Tag Archives: vacation

Browsing Paris

21 Sunday Oct 2012

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Seven hours. That’s all we had.

Our plane had just landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris and we had two choices: A) Sit around the airport for seven hours or B) Get into Paris somehow to see something. Anything. And get back in time to catch our flight to Venice.

We went with B.

I’m generally a planner and I follow rules. Both planning and rules seem to keep me out of trouble and keep things “safe” for me. They also, I’ve learned, spoil adventures and don’t leave much opportunity for serendipity to call on me. So this time adventure trumped “safety” because I wanted my mom to see Paris–even if it was just for a few hours. We were on our way to Venice to begin a 14-day Mediterranean cruise and it was just too tempting to not let her see one of Paris’s storied landmarks during our seven-hour layover.

I had been to Paris before on business but my mom—this was her first time. So we had a mission and our adventure was bound by a clock, which made the whole thing a little bit more exciting.

The always crazy Charles de Gaulle Airport

I love Paris, but I have to tell you, the airport just wears me out. For some reason, Charles de Gualle airport is a serpentine of stairwells and hallways you have to navigate through. And it doesn’t help that the airplane I generally arrive on doesn’t even drop me off at the actual airport building, but somewhere in the middle of the tarmac.

Down the steps of the plane onto the tarmac. (Am I the only one who thinks she’s going to fall down the plane’s stairs?) Then on to a shuttle, then through a door, up a small staircase, then down another hall, down another staircase then up another staircase, then down more hallway. Every time this happens to me I’m convinced I’m going the wrong way and will end up in the employee locker room.

Can someone tell me why this line isn’t moving?

Once we saw Customs and Immigration we were relieved to find that we were indeed in the right place, but the line wasn’t budging. No one moved. We were in line for nearly an hour (tick tock, tick tock) and we were losing time on our adventure. There was only one immigration officer’s booth open and he wasn’t moving very fast either. After the hour passed the line started moving again. (It was around lunch with very few workers at this time. Just keep this in mind if you try this on your own, kids.)

One reason to love the French: The Air France Bus into Paris

Because I did my research ahead of time I learned that once we went through immigration and checked our bags in for the Venice flight all we had to do was make our way to the Air France counter between terminals 2E and 2F and we could catch a bus into Paris. It had been two hours since we landed.

Five hours left in our adventure.

Catching the bus into Paris couldn’t have been easier and it was only €24 RT for each of us (and by the way,1/2 price for kids under 11 years). We found the Air France counter, paid our fare and hopped on the bus (which leaves every 30 minutes) for the hour-long bus ride into central Paris.

This is what I look like after a long flight from the U.S.

Hey look! It’s mom at the Arc de Triomphe in Paris!

The driver dropped us off at the Arc de Triomphe where my mom and I shot photos of each other, visited a typical Paris café and she had French Onion soup while I had quiche—so cliché but oh so French! After our lunch we wandered around the corner, admiring all the Parisian street lamps, the architecture and the bakeries—yes the bakeries! We each bought a pastry and then decided we needed to catch our bus back to the airport.

Two hours left now.

The cute Parisian cafe where we had lunch

We weren’t rushed, we weren’t worried. We were simply caught up in our little slice of Paris. It was kind of like visiting a library where you flip through the book while you sit in the comfy chairs but you’re not committed enough to check it out of the library and walk out the door with it. We were just browsing Paris.

Right when we got to the corner where our bus dropped us off our bus to take us back to the airport just arrived. We got on and took the hour-long journey back to the airport. We went through security again and found our gate just as they were calling our names to check in.

We checked in at the desk and then plopped ourselves into two chairs next to each other. And then my mom said, “That was really fun!”

Mom, let’s go back to Paris sometime and really spend some time there. Paris isn’t a seven-hour kind of place.

It’s about the journey: An afternoon visit to Oak Park, Illinois

08 Monday Oct 2012

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We could have taken a taxi. In fact, that’s how I thought we were going to get to Oak Park from downtown Chicago where I was staying on business. But we were taking a city bus and then the green line train.

Thanks to the concierge at the hotel we were at (Hyatt McCormick Center), we were able to get a day pass for all our public transportation needs for the day at the bargain basement price of five dollars and some change.

When you travel for work, taking a taxi is a no brainer. I generally have little time and besides, I have a travel budget. But when I’m traveling for pleasure and on my own dime I often have to remember that it’s on my own dime. I’m not kidding. There’s been a multitude of times I’ve had to stop and remind myself that I’m not filling out an expense report at the end of a vacation.

