http:// New blogs from Ragazza on My Budget Travel Sat, 02 Aug 2008 22:33:15 GMT Sat, 02 Aug 2008 22:33:15 GMT bthelp@budgettravel.com (BTeditor) bthelp@budgettravel.com (BTeditor) KickApps Feed Builder 2008-08-02T22:33:15Z 32 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/searchEverything.kickAction?as=21864&sortType=recent 0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Not-Even-6-Degrees/BLOG/86290/21864.html Tonight - in about an hour - Madonna will be here. [image] Yes, I mean the Madonna. And "here" is a tiny theatre in this little city in Michigan. Not for a concert but for the screening of her documentray about Malawi. And, no, I'm not going to see her. Granted I'll be walking past not long after, but, oddly enough, I have no desire to see her or to be a part of the chaos that will surely ensue when a huge star enters a tiny theatre in a little city in Michigan. All this means that I have little in common with the people who have been sitting on a park bench 3 giant steps from the theatre all day in order to a) get in line at the first possible second and b) not get caught "breaking" the "No one in line before 5pm" policy. Enough about Madonna. She's just a way for me to write about her nanny's boyfriend. I met him on the plane from London to JFK the beginning of July. I took advantage of the fact that he was a good looking Australian guy and offered him a piece of gum. Brilliant, I know, but it led to a completely enjoyable 8 hour plane ride. Even if the only flights I counted are those of the past 2 months, I've flown quite a bit. I have a routine that totally works for me (one my students were threatened not to disrupt on our trip in March). I reserve a window seat so I can curl up, I take a Dramamine and a Benedryl, I drink a ton of water and I sleep for almost the entire flight. I've slept through drink services, snacks, take offs and even a landing. It's how I fight jet lag. . .and it works. Despite the good looking Australian next to me, I really hadn't planned on anything different. We made small talk and then the two of us reverted to our ipods for company. I drifted off. . . An hour or two later, I woke for the dinner service and perhaps chatted a bit, but mostly ate and then, well, drifted off. . . An hour or two after that, I woke to find that someone (Madonna's nanny's boyfriend) had thoughtfully lowered the tray in front of me and placed the snack (vanilla ice cream) there. Slightly startled, I thanked him and ate it. We talked a bit more, although I couldn't tell you what about. Later, I attempted to start a book I'd bought in Notting Hill and then, you guessed it, drifted off. . . I'm pretty sure I've trained my body to be tired at the sight of a plane. I'd be a horrible pilot. I have always found that sleeping flyers are pretty much left alone. I've seen people sleep throught long flights and no one wakes them to make sure they're hydrated or happy. . .they just sleep. But, maybe it was the piece of gum or the short conversations, but the good looking Australian seemed determined to feed me. I don't know how long I slept, but about 2 hours before landing, I was startled awake by a tap on my shoulder. Just this side of sleep, that tap startled me so much that I gasped and jumped, amusing the good looking Australian and the passenger on his right. Embarassed (seriously, they laughed at me!), I realized that he'd again lowered the tray in front of me and was giving me the "Hey, We're Almost Landing! Pesto Pizza" that Delta serves. And a water. Finally, I put away my ipod, gave up on my flying regimen, and enjoyed a couple hours of great conversation with Nick. . .also known as "the Good Looking Australian" and "Madonna's Nanny's Boyfriend" - both of which he is. We laughed, agreed with each other, exchanged future plans and travel stories and it was one of the best in-flight conversations I've ever had. Nick reminded me a ton of Brandon. . .my marvelous, musical friend . . . Funny, thoughtful, interested and interesting. He'd even traveled with a Contiki tour (basically a drinking group with a travel problem) just like Brandon. It had been that tour that convinced he and a friend to pack their bags and move from Melbourne to London, bouncing from hostel to hostel as they interview for jobs. Not jobs waiting tables or handing out flyers for clubs, though. Nick's a graphic designer. The coolest thing - and the reason the conversation lasted as it did - was that Nick and I have traveled about the same amount. . .and to many of the same places. We have the same "I Can't Believe I've Been There" style of enthusiasm for Paris and Rome and even London. When I told him I wanted to visit Greece, he asked "The islands?" and I could see that he didn't think much of being yet another backpack-toting American looking for a party on Santorini. I smiled and answered him honestly that, no, that wasn't the trip I had planned. What I really wanted to do was to see Crete in all its wild, Hellenic glory and visit villages only accessible by boat and hike the Samarian Gorge. Somewhere in those hours of talking, he told me about his girlfriend's job as a nanny for Madonna and, although he hinted at some of the madness associated with that, I didn't pry. Maybe for the same reason I'm here at home and not walking downtown now in hopes to catch a glimpse of the Material Girl. Maybe for the same reason that my next dream trip is oh-so-Cretan Crete and not tourist-infested Mykonos. For me, Nick joins the ranks of people I've met on the road. People who love the idea of travel and the act of it as much as I do. People like my lovely German hosts, amazing friends from Italy, and the rather infamous JCKZ of Paris, Chris on the plane from Minneapolis, Kerri in London . . .people who can make the last leg of a long plane ride the most enjoyable. Some of whom I'll never see again and other who I hope to see very soon. So, tonight, when I walk past the paparazzi and autograph seekers downtown on my way to another outdoor movie, it won't really be Madonna I'm thinking of. . .but a young Australian designer hoping to make good in London. . .who values pizza over sleep. Priorities. Tonight - in about an hour - Madonna will be here. [image] Yes, I mean the Madonna. And "here" is a tiny theatre in this little city in Michigan. Not for a concert but for the screening of her documentray about Malawi. And, no, I'm not going to see her. Granted I'll be walking past not long after, but, oddly enough, I have no desire to see her or to be a part of the chaos that will surely ensue when a huge star enters a tiny theatre in a little city in Michigan. All this means that I have little in common with the people who have been sitting on a park bench 3 giant steps from the theatre all day in order to a) get in line at the first possible second and b) not get caught "breaking" the "No one in line before 5pm" policy. Enough about Madonna. She's just a way for me to write about her nanny's boyfriend. I met him on the plane from London to JFK the beginning of July. I took advantage of the fact that he was a good looking Australian guy and offered him a piece of gum. Brilliant, I know, but it led to a completely enjoyable 8 hour plane ride. Even if the only flights I counted are those of the past 2 months, I've flown quite a bit. I have a routine that totally works for me (one my students were threatened not to disrupt on our trip in March). I reserve a window seat so I can curl up, I take a Dramamine and a Benedryl, I drink a ton of water and I sleep for almost the entire flight. I've slept through drink services, snacks, take offs and even a landing. It's how I fight jet lag. . .and it works. Despite the good looking Australian next to me, I really hadn't planned on anything different. We made small talk and then the two of us reverted to our ipods for company. I drifted off. . . An hour or two later, I woke for the dinner service and perhaps chatted a bit, but mostly ate and then, well, drifted off. . . An hour or two after that, I woke to find that someone (Madonna's nanny's boyfriend) had thoughtfully lowered the tray in front of me and placed the snack (vanilla ice cream) there. Slightly startled, I thanked him and ate it. We talked a bit more, although I couldn't tell you what about. Later, I attempted to start a book I'd bought in Notting Hill and then, you guessed it, drifted off. . . I'm pretty sure I've trained my body to be tired at the sight of a plane. I'd be a horrible pilot. I have always found that sleeping flyers are pretty much left alone. I've seen people sleep throught long flights and no one wakes them to make sure they're hydrated or happy. . .they just sleep. But, maybe it was the piece of gum or the short conversations, but the good looking Australian seemed determined to feed me. I don't know how long I slept, but about 2 hours before landing, I was startled awake by a tap on my shoulder. Just this side of sleep, that tap startled me so much that I gasped and jumped, amusing the good looking Australian and the passenger on his right. Embarassed (seriously, they laughed at me!), I realized that he'd again lowered the tray in front of me and was giving me the "Hey, We're Almost Landing! Pesto Pizza" that Delta serves. And a water. Finally, I put away my ipod, gave up on my flying regimen, and enjoyed a couple hours of great conversation with Nick. . .also known as "the Good Looking Australian" and "Madonna's Nanny's Boyfriend" - both of which he is. We laughed, agreed with each other, exchanged future plans and travel stories and it was one of the best in-flight conversations I've ever had. Nick reminded me a ton of Brandon. . .my marvelous, musical friend . . . Funny, thoughtful, interested and interesting. He'd even traveled with a Contiki tour (basically a drinking group with a travel problem) just like Brandon. It had been that tour that convinced he and a friend to pack their bags and move from Melbourne to London, bouncing from hostel to hostel as they interview for jobs. Not jobs waiting tables or handing out flyers for clubs, though. Nick's a graphic designer. The coolest thing - and the reason the conversation lasted as it did - was that Nick and I have traveled about the same amount. . .and to many of the same places. We have the same "I Can't Believe I've Been There" style of enthusiasm for Paris and Rome and even London. When I told him I wanted to visit Greece, he asked "The islands?" and I could see that he didn't think much of being yet another backpack-toting American looking for a party on Santorini. I smiled and answered him honestly that, no, that wasn't the trip I had planned. What I really wanted to do was to see Crete in all its wild, Hellenic glory and visit villages only accessible by boat and hike the Samarian Gorge. Somewhere in those hours of talking, he told me about his girlfriend's job as a nanny for Madonna and, although he hinted at some of the madness associated with that, I didn't pry. Maybe for the same reason I'm here at home and not walking downtown now in hopes to catch a glimpse of the Material Girl. Maybe for the same reason that my next dream trip is oh-so-Cretan Crete and not tourist-infested Mykonos. For me, Nick joins the ranks of people I've met on the road. People who love the idea of travel and the act of it as much as I do. People like my lovely German hosts, amazing friends from Italy, and the rather infamous JCKZ of Paris, Chris on the plane from Minneapolis, Kerri in London . . .people who can make the last leg of a long plane ride the most enjoyable. Some of whom I'll never see again and other who I hope to see very soon. So, tonight, when I walk past the paparazzi and autograph seekers downtown on my way to another outdoor movie, it won't really be Madonna I'm thinking of. . .but a young Australian designer hoping to make good in London. . .who values pizza over sleep. Priorities. Sat, 02 Aug 2008 22:33:15 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Not-Even-6-Degrees/BLOG/86290/21864.html Ragazza 2008-08-02T22:33:15Z My Budget Travel Tonight - in about an hour - Madonna will be here. [image] Yes, I mean the Madonna. And "here" is a tiny theatre in this little city in Michigan. Not for a concert but for the screening of her documentray about Malawi. And, no, I'm not going to see her. Granted I'll be walking past not long after, but, oddly enough, I have no desire to see her or to be a part of the chaos that will surely ensue when a huge star enters a tiny theatre in a little city in Michigan. All this means that I have little in common with the people who have been sitting on a park bench 3 giant steps from the theatre all day in order to a) get in line at the first possible second and b) not get caught "breaking" the "No one in line before 5pm" policy. Enough about Madonna. She's just a way for me to write about her nanny's boyfriend. I met him on the plane from London to JFK the beginning of July. I took advantage of the fact that he was a good looking Australian guy and offered him a piece of gum. Brilliant, I know, but it led to a completely enjoyable 8 hour plane ride. Even if the only flights I counted are those of the past 2 months, I've flown quite a bit. I have a routine that totally works for me (one my students were threatened not to disrupt on our trip in March). I reserve a window seat so I can curl up, I take a Dramamine and a Benedryl, I drink a ton of water and I sleep for almost the entire flight. I've slept through drink services, snacks, take offs and even a landing. It's how I fight jet lag. . .and it works. Despite the good looking Australian next to me, I really hadn't planned on anything different. We made small talk and then the two of us reverted to our ipods for company. I drifted off. . . An hour or two later, I woke for the dinner service and perhaps chatted a bit, but mostly ate and then, well, drifted off. . . An hour or two after that, I woke to find that someone (Madonna's nanny's boyfriend) had thoughtfully lowered the tray in front of me and placed the snack (vanilla ice cream) there. Slightly startled, I thanked him and ate it. We talked a bit more, although I couldn't tell you what about. Later, I attempted to start a book I'd bought in Notting Hill and then, you guessed it, drifted off. . . I'm pretty sure I've trained my body to be tired at the sight of a plane. I'd be a horrible pilot. I have always found that sleeping flyers are pretty much left alone. I've seen people sleep throught long flights and no one wakes them to make sure they're hydrated or happy. . .they just sleep. But, maybe it was the piece of gum or the short conversations, but the good looking Australian seemed determined to feed me. I don't know how long I slept, but about 2 hours before landing, I was startled awake by a tap on my shoulder. Just this side of sleep, that tap startled me so much that I gasped and jumped, amusing the good looking Australian and the passenger on his right. Embarassed (seriously, they laughed at me!), I realized that he'd again lowered the tray in front of me and was giving me the "Hey, We're Almost Landing! Pesto Pizza" that Delta serves. And a water. Finally, I put away my ipod, gave up on my flying regimen, and enjoyed a couple hours of great conversation with Nick. . .also known as "the Good Looking Australian" and "Madonna's Nanny's Boyfriend" - both of which he is. We laughed, agreed with each other, exchanged future plans and travel stories and it was one of the best in-flight conversations I've ever had. Nick reminded me a ton of Brandon. . .my marvelous, musical friend . . . Funny, thoughtful, interested and interesting. He'd even traveled with a Contiki tour (basically a drinking group with a travel problem) just like Brandon. It had been that tour that convinced he and a friend to pack their bags and move from Melbourne to London, bouncing from hostel to hostel as they interview for jobs. Not jobs waiting tables or handing out flyers for clubs, though. Nick's a graphic designer. The coolest thing - and the reason the conversation lasted as it did - was that Nick and I have traveled about the same amount. . .and to many of the same places. We have the same "I Can't Believe I've Been There" style of enthusiasm for Paris and Rome and even London. When I told him I wanted to visit Greece, he asked "The islands?" and I could see that he didn't think much of being yet another backpack-toting American looking for a party on Santorini. I smiled and answered him honestly that, no, that wasn't the trip I had planned. What I really wanted to do was to see Crete in all its wild, Hellenic glory and visit villages only accessible by boat and hike the Samarian Gorge. Somewhere in those hours of talking, he told me about his girlfriend's job as a nanny for Madonna and, although he hinted at some of the madness associated with that, I didn't pry. Maybe for the same reason I'm here at home and not walking downtown now in hopes to catch a glimpse of the Material Girl. Maybe for the same reason that my next dream trip is oh-so-Cretan Crete and not tourist-infested Mykonos. For me, Nick joins the ranks of people I've met on the road. People who love the idea of travel and the act of it as much as I do. People like my lovely German hosts, amazing friends from Italy, and the rather infamous JCKZ of Paris, Chris on the plane from Minneapolis, Kerri in London . . .people who can make the last leg of a long plane ride the most enjoyable. Some of whom I'll never see again and other who I hope to see very soon. So, tonight, when I walk past the paparazzi and autograph seekers downtown on my way to another outdoor movie, it won't really be Madonna I'm thinking of. . .but a young Australian designer hoping to make good in London. . .who values pizza over sleep. Priorities. airline, greece, london, new, travel, york nonadult false Not Even 6 Degrees text blog airline,greece,london,new,travel,york 894 1 5.