Ms Traveling Pants

Ms Traveling Pants Has Moved to Another Address!!!

2009-06-12T15:38:00.001-07:00

To those that have stumbled upon this link or that have been following since my stories of Arranged Marriages, Camel Rides, Great Paella, and Run ins with some mean Insects.....I wanted to let you know that I have officially moved off this address.

I have a new face, layout with interactive podcasts and videos. Please come and visit at

http://www.mstravelingpants.travel

Sincerely,

Ms Traveling Pants

Beginning of Hurricane Season 2009

2009-05-31T10:04:00.000-07:00

With only a day remaining until those of us in Florida enter into a new hurricane season from June 1st through the 30th of November, many are preparing by buying batteries, bottled water, canned soups, generators, extension cords, and the like.

It is with the start of this Hurricane season that I remember my first summer in Florida 2004. It was no more that one month into our lease at a new apartment and with a new car (without garage) that the trilogy of hurricanes came through Broward county and gave us a quick, crash course into Hurricane preparedness. For those that don't remember, it was the year of Frances, Jeanne, and Ivan. Notice that the storms go alphabetically alternating gender of name (Check out this year's names here).

We filled the bathtubs with water, duct taped the sliding glass doors and windows, turned the dining room table on its side to sleep behind, filled up all the Tupperware with water and froze, and filled the radio with plenty of batteries.

For those of you that have not experienced a Hurricane, they are something unbelievable. They are so powerful, unpredictable, and well scary. The whistle of the wind at 100 mph or more makes the foundation of your apartment or house crackle never knowing when it will be over. Then as a cruel joke, after a series of hours you have a small rest and the of eye of the storm passes over making everything seemingly calm. Then, it hits you again for a second reprise of the wild winds, sheets of rain, and offshoot storms.

So I am crossing my fingers for the next few months. Please spare us for yet another hurricane season. However, I will be getting ready. My trip to the store this week will include some of my hurricane favorites: Boboli pizza crusts, peanut butter, couscous, canned veggies, assorted crackers, little cocktail wienies, and nuts. (Notice that I didn't say cheese; although, it is a Ms Traveling Pants staple. It isn't the best when without electricity.)

BTW, I don't know if you noticed that I mentioned that we had no garage during the Frances, Jeanne, and Ivan scare. Somehow, our one week new Silver Honda Accord was safely parked between a SUV and truck. A large tree fell onto the two of them. We were spared.

Good luck to us all.

Do you have any hurricane recipes or survival tips?

Sleep Tight Don't Let the Bed Bugs Bite!!

2009-05-25T10:00:00.000-07:00

Having stayed in five different hotels in the last three weeks, I must say that I was fortunate to miss the bed bugs (as you know my affinity to bugs and my reactions), but I did sleep tight! From California to the Carolinas to Jersey and Costa Rica one thing was for sure:

In ALL hotels, regardless of price, state, or country, there is always something very similar....the way the bed is made using military style technique.

Have you ever noticed that getting into the hotel bed is a process? There must be at least 5-7 pillows of all arrays of styles: square, regular, round, long and cylindrical. Then, you must rip free from the depths of the mattress and frame not just the comforter but the blanket and the sheet.

As a person that enjoys throwing a leg or foot out to keep my thermometer comfortable, I seem to fight the military style bed making skills that make sleeping the night through rather impossible. Through my turns and temperature adjustments, I rip the sheets free from their imprisonment and give myself some breathing room.

In this day and age where hotels are customizing sleeping experiences whether it be with both firm and soft pillows to select from and sleep number beds, can I get a bed with a non-military style preparation?

Any comments of your hotel experiences, bed making styles, or bed bugs?

Traveling with the Threat of a Pandemic

2009-05-16T08:26:00.000-07:00

This week I took my third trip since the outbreak and onslaught of news regarding Swine Flu; however, this time it was a little different as I was leaving the United States and heading to Costa Rica.

Upon entering Costa Rica not only did we have to fill out the customary forms, but also a health questionnaire regarding our current state of health. After hearing the symptoms via the seemingly 24/7 news alerts, you can imagine the questions regarding coughing, sneezing, fever, etc. I gave myself a clean bill of health by stating the obvious; I was not with Swine Flu.

I deplaned and walked to customs. The typical bank line of zigzagging to the customs officials was not unique; however, there was something very uneasy about the custom officials’ uniforms. The majority whether behind glass or not were wearing surgical masks.

Not only did this look strange, but also it certainly didn’t give me the typical warm welcome of, “Bienvenida a Costa Rica. Pura Vida!” (Welcome to Costa Rica. Everything is well!) In fact, I noticed through my time in the airport that many of the other employees including cleaning staff were wearing these masks. Was I missing something?

As this third trip was one of business, I spent my time at a travel industry exposition, Expotur.travel.While there, I only saw one attendee wearing a mask. Of course, I tried not to look strangely when I passed, but I did think she was a little silly. Additionally, when visiting the restrooms at the expo, there were various announcements reminding all that the best way to prevent the spread of germs is to properly wash hands and sneeze/cough properly. For some reason, I thought we had all learned this as part of our kindergarten classes??? However, it did cross my mind, "What will be next? Should we greet without the customary shake of hands or double kiss to the cheek??" Nah.

To make the trip a true 360 circle, at the San Jose airport awaiting my departure, the masked team didn't escape me. Not only was it the customs and cleaning staff, but also today I saw a traveling couple both wearing the masks.

Am I missing something? Should I be wearing a mask? Should they be wearing masks? Let me your thoughts on these precautions whether needed or silly.

Locals ONLY

2009-05-11T11:24:00.000-07:00

As the tourist season is coming to an end in South Florida, there is a notable difference on my drive to work as well as at the beach. Typically known as the end of "the season" by those in "the Biz," yesterday was Mother's Day. Now, without the "Snowbirds" or "Spring Break Vacationers," the beaches and roads have been taken back by the locals. And even better, so have the restaurants and bars. It is back to the locals only.

I think almost every tourist destination has to find a balance between embracing tourists and then the resentment of tourists. Some never get this equilibrium as seen on this Hudson Valley truck.

As an avid traveler, I have been witness to a large amount of tourists that want to do and eat the same as they do in their hometown without experiencing the local culture. Firsthand, I have even been a victim of being invited to eat at McDonald's in Paris. I decided to have a beer; at least that was a non-American way to enjoy McDonald's. But, travelers like those alluded to are often those that bring a bad name to tourists.

Enough said.....those of us still in South Florida, we are about to enter the time that parking at the infamous Fort Lauderdale beach is doable; there may be a table for lunch at Aruba in Lauderdale-by-the-sea, or that one can get an Intercoastal view at Le Tub in Hollywood to enjoy the big, juicy burgers without showing up a couple of minutes before noon.

Tell me about your favorite, "out of season" experience in Fort Lauderdale or your tourist Mecca.

7 Days and 11 States, My 7-11 Travels

2009-05-03T16:46:00.000-07:00

In my usual style, an aisle seat, I have taken out my laptop to reflect on my last seven days (see picture for view from my seat). Since boarding, it has been a rather interesting flight with various infants, one yappy little dog, and everyone afraid of sneezing with the worries of Swine Flu. It is during this said “quiet time” (with headphones on) that I reflect on where I have been over the last seven days.

I crossed the country last week. I left the West Coast leaving from San Diego, California with a pit stop in Atlanta, Georgia with arrival in Fort Lauderdale, Fl. After empting one suitcase of dirty clothes and repacking another, I then traveled by car for a Spring Roadtrip up I-95 through Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey, New York, and today just a smidgen of Connecticut. Yes, that is right seven days and eleven states. I would have to say I did a 7-11.

During this week, I rode in a double-decker bus (Yes, like in London), four taxis, various planes ran by three distinct airlines, one car for over 1,800 miles, one bike, and by foot. However, I was grateful that none of my travels had been my motor home, semi, or horseback; all I would consider rather unpleasant ways of travel. I did see a Segway along the journey that I wanted to try, but I passed. I will keep it on my to do list.

I have said many times, “If the government had a GPS tracking system on me, they would think that I am doing something illegal.” It is not a secret that they most likely already know my every location and move; and, if the government doesn’t know my every move or happens to lose my location, I have helped them by tweeting my travels. My twitter name is MsTravelingPant (The character limit of Twitter is disappointing.).

Heading back home, where I hang up my laptop bag (I rarely wear hats), I am looking forward to warmer weather as San Diego was unseasonably cool as well as the Northeast was rather cool with rain showers bidding me farewell today.

My next adventure will be my third trip to Costa Rica. This, as my last year’s trip was, will be for business. Regardless, all travel whether for pleasure or work leads to stories, experiences, and learning. I am hoping that my colleagues in Costa Rica make some VIP calls to make sure that the typical hot, humid weather is ready for me. Please no more unseasonable weather. Maybe Ms. Traveling Pants can wear some shorts since it is already May.

New Apartment in Poughkeepsie [Po-kip-see]

2009-04-30T12:25:00.000-07:00

Sitting on the floor of a bare studio apartment in Poughkeepsie, NY, I sit with the windows open to let the recently painted walls dry and fumes escape. It feels nice to sit on a recently purchased, K-Mart bath mat, especially after driving a car packed with only the bare essentials from Fort Lauderdale to Poughkeepsie.

So many of you may be wondering why am I writing about moving into an apartment?? Well as any traveler knows, when on the road you live out of your backpack or your suitcase. In the case of moving, you do the same until you get to your new home and then you camp for a few days.

The unpacking begins today. The futon assembly also awaits. For those of you that enjoy putting things together, I envy you. I certainly do not enjoy such things. Directions and attention to details of nuts and bolts is not my strength. It should be fun!!!

Moving is similar to traveling. Things don't always turn out perfectly. So, I thought it would be a great way to reintroduce my quote to live by, "Every occasion in life may be classified as either a good time or a great story."

As many of my travels over the next few years will be arriving in New York, I wanted to show you the "pad."

