Road Warrior Princess

End of an Era

You are totally expecting this to be an homage to Steve Jobs, aren't you?

Well, I do own an iPad and a brand-spankin-new MacBook, but frankly, I'm no fangirl.  I was so very sad to hear the news of the passing of one of the great marketers and visionaries of our time.  However, this post is not about him.

This post is about, well, the same thing this blog is about - me.  I've officially made the commitment to leave the unnamed employer in this blog and join another unnamed employer, in a totally different industry.

Everyone wants to know where, and what I'll be up to once I'm there.  Everyone is also thinking, but not asking, why I left.  

Frankly, I'll be joining a small company doing BIG things, and I'll be lucky to be doing big things to as the Manager of Digital Marketing for both internal and external projects.  I'll also be calming down the travel, much to my parents' glee!  No more desperate text messages from Mom, wondering if I'm out of the country, and if so, if I'm in a friendly country!!  (Well, those may continue, but it will be funsies trips rather than all business)

And, thanks to Delta's Rollover program, I don't have to slum it in coach until AT LEAST 2014!

I won't reveal the reasons why I'm leaving on this blog, Precious Reader, but I do want to tell everyone that I still care immensely for the unnamed employer, and will always fight the good fight alongside our clients and against false clouds.  

So - to the end of one era and to the beginning of another - both for Apple and for me.

The Upper Decker

Yes, I had to - I have the maturity of a 10-year-old so...NO, MOM, I couldn't just call it "The Upper Deck."  

What I am referring to, of course, is the fact that during this month's trip to Rome, I had the distinct pleasure of riding up top on the brand-spanking-new full two-story Airbus 380 via Air France.  What a way to kick off a Mediterranean adventure!

This was my second exposure to the Air France Business Class product, and it was fine - food was good, seats were comfortable, and the Clarins lotion in the amenity kits continue to be my primary reason for ever flying AF.  However, since I was straying from my usual international airline, I was mostly interested in the equipment, not the service, and I was NOT disappointed!

The upstairs cabin was incredibly spacious, unlike the 747 (my only other two-deck airline experience).  Not that I minded, but it seemed like there was even a little too much space - the staircase was exceptionally wide, and the forward right section of the cabin was dedicated to some sort of art installation.  Apparently, somewhere on the plane there was an espresso bar (didn't find it, but it was mentioned in the menu).  Seriously, it can't get much Frencher that this!!

The thing that I will never forget, however, is the totally amazing decision to mount cameras on the plane...and make their video available to passengers.  That's right - you get to watch your plane take off from above.  

Three separate cameras (mounted on the tail, the front, and below the fuselage) provide three completely different perspectives, though the tail camera is the one that gives the best perspective of weather in-flight.  Unfortunately, because of cloud thickness, the fuselage camera is only valuable just after takeoff, just before landing, or on a clear day.  It does give you a clear understanding of how fast you are moving, however.

Between takeoff and landing, I just couldn't get enough of this flight - until DH turned to me and asked, "Can you believe that there's someone sitting immediately below you right now?"  

That question blew my mind.  

Then I remembered that if there weren't a person below me, I wouldn't get to say that I was The Upper-Decker.*  Commence the giggling.

*I do realize that some readers may not understand why I am so bent on this term...so to those people I recommend googling the phrase.  I take no responsibility for what you find.  Blame my sisters.

Traveling Sick

Ever done it?  It sucks.

I don't get sick very often - probably because I love to sleep, work out regularly, and try to eat right (and stay hydrated).  However, when it hits me, it...hits...HARD.

At the moment, I'm sitting at home, suffering from my summer cold and dreading the fact that I've got to get on a plane tomorrow.  I'm also thinking back to some of the worst business trip illnesses I've lived through...

...like the onset of a head cold the day before I left on a 30 hour trip to Sydney...

...or the weeklong flu that prompted the client's consultant to give me her entire container of Airborne...

...or the time I had to go to the ER in the Cinci-nasty airport.

Yikes!  It's bound to happen to a traveler at some point, so what can you do?  Since there is no way to outright avoid ever getting sick while traveling, the best thing that you can do is plan ahead.

Plan ahead in order to keep your body healthy.  When traveling, drink as much water as you can, get some work outs in, and eat right!  Eat enough.  Wash your hands.  Drink some more water.  