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false 1 0 86290 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Easy-to-Please/BLOG/86284/21864.html There's a lot in life that makes me happy. I like good wine, good food, interesting conversation, trips, sunsets and movies. Good movies. Convenient then that this summer I've had all of the above. The wine was Venetian, the food was everywhere, conversations on planes, trips around 5 countries, sunsets over lagoons, mountains, lakes and hills. . .and movies here in Michigan. Thanks to this being the week of a huge film festival in Traverse City, I've spent more time in movie theatres over the past few days than anywhere else. I've seen an absurd number of films (7 with 4 more to go), but I've also volunteered for a few shifts at one of the theatres. I've vacuumed the green room that Madonna will use tonight, swept popcorn, taped seats, moved lines, taken tickets. . . Seven movies. Really. And yet the best one was a movie I've seen over and over again. But this time we watched it on a huge inflatable (!) screen outdoors. [image] It was a beautiful night. . .and we enjoyed every song, every dance, every minute. [image] Know it yet? [image] It was marvelous. Magical. I forgot about the long day, the damp grass, the lateness of the start and just enjoyed every second of a movie I've loved since childhood. See, Joel and I didn't watch a lot of tv growing up and, although we had a VCR, we didn't even watch a lot of movies. We were alowed to choose and hour of tv a week. . .and, oddly, that was enough. Sure, we loved the stolen moments watching "Saved by the Bell" at friends' houses (that was probably just me), but it never was that big of a deal. The one genre that seemed to break all the rules set down by our parents were the classic muscial. One hour a week didn't seem to apply. So, we watched our fill of Unsinkable Molly Brown, Brigadoon, The Sound of Music, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (as my dad called it, "a delightful little abduction story") and Singing in the Rain . Even so, I can't quite explain why it was so incredibly special to sit on the grass and watch the movie on a big screen for the first time. Yes, it was the fact that I love the movie. Yes, because we were seeing it as it was intended to be shown. But, there was more than that. I think a big part of it was because this guy was there. [image] Okay, let me clarify that I'm referring to the guy on the right. The guy on the left is Michael Moore (and that's all I'm going to say about him). The guy on the right is Stanley Donen, and he's the director of Singing in the Rain and so many other wonderful movies since the 40s. He's worked with everyone associated with Hollywood's heyday - Fred Astaire, Cary Grant, Audrey Hepburn, Peter Lawford (okay, that's a stretch but he was a member of the Rat Pack), Henry Mancini. . .everyone. And he's awesome. Wise. Experienced. Funny. And, 3 times this week, I've seen him introduce his movies ( Funny Face, Singing in the Rain and Charade), and I've gotten to listen to his stories about where he got ideas for scenes I've seen a hundred times; his phone conversations with his friends - the ones we consider movie stars. Hearing him, seeing those movies on the big screen 50 years after their theatrical releases, that was a highlight of a very exciting summer and well worth every late night bike ride and every popcorn kernal swept. ****** And now for something completely different . . . Now that you know what I like, how about finding what a cartoon character likes. . . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8zi5FdRTV5M&feature=related Beware: It's weird and hilarious. I blame my brother. There's a lot in life that makes me happy. I like good wine, good food, interesting conversation, trips, sunsets and movies. Good movies. Convenient then that this summer I've had all of the above. The wine was Venetian, the food was everywhere, conversations on planes, trips around 5 countries, sunsets over lagoons, mountains, lakes and hills. . .and movies here in Michigan. Thanks to this being the week of a huge film festival in Traverse City, I've spent more time in movie theatres over the past few days than anywhere else. I've seen an absurd number of films (7 with 4 more to go), but I've also volunteered for a few shifts at one of the theatres. I've vacuumed the green room that Madonna will use tonight, swept popcorn, taped seats, moved lines, taken tickets. . . Seven movies. Really. And yet the best one was a movie I've seen over and over again. But this time we watched it on a huge inflatable (!) screen outdoors. [image] It was a beautiful night. . .and we enjoyed every song, every dance, every minute. [image] Know it yet? [image] It was marvelous. Magical. I forgot about the long day, the damp grass, the lateness of the start and just enjoyed every second of a movie I've loved since childhood. See, Joel and I didn't watch a lot of tv growing up and, although we had a VCR, we didn't even watch a lot of movies. We were alowed to choose and hour of tv a week. . .and, oddly, that was enough. Sure, we loved the stolen moments watching "Saved by the Bell" at friends' houses (that was probably just me), but it never was that big of a deal. The one genre that seemed to break all the rules set down by our parents were the classic muscial. One hour a week didn't seem to apply. So, we watched our fill of Unsinkable Molly Brown, Brigadoon, The Sound of Music, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (as my dad called it, "a delightful little abduction story") and Singing in the Rain . Even so, I can't quite explain why it was so incredibly special to sit on the grass and watch the movie on a big screen for the first time. Yes, it was the fact that I love the movie. Yes, because we were seeing it as it was intended to be shown. But, there was more than that. I think a big part of it was because this guy was there. [image] Okay, let me clarify that I'm referring to the guy on the right. The guy on the left is Michael Moore (and that's all I'm going to say about him). The guy on the right is Stanley Donen, and he's the director of Singing in the Rain and so many other wonderful movies since the 40s. He's worked with everyone associated with Hollywood's heyday - Fred Astaire, Cary Grant, Audrey Hepburn, Peter Lawford (okay, that's a stretch but he was a member of the Rat Pack), Henry Mancini. . .everyone. And he's awesome. Wise. Experienced. Funny. And, 3 times this week, I've seen him introduce his movies ( Funny Face, Singing in the Rain and Charade), and I've gotten to listen to his stories about where he got ideas for scenes I've seen a hundred times; his phone conversations with his friends - the ones we consider movie stars. Hearing him, seeing those movies on the big screen 50 years after their theatrical releases, that was a highlight of a very exciting summer and well worth every late night bike ride and every popcorn kernal swept. ****** And now for something completely different . . . Now that you know what I like, how about finding what a cartoon character likes. . . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8zi5FdRTV5M&feature=related Beware: It's weird and hilarious. I blame my brother. Sat, 02 Aug 2008 21:37:59 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Easy-to-Please/BLOG/86284/21864.html Ragazza 2008-08-02T21:37:59Z My Budget Travel There's a lot in life that makes me happy. I like good wine, good food, interesting conversation, trips, sunsets and movies. Good movies. Convenient then that this summer I've had all of the above. The wine was Venetian, the food was everywhere, conversations on planes, trips around 5 countries, sunsets over lagoons, mountains, lakes and hills. . .and movies here in Michigan. Thanks to this being the week of a huge film festival in Traverse City, I've spent more time in movie theatres over the past few days than anywhere else. I've seen an absurd number of films (7 with 4 more to go), but I've also volunteered for a few shifts at one of the theatres. I've vacuumed the green room that Madonna will use tonight, swept popcorn, taped seats, moved lines, taken tickets. . . Seven movies. Really. And yet the best one was a movie I've seen over and over again. But this time we watched it on a huge inflatable (!) screen outdoors. [image] It was a beautiful night. . .and we enjoyed every song, every dance, every minute. [image] Know it yet? [image] It was marvelous. Magical. I forgot about the long day, the damp grass, the lateness of the start and just enjoyed every second of a movie I've loved since childhood. See, Joel and I didn't watch a lot of tv growing up and, although we had a VCR, we didn't even watch a lot of movies. We were alowed to choose and hour of tv a week. . .and, oddly, that was enough. Sure, we loved the stolen moments watching "Saved by the Bell" at friends' houses (that was probably just me), but it never was that big of a deal. The one genre that seemed to break all the rules set down by our parents were the classic muscial. One hour a week didn't seem to apply. So, we watched our fill of Unsinkable Molly Brown, Brigadoon, The Sound of Music, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (as my dad called it, "a delightful little abduction story") and Singing in the Rain . Even so, I can't quite explain why it was so incredibly special to sit on the grass and watch the movie on a big screen for the first time. Yes, it was the fact that I love the movie. Yes, because we were seeing it as it was intended to be shown. But, there was more than that. I think a big part of it was because this guy was there. [image] Okay, let me clarify that I'm referring to the guy on the right. The guy on the left is Michael Moore (and that's all I'm going to say about him). The guy on the right is Stanley Donen, and he's the director of Singing in the Rain and so many other wonderful movies since the 40s. He's worked with everyone associated with Hollywood's heyday - Fred Astaire, Cary Grant, Audrey Hepburn, Peter Lawford (okay, that's a stretch but he was a member of the Rat Pack), Henry Mancini. . .everyone. And he's awesome. Wise. Experienced. Funny. And, 3 times this week, I've seen him introduce his movies ( Funny Face, Singing in the Rain and Charade), and I've gotten to listen to his stories about where he got ideas for scenes I've seen a hundred times; his phone conversations with his friends - the ones we consider movie stars. Hearing him, seeing those movies on the big screen 50 years after their theatrical releases, that was a highlight of a very exciting summer and well worth every late night bike ride and every popcorn kernal swept. ****** And now for something completely different . . . Now that you know what I like, how about finding what a cartoon character likes. . . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8zi5FdRTV5M&feature=related Beware: It's weird and hilarious. I blame my brother. city, festival, film, traverse nonadult false Easy to Please text blog city,festival,film,traverse 515 0 0.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false United States MI 0 0 86284 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_The-Beginning/BLOG/84740/21864.html [image] I still call them "the kids." They were a sophomore and a senior in high school when they started dating. And, much of the time we spent together in the summers was at the beach and on the dunes and watching movies and having bonfires. I remember trying to be cautious and talking with my parents about not putting too much pressure on a young relationship. It was hard not to just tell everyone who asked that they were perfect for each other, because they always were. They're not kids by any stretch of the imagination. They're 22 and 24, in college and a career, making big choices about the next years while still remembering to bask in the amazing glow of a perfect wedding. They're wearing wedding bands now, the only visable change other than the smiles they can't keep off their faces. What a wedding it was. . . Beautiful bridesmaids (if I do say so myself). [image] Guapo groomsmen (alliteration is my thing, besides we live in a multicultural world). [image] A magnificent photographer who captured every moment and didn't have to coax smiles. [image] Time for the family to dance and dance. Remember, the polka is just a matter of "kinda jumping up and down." [image] And this is all for keeps. Something we can say with supreme confidence for one simple reason. No, not just because they love each other - which they do. Not just because they have to get their money's worth out of the wedding. Not just because they like skiing and running and hiking together. I know that they'll be together forever because before this. . . [image] was this. . . [image] Those kids sure grew up well. [image] I still call them "the kids." They were a sophomore and a senior in high school when they started dating. And, much of the time we spent together in the summers was at the beach and on the dunes and watching movies and having bonfires. I remember trying to be cautious and talking with my parents about not putting too much pressure on a young relationship. It was hard not to just tell everyone who asked that they were perfect for each other, because they always were. They're not kids by any stretch of the imagination. They're 22 and 24, in college and a career, making big choices about the next years while still remembering to bask in the amazing glow of a perfect wedding. They're wearing wedding bands now, the only visable change other than the smiles they can't keep off their faces. What a wedding it was. . . Beautiful bridesmaids (if I do say so myself). [image] Guapo groomsmen (alliteration is my thing, besides we live in a multicultural world). [image] A magnificent photographer who captured every moment and didn't have to coax smiles. [image] Time for the family to dance and dance. Remember, the polka is just a matter of "kinda jumping up and down." [image] And this is all for keeps. Something we can say with supreme confidence for one simple reason. No, not just because they love each other - which they do. Not just because they have to get their money's worth out of the wedding. Not just because they like skiing and running and hiking together. I know that they'll be together forever because before this. . . [image] was this. . . [image] Those kids sure grew up well. Mon, 28 Jul 2008 13:53:46 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_The-Beginning/BLOG/84740/21864.html Ragazza 2008-07-28T13:53:46Z My Budget Travel [image] I still call them "the kids." They were a sophomore and a senior in high school when they started dating. And, much of the time we spent together in the summers was at the beach and on the dunes and watching movies and having bonfires. I remember trying to be cautious and talking with my parents about not putting too much pressure on a young relationship. It was hard not to just tell everyone who asked that they were perfect for each other, because they always were. They're not kids by any stretch of the imagination. They're 22 and 24, in college and a career, making big choices about the next years while still remembering to bask in the amazing glow of a perfect wedding. They're wearing wedding bands now, the only visable change other than the smiles they can't keep off their faces. What a wedding it was. . . Beautiful bridesmaids (if I do say so myself). [image] Guapo groomsmen (alliteration is my thing, besides we live in a multicultural world). [image] A magnificent photographer who captured every moment and didn't have to coax smiles. [image] Time for the family to dance and dance. Remember, the polka is just a matter of "kinda jumping up and down." [image] And this is all for keeps. Something we can say with supreme confidence for one simple reason. No, not just because they love each other - which they do. Not just because they have to get their money's worth out of the wedding. Not just because they like skiing and running and hiking together. I know that they'll be together forever because before this. . . [image] was this. . . [image] Those kids sure grew up well. nonadult false The Beginning text blog 677 0 0.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false 1 0 84740 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Let-the-Games-Begin/BLOG/84338/21864.html When we first moved to Michigan (13 years ago!), Joel and I spent a wild, vegetable-free summer with Dad before Mom sold the house and came over as well. That summer we rode bikes, ate canned soup, played baseball & softball, fought, and played Dune Tag. [image] Dune Tag trumped everything. It was where we made friends, turned as brown as could be, stayed in shape and got to experience summer as only Michigan can offer it. On the dunes, Joel and I were a little less homesick, a little more at home and a lot happier. The people who introduced us to the sport (oh, it's definitely a sport) also adopted us into their families and we spent almost every day with them. When guests came to visit or we celebrated anything (birthdays, the beginning of summer, the end of summer. . .), we always pulled together as big a group as we could and played Dune Tag. All the way through high school. So, when tomorrow's wedding was in the planning stages, a huge, celebratory game of Dune Tag was an obvious choice. It was an eventful evening. . . Dad shocked everyone by donning a pair of shorts (and, later, by being incredibly fast). [image] Max was appointed (and self-appointed) the referee, complete with whistle and stopwatch. [image] Julia stood by in support as Joel used his best PE teacher voice to explain the rules to a rowdy group of 25. [image] Then, she promptly chose her dad for her team. [image] We strategized and stretched. (Laughter is totally a strategy). [image] And, then we won. Well, one game. They killed us in the sudden death. [image] Walking back down the dune at the end of the game, there was a certain amount of nostalgia in the moment. Thirteen years of Dune Tag - give or take - the games marking important events and now one marking the grandness of a wedding. We Dune Tagers (word? now it is) are spread across the world, some of us out of college and in careers. Although I sincerely hope for many more summer nights on the dunes, this was a bookend of a sort, marking the very beginning and very end of a period of time. Our youth? Maybe. No matter what it marks, it was clearly special. Over the next 24 hours, there will be hair and makeup and tuxes and photographers (hi Megan!) and all the little things getting done. There will be family and friends and people we haven't seen in far too long. But, Thursday, there was an incredible (and incredibly competative) game of Dune Tag, letting us all go back to something we loved, and find a place for it in our lives again. And letting us eat watermelon. And letting Kurt look cool. [image] Joel and Julia, Congratulations. I love you. When we first moved to Michigan (13 years ago!), Joel and I spent a wild, vegetable-free summer with Dad before Mom sold the house and came over as well. That summer we rode bikes, ate canned soup, played baseball & softball, fought, and played Dune Tag. [image] Dune Tag trumped everything. It was where we made friends, turned as brown as could be, stayed in shape and got to experience summer as only Michigan can offer it. On the dunes, Joel and I were a little less homesick, a little more at home and a lot happier. The people who introduced us to the sport (oh, it's definitely a sport) also adopted us into their families and we spent almost every day with them. When guests came to visit or we celebrated anything (birthdays, the beginning of summer, the end of summer. . .), we always pulled together as big a group as we could and played Dune Tag. All the way through high school. So, when tomorrow's wedding was in the planning stages, a huge, celebratory game of Dune Tag was an obvious choice. It was an eventful evening. . . Dad shocked everyone by donning a pair of shorts (and, later, by being incredibly fast). [image] Max was appointed (and self-appointed) the referee, complete with whistle and stopwatch. [image] Julia stood by in support as Joel used his best PE teacher voice to explain the rules to a rowdy group of 25. [image] Then, she promptly chose her dad for her team. [image] We strategized and stretched. (Laughter is totally a strategy). [image] And, then we won. Well, one game. They killed us in the sudden death. [image] Walking back down the dune at the end of the game, there was a certain amount of nostalgia in the moment. Thirteen years of Dune Tag - give or take - the games marking important events and now one marking the grandness of a wedding. We Dune Tagers (word? now it is) are spread across the world, some of us out of college and in careers. Although I sincerely hope for many more summer nights on the dunes, this was a bookend of a sort, marking the very beginning and very end of a period of time. Our youth? Maybe. No matter what it marks, it was clearly special. Over the next 24 hours, there will be hair and makeup and tuxes and photographers (hi Megan!) and all the little things getting done. There will be family and friends and people we haven't seen in far too long. But, Thursday, there was an incredible (and incredibly