Spring Roadtrip Part 3

2009-04-29T20:06:00.000-07:00

We awoke for Day 3 in New Brunswick, New Jersey at the Howard Johnson. It was an interesting evening at the HoJo. As you never know what is wrong or right about a hotel, this was definitely just a place to stay and not a hospitable experience. We arrived very tired on Day 2 and entered the room, which appeared clean to immediately refuel with some apps and beer.

Little did we know last evening that the cable didn't work and that the air conditioning was difficult. As in difficult I mean, that it would work in cycles. Each 5 minutes, it would turn on and then turn off with a loud grown as if it was about to breathe it's last air conditioner breath.

This morning after one of the best slept night's in the last week (despite the cable and air conditioning noise), I awoke to a hotel coffee maker that didn't work. Can you believe it? Yes, the caffeine addict didn't have her juice. So after two very long 10 hour driving days, no coffee. It definitely was not a good morning for groggy Ms. Traveling Pants.

Now, as a lesson to all that have worked in the hospitality industry, I told the management at the HoJo upon leaving, "I am here to check out as well as let you know of some issues with the room. First, the cable is not working nor the air conditioner. And to top it all off, the coffee maker doesn't work." I was then told by the management, "We will put it on the list. Thank you Mam. You are all set." Wasn't that great customer service? I just didn't have the energy or care to protest (lucky HoJo).

So it was off to the New Jersey Turnpike for a quick two hour journey through Jersey to New York and over to the Hudson Valley. Interestingly enough, we saw no Cracker Barrels from the hotel in New Jersey through New York that was until our exit getting off of Highway 84. It was the Poughkeepsie exit 13 and ironically our last exit. The last and final Cracker Barrel #41 was there. It was a sign. It was closure.

I only saw one memorable bummer sticker from NJ to NY:

"Just say Show Me the Carfax." I guess the marketer was a fan of Jerry Maquire. You know, "Show Me the Money!!!"

However, I just wanted to chime in that most bummer stickers this year are political support stickers from the previous election. I guess I don't know why Republican supporters keep those stickers on the car. Come on, get over it and take them off!

After arriving in town, we checked into the same hotel as in March when we did a visit. We then previewed the studio apartment that my husband will be renting while attending the Culinary Institute of America. To celebrate and only a couple blocks walk from the new apartment, we had lunch overlooking the Hudson River Valley.

We walked along the river with the bright sun and a brisk breeze to digest. Afterwards, we did errands including buying a futon and supplies for the apartment. You know the type: the 32 piece dinner set, the 10 piece cooking set, bathroom supplies, alarm clocks, wastepaper baskets and the like. It was like getting ready for the dorms all over again, except that I was not having my father build a wooden bunk bed for my roommate and I.

We had a wonderful day despite rather stressful news back home regarding a restructuring of my current employer. We had a great lunch, got errands done including getting the apartment finalized, saw the movie "The Soloist", and then had yet another "last supper."

Tomorrow is claimed as, "The Day of the Resume." We plan to appear in person and drop off 40+ resumes to restaurants throughout the area. It should be fun. We will certainly get to know the area.

Keep you posted on the rest of the trip.

Spring Roadtrip Part 2

2009-04-28T16:27:00.000-07:00

Left the Motel 6 in Fayetteville, North Carolina at 9:15 AM after a short run and getting gas at $2.03 a gallon. We started on the road after passing 24 Cracker Barrels. Within miles, we spotted another.

We have passed another 5 in North Carolina before crossing to Virginia and seeing 6 others, 2 in Maryland, none in Delaware, and so far 3 in New Jersey. We are at a total of 40 Cracker Barrels.

Couple of insights or random thoughts:

1) Did you know that in North Carolina they still have smoking sections in restaurants? Unbelievable huh?

2) The Cracker Barrel count is getting high, but I think that return trip in a couple of years will need to be Waffle Houses. I swear they are like a bad penny.

3) I am actually starting to wonder how many fast food restaurants with the Southern theme of chicken and biscuits can service through the Carolinas, Virginia, Maryland, etc. There is Cracker Barrel, Chick-fil-a, BoJangles, Popeye's and countless others.

Favorite billboards on this stage of the trip:

1) A Snickers billboard stating, "Pledge Sigma Nougat" instead of Cum Laude or something like that. I guess in my punch drunk state, it was rather funny.

2) A Jim Beam billboard outside of Baltimore, "Columbus didn't ask for directions." In little type, it mentioned, "Guys never change." After now 20 hours in car with my husband, I was needing a little humor to hit my female funny bone.

We stopped at a wonderful, Mediterranean "Hole in the Wall" restaurant outside of Alexandria and ate Chicken Shawarma with Tahini (see picture above) It certainly beat the other options on the typical roadtrip. So far it has been the highlight of the culinary trip, as I was recently on a business trip, which means I had buffet after buffet after continental breakfast, which all under perform one's appetite.

Well, just moments ago, we stopped in New Brunswick, NJ for the evening. We were hoping to make it to Poughkeepsie today, but 4 traffic hiccups in the D.C. and Baltimore area made things interesting. However, I would like to note that 511 is a helpful little tool.

Stay tuned for the final leg of the driving trip in Spring Roadtrip Part 3

Spring Roadtrip Up I-95-Part 1

2009-04-27T20:14:00.000-07:00

Most of my posts thus far have been of memories of past trips. This week, I wanted to give you a story in “real time” of a journey from Fort Lauderdale, Fl up I-95 1,800 miles to Poughkeepsie, NY. Stay tuned for play by play pit-stops, unique insights, and more.

Day one: Start from Plantation, Fl in a packed to the brim Honda. Gas tank full (paying $2.15 per gallon), radio station a mixture of 97.3, 97.9, and 104.3. I-95 heading North after a good night’s sleep. Left at 9:30 AM to drive through at least 4 states including Florida, Georgia (gas at $1.86), South Carolina, and North Carolina.

Things to note:

There are a tremendous amount of Cracker Barrels. We counted 14 from Fort Lauderdale to Jacksonville, another 4 in Georgia, 3 in South Carolina, and so far 2 in North Carolina. After seeing so many signs, in Brunswick, Georgia (Exit 36A) we stopped for a taste of Cracker Barrel. (See picture in the rocking chair.)

Additionally a couple funny things of interest, in Georgia we saw a billboard for Chick-fil-a that read, “Stop in the Name of Chikin.” This was being painted on the billboard by two Holstein cows, one sitting on top of the other (Get it, cows trying to get people to eat chicken?). Also, we saw a motorhome pulling an SUV (see picture) that stated, “Be Patient I am Pushing this Big Motorhome.” Upon passing the SUV being pulled, we noticed that there was a female dummy in the driver’s seat. Honestly, people have too much time on there hands.

As far as interesting bummer stickers, here are my two favorites, both we saw on the same car:

Swamp life (on a Florida Gator student’s car)

Got ink? (referring if you have any tattoos)

Day one is about to finish with a couple of hours in North Carolina. Follow me on Twitter. My name is MsTravelingPant (yes they have a limit of characters).

Until Part 2....

Taking the Red Eye from San Diego

2009-04-26T07:47:00.000-07:00

Exhausted from a three-day conference of schmoozing (see Art of Schmoozing post from March 20th), I am currently recharging in the Atlanta airport for the 2^nd leg of my nearly 9 hour cross-country trek. This week, I had the opportunity to see San Diego for my second time. Staying in the Pacific Beach area, it was beautiful. However, it was unseasonably cold at 60 degrees and wind. It certainly did not meet my expectations for Sunny California.

Each morning, I took a great run on the Pacific Beach boardwalk (see picture below). Used to the Caribbean waters in Florida, the Pacific certainly reminded me of my vacations to Cape Cod and my years in Beantown. It was quite evident, as a reaction of most when then travel to California, that everyone is very active. Whether it was 6 AM or 5 PM, people were biking, running, roller blading, surfing, or kayaking.

The conference I was attending certainly used my bi-lingual skills, not Spanish and English, but technology speak instead of travel industry speak. The days were filled with networking, speakers, seminars, and more. The evenings were packed with social functions that proved to be much more productive for business that the actual meetings.

So after a three-day marathon of networking and seminars, I wanted to just sleep through the trip home. Taking the Red Eye was the most logical to get home by Sunday AM to have what remains of the weekend (as if my body even knows what day or time it is now). However, prior to boarding at 10:30 PM PST, the gate attendant stated something that I have yet to experience, another true first. “Attention those boarding the 10:40 flight to Atlanta, please be advised that the San Diego airport has a curfew of 11:00 PM. If we are not boarded with the door shut prior to 11:00, they will cancel the flight.”

I thought to myself, “this is just perfect.” I have never heard before of canceling a flight with the crew and passengers there, weather condition OK, but it was too late in the evening. What a ridiculous idea! I guess I can understand the logic behind a curfew for the citizens of San Diego regarding the noise of the planes, but last night I could have cared less if we would have done a fly by like the scene in Top Gun to that neighborhood. I was less than compassionate for those San Diegans living close to the airport. I wanted to get home.

The rule of the curfew of the San Diego airport, in combination with a long 3 day networking event and the a la carte ambiance of flying now days, I am counting my lucky stars that I got on the plane and took off prior to 11:00PM and that Atlanta has a Dunkin’ Donuts upon at 5:00AM EST.

Do you have a Red Eye experience to share or perhaps another story regarding an airport that has a ridiculous rule such as San Diego?

Namaste in the Berkshires, now Where's the Nearest Dunkin' Donuts?

2009-04-20T17:32:00.000-07:00

Last June for my mom’s special birthday, she and I went on our first Yoga retreat. Although I did not know at the time, I was to be spending an extended weekend at one of the most famous Yoga retreats in the U.S. It is called Kripalu, located in Western New York in the Berkshires.

