are separated by a mere eight miles of water?) to my unkempt ends.

Whenever I think of trimming my hair I think of Chloe, a former student who was as beautiful as she was talented. She was willowy and graceful with wide brown eyes and long chestnut hair. From fifth grade until the spring of her senior year, her signature look changed very little until the day she came to school having cut approximately six inches off of her hair. It now fell just below her shoulders. She looked older, sophisticated, and well-groomed. We all complimented her on her stylish new hairdo, and when she told us that she had cut it herself we applauded her skill.

A few days later she showed up with a chin-length bob. Once again we complimented her look – the short length highlighted her facial features perfectly. We all asked if she had once again done the job herself, and she confirmed that she had. We were all impressed by her control and her confidence – short hair was unusual in girls her age, let alone self-styled short hair.

The following week she came to school with an edgy, tousled shag. A week after that she was sporting a closely-cropped pixie cut. Each style seemed to suit her more than the last. She couldn’t stop cutting it – she loved the way each new style made her look and feel, and she loved the fact that she had done it herself. She is in college now, and I rarely see her – but every time I do, she still has short hair.

I understand why Chloe grew addicted to the feeling of a new hairdo, for I imagine she felt about her scissors the way I feel about my passport. My first trips were to English speaking countries. Gradually I branched out to places like France, Austria, and Germany where I looked like I might fit in (at least until I opened my mouth to prove otherwise.) On subsequent trips I began to explore countries where pale blue-eyed blondes are an anomaly and found that, in fact, I quite enjoyed feeling like the odd one out. Now when I hear my classmates talk about places like Kosovo and Burkina Faso I am surprised to find myself nodding and thinking “I could do that, too.”

But there are lots of things I need to accomplish first. Like, for starters, trimming my split ends.

Restless

Tags

college, insomnia, music, restless, travel, yoga

As I stared into a black hole of insomnia at 2:00 this morning, it occurred to me that my habits of mind are both a blessing and a curse.

As a college musician I learned to refine my technique by the diligent repetition of challenging patterns. When my fingers tripped over a difficult flourish of notes I would isolate the problem spot and play it, again and again, until it sounded smooth and effortless. I would play patterns backwards and forwards. I would play them in triplets, dotted eighths, and sixteenths. I would play them slowly and then speed up the metronome one click at a time. I could sometimes spend an hour on one measure. Then I would put my flute away and emerge from the practice room, but the work continued. Over dining hall dinners and late night reading, my brain was still polishing the rough edges of the music. My fingers silently moved over absent keys. I would hear the notes in my head as I drifted off to sleep.

I came to appreciate the tremendous benefit of such mental practice – involuntary though it was, it was an important extension of the work that I did in the practice room. When I returned to my flute the next day, my improvement was measurable. Now when I talk to my students about this process I call it “percolating” – the semi-conscious process by which new information filters and seeps its way into our brains.

My ability to sustain focus on a task, to carefully and methodically work through problematic moments (and to let them simmer on the back burner,) has produced great results. It is one of the habits of mind that has contributed to my success in life. But there are times when it can be a tremendous burden. Because when I can’t identify the appropriate outlet for my mental energy, I will go around in endless circles looking for it.

As I walked out of Saturday’s TESOL class I told myself “Okay … time to relax.” I envisioned a perfect leisurely Sunday with extra sleep, extra foam on my latte, and extra time to do whatever I damn well please. All of these things happened, and yet somehow the leisure part eluded me. I was dogged by an understated but persistent sense of restlessness for the entire weekend. Something – I couldn’t tell what – was not right. And because my brain is hard-wired to polish all of the rough edges it encounters, I turned this thought over and over in my brain all weekend.

One of my favorite yoga teachers calls this state of mind “monkey brain.” The inability to quiet one’s mental chatter is detrimental to the practice of yoga, and to a peaceful life in general. My inner primate was out of control this weekend.

I tried baking and writing and walking and reading and cleaning and nothing worked. I made a to do list of all of my outstanding obligations. I studied my calendar. I checked all of my bank statements. Everything seemed to be more or less in order, but something was still not right.

Unsure of where to focus my monkey brain, I turned my attention to my upcoming summer travel. This proved to be a happy distraction for several hours. But as I lay awake with language classes, train timetables, and dress codes churning in my brain, I realized that all I had managed to do was refocus – not dispel – my restless energy.

Today I am paying the price. And I still don’t know why.

Where To?

Tags

Europe, flights, horoscope, Madrid, Spain, summer, travel, vacation

Hello, readers. It’s time for the audience participation portion of Creative Exfoliation.

What would you do if you had six weeks to kill in Europe? I’m wondering because in a few months I will be doing precisely that.

In my fantasy version of summer 2012 I while away my days drinking espresso in Parisian cafes and reading books on the grass underneath the Eiffel Tower. I rent a exorbitant apartment that is roughly the size of my kitchen back home, take French lessons, and act all literary. I make a valiant effort at sticking to a modest budget but ultimately blow all my money on nightly excursions in search of good wine and live jazz.