The other thing I forget is that the saving time means I’m missing out on a whole bevy of experiences whether it’s people I might meet, things about a town I might learn or things I might miss seeing. And this time I coerced two colleagues to join me for our adventure to Oak Park before our meetings began, and taking the bus and train meant we had time to catch up, share insights and have an adventure that didn’t involve work.

If we had taken a taxi, sure we would have seen the Agora at Grant Park at the corner of Michigan Avenue and Roosevelt Street, but we would have only whirred by it. Since we were catching the train from the bus station at this corner we were able to walk among the statues as they were intended and felt as though we were walking among the giants.

106 headless cast iron figures called Agora at Grant Park in Chicago

We also would have missed seeing the storied (oh dear, a pun) Chicago Library:

Oak Park is about a 25 minute journey on the green line (a.k.a Harlem train), making it the second-to-last stop. When we arrived at the stop Cicero, I thought “Cicero, Cicero, where do I know that from?” And then I figured it out: Why it’s in one of the songs in the Broadway musical, Chicago. Ahh, now I’m getting it. The city of Chicago is a puzzle and when I get some time I’m going to figure out what Cicero has to do with that musical story.

When we arrived at Oak Park, I found myself in a neighborhood of which I only had cursory information. I knew of Frank Lloyd Wright, but I could have studied more. I certainly knew of Ernest Hemingway, but it was only that morning that I learned that he was born in Oak Park. Yes, I felt a little dumb. Smart people have lived here. VERY smart people. I should have showed up more prepared.

We arrived too late to take the tour of Frank Lloyd Wright’s home and studio because we had to get back for a meeting that began at 5:30. Apparently tours fill up fast so if you visit be sure to get your tickets in advance or show up early. Same story for the Hemmingway tour. But the weather was beautiful–mid 60s, blue skies and the leaves were just beginning to dress in their red and gold couture. Maybe not a formal tour this time, but just walking in the colorful neighborhood was all we needed that day.

People walked around the neighborhoods with headphones, listening to a narrative tour. It would be a little strange living in this neighborhood, watching people wander around with headphones as they stared at homes with a far off stare. A little alien-like, I must admit. We chose to wander sans headphones and while our little tour was a bit of a walkabout drive by, it was a bit like eating from a sampler platter knowing that you’d be planning to go back at another time. I’d suggest spending two days in the area to take advantage of a deep immersion in both Wright and Hemingway.

In the end, I walked away with this book I bought from a very chatty woman at the little shop in the Hemingway Museum. (The sales woman was so obsessed with Hemingway and had very strong opinions on what she would and wouldn’t allow in “her” shop.)

Chatty sales woman aside, perhaps this book would help me become a better writer about my travels. Yes, it’s about the journey, but for me, it’s also about the writing.

Click on any of the photos in the gallery below and it will take you to a slideshow for better viewing.

Four rather solid excuses for not blogging

02 Tuesday Oct 2012

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I know. I have some explaining to do. And I really don’t even have a good reason for my absence of over a month.

There I was back in August, cranking out some of my best writing—and I even managed to get Freshly Pressed—and what do I do?

I drop off the face of the planet.

It was a year to the date of blogging where I posted every week (in fact, I have two blogs–this one and Accidental Birder, so that means sometimes I was posting twice weekly), and I totally up and stopped. (screeching car sound)

The husb, Steve, calls it my blogcation.

Maybe.

The “Why”

Here are four possible theories on why I didn’t blog for over a month:

Sometimes writing is scary. My last two blog posts (It’s About Travel, Saying I Love You and Death and Channeling Sting’s Fields of Gold) were, I have to say, some of my better pieces of writing and for me, was a little (how shall I say?) revealing. Writing with that kind of honesty is new to me and I learned that it’s quite difficult to do. I felt a little weird like I did in Junior High School drama class when I had to get up on stage and act. It’s emotional and you have to do it in front of people. I dropped out of drama class on day 3, by the way.

My husband lives in Canada. I betcha didn’t know that. My husband’s business, which he just started, is in oil and the oil is in Calgary, Alberta. My career right now is taking place at a Fortune 100 Company in the U.S. For now, the right thing is to hang on to my job here in the U.S. until my husband’s company gets some legs. So, yes, we have a commuting marriage and it’s a little sad that I won’t see him as often. Alas, my muse is in Canada.