As you can see by the picture, the surroundings were beautiful with the green, lush Berkshire mountains overlooking a lake. However missing from the picture is Kripalu's main building, which was a cold looking, brick structure similar to a hospital. It certainly broke my stereotype of yoga retreat architecture. As a side note, I didn't know until later that the building was previously a Jesuit seminary.

So the irony of this peaceful story comes when you imagine the current Ms. Traveling Pants in this situation. Let me set the stage.

Picture a commune of yoga enthusiasts, meditation rooms, labyrinths, massages, aromatherapy, and healthy food taken to the extreme. And, then picture throwing me, the seemingly always connected to my iPhone or laptop into that atmosphere. Culture shock!! I mean it was so healthy, caffeine was a banned substance. Just as background, I think I get a caffeine withdrawal headache at 3:00 pm if I don't have my dose. Wow!

Regardless, I adapted, like the cameleon that I am, and it was truly amazing (or should I say ooommmmmm-mazing). I am the first to admit it was very challenging…even the “gentle yoga” kicked my butt (not to mention the lack of caffeine). The full massages afterwards were a bonus, but for those of you familiar with deep tissue massages, it can be a workout as well. (If you haven't read my Turkish Baths for Dummies post, you must.)

From the two yoga classes I took a day, it was apparent that when one practices yoga daily, you can become to be a human pretzel. However, with my thirty-something tight legs from running and spinning, touching my toes is a great feat, including downwards-facing dog and other human contortionists acts they call Yoga. In fact, I think that some of the instructors were fooling us all. They must have worked for Cirque du Soleil in a past life.

Ta ta Ms. Traveling Pants followers....Namaste

The Divine Physical Feat

2009-04-13T08:03:00.000-07:00

As most Sundays, I take the opportunity to sleep a little late and then take a morning jog for roughly 3 miles. Although used to working out quite regularly, it always surprises me how difficult it is to run (hmmm...that may be because I am not a gazelle like the Kenyan superstar marathoners). However, today I was reminded of my divine physical feat only 5 years ago in Boston for the 108th Boston Marathon in April 19, 2004.

For those of you not familiar with a marathon, it is 26.2 miles. It was first begun in ancient times by a Greek soldier, Pheidippides, a messanger from the Battle of Marathon to Athens. From experience, I must say it is a feat that takes much preparation, dedication, and an inner drive to continue through pain. Unlike many other marathons, for the Boston Marathon you must qualify in another marathon in order to qualify to run.

Somehow I was asked by a colleague of mine, if I would like to run the marathon. At first, I thought absolutely no way, but after a good night's sleep the competitive side of Ms. Traveling Pants came out in full force. Within a week, I fully investigated the possibilities of running officially or unofficially as a "bandit" as they say in Boston. Additionally, I signed up for a running group that was specifically training for the Boston Marathon. At the time, it was late October, just the right amount of time to ramp up from 10 miles a week to 15 miles to a full marathon and then scaling back right before the mid-April date, called Patriot's Day.

Mind you training for a marathon in New England from October to April is rather challenging. The winter is brutal and running outside is really the only option to get the training of the hills as well as relief from boredom. Believe me a one hour run on a treadmill is ok, but for 3-4 hours, you begin to feel like a gerbil.

After the winter grind of training, the day was approaching. I didn't have time or the running speed to qualify at another marathon. Neither did I want to raise enough money to qualify through charitable means. Honestly, to raise thousands of dollars is almost as difficult as the physical torture. So, I started to think out of the box and ask around. I thought that perhaps through my networking, I might be able to snag an official number from one of the sponsoring companies.

It was my lucky year and well one of my friend's boyfriend's unlucky year. He worked for John Hancock at the time, which was one of the major sponsors. All employees had the opportunity to get an official number and run the marathon. He applied for the number and did much of the preparation, but suffered an unfortunate injury. That is where I came in. I asked and received. I was now to be an official runner of the Boston Marathon. If you ever want to check the story, I was Mike Fleming coming in at a rather slow 5 hours.

The day of the race was not what any of us had imagined. It was not a cool April day in Boston, but a hot 85 degrees. For all of us used to the cold training, it was frightening. Yes, it may have been great for spectators, but most of the runners, myself included, were fearing dehydration and sheer exhaustion from the heat.

I started in roughly the tenth stable with hundreds of others. After hearing the shot indicating the start, it took about twenty minutes for all those ahead of me to start so that I could begin my slow run towards downtown Boston. The energy from the spectators all along the route was amazing. There are a couple of areas that are just truly unbelievable: Wellesley College for the loud, screaming women and then of course Heartbreak Hill in Newton somewhere around mile 22. Click below to experience the Wellesley College noise.

About 1 hour behind my expected time, I reached Boston and saw my friend at the bottom of Heartbreak Hill where the year previously I had been a spectator and participant in beer pong and bbq. Also, my father was waiting in Brookline. I remember that upon seeing him I didn't want to continue. My muscles were fatigued and my bones hurt with every step.

I continued. About one mile before the finish, I saw my mother. I just wanted to cry. I had nothing left. She and I continued. She was in sandals, but at that point even in sandals she could keep up as my gate wasn't more than a fast walk. I turned onto Boylston Street. The crowds went wild, yelling my name, encouraging me to make it just another 3 blocks.

I made it on only fumes of my own pride. If I hadn't told so many people that I was running, I would have pulled off much before. Upon crossing the line, I forced my arms up for the picture above to document the moment. The pain was unbelievable. After receiving my metal, the marathon workers needed to grab the microchip that was in my shoes to measure my time. As I had no strength left, the worker lifted my feet to a stool and undid the shoes to grab the chip. I remember thanking this woman repetitively as I didn't feel I could do anything but collapse. Wrapped in the typical foil blanket to keep warm, I searched for the bus with my clothing and then meet my family at the letter F for Fleming.

That evening I ate ribs, biscuits, and peanuts in the shell at a place called the Texas Roadhouse. I remember thinking that I would be very hungry, but believe it or not I was not nearly as hungry as on a typical day. Also, I was surprisingly limber that evening. However, the following morning and 2 days after was interesting. All I can say is that the toilet seat in farther down than you think and it was certainly much more challenging after 26.2 miles.

So, will I ever run a marathon again? Absolutely not, I have checked that life goal off the list.

Meeting Mr. Traveling Pants

2009-04-05T05:43:00.000-07:00

It was in 2000. I was teaching ESL (English as a Second Language) in Roslindale, Massachusetts at the Boston School of Modern Languages during the day and waiting tables on Newbury Street in Boston at night and on weekends. I was then only 22.

As I had just came back from Spain, I thoroughly enjoyed that at my restaurant job, all of the line cooks were Spanish speaking, mostly from Colombia. With my skills in Spanish as well as years of experience in the "biz", I was quickly promoted from a server to an expediter, who is the person that coordinates the communication between the kitchen and the servers and managers.

It was in this capacity that I started to notice the shy, grill cook with the amazing green eyes. With a dark completion and stunning eyes, he got me. We spoke in Spanish, but I was later told that he was from Minas Gerais, Brazil. I had never met a Brazilian before so I was interested in Carnival, Samba, Bossa Nova, and the Rio.

It turns out that he didn't like the restaurant, Charley's, and the management so he quit very shortly there after. On his last day, I took the initiative to ask him out. I wrote on one of the manager's business cards, "Si quieres tomas unas copas, por favor llamame." (If you would like to have a couple of drinks, please call me.")

Well the phone never rang, but I was still determined. I waited for the next check cycle to come. And, I was working the night that he came to pick up his last check. I cornered him and mentioned that there was no excuse not to go out that evening as I was getting off of work shortly and he had a check to cash to buy me drinks.

So as every workplace has there favorite watering hole, so did the Charlie's crew. It was a Irish Pub called the Crossroads. It was nothing short of a dive that the BU and MIT students frequented. It had a juke box, beer, pub food, and darts.

Admilson (pronounced Aj-meal-son), had never played darts before. So with a couple of beers and a good instructor, me, we began to get to know each other. No matter whether tennis, billards, or darts, you can make the game seductive; and, that I did (thus the picture for this post).

That night, it was April 9th, 2000. It is now April 2009. Admilson and I eloped on April 9th, 2006. And, this Thursday it will be 9 years and counting.

Happy Anniversary Mr. Traveling Pants!

Ms. Traveling Pants Announced as Miss Fish

2009-03-31T16:30:00.000-07:00

It was the summer of 1995 in a small, Mississippi River town in Wisconsin called Trempealeau. I had recently graduated from high school and was working the summer at the Historic Trempealeau Hotel as a server until the start of the Fall Semester at the University of Wisconsin at Madison. The summer was nearly half over with the most important weekend of the year upon us, Catfish Days. Always held the first weekend after the Fourth of July, it was the social gathering of the year with family members coming from a far, students returning home, and sightings of old friends from high school.

As most festivals in the area, the weekend included a parade, amusement rides, bike and fun run, golf tournament, fishing tournament, and a pageant. So, on that Thursday night in July 1995, after the interview, fashion show, evening gown, and talent portion, I, Ms. Traveling Pants, was announced and crowned as Miss Trempealeau 1995 or in slang Miss Fish as the celebration is Catfish Days (see picture of Ms. Traveling Pants on bench and court).

As Miss Fish, my duties were limited to a couple of radio shows, MC for the talent show, and riding the Catfish Days' float that Sunday in the parade as well as for nearly every other Sunday throughout that summer and fall exploring all of the Western part of Wisconsin. You can only imagine some of these events: Sunfish Days in Onalaska, Kornfest in Holmen, Applefest in La Crescent, Syttende Mai in Westby, and Octoberfest in La Crosse. Regardless of the size, they all paled in comparison to Catfish Days.

For the weekend, Trempealeau (French for mountain with its feet in the water) and its 1,000 inhabitants close down a few streets by the River for amusement rides, food stands selling fried cheese curds, grilled chicken, and catfish burgers, all with the mandatory beer tent. The town would come down to this area enjoy the rides, eat, and then drinking and dancing to a live band that had plenty of Alabama, Brooks and Dunn, and Garth Brooks to satisfy the crowd.

