Here are some clues:
- I can see the deepest lake in North America
- Lois Lane was born here
- There are polar bears (in license plate-form)!*
*Much less bitey that way.
Here are some clues:
*Much less bitey that way.
Chelsie, Millie AND Sarah are all coming out for a visit this month, and to celebrate I’ve booked us a night in a fancy hotel in the big(ish) city.
Our “deluxe guestroom” has, and I quote,
Italian Frette linens, feather down comforters and pillows
C.O. Bigelow bath amenities, ooh la la!
The Rocket Scientist may have found us our new German apartment, complete with an 0h-so-German landlord.
Herr Fuchs: “Und ze balcony ees very large. You can even sleep on eet.”*
*In my imagination, he speaks English with a bad German accent. Just like in the movies, which are always accurate.
The Rocket Scientist: “Really? People sleep on the balcony?”
Herr Fuchs (looking very serious): “Ya. As long as zat ees ALL you do.”
Duly noted, Herr Fuchs.
Ah, Switzerland. Land of complex pocket knives, Heidi, fondue, and brilliant patent clerks.
Basel was the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen, and the Basel Museum of Natural History is my new dream institution (cough…hire me…cough). That day was the happiest on my trip, even if the Rocket Scientist and I did poke our heads into a 3-story McDonald’s and note that a Happy Meal cost $15.
Warning: images of human remains and vampire deer.
P.S. Did you notice the monkey’s butt? I’m secretly a 12-year old boy.
The Rocket Scientist and I took a day trip to Strasbourg, where we mangled the French language, ate gelato in the freezing cold, and he bought me a lovely pair of earrings that remind me slightly of femurs. An excellent day.
Strasbourg calls itself the “Capital of Christmas,” and takes that title very seriously. There were eleven different Christkindlemariks spread throughout the city and all the buildings were covered in lights, ornaments, and stuffed polar bears (you’ll see).
They don’t dress up the cathedral, though, which is a shame. ‘Cause it sure isn’t much to look at…
After admiring 17th century vandals, The Rocket Scientist and I discovered flambee. French bread topped with butter, goat cheese and bacon. Viva la France!
After eating our weight in cheese, we timidly ventured into Hermes, where the door had a doorman and nothing had a price tag. Which means those scarves I took were free, right? Right.
with a few hours left of 2011, i was debating the two outfits i brought to a friends house to get her thoughts on what would look stellar, fab, and city new years appropriate. as she rummaged through her closet, a black, baby doll, light flower design, very ‘sarah’ dress was lightly hanging on its hanger. the love was immediate, prompting my friend not only to loan it out for the night, but as a donation to my ever growing dress collection. i told her ‘hey, i can wear this on my flight back’. A bit of shock and, not awe, but surprise came from her face. A bit of confusion over why I would forgo the common comforts of yoga pants on a plane for something as ‘dressy’.
This reminded me of a recent article I read where Scarlett Johannson listed people in pjs at the airport as one of her pet peeves, something that prompted me to shout ‘yes!’, in enthusiastic agreement.
I can understand the need to be comfortable while flying, trust me. With 31 flights in 2011 alone, ranging from 1 hour to 14, I can respect the fact that economy seats never recline enough for a solid nap, that the toilets will always have wet floors, and that you will inevitably spill some of your veggie pasta on your lap during turbulence. I used to stick to my fake birks, cargo pants, and loose top to make such journeys, but with more and more travel I’ve found that I actually want to separate from my prior backpacker ways. I have already given a post on this (see sarah’s guide to dressing like a classy broad while traveling) but then I stumbled on the following video by chance and i felt this is an ‘issue’ i need to revisit.
Miss Jenna Marbles, I can respect the fact you want to be comfortable, but hey now, style is style whether your at sea level or peeing 20000+ feet in the air.
But I put the question out to the faithful viewers, what is your go-to airport wear?Do you agree with Miss Marbles, or of the ‘bringing back style to travel’ persuasion?
Looking forward to your replies! Best and blackouts from India*
ps. On my last flight I did wear said new black/flower baby doll dress, black opaque tights,flat mary janes, and a cozy but still stylish black and white cardigan. I was wiping a few tears away, so I didnt think of taking a photo. Next time though!