(Plus, he did the dishes a lot and cleaned the house and I’m doing all that stuff now. I won’t lie. I’m not good at all that. Did Hemmingway or Faulkner have to do the dishes? I doubt it. I learned this weekend from a friend that Proust sat around in his bed for years as he wrote. How come I can’t do that?)

Distraction #1: I’ve been redecorating. I’m queen of being distracted and there’s no better distraction for me than to shop. Since it’s just me and the cat puttering around the house I decided to get new furniture. It started with needing a new couch. The fabric just gave up after 12 years and all those worn out holes made me feel like I was living in a third world country. (I’m also queen of over stating things.) But the couch led to a chair and another chair and a coffee table, console table, lamp table and of course then a new lamp.

“What recession?” she says.

Behold! The new furniture

Check out those awesome candlesticks!

All this redecorating hardly helps me feel like Walt Whitman or Henry David Thoreau. (Though, maybe more like Proust now.)

Distraction #2: I’m up to my eyeballs in digitization. I came home from work late August and there was a big box waiting on my porch. I thought it was a birthday present. (My birthday’s in August. What, you forgot?) I tore it open and it wasn’t a birthday present. Instead, what I found was a box full of hundreds of slides and an unopened slide transfer machine I bought my mom for Christmas from Brookstone almost two years ago. My mom never got around to transferring the slides to digital so I just gave her a heavy sigh one day over the phone and said, “Just send it all to me and I’ll do it.” That was over six months ago. I have to be honest, it’s been one of the funnest things I’ve done and as I was posting them on my family’s private Facebook page this past month, my brother and sisters and my mom were all having a blast commenting and sharing stories. It was better than birthday and Christmas combined for me!

One of my favorite photos I transferred. That’s me, my older sister and my mom at Grand Teton National Park circa late 1960s. Dad’s taking the photo.

So, instead of writing I’ve been spending my blogging time going down memory lane. (And I’m only halfway done.)

Being okay with it all

I’ve pretty much decided that it’s okay that I didn’t blog for a month. Sometimes I need a break and I imagine you, dear reader (I’ve always wanted to write that), need a break from me.

Now, I’ve got to order some new pillows and an ottoman to go with that furniture. You don’t mind, do you?

This is how I ended up in London

27 Friday Jul 2012

Posted by in Rendezvous Journal, Trips

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England Rendezvous, Chapter 1

I wanted to do something spectacular for my 40th birthday and things got interesting when a friend suggested I join her and some other gals to hike the Swiss Alps that year. I was so onboard! How many people can say they’ve hiked the Swiss Alps?

Well, not me, it turns out.

It had been two months since I rendezvoused with the man in Scotland. After that trip that sent my heart soaring and my tears flowing as goodbyes were exchanged at the end of our six days together, we phoned, we emailed and I hoped we would see each other again. The closer it got to the Swiss Alps trip the more I realized that given limited vacation time at work and limited funds for a long-distance courtship, I had to make a choice: Hike the Alps with some fun women or take another chance to see if what happened in Scotland had any sticking power.

So I didn’t hike the Alps. I bailed and decided to go to London instead–by myself, actually. Turns out, it’s also rather convenient for Steve (the man I met in Scotland) to rendezvous again with me. Once I let Steve know about my plans to go to London he immediately jumped at the chance to meet me there, but only met me for week two of my trip since I wanted to have some time to myself in London.

My travel journal for the England rendezvous

I just adore London and I’m so glad I made the decision to do the first half of the trip by myself. Here’s what I learned:

  • You actually don’t have to take the Tube everywhere because most of the time a lovely walk through Hyde Park will get you to where you need to be. (This was a big “duh!” moment for me.)

London’s Hyde Park

Hyde Park, London

  • I arrived the week London was having a heat wave. Londoners took this opportunity to sunbathe at Hyde Park and I thought I was pasty white!

Londoners enjoying the high temps at Hyde Park

  • They have Subway sandwich shops in London–same menu and about the same prices in the U.S., which totally saved me loads of money on food.
  • Other great food options for lunch include Pret a Manger and Marks and Spencer. I discovered this when I watched where the locals were eating.
  • Best view of London is not the pricey “Eye,” but take the stairs clear to the top of St. Paul’s Cathedral–completely breathtaking and an awesome workout.