Although the nightlife was fun, Catfish Days has other activities: the infamous egg toss on 1st Street, bed races, arm wrestling, pancake breakfast, volleyball tournament, motorcycle poker run, and fireworks.

Needless to say, at the end of 1995, I did need to bid farewell and wish another young woman well in her reign as Miss Fish 1996. However, I still have the royal flare....elbow elbow wrist wrist.

Sincerely,

Ms. Traveling Pants

(formerly known as Miss Fish 1995)

Glow Swimming in Puerto Rico

2009-03-25T17:30:00.000-07:00

Upon turning 30, I got together with four friends to commemorate this important rite of passage: Erin and Megan from Arizona, Jodi and Arin from the Twin Cities, and myself based in Fort Lauderdale. The plan was Puerto Rico for a short, girls only getaway in mid-March.

While on the Isle of Borinquen (indigenous name of the island of Puerto Rico), not only did I want to visit the beach, tour the historic cobblestone streets of Old San Juan and eat and drink well, but I also wanted to experience the rare, bio-fluorescent waters of Fajardo. For those of you not familiar, Bay of Fajardo is a bio-luminescent bay, which contains millions of micro-organisms called "dinoflagellates." It is truly awe-inspiring. These little micro creatures glow in the dark for a second when agitated. Yes, it is a bay of swimming micro fire flies!

There are two ways to experience the bio bay: by guided boat or in groups of kayaks both done at night to see the green glowing waters. We chose to do the second option and went in a group of around 15 kayaks led by a guide to take us out to the best part of the bay. We kayaked through the narrow mangrove alley kayak after kayak hitting numerous trees due to lack of light. Upon arrival to the center of the bay, we were instructed to jump out of our kayaks and explore. This struck me as strange as typically, staying in the kayak is something that is essential to a successful kayaking trip. However, that is not the case for the Bay of Fajardo.

We tangled our kayaks together with our paddles and jumped in. It was incredible. We were almost like comets in the water with a tail of green light following our movements. You could see your strokes and kicks, those of the other kayakers, and of course the movements of fish and other creatures. Pretty freaky! The water was warm as it was mid-March....an absolutely great time to go. So if you have vacation time saved up, now is a great time to get deals and experience glow swimming in Puerto Rico.

For those of you interested in experiencing the bio bay, there are two launches one around sunset and the other around 9:00PM. I would highly suggest the later time and even a night that has the least amount of moonlight for more vibrant colors in the lagoon. The food amenities are not that great at the park/marina so I would eat a mofongo prior to leaving and then stop at one of the small bars at the marina to celebrate your evening with a cold beer. BTW, this probably is not a good first date night. The combination of the bug repellent and water did leave a rather memorable aroma.

Any recommendations for other memorable sights in Puerto Rico?

Traveling for Work Part 3: the Art of Schmooze

2009-03-20T05:14:00.000-07:00

You have all heard the phrase, "You snooze, you lose." Well, I think that the final installment in this series of Traveling for Work needs to include one of the most important parts of being successful and enjoying your travel for work; it is learning the art of schmooze. As the common saying goes, "You snooze, you lose." I believe that if you don't schmooze, you lose.

The art of schmooze is one of the oldest tricks to the trade. It requires great listening skills, genuine interest, good presence in a room, and well a little lesson from one of my favorite references, How to Win Friends & Influence People by Dale Carnegie.

Here is an excerpt of his keypoints or "In a Nutshell", which I believe can be used to schmooze.

Six Ways to Make People Like You:

1) Become genuinely interested in other people.

2) Smile.

3) Remember that a person's name is to that person the sweetest and most important sound in any language.

4) Be a good listener. Encourage others to talk about themselves.

5) Talk in terms of the other person's interests.

6) Make the other person feel important-and do it sincerely.

Now that you have the 6 tips from a world renowned author...here are an additional 6 survival and success tips from Ms. Traveling Pants:

1) Be up on your current events. Know what is going on in the news both real news and gossip. There is always room for more Paris Hilton, A. Rod, or other stories.

2) Not all events are cocktail receptions, so if you have a chance to sit down. Sit at a table where many people already seated and close to the front of the room to make eye contact with the speaker and other VIPs that may be making introductions.

3) Always have business cards. Extending your business card will lead to getting someone else's business card almost without asking. This goes for airplane time too. Make sure you introduce yourself to your neighbor. You don't have to talk the entire flight, but make polite conversation and at the end of flight extend your business card. You never know who that contact from the plane knows. It is a small world.

4) If you are going to a networking cocktail function, they are particularly tough for everyone, but even a little worse for women as most dresses, pant suits, and women's attire do not allow for pockets. At a cocktail reception, you need to eat, drink, shake hands, and pass business cards all with 2 hands, one of which is almost always holding the drink. Strategy to remember...try to get to the nearest cocktail table or even place yourself next to the bar's edge. This is a great place to meet new people as it is the most trafficked area in the reception.

5) Before going ahead to other tasks, after leaving the event, write on the back of the card the date of the meeting and anything interesting that sticks out in your mind (kids, where he/she lives, common interests, or your need to send information about your product or something that you discussed). This will help in entering it into your outlook or other contact manager.

6) Hang out at the event. If the event is held at a hotel, make sure to spend time in the lobby checking your email instead of in your hotel room, check out the gym in the morning, and either get there early for coffee or stay late for a cocktail at the event. You know the old rule that more business gets done away from the office than in the office.

Now get out there and schmooze.
Remember if you don't schmooze, you lose.

Traveling for Work Part 2

2009-03-16T06:56:00.001-07:00

As a continuation of my last post, I thought I would share a more complete list of my travel for work tips....

1) Always get an aisle seat on the plane (plenty of leg room, no need to disturb others to go to the bathroom, but you made have a bruised elbow or stubbed toes by the end of the flight.)

2) Pack snacks like peanuts, dried fruit, and crackers. The plane food is always chicken or beef. I have tried both. They are both let downs. The chicken always comes with buttery veggies that are never seasoned and mashed potatoes that seem to be instant. The beef option is typically pasta or a lasagna.

3) Get to the gate early and scope out the outlets for your laptop and phone. After the majority of the people are there, you will have no chance. Look for outlets around the pillars and even outside of the gate area like by the telephones. There is no shame in camping by an outlet to get connected. I have sat on many an airport floor.

4) Use your plane time wisely. Although the in-flight entertainment may seem fun as it is re-run sitcoms or a movie you haven’t seen, you can catch up on unread documents, write blogs, and draft proposals while killing time.

5) Never allow someone to switch your aisle for a middle seat and certainly do not allow your neighbor to convince you to lift the armrest.

6) You need an overhead baggage strategy. With every company charging for additional features previously included like baggage, people are now bringing on gigantic bags and rushing aboard to claim their overhead space. Don’t worry if above your seat there is no room, but you must start thinking a couple of rows ahead. Plus, this will help upon exiting the plane as well as your bag is ahead of your row to move the deplaning process forward quickly. It is a different strategy for Southwest which has a "cattle call" for the seats. There is no strategy except check in early early early AND fight for your place in line. If you are traveling with friends, there is strength in numbers.

7) Even if you don’t like the peanuts or chips they give you on the plane, save them. Sometimes your flight gets in late or you don’t have time to eat a proper meal while at an industry expo or event, those pretzels and peanuts will be your way to survival that is until you get back to the hotel and order room service. There will always be a club sandwich on the menu if you are skittish of other items.

Do you have other additional tips? I would love to add them to my repertoire.

Sincerely,

Ms. Traveling Pants

Traveling for Work Part 1

2009-03-10T17:47:00.000-07:00

For the past year and a half, I have been traveling the world from Washington D.C., Berlin, Paris, New Orleans, Costa Rica, Mexico City, New York City, Las Vegas, Orlando, L.A., London, and Chicago. They often use the expression, “Road warrior” but I would consider my experience to be the Air warrior.

Always a great packer and savvy at how to maneuver through an airport certainly came in handy over the past months. I have come to terms that traveling at least once or twice a month does NOT warrant unpacking my carry-on. I have converted this rollable bag into my everyday, work bag which at all times carries my business cards, cell phone charger, camera, pens, marketing materials, and international electricity convertors.

Over this time, I have seen transportation strikes in Berlin, the co-founder of Apple speak in L.A., toured the bunker of Churchill in London, zip-lined through the Central Park of San Jose Costa Rica, listened to Jazz on Bourbon Street in New Orleans, and did a drive-by viewing of the Mona Lisa at the Louvre.

It all sounds quite glamorous that is until your body is doing the traveling. This is especially true if you are traveling in coach which seems more and more like flying a la carte everyday (Would you like a blanket with that, a second checked bag, or a soft drink?).

I can tell you already Newark has a great foot spa that gives foot massages for a reasonable price and without the need of spending a lot of time for a full pedicure. Las Vegas allows you on the way in and the way out to win the big bucks with slots at the airport. And, well the rest have blended together as I have either been jet-lagged, too tired from flying weird hours, or well they are just banks of chairs, fast food restaurants, and the same mechanical announcement via the loud speakers whether in French, Spanish, German, etc.

I have already shared with you my tip for my work bag/carry-on, but over the year, I have also acquired a few other tricks of the trade..that is the trade of business travel.

Stay tuned...for Traveling for Work Part 2 and my list of tips.

Bathing for Dummies in Turkey

2009-03-06T11:46:00.000-08:00

"It is now safe to use your portable electronic devices," is my cue to open my laptop once again to write the next installment in the adventures of Ms. Traveling Pants. Now returning from a trip to the Hudson River Valley in Upstate New York, I had the opportunity to travel with my husband who asked me today, out of the blue, probably because of the frigid temperature, "Have you ever experienced a thermal bath?"

