What's for free and as of now.

Life is a journey. It took me a while to understand that you can enjoy the ride, rather than being hasty and only set future goals.

When I was a kid and we went on a summer vacation, we never stopped unless we had to stop and wait for a ferry. Other than that we just charged on. We passed the beautiful sights tourists from all over the world come to Norway to see, in an impressive speed to get to the next ferry on time, and we never stopped to buy luscious strawberries and cherries.
I never learned to appreciate the journey. I loathed the trip; I just wanted to get there!
We owned an Austin Maxi, it was crowded with bags and other luggage, two adults, four kids and a dog... and the only aircondition was opening the windows. Not all the roads had asphalt... Often the Border Collie and I would lay in the rear window on the hat rack. In those days that was acceptable. A huge no no these days (thank heavens!).

One summer we went to Germany. Of all ironic places we could go, we drove "Die Romantische Strasse". Hah! In the new Saab, (still no aircondition, but with a somewhat limited cool air system) and a rented caravan, we never really stopped anywhere. There was no lazy admiration of the surroundings.
I don't think my parents even knew how to do that. We stopped for the night at the nearest campground when it was time.

I still remember one afternoon we had to drive through the village to get to the campground. The streets were so narrow we had to fold in the mirrors on the car. We worried we would never be able to leave. When we parked the caravan for the night it was getting dark, and all the colorful lightbulbs decorating the gypsies' caravans were lit. It was beautiful! I was not allowed to leave the caravan at all, not untill we left the next morning.

One day, on a narrow road, in the middle of an endless  grain field; nothing to be seen anywhere but aboundance of grain and the sky, my mother lost it and burst into tears. We stayed in Detwang, just outside Rotenburg ob der Tauber, for two days before we started driving back home. The only tan any of us got on that trip was my mother's arm, from elbow to her hand.

My parents handed down the attitude of getting there. I have travelled quite a bit, but not untill recently did I discover one can slow down and ignore the clock. There is no need to hurry up because you are almost late. Some times you get there on time, and some times you can just stroll and enjoy and get there when you get there.

Sometimes life itself is like that. Even though we have a lot going on, we tend to look forward, what things will be like in the future.
I, for one, always have plans and dreams for what things will be like when...

To slow down and enjoy the roses I come across as I keep up everyday, is something I need to remind myself of.

I would hate to end up like in the song: "... life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."



And the present, what you need to enjoy what is here and now, is actually free, and of no charge.




.

The Agony of Misplaced Idealism.

It's not easy to travel with teenagers. I have children with a span of 6 years between them, and I find I spend a lot of time figuring out how to satisfy and combine everybody's wants. Of course, at the time when we got them, we didn't know this would be a challenge. We were just happy they were absolutely gorgeous and cute and adorable. Little did we realize they would grow into mindstrong individuals... not to mention: TEENAGERS!
At home we have lots of rooms and doors; when on holiday that is not a priority. After all: we go on holiday to spend quality time together, right?

A few years back we invited our oldest son's friend to join us to the Middle East. It turned out a great success. The two friends were totally content having a peer, with mutual interests and priorities, around as a fellow allied. One of the standout causes they insisted on including to their list of what teens MUST do when on holiday was (and I have to admit this was our biggest challenge) their sleeping habits.
No matter how early or late they went to bed, they slept through the best hours of the day, every day.
We didn't get to go anywhere untill after lunch, which was sometimes very annoying and a stressfactor. By pure luck we stayed at a hotel with a nice pool the first week, and then we stayed for two weeks at a holiday resort with all facilities available. So while the young and the hopeful had their long sleep, we got a tan and learned how to swim.
And yet, when they DID get up: The patience they showed our two youngest sons was admirable.

Once they were up they were ready to go places and explore. Never even asking if we had any plans, they would stand by the door, hand on the handle and ask: "So? Are you not ready yet?" They loved to bargain at the market in old Jerusalem, they enjoyed and played in pools and the ocean, they played cards with the rest of the family and wandered through numerous, ancient ruins as well as experienced the adventures of other typical tourist "traps".
So, I swallowed my annoyance and took pleasure in beautiful, well behaved kid, when we went for another adventure in fascinating Israel.

Before we left home, we totally agreed on no internet. Quality time together, remember? I even deliberately left my laptop at home, bringing only my tablet.
It's all very good, and noone neither argued nor complained about it, except...: I am not very good at sleeping.