View of London from atop St. Paul’s Cathedral

  • You don’t get ice in your water at dinner. They like to serve it room temperature, so you gotta ask for ice, ice baby.
  • They have potato chips of every flavor imaginable.
  • A co-worker from England convinced me before my trip that I should take the double decker bus tour to get the lay of the land during my first couple of days and you know what? Best. Advice. Ever. (Yes, snobs, she was right.)
  • Edinburgh is only a 5 and 1/2 hour train ride from London and that’s how close I was to Steve.
  • Sometimes it’s okay to walk away from previous travel plans. Sure, I didn’t hike the Alps, but if I did, I would have missed London as well as a big part in the next chapter of my life.

London

London

Tower Bridge in London

Find out what happens in the next chapter.

Falling in love with a geologist and the geological wonders of Scotland

15 Sunday Jul 2012

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A Scotland Rendezvous, Chapter 4

The geology of Scotland is very complex, I learned, and this complexity manifests itself in the Highlands.

The highlands of Scotland

It’s all because of Continental Drift, which through the aeons of time created this composite of various land masses that have been grafted on to it.

There was also an extensive period of volcanism (lava flows and plutonic uplift), which produced such geologic wonders like the promontory upon which sits Edinburgh Castle. Want more proof? Take the famous 10,000+ year old Loch Ness, for example. It’s a long, deep lake, which is part of a rift valley system. It’s all this complex geology that gives Scotland its rugged appearance with many hills, valleys and lochs. So geology is the bedrock (so to speak) of Scotland’s rugged landscape.

All this gets geologists giddy, and guess who I was spending the week with–a geologist. (So don’t think I managed those first few paragraphs here without any help. )

Among the many things I learned about this man I was with for the week (what I call the world’s longest first date), was that he knew gobs about geology, and as I learned more about him I also became more schooled about Scotland. I had never met this man before and I had never met Scotland before, so both were blind dates. It’s no wonder that as we journeyed through the Highlands, my fascination of Scotland grew while my heart grew fonder of my geologist tour guide.

Loch Ness. So why can’t there be a monster?

Steve at Loch Ness

Standing next to Loch Ness

When I met the Loch Ness for the first time I couldn’t resist tapping into the childish part of me, where I thought, “Wouldn’t it be cool if I saw the Loch Ness Monster here too!” There is no such thing, I know, but I couldn’t help thinking of it, because why not? The whole idea of rendezvousing with a man in a foreign country is also the stuff fairy tales are made of and I was walking around in that dream too, so of course there’s the possibility of seeing the Loch Ness Monster.

And I’m sure the little hamlet of Brigadoon was around somewhere too.

Ullapool, Scotland

We eventually made our next stop in the little town of Ullapool, which has a strong gaelic influence. We checked in to a bed and breakfast that overlooked a lake and walked around the town, and we soon learned had a reputation for being a center for music and the arts. Even on TV (I’m always fascinated by what’s on the television when I visit a new country) had a Gaelic channel. I couldn’t understand a thing anyone was saying, but then again, if someone from Scotland starts to speak English to me in their native accent too fast I might as well be listening to Latin. I’m completely lost.

Where we stayed in Ullapool

We found a pub where we ordered fish, of course, since it was a fishing village and afterward, we walked along a pathway near the water as we tossed out more questions to each other. There was a sense of urgency for the week–in getting to know as much about each other as we could. “Where’s your favorite place you’ve traveled to?” “How many brothers and sisters do you have?” “What’s your favorite food?” “What was your most embarrassing moment?”

Stoer Head Lighthouse

Visiting the Stoer Head Lighthouse on the Stoer Peninsula in Scotland was a true highlight. This lighthouse was built by David and Thomas Stevenson—of the Stevenson dynasty—who were responsible for building most of Scotland’s lighthouses.

Stoer Head Lighthouse on the Stoer Peninsula in Scotland

Safe and sound in the Highlands

We spent our time in the highlands driving around the more rugged terrain, taking roads that were only wide enough to fit a small compact car. I must admit that I was impressed as Steve navigated the winding road, especially as an oncoming car approached. Why do things like that make a woman swoon? No accidents. No collisions. This man kept me safe.

This beginning of falling in love with a geologist opened a whole new perspective for me. It wasn’t just about castles and lighthouses or a famous loch, but learning about the geology, expanding my vision of the land. As we journeyed through the highlands, the part of Scotland that was the cliche–the rolling green hills lined with sheep–turned into something that resembled a moon scape, and I wondered if I would ever come back to earth again.