There was less lederhosen than I’d hoped (but plenty of German men in skinny jeans, tiny glasses and pink ties – love), but Germany was wunderbar!
There was architecture:
There was food (oh, the glorious cheese):
*I accidentally wrote “European Addition” first, which would just be a post about me trying to do math in metric.
Warning: Europeans are FAR better dressed than I. I did my best.
Germany/France/Switzerland were FREEZING, so this was the uniform of every day, complete with leggings under the jeans, multiple pairs of socks, and the occasional sweater pilfered from The Rocket Scientist.
When, on rare occasion, I warmed up, I looked like this:
My life will now be incomplete without a whale skeleton to suspend from the ceiling.
When I flew on planes, I rejected pants. I also looked blurry (blame The Rocket Scientist. For the blurriness, not the lack o’ pants):
The Rocket Scientist also looked especially adorable on this trip:
Shawl-collar sweater AND Orangina! Perfection.
I don’t know what’s cuter – The Rocket Scientist in his fabulous new hat, or the naked baby bum on the wall behind him.
Yep, the baby bum. But there’s no shame in coming second to a baby bum.
Stay tuned for more vacation photos. Mostly of food, since I’m a girl with her priorities in order.
I’m starting my list of things to do while in Germany, but I’d love suggestions from people who’ve actually been there before.
So far I plan to:
But what else? I’ll be in the southwestern part of the country, playing at being terribly continental by popping over to Switzerland and France for day trips.
Five adults squished into a car. Of course I’m in the middle of the back seat. My mom is sitting next to me and asks my brother, in the front seat, to get her water from under the seat.
My brother reaches under the front passenger seat to find the water. He finds: a sugar bowl that was given to my mom by a relative. A wine glass, securely stashed and wrapped in a napkin for safekeeping under the seat. The wine glass, it was explained, is for emergency wine tastings, since if you bring your own wine glass, tastings are free in some parts. You always need an emergency wine glass, am I right?! We all laugh.
Next he finds the matching creamer to the sugar bowl. Oh, here is another wine glass, this one is for my father of course. This is starting to seem like some sort of crazy magician’s bag, but let me assure you, my parent’s car is not like something you’d find on Hoarders, it is very nice and clean.
Finally, he finds the bottle of water. Mission accomplished. And we continue our cramped car trip.
Do you have anything funny hidden in your car? Any unorthodox emergency supplies? Or maybe just something your forget to take out of the car? I have a habit of grabbing large amounts of paper napkins and avoiding eye contact with staff if we stop for somewhere for coffee or a quick bite to eat.
Theres a lot of things that surprise me in my travels, both differences and similarities the world over. Though, this is not some intellectual piece on religious formalities, or social class, or political diplomacy. No. Its
about cleavage. And now that I have your attention….
I have to say that the rules for modesty are as varied as a Skittles bag. Whats considered appropriate inside one boarder, deplorable in another. From topless beaches in Spain, to shin length dress in Vietnam, to bum embracing jeans in Belize, the rules for appropriateness are not the same where you land. (And yes, I realize that males may also have rules of conduct, but in all honesty as a woman I haven’t picked up so closely on this. Any males care to educate me?)
I’ve been thinking about these concepts lately, trying to balance my clothing options so I’m not melting from heat, but still respectable to the conservative impressions in my new town. Its not to say I’m an avid flasher, in fact, I would consider myself to be quite modest. My legs used to stay hidden under jeans, even in the South African heat, my tummy never exposed in a bikini. But through the years, either through more self acceptance or yoga, I’ve started to reveal more trinkets of skin here and there. I thought I had a good balance, but apparently I still have much to learn.
On my most recent train journey from Kolkata city back to my
rural-ness, the woman beside me began tugging at my top, bringing it up in the
front, pulling it at the back. I was laughing, and some of the other women
around us were motioning to her that it was okay. But her stern eyes darted
between me and the male fruit seller in our ladies only compartment, as if to
remind me ‘theres a man in the room, mind the goods’.