I have been thoroughly exposed in that aspect, due to social medias. People can see when I am online, and comment upon it. What they are doing online at those godforsaken hours I never ask, but since I've heard the comments so often, I find it annoying. If you wonder what I am doing online at late hours ask me then and there, don't bring it up three days later after having pondered and wondered and created possible scenarios about it.
Going on holidays, especially in summertime, is really the worst time to pull through my sleepless hours.

Small living units like holiday apartments really aren't suitable for me time. The slightest sound might wake up the rest of the family, and they all are sound sleepers who need their full eight hours, or more.
I have a wonderful tablet, but even with an external keyboard it really isn't a good tool for me when it comes to writing. And writing is more or less what I find appealing doing when I can't go online and I have read all the books I brought, and the book I bought yesterday was read last night.
Candy Crush is captivating for limited time only.

So I tip toe around the flat, wondering what to do. Lurking like a neurotic thief, anxious if I should bump into a light chair (which would cause a deafening noice scraping two inches across the floor) or the squeek of a door.
When we arrive I always listen and learn the sounds of a room: which door squeeks when, which step in the staircase creaks, can I hear water running in the next room?

Going for a walk is always an option, but my family doesn't feel comfortable knowing I am wandering about in the streets alone at dusk. I could lie, of course. Thing is, though: people have dogs, and dogs bark when they hear footsteps not supposed to pass their property... believe me, I have tried, and I still shrink with bad conscience thinking about the light which was turned on in a window upstairs. And what if someone called in an emergency call, stating a delusional, very confused woman is on the loose? You never know, right? And by the way; who would I tell? No wifi and Facebook really isn't an option, not untill we get to a cafe or something, and by then it is too late. The novelty of my soulful "me time" is gone.
Not to mention what my selfie would look like: no make up, no sane hairdo... much like a normal mug-shot. That is what happens when you delay your morning shower because you want to avoid hissing in the pipes this early.

I love silence. It is my favourite sound, and I can listen to the silence for a very long time, but I have discovered it is not so calming and certainly not such a relief, when I am overly aware of how I disturb the universe.
So there I go, the only thing left to do is to sit on the balcony, drink coffee, try to write on my tablet and curse my excellent idea of depriving the kids from the internet, online gaming, streaming movies and chats.

Vacation and shoes and stuff...

Vacation, Southern Mediterrean country... it is equivalent to long and lazy mornings with breakfast eaten outside in comfortable calm. Birds twittering, happy children laughing, the odd chair scraping against the tiled floor.
Coffee, freshly made juice, toast, scrambled eggs and lots of sweet pepper, tomatoes and cucumbers. Maybe even a newspaper in old fashioned paper edition, in a language I can understand, just to top it off. Oh, joy! That is the kind of vacation I deep down inside feel I deserve.
It`s not quite like that, though.

This year we chose to rent an apartment in Spain, on Costa del Sol. I give them that: They are real careful not to lie in the commercials: The beach stretches for kilometres on kilometres, it is just simply gorgeous and packed with people sunbathing, but noone swims or plays in the ocean. Maybe not that strange considering the water holds about the same temperature as it does at home. The Atlantic Ocean is close by and it is cold.
The temperature of the water is not mentioned anywhere! Neither when mentioning the ocean, nor the waterparks... both heated by the sun alone, and cooled off by the wind. It never crossed my mind it would be an issue. We love to swim and play in the water, but I have to admit there have been moments when even I regret getting in.
We went on vacation to Costa del Sol, the sunny coast, and the enticing, cheerful sound of that alone, made every logical and sensible thought about actual temperatures on land or in sea just shortcut. And then the first day here we had rain, thunder and lightening. Honest! I was just stunned in disbelief when I woke up and went outside on the terrace to have a mug of coffee... it was like as if I moved on an autopilot, not noticing anything, untill I stood there, in the rain, getting wet.

I left my running shoes at home. One of these halfways consious desitions I sometimes make.
The only shoes I brought are my sandals, a pair of high heeled sandals (which happen to be my very best pair of shoes: beautiful on, excellent quality and wearing them is like walking on clouds), and a pair of ballerina shoes in case of a shoe emergency.
But my running shoes are at home. They are blooming in stark pink calm and quiet at home. Probably on the hallway floor. I call them running shoes, because that is what they were intended for, but people who know me know I never run.

Last year we went to Turkey on an all-inclusive trip to Side. It was really hot, so we had nothing to do all day other than play and swim in the pool and eat and drink. After only a little while by the pool, my husband began to act restless.

Now, most people (normal people that is) in warmer countries, who like to think they are fit, get up early before the sun really starts to burn, and do their workout in comfortable temperature.
Not my husband. My husband likes to sleep a few hours more than me, which is fine, really. Not many can cope with three hours sleep. He gets up when he feels he is rested.