To get perspective, look at the tiny trailer/camper (the white speck) in the photo.

Go on to the next chapter.

Romance blossoms in the Scottish Highlands

04 Wednesday Jul 2012

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A Scotland Rendezvous, chapter 3

“So tell me about your past relationships–the good, the bad and the ugly.”

That’s how we began our three-day road trip through the Scottish Highlands.

There wasn’t much to tell, really. I was 39 years old and over the last decade I’d kept a pretty good distance from any relationship for a variety of reasons that didn’t make sense when I really thought about it.

Steve, I’m certain, thought I was being coy when I explained that there wasn’t much to tell.

A lesson on the birds and the bees.  Well, maybe just the birds.

Just as I was going to ask him about his back story, he said, “Hey, do you mind if we stop by this bird refuge? I’ve always wanted to see it.

“A bird refuge?” I thought. “Can’t say I would ever stop to do that.”

And before I knew it, we had parked and then he was pulling out of the car trunk a tripod and scope.  He never really said anything about what he was going to be doing with the scope.  In fact, he was pretty quiet about it.  “Hmmm,”  I paused to think and take this all in.  “He’s got a scope.  He’s kind of the quiet type. We’re stopping at a bird refuge.” I was putting all the pieces together slowly.  ”This guy looks at birds?” Oh, the horror.

I played along.  We went into the visitor center, paid the donation and walked around, looking at the various dioramas of wetlands and birds. I was scanning the place looking for a gift shop that might have something I might identify with. Like a necklace. Or a tea cup.  But I didn’t see a gift shop.  “Just go with it,” I thought.

The host at the visitor center told us about a blind nearby where we could get a good look. At what, exactly, I wasn’t so sure.  Nevertheless, I just followed Steve and we went outside and walked along the path that led us to what looked like a dilapidated shed and sat there on the bench and looked out through narrow slats.

And that’s when he made his big move. I asked him, “Have you always wanted to do that?”

“Do what?” he asked sheepishly.

“Take a girl out in a blind and kiss her.”

And then there was a castle

After catching my breath following the bird refuge we made our way to the Dunnottar Castle in Aberdeenshire. I had never been to a castle before my time in Edinburgh the day before. But this one was even better–it was just sitting out there in the middle of nowhere for people to walk through.   For a mere £5 each we were able to meander through the ruins of the castle, even sneaking away to a private corner where Steve stole another kiss.

To tell people that I felt like I had been dreaming the entire experience is the world’s greatest understatement. But imagine this: What woman really gets to fly off with very little notice at the invitation of a stranger she had just met online and get kissed in a castle? And let me add this: And actually like the guy?

It had to be a dream, right? This was so not my life.

The pathway to the Dunnottar Castle, Aberdeenshire

View of a waterfall seen on our walk to the castle

Me with Dunnottar Castle in background,

Arranging for a romantic soundtrack in Inverness

The first day on the road was long I suppose, because we got as far as Inverness, the capital of the Scottish Highlands, all the way from Dundee and it was dark. It just didn’t feel like it was a long day. It wasn’t going too fast either, I must admit.  I think for the first time, I actually was trying to be in the experience and I wasn’t concerned with time at all. I had quit my job just before this trip and was starting at a new company the day after I was to return to the United States, so there really wasn’t anything pressing on my mind to distract me from what was taking place. No emails to check, no work to catch up on. I wasn’t attached to anything that would prevent me from letting everything happen to me. I could actually change the script of my life and write a new one.

We stayed at the Holiday Inn in Inverness, had dinner at a restaurant next door and rose early to get back on the road again. By this time it had occurred to me that Steve brought no music with him on the trip.  For me, you can’t go on a road trip without a proper road music and so I said, “Hey let me pick out some CDs for you,” and we popped into a store. Now since I couldn’t help but be romantic, I collected all the necessary artists for the perfect soundtrack for this new script.  Thank you Diana Krall, Michael Bublé and Steve Tyrell.

Yes, I have my ways.

Go on to the next chapter.

 

Walking solo in Edinburgh

27 Wednesday Jun 2012

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A Scotland Rendezous, Chapter 2

“Start at Edinburgh Castle,” he said, “and then you can walk down this road, called The Royal Mile, to Holyrood Palace.”