So whats your take on whats appropriate, whats not. When is a lil’cleavge ok, when does it become ‘girls gone wild’ territory? Does this cross your mind when you get dressed, or an after thought when climbing some stairs (we’ve all been there, haven’t we).
Both The Rocket Scientist and I are lousy at taking photos of people. He likes landscapes and architecture, while I’m usually crawling on the ground trying to get a close up of a slug. But we did come back with a few photos from Vancouver that prove we were actually there.
At first we got some nice ones.
Then I got distracted by a crab, and it all went downhill.
Sir Mix-A-Lot and I have more in common than a love of gaudy jewelry. For example: butts. He likes his “‘real thick and juicy,” and mine come in animal form. Because the sad truth is, for all my love of biology, I’m a lousy wildlife photographer. Well, at least for the parts of wildlife most people want to see…
What I can photograph is butts. I whip out the camera and all living things whip out their rear ends. The result of this phenomenon is a huge collection of posterior photos, and Vancouver was no exception.
Aquarium photos from the Vancouver Aquarium, outdoor photos from outdoors
I know its been a shamefully long time since I’ve posted. That’s what happens with four countries, one new job, countless people to see and things to do….all in less than two months. But since settling in to my new location, I now have the time to have a bit of a breath, and some writing time over a cup of chai. Please enjoy this latest posting…
Another summer, another stealthy hot country. While last year I was bearing the Vietnamese sun, this year I find myself struggling against the Indian humidity. It two showers a day hot, no need for eye liner as it will just run away, and my hair is a constant matted sweated lump. Yes these days I look about as attractive as I feel. But as I eat my homemade curd and mango breakfast, looking down at the bustling rural street below, I am captivated at how beautiful and ‘together’ looking the women of my new town are. No matter the heat factor, they walk with a feminine grace, looking as classy as if they were heading to temple or a special dinner. In fact, I can see they have just come back from the market.
I think this is part because of one four letter word, starting with ‘s’…get your mind outta the gutter, I’m talking about sari. This traditional Indian dress is still the daily wear for the majority of women, well, in this region of West Bengal anyways. It’s the type of fashion that combines necessity with style, of need (cool) with want (pretty).
This dress has been gracing the beautiful women of India for nearly 5000 years. The cloth can be silk or cotton, adorned with as many prints and colours as your wild imagination can dream up. While you would think that seeing everyone wearing the same thing would be mundane, or boring, but because West Bengalis are not afraid of a lil splash of lemon yellow or emerald green, your eyes are constantly adjusting to variety of cloths and colours. You can cross a thousand saris and never see one repeated.
A brief run down:
First layer, the choli. This is a halter style top, with options of short cap sleeves, long sleeves, and ‘scandalous’ tank top straps. A droop in the front to reveal the colar bone offers a seductive, but not revealing touch. This is typically a solid colour, which may nor may not match the rest of the outfit.
Second layer, the lehenga. Now this is kinda optional. If the sari fabric is see through, then you should layer a light, long skirt underneath. No need to see the whole show, am I right?
Third layer, the sari. Sari is derived from Sanskrit to mean ‘strip of cloth’…though it can be nearly 9 meters long, so ‘strip’ may not do it justice. But because of the fabric and the loose fitting, 9 meters can feel as light as a feather. There will typically be a pallu, which is a special patterned adornment, and how you wrap you sari should also be to show this pallu off (its usually so nice, you wouldn’t want to hide it). Taking the sari, wrapping it around your bottom lehenga, you throw the remaining fabric over your left shoulder. With that much fabric, the remaining hang over your shoulder should nearly reach the floor.
And voila! The very very basics of sari.
I must admit, I was a bit confused about the concepts of conservative dress when I first arrive. Curious to know why revealing a mid-drift is considered to be acceptable, where anything above the knee cap unthinkable. But the word according to wiki says that in Indian tradition…”the navel of the Supreme Being is considered to be the source of life and creativity, hence the midriff is to be left bare by the sari”…hmmm, I supposed that does make sense.