competative) game of Dune Tag, letting us all go back to something we loved, and find a place for it in our lives again. And letting us eat watermelon. And letting Kurt look cool. [image] Joel and Julia, Congratulations. I love you. Sat, 26 Jul 2008 03:55:57 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Let-the-Games-Begin/BLOG/84338/21864.html Ragazza 2008-07-26T03:55:57Z My Budget Travel When we first moved to Michigan (13 years ago!), Joel and I spent a wild, vegetable-free summer with Dad before Mom sold the house and came over as well. That summer we rode bikes, ate canned soup, played baseball & softball, fought, and played Dune Tag. [image] Dune Tag trumped everything. It was where we made friends, turned as brown as could be, stayed in shape and got to experience summer as only Michigan can offer it. On the dunes, Joel and I were a little less homesick, a little more at home and a lot happier. The people who introduced us to the sport (oh, it's definitely a sport) also adopted us into their families and we spent almost every day with them. When guests came to visit or we celebrated anything (birthdays, the beginning of summer, the end of summer. . .), we always pulled together as big a group as we could and played Dune Tag. All the way through high school. So, when tomorrow's wedding was in the planning stages, a huge, celebratory game of Dune Tag was an obvious choice. It was an eventful evening. . . Dad shocked everyone by donning a pair of shorts (and, later, by being incredibly fast). [image] Max was appointed (and self-appointed) the referee, complete with whistle and stopwatch. [image] Julia stood by in support as Joel used his best PE teacher voice to explain the rules to a rowdy group of 25. [image] Then, she promptly chose her dad for her team. [image] We strategized and stretched. (Laughter is totally a strategy). [image] And, then we won. Well, one game. They killed us in the sudden death. [image] Walking back down the dune at the end of the game, there was a certain amount of nostalgia in the moment. Thirteen years of Dune Tag - give or take - the games marking important events and now one marking the grandness of a wedding. We Dune Tagers (word? now it is) are spread across the world, some of us out of college and in careers. Although I sincerely hope for many more summer nights on the dunes, this was a bookend of a sort, marking the very beginning and very end of a period of time. Our youth? Maybe. No matter what it marks, it was clearly special. Over the next 24 hours, there will be hair and makeup and tuxes and photographers (hi Megan!) and all the little things getting done. There will be family and friends and people we haven't seen in far too long. But, Thursday, there was an incredible (and incredibly competative) game of Dune Tag, letting us all go back to something we loved, and find a place for it in our lives again. And letting us eat watermelon. And letting Kurt look cool. [image] Joel and Julia, Congratulations. I love you. michigan, sports nonadult false Let the Games Begin! text blog michigan,sports 339 0 0.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 84338 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Gentlemen-Guppies/BLOG/82016/21864.html We have gills now. Or, after all the seafood we ate on the East Coast, we should. We started off with mussels in Connecticut. We ate them at this GREAT brasserie in Ridgefield. [image] Oh, we also had the Mediterranean Fish Soup. And warm avacado and kalamari salad. All seafood, all the time. In Boston, our first stop was the Union Oyster House. The oysters were amazing. [image] So was this guy. [image] He was the best customer service experience we had . . .and yet he was totally rude. And hilarious. He managed to make everyone at the 1800s era bar laugh. Some of us were perhaps in danger of shooting raw "oystahs" out our noses. But, we held it in. He told stories, did impressions of snotty customers And, he shucked oysters at the same time. I think he's kinda famous. Mom recognized him from a Travel Channel show. After the oysters and the entertainment, we headed back to our hotel only to realize that another famed restaurant was just around the corner. [image] We call what followed Dinner #2. Salmon, swordfish, scallops and some other fish that neither of us can remember without deep thought. Blame the food coma. The next day, we chose to raise our mercury levels a bit higher with another dozen oysters after the baseball game. [image] After Boston, we headed to Cape Cod. And we ate seafood. This time "lobstah." It was beautiful. [image] And, no, we didn't forget the butter. [image] Eventually, I have to return to Montana, a very land-locked state where (according to my non sushi-eating friends) every bite of seafood is taking my life into my own hands. Hmmm...I haven't had smoked whitefish yet. * If you could name that movie line, we must speak. It's from Waterworld - a seriously underated movie, as far as I'm concerned. The ultimate bad guy is also hilarious and continuously refers to Kevin Costner with derogatory references to his mutated gills. We have gills now. Or, after all the seafood we ate on the East Coast, we should. We started off with mussels in Connecticut. We ate them at this GREAT brasserie in Ridgefield. [image] Oh, we also had the Mediterranean Fish Soup. And warm avacado and kalamari salad. All seafood, all the time. In Boston, our first stop was the Union Oyster House. The oysters were amazing. [image] So was this guy. [image] He was the best customer service experience we had . . .and yet he was totally rude. And hilarious. He managed to make everyone at the 1800s era bar laugh. Some of us were perhaps in danger of shooting raw "oystahs" out our noses. But, we held it in. He told stories, did impressions of snotty customers And, he shucked oysters at the same time. I think he's kinda famous. Mom recognized him from a Travel Channel show. After the oysters and the entertainment, we headed back to our hotel only to realize that another famed restaurant was just around the corner. [image] We call what followed Dinner #2. Salmon, swordfish, scallops and some other fish that neither of us can remember without deep thought. Blame the food coma. The next day, we chose to raise our mercury levels a bit higher with another dozen oysters after the baseball game. [image] After Boston, we headed to Cape Cod. And we ate seafood. This time "lobstah." It was beautiful. [image] And, no, we didn't forget the butter. [image] Eventually, I have to return to Montana, a very land-locked state where (according to my non sushi-eating friends) every bite of seafood is taking my life into my own hands. Hmmm...I haven't had smoked whitefish yet. * If you could name that movie line, we must speak. It's from Waterworld - a seriously underated movie, as far as I'm concerned. The ultimate bad guy is also hilarious and continuously refers to Kevin Costner with derogatory references to his mutated gills. Fri, 18 Jul 2008 00:52:02 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Gentlemen-Guppies/BLOG/82016/21864.html Ragazza 2008-07-18T00:52:02Z My Budget Travel We have gills now. Or, after all the seafood we ate on the East Coast, we should. We started off with mussels in Connecticut. We ate them at this GREAT brasserie in Ridgefield. [image] Oh, we also had the Mediterranean Fish Soup. And warm avacado and kalamari salad. All seafood, all the time. In Boston, our first stop was the Union Oyster House. The oysters were amazing. [image] So was this guy. [image] He was the best customer service experience we had . . .and yet he was totally rude. And hilarious. He managed to make everyone at the 1800s era bar laugh. Some of us were perhaps in danger of shooting raw "oystahs" out our noses. But, we held it in. He told stories, did impressions of snotty customers And, he shucked oysters at the same time. I think he's kinda famous. Mom recognized him from a Travel Channel show. After the oysters and the entertainment, we headed back to our hotel only to realize that another famed restaurant was just around the corner. [image] We call what followed Dinner #2. Salmon, swordfish, scallops and some other fish that neither of us can remember without deep thought. Blame the food coma. The next day, we chose to raise our mercury levels a bit higher with another dozen oysters after the baseball game. [image] After Boston, we headed to Cape Cod. And we ate seafood. This time "lobstah." It was beautiful. [image] And, no, we didn't forget the butter. [image] Eventually, I have to return to Montana, a very land-locked state where (according to my non sushi-eating friends) every bite of seafood is taking my life into my own hands. Hmmm...I haven't had smoked whitefish yet. * If you could name that movie line, we must speak. It's from Waterworld - a seriously underated movie, as far as I'm concerned. The ultimate bad guy is also hilarious and continuously refers to Kevin Costner with derogatory references to his mutated gills. boston, cape cod, food and drink, seafood nonadult false Gentlemen Guppies* text blog boston,cape cod,food and drink,seafood 501 1 5.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false United States MS Boston 2 0 82016 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Our-Pastime/BLOG/81933/21864.html     The post that never wants to be posted. I’ve written this twice and started it twice more. But, I will persist, internet be . . . darned.     * * * *   During my first – crazy – Thanksgiving in Montana, I got to know my friend Lacy’s family over the course of the weekend. While tromping through the Missouri River breaks in search of mule deer, her father started asking about me and my family. His first question, with a bit of disdain evident in his voice, was “Are you a city girl?” How relieved I was to be able to honestly answer “No”! His next question was “What does your family do together.”   My answer was immediate. “Baseball.”   When my brother and I were little, Dad built a baseball field in our yard. A homerun was anything that went into the horse pens beyond the outfield. That’s when I learned to place my hits. With Joel the only fielder, it was entertaining to make him run from one end of the yard to the other. When we got older, we played every summer on league teams. When I disliked softball after the first season, my Dad volunteered to coach. When Joel played, I kept score. When I was a senior, I finally re-learned how to play for fun.   There’s something about baseball that’s hard to explain. Why a well-turned double play gives me a rush just to see.   Why watching little boys watch a game gives me hope for the future. [image]   Why watching the sun set over an outfield wall is one of the greatest sights I can imagine. [image]   I could try to explain all these things, but I’m afraid of being too cliché. So, I’ll leave it to Terrence Mann at the end of Field of Dreams (if anyone’s going to be cliché, it might as well be a fictional character). “The one constant through all the years has been baseball. . .It reminds us of all that once was good and could be again.”   We went to three games on our trip to the East Coast: an 1867 rules game in Connecticut, Boston vs. Minnesota in historic Fenway, and an amateur game of the Cape Cod League. In Fenway, the fans chanted and sang and cheered like it was the World Series. In Connecticut, the players wore Dockers and the game was officiated by a mustachioed umpire in a tuxedo and tails. [image] In Hyannis, the crowd was made up of parents and scouts and tourists. Now that we’re back in Michigan, we’ll be taking full advantage of my parents’ season tickets to the local professional team. Which means that I’ll have plenty more opportunities to believe that all is right with the world.   [image]             The post that never wants to be posted. I’ve written this twice and started it twice more. But, I will persist, internet be . . . darned.     * * * *   During my first – crazy – Thanksgiving in Montana, I got to know my friend Lacy’s family over the course of the weekend. While tromping through the Missouri River breaks in search of mule deer, her father started asking about me and my family. His first question, with a bit of disdain evident in his voice, was “Are you a city girl?” How relieved I was to be able to honestly answer “No”! His next question was “What does your family do together.”   My answer was immediate. “Baseball.”   When my brother and I were little, Dad built a baseball field in our yard. A homerun was anything that went into the horse pens beyond the outfield. That’s when I learned to place my hits. With Joel the only fielder, it was entertaining to make him run from one end of the yard to the other. When we got older, we played every summer on league teams. When I disliked softball after the first season, my Dad volunteered to coach. When Joel played, I kept score. When I was a senior, I finally re-learned how to play for fun.   There’s something about baseball that’s hard to explain. Why a well-turned double play gives me a rush just to see.   Why watching little boys watch a game gives me hope for the future. [image]   Why watching the sun set over an outfield wall is one of the greatest sights I can imagine. [image]   I could try to explain all these things, but I’m afraid of being too cliché. So, I’ll leave it to Terrence Mann at the end of Field of Dreams (if anyone’s going to be cliché, it might as well be a fictional character). “The one constant through all the years has been baseball. . .It reminds us of all that once was good and could be again.”   We went to three games on our trip to the East Coast: an 1867 rules game in Connecticut, Boston vs. Minnesota in historic Fenway, and an amateur game of the Cape Cod League. In Fenway, the fans chanted and sang and cheered like it was the World Series. In Connecticut, the players wore Dockers and the game was officiated by a mustachioed umpire in a tuxedo and tails. [image] In Hyannis, the crowd was made up of parents and scouts and tourists. Now that we’re back in Michigan, we’ll be taking full advantage of my parents’ season tickets to the local professional team. Which means that I’ll have plenty more opportunities to believe that all is right with the world.   [image]         Thu, 17 Jul 2008 20:31:52 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Our-Pastime/BLOG/81933/21864.html Ragazza 2008-07-17T20:31:52Z My Budget Travel     The post that never wants to be posted. I’ve written this twice and started it twice more. But, I will persist, internet be . . . darned.     * * * *   During my first – crazy – Thanksgiving in Montana, I got to know my friend Lacy’s family over the course of the weekend. While tromping through the Missouri River breaks in search of mule deer, her father started asking about me and my family. His first question, with a bit of disdain evident in his voice, was “Are you a city girl?” How relieved I was to be able to honestly answer “No”! His next question was “What does your family do together.”   My answer was immediate. “Baseball.”   When my brother and I were little, Dad built a baseball field in our yard. A homerun was anything that went into the horse pens beyond the outfield. That’s when I learned to place my hits. With Joel the only fielder, it was entertaining to make him run from one end of the yard to the other. When we got older, we played every summer on league teams. When I disliked softball after the first season, my Dad volunteered to coach. When Joel played, I kept score. When I was a senior, I finally re-learned how to play for fun.   There’s something about baseball that’s hard to explain. Why a well-turned double play gives me a rush just to see.   Why watching little boys watch a game gives me hope for the future. [image]   Why watching the sun set over an outfield wall is one of the greatest sights I can imagine. [image]   I could try to explain all these things, but I’m afraid of being too cliché. So, I’ll leave it to Terrence Mann at the end of Field of Dreams (if anyone’s going to be cliché, it might as well be a fictional character). “The one constant through all the years has been baseball. . .It reminds us of all that once was good and could be again.”   We went to three games on our trip to the East Coast: an 1867 rules game in Connecticut, Boston vs. Minnesota in historic Fenway, and an amateur game of the Cape Cod League. In Fenway, the fans chanted and sang and cheered like it was the World Series. In Connecticut, the players wore Dockers and the game was officiated by a mustachioed umpire in a tuxedo and tails. [image] In Hyannis, the crowd was made up of parents and scouts and tourists. Now that we’re back in Michigan, we’ll be taking full advantage of my parents’ season tickets to the local professional team. Which means that I’ll have plenty more opportunities to believe that all is right with the world.   [image]         baseball, boston, cape, cod nonadult false Our Pastime text blog baseball,boston,cape,cod 440 1 5.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false United States MS Boston 2 0 81933 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Bon-Voyage-Again/BLOG/79119/21864.html We've sorted through family history in Connecticut, eaten all the shellfish in Boston, joined the rabid fans at Fenway. . . [image] And now we're on the road again. Tomorrow morning Mom and I will head to Concord, Mass (where all the Transcendentalists hung out) and then to the Cape. It's supposed to be HOT. So, we're going to the beach. From there, we'll go home by way of relatives in New York and a horse show in Michigan. I'll probably be "off-line" for a few more days. We'll be back in Michigan on Saturday. There's plenty more for me to write about. . . We've sorted through family history in Connecticut, eaten all the shellfish in Boston, joined the rabid fans at Fenway. . . [image] And now we're on the road again. Tomorrow morning Mom and I will head to Concord, Mass (where all the Transcendentalists hung out) and then to the Cape. It's supposed to be HOT. So, we're going to the beach. From there, we'll go home by way of relatives in New York and a horse show in Michigan. I'll probably be "off-line" for a few more days. We'll be back in Michigan on Saturday. There's plenty more for me to write about. . . Tue, 08 Jul 2008 05:00:09 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Bon-Voyage-Again/BLOG/79119/21864.html Ragazza 2008-07-08T05:00:09Z My Budget Travel We've sorted through family history in Connecticut, eaten all the shellfish in Boston, joined the rabid fans at Fenway. . . [image] And now we're on the road again. Tomorrow morning Mom and I will head to Concord, Mass (where all the Transcendentalists hung out) and then to the Cape. It's supposed to be HOT. So, we're going to the beach. From there, we'll go home by way of relatives in New York and a horse show in Michigan. I'll probably be "off-line" for a few more days. We'll be back in Michigan on Saturday. There's plenty more for me to write about. . . boston nonadult false Bon Voyage! Again text blog boston 362 0 0.