I learned that during my first full day in Scotland, Steve, the stranger I flew across the ocean to see, was going to have to attend an all-day lecture at the University of Dundee. But he had already decided that a day trip to Edinburgh by train was a swell solution for me so he drew a little map, outlining the route I should take. I didn’t mind, really. I kind of like being a solo traveler. Besides, it gave me some time to think–think about this man I had just met. Think about this country I just landed in. Think about how this was all going to end after five days.

Oh, and the train ride gave me time to text each of my girlfriends, “Everything going SUPER! Will give details when I get home.”

Natch.

Edinburgh, Scotland

As I disembarked the train it took me awhile to orient myself. For April it was lovely–sunny and warm and not at all what I expected for Scotland. (I expected gloomy weather. That much I did know about Scotland.) There was the token bagpiper on the corner for tourists and every building looked as though it was ancient. Probably because they all were. I almost feel a little ashamed sometimes that I come from a country that is really in its infancy compared to other areas of the world where everything is all about being shiny and new.

Edinburgh Castle

Edinburgh Castle

I couldn’t miss the Edinburgh Castle if I had tried. It looks over the city from Castle Rock letting me know that it’s still in charge. I took my time touring the castle, and took advantage of the headphones so I could learn more about not just the castle but about Scotland, since I came so unprepared.

Calling it a Castle is really a misnomer–it’s actually a fortress and includes several buildings. When I arrived at St. Margaret’s Chapel–a simple building within the walls of the fortress I actually sat on one of the benches for quite a long time. The chapel is still used for ceremonies, such as weddings, and is the one building that felt like there was life still in it. Of course, should any building feel that way, a church would, I suppose. Sitting there I tried to make sense of where I was and how I got there. If any place was going to help me figure everything out a church certainly would. After about 20 minutes and not getting any closer to making sense of it all, I thought, Just go with it. Don’t worry about it.

And that’s what I did.

Calling this a gun seems so understated.

Walking along Royal Mile

After a nice lunch at a cafe I then made my way down the cobblestone Royal Mile, descending the hill and stopping in the little shops that carried tartan wellies, tartan skirts and tartan shawls.

It wasn’t just all tartan. There was orange marmalade and shortbread cookies of course, so I bought a cookie and munched on it as I made my way to Holyrood. Clearly the street is designed for tourists and, well, I was a tourist that day. And I like shortbread cookies.

Holyrood Palace or HolyroodHouse

A little less hectic than the Ediburgh Castle. Fewer tourists and I was half expecting the Queen to make an appearance at any time. The palace buildings are a mish-mash of well-maintained buildings ranging from ancient to really ancient.

Holyrood Palace

Holyrood Palace

After the tour I looked at my watch and realized that I needed to catch the train back to Dundee. These are the moments when I’m traveling alone where I have to admit I’m rather proud of myself that I can navigate my way around, in spite of the fact that I usually don’t get it right the first time. This was one of those times. I found myself on the wrong platform and nearly ended up on my way to London. Thank goodness I wasn’t in a rush. Before I crossed over the “Mind the Gap” warning, I made sure I was on the right train back to Dundee where my new long-distance romance was waiting for me.

Go on to the next chapter.

 

Conquering the post-vacation blues

16 Monday Apr 2012

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It happens.

You have a fantastic two-week adventure, trying new foods, meeting new people, getting immersed in the culture, chasing birds (okay, maybe that’s just us), and you come home and BOOM! You’re back at the office digging out of mounds of email and at home going through piles of regular mail you had the post office hold for you so you could be reminded  of the dull things in life like paying medical bills and reading letters promising you better car insurance coverage.

It’s all just so…ordinary.

I travel for two reasons:  For escape and for opening up my world to new experiences, and that’s why I generally have another trip in the queue.  Well, that’s usually the case.  Somehow this time around I was so crushed with other things going on (called “Life”) before our Panama trip that I didn’t have another trip planned before we left.

Egads.  What that means is that when I looked at my cute little (free) “Countdown” app on my iPhone I had nothing in it.  Or as my newly-found Panamanian friends would say, “nada.”

Same goes for my “Fly Delta” app.  There wasn’t a trip in there.  Not even a business trip. My apps were empty and I was feeling the same way.

It got insanely busy at work the moment I arrived back at the office and I was prepared for it. The ordinary life can be draining. That’s not to say that my travels are all about lying on the beach sipping umbrella drinks and reading a book. In fact, you probably won’t ever find Steve and I doing that except maybe after a long flight or at the very end of the trip when we’re just so tuckered out we can barely move.  We don’t scale mountains, but we are both maximizers and we’re up very early in the mornings to chase after birds or get into the water to go diving. We’re on our feet all day when we’re birding and all that hiking–especially in the heat and humidity–often takes a lot out of us. It makes you feel your age very quickly. In fact, after this last vacation we fell into that category of folks who insist on needing a vacation to recover from vacation.

