Behind the Scenes - LL

Travel photos represent beautiful destinations and breathtaking scenery. We know we are on the trip of a lifetime and we are cherishing every.single.bit of it, even behind the scenes moments like these which provide a constant source of humor on our voyage:

Appearance. First of all, a true confession: the neck pillow I use when traveling makes me look like Joan Cusack in her neck brace in Sixteen Candles whenever I try to turn my head to talk to anyone. The struggle is real. I don't even care. It snaps in the front.

While we are on this topic, I'll overshare that after weeks and weeks and weeks of walking and walking...and walking, we badly needed pedicures. BADLY. Our toenails began to look like we could swoop down from the sky and scoop fish from the water. I feared a sand blaster would be needed for proper exfoliation. Thankfully a salon in Paris came to the rescue just as things were becoming critical. Never *ever* underestimate the power of a good pedicure to change your entire outlook on life.

Notwithstanding our amazing nails, we continue to feel like the Beverly Hillbillies with our backpacks, carry-on bag restricted wardrobes and ever present raincoats, especially in Italy - the fashion capital of the world. With the help of wine we managed to get over our feelings of inadequacy and browse the high end shops of the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II. "Browse" in this context means look through the windows into the shops while eating gelato.

More about bathrooms. Figuring out how to operate the apparently endless possible bathroom plumbing configurations continues to be good brain exercise to stave off Alzheimers. On two separate occasions in two different places Kristi and I each managed to "call for assistance" when we thought a cord was the flusher. (In our defense, we have had toilets that flush that way, and those with hidden buttons, pedals on the floor, ...you name it) All of the adapters for the different countries also provide loads of fun. (A rule of thumb: If it smells like burning plastic you're using the wrong adapter.)

But can we just talk about hair dryers for a second? We've used hotel hairdryers that you can hardly hold because they get hotter than the surface of the sun, as well as those that blow softer than a fairy's breath and take an hour to dry your hair. Also experienced more than once: the carpal tunnel-inducing type where you have to hold a button down the entire time just to get airflow. Aaaannd...we've had to go without hairdryers altogether at various stops. Are these first world problems? Absolutely! I just thought it might shed some light on why there is such a sliding scale of bad to decent/goodish hair represented in our pictures.

Something that seems worthy of mention: normally a camera adds 10 pounds, but I am told that due to the exchange rates and voltage differences in various countries, international pictures add 20 pounds, sometimes more depending upon the time zone. Just a point of information. #whoknew? #notfakenews

We survived Ryan Air. We have taken all manner of planes, trains, boats and automobiles on this trip thus far, but the flight to Ireland on Ryan Air was definitely the most entertaining. It felt like St Patty's Day in South Boston. There were lots of people in costumes: one guy was dressed like a Hooters girl including hooters, one lad was a mermaid. A whole gaggle of people had on "hen party" t-shirts. The bride wore a tiara and sash. The flight was delayed numerous times and we had no idea what gate it'd arrive at IF it arrived at all. When the airline finally announced the gate, the foot race was on.

This is THE no frills airline. You weigh and tag your own bags. You hope and pray that your flight arrives. You walk across the tarmac to reach the plane wherever it decides to stop. There are no peanuts, no Chex mix, no water. But, it is a raucous good time. The 'people watching' on that plane was better than any inflight movie ever would've been. These folks take day drinking to whole new levels. Later, while in Ireland, we heard on the news that a bunch of Ryan Air flights had been cancelled altogether leaving people stranded for days on end, so we felt fortunate to have made it. They really should give out t-shirts: "I survived a Ryan Air flight."

The plague is a thing. A sad fact about travel that I have mentioned in prior posts is germs. I'm not a Howie Mandel level germaphobe, but starting from dead center I do lean toward that side of the scale. Kristi does, too. In spite of a never ending stream of Purell, both of us developed what I'll just call "kennel cough" while in France from being sardined into so many public forms of transportation with people that sounded like they had various end stage lung diseases. Or... maybe it was the toxic mold in our old hotel room in Paris that ended up leading to a room change. Or... it could've been all of the second hand smoke in Europe. Regardless of the source, we both hacked away for a week, ironically presenting the very symptoms that cause us both to cringe when exhibited by others.

Mail challenged. We mail boxes home on a regular basis because we are trying to travel "light." This is a relative term as there is nothing light about the bags we are lugging around, but I digress. In Amsterdam, I lovingly and thoughtfully wrote postcards to loved ones, only to pack those postcards in the box I mailed home. Yes, the postcards were addressed, stamped with international postage and ready to mail. But somehow I got them in the box of stuff I was sending home, so off they went. I realized this after the nice mail lady with the enormous cat in the middle of her counter helped me figure out postage and solidly taped my box closed for me.