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 79119 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Back-on-the-Plane/BLOG/79116/21864.html Another "old" post written a few days ago. I'm afraid this sort of "catching up" will happen for a while. Bear with it! * * * * Okay, I’ve been back in the US for less than 24 hours and I’m going to be in a parade. Seriously, a big, long 4 th of July weekend sort of celebration where a thousand people I don’t know will wonder who I am. It’s all on account of who my ancestors were: founding fathers of Ridgefield, Connecticut where Mom and I are spending the weekend. There’s a big celebration this weekend for the town’s 300 th anniversary (in America, that’s old ) and the woman in charge is a friend of Mom’s who decided today that it necessary for me to smile and wave my way down Main Street tomorrow morning. Great. I had really gotten used to anonymity, with the exception of Janna’s wedding where many guests were told in German who I was and why I was there, etc. In that case, it made it a bit easier because, although I was no longer anonymous, it was at least explained why I couldn’t communicate. I am not a dim-witted German girl! In London, complete anonymity. Two days of no one knowing who I was and whether or not I belonged. Thanks to my ipod (a staple item for pretty much every Londoner walking anywhere), I even seemed to fit more often than not. . .except when I was looking at a map because Westminster Bridge is way harder to get to than you’d think. But now, my inner-city anonymity is long gone. Suddenly, I’m a girl in a car, looking uncomfortable in a long parade of with the streets of London seeming a bit too far away. If it rains, I’m calling in sick. Another "old" post written a few days ago. I'm afraid this sort of "catching up" will happen for a while. Bear with it! * * * * Okay, I’ve been back in the US for less than 24 hours and I’m going to be in a parade. Seriously, a big, long 4 th of July weekend sort of celebration where a thousand people I don’t know will wonder who I am. It’s all on account of who my ancestors were: founding fathers of Ridgefield, Connecticut where Mom and I are spending the weekend. There’s a big celebration this weekend for the town’s 300 th anniversary (in America, that’s old ) and the woman in charge is a friend of Mom’s who decided today that it necessary for me to smile and wave my way down Main Street tomorrow morning. Great. I had really gotten used to anonymity, with the exception of Janna’s wedding where many guests were told in German who I was and why I was there, etc. In that case, it made it a bit easier because, although I was no longer anonymous, it was at least explained why I couldn’t communicate. I am not a dim-witted German girl! In London, complete anonymity. Two days of no one knowing who I was and whether or not I belonged. Thanks to my ipod (a staple item for pretty much every Londoner walking anywhere), I even seemed to fit more often than not. . .except when I was looking at a map because Westminster Bridge is way harder to get to than you’d think. But now, my inner-city anonymity is long gone. Suddenly, I’m a girl in a car, looking uncomfortable in a long parade of with the streets of London seeming a bit too far away. If it rains, I’m calling in sick. Tue, 08 Jul 2008 04:48:04 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Back-on-the-Plane/BLOG/79116/21864.html Ragazza 2008-07-08T04:48:04Z My Budget Travel Another "old" post written a few days ago. I'm afraid this sort of "catching up" will happen for a while. Bear with it! * * * * Okay, I’ve been back in the US for less than 24 hours and I’m going to be in a parade. Seriously, a big, long 4 th of July weekend sort of celebration where a thousand people I don’t know will wonder who I am. It’s all on account of who my ancestors were: founding fathers of Ridgefield, Connecticut where Mom and I are spending the weekend. There’s a big celebration this weekend for the town’s 300 th anniversary (in America, that’s old ) and the woman in charge is a friend of Mom’s who decided today that it necessary for me to smile and wave my way down Main Street tomorrow morning. Great. I had really gotten used to anonymity, with the exception of Janna’s wedding where many guests were told in German who I was and why I was there, etc. In that case, it made it a bit easier because, although I was no longer anonymous, it was at least explained why I couldn’t communicate. I am not a dim-witted German girl! In London, complete anonymity. Two days of no one knowing who I was and whether or not I belonged. Thanks to my ipod (a staple item for pretty much every Londoner walking anywhere), I even seemed to fit more often than not. . .except when I was looking at a map because Westminster Bridge is way harder to get to than you’d think. But now, my inner-city anonymity is long gone. Suddenly, I’m a girl in a car, looking uncomfortable in a long parade of with the streets of London seeming a bit too far away. If it rains, I’m calling in sick. connecticut nonadult false Back on the Plane text blog connecticut 285 0 0.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 79116 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_The-World-is-my-Oyster-Card/BLOG/79115/21864.html [image]What’s next? Now that I’ve spent the past three weeks traveling, much of it on my own, where do I go from here? I loved the cities I returned to and the people that I visited. London holds a special place in my memory. It should have been the end of the trip and I should have been tired, or reluctant to be on my own again. Instead, London felt like home – that certainly gave me something to think about. I’ve a personal resolution to get a ticket to Paris as soon as I know for sure that Yves and Anne will be there next summer. I have a similar resolution to see Janna and Axel again as soon as possible. I want to visit Greece. I still haven’t been Scotland. And, Australia? In college, I promised myself I’d go there before I was 28. No one who knew me would be too surprised to see me take an international teaching job in the next year or two. In London, an Oyster Card is a prepaid card for the Tube that charges the traveler for each ride, but is incredibly economical compared to buying one ticket at a time. You often see commuters holding up their wallets to the scanner, not even removing the card. The little envelope that comes with them is an advertisement for Ikea, and Londoners carry it too, packed with cards and passes. When you’re done with your trip, tourists can turn it back in to the office to get their 3 pound deposit back. Basically, an Oyster Card is a pass that allows you to go anywhere, no matter what zone of the city’s transit you’re traveling in or if it’s peak hours or not. In fact, you don’t have to pay attention to any of those details, just know where you’re going and where you’ve been. I kept my card, didn’t turn it back in. There’s a good chance I’ll need it again. [image]What’s next? Now that I’ve spent the past three weeks traveling, much of it on my own, where do I go from here? I loved the cities I returned to and the people that I visited. London holds a special place in my memory. It should have been the end of the trip and I should have been tired, or reluctant to be on my own again. Instead, London felt like home – that certainly gave me something to think about. I’ve a personal resolution to get a ticket to Paris as soon as I know for sure that Yves and Anne will be there next summer. I have a similar resolution to see Janna and Axel again as soon as possible. I want to visit Greece. I still haven’t been Scotland. And, Australia? In college, I promised myself I’d go there before I was 28. No one who knew me would be too surprised to see me take an international teaching job in the next year or two. In London, an Oyster Card is a prepaid card for the Tube that charges the traveler for each ride, but is incredibly economical compared to buying one ticket at a time. You often see commuters holding up their wallets to the scanner, not even removing the card. The little envelope that comes with them is an advertisement for Ikea, and Londoners carry it too, packed with cards and passes. When you’re done with your trip, tourists can turn it back in to the office to get their 3 pound deposit back. Basically, an Oyster Card is a pass that allows you to go anywhere, no matter what zone of the city’s transit you’re traveling in or if it’s peak hours or not. In fact, you don’t have to pay attention to any of those details, just know where you’re going and where you’ve been. I kept my card, didn’t turn it back in. There’s a good chance I’ll need it again. Tue, 08 Jul 2008 04:45:49 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_The-World-is-my-Oyster-Card/BLOG/79115/21864.html Ragazza 2008-07-08T04:45:49Z My Budget Travel [image]What’s next? Now that I’ve spent the past three weeks traveling, much of it on my own, where do I go from here? I loved the cities I returned to and the people that I visited. London holds a special place in my memory. It should have been the end of the trip and I should have been tired, or reluctant to be on my own again. Instead, London felt like home – that certainly gave me something to think about. I’ve a personal resolution to get a ticket to Paris as soon as I know for sure that Yves and Anne will be there next summer. I have a similar resolution to see Janna and Axel again as soon as possible. I want to visit Greece. I still haven’t been Scotland. And, Australia? In college, I promised myself I’d go there before I was 28. No one who knew me would be too surprised to see me take an international teaching job in the next year or two. In London, an Oyster Card is a prepaid card for the Tube that charges the traveler for each ride, but is incredibly economical compared to buying one ticket at a time. You often see commuters holding up their wallets to the scanner, not even removing the card. The little envelope that comes with them is an advertisement for Ikea, and Londoners carry it too, packed with cards and passes. When you’re done with your trip, tourists can turn it back in to the office to get their 3 pound deposit back. Basically, an Oyster Card is a pass that allows you to go anywhere, no matter what zone of the city’s transit you’re traveling in or if it’s peak hours or not. In fact, you don’t have to pay attention to any of those details, just know where you’re going and where you’ve been. I kept my card, didn’t turn it back in. There’s a good chance I’ll need it again. local transportation, london nonadult false The World is my Oyster Card text blog local transportation,london 733 0 0.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false United Kingdom London 0 0 79115 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Dear-Germany/BLOG/79113/21864.html Anne and Yves, Janna and Axel: In New York, I bought a pretzel. [image] Notice the mustard? Now I know for sure why Americans dip our pretzels in strange things like melted cheese and pizza sauce. It’s because our pretzels are NOT as good as yours. This one was far inferior to the breakfast pretzels I had with Anne and Yves, the ones after Janna and Axel’s wedding (best post-ceremony snack ever: sparkling wine and pretzels) and the one I stole from the buffet at 3 am to eat the next morning. In fact, I couldn’t bring myself to finish it. Not worth it. Not now that I know what a pretzel should taste like. You’ve ruined me for all others. Anne and Yves, Janna and Axel: In New York, I bought a pretzel. [image] Notice the mustard? Now I know for sure why Americans dip our pretzels in strange things like melted cheese and pizza sauce. It’s because our pretzels are NOT as good as yours. This one was far inferior to the breakfast pretzels I had with Anne and Yves, the ones after Janna and Axel’s wedding (best post-ceremony snack ever: sparkling wine and pretzels) and the one I stole from the buffet at 3 am to eat the next morning. In fact, I couldn’t bring myself to finish it. Not worth it. Not now that I know what a pretzel should taste like. You’ve ruined me for all others. Tue, 08 Jul 2008 04:25:00 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Dear-Germany/BLOG/79113/21864.html Ragazza 2008-07-08T04:25:00Z My Budget Travel Anne and Yves, Janna and Axel: In New York, I bought a pretzel. [image] Notice the mustard? Now I know for sure why Americans dip our pretzels in strange things like melted cheese and pizza sauce. It’s because our pretzels are NOT as good as yours. This one was far inferior to the breakfast pretzels I had with Anne and Yves, the ones after Janna and Axel’s wedding (best post-ceremony snack ever: sparkling wine and pretzels) and the one I stole from the buffet at 3 am to eat the next morning. In fact, I couldn’t bring myself to finish it. Not worth it. Not now that I know what a pretzel should taste like. You’ve ruined me for all others. food, germany nonadult false Dear Germany text blog food,germany 367 0 0.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 79113 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Poem-of-Praise/BLOG/79112/21864.html     This is part of a series of posts from my Europe trip. I arrived home on July 3 having brainstormed ideas during a fairly sleepless night in London and started typing as soon as I had a chance. It may be a lot to read, but there's nothing on tv anyway. * * * *   Mozart’s “magic flute” has nothing on my backpack.     One of my students offered to be my backpack for this trip. She wanted to go along and volunteered to ride piggyback and hold my things. I don’t think it would have worked, not with the amount of stuff I had to bring. There’s no way she could have held it all. Instead, I adopted a Swiss Army backpack of my brother’s. He’d bought it online and hadn’t liked it, but I’d already looked at the daypack I’d used on a number of trips and realized that it didn’t seem to have “3 Week Trip” written anywhere on it. It was – and is – a daypack. Day. Pack. It had worked pretty well for 9 days in Ireland, but there’s a big difference between 9 days and 20. When it came time to pack in Montana, I was a little worried when, well, nothing fit . I had folded and rolled and rolled and folded and yet I could barely fit half of what I’d planned to bring. I eliminated things like crazy. . .I don’t need 2 white tank tops, I can use one. I don’t need yoga pants, I have shorts; the reasoning went on and on. The first week of my trip was HOT. And, not only was I sweating my clothes into slightly odorous oblivion everyday, I’d destroyed my feet with walking and had blisters over blisters. In Florence, I bought a very-necessary new pair of shoes, two pairs of socks and a shirt. I bought two books, but stopped myself from browsing long at the Paperback Exchange – too many great books. At the end of my 4 days there, I packed and packed and packed. . . and it all fit, just barely. In Venice, I couldn’t resist the glass necklaces in one of the street markets and Mom had requested a tiny Murano plate. I bought socks for 1 euro a pair. They are great socks and sometime in February, I’m going to get dressed in the morning and think “Hey, I got these socks in Venice for 1 euro.” Then, I’m going to smile really big. The necklaces were in boxes and the plate in bubblewrap, so I squeezed them in the side of a bag. I’d barely allowed myself to unpack for that one night, so anything new just was poked into corners and spaces. In Munich, I went shopping with Anne. I bought sunscreen, then went wild and bought two shirts. I was a little worried about the fact that my backpack seemed to already be at maximum capacity. It would be until London when I’d be allowed to travel with two carryon bags, so everything had to fit in my backpack and a small overnight bag that doubled as a purse. When it came time to leave, I packed and packed and packed. . . and it all fit, just barely. In Vienna, it was still scorching hot and I’d resolved to add a pair of city shorts to my wardrobe. I thought it seemed like a good way to turn my legs a darker shade of pale, and to not die from denim-induced heat exhaustion. H&M was having a sale but I resisted and just bought a few pairs of socks since I found myself wearing the new shoes all the time. Some day in February. . . Later, I wandered into Zara, another sale store, but one whose dresses I’d admired in a few cities. I used my minimal German to navigate the dressing rooms – making sure I never had more than 5 items to try on (I can only count to 5 in German). When I emerged, I’d found a great skirt and shirt that I loved. I also bought two slim books on the Spanish Riding School, crossing my fingers about them fitting. Tuesday night, I packed and packed and packed. . . and it all fit, just barely. In Munster, I needed a tank top for the wedding. . .and they were still on sale (I love H&M and summer sales) so I bought two. On Monday I packed and packed and packed. . . and it all fit, just barely. Janna waited until I was done and poked her head into the living room to ask, “So, are we going to H&M?” I looked at my bulging pack and full carryon, mentally calculating any remaining gaps. [image] We went shopping. I bought two more tank tops. On sale. And, then 3 small headbands that I reasoned could fit in my pockets if need be. Axel and Janna gave me two beautiful candleholders, offering to ship them to me if they didn’t fit. I too a deep breath and repacked my carryon; Janna and I were both amazed when I was able to zip it shut. In London, I could finally expand into three bags (a carryon, a purse and a backpack to check). Tuesday morning, I headed to Oxford Street and promptly into the door of yet another H&M (yes, on this trip I shopped in 4 H&Ms in 3 countries) and bought a cavernous white purse. Everything fit in that purse. While I was in London, I not only carried my wallet, camera and phone but always had maps, a guidebook, a sarong that became a picnic blanket, a bottle or two of water and anything else I managed to pick up along the way. Which was: two cds, another bag, two more books and four more shirts. On my last night in Europe, I got back to the hostel at 9:30 in order to pack for a 5:30 departure the next morning. While chatting with girls in the room, I pulled all my things from the corner into which I’d shoved them (hoping that the inevitable hostel thieves would get distracted by my bunkmate’s laptop and leave my dirty clothes alone). I set aside a few shirts that I’d lugged around Europe, noticing their faded color, or how they never looked like I wanted them to. I thought, Perfect, I’ll leave these behind and have room for my nice new shirts. I hope. I rolled and rolled and shoved shirt after shirt into my backpack. I packed and packed and packed. . . and there was room at the top. I’m convinced there’s something really special about my backpack. [image] * * * * Seeing as the box I shipped from Montana to Michigan is a victim of the US Postal Service and is waiting to be ransomed somewhere in Detroit, it’s a good thing I bought all those new shirts.   * Poem of Praise is a vocabulary term from English 10. I know, it's sad how much I am a teacher.       This is part of a series of posts from my Europe trip. I arrived home on July 3 having brainstormed ideas during a fairly sleepless night in London and started typing as soon as I had a chance. It may be a lot to read, but there's nothing on tv anyway. * * * *   Mozart’s “magic flute” has nothing on my backpack.     