I wish I had a better answer, but no I have not experienced the thermal baths that are world renowned such as those in Iceland and Turkey; I must put them on my list. However, I must admit I have had one memorable bathing experience in my travels in Turkey. Unknown to me, baths in Turkey are a common thing. There are typically various bathing houses or Hamams in each town or neighborhood that one may join as a member (see picture below). I would consider them almost social or community clubs that are part of the weekly routine. Just for your information, Hamams are easy to spot as they all have high dome shaped buildings with skylights.

It is almost what in the U.S. we consider the spa culture, where you may spend the day or the afternoon at the spa with friends. While in Turkey, my travel companions and I spent the afternoon at the hamam. As it was wintertime, we all went to the locker room and removed our many layers to enter a large grey, earthen room filled with steam and the sounds of water running and women singing. Before getting our personal treatments, we were instructed to first bathe in the faucets of running warm water and then to steam on the benches.

The process of the Turkish bath involves lying down almost naked (underwear only) and being scrubbed from head to toe by a bather, typically another woman that also is well, naked. All of this may sound erotic, but believe me there was nothing erotic about the appearance of the bathers as they were 50 year olds that were rather voluptuous and we aren’t talking like the looks of Anne Nicole Smith. The bath included a complete exfoliation with a loofta. Although somewhat relaxing with the heat and water rinse, the loofta was either the strength of a brillo pad or I was ultra-sensitive.

I remember quite vividly the bather starting to sing as a component of the exfoliation and massage. It struck me as odd, but when you think about it now when you go to the spa there is either calming sounds playing over a stereo or waterfalls to induce that tranquil environment. Despite the singing, there was nothing that was going to cover up the fact that the exfoliation was taking more than the primary layer of dead skin, but I would have to say down to raw. This was combined with the fact that time and again the woman’s breast would brush me in her massage strokes. As you can imagine, this brings “personal space" to yet another level.

After what was hours, we all left the bath feeling warm and well-rubbed. I added that I felt that I would need a little recovering time before my next bath of this sort as I truly felt rubbed raw. As you can tell from my post, Turkish baths are an experience, but there is much to be said for a traditional Swedish massage or even one of those neat Brookstone feet/leg massagers.

Let me know if you have any recommendations for great thermal baths as I am awaiting trying one for my first time.

Living like a Circus Performer....Zip-lining in Costa Rica

2009-02-26T17:57:00.000-08:00

The circus as a kid was something that was just magical. The combination of wild animals, lights, and the fantastic acrobats..who didn't want to be one of those trapeze artists?

It is apparent that the world is becoming more aware of the adventure component of travel whether one goes snorkeling, SCUBA diving, or takes to the mountains for hiking or camping. I must say that many of my travels have been adventures. If you are a true follower, you should already know of the camels, mosquitoes, brothels, scaling coliseum walls, and the like, but I can't say that I have had much experience in being a circus performer or that is until last May in San Jose, Costa Rica (By the way, if you would like to read the archives for those stories, you will get to know Ms. Traveling Pants even better.)

While in San Jose, I had the opportunity to go zip-lining. For those of you unfamiliar with it, a metal cable is strung between two trees (see above picture). The participants are harnessed in by their legs, groin, and waist while wearing protective gloves and helmet. Once prepared, you climb up various ladders to a platform in a tree where you are clamped onto the line and let loose to quickly zip from one tree to the other, trying to steer your way to the next landing platform.

Everything sounds fun and exciting that is until you are about to get into the harness and live this adventure tourism trek yourself. So first, I don't know about you, but when I watch circus performers today, harnesses are not part of the attire. They probably do not necessarily need them anymore because they are so skilled, but also because the attire for safety is NOT flattering. Imagine having tight belts at all the WRONG places. For my female readers, what woman wants more attention to the hips, butt, and belly? So, yes, it is rather unflattering for woman, but men also have it rough for both appearances and well let's just say the ride as well. There is no "hiding your equipment" when going zip-lining. The harnesses are set up just so that yes the size of the thighs and butt are accentuated for women , but for men the harness is the "Great Divide." (I will not post a picture I will let you put two and two together.)

To start any zip-lining experience you must climb. Typically, through a series of cable ladders you will arrive to your first take-off platform. When I arrived at my first platform, I was shaking; however, I have to admit some of the best moments of many of my travels have been frightening and the stories worth telling.

The first zip was scary, rather uncontrolled, and off target, but, by the second, the adrenaline kicked it. For zip #2, we needed to climb even higher to get momentum, but it was becoming more and more worth it. For the next and most difficult zip, we needed to cross a very unstable rope bridge and then climb even higher to zip across a large lake. Just to give you an accurate picture, the park was the size of Central Park in New York with a 100 meter plus zip crossing the lake from one tree to the other. Yes, it was a challenge and as an added prank, the excursion had placed a large mat, which was tied to the massive tree trunk awaiting us on the other side. If my memory serves me right, there was also a bull's eye outlined.

Needless to say, I loved the experience and was shaking for probably 30 minutes afterwards. The feeling of conquering a fear or doing something that stretches your limits is a great high. I want to go again. This time I want to do it amongst the true rain forest in a more remote area that they call the Cloud Forest. I will be going in May again this year. I promise I will take documentation that a harness and helmet are not my best look.

Ms. Traveling Pants' Top Ten Favorite Food Destinations

2009-02-20T12:13:00.000-08:00

As a key component of all travels, food is the window to a different culture. I have decided to highlight my favorite food destinations along with some recommendations in a top ten list.

For those of you familiar with David Letterman and the Late Night Show, I give you.....Ms. Traveling Pants' Top Ten Favorite Food Destinations.

10. Montreal, a great blend of bilingual culture, jazz, and dining. I have had the pleasure of visiting this great city twice with my husband who is an executive chef. Believe us, if you are in the mood for a great aged steak, you must stop by Le Queue Cheval and if you have a second night to dine please go to Peel Street and visit Ferriera's Cafe.

9. Florida Keys...my number nine review is for an outstanding Islamorada restaurant called Pierre's. With its own private white sand beach and beautiful Gulf views for sunsets, this is a special place. It is high end cuisine, but you can always just visit the inviting bar and lounge on the beach patio lit by tiki torches after the sunset. For lunches, I would recommend its sister restaurant Morada Bay. With great chips and salsa, live music, and that same private beach, it is one of the best lunch joints in the Keys.

8. Also, in South Florida, you must go to Le Tub in Hollywood. Award winning for its extra large burgers, the place certainly has a unique decor with a wooden enclosed eating area with benches for parties of two to six people. Some of the tables are waterfront (you need to get there when they open to get these prime spots) while the others are shaded by tropical trellises. Be prepared to wait an hour for your burgers and the servers are "no-frills."

7. Whether in Casablanca, Marrakesh, or Tangiers, you must try the national dish of Morocco, tagine. Named after the actual cooking vessel, tagines are rather unusually shaped casserole pans with a cone shaped cover. It is with this heating and steaming method that the typical chicken and lamb combination is very moist and enhanced by the flavors of carrots, potatoes, onions, and many times dried fruits and nuts such as almonds and raisins.

6. When in New England, a stop in Beantown for "chowda" is necessary no matter what the season. Clam Chowder, a traditional thick soup with onions, potatoes, cream, and clams, is no better than at one of the most historic restaurants in all of Boston, the Union Oyster House. In fact, the Union Oyster House, near Quincy market and Faneuil Hall, was one of my husband's first jobs in the culinary field.

5. Madrid is near and dear to me so I must mention one of its specialties. Cocido Madrileno is a very filling stew usually served in two stages. The first consists of a broth, straight from a large pan where all the stew’s meat has been slowly simmering. The second course is usually presented in a tray placed in the middle of the table containing chickpeas, cabbage, potatoes, carrots, and all the meat: beef, chicken, ham, chorizo and sometimes morcilla (blood sausage). Only true Madrileno style restaurants do cocido and typically only one day a week.

4. New Orleans is a great stop for culinary travels. If you haven't heard of it before, you must go to Cafe du Monde for a good coffee and the world renowned beignets, square fritters covered with powdered sugar. If you want an enjoyable Southern dinner on Bourbon Street, try the Red Fish Grill. Go for the Red fish....it is good enough to name the restaurant after.

3. Ixtapa, Mexico not only is a trendy, Mexican beach destination, but it has a great hamburger place called Ruben's. Now you don't think of burgers when you think Mexican food, but these charbroiled burgers are to die for. You can have them with the traditional ketchup and mustard, but I would recommend skipping both and going for the in-house pickled vegetable mixture to garnish.

2. Not to far from number 3, Zihauntanejo, Mexico.....This is where you would find Pollo Loco (crazy chicken) a small, local hangout that has the best hand made tortillas, grilled onions, peppers, and chicken a la brasa. Just order the 1/2 chicken, a Sol (a more authentic Mexican beer than Corona), and roll up your sleeves and dig in.

1. Nerja, Spain is one of the jewels of Costa del Sol and paella beachside is my number one pick. Paella is typically done by fire in a very shallow, metal pan (see picture above). It is a rice dish with fresh seafood, chicken, sometimes rabbit, saffron for color, veggies and is best accompanied by a nice pitcher of sangria. I would recommend Chiringuito Ayo, one of the most popular on Burriana beach.

Porto, Portugal and a street party to remember

2009-02-16T05:34:00.000-08:00

Sometimes when traveling you stumble upon the strangest of events, not knowing that you are arriving to a town at its most important festival. By chance, this happened on a camping trip through Portugal. It was mid-June as we arrived to Porto (Oporto) a town on the Northern portion of Portugal on the Duero River which runs from the Atlantic to interior Spain. Known for Port wine, the town’s riverside is peppered with port sailing boats and historic Port makers.

Taking in the town and a few port tastings while there, we had no idea what we had in store on the evening of June 23^rd. Apparently, the Festa de Sao Joao or the Feast of St. John’s Eve is held every June 23^rd until the morning of the 24^th. It is the night that the entire population of Porto goes to the city center to honor John the Baptist.