So here I was back at home, all cleaned up and in my own bed and all I could think about were those apps on my iPhone.  I had no trip planned.  It was that same feeling I had in college when I hadn’t declared my major.  It’s the not knowing what was next or what journey I was going to have. Or right after you get married. You come home from the honeymoon and not only is life not centered around you anymore (admittedly, I missed that a lot), but what the heck do you plan for now? Everything before the wedding was all about planning the big event and now that you’re back there’s no more planning. No more obsessing. No more researching.

I’m a planner at heart and I didn’t have anything planned. Was I just to keep going to the office every day with nothing to look forward to? Was I going to just hope that some adventure falls into my lap? What was I going to research now? After nine days back at home I stayed up late one evening after a long day at the office and booked our next trip. I couldn’t take it any longer.

So, the “Fly Delta” and “Countdown” apps both show a trip to Hawaii in our future this year.

Today’s lesson: Always have a trip in the queue and your life won’t seem so ordinary.

(Note: Links on this page are linking you back to relevant posts on my other blog, The Accidental Birder.  You can also get to that blog by clicking the Accidental Birder tab in the menu above.)

No worries on top of the world at Mauna Kea

23 Thursday Feb 2012

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Nothing turns my mood sour faster than when I don’t have control over a situation. I totally get that I need to change that about myself.

Working on it. Promise.

But I pride myself in being such an exceptional planner that if I can’t plan everything I get quite grumpy. Including when I can’t control sunsets. A couple of years ago Steve and I took a trip to Hawaii where we spent a couple of days on Oahu and then spent the rest of the trip on the Big Island scuba diving (natch) and exploring what island has to offer, including trying to chase what few endemic birds are left in Hawaii.

Every guide book raved about Mauna Kea, the volcano on the Big Island, and even recommended taking a guided tour to the summit because it was a steep drive and tour operators provided all the winter gear. Because who really packs a ski parka and gloves when they travel to Hawaii? Not me.

Mauna Kea is huge at 33,500 feet, making it significantly taller than Mount Everest. (That’s measuring the volcano at its base deep into the ocean. So, kind of cheating.) At the summit there are the Mauna Kea Observatories, which are used for scientific research. You’d probably recognize them, as they’re often shown on TV and in film.

So up to Mauna Kea we went, sitting with about eight other strangers in an oversized tour van, strapped in with our seat belts. The trip was a couple of hours up and the seat I was in seemed to only have a thin layer of cushion separating my back end from the springs.

And then there was the weather. Clouds were hovering all over Kona that day and I spent the day a little sour, wondering if we just spent a lot of money on this tour and weren’t going to see a thing. No sunset. No stars. No valley. It will be a bust. I was sure of it.

Thank goodness my husband is a saint and didn’t push me out onto the road what with my unpleasant mood. He kept assuring me, “Oh I’m sure we’ll get a sunset. All this fog will burn off. Don’t worry about something you can’t control.”

Hey, my whole life is designed to be about worrying about things I can’t control. I’m just sort of wired that way.

I worry about if we’ll get in a wreck on the way to the airport. I worry every time I cross a border into another country and think “What if they won’t let me in?” (There’s no reason to think that, but I’ve seen TV shows about that sort of thing. And somehow some girl ends up in a Thai women’s prison where for food they fend for rice that is shoveled off from the back of a dirty pick up.) I worry about not making curtain at the theatre. I worry every time the cat is out late that a predator got her. I worry that… I’ll stop here. This could go on all night.

This little journey  to the top of Mauna Kea taught me a lot.  For starters, it taught me that I should listen to my husband more. He’s right. I can’t worry about things I can’t control. But even more, I learned that I should hope for the best and enjoy every moment that is part of the journey rather than stew about what horrible thing might happen. Imagine what I missed by worrying–I missed meeting new people in our van, I missed seeing a lot that was right before me. I missed a big part of this trip.

Because in the end, there were no worries at the top.

PS: Steve, I’m sorry I was grumpy that day!

Sunset at Mauna Kea

Here are more photos from our Mauna Kea trip.  Click on one and it will take you to a slideshow to view each.