Plan ahead to keep your immune system up.  Don't take the last flight in.  Get a full night's sleep every night that you can.  Don't take the red-eye.  Seriously, it's not worth it.

Plan ahead for the times when you will be sick.  Travel with whatever OTC medications you turn to - a few days' worth of aspirin or cold medication will be worth their weight in gold when you wake up coughing in the middle of the night (and when you don't feel like getting out of bed to get some).  Prepare a travel kit to keep these things together.  Remember to replenish.

Plan ahead for the times you will be direly ill.  Make sure you always have a cheat-sheet with your insurance information and any rules or other information.  Ensure you know where to find it.

Proper planning is the only way to survive the times that you do fall ill - because when you're struggling, you will fall back into the habits you establish.  If you know that you have some tools at your disposal to help deal with your discomfort, you can execute with those tools more quickly, and feel better sooner.  

Finding Your Cheers

When you travel like I do, sometimes the only thing you want is to be somewhere that feels familiar.  You miss your home, the streets you know, and that joint that has become your "Cheers" - where everyone knows...well, maybe it's just Don, the bartender with the lazy eye...at any rate, someone remembers your name.  Or even if they call you the wrong name, like Norm, at least they're consistent.

Most travelers collect something on the road to help with coping - it makes it feel like the trips are part of a quest.  I happen to collect postcards, primarily because they are cheap.  However, I have very stringent requirements - whatever is on the postcard must be something that I personally saw or experienced, and it must have the name of the city or country.  Until I find the card that meets those requirements, I will not buy it, so there have been numerous frantic search runs at airports on my outbound trip just to get that momento.

These requirements have served me well, though, because my goal in collecting the card is to jog a memory - to call up a heart-print.  I remember faces, places, and sometimes names (though I generally assign them to the wrong people), but the postcards bring all of those jumbled details back into perspective.  The visual represents something to me that stimulates my mind, and acts like a photograph of an old friend - or possibly someone I never want to see again, like in the case of a city in Mississippi that will go unnamed*ahem*Jackson*cough*pleasedon'tmakemegobackthere*AHEM!.

It's my third trip to this city, and it has become for me a bit of a European headquarters.  Each visit, I've learned something new.  I've conquered the train and tram system, mastered the art of avoiding those deadly bicycles, and heck, I even hugged a windmill (one of the REAL ones, not those new-fangled sound abatement ones).  Despite doing all of these things, I realize that you can learn the facts and history, the geography, and you can take a lot of pictures of a city, but you can't truly create a feeling of comfort within that city until you are exposed to its soul.  The only way to do that is through the people.

You have to get out amongst the people, and you have to meet a few of them.  You must build that base that will provide that feeling of comfort and familiarity.  Lucky for me, I have some friends (met them in China, believe it or not) who live here and were obliged to introduce me to my first hyper-local Dutch restaurant (and the owners).  This is what a traveler lives for - that new favorite, introduced by a local, and run by good people who can personify that city for you always.  And La Cacerola is that place for me now.  Incredible food, a warm welcoming environment, and bubbles by the glass (natch), gave me that precise combination of local flavor and worldliness.  

It may not be a restaurant for you - it may be a pub, it may be a park, but it really is the conversation and the laughs that happen there, the feeling that you are sharing a part of someone's sphere of influence that makes that place feel comfortable, familiar.  It is that feeling that makes you think, "Hey, I can come back here time and again, and I will feel like I know these people and this place, and that they know me. This could be my 'Cheers'. "

...Even if they pronounce your name wrong.

Sleeping with the Fishes

I realize that the title of this post is totally inaccurate - with the amount of adrenaline coursing through my body (and the fact that I haven't been able to sleep past 4 am yet), there is no way I would have been caught sleeping.  Still, it's catchy.

I was a little wary when "Flo" at the hotel travel desk suggested that I sign up for scuba diving.  I'd been planning to visit the Great Barrier Reef and was convinced that snorkeling would be incredible enough.  However, if you've ever watched a Progressive Insurance commercial, you know that women named Flo can be very convincing.  So, she signed me up to board the SilverSonic destined for some of the Ribbon Reefs.

The Ribbon Reefs are called such because they lie at the outermost portions of the Great Barrier Reef.  The Great Barrier Reef lies at the edge of the continental shelf surrounding Queensland, Australia.  In fact, there were a couple of times that I could hear the water breaking out on the continental shelf, and I must admit that it was fascinating.