Staying walking distance outside of the town, we left our camp to discover the “festa”. The cobblestoned streets were jammed with young and old. The smells of street vendors with grilled sardines and sweet fried dough were very inviting. Everyone a little on the tipsy side combined with the energy of the masses and music, made this street party awesome. However, I failed to mention the unusual tradition that is associated with this festival…..to hit each other over the head with a plastic hammer that squeaks. Click here to see a video of Sao Joao...

At first this tradition was fun, we bought our hammers from one of the many hammer sellers and began to feel a part of Portuguese culture with others hitting us on the head and us in return. After hours of the squeaking and of course just the physical beating upon our heads, the tradition wore thin. We were ready to walk back to the campsite tired, beaten (literally), and well now experienced in the Festa de Sao Joao.

Do you have any experiences with festival traditions like this? Please share.

Arranged marriage at three and a half!!

2009-02-12T16:41:00.000-08:00

I hope the title was enough to grab your attention. Although common in past times and still very prominent in many cultures, you wouldn’t expect a 30-something American woman to write of a true life experience of an arranged marriage.

In the early 80’s, there were various programs to help the refugees of Laos that were being held in camps. The Laotian refugees were able through government assisted programs to immigrate to the United States if sponsored by an American individual or family. Socially conscious and with the desire to help, both my parents decided to sponsor a Hmong family to live in our family’s farmhouse.

The family arrived, Chang and his wife Bua, Chang’s mother and father, Lee and Chu-Lu, and Pao, Chang’s brother. As the only English speaker, Chang was our gateway to communication and thus the point of most of reference in this post. As in most situations were communication is difficult, most of the interaction revolves around actions and in particular eating or cooking. Very proud of their cuisine, it was not nearly a day before the Hmong wanted to go to the grocery store, where pointing was the indication that we needed to buy a certain ingredient.

Laotian cuisine is filled with hot peppers and as a memorable moment around the table, my father stills tells the story that in order to show his “manhood” Chu-Lu took a whole pepper in one bite; whereas, my father took the challenge but tiny bite by tiny bite, stopping only to wipe his forehead of the perspiration.

After a short six weeks of adjustment to the new settings, culture, climate, foods, and the like, the family decided to move into town. We assisted finding a rental apartment and the furnishings. For them, it was very spacious; I believe only a 2 bedroom, 1 bathroom second story apartment in central Galesville, population around 1200 people.

To thank our family for our generosity and assistance in their journey, Chu-Lu offered to my parents, “mother and father sky” a very interesting gift. As Chang translated, “It would be a great honor for our two families to be united. I would like to offer Pao to be Heidi’s husband.” Now, my father although honored thought, "What could a fourteen year old Laotian see in a three and a half year old Heidi?"

Thankfully, my father declined the offer. I have since been able to choose my own husband. However, Chang’s family was not content without making another gesture. Shortly there after, Pao married and had a daughter. She was named Heidi Hung.

The good, the bad, and the ugly Part 3

2009-02-07T06:48:00.000-08:00

As the third and final installment in the good, the bad, and the ugly series, I wanted to mention a story from a trip to Costa Rica. I write this in route from a cold, February New York City business trip where I reminisced about this specific trip with a good friend and travel companion.

In my typical fashion, the trip was planned to be low cost, but high adventure. We made our way out of San Jose and to the volcanoes for hiking and then over to the other side of Costa Rica famous for surfing, Montezuma. Although that name implies to me something entirely Mexican AND a common unpleasant traveler’s experience (Montezuma’s revenge), Montezuma, Costa Rica in neither Mexican nor unpleasant. Montezuma is a beautiful beach area with a spectacular national park nearby.

Having found a small shared room with two beds within walking distance from the beach, we were as happy as could be...days at the beach, a brief walk to freshen up, and nights drinking beer with the locals at the beach side bar; however, that is except for one minor detail...mosquitoes.

From previous posts, you now know where this may be leading as I am a bug magnet. The area was tropical, humid and surrounded by rain forests filled with howler monkeys, sloths, and beautiful birds, making a great environment for mosquitoes.
Having mosquito netting on the beds for covering, screened in windows, and mosquito repellent, the mosquitoes still got us. The heat, humidity, and buzzing mosquitoes led to sleepless nights of cooling off with damp towels and swatting the mosquito invaders.

Not to my surprise, my body was the target of a siege. I awoke with over a hundred of bites all inflamed, projecting heat, and well itching like hell. Indeed, I was tolerant, but I certainly didn’t feel that great. Having that many bites would cause anyone to feel like they had a fever and I definitely did have one...could it have been malaria (??).....possibly, but as you know I survived to write about it.

So here are Ms. Traveling Pants’ the good, the bad, and the ugly tips about going to the tropics:
1) Be careful with citrus juices in the sun
2) Be curious about plants has it dangers
3) Be prepared with mosquito netting, repellent, and malaria kit

The good, the bad, and the ugly of travel, Part 2

2009-01-29T08:33:00.000-08:00

As the second component of the good, the bad, and the ugly, I must share a trip to meet my in-laws.

Nearly ten years ago and after only six months of dating, my now husband and I made plans to visit his family in Minas Gerais, an interior agricultural state of Brazil.

Upon my arrival, my handsome Admilson, was awaiting me outside the gate. Having very few options in arriving to his small town, we left the Belo Horizonte airport in a cab for a very lengthy ride, approximately 3 hours if uneventful.

The scenery was lush, mountainous and of course pleasant as I was in good hands. However, after a long flight in an exit row without the option of reclining, all I wanted was a couch, shower, and well something other than the somehow always tasteless food you get on planes.

As we approached his hometown of Fernandez Torinho, the paved roads changed to dirt roads. The ride became rather bumpy with large ruts from the rainy season causing the small taxi to bottom out upon occasion. Unfortunately, it happened one too many times as we lost the oil pan and could not continue with the cab. Only one mile from the house, we contemplated waiting for assistance. However, after almost twenty-four hours of travel, I was getting hungry and thus impatient. For those of you that know me, when hungry I can be rather nasty.

We settled the tab, took my bags in tote, and arrived at his mother’s home on foot. It was a small, whitewashed home surrounded by hundreds of acres of tropical plants many of which I had not seen; plus, there were chickens, a pony and cart, cats, a lazy dog, and a brother’s dirt bike. From a large family, the introduction was like a casting call Elaine, Ezelaine, Elzamar, Edna, Adnilson, Ailson for a total of nine (almost all of which have now moved to the states). His mother, Ideir, was very quiet and reserved, but probably just protective of her son who just brought home an American; probably not what she was praying for.

The following day is where the good, the bad, and the ugly come into play. That morning, Admilson took me to explore their house and surrounding lands. I believe the first very plant I found was a guanabana tree (or soursop in English). Growing up in Wisconsin, this would never be something you would encounter in the supermarket or in the wild. Curiosity killed the cat as they say and a “moribundo” or wasp stung me right on the nose. I, of course, started dancing around; swatting the damn wasp, but it was too late. As reference, I am not allergic to wasp or bee stings to the point of near death, but to a level that I would call, “death warmed over.”

Despite the ice, aspirin, and elevation of my head, I, the newly introduced wife-to-be, had a swollen face as round as a ball. Admilson tried various times to take a picture, but it was made very clear that he would find an early death for any documentation of my misery and frightening appearance. The brothers and sisters already shy and skittish disappeared that is except the youngest girl, Edna. Maybe she wasn’t afraid or she too was curious.

After two days of living like a monster, being judged only on my ugly appearance since my Portuguese was limited, I was living a nightmare. Finally, I couldn’t be stoic any more. I needed medicine. I knew that if someone went into town, which was a fifteen minute ride on the dirt bike, they could get some good anti-inflammatory drugs....only the kind you get outside of the U.S. without a prescription. And after two and a half days of suffering as “ballface," I was transformed back to the lovely, American who was still stealing one of my mother-in-law’s sons.

So the good, the bad, and in this case UGLY was the cause of yet another fruit...this time not a lime but by my curiosity to know more about guanabana.

The good, the bad and the ugly of travel, Part 1

2009-01-18T15:28:00.000-08:00

When one thinks of travel, you smile of the new places, sounds, smells, tastes and adventure. The truth is that many aspects of travel can be the bad and ugly that I reference in the title. I plan on giving you a small series of some of those experiences to give you a taste of the quote I live by that, "Every experience in life can either be classified as a good time or good story."

The good, the bad, and the ugly of travel.....Part 1

I must have been mid to late high school and lucky enough to have a father that was a college professor; thus, we had similar Spring breaks. Depending on the year, we traveled to Cancun, Zihautanejo (my favorite), Isla de las Mujeres and others. Regardless of where we went this particular year, it was always tradition to go beaching and by lunch it was time for margaritas.

Having little experience with alcohol at the time, one Mexican margarita prepared by the "hopeful bartender" made the place even more paradise. The so called siesta that was rumored about was definitely called for. One day upon returning to the hotel, I noticed that I had a large red area on my leg. I had done a little walking through paths around the beach, but nothing out of the ordinary. However, it appeared to be as if I had ran into a poisonous plant but in the shape of a hand print.

To this day I am surprised that I hadn't put two and two together. It turns out that one or two margaritas and the juice of the limes I wiped on my leg had accelerated the sunbathing process. Thinking back on this, as a brunette from Wisconsin, I had used Sun-In, a hair lightener made with lemon juice or something like it,with my friends to appear blond. Why did I not remember that citrus juices do that?

The following day the areas were burnt and upon return to the States, the areas had gone through a scary color change; the smudged hand print on my right upper thigh was the color of milk chocolate. Very concerned about the rash, we went to the local clinic in La Crosse. The reaction of the doctors was unforgettable. You would have thought it was a holiday. "I have never seen something like this before. Get the others" said my doctor. And in came a handful of students and cameras. They questioned me, took various shots with the camera, told me that my photos would be in the next dermatologists reference book, and then said that this was the best case of lime juice stain they had ever seen.