That may very well still happen, but I am not certain. I’ve been pondering summer travel options ever since I came home from my last trip and have been tracking flight prices to Paris on multiple web sites.

Now, lest you think I have a secret money laundering ring to finance my frequent vacations, I should probably set the record straight: this flight is going to be free. No, I still haven’t resolved my ongoing dispute with that airline that shall remain nameless for now. I’ve simply decided it’s time to cash in my miles on my credit card (the Capital One Venture card, if you’re looking for a recommendation.) Although I have accumulated enough miles to cover pretty much any flight I want, I’ve been bargain shopping with the intent of applying any leftover miles to my accommodations.

Finding the best airfare is a labor-intensive process. When I’m planning a trip I typically track flight prices on multiple booking sites. I check my desired routes daily for a month or more. I compare multiple dates to determine the least expensive days and months to travel. When my itinerary is flexible, I compare several airports – particularly when flying to Europe, where low-cost carriers offer an extensive network of connections between European cities. Sometimes the cheapest option is to fly into the least expensive European airport, then take a train or budget airline to my intended destination.

(Sometimes these plans go maddeningly awry, but this is all part of the grand adventure of travel. I am learning to take detours in stride.)

I’ve spent the last month watching airfares to Paris slowly tick upward as the summer holidays approach. The London Olympics have inflated the already steep rates to airports all across northern Europe. Paris, with its convenient “chunnel” access to the UK, is raising its prices dramatically in anticipation of the Olympic tourism sure to come.

Yesterday my horoscope told me that the moon in Gemini would allow me to get away, or to meet new faces. It also advised me to explore unusual places or places where I have never been before.

Now, it bears mentioning that this horoscope was from the same source that promised me intensely passionate romance on Monday. Well … if you’re a regular reader of my blog then you already know how that turned out. But a few hours after reading yesterday’s prediction I found a transatlantic flight that fell substantially below the average range for summer travel. It was a direct flight.

It was a no-brainer. I booked it.

So I am taking the cheapest path onto the European continent this summer, which happens to be through the Madrid Barajas airport. I need to be back in Madrid on the day of my return flight. (Actually, given my last ill-fated trip to a Spanish airport, perhaps I will make a point of being in Madrid a day or two prior to my departure.) The six weeks in between are, at this moment, entirely up in the air. So I am looking for your recommendations. Where on the European continent (and heck, let’s throw northern Africa into the mix just for giggles) would you love to return?  What restaurant have you never forgotten? Where are the best views, the friendliest locals, and the cheapest (not grossest) hostels? What would you like to read about on this blog?

Ready … go! (And thanks!)

A Bit of Restraint

Tags

customer service, karma, mindfulness, teaching, travel

I’m feeling quite prolific today.

After my last post and a stretch break I sat back down in my usual writing spot to compose a letter of complaint to Mr. Andrew Cornish, Customer Experience Executive at an airline with which I recently flew.

My regular readers will recall the train debacle that lead to a missed flight at the end of my recent vacation. Since then I have been embroiled in an ongoing dispute with a member of the airline’s Customer Care Unit.

In my letter to her superior I cited specific details of her ineffective communication. I enclosed supporting materials documenting her repeated refusal to answer or even acknowledge my questions.

The internet has made it easier than ever before for consumers to share experiences – positive and negative – with their social circles. The thought occurred to me that I might make today’s letter an open one and use this blog as a platform to promote it. Consumer reviews and word of mouth can make or break a company – why not remind them of that?

I thought better of it.

Being a teacher involves a considerable amount of “customer service.” I’ve been on the receiving end of a few scathing letters over the course of my career. I’ve also dealt with dissatisfied individuals who, rather than asking for clarification or reconsideration of an issue, launched straight into public criticism through mass emails or the good old-fashioned rumor mill.

I found the experience incredibly hurtful.

It made me think at great length about the many ways, effective and not, that one can voice a complaint. About the importance of going through the proper channels of communication. About the value of clarifying questions. And empathy.

Dealing with a faceless customer service representative from another country is not the same as dealing with a teacher from your own community. But I suppose the same principles ought to apply.

The internet is full of complaints about products and services that fail to meet expectations. These reviews are valuable tools that help consumers to make informed decisions about where to spend their money. But I sometimes wonder what’s behind the online negativity. How many of the writers took thoughtful and reasoned steps to resolve their issue?

We reap what we sow. There is more than enough toxic negativity on the internet. I don’t want to contribute to it. So I am changing my tune a little bit. I am resisting the urge to smear this company’s reputation. Perhaps if I sow a little good karma, it will come back to me.

I’m still holding out hope that the airline will offer a satisfactory resolution so that I may continue to fly with them. No harm, no foul.

Your move, Mr. Cornish.