Not as fascinating as the life below, however!  When I boarded the SilverSonic, I was certain I knew what to expect - after all, I'm a strong swimmer, don't mind diving down to catch something cool, and I've snorkeled all over the Caribbean as well as Hawaii.  None of these experiences came anywhere close to the teeming life I spied on the breathtaking reef.  I was literally surrounded by species of coral, fish, sea worms, and other things I never actually saw but certainly saw me.  Let's face it, when you're wearing a bright blue bodysuit, you're hard to miss.  Don't mock me, I was wearing it for protection from sun/jellyfish/cold of the water...okay, you can mock me.

The first dive site was a great opportunity to warm up at Agincourt Reef, swimming all around the Nursery Bommie chasing reef sharks (see video) and diving down to test my ears.  Unfortunately, I was having quite a problem with my right ear from a cold I'd had, but no amount of poor acting on training videos was going to convince me to not try the diving at our second site.  I'd paid up front - I don't take that lightly, and I wasn't about to disappoint Flo.

My instructor, Matt, was the friendliest of the staff and probably the most patient, which is why I was assigned to him (these people are pros; they can smell trouble).  I was determined to be on my best behavior, but that darned ear kept me from descending as quickly as I wanted.  Thanks to the aforementioned poor acting in the training video, however, I finally managed to equalize enough to realize the human dream of breathing underwater.  I couldn't believe it!  This perspective was unlike anything I'd ever seen, and once the fear of choking/air running out/lungs exploding had subsided (to be honest, I got distracted by the view), it was a total game-changer.  I'm no longer a mere snorkeler, I'm big-league now.

To bring me down from my pedestal, a cheeky hump-headed wrasse nearly knocked me in my head as I fondled a sea cucumber on the seafloor.  The fondling was sanctioned, but "Wally" was not happy that he wasn't the center of attention, so he poked his snout into our business.  However, no amount underwater drama was going to take back the fact that I had completed my first dive - I have the certificate to prove it! 

With proof of my experience, endless memories, and photos to share with you, I only regret leaving one thing behind: my trusty blue jumpsuit.

First Day Down Under

Time travel is fun, but wears a girl out.

This trip to Australia represents many firsts for me - my first trip to the Southern Hemisphere, my first time on a lie-flat bed on an airplane, and my first time crossing the International Date Line.  Needless to say, the trip was long, and when someone asked me yesterday how long I had been awake, I honestly couldn't say.  After all, since I left the 15th of September and arrived the 17th, do I count the 16th or did I skip that day entirely?  And where did that day go?  A black hole?  Can I apply to have that day back when I leave to go home?  Too much math. 

All things considered, the trip has been fairly smooth so far.  Flights were on time, my bags arrived, and so did I - fairly alert.  However, what a MADHOUSE when I tried to leave the airport!  You'd think they were giving away free Tim Tams at the Exit.  Travel tip - when faced with the International Arrivals area in Sydney, do NOT wait in the line to exit.  See if you can find a uniformed staff member, get him to stamp your card (and btw don't bring any snacks into the country), and bail out the back way.  This will save you approximately an hour of standing around and possibly add two years to your life.

Now, after a heavily caffeinated day at the office (well, to be fair, a day at the office and at Union Pub with friends and colleagues, new and old), I'm next off to Cairns.

Cairns is a city in Queensland, Australia, on the northern coast.  It's quite warm this time of year, and is also best known for access to the Great Barrier Reef and the Daintree Rainforest.  My hope is to visit both - and to get some rest and work in while I'm there.  I don't see a lot of fancy shopping or eating in my future, though, because this joint is expensive!

My stomach is telling me that a steady diet of beer and coffee just won't do. 

The Morning Commute

I am NOT a morning person.  I never have been, which is why I switched my workout schedule to mornings a few years ago.  That - and the fact that afternoon workouts were cutting in to my rigorous happy hour schedule.

The morning workout makes the rest of the day much more bearable, and if I don't manage to get one in before work, it had better be because I'm dragging myself from bed to desk for a day of limited interaction.  And by "desk", of course I mean "kitchen table."  Yes, I've been spoiled by telecommuting, and no, I won't apologize for it.

Generally, though I travel by air most of the time, and don't always have access to a decent gym, I make certain to squeeze in a workout each day, even if it's a short one.  However, one route I take continues to confound my goal: the commute into Washington, DC.