I guess I didn't care if they had seen it or not, I was a high schooler concerned about looking different. I just wanted them to help me get back to my regular color. So, they prescribed something called skin bleach. Now you have to remember that this was also around the time of Michael Jackson and his continual lightening of his skin. I couldn't believe that I was doing something similar to the King of Pop.

Word to the wise. Not all travel is fun. There are times that are bad or in this case ugly. Beware of lime juice or any citrus for that matter in the sun. And when in Mexico, be safe...just drink beer.

Scaling the Coliseum Walls....

2009-01-17T09:34:00.000-08:00

When you go to Rome there are certain sights that just cannot be missed: the Sistine Chapel, Vatican, Spanish steps, many of the gelato stores, and of course the Coliseum.

My first and only time to Rome was on a very quick 2 day visit in late December about ten years ago. I remember it being a absolutely beautiful city to walk enjoying the architecture, historical ruins, gelato (did I mention that already), and of course art. However, the mobs of tourists made it rather unpleasant. Traveling with my trusty companions from the night in the Turkish Brothel, we all loved Rome, but were amazed at how long the lines were for the Vatican, Sistine Chapel, and the hordes of people amongst the Pantheon ruins.

On our last night, we all said that we regretted that we did not have the opportunity to see the Coliseum. How could one visit Rome without visiting the Coliseum? It would be an embarrassment, right?

It was already nightfall, the Coliseum was closed, the streets were rather empty, and it was just about time to find a good take out place for pasta and a bottle of Chianti to share. I don't know exactly which one of us had the idea, but we came up with a mischievous plan. We were going to break into the Coliseum. From the picture above you can see that there are iron gates to the right that are rather high, but they do have two crossbars that make scaling the gate doable.

So with hearts jumping out of our chests and risking time in an Italian jail, all four of us jumped the gate. With a lift up from Chandra, the 1st over was Katia, a very thin and spry woman, then Nadia, I went 3rd figuring I better go because without the help of Chandra, I didn't know if I could have lanced my short body over.

All in, we mazed through the dark hallways to get to the center of the Coliseum. It was absolutely majestic with the light from the moon. The shadows playfully created a more accurate picture of what it was in its day...I could imagine it filled with water with boats engaging in war or gladiators and chariots fighting for their lives in front of cheering spectators and the emperor.

Of course, we did this all in complete silence as to not alert the guards that were walking around frequently with flashlights. However, our luck ran out after about 15 minutes, when one of us (who will remain nameless) took a picture with flash and alerted one of the guards to investigate. We hurried to get back to our escape route trying to be as quiet as possible. This time we were all so scared and hurried that there was no need for Chandra. We all made it over the gate without the help of a boost; the adrenaline was enough.

So just by a fraction of a moment, we could have been spending a night in a Roman prison. I guess it would have been a good compliment to Christmas Eve in a Turkish Brothel, but I am glad it didn't happen that way.

I wouldn't suggest breaking into the Coliseum, but definitely don't leave Rome without seeing it. However, if you must scale the walls or jump the gate, it is unforgettable and without the hordes of other tourists. As a recommendation, wear dark clothes, running shoes, and do not take flash photography.

Riding a Camel

2009-01-10T13:01:00.000-08:00

There are certain things that you just don’t forget how to do like tying your shoe or riding a bike. Well, I have to say that riding a camel is certainly not one of those skills, but it is definitely unforgettable.

I rode my first and only camel while on a visit to Morocco. At the time, I was traveling with one of my girlfriends from school. We had already taken the ferry from Southern Spain to Tangiers, haggled in the markets for tea and spices and toured the many souks to experience (smell) where the dying takes place for all of the infamous rugs and tapestries. Then this led us to Casablanca to visit the picturesque mosque and on to Marrakesh.

In what seemed like a day long bus ride from Marrakesh through the mountains, we finally arrived in a small town on the line of the Sahara desert. We asked for a guide that would be able to take us for a journey into the desert. We were led to a clay, earthen building at the edge of town where a Moroccan man, father, and owner of various camels spoke to us and one other tourist from Belgium, Jurin (pronounced urine). Within moments, the price was set and all three of us were to leave shortly on pre-selected, temperamental camels with one guide with little to no English skills and food and tea for four.

The owner and guide loaded our backpacks and supplies strategically on the camels, which did not seem at all happy to be taken out of their stables. My friend and Jurin were the first on the camels. I was entirely pleased that I waited to observe. Having ridden horses as a child, I never liked riding, but I was an average rider with enough skill and time around animals to not fall off. Well, if you have never ridden or seen someone get on a camel, it is rather different that just jumping in the stirrups and throwing your leg over.

To ride a camel, first there is a very wide saddle-like seat that is placed and secured on the camel. With the owner or trainer holding the reins and the camel, you sit on the saddle unable to lower your legs around the camel like you would with a horse then putting your feet in the stirrups. You sit rather spread eagle with nothing to hold onto except the front of a saddle. Then, the camel is instructed to rise. It gets up with both of its back legs first, throwing the rider to a face down position while holding on for dear life until the front legs catch up.

All three of us, successfully in uncomfortable riding position, departed for the desert with our guide on foot. To add to the complete camel riding experience, I must explain a little about the gate of the camel. The horse has a stride that one can get used to it is almost like a forward and backward motion that the rider emanates; however, the camel’s gate is not one that is easy to compliment or survive. A camel walks with one of its front legs and the back leg of the opposite side at the same time; thus, providing a very jerking, unpredictable gate, front to back and side to side motion.

The ride of my other two companions ended very shortly out of the compound. They said they wanted to save their behinds. Well, I was stoic and stayed on, but also I stayed as I feared the dismount needed to get down from that damn camel. After what must have been an hour and a half, we could no longer see the compound; we were in the middle of the desert; and my butt was hurtin’. The sun was down, the moon was rising, stars began to explode through the dark sky, and we made camp.

I have never camped without a tent; so, once again this was a first. We laid out blankets from the guide and then arranged our sleeping bags on top. The guide prepared a tangine (typical dish prepared in Morocco with a terracotta dome shaped cooking vessel). It was made with various vegetables and a mixture of chicken and lamb which was cooked over an open fire with plenty of tea to drink. The food was great and only complimented by the incredible sky. Although I grew up much removed from the city lights, I had never and have never since seen the sky so bright with millions of stars. Like most camping evenings, once you have eaten, there isn’t a TV or radio to turn on, so it was goodnight.

I have to admit I felt a little scared knowing that desert bandits could come and take us for ransom, but it didn’t happen that night and we awoke to the most glorious of mornings. I have always loved water and have gravitated towards the ocean and the beach; so, I was surprised to witness that the desert is indeed gorgeous. It is not the water, but the sky that produces that contrast of blue and tan that is similar to the beach.

Needlesstosay, we returned early in the morning, all on foot. No one was willing to torture their bottoms again on those cranky camels. Upon arrival at the compound, we gathered our things, but not before the owner talked with Jurin. We later departed heading back into town, when Jurin shared with us that he was asked by the owner to trade two camels for the green-eyed one (me). I guess I should have been flattered as camels are expensive and I have since inquired that two camels is a very generous price for a young-twenty something green-eyed woman. Luckily, Jurin understood that just because he was in our company, it did not mean that either myself or my friend were his property.

So, it was an evening to remember filled with many firsts whether riding camels or being bartered for a pair of camels where we gained a travel partner for the rest of our Morocco trip, even if his name did sound like urine.

A Christmas Eve to Remember

2008-12-24T09:40:00.000-08:00

Yes, the holidays are upon us and another year is coming to an end. The time to think of past holidays, the year in review, and reminisce is here. So, let me share with you a “Christmas Eve to Remember” some ten years ago in Izmir, Turkey.

I was traveling with three seasoned travelers over the winter holiday break. One was a classmate going to school with me in Madrid, but from Indiana. Her name was Chandra. And the other two were Chandra’s friends from Indiana; however, both were Russian born, Katia and Natalia.

We all met in Istanbul and after a few days of imbibing our weight in apple tea, touring many rug shops, taking our first Turkish bath, and sightseeing in Cappadocia, we planned a visit to the port town of Izmir just prior to departing Turkey and continuing our holiday travels in Italy.

With our handy travel bible in hand, Let’s Go Turkey, we found our reasonable accommodations in what seemed to be a respectable area in a hostel called Hostel Duvon. We split up into two rooms, left our bags, and hit the town. After a full day of sightseeing, tea drinking, and culinary experimentation whether a Turkish version of Baklava or Musakka, which resembles Lasagna, we all returned to our hostel to find that the once empty lobby now had many men sitting on the couches smoking and drinking tea. We continued to our rooms and noticed that strangely some of the other hostel guests seemed to be rather moved into their rooms. In particular, we caught a sneak peek of a room with a radio, ample décor, no suitcases, and full closets. It surely did not look like our rooms with two twin beds, stark décor, two large traveling backpacks, and recently washed clothes hanging to dry.

For dinner that evening, we left the hostel walking through the smoke filled room of men. And in discussing some of the Red Flags we had witnessed, we all stumbled upon a place to eat. In Turkey, or at least ten years ago, it was uncommon for a group of young women to go out to dinner together let alone ask for a drink as alcohol was rather limited. However, it was Christmas Eve and we wanted to celebrate. While enjoying the meal, we pulled the waiter aside and asked him about the area that we were staying and specifically Hostel Duvon. He left the table to get the manager who spoke some English who explained that we were staying in a brothel. Yes, you read it correctly, Christmas Eve in a Turkish Brothel. Now, nothing says Christmas more than that.

Ok, so now the tricky decision comes. What do we do? Should we stay out all night in Izmir where is it uncommon to see women out at that hour or be able to find a place that would be safe to catch some cocktails? Could we go back to the Brothel and hope that strength in numbers works and that moving the furniture in front of the door would keep us safe? Or do we do none of the above? Yep, you got it we decided upon another option.

