Marj's Blog: Discussions of travel related topics--photography, packing, and more

Laundry in Venice

8/30/2015

The "must-do" tourist activity in Venice: Kevin takes in the sights as our gondolier propels us through a series of canals.

A few years ago I took a whirlwind trip to Italy with my son and three of our friends. It was “whirlwind” of necessity. We all had commitments that narrowed our options to one week in August when we were free to travel together. At the end of that time, we scattered in three directions—my son to London, our friends to Sicily, and I (feeling somewhat martyred) back to work in the States.

After I returned to the office, a colleague asked, “Well, how was it? What was the highlight of your trip?” The question was unexpected, and I had to think. The coliseum? Michelangelo’s David? Pisa’s Leaning Tower?

All fascinating. All famous. All historic. All . . .everything a tourist might expect. But no. The highlight was none of those.

“The truth?” I finally responded. “The most memorable experience was helping Kevin do his laundry in a Venetian laundromat.”

I went on to describe the experience: emptying my suitcase to fill it with my son’s dirty clothes, trudging along the rough stone walks in hundred-degree heat, struggling together to decipher the laundromat’s posted instructions (until we were joined by a helpful American experienced in such matters), chatting with a middle-aged student from China, and sharing a laugh when he pointed at Kevin, now explaining the machines to another new arrival, and said, “Aha! Look! Now he the teacher!”

As I described the day to my friend, I realized it wasn’t what we did—or even where we did it—that made that memory special. It was simply doing it together.

Now, research is showing that experiences make people happier than things. The reason for this? Well, according to researchers, a major factor is that the happiness provided by experiences lasts longer simply because we can reminisce about them.

When we think about how to use our financial resources, it’s often tempting to think, “I’d love to take a weekend away, but instead I really should spend the money I’d use on a new computer (or TV or couch or . . .you name it). That’ll last a lot longer than a weekend in the city.” Au contraire! Your memories of a weekend in the city can last a lifetime. What’s the lifespan of a computer these days?

Look at it this way: Travel is a bargain!

0 Comments

Traveling Through Time

6/10/2015

0 Comments

My mom, dad, and sister. Brother yet to come. I'm the small one.

There are all kinds of travel. Lately, I’ve been time-traveling. At least it feels that way. … As I write, my early life and that of my sister are being encoded on my Mac for preservation on nearly indestructible (or so I’m told) DVD’s. Actually, it’s not our whole lives, only those rare snippets that occurred when our father had the time and inclination to get out the movie camera (one of those prehistoric, wind-before-using creations) and start filming.

If his work is any indication, the mid-century world was full of children lacking even a modicum of imagination. They (or in all honesty, I suppose I should say “we”) could think of nothing more entertaining than waving at the unseen cameraman. Even this was done with a decided lack of joie de vivre, though occasionally we would erupt into some strange joyous jumping, up and down, up and down. I wondered aloud to my (much) older sister about this singular lack of purposeful activity. She recalls that my father was a stickler for action (no standing around in his productions!) and since the movie making was conducted on his timetable, not ours, sometimes action was hard to come by. Oh, there was the occasional bike riding or sledding or ice skating scene, but much of the shooting was done in the evening when my sister and I and whatever friends could be dragged in off the street were ready to hang it up for the day and our creativity was at low ebb.

The movie making was especially trying because these interior shoots involved the interminable setting up of floodlights which hooked onto various chairs placed around the room. The result blinded the performers and created a sauna-like atmosphere not conducive to light-hearted cavorting, which was, I think, what my father was going for.

There are also, of course, the obligatory birthday scenes, in which each cake, no matter the year, appears to have been made by the same six-year-old (my sister), who is seen in an early film “assisting” our long-suffering mother. It’s possible, of course, that my mother actually made some of those cakes herself, but she must have been in a terrible hurry, judging by the results.

Despite the less than flattering view of our early family life, I sent those 8 millimeter films off to a lab that converted them to VHS, which now, of course, is as extinct as tyrannosaurus rex. Luckily, I had the foresight to order also a set of those same movies on mini DV tapes which, with the aid of my Sony videocam (not yet extinct, but close, I suspect), I’m still able to load onto my computer for conversion to DVDs. It sounds simple, but turned out to be more complex than I expected, due to Apple’s machinations in which they updated iMovie, eliminated iDVD from the updated suite, and thereby made research necessary. There’s always, as they say, a work-around if you’re diligent enough to find it.