In Turkey we soon established a routine: We had a late breakfast, calmed down, splashed about in the pool... and then my husband started getting really restless, before he just wandered off and left. He was gone for a good hour, and then came back; soaking wet, drinking coke and looking really smug and content: He had jogged around the estate.

This year it all started very innocent. When you are staying somewhere you should be oriented about your whereabouts and where to find what. We told the kids we'd be right back, and left... just to explore the nearby environment, I thought... yes, I am still that naive.

Since I aspire to the ambitions of calling myself a fit woman in my prime (I just love these obvious, beautiful lies), I started my endomondo just outside the door.

- Why the big deal with endomondo?
- I like to keep track of where I go, how far, when, if I walk faster next time... you know; just because...
- Who do you keep the records for then? I can hear the badly hidden skepticism in his voice. He has doubts if his wife has started publishing the tales of a happy ever after, perfect life in pure family idyll.
- No, it's just me; I like to see progress, if there's any. I really, really need motivation, and my endomondo sportstracker app is really and truly helping
The fact that online friends have found my account, and that I add pictures from the walks, is to me totally uninteresting knowledge for him.

The very first day we wandered off, and got back an hour later. We had then walked about 1.6 km uphill (oh yes, we found a road leading us uphill) and down. A total of 3.2 km.
A week later we are gone for a couple of hours, walking more than 9 km. Still uphill... before going downhill again.
I do not intend to ask him if he does it to make me lose weight unconsciously, or if he just enjoys my company. Either way we thrive on our walkes, even though I gasp for air and sulk over my hurting ancles. (Of course I never ask him if he loves our walks, away from our demanding kids, just as much as I do.)

I don't know much about slopes, other than the fact they are steep, but there was a sign saying 10%. I don't know what that is 10% of, but I know it is supposed to be steep. The cars driving pass us struggled with their gear, speed and acceleration, and those riding bikes (all two of them) came almost to a halt, no matter how frantically they paddled.

Since I didn't bring my running shoes, I walked in my sandals. Beautiful, soft, comfortable, real leather sandals. They look great, but noone in their right mind would even consider walking up a mountain in them. It turned into a thing for me, a gimmick, to walk the walk in them. Like a quiet protest against pro equipment for amateurs.
In pure sympathy my husband wandered next to me, on bad asphalt, in his sandals.

Back in the apartment we have a fruit salad, a cup of coffee, before he casually makes his exit: "Eh... I just go for a quick run." He ties on his running shoes, and runs the route we just walked.

Yesterday we went to Ronda. A lovely mountain town in the Andalucian mountains (no, we didn't walk, we drove the car there).
My husband got me a lovely pair of tracking sandals... today my husband both walked, then later on ran, in his running shoes.

Planning on a good life....?

Not long ago I was planning, hypothetically of course…ehm…, on living my dream. The dream was triggered by an acquaintance who bought himself an apartment in Spain. He told tales of very high standard, all facilities, gym, swimmingpool, security services, maintenance, tennis court, golfing, beach near by…, with enthusiasm. There was no ending to the luxury and comfort available. “And the best part,” he said, “it cost next to nothing!”

I went online, curious about what he was talking about. I scrolled through the real estate for sale ads, but I didn’t find anything which had that instant appeal to me. There was no luxury apartment I thought would be somewhere worth visiting on a regular basis. Nor would I want to live in any of them. I mean; If you buy a vacation home you really should enjoy the stay, even if you rent it out to others for long periods of time.

What I did find, however, was a run down vineyard, just outside a picturesque village. The stock looked dead, or at best very neglected, as did the house. But to me it looked like heaven.

Here we live in a development where the houses are really close to one another, and the yards are very small. I long for space; room for air and light and my own sounds.

I have dreamt of a place like that for a few years, but now it became more of a attainable reality. The place was there; just like I had imagined. It looked like the perfect place for me to live and wind down; A haven where my hectic lifestyle should change into lazy days of effervescent creativity.

I made plans: a local family who knew how to grow grapes should be hired and live in the renovated house. The stock would be brought back to luscious crops. I would build a functional villa for my family. I made sketches of annexes for the visitors, and they would be many and frequent.

I planned on a bench around the olive tree in the yard, with blue, checkered, cushy seating. In the branches I would hang empty jam jars with candles, there would be a table… at least 5 meters long with room for at least 20 people eating 3 hours long meals.