When I moved to my current home base, I told myself, "Self, we won't be traveling as much!  Washington, DC is so close, that we will be commuting there quite frequently!  It will be so close and convenient and so conducive to being at home each night.  Self, this is great news, isn't it?  Self?  ANSWER ME!!"  *Ahem* 

Myself and I were quite mistaken, and believe it or not, I am quite grateful, because after commuting into the city for the better part of last week, I've determined that there is no desirable way to get into our nation's capital from where I live.  And how far away from DC is that, you may think?  Well, it depends...

Essentially, I have three options to get into the city during waking hours:

1. Join the other 10 million angry, volatile, possibly murderous drivers on the highways into the city.  Approximate drive time: 4 1/2 days.  Okay, that was an exaggeration.  It's really only 1/2 a day, if I live through it.

2. Board the MARC train.  There are three departure times, which include: "Too early for breakfast", "Still dark out", and "Are you f***ing kidding me?!?".  Approximate commute time: 2 hours with no Internet access and a veritable panoply of colorful characters, known as "train people".

3. Join the frustrating commute in option 1 to the nearest Metro station, hop on the train, and hope that I don't bludgeon someone out of sheer desperation from the drive in.  Approximate travel time: 1.75 hours.

Needless to say, none of these make it easy to get a workout in when I've got a morning meeting, and all are quite long and frustrating.  During this particular week, I kept my motivation up for an entire day, which when combined with the "Too early for breakfast" MARC train plan, essentially killed all hopes for a pre-meeting workout the rest of the week.

It was then, perhaps, out of simple frustration that I found myself so out of sorts on the Friday MARC commute home.  I said to myself, "Self, this commute has GOT to stop."  Self may very well have jumped ship after that first MARC ride of the week.

That afternoon, I surveyed closely those people who boarded the train with a confidence that said, "I am a train person, and I don't care who knows."  These frequent commuters, champions of the morning rush - quite fascinating they were in their natural environment!  These people do this ride each day; they make friends with other commuters, and they are smiling!!  These train people take pride in the trip, and ascend the stairs with the air of a benevolent ruler observing the adoring masses of the kingdom.  Their jovial demeanors made the ride seem almost fun. 

Could it be that I was envious?  That riding the MARC could be something I'd enjoy doing?  Could I see myself giving up air travel or telecommuting or even switching workout schedules in order to pursue a more frequent train commute?

As I found myself pondering this possibility, I happened to look at the ground, and remembered that the toilets on the train had not been working earlier.  Now the contents were pooling around my shoes and my briefcase. 

Decision made.  This would never happen in the 10 foot walk between my bed and the "desk."

One Metre Bicycles

If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with.

This has been my philosophy almost my entire life regarding my current location.  Now, as I travel most of the time, if I find myself in the same city for more than three days, it begins to feel like home.  So much so, that I dread leaving. 

I usually attempt to throw myself into the local culture - understand how it is to live in an area for the days that I'm there.  This is probably the root of my problem and explains why it's always so difficult to wrest myself from my current location.  Over the course of the past week (9 days for those of you keeping score at home), I've tried to throw myself into Dutch living.

Ticked off the list?  A myriad of Dutch doings, including...

I got the chance to be in Holland's biggest city during the finals of one of the biggest sporting events possible (at least for the Dutch) - the World Cup.  Nothing proves the dedication to the game more than the fact that the hookers in the Red Light District were sitting in their windows texting on their iPhones.  No business today, girls, so you might as well see if you can't stream the game direct to your mobile.

I learned to appreciate the canal system.  In fact, after a daytime canal tour and hours of walking (I admit, I got lost a few times, but everyone says that's the most fun, don't they?  Here's a hint: Not in the rain), I almost got my bearings.  Almost.  At least I managed to appreciate the beautiful and intricate system and the houseboats that numerous Dutch occupy in permanent mooring spots.  These hideous little boats (okay, not all are hideous or little, but the majority are BOTH) float permanently in a canal said to be 3 metres deep - one metre water, one metre mud, and one metre bicycles.  There's probably more than one metre of bicycles, but hey, who's counting?

I rode on the back of a Dutch bike (cycled by an Aussie).  Apparently, this is very "unemancipated" but I didn't care as it gave me a nice breeze through my hair and the chance to appreciate Vondelpark at dusk.  Besides, I may be independent, but I ain't stoopid.  I was wearing heels and had no desire to walk.