One of my students offered to be my backpack for this trip. She wanted to go along and volunteered to ride piggyback and hold my things. I don’t think it would have worked, not with the amount of stuff I had to bring. There’s no way she could have held it all. Instead, I adopted a Swiss Army backpack of my brother’s. He’d bought it online and hadn’t liked it, but I’d already looked at the daypack I’d used on a number of trips and realized that it didn’t seem to have “3 Week Trip” written anywhere on it. It was – and is – a daypack. Day. Pack. It had worked pretty well for 9 days in Ireland, but there’s a big difference between 9 days and 20. When it came time to pack in Montana, I was a little worried when, well, nothing fit . I had folded and rolled and rolled and folded and yet I could barely fit half of what I’d planned to bring. I eliminated things like crazy. . .I don’t need 2 white tank tops, I can use one. I don’t need yoga pants, I have shorts; the reasoning went on and on. The first week of my trip was HOT. And, not only was I sweating my clothes into slightly odorous oblivion everyday, I’d destroyed my feet with walking and had blisters over blisters. In Florence, I bought a very-necessary new pair of shoes, two pairs of socks and a shirt. I bought two books, but stopped myself from browsing long at the Paperback Exchange – too many great books. At the end of my 4 days there, I packed and packed and packed. . . and it all fit, just barely. In Venice, I couldn’t resist the glass necklaces in one of the street markets and Mom had requested a tiny Murano plate. I bought socks for 1 euro a pair. They are great socks and sometime in February, I’m going to get dressed in the morning and think “Hey, I got these socks in Venice for 1 euro.” Then, I’m going to smile really big. The necklaces were in boxes and the plate in bubblewrap, so I squeezed them in the side of a bag. I’d barely allowed myself to unpack for that one night, so anything new just was poked into corners and spaces. In Munich, I went shopping with Anne. I bought sunscreen, then went wild and bought two shirts. I was a little worried about the fact that my backpack seemed to already be at maximum capacity. It would be until London when I’d be allowed to travel with two carryon bags, so everything had to fit in my backpack and a small overnight bag that doubled as a purse. When it came time to leave, I packed and packed and packed. . . and it all fit, just barely. In Vienna, it was still scorching hot and I’d resolved to add a pair of city shorts to my wardrobe. I thought it seemed like a good way to turn my legs a darker shade of pale, and to not die from denim-induced heat exhaustion. H&M was having a sale but I resisted and just bought a few pairs of socks since I found myself wearing the new shoes all the time. Some day in February. . . Later, I wandered into Zara, another sale store, but one whose dresses I’d admired in a few cities. I used my minimal German to navigate the dressing rooms – making sure I never had more than 5 items to try on (I can only count to 5 in German). When I emerged, I’d found a great skirt and shirt that I loved. I also bought two slim books on the Spanish Riding School, crossing my fingers about them fitting. Tuesday night, I packed and packed and packed. . . and it all fit, just barely. In Munster, I needed a tank top for the wedding. . .and they were still on sale (I love H&M and summer sales) so I bought two. On Monday I packed and packed and packed. . . and it all fit, just barely. Janna waited until I was done and poked her head into the living room to ask, “So, are we going to H&M?” I looked at my bulging pack and full carryon, mentally calculating any remaining gaps. [image] We went shopping. I bought two more tank tops. On sale. And, then 3 small headbands that I reasoned could fit in my pockets if need be. Axel and Janna gave me two beautiful candleholders, offering to ship them to me if they didn’t fit. I too a deep breath and repacked my carryon; Janna and I were both amazed when I was able to zip it shut. In London, I could finally expand into three bags (a carryon, a purse and a backpack to check). Tuesday morning, I headed to Oxford Street and promptly into the door of yet another H&M (yes, on this trip I shopped in 4 H&Ms in 3 countries) and bought a cavernous white purse. Everything fit in that purse. While I was in London, I not only carried my wallet, camera and phone but always had maps, a guidebook, a sarong that became a picnic blanket, a bottle or two of water and anything else I managed to pick up along the way. Which was: two cds, another bag, two more books and four more shirts. On my last night in Europe, I got back to the hostel at 9:30 in order to pack for a 5:30 departure the next morning. While chatting with girls in the room, I pulled all my things from the corner into which I’d shoved them (hoping that the inevitable hostel thieves would get distracted by my bunkmate’s laptop and leave my dirty clothes alone). I set aside a few shirts that I’d lugged around Europe, noticing their faded color, or how they never looked like I wanted them to. I thought, Perfect, I’ll leave these behind and have room for my nice new shirts. I hope. I rolled and rolled and shoved shirt after shirt into my backpack. I packed and packed and packed. . . and there was room at the top. I’m convinced there’s something really special about my backpack. [image] * * * * Seeing as the box I shipped from Montana to Michigan is a victim of the US Postal Service and is waiting to be ransomed somewhere in Detroit, it’s a good thing I bought all those new shirts.   * Poem of Praise is a vocabulary term from English 10. I know, it's sad how much I am a teacher.   Tue, 08 Jul 2008 04:22:37 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Poem-of-Praise/BLOG/79112/21864.html Ragazza 2008-07-08T04:22:37Z My Budget Travel     This is part of a series of posts from my Europe trip. I arrived home on July 3 having brainstormed ideas during a fairly sleepless night in London and started typing as soon as I had a chance. It may be a lot to read, but there's nothing on tv anyway. * * * *   Mozart’s “magic flute” has nothing on my backpack.     One of my students offered to be my backpack for this trip. She wanted to go along and volunteered to ride piggyback and hold my things. I don’t think it would have worked, not with the amount of stuff I had to bring. There’s no way she could have held it all. Instead, I adopted a Swiss Army backpack of my brother’s. He’d bought it online and hadn’t liked it, but I’d already looked at the daypack I’d used on a number of trips and realized that it didn’t seem to have “3 Week Trip” written anywhere on it. It was – and is – a daypack. Day. Pack. It had worked pretty well for 9 days in Ireland, but there’s a big difference between 9 days and 20. When it came time to pack in Montana, I was a little worried when, well, nothing fit . I had folded and rolled and rolled and folded and yet I could barely fit half of what I’d planned to bring. I eliminated things like crazy. . .I don’t need 2 white tank tops, I can use one. I don’t need yoga pants, I have shorts; the reasoning went on and on. The first week of my trip was HOT. And, not only was I sweating my clothes into slightly odorous oblivion everyday, I’d destroyed my feet with walking and had blisters over blisters. In Florence, I bought a very-necessary new pair of shoes, two pairs of socks and a shirt. I bought two books, but stopped myself from browsing long at the Paperback Exchange – too many great books. At the end of my 4 days there, I packed and packed and packed. . . and it all fit, just barely. In Venice, I couldn’t resist the glass necklaces in one of the street markets and Mom had requested a tiny Murano plate. I bought socks for 1 euro a pair. They are great socks and sometime in February, I’m going to get dressed in the morning and think “Hey, I got these socks in Venice for 1 euro.” Then, I’m going to smile really big. The necklaces were in boxes and the plate in bubblewrap, so I squeezed them in the side of a bag. I’d barely allowed myself to unpack for that one night, so anything new just was poked into corners and spaces. In Munich, I went shopping with Anne. I bought sunscreen, then went wild and bought two shirts. I was a little worried about the fact that my backpack seemed to already be at maximum capacity. It would be until London when I’d be allowed to travel with two carryon bags, so everything had to fit in my backpack and a small overnight bag that doubled as a purse. When it came time to leave, I packed and packed and packed. . . and it all fit, just barely. In Vienna, it was still scorching hot and I’d resolved to add a pair of city shorts to my wardrobe. I thought it seemed like a good way to turn my legs a darker shade of pale, and to not die from denim-induced heat exhaustion. H&M was having a sale but I resisted and just bought a few pairs of socks since I found myself wearing the new shoes all the time. Some day in February. . . Later, I wandered into Zara, another sale store, but one whose dresses I’d admired in a few cities. I used my minimal German to navigate the dressing rooms – making sure I never had more than 5 items to try on (I can only count to 5 in German). When I emerged, I’d found a great skirt and shirt that I loved. I also bought two slim books on the Spanish Riding School, crossing my fingers about them fitting. Tuesday night, I packed and packed and packed. . . and it all fit, just barely. In Munster, I needed a tank top for the wedding. . .and they were still on sale (I love H&M and summer sales) so I bought two. On Monday I packed and packed and packed. . . and it all fit, just barely. Janna waited until I was done and poked her head into the living room to ask, “So, are we going to H&M?” I looked at my bulging pack and full carryon, mentally calculating any remaining gaps. [image] We went shopping. I bought two more tank tops. On sale. And, then 3 small headbands that I reasoned could fit in my pockets if need be. Axel and Janna gave me two beautiful candleholders, offering to ship them to me if they didn’t fit. I too a deep breath and repacked my carryon; Janna and I were both amazed when I was able to zip it shut. In London, I could finally expand into three bags (a carryon, a purse and a backpack to check). Tuesday morning, I headed to Oxford Street and promptly into the door of yet another H&M (yes, on this trip I shopped in 4 H&Ms in 3 countries) and bought a cavernous white purse. Everything fit in that purse. While I was in London, I not only carried my wallet, camera and phone but always had maps, a guidebook, a sarong that became a picnic blanket, a bottle or two of water and anything else I managed to pick up along the way. Which was: two cds, another bag, two more books and four more shirts. On my last night in Europe, I got back to the hostel at 9:30 in order to pack for a 5:30 departure the next morning. While chatting with girls in the room, I pulled all my things from the corner into which I’d shoved them (hoping that the inevitable hostel thieves would get distracted by my bunkmate’s laptop and leave my dirty clothes alone). I set aside a few shirts that I’d lugged around Europe, noticing their faded color, or how they never looked like I wanted them to. I thought, Perfect, I’ll leave these behind and have room for my nice new shirts. I hope. I rolled and rolled and shoved shirt after shirt into my backpack. I packed and packed and packed. . . and there was room at the top. I’m convinced there’s something really special about my backpack. [image] * * * * Seeing as the box I shipped from Montana to Michigan is a victim of the US Postal Service and is waiting to be ransomed somewhere in Detroit, it’s a good thing I bought all those new shirts.   * Poem of Praise is a vocabulary term from English 10. I know, it's sad how much I am a teacher.   backpacking, before the trip, packing nonadult false Poem of Praise* text blog backpacking,before the trip,packing 502 0 0.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false Italy Vienna 0 0 79112 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_New-Leaf/BLOG/79109/21864.html This is part of a series of posts from my Europe trip. I arrived home on July 3 having brainstormed ideas during a fairly sleepless night in London and started typing as soon as I had a chance. It's no big deal - I don't know what time zone I'm in right now. * * * * *     This is my hostel room.   [image] Granted, this is my hostel room in the middle of the day when it’s been cleaned and fresh towels placed on each bed. This is not my hostel room in the evening when newcomers have spread weeks of dirty laundry in piles on the floor. I’ve stayed in hostels before. Of course I have. Okay, a couple. And, both times I either had a private room or . . .well, another private room. As I’ve made clear, I’m not really a hostel sort of person. I’d much rather stay at a bed and breakfast and I’d love it if my room had a private bath. But, in London especially, beggars can’t be choosers. I was on a budget trip and that determined my hotel choice more than anything. London is fantastically expensive and a good hotel room is at a premium. I was thrilled to find the Arran House: great location, breakfast, and a room with 8 hostel beds in a building that was otherwise a hotel. I thought: Hostel. I can handle a hostel. There will be lots of other girls traveling alone and we’ll share stories and paint our nails and go to museums together. It will basically be like college. There will be lockers. . .maybe color coded. . .big lockers where I can put my whole backpack. Maybe someone will play a guitar. That wasn’t exactly how it happened: I dragged myself into the hotel around 11 pm having flown from Munster, navigated the Tube and found my way a few blocks to the hotel. I was tired and ready for some hot chocolate. . .and maybe someone would play a guitar. I opened the door to the room and became the center of attention of 3 people. . .two of them men. All were already in bed for the night. None of them knew for sure which beds were empty and no one had tried to use any of the 10 tiny (and I mean postage stamp tiny) lockers. In fact, once I looked closely, none of the lockers were even available. Deep breath. I spent the next 20 minutes worming my way into one corner by an upper bunk that seemed empty. I pushed aside dirty shirts and socks and a pile of napkins that covered the floor and the windowsill. In one of the flimsy wardrobes, I pushed aside a mangled pile of neckties in order to sort through a few of the shirts I’d packed earlier. I found the padlocks that I’d bought at Target before leaving but realized full well that if someone wanted into my stuff, a not-so-sharp knife would do it. I went upstairs and asked if they had an open single room. No. That night, I slept with my purse under the covers and my money and passport in the hotel safe. I crawled into bed, rolling over just once to see a guy in a lower bunk next to mine staring at me. He was probably just glancing, or looking into space, but to my paranoid mind, he was a menace. Late, after someone had turned off the lights, finally, my lower bunkmate came in, smelling potently of beer. I clutched my purse a little tighter under the duvet. But, he was up before I was the next morning, choosing a tie from the pile and heading out just after 7. I disengaged myself from the bunk where I’d spent a not-so-sleep-filled night with my purse, and got ready for the day. I saw Staring Guy at breakfast, and he seemed perfectly normal. I don’t know if it was adaptation or resignation, but somewhere during the night I’d stopped worrying about my “stuff.” Granted, there were important copies hidden in the bottom of my backpack, but, other than that, it was just stuff. Maybe I had every reason to be panicked and demanding lockable lockers from the staff of the hotel, but I didn’t. Instead, I headed out into London. The second night, I didn’t put my passport in the hotel safe. I slept with it in my purse under the covers. I slept a bit better that night, too. I came back during the day both days I was there. Each time, my stuff was untouched, each time I felt a little better about leaving it again to see more of the city with which I was quickly becoming enamored. The second morning, there was a new arrival in the room: an outgoing American girl who’d been backpacking for a couple months and would be traveling a couple more. She was one of the first in the room to actually talk to me, and we quickly learned that I’d coached against her cousin from Ennis, Montana. I got to know an Australian girl who’d been living there since January and worked for the infamous underground. That night, I talked to another girl about sushi and a recent Australian arrival offered her computer so that I could check on my flight. There was no guitar, but the atmosphere of the room was changing by the second. Turned out, my downstairs bunkmate was an American guy halfway through an 11 week internship. He even offered to move his stuff, but I’d become used to kicking his dirty socks out of my way. Staring Guy didn’t get in until late. That night, I slept with my purse buried in the huge pile of things I’d packed, three giant steps from the bed. By that time, I was a professional hostel-sleeper. The open window, the sirens and loudest car noises ever? They don’t phase me. I can sleep through anything! I hadn’t counted on the snorers. Two of them, in concert together for all of the 6 hours I’d allotted myself for sleep. I was a bit more bleary-eyed than planned the next morning when I dragged myself out of bed and into the shared bathroom. But, I’d learned something, I think. This trip was instructive in a thousand ways and this was just another. Yes, I may be a bed and breakfast type of traveler. But, more than that, I’m adaptable. I can look past the apparent strangeness of a situation and think, Man, that was the most comfortable bed on the trip and I can’t believe I know her cousin and That Australian girl had great travel stories and Where was the guitar? P.S. I never did talk to Staring Guy.   This is part of a series of posts from my Europe trip. I arrived home on July 3 having brainstormed ideas during a fairly sleepless night in London and started typing as soon as I had a chance. It's no big deal - I don't know what time zone I'm in right now. * * * * *     This is my hostel room.   [image] Granted, this is my hostel room in the middle of the day when it’s been cleaned and fresh towels placed on each bed. This is not my hostel room in the evening when newcomers have spread weeks of dirty laundry in piles on the floor. I’ve stayed in hostels before. Of course I have. Okay, a couple. And, both times I either had a private room or . . .well, another private room. As I’ve made clear, I’m not really a hostel sort of person. I’d much rather stay at a bed and breakfast and I’d love it if my room had a private bath. But, in London especially, beggars can’t be choosers. I was on a budget trip and that determined my hotel choice more than anything. London is fantastically expensive and a good hotel room is at a premium. I was thrilled to find the Arran House: great location, breakfast, and a room with 8 hostel beds in a building that was otherwise a hotel. I thought: Hostel. I can handle a hostel. There will be lots of other girls traveling alone and we’ll share stories and paint our nails and go to museums together. It will basically be like college. There will be lockers. . .maybe color coded. . .big lockers where I can put my whole backpack. Maybe someone will play a guitar. That wasn’t exactly how it happened: I dragged myself into the hotel around 11 pm having flown from Munster, navigated the Tube and found my way a few blocks to the hotel. I was tired and ready for some hot chocolate. . .and maybe someone would play a guitar. I opened the door to the room and became the center of attention of 3 people. . .two of them men. All were already in bed for the night. None of them knew for sure which beds were empty and no one had tried to use any of the 10 tiny (and I mean postage stamp tiny) lockers. In fact, once I looked closely, none of the lockers were even available. Deep breath. I spent the next 20 minutes worming my way into one corner by an upper bunk that seemed empty. I pushed aside dirty shirts and socks and a pile of napkins that covered the floor and the windowsill. In one of the flimsy wardrobes, I pushed aside a mangled pile of neckties in order to sort through a few of the shirts I’d packed earlier. I found the padlocks that I’d bought at Target before leaving but realized full well that if someone wanted into my stuff, a not-so-sharp knife would do it. I went upstairs and asked if they had an open single room. No. That night, I slept with my purse under the covers and my money and passport in the hotel safe. I crawled into bed, rolling over just once to see a guy in a lower bunk next to mine staring at me. He was probably just glancing, or looking into space, but to my paranoid mind, he was a menace. Late, after someone had turned off the lights, finally, my lower bunkmate came in, smelling potently of beer. I clutched my purse a little tighter under the duvet. But, he was up before I was the next morning, choosing a tie from the pile and heading out just after 7. I disengaged myself from the bunk where I’d spent a not-so-sleep-filled night with my purse, and got ready for the day. I saw Staring Guy at breakfast, and he seemed perfectly normal. I don’t know if it was adaptation or resignation, but somewhere during the night I’d stopped worrying about my “stuff.” Granted, there were important copies hidden in the bottom of my backpack, but, other than that, it was just stuff. Maybe I had every reason to be panicked and demanding lockable lockers from the staff of the hotel, but I didn’t. Instead, I headed out into London. The second night, I didn’t put my passport in the hotel safe. I slept with it in my purse under the covers. I slept a bit better that night, too. I came back during the day both days I was there. Each time, my stuff was untouched, each time I felt a little better about leaving it again to see more of the city with which I was quickly becoming enamored. The second morning, there was a new arrival in the room: an outgoing American girl who’d been backpacking for a couple months and would be traveling a couple more. She was one of the first in the room to actually talk to me, and we quickly learned that I’d coached against her cousin from Ennis, Montana. I got to know an Australian girl who’d been living there since January and worked for the infamous underground. That night, I talked to another girl about sushi and a recent Australian arrival offered her computer so that I could check on my flight. There was no guitar, but the atmosphere of the room was changing by the second. Turned out, my downstairs bunkmate was an American guy halfway through an 11 week internship. He even offered to move his stuff, but I’d become used to kicking his dirty socks out of my way. Staring Guy didn’t get in until late. That night, I slept with my purse buried in the huge pile of things I’d packed, three giant steps from the bed. By that time, I was a professional hostel-sleeper. The open window, the sirens and loudest car noises ever? They don’t phase me. I can sleep through anything! I hadn’t counted on the snorers. Two of them, in concert together for all of the 6 hours I’d allotted myself for sleep. I was a bit more bleary-eyed than planned the next morning when I dragged myself out of bed and into the shared bathroom. But, I’d learned something, I think. This trip was instructive in a thousand ways and this was just another. Yes, I may be a bed and breakfast type of traveler. But, more than that, I’m adaptable. I can look past the apparent strangeness of a situation and think, Man, that was the most comfortable bed on the trip and I can’t believe I know her cousin and That Australian girl had great travel stories and Where was the guitar? P.S. I never did talk to Staring Guy.   Tue, 08 Jul 2008 04:15:01 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_New-Leaf/BLOG/79109/21864.html Ragazza 2008-07-08T04:15:01Z My Budget Travel This is part of a series of posts from my Europe trip. I arrived home on July 3 having brainstormed ideas during a fairly sleepless night in London and started typing as soon as I had a chance. It's no big deal - I don't know what time zone I'm in right now. * * * * *     This is my hostel room.   [image] Granted, this is my hostel room in the middle of the day when it’s been cleaned and fresh towels placed on each bed. This is not my hostel room in the evening when newcomers have spread weeks of dirty laundry in piles on the floor. I’ve stayed in hostels before. Of course I have. Okay, a couple. And, both times I either had a private room or . . .well, another private room. As I’ve made clear, I’m not really a hostel sort of person. I’d much rather stay at a bed and breakfast and I’d love it if my room had a private bath. But, in London especially, beggars can’t be choosers. I was on a budget trip and that determined my hotel choice more than anything. London is fantastically expensive and a good hotel room is at a premium. I was thrilled to find the Arran House: great location, breakfast, and a room with 8 hostel beds in a building that was otherwise a hotel. I thought: Hostel. I can handle a hostel. There will be lots of other girls traveling alone and we’ll share stories and paint our nails and go to museums together. It will basically be like college. There will be lockers. . .maybe color coded. . .big lockers where I can put my whole backpack. Maybe someone will play a guitar. That wasn’t exactly how it happened: I dragged myself into the hotel around 11 pm having flown from Munster, navigated the Tube and found my way a few blocks to the hotel. I was tired and ready for some hot chocolate. . .and maybe someone would play a guitar. I opened the door to the room and became the center of attention of 3 people. . .two of them men. All were already in bed for the night. None of them knew for sure which beds were empty and no one had tried to use any of the 10 tiny (and I mean postage stamp tiny) lockers. In fact, once I looked closely, none of the lockers were even available. Deep breath. I spent the next 20 minutes worming my way into one corner by an upper bunk that seemed empty. I pushed aside dirty shirts and socks and a pile of napkins that covered the floor and the windowsill. In one of the flimsy wardrobes, I pushed aside a mangled pile of neckties in order to sort through a few of the shirts I’d packed earlier. I found the padlocks that I’d bought at Target before leaving but realized full well that if someone wanted into my stuff, a not-so-sharp knife would do it. I went upstairs and asked if they had an open single room. No. That night, I slept with my purse under the covers and my money and passport in the hotel safe. I crawled into bed, rolling over just once to see a guy in a lower bunk next to mine staring at me. He was probably just glancing, or looking into space, but to my paranoid mind, he was a menace. Late, after someone had turned off the lights, finally, my lower bunkmate came in, smelling potently of beer. I clutched my purse a little tighter under the duvet. But, he was up before I was the next morning, choosing a tie from the pile and heading out just after 7. I disengaged myself from the bunk where I’d spent a not-so-sleep-filled night with my purse, and got ready for the day. I saw Staring Guy at breakfast, and he seemed perfectly normal. I don’t know if it was adaptation or resignation, but somewhere during the night I’d stopped worrying about my “stuff.” Granted, there were important copies hidden in the bottom of my backpack, but, other than that, it was just stuff. Maybe I had every reason to be panicked and demanding lockable lockers from the staff of the hotel, but I didn’t. Instead, I headed out into London. The second night, I didn’t put my passport in the hotel safe. I slept with it in my purse under the covers. I slept a bit better that night, too. I came back during the day both days I was there. Each time, my stuff was untouched, each time I felt a little better about leaving it again to see more of the city with which I was quickly becoming enamored. The second morning, there was a new arrival in the room: an outgoing American girl who’d been backpacking for a couple months and would be traveling a couple more. She was one of the first in the room to actually talk to me, and we quickly learned that I’d coached against her cousin from Ennis, Montana. I got to know an Australian girl who’d been living there since January and worked for the infamous underground. That night, I talked to another girl about sushi and a recent Australian arrival offered her computer so that I could check on my flight. There was no guitar, but the atmosphere of the room was changing by the second. Turned out, my downstairs bunkmate was an American guy halfway through an 11 week internship. He even offered to move his stuff, but I’d become used to kicking his dirty socks out of my way. Staring Guy didn’t get in until late. That night, I slept with my purse buried in the huge pile of things I’d packed, three giant steps from the bed. By that time, I was a professional hostel-sleeper. The open window, the sirens and loudest car noises ever? They don’t phase me. I can sleep through anything! I hadn’t counted on the snorers. Two of them, in concert together for all of the 6 hours I’d allotted myself for sleep. I was a bit more bleary-eyed than planned the next morning when I dragged myself out of bed and into the shared bathroom. But, I’d learned something, I think. This trip was instructive in a thousand ways and this was just another. Yes, I may be a bed and breakfast type of traveler. But, more than that, I’m adaptable. I can look past the apparent strangeness of a situation and think, Man, that was the most comfortable bed on the trip and I can’t believe I know her cousin and That Australian girl had great travel stories and Where was the guitar? P.S. I never did talk to Staring Guy.   hostel, london nonadult false New Leaf text blog hostel,london 287 0 0.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false United Kingdom England 0 0 79109 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_500-More/BLOG/79108/21864.html This post is part of a series of posts from my Europe trip. I arrived home on July 3 having brainstormed ideas during a fairly sleepless night in London and started typing as soon as I had a chance. From now on, Europe posts will be mixed in with current writing. You can handle it. * * * * * Florence. I walked. My feet looked like this. [image] Venice. I walked. But, in these shoes so that I could rest one set of blisters and develop another. [image] And, when my feet got tired, sometimes I took a vaporetto. I took the #1 which makes all the stops between the train station and San Marco. It’s the scenic route. I love it. Then, I took a train. [image] Munich. We walked and drove and took the Ubahn/underground/bus. Anne was in charge in the city and Yves was a very competent driver when we headed to Austria, even making sure the mandatory orange vest was in the front. (Seriously, you have to have a vest in the front of the car in case of an emergency.) He didn’t even seem to mind when Anne and I both fell asleep on the way home. My feet rested and recovered and stopped hating me quite so much. Anne got blisters. Vienna. Day One – I walked. I sat here at the Museums Quartier and changed my socks. [image] Day Two – I got up my courage and took the Ubahn/underground. I bought a 24 hour card that I left in my hotel room on the last night so I had to buy another pass. Still, it was really cheap for unlimited rides. And, the announcements were in German and English. Although there weren’t stations on every block, it was all incredibly easy to navigate; I was very proud of myself. Like I’ve said, that’s the first city I’ve learned on my own and public transportation can be daunting. There’s nothing like riding a train wearing the same slightly-bored look as all the locals to make you feel you blend. As I did later in London, I would memorize my route and the line names and numbers before I got into the station so that I wouldn’t have to rely on my maps as much. Munster. We drove and walked and took the bus once or twice. Everyone in Munster rides a bike, all the time. But, it seemed like a dangerous endeavor for me, and Janna wasn’t entirely sure that she could carry me home after I’d been run down. Mostly, we drove. Janna and I argued over who would take the back seat. Sometimes, we rode in a convertible Beetle. [image] Good job, Axel. ;) London. I took the Tube. And, I walked my feet off. But, whenever I could, I took the Tube. A lot of people – Londoners even – don’t like it. They claim that it’s always being fixed, runs late, is expensive and leaves you with black stuff in your nose. Yuck. But, none of my trains were late, none of my lines were stopped and my nasal passages remained a normal, healthy color. I’d post a picture but, oddly enough, I didn’t think to take one. And, when I got tired of the Tube and the walking, I sat in parks. [image] I sat in parks a lot. So, to take liberties with the Proclaimers song, I have walked 500 miles, but I would walk 500 more. This post is part of a series of posts from my Europe trip. I arrived home on July 3 having brainstormed ideas during a fairly sleepless night in London and started typing as soon as I had a chance. From now on, Europe posts will be mixed in with current writing. You can handle it. * * * * * Florence. I walked. My feet looked like this. [image] Venice. I walked. But, in these shoes so that I could rest one set of blisters and develop another. [image] And, when my feet got tired, sometimes I took a vaporetto. I took the #1 which makes all the stops between the train station and San Marco. It’s the scenic route. I love it. Then, I took a train. [image] Munich. We walked and drove and took the Ubahn/underground/bus. Anne was in charge in the city and Yves was a very competent driver when we headed to Austria, even making sure the mandatory orange vest was in the front. (Seriously, you have to have a vest in the front of the car in case of an emergency.) He didn’t even seem to mind when Anne and I both fell asleep on the way home. My feet rested and recovered and stopped hating me quite so much. Anne got blisters. Vienna. Day One – I walked. I sat here at the Museums Quartier and changed my socks. [image] Day Two – I got up my courage and took the Ubahn/underground. I bought a 24 hour card that I left in my hotel room on the last night so I had to buy another pass. Still, it was really cheap for unlimited rides. And, the announcements were in German and English. Although there weren’t stations on every block, it was all incredibly easy to navigate; I was very proud of myself. Like I’ve said, that’s the first city I’ve learned on my own and public transportation can be daunting. There’s nothing like riding a train wearing the same slightly-bored look as all the locals to make you feel you blend. As I did later in London, I would memorize my route and the line names and numbers before I got into the station so that I wouldn’t have to rely on my maps as much. Munster. We drove and walked and took the bus once or twice. Everyone in Munster rides a bike, all the time. But, it seemed like a dangerous endeavor for me, and Janna wasn’t entirely sure that she could carry me home after I’d been run down. Mostly, we drove. Janna and I argued over who would take the back seat. Sometimes, we rode in a convertible Beetle. [image] Good job, Axel. ;) London. I took the Tube. And, I walked my feet off. But, whenever I could, I took the Tube. A lot of people – Londoners even – don’t like it. They claim that it’s always being fixed, runs late, is expensive and leaves you with black stuff in your nose. Yuck. But, none of my trains were late, none of my lines were stopped and my nasal passages remained a normal, healthy color. I’d post a picture but, oddly enough, I didn’t think to take one. And, when I got tired of the Tube and the walking, I sat in parks. [image] I sat in parks a lot. So, to take liberties with the Proclaimers song, I have walked 500 miles, but I would walk 500 more. Tue, 08 Jul 2008 04:07:19 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_500-More/BLOG/79108/21864.html Ragazza 2008-07-08T04:07:19Z My Budget Travel This post is part of a series of posts from my Europe trip. I arrived home on July 3 having brainstormed ideas during a fairly sleepless night in London and started typing as soon as I had a chance. From now on, Europe posts will be mixed in with current writing. You can handle it. * * * * * Florence. I walked. My feet looked like this. [image] Venice. I walked. But, in these shoes so that I could rest one set of blisters and develop another. [image] And, when my feet got tired, sometimes I took a vaporetto. I took the #1 which makes all the stops between the train station and San Marco. It’s the scenic route. I love it. Then, I took a train. [image] Munich. We walked and drove and took the Ubahn/underground/bus. Anne was in charge in the city and Yves was a very competent driver when we headed to Austria, even making sure the mandatory orange vest was in the front. (Seriously, you have to have a vest in the front of the car in case of an emergency.) He didn’t even seem to mind when Anne and I both fell asleep on the way home. My feet rested and recovered and stopped hating me quite so much. Anne got blisters. Vienna. Day One – I walked. I sat here at the Museums Quartier and changed my socks. [image] Day Two – I got up my courage and took the Ubahn/underground. I bought a 24 hour card that I left in my hotel room on the last night so I had to buy another pass. Still, it was really cheap for unlimited rides. And, the announcements were in German and English. Although there weren’t stations on every block, it was all incredibly easy to navigate; I was very proud of myself. Like I’ve said, that’s the first city I’ve learned on my own and public transportation can be daunting. There’s nothing like riding a train wearing the same slightly-bored look as all the locals to make you feel you blend. As I did later in London, I would memorize my route and the line names and numbers before I got into the station so that I wouldn’t have to rely on my maps as much. Munster. We drove and walked and took the bus once or twice. Everyone in Munster rides a bike, all the time. But, it seemed like a dangerous endeavor for me, and Janna wasn’t entirely sure that she could carry me home after I’d been run down. Mostly, we drove. Janna and I argued over who would take the back seat. Sometimes, we rode in a convertible Beetle. [image] Good job, Axel. ;) London. I took the Tube. And, I walked my feet off. But, whenever I could, I took the Tube. A lot of people – Londoners even – don’t like it. They claim that it’s always being fixed, runs late, is expensive and leaves you with black stuff in your nose. Yuck. But, none of my trains were late, none of my lines were stopped and my nasal passages remained a normal, healthy color. I’d post a picture but, oddly enough, I didn’t think to take one. And, when I got tired of the Tube and the walking, I sat in parks. [image] I sat in parks a lot. So, to take liberties with the Proclaimers song, I have walked 500 miles, but I would walk 500 more. florence, london, venice, vienna, walking nonadult false 500 More text blog florence,london,venice,vienna,walking 339 0 0.