Getting There is Half the....Battle

I have to say that my luck when it comes to ease of travel is just about 50/50. My first time ever visiting Russia included a free upgrade to business class on my way back from Saint Petersburg. I got so much extra leg room and warm chocolate chip cookies I was certain that the fates had smiled down up me. +1 Jill

Going to Australia met with some resistance when I found out at the airport that I was on the stand-by list despite having booked my ticket several months in advance. However, despite some panic attacks, I found myself on the plane to Australia, and my traveling companion and I got bumped up to economy plus for the San Francisco-->Sydney portion of our journey. +1 Airline/+1 Jill

The family vacation to Miami this past December was fraught with disaster. The towncar taking us to the airport got a flat tire on the exit ramp to the airport. Not even just flat but completely shredded. My best friend and I unwisely decided to wear warm weather clothing to the airport and thus nearly froze to death standing on the exit ramp in Philadelphia. It was only because airport security viewed us as a security threat that a security officer came and escorted us to the airport. Next we were delayed 80 minutes on the runway before takeoff, and when we finally arrived in Florida it took over an hour to get our rental car. We should have arrived at our hotel by 11am, but barely made it in time for our dinner reservations at 7pm. Airline +1/ -3 Jill

So I should have been due some good airline karma this trip, but it was not to be. Almost immediately the bad travel luck started. My original flight had me going from Philadelphia--->JFK---->Moscow, however as soon as I got to the airport I was informed that my Philadelphia--->JFK flight was going to be 5 hours late. Five hours late. This clearly did not work given that my flight to Moscow was in 3 hours. The people at Delta tossed around options like a private car could drive me up to JFK, but the best option they could come up with was to put me on a separate flight entirely--one that left 6 hours later than my original flight and would get me into Moscow a full three hours after the students I was supposed to greet would arrive. It wasn't the best option, but it was pretty much the only they settled on for me.

As far as the flight went, everything went smoothly: no turbulence, edible meal, a neighbor that appeared to have the bubonic plague but at least coughed into a tissue rather than on me. Even my layover went smoothly in Paris. On top of that I was the second person through passport control in Moscow which is unheard of. I was in and out of passport control in 6 minutes. A new personal best.

So you can imagine my surprise when I waited for my luggage for 10 minutes. Then 20. Then 30. Then 45. Then an hour. No luggage. Not just for me but for 20 other people on my flight. Some wacky senior citizen French backpacking women actually crawled on to the luggage belt and attempted to crawl back into the luggage area. Although that was pretty entertaining to watch (and SO not recommended in Russia as they quickly learned), it didn't help with the luggage situation. As it turns out an entire truck of luggage was let at the terminal in Paris--mine included. Ooops.

After another hour of filling out paperwork repeatedly at the Moscow airport (6 forms in triplicate all by hand. If I'm ever wealthy, I'm gifting carbon copy paper to the Moscow airport), I was sent off with a piece of paper that confirmed that my luggage was indeed missing, but no promises that I'd ever see my luggage again.

At the hotel I tried to be pretty zen about the whole thing. After all it was just stuff, right? Things can be replaced. A few months ago there was a bombing in the baggage claim of the Domodedovo airport in Moscow (not the airport I flew to). How can I be upset about stuff when just a few months ago something so horrific happened. I repeated my zen inspired mantra as I made numerous Skype calls to Delta/AirFrance/the Moscow airport. There were promises that my luggage would be on the 7:00 flight to Moscow, arriving at the airport at 9:45 and would be hand delivered to my hotel that night. Hooray. Being zen worked.

Yet when I woke up the next morning there was no luggage. Calls revealed that they didn't actually know what happened to the luggage. It being on the flight the previous night was a hopeful guess. My zen mantra wasn't working. I was smelly, wearing the same clothes for 36 hours, and thinking of all the stuff in my luggage that would be difficult to replace in general, and impossible to replace in Moscow: the adapters & wires for my cameras (with one camera actually being in the suitcase-ugh), my glasses, my favorite Russian language review book, and the brand new sweet birdie blouse my mom had purchased for me the night before I left. Still just stuff, but stuff that would be difficult to be without for the trip


That day I went to the airport smelly and cranky, and yet still on duty to pick up the 5 remaining students for the study abroad program. In between two flights I found my way over to lost and found, and asked about my luggage. "It will arrive today at 3:15. Come back here at 3:45, we will have it," I was informed by a very no nonsense lost and found official. When I returned at the designated time I was greeted by more paperwork and about 2 dozen questions about the physical features of my luggage ("It's black. No, just black. Like black, black. Are there shades of black? No, not plastic, just material. No, I don't know what type of material. Yes, I realize that a lot of people have black luggage, I'll show more consideration the next time I purchase luggage...is my bag actually here?") and then---tah dah---my luggage appeared! With all of my things in it which was even better! I thanked my query-tastic lost and found agents of mercy and rushed back to join my group.