There are many other elements to Indian dress and accessorizing, all with their own double meanings and rich history. Even the sari has a much richer, and more detailed story than I am offering here.…But I have a lot of time coming up in this place, so more will come in time. Its time for daily shower number one. I leave you with the following images of this absolutely gorgeous, traditional fashion.
References: the locals of West Bengal, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sari (of course), http://www.wikihow.com/Dress-in-a-Sari (how to wrap), http://indianfashionshaggy.wordpress.com/2008/08/12/indian-saree-style/ (blue), http://www.thisnext.com/tag/indian-dress/
(wedding black) http://indiandresssari.blogspot.com/2010/04/black-saree.html
This month’s Feminist Fashion Bloggers post is a guest post, and Mrs Bossa of Mrs Bossa Does the Do and I are trading posts on holiday dressing, using this paper (which unfortunately needs a subscription to download) as a starting point. Be sure to check out the roundup of all the posts at the main FFB site, and without further ado, here’s Mrs Bossa!
Holiday Fashion: your ‘best of’ in a box?
Can your holiday wardrobe give you a new identity? I have to admit: I hate this time of year in fashion magazines. We seem to go straight from bobble hats to bikinis as though Spring doesn’t exist. When I thought more closely about this, I realised – I struggle to make a ‘holiday wardrobe’ fit with my sense of self; I shy away from buying summery clothes and end up being a similar version of my A/W self (albeit more overheated). I’ve noticed a few fashion bloggers talking about rotating their wardrobes, packing away their winter items and bringing their flimsier clothing out to play. But it was when I noticed my mum choosing the items she wanted to buy for a holiday in Nice that it struck me – she wasn’t simply stocking up on some essentials…she was planning her holiday identity.
Before you tell me to put down the piña colada, think about it: aren’t there clothes that you just wouldn’t wear on holiday? Clothes that you would only wear on holiday? Even I would be happy to brave a boob tube in the soaring temperatures of the Mediterranean. But it’s not just the heat – a holiday is a chance to experiment, free from people who judge you. I bought hotpants once, for god’s sake.
In their article ‘It’s Like Planet Holiday’, Maura Banim likens holiday wardrobes to a theatrical performance; tanning and waxing are part of the preparation for the role, buying clothes becomes similar to choosing costumes, and a few well-chosen props allow women to “have the confidence that their performance will be successfully executed.” Not that all this is a chore – she discovered that many women see all this not only as a means of enjoyable self-indulgence, but also as a key transitional phase between ‘real life’ and the holiday fantasy. Planning outfits is a key part of this.
From Day to Night:
Fashion magazines always talk about taking your holiday wardrobe ‘from day to night’ – somehow simple vests in multiple colours, the bikinis and the sarongs all form part of a carefree daytime identity (Banim likens this to being part of a ‘chorus line’ instead of being in the limelight). On the other hand, in the evening the ‘performances’ begin. The researchers suggested that holiday evenings gave women the chance to ‘launch’ the best versions of themselves, night after night – many women took a separate outfit for each evening, but they were always their ‘best’ clothes. Self-awareness increased; striking a balance between showing more of the body and looking sexually available was key. I was most intrigued by the idea of groups of women being ‘performance teams’: giving advice on outfits, monitoring any potential clothing mishaps throughout the night and relying on each other to style hair and put on makeup. Says Banim: “co-operation was important in allowing women to pull off a seemingly effortless performance.” I’m sure many of us can relate to that.
A Case for Naturism?
The idea of sunbathing being liberating is an interesting one: many women surveyed felt that body exposure en masse granted everyone some form of anonymity. Not only did it free them from self-consciousness, it also seemed to liberate them from the ‘sexual gaze’: although close to nudity, no-one seemed to feel they were being objectified as they would be in other contexts. At least not by men…
In summary: There are a lot of factors at play as we plan our holiday wardrobes: the transformative power of fashion, the fluidity of identity, the liberation from judgment, the interaction of women-only groups. It seems that packing a suitcase is more than just an arrangement of clothes – it’s our ‘best of’ in a box. And we don’t even have to go abroad: every time I visit my parents I plan my ‘look’ – I’ve been known to do my makeup on the train and quickly swap my flats for heels as I pull into the station. There are some that would argue that many women are constantly ‘performing’ with their bodies and wardrobes, but the style advice, colour choices and even types of fabric in holiday attire all speak of a tantalising kind of freedom.