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 79108 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Janna-and-Axel/BLOG/79104/21864.html There were elephants in St. James's Park! [image] You would have felt at home. There were elephants in St. James's Park! [image] You would have felt at home. Tue, 08 Jul 2008 03:52:28 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Janna-and-Axel/BLOG/79104/21864.html Ragazza 2008-07-08T03:52:28Z My Budget Travel There were elephants in St. James's Park! [image] You would have felt at home. gardens, london, park nonadult false Janna and Axel text blog gardens,london,park 353 0 0.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false United Kingdom England London 0 0 79104 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Home-Again-Home-Again/BLOG/79088/21864.html Some of you are wondering if I'm alive. I am. I've just tonight been able to login here again and post. . .I think there were some technical difficulties on the site. I say "home" but I'm not really. I have a few more stops to make and a lot more adventures to have before I crash onto a couch in Montana. Shortly after that, I'll go pet my shoes, all the pairs that I've missed over the summer. But, hang in there! I've got a lot more to say about the end of my trip to Europe and my travels here in the US. I'll post a bunch at one time, read as you desire. And, I hope to keep posting all summer. On to the show. . . Some of you are wondering if I'm alive. I am. I've just tonight been able to login here again and post. . .I think there were some technical difficulties on the site. I say "home" but I'm not really. I have a few more stops to make and a lot more adventures to have before I crash onto a couch in Montana. Shortly after that, I'll go pet my shoes, all the pairs that I've missed over the summer. But, hang in there! I've got a lot more to say about the end of my trip to Europe and my travels here in the US. I'll post a bunch at one time, read as you desire. And, I hope to keep posting all summer. On to the show. . . Tue, 08 Jul 2008 02:59:03 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Home-Again-Home-Again/BLOG/79088/21864.html Ragazza 2008-07-08T02:59:03Z My Budget Travel Some of you are wondering if I'm alive. I am. I've just tonight been able to login here again and post. . .I think there were some technical difficulties on the site. I say "home" but I'm not really. I have a few more stops to make and a lot more adventures to have before I crash onto a couch in Montana. Shortly after that, I'll go pet my shoes, all the pairs that I've missed over the summer. But, hang in there! I've got a lot more to say about the end of my trip to Europe and my travels here in the US. I'll post a bunch at one time, read as you desire. And, I hope to keep posting all summer. On to the show. . . nonadult false Home Again, Home Again text blog 204 0 0.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 79088 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_I-came-for-a-Wedding-/BLOG/77042/21864.html and boy was there a wedding! There were prewedding barbeques in a beautiful garden. . . [image] Adorable flower girls. . . [image] Folk-song-writing colleagues. . . [image] A ceremony I ddin´t take pictures of because I was too busy pretending to know German. You see, there were lots of hymns - very nice - and a photographer who kept taking pictures and so, to avoid being the frowning American girl in the front row, I sang in German. I later sang in German many hours later while we danced the night away at the reception. . .but that´s another story for another time. There were gifts so creatively done. . . [image] And there were flowers. . . [image] Lots of amazing flowers - all roses. And a very happy bride and groom. . . [image] Whose friends and family made beautiful speeches. I know that they were beautiful because someone translated. I´m not just assuming they were beautiful. Although, I am assuming that the translator was honest. Later, there was delicious food and a cake with 10 kilos of strawberries. . .erdbeeren. (Look! I know German and I speak in kilos!) [image] And, much later, there was a firehazard . . .I mean, candlelit dancing to a beautiful song Axel had quoted from earlier in his speech for Janna. [image] Congratulations to Janna and Axel! There was so much joy on your special day because the people around you love you both SO MUCH! Did I mention the flowers? [image]   and boy was there a wedding! There were prewedding barbeques in a beautiful garden. . . [image] Adorable flower girls. . . [image] Folk-song-writing colleagues. . . [image] A ceremony I ddin´t take pictures of because I was too busy pretending to know German. You see, there were lots of hymns - very nice - and a photographer who kept taking pictures and so, to avoid being the frowning American girl in the front row, I sang in German. I later sang in German many hours later while we danced the night away at the reception. . .but that´s another story for another time. There were gifts so creatively done. . . [image] And there were flowers. . . [image] Lots of amazing flowers - all roses. And a very happy bride and groom. . . [image] Whose friends and family made beautiful speeches. I know that they were beautiful because someone translated. I´m not just assuming they were beautiful. Although, I am assuming that the translator was honest. Later, there was delicious food and a cake with 10 kilos of strawberries. . .erdbeeren. (Look! I know German and I speak in kilos!) [image] And, much later, there was a firehazard . . .I mean, candlelit dancing to a beautiful song Axel had quoted from earlier in his speech for Janna. [image] Congratulations to Janna and Axel! There was so much joy on your special day because the people around you love you both SO MUCH! Did I mention the flowers? [image]   Mon, 30 Jun 2008 07:46:10 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_I-came-for-a-Wedding-/BLOG/77042/21864.html Ragazza 2008-06-30T07:46:10Z My Budget Travel and boy was there a wedding! There were prewedding barbeques in a beautiful garden. . . [image] Adorable flower girls. . . [image] Folk-song-writing colleagues. . . [image] A ceremony I ddin´t take pictures of because I was too busy pretending to know German. You see, there were lots of hymns - very nice - and a photographer who kept taking pictures and so, to avoid being the frowning American girl in the front row, I sang in German. I later sang in German many hours later while we danced the night away at the reception. . .but that´s another story for another time. There were gifts so creatively done. . . [image] And there were flowers. . . [image] Lots of amazing flowers - all roses. And a very happy bride and groom. . . [image] Whose friends and family made beautiful speeches. I know that they were beautiful because someone translated. I´m not just assuming they were beautiful. Although, I am assuming that the translator was honest. Later, there was delicious food and a cake with 10 kilos of strawberries. . .erdbeeren. (Look! I know German and I speak in kilos!) [image] And, much later, there was a firehazard . . .I mean, candlelit dancing to a beautiful song Axel had quoted from earlier in his speech for Janna. [image] Congratulations to Janna and Axel! There was so much joy on your special day because the people around you love you both SO MUCH! Did I mention the flowers? [image]   germany, munster, wedding nonadult false I came for a Wedding. . . text blog germany,munster,wedding 373 1 5.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false Germany Munster 1 0 77042 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Just-a-thought-/BLOG/76151/21864.html My friends [image] have the best porches with the most interesting views [image] ever. [image] My friends [image] have the best porches with the most interesting views [image] ever. [image] Thu, 26 Jun 2008 07:20:58 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Just-a-thought-/BLOG/76151/21864.html Ragazza 2008-06-26T07:20:58Z My Budget Travel My friends [image] have the best porches with the most interesting views [image] ever. [image] germany, munster nonadult false Just a thought. . . text blog germany,munster 371 1 4.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false 1 0 76151 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Does-Not-Play-Well-with-Others/BLOG/76149/21864.html This is my hostel room in Vienna. [image] Notice anything? Like the fact that it has one bed and one person´s things in it? Just mine. And at €33 a night, I thought it was fantastic. . .close to an underground station, close to the airport bus and wonderfully quiet at night. I may be lugging a backpack around Europe that deserves its own zip code, but I´m really not a backpacker. I may be washing my socks in the sink of a closet-sized room and eating granola bars for breakfast, but. . .still not a backpacker. I may be participating in perpetuating questionable fashion trends based on what clothes are clean but - you guessed it - still not a backpacker. After checking out of my hostel-hotel in Vienna, I was waiting at the station for my bus to the aiport and met a young man with a pack bigger than my own, and eyes decidedly more bloodshot. He was quick to tell me that he´d spent the night before on the floor of a stranger´s hostel room and had woken up not knowing where he was or why his hand hurt. He´d stayed for a few nights at the same hostel I had but declared it ´dead´and found another place outside of the city. What I didn´t tell him was that I´d chosen my hostel (and most of the places I have stayed in on this trip) by reviews of people like him. If they hated it because it was far too quiet and there were far too many rules, I booked it immediately. There was even a sign asking people to smoke quietly. Perfect. Just like my latest stopping point - Janna and Axel´s living room in Münster. [image]   This is my hostel room in Vienna. [image] Notice anything? Like the fact that it has one bed and one person´s things in it? Just mine. And at €33 a night, I thought it was fantastic. . .close to an underground station, close to the airport bus and wonderfully quiet at night. I may be lugging a backpack around Europe that deserves its own zip code, but I´m really not a backpacker. I may be washing my socks in the sink of a closet-sized room and eating granola bars for breakfast, but. . .still not a backpacker. I may be participating in perpetuating questionable fashion trends based on what clothes are clean but - you guessed it - still not a backpacker. After checking out of my hostel-hotel in Vienna, I was waiting at the station for my bus to the aiport and met a young man with a pack bigger than my own, and eyes decidedly more bloodshot. He was quick to tell me that he´d spent the night before on the floor of a stranger´s hostel room and had woken up not knowing where he was or why his hand hurt. He´d stayed for a few nights at the same hostel I had but declared it ´dead´and found another place outside of the city. What I didn´t tell him was that I´d chosen my hostel (and most of the places I have stayed in on this trip) by reviews of people like him. If they hated it because it was far too quiet and there were far too many rules, I booked it immediately. There was even a sign asking people to smoke quietly. Perfect. Just like my latest stopping point - Janna and Axel´s living room in Münster. [image]   Thu, 26 Jun 2008 07:16:10 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Does-Not-Play-Well-with-Others/BLOG/76149/21864.html Ragazza 2008-06-26T07:16:10Z My Budget Travel This is my hostel room in Vienna. [image] Notice anything? Like the fact that it has one bed and one person´s things in it? Just mine. And at €33 a night, I thought it was fantastic. . .close to an underground station, close to the airport bus and wonderfully quiet at night. I may be lugging a backpack around Europe that deserves its own zip code, but I´m really not a backpacker. I may be washing my socks in the sink of a closet-sized room and eating granola bars for breakfast, but. . .still not a backpacker. I may be participating in perpetuating questionable fashion trends based on what clothes are clean but - you guessed it - still not a backpacker. After checking out of my hostel-hotel in Vienna, I was waiting at the station for my bus to the aiport and met a young man with a pack bigger than my own, and eyes decidedly more bloodshot. He was quick to tell me that he´d spent the night before on the floor of a stranger´s hostel room and had woken up not knowing where he was or why his hand hurt. He´d stayed for a few nights at the same hostel I had but declared it ´dead´and found another place outside of the city. What I didn´t tell him was that I´d chosen my hostel (and most of the places I have stayed in on this trip) by reviews of people like him. If they hated it because it was far too quiet and there were far too many rules, I booked it immediately. There was even a sign asking people to smoke quietly. Perfect. Just like my latest stopping point - Janna and Axel´s living room in Münster. [image]   austria, hostel, vienna nonadult false Does Not Play Well with Others text blog austria,hostel,vienna 403 0 0.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false Austria Vienna 1 0 76149 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Dont-mind-me-/BLOG/75625/21864.html I'm just here for the horses. Matched horses. . . [image] Bashful horses. . . [image] Stone horses. . . (they weren't sideways when I saw them. . .) [image] But mostly excited to go here. . . [image] And see horses. . .especially for THESE horses! These "Fuzzy Because Photographs are Absolutely Forbidden During the Morning Warmup and so You Certainly don't have Time to Change the Settings on Your Camera" horses. These horses that I've heard about and read about until the images from the book I had as a child were floating through my head as I sat in the Spanish Riding School here in Vienna. I felt an amazing sense of "rightness" at the knowledge that I was seeing something I'd loved so much as a child that it couldn't help but spill over into my life (and travels) as an adult. For 2 hours this morning, I was the little girl with the book on her lap. So, don't mind me. I'll just be here smiling. [image] I'm just here for the horses. Matched horses. . . [image] Bashful horses. . . [image] Stone horses. . . (they weren't sideways when I saw them. . .) [image] But mostly excited to go here. . . [image] And see horses. . .especially for THESE horses! These "Fuzzy Because Photographs are Absolutely Forbidden During the Morning Warmup and so You Certainly don't have Time to Change the Settings on Your Camera" horses. These horses that I've heard about and read about until the images from the book I had as a child were floating through my head as I sat in the Spanish Riding School here in Vienna. I felt an amazing sense of "rightness" at the knowledge that I was seeing something I'd loved so much as a child that it couldn't help but spill over into my life (and travels) as an adult. For 2 hours this morning, I was the little girl with the book on her lap. So, don't mind me. I'll just be here smiling. [image] Tue, 24 Jun 2008 20:15:36 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Dont-mind-me-/BLOG/75625/21864.html Ragazza 2008-06-24T20:15:36Z My Budget Travel I'm just here for the horses. Matched horses. . . [image] Bashful horses. . . [image] Stone horses. . . (they weren't sideways when I saw them. . .) [image] But mostly excited to go here. . . [image] And see horses. . .especially for THESE horses! These "Fuzzy Because Photographs are Absolutely Forbidden During the Morning Warmup and so You Certainly don't have Time to Change the Settings on Your Camera" horses. These horses that I've heard about and read about until the images from the book I had as a child were floating through my head as I sat in the Spanish Riding School here in Vienna. I felt an amazing sense of "rightness" at the knowledge that I was seeing something I'd loved so much as a child that it couldn't help but spill over into my life (and travels) as an adult. For 2 hours this morning, I was the little girl with the book on her lap. So, don't mind me. I'll just be here smiling. [image] austria, lipizzaners, vienna nonadult false Don't mind me. . . text blog austria,lipizzaners,vienna 390 1 5.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false 1 0 75625 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Oh-yeah-you-blend/BLOG/74185/21864.html Just about every traveler knows the tactic of looking as if you know where you're going and walking with purpose. Sometimes, that purpose is just to get around a corner where you can pull out a map to figure out where on earth you are. In Florence, I was stopped for directions and advice on quite a few occasions. It must have been my "I'm Every Woman" Strut. Of course, the people asking weren't Italians, but they thought I was. Some Italians did assume I was Italian. . .that was nice too. Times like that balanced the number of times that I felt so much like a tourist that I might as well have been wearing a fanny pack and dragging a suitcase through Piazza della Signoria. I'd been in Vienna just about 2 hours when a German-speaking tourist stopped me to ask directions. I was pretty surprised since I'd changed out of the black socks/white shoes combo patented by German exchange students in the US. Amazingly, in my short two hours here, I'd already seen what they were looking for and - in English - was able to give directions. I'll be here for just one more day before flying to the wedding in Munster. Here, though, I feel a bit of accomplishment. . .this is my first new city on this trip. And, I think, my first new city on my own EVER. Thanks to memorizing maps and making list after list, I have a really good idea of what I want to see and when. It's a great feeling. . .especially considering I'll have about the same amount of time in London in a week or so and I want to be able to make the most out of that as well. Oh, by the way, Vienna is pretty amazing. Check it out. [image] It's also the Euro2008 football championships in the coming week. That's why there are huge shoes in front of the museum. More on that later. * Yet another movie quote title - this time from My Cousin Vinny . I haven't seen it. Don't judge me. Just about every traveler knows the tactic of looking as if you know where you're going and walking with purpose. Sometimes, that purpose is just to get around a corner where you can pull out a map to figure out where on earth you are. In Florence, I was stopped for directions and advice on quite a few occasions. It must have been my "I'm Every Woman" Strut. Of course, the people asking weren't Italians, but they thought I was. Some Italians did assume I was Italian. . .that was nice too. Times like that balanced the number of times that I felt so much like a tourist that I might as well have been wearing a fanny pack and dragging a suitcase through Piazza della Signoria. I'd been in Vienna just about 2 hours when a German-speaking tourist stopped me to ask directions. I was pretty surprised since I'd changed out of the black socks/white shoes combo patented by German exchange students in the US. Amazingly, in my short two hours here, I'd already seen what they were looking for and - in English - was able to give directions. I'll be here for just one more day before flying to the wedding in Munster. Here, though, I feel a bit of accomplishment. . .this is my first new city on this trip. And, I think, my first new city on my own EVER. Thanks to memorizing maps and making list after list, I have a really good idea of what I want to see and when. It's a great feeling. . .especially considering I'll have about the same amount of time in London in a week or so and I want to be able to make the most out of that as well. Oh, by the way, Vienna is pretty amazing. Check it out. [image] It's also the Euro2008 football championships in the coming week. That's why there are huge shoes in front of the museum. More on that later. * Yet another movie quote title - this time from My Cousin Vinny . I haven't seen it. Don't judge me. Mon, 23 Jun 2008 17:32:08 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Oh-yeah-you-blend/BLOG/74185/21864.html Ragazza 2008-06-23T17:32:08Z My Budget Travel Just about every traveler knows the tactic of looking as if you know where you're going and walking with purpose. Sometimes, that purpose is just to get around a corner where you can pull out a map to figure out where on earth you are. In Florence, I was stopped for directions and advice on quite a few occasions. It must have been my "I'm Every Woman" Strut. Of course, the people asking weren't Italians, but they thought I was. Some Italians did assume I was Italian. . .that was nice too. Times like that balanced the number of times that I felt so much like a tourist that I might as well have been wearing a fanny pack and dragging a suitcase through Piazza della Signoria. I'd been in Vienna just about 2 hours when a German-speaking tourist stopped me to ask directions. I was pretty surprised since I'd changed out of the black socks/white shoes combo patented by German exchange students in the US. Amazingly, in my short two hours here, I'd already seen what they were looking for and - in English - was able to give directions. I'll be here for just one more day before flying to the wedding in Munster. Here, though, I feel a bit of accomplishment. . .this is my first new city on this trip. And, I think, my first new city on my own EVER. Thanks to memorizing maps and making list after list, I have a really good idea of what I want to see and when. It's a great feeling. . .especially considering I'll have about the same amount of time in London in a week or so and I want to be able to make the most out of that as well. Oh, by the way, Vienna is pretty amazing. Check it out. [image] It's also the Euro2008 football championships in the coming week. That's why there are huge shoes in front of the museum. More on that later. * Yet another movie quote title - this time from My Cousin Vinny . I haven't seen it. Don't judge me. austria, football, vienna nonadult false Oh yeah, you blend!