But to return to the content of aforesaid movies … eventually a brother came along (the result, according to my sister’s calculations, of some hanky-panky on a long family trip to the Rockies one fine summer) so the later films focus largely on this novel addition. Hence, we have our mother holding the baby, my sister pushing him in a carriage, me pushing him in a carriage, our mother pushing him in a carriage … You get the picture. At least it’s action of a sort. And eventually he did advance to a stage where he could catch a football, provided you carefully aimed it into his outstretched arms. Now that’s real action—at least by our standards.

Ahhh, the memories!

0 Comments

Dear Flyaway Airlines

5/24/2015

0 Comments

Don’t you sometimes wish you could take on a different persona and say the things you think, but don’t want to admit to in public? … Me, too! From time to time, you’ll find postings here from a guest writer with the nom de plume Gabby McStick. Take whatever she says with a grain of salt, but remember: there’s truth in there somewhere. Here’s her first submission: a couple of letters she’d like to send to some of those in the travel industry and an announcement of her nomination for an airline Oscar.

BY GABBY McSTICK

Dear Fly-Away Airline:

I recently was on a flight from LA to Minneapolis. The flight took four hours, but seemed longer, possibly because I had six inches of leg room, a small bladder and two corpulent, drowsy strangers between me and the aisleway to the bathroom. From Minneapolis, I took yet another flight to Columbus, Ohio. This flight took a little over an hour and was half full. I was spared the inconvenience of seatmates and had approximately two feet of space in which to taxi to the aisle to begin my flight to the facilities. Is there a reason for such blatant misappropriation of your flying machines?

Your friend,
Gabby McStick

Dear Incognito Airport:

Is your airport a joke? Have you ever heard the term signage? I'm told it's a serious business, the intent of which is to assist those unfamiliar with a place to find their way around. I can only assume that, although your clientele consists of folks from such far flung reaches as Zimbabwe and Bangladesh, you somehow assume that having deplaned into the balmy paradise of Southern California, they're miraculously gifted with a sixth sense that guides them on their quest to change planes or pick up checked luggage or meet their eager hosts. Good luck with that!

Your friend,
Gabby McStick

Dear airlines of America:

Sorry! The Oscar for the most fetching safety video goes to New Zealand Air for the delivery of their pre-flight message via inhabitants of Middle Earth ... And for their in-air entertainment system that actually works and can be operated by those lacking advanced degrees in touch screen technology ... And for their nod to service even to those in the back of the bus (so to speak) with on-screen ordering of food and drink delivered to your seat whenever you hunger or thirst during the long dark night. Take note, all the rest of you.

Your friend,
Gabby McStick

0 Comments

Point and Shoot

12/16/2014

0 Comments

Sunrise on Ha Long Bay, Vietnam

Having forgotten to close the blinds on my east-facing window, I awakened one recent morning to the pinkish-orange streaks of a sunrise, an ethereal backdrop for the palms and leafy trees outside my home. I popped out of bed, scurried into the den and grabbed a camera. But I was foiled. In the few short moments this had taken, the brilliant hues had turned to a pastel remnant of their previous brilliance. The photos were unimpressive.

The same thing had happened to me earlier this year—in Vietnam when, touring Ha Long Bay on an ancient Vietnamese junk, I glanced through the chin-level bathroom window to see a “to die for” sunrise behind the stark karst formations. That time, with my camera near at hand, I scrambled on deck (yes, in my pajamas), the sunrise in full bloom. But I was foiled then too—this time, by my failure to realize that emerging from a room super-cooled by an erratic air conditioner into the steamy outdoor air would so cloud my lens that a clear photo would be a pipe dream. In the seconds between clearing the lens with a cloth and lifting the camera to eye level for the shot, the lens hazed over again and again. The best I got was a photo hazy around the edges after the most intense colors had faded.

We used to make a distinction between “good” cameras—those 35 mm creations that allowed, nay demanded, that you manually set shutter speed and aperture—and those cheaper numbers we called “point and shoot” that didn’t expect you to do anything, but push the button in return for photos that were passable, but usually far below professional standards.

Now, once you’ve selected the appropriate setting (landscape? night? indoor?), a “good” camera can pretty much function as a point and shoot. Taking a good photo is often a matter of being in the right place at the right time—being aware of the moment, keeping a camera close at hand, and going for the shot, all in all, a pretty good metaphor for life. I’ll try to remember that.

