In Training

Even though I finished the L.A. Rock n' Roll Half Marathon last Sunday, I'm still in training.

It's a different kind of training. Travel Training, if you will. I have three weeks until I depart for Tokyo, and then Hong Kong. Three weeks to get my body, soul and stomach ready for everything Japanese and Cantonese.

Here's what a Travel Training regimen looks like:

- Walk more, run less.
- Journal more, so by the time I'm abroad, reaching for the pen and paper become second nature.
- Practice the discipline of slowing. I am a huge fan of slow travel, where you not rushing from landmark to landmark, but rather you're immersed in place, capturing as much with your eyes and ears as possible.
- Practice conversation skills. Simple things like listening more, or asking more questions. So that when you're with the locals, interaction is less awkward.
- Refraining from sushi and dim sum, so that I can experience it in their native lands.
- Learning simple phrases in Japanese and Cantonese (Haven't really done this yet)

That's just a small list. Surely to keep me occupied until I leave.

How do you "train" for an upcoming trip? Do you train at all? Leave a comment to answer.

The Worst Flight of My Life

*On an infinitely more pleasant flight to Athens*

I don't write about airlines much. I have nothing to say about them. Some people have horror stories about their flights. I count it all as part of the territory. Or I have a high threshold for annoyance.

This is how I felt before boarding the worst flight of my life.

It was only two hours long, from PDX to LAX, on an airline that's named after a state and rhymes with "Dalaska". Karen and I sat toward the back of the cabin. Taking up the five rows in front of us were members of a girls soccer team. I sat down, like most passengers, not thinking much of anything. I just wanted to go home. Other passengers were on their mobile phones. Some were listening to their iPods. A flash bulb went off. Then another. And another. The girls, out of boredom or sheer excitement, decided that now was an excellent opportunity for photos.

As the plane took off, every girl raised their arms and shrieked to the heavens. After all, riding an airplane is like Space Mountain. More flash bulbs went off. More cackling from the girls. A Goldfish cracker from two rows up flew through the air and landed on my shoulder. Karen turned to me and said, "Where the hell are the chaperones?" I shrugged my shoulders, contemplated eating the cracker, then brushed it aside.

A candy bar fell at Karen's feet with a thud. And then it was on.

"You shouldn't throw things on the plane. It's DANGEROUS." K was ready to throw down. I wouldn't have put it past her to jump out of her seat, grab each girl by the collars of their soccer shirts and tell them how to freaking behave on an airplane. I touched Karen on the shoulder in an attempt to placate her, she flashed me a look that made me want to apologize for my bad behavior.

A lady woman with the girls stood up and walked to back of the cabin. She might have been a chaperone, or a big fan of the girls soccer team. We told her that the girls have a problem holding on to their food. She turned to them and said, "You should stop, you're making the other passengers mad." Whatever works, I guess. Good job, chaperone.

With one hour to go on the flight, the girls stopped chucking their crackers, but that didn't stop the girls from taking more pictures (with flash), yucking it up, throwing their hands in the air began its descent. My face grew whiter with each passing minute. Karen's face grew redder. We bolted out of the gate to our car, trying to drop the memories of this flight like the girls dropped their candy bars.

Karen wrote a formal complaint to Dalaska airlines. She received a $50 credit for her next flight, but really, do they think we'll fly them again?

A question: Where were the flight attendants? Shouldn't they have stepped in when the flash bulbs started popping, one after the other? At least a polite admonishment that there were other passengers on that flight that maaaaaybe wanted some peace and quiet.

More questions: Did the other passengers notice the shenanigans that Karen and I noticed? Did they have a HIGHER tolerance for annoyance than I did? Did they just not care?

It was only two hours long, but that flight from PDX to LAX was the worst flight of my life. It wasn't solely because the girls soccer team acted like self-centered brats. The lack of control of the chaperones, the apathy of the flight attendants, and the lack of concern from the other passengers all contributed.

Have you, Faithful Traveler, been on an equally horrific flight? Please share. I feel your pain.

The People Up

I wanted to share a quote I heard on NPR a while back.

David Simon, creator of The Wire and now Treme, said this about travel:

Well, you know, there's two ways of being a tourist. The first way is you get on the tour bus and the guide grabs the microphone and you drive down the streets that everyone has driven down before. And he tells you, you know, when this church was built and then you go in for 15 minutes and you come out again. And you go to the next country.

And then there's the other, which is when you go somewhere for a while and you dont have a tour guide, and you walk into the nearest bar or shebeen and you just be. And you start figuring out a place from the people up.

Mr. Simon hits it on the nose. How fulfilling is it when you can get your hands dirty and be one with the locals!

There was the time my friends and I were walking down the streets of Cairo to our hotel, when some guys asked us to join them for tea. Or the time I tried to get a pot-laden cake from a coffeehouse in Amsterdam. Or the time I was approached by a tuk-tuk driver in Chiang Mai, asking if I wanted a lady. All these times involved interacting, breaking out of the "tourist bubble" I'm used to putting up abroad.

As I get ready for Tokyo and Hong Kong, I ask myself how can I travel from the people up? And for you, Faithful Traveler, what would that look like for you?