Due to my strong desire to not misrepresent the United States of America to the international community (or blonde women everywhere), it was with great trepidation that I got back in the postal line to re-wait my turn so I could request that she undo her hard work so I could search for the postcards. I found them, thank you very much. Then, I ignored the reproachful looks of patrons and staff (and I'm pretty sure the cat was throwing shade, too), and I handed the box back over to her for a total redo. I'm sure cat lady already thought I wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed because the cost to ship my box of stuff home was more than the value of the contents.

Narrow escape. That reminds me of the time that I lost my shoes. How, you might wonder, can someone with ONE pair of shoes on a trip...ONE pair...lose them? Well, dear friend, I take you back to the pedicure. I left the salon with my feet in flip flops and my shoes (in a bag) in hand. We stopped to browse at a bookstore, and then thanks to the prayer cover of loved ones back home and divine intervention, we decided VERY spur of the moment to stop and eat dinner BEFORE boarding the metro back to the other side of town to our hotel. The plan originally was to metro "home" first, then eat. This was a *very* sudden decision change that could only have been a blessing from above as you will see. It wasn't until we were finishing up and I was gathering my things that I realized my shoes were no longer with me!! It was already 6pm.

I am sure all the too-cool Parisians in their skinny black pants and knotted scarves were in equal parts entertained and appalled at the sight of a terror-stricken, full-figured middle-aged woman sprinting down the boulevard. I almost gave the two-cheek kiss to the gentleman at the bookstore who saw me barreling through the door and immediately held out the bag containing my shoes, so happy was I that (a) I found the bookstore (not a given) (b) it was still open and (c) they had my shoes!! My shoes are THE most important and crucial piece of my wardrobe. I truly felt like Tom Hanks crying, "Wiiilllsssonnn!!" when I saw them. That's how substantial their recovery was to my well-being.

UNESCO obsessed. Should this information be needed in a rescue effort at a later date, I'm putting it out there that our obsession with World Heritage sites could lead to our demise. Honestly, if someone wanted to kidnap us they could just point at a cave or trail into the forest and tell us there's a UNESCO World Heritage site that direction and we'd probably grab our cameras and trot right on in.

Be careful what you kiss. Speaking of sites, we hauled it up over a hundred tiny spiral stairs in Blarney Castle in Ireland to reach...what else? The Blarney Stone. Kissing the stone is not a simple bend and snap, though. Oh no, it is not. The Blarney Stone is actually attached to the top of the castle. It's part of the wall. You lay on your back on the top of the castle and hang over the edge upside down, stretching out over the abyss to kiss it. They hold on to you and there are guard rails to grasp, but it's still a bit heart pounding. Kissing the Blarney Stone is supposed to impart the gift of eloquence. (Back in the day, visitors had to be held by their ankles and lowered head first over the battlements. 😳)

So, needless to say, we were quite proud of the stone kissing accomplishment until we heard from more than one legit Irishman in the pubs that the local boys make a sport of sneaking into Blarney Castle to relieve themselves on the stone that all the tourists kiss. SO GROSS!! Did I mention I am a borderline germaphobe? I may seek treatment for PTSD for this when I return home. But on the upside, I expect I'll be killing it on the speaker's circuit with my hard-earned gift of gab.

Other travel scoop. Let's see what other behind the scenes deets I can share: well, we slept on a bunk bed in a "youth" hostel in the fjords of Norway. Either the Norwegians have a very broad definition of "youth" or they were just happy for the paying customers, but either way it felt like I was reliving summer camp days with Kristi hanging down to talk to me from the top bunk.

Also, we have been posting things we've learned in each country as we go along but one universal truth worth mentioning -- seen in all the countries we've visited and equally prevalent when traveling in the good ole USA -- something we experience multiple times a day is this: when you are trying to take a picture there will ALWAYS be someone in a red shirt in your shot. ALWAYS. Now that this has been brought to your attention, you will notice this yourself. ALWAYS. If not red, then royal blue. Many minutes and hours (maybe totaling whole days by now?) have been spent waiting for red shirts to walk out of the frame. It is starting to bring a little Joan Crawford wire hanger fervor out in me. 😂 No more red shirts, everrrrr!!

This post has grown lengthy, so I'll wrap it up! Just keepin' it real. There are *SO* many more moments like this in international travel, but we wouldn't trade it for anything and we are very glad (and honored) that so many people are enjoying following our crazy-wonderful journey.

Namaste from Kathmandu - tomorrow we are on the move again!