The manager a very nice man, Ahmet, offered for us to stay with him. Ok, four young women, one complete stranger, Christmas Eve, and in a foreign country. We evaluated the plan. No option seemed safe and we just needed to choose the lesser of all of the bad plans.

Ahmet and his friend that luckily owned a car took us back to the hostel where we took our bags and checked out. I remember that the owner was quite upset at us for cancelling our reservation, but who could blame us for not wanting to be subject to such a place. With all of our bags, we could not fit in one car; so, we needed to get a cab to fit four savvy travelers escaping a hostel turned brothel and our bags. After what seemed like one of the most uncomfortable “sardine can” car rides out to the suburbs of Izmir, we arrived at Ahmet’s apartment. It was a rather unkept, cement high rise. There was an elevator, but I don’t remember that it worked.

After walking up various flights of stairs rather unknowingly trusting our new host, we arrived. It was a bare apartment with a Turkish bathroom (yet another story), a small kitchen, and two rooms, neither of which were very equipped. One was his bedroom and the other a living room now turned into our bedroom for the night. As hospitable hosts, Ahmet and his friend with an English/Turkish dictionary in hand began the “conversations” of the evening. And, in the spirit of the holidays, they brought us snacks. Now, there were not chestnuts or egg nog, but walnuts to be cracked and fresh sardines. Yes, whole sardines freshly caught and then fried. They were presented to the four of us as well as the walnuts on a blanket of newspaper covering the center of the living room floor. I guess that is as “family style” as you can get. Surprisingly enough, this was the first time that I had eaten a whole fish with bones and all. What I do remember is that they were absolutely delicious. This is a tremendous compliment as I am not a fish person.

The night was long with stories in a language never spoken before English/Turkish/sign language. However, the night did have to come to an end and Ahmet was gracious enough to give us various blankets. I remember that it was cold in the apartment and that he did not have a heater so the blankets were needed; however, there was something about them that was just foul. Yes, they stunk. The closest thing I can describe it as would be barnyard.

Regardless of the stinky blankets and being in a stranger’s house, it still seemed like a better place than being prey in the Hostel Duvon. By the way, you start to become immune to the spell by morning and yes, we smelled like barnyard too.

The next day, Christmas, was a new day with new friends. We all safely awoke in not such a strange apartment. In the spirit of Christmas, Ahmet and his friend both helped us find another hotel, this time respectable, clean, and well, not a brothel. We were in Izmir for only a day or two more and saw Ahmet on one other occasion where he took us to a tearoom. We all exchanged addresses and many years later I was still receiving “when come back to Turkey” postcards.

So the lesson to be learned…trust your gut instinct about your surroundings and the people you meet. And, if you go to Izmir, skip the Hostel Duvon.

An Adventure close to home…. I have been “Basel-ed”

2008-12-08T17:21:00.000-08:00

For those of you unfamiliar with Art Basel, it is a modern and contemporary art exhibition that is held annually in Switzerland and for the last 7 years has traveled to Miami. Yesterday was my first time experiencing the event in South Florida despite hearing of the fame and celebrity draw. Only now, can I truly attest that Art Basel is a whirlwind of people watching, perplexing art, and lots of shock value. I spent a half day there and left no better than how I felt after running the 2004 Boston Marathon in 80+ degree weather. It was exhausting.

The majority of the pieces involved not only your visual sense to be engaged, but also the inner being…..how do I feel about this piece?. It was clear to me that shock value has much to do with this chapter in Art. You must walk by and then revisit many of the gallery exhibits for you to truly understand…..what did I just see? And, what in the hell was the message behind this?

The PJ champagne was flowing from carts zigzagging the halls and many Ferraris and supped up cars were lining the street; however, the overarching message despite the glitz and glam was that Art is to provoke emotion. Whether you enjoy traditional pieces like a portrait photo or canvas work, those positive emotions are not all that can be addressed. Through daily life, emotions such as fear, disgust, sexual freedom, anger, and prejudice are silenced, but not at Art Basel.

It was inspiring. I left feeling that my senses had taken the test. And now, I feel that I have another creative juice running through my veins. It is evident that if you put yourself in an environment so unlimited that you too become unlimited.

It is with theme of no limits that I leave you with….

Art and Travel have so much in common; they allow deep exploration by crossing boundaries whether physical, mental or emotional.

I have been Basel-ed....

Where Ms. Traveling Pants Grew Up?

2008-11-27T09:20:00.000-08:00

Now returned from my journey over the pond to England, I now smell an apple pie cooking in the oven for one of my favorite traditions, Thanksgiving. I am not traveling this year, but staying where I “hang my hat”, Fort Lauderdale, Florida. As I tell most people, I didn’t want to wait until retirement to escape the cold winters of the Mid-West, New England or Spain. So four years ago, my then fiancé, now husband, and I packed up a not yet mature household near Boston and moved to sunny South Florida.

Many of you have heard that you can take the girl out of the country, but you can never take the country out of the girl. Well, I consider that to be true. A component of where you come from and each place you live stays with you to make the rich, mixture of personality and tradition that makes us all unique. I must say that my verbage and slight accent can show that I haven’t forgotten my Mid-Western roots (Wis-CON-sin), but I must say that I attribute much of how I view the world to the place where I really grew up, Spain.

At the age of twenty, I moved to Madrid and stayed for two years. I typically equate this time of my life to being an infant or toddler. I was a sponge just as kids are. Everything was different. The sounds and language were strange as well as the holidays, music, food, when you eat it, when shops are open, and even scents. It was a sensory overload and probably the two years of my life that I learned the most. Who would think that I could attribute a valuable lesson to going out to a local bar to have “tapas” (small snacks), meet up with friends for the “marcha” (nightlife), and end the event with a cup of thick, hot chocolate and fried donuts at no earlier than 3 or 4 am?

Yes, those years gave me the appreciation for things other than traditional classes, memorizing information and formulas, and staying cooped up with my college books to be a straight “A” student. I began to understand that a day in the Prado or hopping a bus to Sevilla or Granada to see local festivals to be the true learnings of life. I might add that there is something to be said about a culture that has what seems to be hundreds of three day weekends somehow based on religion. I saw these festivities as three days of eating, dancing, drinking, and sometimes dressing up in costume. I have now come to realize that they were a way to meet hundreds of new people, who were my teachers or what I refer to as encyclopedias of life.

I arrived in Spain intending to stay a year and return to the Mid-West to start medical school. I did not leave after a year, but stayed to get another dose of Spanish lifestyle. Who would have thought that I would trade in my peanut butter snack for olives and ever say that there is a cheese better than cheddar…..by the way, it is called manchego. During those two years, I traveled throughout not only Spain but almost all of Europe and some parts of Africa…many of which I will write about in future posts to tell my stories of Christmas Eve in a Turkish brothel, New Year’s in Napoli, camel rides in Morocco, traditional Roman baths, and like adventures.

As you know, I did eventually leave Spain only to return occasionally to visit familiar traditions, food, and small tapas bars. The time had come to return to the U.S. and take that country girl mixed with cosmopolitan Spanish flare back to the States.

With that, I leave you to take out my pie and enjoy a Thanksgiving feast with my husband, Admilson, and my dad, Jim. By the way, I still like my apple pie with cheddar cheese…..you can’t use manchego! (It is a Wisconsin tradition.)

Once upon a time in a land far away…..is where everything started?

2008-11-25T17:42:00.000-08:00

How fitting that I introduce my MsTravelingPants blog and myself as I sit on my way to London with laptop on the tray table with hopes of a bearable in-flight movie on yet another journey in my adventures of both near and far. So that you have further insight into who I am and why I write the way I do, please let me tell you a little story about my beginning…….where everything started?

Believe it or not, I am from a small, unincorporated town in Wisconsin called Centerville. Located on the Mississippi side of Wisconsin, I grew up in very rural setting on a hobby farm. You may say, what is a hobby farm? Well, amongst various neighbors that made their living by raising cattle or milking dairy cows, my family had a farm as a hobby. When I think of it, I don’t think that would rank high on my chosen pastimes, but my parents did. My father a college professor and my mother at that time an antique dealer and inspired Shepherd, decided that a 20 acre hobby farm with sheep, a couple of dogs, and cats nestled in a quaint valley surrounded by apple orchards, corn fields, and wild pastures would be an ideal place to raise a child. That is where I come in. I might say that it was a great place, safe place, and my place to grow up OR at least until I grew out of that stage.

My parents did not know whether I would be a boy or a girl so they thought Heath Claude if I were to be a boy or Heidi after the novel if I were I girl. Knowing how kids and teenagers can be ruthless with names, I am very happy that luck was with me that day, as I am Heidi. How fitting that my parents would have a herd of sheep and a little girl named Heidi.

As an only child, you tend to explore your world with imaginary friends, pets, and well the world of fantasy. The stories and playtimes always were in Neverneverland and far of places. It only seems fit that I too would be going places far far away to explore other cultures, music, food, fun, and most importantly people.

Around the age of 9 or 10, I took my first trip to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. It was for my father’s Spring break vacation from the university, but this was just one of many seasonal getaways that have shaped me into who I am today and who I will become. Just think about it……a kid from Wisconsin to see the powerful ocean, warm weather in the middle of winter, and an environment so strange and unfamiliar AND in another language! However, I loved it and I was sold. It was there that I began my thirst of language with simple flashcards in Spanish and later expanded through school with pen pals, soap operas, and further exploration of Mexico…that is until I went to college and was encouraged to study abroad…Ok no one needed to encourage this young traveling bug to explore her horizons.

At the age of 20, I packed two large duffle bags with peanut butter, enough tampons for a year, and all the things I thought I could not live without as I shipped out for Madrid, Spain. It is crazy to think I packed such things….there are many better things to eat than peanut butter in Spain AND they did and continue to sell tampons there.

So sorry to interrupt, but the laptop battery is saying save or lose everything; plus, I am beginning to smell the oh so familiar chicken or beef lasagna dinner cart coming my way…..mmmmmmmmmmm buen provecho Heidi!