What goes through your mind when you’re planning your holiday wardrobe?
Do you have a ‘best version’ of yourself?
Banim, Maura, Ali Guy, and Kate Gillen. ““It’s Like Planet Holiday”—Women’s Dressed Self-presentation on Holiday.” Fashion Theory 9.4 (2005): 425-43. Art Full Text. Web. 8 May 2011.
Millie’s Take on Modesty
Well, really more of a “rest comfortably in one place most of the time” stone, but that’s too many syllables.
I am traveling, though, which explains my absence of late. Lots to do before you fly to another country to visit a friend for her birthday! If only Canada was smaller, I could visit the other Interrobangs (and Danielle, Allison and many other lovelies), but, as the Arrogant Worms have taught us, “Canada’s Really Big.” Also, “Ontario Sucks.”
I have five days of traveling and have to prepare for mystery weather with a high chance of rain and absolutely no idea what I’ll be doing once I get there. Why the lack of plans? Well, the friend doesn’t actually know I’m coming…Surprise!*
Since I only want to take a carry on, but need my wardrobe to be super-flexible, time for another attempt at the capsule wardrobe.
Here’s what I decided on:
I’ve decided I’m always more comfortable in dresses with layers on top and underneath, so I picked the black and blue palate with hits of grey and red. So far, I’ve got these combinations:
Eight combinations without too much thought, and depending on the weather I can layer dresses over one another, put the blazer over the cardigan over the shirt, it’s all good.
Well, I assume it’s all good. We shall see…
*Her husband knows, though. So it’s not creepy or anything.
There are few places I have been with a more skewed sense of reality than Dubai. From springs and green grass in the desert, to islands built in the sea, basically this is a place where limits only exist when the money has run out. But there is a beauty here. The newest buildings that tickle your mind with creativity, the perfectly turquoise waters that are warmly inviting but cool to touch, and the sand hills that match the camels silhouette. But for myself , one of the most beautiful sites to see in Dubai are the women who make up the small, but regal, Emirati population. Their style and clothes are like none I have ever seen elsewhere, a mix of both religious tradition and modern creativity. Now, there is a disclaimer here; I am no expert on this world of dress, and I am no expert on the religion of Islam. This is simply my general surveillance out of my times spent in Dubai, and of course, could never apply to each and every woman living in the UAE. What this piece is intended to be, is a loving observation (and slight jealousy) of how the Emirati women epitomize glamour, beauty, and class. So pack your camel milk, wrap up your dates, and float with me on a cloud of hubbly bubbly into a small but far from humble world in the middle of the desert…..
First you have to start with the abaya. This long black cloak drapes generously to the ground, with at least a few inches left to glide along the floor. The cloak is wide enough to hide any hint of a persons shape, but don’t let this fool you into thinking it is unflattering. If anything, this extra fabric literally flows around the women, giving off an air of mystique and curiosity that they are literally floating by you. Depending on the occasion or time of day, the abaya will be laced with embroidery, jewels, fabric or sequins. That’s not to say they whipped out the be-dazzler that morning, though nothing is wrong with a be-dazzler. The quality of these embellishments can be seen miles away, and the intricacy, colour, and designs are one way of taking a simple concept of clothing, a black robe, and making it that persons own (as any style lover does).
Secondly, you find the shaila or hejjab, the head scarf that covers the hair as per tradition. If the abaya has an embellishment, shaila will match it like an 80’s child’s shorts will match their scrunchie. It will be whirled up and set upon what I can only assume is a hair bun, to achieve a height at least a few inches above the head. Whenever I see the height of the shailas, I think to how I like to tease my hair to create body. So I suppose this method is what can been seen as the Emirati’s version of ‘oomph’. Also, while some women who adorn a hejjab will tuck in all their hair, Emirati women will leave a little bang peaking out, revealing their jet black hair. Oh, my jealousy continues!