So the airlines have won this round. I'm hoping this means the fates will right themselves and I'll be bumped up to first class and get to sit next to Oprah on the way back to the states. Seems like that's the only fair way here.



And today, in celebration I wore the sweet little birdie shirt my mama bought for me. Thanks, Mama!

Martha's Vineyard (in Pictures)

It Begins Again

My long neglected blog. I promised myself that I’d continue to write here even after I returned from my travels last summer, and then school started up again. Teaching verbs of motion replaced writing about my own physical motion. It happens. However, that doesn’t mean I didn’t travel in all that time. Adventures were had. So now as I find just days away from my return to Russia, I feel as though I should share some of my more recent travels.

The past few months I’ve been US-bound for my travels. My passport has been resting comfortably in my lingerie drawer as I’ve been trotting around the country visit favorite places and discovering new ones.



Miami:


If one city could be my guilty pleasure it would be Miami. Part of me always feels as though I shouldn’t like Miami. I’m an academic. A serious person. My ideal night typically involves tea, my favorite quilt from Anthropologie and a stack of books. Yet part of me loves Miami. It’s a city of decadence, and there are times when I long for decadence. If it were a constant thing, I’m sure it’d get old, but as a once a year indulgence? Bring on Miami.








There’s something thrilling about spending hours getting ready for a night out. Slipping into a slinky little dress and sky high heels to go out. Every time I get waved into an impossible to get into club, I get a thrill. It’s my inner nerd feeling as though I’ve pulled one over those impossibly big bouncers as they pull my friend and I out from the line and slip us in to the a place that takes hours to get into. How can you not love nights that end with a private party where Jaime Foxx is the DJ?





This year’s trip to Miami was the perfect balance of over-the-top nightlife, and long languid day trips all over Florida. With my best friend and my family, we meandered down to Key West, balancing sandwiches on our laps as we make the five hour drive on the narrow two lane road. Just a quick trip to see the sunset and some roosters.



And, oh, the Isles of Capri. My hairbrained plan to show the family Alligator Alley which ended up working out so well it was the highlight of the trip. Switching drivers half way down the alley so everyone in the car had a proper view of the lazy and terrifying creatures. And then actually getting to the Isles of Capri, and finding that little fishhouse that I’ve been cooing over for months. It was just as perfect as I’d hoped. We sat there drinking pitchers of sangria, watching dolphins jump out of the water, and swearing this was the best clam chowder any of us ever had in our lives.






New Orleans:



A few months ago my friend LG told me she had a conference in New Orleans, and that her husband couldn’t go. I, in all of my impulsive glory asked, “Can I go?” and with that I had a ticket to New Orleans.




It’s a city I’ve always wanted to visit, and yet never had the opportunity to actually go to. Traveling there with one of my best friends in Charlottesville? Yes, please.





The city did not disappoint. I could probably write for a week on the food alone since one of LG’s former students gave us a step-by-step guide to eating our way through New Orleans with our first stop being the deliciously amazing Couchon. We kept a list of places to eat and things we had to try before we left, and we made our way slowly but surely through both. Jambalaya? Check? Beignets at Café Du Monde? Check. Alligator? Check. Massively big White Russians (how could I not?) in the French Quarter? Double check.




New Jersey:



And of course there were many trips back to my beloved home state. Though I love my current state of residence (as of November thanks to vaguely threatening letters from my insurance company). I made these numerous trips to see two of my most favorite guys including but not limited to this little guy.







And then there was the big day. Turning 30. I've had some friends freak out about that big number, but I relish it. 30. It feels real. I'm a person. An adult. I have plans. And goals and I'm accomplishing them. 30. I feel as though my life has just gotten sweeter and sweeter for the past few years so I'm looking forward to seeing where it all takes me. Celebrating in NYC with a few beloved family members & friends? What a way to start this new decade.




I cannot believe how quickly this semester went by. I feel like just weeks ago I was sipping hot chocolate and finding excuses to stay in New Jersey for just one more day. Now I'm still sipping hot chocolate thanks to two straight weeks of rain, and wondering just when I can break out my new silver shorts.





So now I sit here with my passport in hand once more slowly getting ready to pack for Russia again (whether I'll be packing said silver shorts or sweatshirts still remains to be seen--oh chaotic Russian weather, I've missed you).