* text blog austria,football,vienna 318 0 0.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 74185 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Ham-and-Cheese-Please/BLOG/74183/21864.html If you ever find yourself in Munich airport at 7am on a Monday morning, checking into an AirBerlin flight and you're not a good looking business man in an even better looking suit, you might feel out of place. A good number of these businessmen joined me on the flight from Munich to Vienna - on a ticket that cost well less than $100 American. I've flown budget. . .Ryan Air and Germanwings. . .when I've felt just a bit like one in a large herd of cattle. Not pet cattle. Cattle going to market. This was NOT the case this morning. Check in was flawless, security was a finely-tuned machine and, just the time my stomach started growling on the flight, a stewardess came by offering ham and cheese (or egg) sandwiches. Sandwiches. With lettuce that was still crunchy. Awesome. It made me forget all about the 20 minute+ delay and that fact that we (the businessmen and I) were serenaded by an unlikely mix of Justin Timberlake, Mo-town and Savage Garden. It almost made me forget that I was watching strange hip hop videos - without the sound - and that my carryon had been whisked away immediately to an overhaed bin - by a flight attendant wearing a slightly-unfortunate pink beret with her jeans. I'm very serious when I saw that I'm looking forward to my next two flights with AirBerlin. Which is good. . .because by the first of July, I will have spent time in 10 different airports. . .a few of them twice. I'm leaving a carbon dinosaur footprint. Ham and cheese in hand. If you ever find yourself in Munich airport at 7am on a Monday morning, checking into an AirBerlin flight and you're not a good looking business man in an even better looking suit, you might feel out of place. A good number of these businessmen joined me on the flight from Munich to Vienna - on a ticket that cost well less than $100 American. I've flown budget. . .Ryan Air and Germanwings. . .when I've felt just a bit like one in a large herd of cattle. Not pet cattle. Cattle going to market. This was NOT the case this morning. Check in was flawless, security was a finely-tuned machine and, just the time my stomach started growling on the flight, a stewardess came by offering ham and cheese (or egg) sandwiches. Sandwiches. With lettuce that was still crunchy. Awesome. It made me forget all about the 20 minute+ delay and that fact that we (the businessmen and I) were serenaded by an unlikely mix of Justin Timberlake, Mo-town and Savage Garden. It almost made me forget that I was watching strange hip hop videos - without the sound - and that my carryon had been whisked away immediately to an overhaed bin - by a flight attendant wearing a slightly-unfortunate pink beret with her jeans. I'm very serious when I saw that I'm looking forward to my next two flights with AirBerlin. Which is good. . .because by the first of July, I will have spent time in 10 different airports. . .a few of them twice. I'm leaving a carbon dinosaur footprint. Ham and cheese in hand. Mon, 23 Jun 2008 17:13:14 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Ham-and-Cheese-Please/BLOG/74183/21864.html Ragazza 2008-06-23T17:13:14Z My Budget Travel If you ever find yourself in Munich airport at 7am on a Monday morning, checking into an AirBerlin flight and you're not a good looking business man in an even better looking suit, you might feel out of place. A good number of these businessmen joined me on the flight from Munich to Vienna - on a ticket that cost well less than $100 American. I've flown budget. . .Ryan Air and Germanwings. . .when I've felt just a bit like one in a large herd of cattle. Not pet cattle. Cattle going to market. This was NOT the case this morning. Check in was flawless, security was a finely-tuned machine and, just the time my stomach started growling on the flight, a stewardess came by offering ham and cheese (or egg) sandwiches. Sandwiches. With lettuce that was still crunchy. Awesome. It made me forget all about the 20 minute+ delay and that fact that we (the businessmen and I) were serenaded by an unlikely mix of Justin Timberlake, Mo-town and Savage Garden. It almost made me forget that I was watching strange hip hop videos - without the sound - and that my carryon had been whisked away immediately to an overhaed bin - by a flight attendant wearing a slightly-unfortunate pink beret with her jeans. I'm very serious when I saw that I'm looking forward to my next two flights with AirBerlin. Which is good. . .because by the first of July, I will have spent time in 10 different airports. . .a few of them twice. I'm leaving a carbon dinosaur footprint. Ham and cheese in hand. budget, flying, munich nonadult false Ham and Cheese Please text blog budget,flying,munich 329 0 0.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false 0 0 74183 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_A-thousand-pictures-of-the-same-sunset-/BLOG/68806/21864.html [image] And I could take a thousand more. . .with the sounds of the Euro2008 match coming from the gardens below, the coolness of a summer evening after a scorching day, the taste of Venetian prosecco and the company of good friends. Danke Anne and Yves. And Munich. [image] And I could take a thousand more. . .with the sounds of the Euro2008 match coming from the gardens below, the coolness of a summer evening after a scorching day, the taste of Venetian prosecco and the company of good friends. Danke Anne and Yves. And Munich. Sun, 22 Jun 2008 19:30:43 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_A-thousand-pictures-of-the-same-sunset-/BLOG/68806/21864.html Ragazza 2008-06-22T19:30:43Z My Budget Travel [image] And I could take a thousand more. . .with the sounds of the Euro2008 match coming from the gardens below, the coolness of a summer evening after a scorching day, the taste of Venetian prosecco and the company of good friends. Danke Anne and Yves. And Munich. germany, munich nonadult false A thousand pictures of the same sunset. . . text blog germany,munich 446 1 5.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false 1 0 68806 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Beating-the-Heat/BLOG/68731/21864.html Today, we went to Salzburg, and we explored the city in heat that reached the 90s. We took a break here: [image] with coffee and ice cream (together!) at Cafe Bazar along the River Salzach. And one here: [image] at a church with the marvelous coolness provided by centuries of stone. And another here:   at Mozart´s birthplace where touring the museum took us out of the crowds and gave us a bit of history. (Photo on it's way) Salzburg may have been hot, but I very much enjoyed my first day in Austria. And, a little European road trip. Today, we went to Salzburg, and we explored the city in heat that reached the 90s. We took a break here: [image] with coffee and ice cream (together!) at Cafe Bazar along the River Salzach. And one here: [image] at a church with the marvelous coolness provided by centuries of stone. And another here:   at Mozart´s birthplace where touring the museum took us out of the crowds and gave us a bit of history. (Photo on it's way) Salzburg may have been hot, but I very much enjoyed my first day in Austria. And, a little European road trip. Sun, 22 Jun 2008 16:18:36 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Beating-the-Heat/BLOG/68731/21864.html Ragazza 2008-06-22T16:18:36Z My Budget Travel Today, we went to Salzburg, and we explored the city in heat that reached the 90s. We took a break here: [image] with coffee and ice cream (together!) at Cafe Bazar along the River Salzach. And one here: [image] at a church with the marvelous coolness provided by centuries of stone. And another here:   at Mozart´s birthplace where touring the museum took us out of the crowds and gave us a bit of history. (Photo on it's way) Salzburg may have been hot, but I very much enjoyed my first day in Austria. And, a little European road trip. austria, landmarks and monuments, salzburg nonadult false Beating the Heat text blog austria,landmarks and monuments,salzburg 321 0 0.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false Austria Salzburg 0 0 68731 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Its-clean-I-like-it-because-its-clean/BLOG/68591/21864.html Munich. . .very clean German city with an amazing summer energy thanks to good shopping, noisy biergartens and an abundance of punctual (and spotless) public transportation. Last time I was here, it was a slighty grey, slightly cold February. This time, a marvelously sunny day where the streets were packed with tourists, but the atmosphere was such that all people actually added to the day. [image] We walked and walked, enjoying the breeze off of the Isar and the shade of the Hofgarten with frappacino´s (ice blended coffees´ here)´in hand and feet that were just the tiniest bit sore. Anne and I caught up - not having seen each other since my last visit five years ago - and found our tastes in books, movies and clothing more similar than ever. With some people, it doesn´t seem to matter how often - or rarely - you see them, it´s like stepping back into a comfortable pair of shoes that have the added bonus of being stylish. On that note, I resisted any impulses I may have had to buy more shoes. I didn´t resist all impulses, I´m happy to report. Tomorrow, we plan to spend part of Sunday in Salzburg, which isn´t far away and which I´ve never visited. Oh, and I´ve just fingured out how to add pictures to these journals. . .check out the old Florence journal to see one more from Calcio Storico. I should write a conclusion here. . .but I´ve decided just to trail off instead. *If you haven´t seen A Good Year , watch it. If you have and don´t remember this line, watch it again. Munich. . .very clean German city with an amazing summer energy thanks to good shopping, noisy biergartens and an abundance of punctual (and spotless) public transportation. Last time I was here, it was a slighty grey, slightly cold February. This time, a marvelously sunny day where the streets were packed with tourists, but the atmosphere was such that all people actually added to the day. [image] We walked and walked, enjoying the breeze off of the Isar and the shade of the Hofgarten with frappacino´s (ice blended coffees´ here)´in hand and feet that were just the tiniest bit sore. Anne and I caught up - not having seen each other since my last visit five years ago - and found our tastes in books, movies and clothing more similar than ever. With some people, it doesn´t seem to matter how often - or rarely - you see them, it´s like stepping back into a comfortable pair of shoes that have the added bonus of being stylish. On that note, I resisted any impulses I may have had to buy more shoes. I didn´t resist all impulses, I´m happy to report. Tomorrow, we plan to spend part of Sunday in Salzburg, which isn´t far away and which I´ve never visited. Oh, and I´ve just fingured out how to add pictures to these journals. . .check out the old Florence journal to see one more from Calcio Storico. I should write a conclusion here. . .but I´ve decided just to trail off instead. *If you haven´t seen A Good Year , watch it. If you have and don´t remember this line, watch it again. Sat, 21 Jun 2008 15:46:06 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Its-clean-I-like-it-because-its-clean/BLOG/68591/21864.html Ragazza 2008-06-21T15:46:06Z My Budget Travel Munich. . .very clean German city with an amazing summer energy thanks to good shopping, noisy biergartens and an abundance of punctual (and spotless) public transportation. Last time I was here, it was a slighty grey, slightly cold February. This time, a marvelously sunny day where the streets were packed with tourists, but the atmosphere was such that all people actually added to the day. [image] We walked and walked, enjoying the breeze off of the Isar and the shade of the Hofgarten with frappacino´s (ice blended coffees´ here)´in hand and feet that were just the tiniest bit sore. Anne and I caught up - not having seen each other since my last visit five years ago - and found our tastes in books, movies and clothing more similar than ever. With some people, it doesn´t seem to matter how often - or rarely - you see them, it´s like stepping back into a comfortable pair of shoes that have the added bonus of being stylish. On that note, I resisted any impulses I may have had to buy more shoes. I didn´t resist all impulses, I´m happy to report. Tomorrow, we plan to spend part of Sunday in Salzburg, which isn´t far away and which I´ve never visited. Oh, and I´ve just fingured out how to add pictures to these journals. . .check out the old Florence journal to see one more from Calcio Storico. I should write a conclusion here. . .but I´ve decided just to trail off instead. *If you haven´t seen A Good Year , watch it. If you have and don´t remember this line, watch it again. germany, munich nonadult false It´s clean. . .I like it because it´s clean.* text blog germany,munich 427 1 4.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false 1 0 68591 2656690 256 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Venice-is-Shrinking/BLOG/68308/21864.html But, that will happen to a city when you traverse much of it by foot. I've spent a good portion of the last 24 hours in Canaregio, a northern neighborhood of the city. It's near my hotel and on the way to everything...most everything. Walking (and walking and walking) made the city seem smaller. I was able to move between neighborhoods, realizing that what I'd seen on the past two visits was only a small section. Although, I still think it's the best section. Most lively, most central, most packed with things to see while still being alluringly close to the sea. My indulgance this time was taking two vaporetto rides. . .one to Arsenale and one just to the Rialto. Crazy way to spend $20. . .but an amazing part of this city. Besides, how often am I an Venice_ My train leaves within the hour; I'm packed and checked out. I'll head down the street for one last walk (and maybe purchase another pair of 1 euro socks (seriously nice socks for 1 euro!) and a cup of fruit. One stand nearby sells beautiful cups of freshly cut fruit. No, there's no theme to this one. . .I'll try harder next time. Arrivederci Venezia! But, that will happen to a city when you traverse much of it by foot. I've spent a good portion of the last 24 hours in Canaregio, a northern neighborhood of the city. It's near my hotel and on the way to everything...most everything. Walking (and walking and walking) made the city seem smaller. I was able to move between neighborhoods, realizing that what I'd seen on the past two visits was only a small section. Although, I still think it's the best section. Most lively, most central, most packed with things to see while still being alluringly close to the sea. My indulgance this time was taking two vaporetto rides. . .one to Arsenale and one just to the Rialto. Crazy way to spend $20. . .but an amazing part of this city. Besides, how often am I an Venice_ My train leaves within the hour; I'm packed and checked out. I'll head down the street for one last walk (and maybe purchase another pair of 1 euro socks (seriously nice socks for 1 euro!) and a cup of fruit. One stand nearby sells beautiful cups of freshly cut fruit. No, there's no theme to this one. . .I'll try harder next time. Arrivederci Venezia! Fri, 20 Jun 2008 07:03:07 GMT http://mybt.budgettravel.com/_Venice-is-Shrinking/BLOG/68308/21864.html Ragazza 2008-06-20T07:03:07Z My Budget Travel But, that will happen to a city when you traverse much of it by foot. I've spent a good portion of the last 24 hours in Canaregio, a northern neighborhood of the city. It's near my hotel and on the way to everything...most everything. Walking (and walking and walking) made the city seem smaller. I was able to move between neighborhoods, realizing that what I'd seen on the past two visits was only a small section. Although, I still think it's the best section. Most lively, most central, most packed with things to see while still being alluringly close to the sea. My indulgance this time was taking two vaporetto rides. . .one to Arsenale and one just to the Rialto. Crazy way to spend $20. . .but an amazing part of this city. Besides, how often am I an Venice_ My train leaves within the hour; I'm packed and checked out. I'll head down the street for one last walk (and maybe purchase another pair of 1 euro socks (seriously nice socks for 1 euro!) and a cup of fruit. One stand nearby sells beautiful cups of freshly cut fruit. No, there's no theme to this one. . .I'll try harder next time. Arrivederci Venezia! food, venice, walking, women nonadult false Venice is Shrinking text blog food,venice,walking,women 398 1 4.0 http://mybt.budgettravel.com/service/displayKickPlace.kickAction?u=2656690&as=21864 http://media.kickstatic.com/kickapps/images/21864/photos/PHOTO_1358610_21864_2656690_ap_160X120.jpg false 2 0 68308 2656690 256