Thirdly, because style goes beyond clothing, you’ve got to note the accessories! These are essential in completing the look, and again can add creativity and fashion to what can otherwise be a very simple look. Watches, bracelets, handbags, sunglasses and the shoes; these are blinged out and catch your eye like a fish on a hook. I don’t follow ‘high’ fashion by any means, so I cannot tell you if these are the latest Channel bags or Tiffany tennis bracelets. But I have heard that they likely come from the most famous fashion houses, and by all means they look as they could be. Its another element to the Emirati style that is not to be missed.
Finally, and this is something I note with my Arab relatives as well as Emirati women, is the makeup. Unashamedly bold and flawless. The half inch black eye liner, rouge stroked cheek, and ruby lips put the final touches to an look that is alluring, classical, modern, traditional, extravagant, and unique.
But enough talk, more photos to further showcase the glitz and glam that is the Emirati style….
January is always a rotten month, what with being on the other side of holidays, with the perpetual grey, bleary sky, still not much light and more than a little bit of cold. This year was rotten for me for a few reasons that The Internet At Large needs to know about; it was a good day when I put on proper pants, let alone made interesting outfits, and as such I felt I had nothing to contribute here.
And then February hit, and I gave a presentation which went fantastically well, then hopped on a plane and went here…
… and thought about things. Lest you think that I have such quantities of disposable income that I can flit off to Geneva and then one of the really famous bits of the French Alps (that’s Mont Blanc up there) for a week to think about blogging, let me burst your bubble; I went to the Alps for a conference and Geneva was the closest major airport. But since there was free time in the afternoons, one afternoon I walked into the woods, sat under a tree, and thought about life, the universe, and everything.
i think back to a few lines in a former katie post, that highlighted some key indicators she was moving to adulthood (e.g. making the bed each morning, and wiping the lipstick off the juice carton before company come. thanks for the consideration btw). while always making me laugh, it also got me to think that i, too, have started to engage in ritual activities that move my maturity status up from confused tweenie to sophisticated woman (though there’s still a loooong way to go before the latter happens!). the ritual of applying cream after showering, and always having a bottle of white wine in the fridge are activities never on my radar before i started paying my own rent. one of my most recent notes of adulthood came from changing my travel attire from a proud-to-not-have-done-laundry-for-three-weeks to a hey-you-can-bump-my-sophisticated-lady-self-up-to-business-class-and-noone-would-know-it’s-all-a-lie. now, i know that when you travel you want to be comfortable: to be able to curl up in your seat, maybe do a few yoga stretches between connecting flights. but, like anything in life, you can find a balance. work and play. love and hate. and yes, even comfort and style.
taking all these items into consideration, i came up with this:
1. comfort! found in the foundation: the pants. or in this case, tights! for many people the yoga pant serves its purpose not only on the sticky mat, but on the plane too. let me tell you, there are options! i used to reject the notion of stirup pants. i silenced my inner 80s child when they resurfaced, believing i still hadn’t earned enough hipster status to pull it off. but i converted when the frustration of pulling down my riding up tights got the better of my protest. the comfort and warmth they provide are key when you realize your inner contortionist. here i chose black, for me important not just for slimming, but more for when i inevitably spill the rice from my veggie meal on my lap (its always something with rice, and like the potty thing i mentioned earlier, anyone who knows me knows i’m messier than a baby in car seat) i loved these tights so much that i included a second pair in the “in case my luggage doesn’t make it” clothes i carry in my handbag. more on the handbag later.
2. shoes! no more hippie mippie for me! i had these shoes made in vietnam for about 10$, as i couldn’t find any other shoes to fit my western foot. i always recommend shoes that can be easily slipped on and off, and still allow for some sock room on the plane. these are not only comfy, but give a dressy impression while not compromising comfort. you getting where i’m going with all this?
3. the top! this was bought while our beloved chels was showing me the ropes of thrift shopping in her town (though that town is not recognized by google maps, so i still doubt its existence). the colour is in my usual palates, and the softness is uber-desirable. its extra room encourages you to forgo the regular-size toblerone for the large one, and doesn’t restrict movement when doing a few between flight yoga poses. i have a tank top on underneath, for the autumn canada and in-flight coolness. but when i arrive i can easily dispose of it, and the shirt is billowy enough to allow for maximum ventilation. its also something that i would (and will) wear on a regular basis, as i favour empire shirts and quarter sleeves. and it makes me feel pretty, which is, after all, the first rule of style according to sarah. the second rule of style, is that it should make you feel pretty. got both of those?