0 Comments

Getting Organized

12/6/2014

1 Comment

A few years ago, one of my nearest and dearest who shall remain nameless tossed his apartment keys into his checked luggage as he hastily packed for a flight home. He arrived about midnight, but his luggage didn’t. You can imagine the rest. … There’s no way to get into a 10th-flour apartment through a window, and Manhattan locksmiths don’t work cheap in the middle of the night. Luckily, the hapless traveler hadn’t packed his credit cards.

He wouldn’t have been saved by any packing list in the world, but his story highlights the fact that advance planning—and early packing can sometimes save us from folly.

As the holidays approach, travel sites are full of advice on how to pack. Almost universally, they include depressingly detailed lists. (Tweezers, dental floss, moisturizer? Really?) I use a listless method myself. Long before I began traveling as much as I do today, I bought a toiletries bag that I packed once and haven’t unpacked since. It holds make-up, hair stuff, dental stuff, eyeglass cleaner, hand sanitizer—in other words all the things I’ll need, no matter where I’m going. When I return from a trip, I replenish whatever I’ve used and put the bag on the travel shelf ‘til I’m ready to go again. No list necessary.

Sitting on the shelf beside the toiletry bag is a banker’s box holding medication containers, a jewelry case, and small zippered packs for cords, chargers, batteries and plug adapters—stuff that can be easily packed in advance, with a minimum of decision-making required. Again, no need for a list. The containers serve as reminders. Also in the box are an umbrella, sunscreen, insect spray, and other items I need on some trips but not on others. Again, their presence in the box are my reminders.

Having all that stuff on the travel shelf means I’m half-packed before I start. The hard part, deciding what clothes to take, is a little less formidable with the detail stuff done.

One more tip: Do your liquids sometimes leak during flight? I used to seal bottles of mouthwash or hair spray or other necessary fluids in zip-type plastic bags and hope for the best—which usually meant a damp messy bag when I unpacked later. There’s a better way. After screwing on the cap, wrap scotch tape tightly around the joint where cap meets bottle—and take the tape with you so you can do the same thing for the trip home. Okay … I still put the container in a plastic bag (extra insurance, so to speak), but so far I’ve had no more wet bags to contend with.

Happy traveling!

1 Comment

Pre-Check It Out

11/18/2014

0 Comments

Sign at the Cape of Good Hope, South Africa

I like to travel with as little hassle as possible so I was delighted when my home airport, San Diego, separated its chaotic drop-off and pick-up lanes and expanded Terminal 2. More space, I thought, easier passage to the gate, less stress. On my first departure from the new facility, however, I soon found myself in an unhappy horde of the harried flowing at a glacial rate into security.

That’s when I first thought seriously about the advantages of getting “TSA pre-check” certified. Gaining this lofty status required an in-person interview at a federal office 45 minutes from home, however, and I kept putting it off. Then, on a later journey, after a 14-hour flight across the Pacific, I missed my half-hour hop from LA to San Diego because—you guessed it—the speed at which we moved through domestic security would have put a tortoise to sleep.

With two holiday trips on the calendar this year, it was time to act. I logged on to the Internet to schedule a pre-check interview, only to learn all appointment times had been taken. My only option was to take my chances as a walk-in.

Steeling myself for a long wait in some bureaucratic maze, toting my iPad, breakfast bars, and coffee mug, I headed for the TSA office in San Diego, prepared to spend the day. Instead, I walked into an empty office, was shown into the interview room, chatted with the friendly woman there, showed my ID, gave my fingerprints, and was on my way in … oh, 15 minutes or so!

But there’s more! Before I left, I was given instructions for tracking the progress of my application via the Internet. A few days later, I logged on to see how thing were going, only to discover I’d been given a number already—unexpectedly in plenty of time to get “pre-checked” on a trip to the east coast.

Sometimes government actually works. If you travel much, pre-check is $85 well spent.

0 Comments

<<Previous

Laundry in Venice

Traveling Through Time

Dear Flyaway Airlines

Point and Shoot

Getting Organized

Pre-Check It Out

Travel Talk

Categories

Archives

Laundry in Venice

Traveling Through Time

Dear Flyaway Airlines

Point and Shoot

Getting Organized

Pre-Check It Out

Travel Talk﻿

Categories

Archives

Travel Talk