I partook in the local traditions.  'Nuff said.

I also did a quite a bit of work, and in all seriousness, it was one of the best weeks I've ever had.  I can return stateside content in the job we did and the things I experienced. 

Don't worry, though - I've only got two full days at home before I'm off again.  That's not long enough to get settled.

The Morning After

For whom doth that bicycle bell toll?  It tolls for thee. 

If there's one thing I've learned from being here just a couple of days, it's that bicycles are dangerous.  Not once, twice, but possibly a half-dozen or more times I've been yanked out of a crosswalk for my own safety.  Despite the fact that I had the right-of-way.  These Dutch cyclists outnumber the pedestrians - and they don't stop for the average crosswalk sign. 

Spirits were soaring as early as 9 a.m. on Sunday morning when I ventured out.  With each passing hour, the lilting melodies of plastic vuvuzelas grew into a slow and building buzz reminiscent of locusts of biblical proportions.  Game day for the Dutch, and the Red Light District was alive with drunks on bicycles.

Now, the Red Light District is not for the faint of heart on a normal day, and on the morning of the World Cup Finals the area was, by all accounts, in rare form.  (For the record, this is also beside the hotel in which I'm staying at the moment.)  The odor of the Dutch coffeehouses was so overpowering one could scarce escape it for even a breath of fresh air.  This was a state preparing for victory.

Alas, a victory that would slip through their fingers - and completely change the countenance of the city.

I've been in a lot of wild cities (South Beach, Las Vegas, New Orleans), many of which are filthy and ill-kept.  However, I was not prepared for the sight that met me this morning on my early run through the streets of Amsterdam.

It was as if Amsterdam herself had gotten drunk, ditched the bicycle only to puke out of the window of a cab, and had still managed to go home with the last desperate soul at the bar.  Beer cans, wine bottles, pipes and literally, bodies, were strewn about the street helter-skelter.  If Amsterdam had a stomach, these had been its contents.  I am certain I stepped over someone passed out mid-sidewalk wearing night-vision glasses. 

This was a city with a killer hangover - and not the kind that causes high-fives on the walk of shame the next day.  Those who were conscious this morning walked hanging their heads, dragging their feet, still dressed in their festive orange jerseys (or wigs, boas, and other finery), vuvuzela in hand.  Most shocking?  Not a single bicycle. 

However, a few hours, a good bathing, and some rehydration does a body good, and by afternoon I could see this city bouncing back.  Already, much of the urine-smell that had overtaken the city had begun to give way to the familiar wafting cannabis smoke, the red lights were back on, and people were back on the streets.

The city had returned to what it does best - reckless bicycling.

Against All Odds

Once in a while, I have one of those travel days that makes me wonder if I should just get off the plane.  The beginning of this trip to Amsterdam was exactly like that.

I've never understood why or how a ticket can be changed/rebooked and separately reissued.  Even in researching this online, and separately asking multiple airline staff, I've found no acceptable answer.

All I know is - it took four phone calls to Delta, three separate reissuings of my ticket, six different Delta staff, and two Medallion Systemwide Upgrades to get me to the airport.  And once I got there?  An ATC delay that would potentially cause a misconnect and put me back a day.

Sometimes trips are doomed from the outset, and this is a great example.  Every sign pointed to "sorry, sister, you might as well high-tail it home from here."

However, when these things happen, there's only one thing to do - call the airline, exhaust ALL potential backup-plans, then wait.  If it's out of your control, then emotion will only hurt you.  Think lucidly, then rank your options.

Option 1: Best Choice - Everything works out and somehow the flight leaves on time
Option 2: Next Choice - Get me on the next flight out
Option 3: Not until TOMORROW?!? - Get me off this damn plane and onto one that that will get me closer to where I'm going!
Option 4: <Panicking> - Can't you string me through some random airport like Madison, WI?  I gotta get to Amsterdam!

I was lucky this time - option 1 worked out in the end, and I made the original flight.  However, you've got to be prepared for the moment that you reach your wit's end, which is why smart travelers rarely take the last flight out of town and never check a bag when there's a connection involved, because the last thing you want to hear is:

"I'm sorry, miss, you won't make it to Europe tonight...but, er...your bag did."