4. for extra warmth and style, i also suggest two things: one, a jacket or sweater that’s easy to move in (note mine here) and never doubt the upped class factor with a fancy scarf.
5. not so easily seen are a few light accessories. my tried and true “sarah” in arabic necklace, and evil eye pendant because i’m beyond superstitious and need all the travel luck i can find. a watch (a must to track flight time, though don’t forget to update the time when you arrive. running to your connecting gate cause you failed to do so is not so much fun) and a silver ring i bought in mexico, and have lost and found more times than i can imagine (including 5 mins ago) but yet it always re-appears.
6. the bag. this one was influenced by chelsie on our trip to see katie last year. the notion of something other than a backpack for travel seemed odd, but i loved how stylish the look was. you have to pick one that can easily carry all your hand luggage needs: your laptop and any other electronics including their charge cords (never ever ever put in checked luggage! foolish people, trust the jester!), booka, magazinea, toiletry bag, facecloth, ipod or any other music listening device, passport holder, a spare set of clothes and undies, eye glass case, and of course, a few snacks (buying toberlerone or any other fancy dark chocolate from the duty free is one of my airport rituals never to be missed. like how some sports players don’t wash their jocks all season…hmm, maybe not…) the only grunts i have with a one shoulder bag is that it can strain an already tired back if its too heavy. but most airports have trolleys you can take from the duty free stores so pre-departure wandering can be enjoyable. and some also have quick massage booths, so treat yourself!
and that’s that people! i would love to know your travel style, so please comment what normally makes the cut when planning your trips. i hope i have been able to give you some pointers, and i am happy happy to pick up a few from you.
remember, you don’t have to forgo style just to be comfy. there’s a reason they say “its not about the destination, but the journey.” treat planes, trains, and automobiles as part of the fun of it all! mr. steve martin did it, and so can you.
In which I fear being eaten by a cougar, accidentally commit slug-slaughter, and then spend the rest of my day avoiding retribution from its sluggy brethren…
The first thing on the list for our California trip? Hiking in Redwoods National Park. We each had a specific goal for our day o’ nature: The Rocket Scientist wanted to find a banana slug, and I wanted to avoid being eaten by a cougar.
Not that kind:
In which I fall in love with a Howard Johnson…
Some people call it heaven. I just call it the Howard Johnson by the Airport.
I’m going to blame jet lag on the fact that I didn’t take any photos, but imagine if you will giant beds with four (!) pillows, a flat screen television, a marble bathtub and shower, robes hanging on the bathroom door, and two (that’s right, two) toilet paper dispensers. Used to reaching to the left for your Charmin? No problem! More of a right turner? We’ve still got you covered!
Very jet lagged, The Rocket Scientist and I settled in to watch Blue Crush, which we thought was a very good movie to watch while in California until we remembered that 1) Blue Crush takes place in Hawaii and 2) Blue Crush is not a good movie.* But, too tired to figure out how to work the fancy remote for the fancy TV, we watched it anyway.
The only reminder that we weren’t in an incredibly swanky hotel** was when we opened the curtains to see that we were right across the street from Liquor Locker House of Kegs. Really fancy hotels are across the street from a Liquor Locker House of Cristal. I’m sad to report that the standard of our hotels only went downhill from there, and the rest of our trip was spent saying, “Eh, it’s alright, but it’s no Howard Johnson by the Airport…”
*I have a personal beef with one of the actresses’ names. Whenever I turn narcissistic and Google myself (as we’ve all done, don’t deny it), le internet always asks me if I meant her name instead. No, Google, no I didn’t.
**I fully understand that for those of you who have stayed at places like The Ritz, this description doesn’t sound all that swanky. But, having been a Motel 8 sort of girl all my life, I just have this to say: The room had a fridge AND a microwave! Top that, Ritz.