All in all I pictured this abandoned farm full of life, laughter and abundance. Lemon-, olive-, apricot trees, herbs, vegetables, fruit, berries, fresh bread and cheese…

I could almost feel the mild evening breeze and smell the scent of a good life. I would learn how to write, sew, paint, take wonderful pictures and just live.

The thought of going to bed in the evening, knowing what the weather would be like the next day, was alone a thought which was very appealing to me.

All geared up and excited I told my significant other (my husband) about it all, painted the picture in every positive adjective I could think of… and his response?

He looked at me for a few seconds, and I could tell I wouldn’t like what he had to say… “Hun”, he said, “I don’t even mow the lawn…”

Does ancient knowledge become new?

A year and a half ago I was in Barcelona… and got my handbag stolen. I am not going to repeat that tragic story as I still find the whole thing very humiliating. I wrote about the incident on here, though, at the time.

When in Barcelona a coworker of mine and I were eating dinner at a fabulous (!) restaurant; I don’t remember the name… I asked for their card, and got it, but it was stolen, but I know my coworker still got the one I forced upon him: If ever in Barcelona again, I will go back. The food was beyond heavenly tasteful and delicate.

Anyway… I am not going to write about a restaurant I can’t remember the name of, so I will leave that for some other time, but during the meal it started raining.

You know: the kind of really hard shower which seems to rain upwards.

All of the guests dining outside pulled their tables closer together, to get out of the rain and under the canopy. It became a rather… intimate meal, shared with random strangers.

As it turned out I ended up sitting close to a man who was dining alone, and even though he had finished his meal, he took the time to chat with me when I approached him. You know, making comments about the rain, about the meal, the wine, where he was from…

He said things which made me think he was not just another tourist, so I asked what he was doing (I know, I am terrible like that: always interested in learning as much as possible about people who happens to be unfortunate enough to cross my path).

He was really easy going about my inquisitiveness and told me he was giving lectures and meeting up with scientists in Europe. And the field he was dealing with was astronomy. Imagine that! How exciting!

When I went to high school, I had a classmate who was very interested in astronomy, and he tried to make me understand the nature and principles of black holes. He spent an entire school year talking to me about it… and every time we had one of these discussions, he ended up shaking his head in resigned astonishment over my lack of scientific comprehension.

But this guy in Barcelona, Mark Neyrinck, had his own way to explain which made me understand what he was talking about.

He was working with (as far as I understood) a theory about: “Structures like galaxies and filaments of galaxies in the Universe come about from the origami-like folding of an initially flat three-dimensional manifold in 6D phase space”. OK, this is not a language I master. I understand it, but I don’t know how to create the sentences, so I stole the quote from http://arxiv.org/abs/1309.4787 In short: The Origami Cosmic Web of Galaxies.

To me this makes perfectly sense.

Our planet is still shaping, folding and shifting. “The Indian plate is continuously moving north at the rate of about 2 cms every year. Because of this reason the Himalayas are rising at the rate of about 5 millimeter per year. This means that the Himalayas are still geologically active and structurally unstable.” http://library.thinkquest.org/10131/geology.html

(Internet is a great thing when it comes to copy and paste… why spend minutes pondering about how to put it in words, when someone else already did it so much better than I will ever be able to.)

The ravine dividing America from Europe is getting wider and deeper every year. Maldives may disappear from the world in next 100 years if the sea-level keep rising; Because of global warming, glaciers are melting so rapidly it results in sea-level rise. The entire planet is still changing and under construction. I used to think the world is changing, but the planet is constant. I am not so sure I believe that anymore.

I am not going to try to be scientific or anything, but as far as I know all ancient cultures have stories about how the world was created, and they refer to it as being flat.

I know for a fact that the stories which were told through times, and later written down, hold a lot of truths in them. They are wise guidelines to a good life, and are valid even today, thousands of years later. Those old guys were smart; they knew what they were talking about.

Maybe they knew this about the making of our planet as well…?

getting away and unwind: quality time with family

Most people, who are parents, would recognize and identify the feeling of anticipating what life will be like when your child is born.

Then, one day, you wake up from the trance everyday domesticity cast upon you, you watch your child and wonder “Just how did he/she grow up to be so big, already? What happened to everything I planned on doing with my child? What about the treasured moments I held out expectations of?”

“How could I miss out on making that newborn baby plaster cast of my baby’s hand and foot? How could I miss out on collecting ANY of those mementos I looked forward to sigh for and display.?”

Moments passed and lost forever. You realize you can’t turn back the clock and live those hours, days, weeks, months, years over again.

When I look back, what I regret the most is the hurry. During those flustered musts and doings we lived through, in order to let the kids participate in as much as possible, I feel like we just briefly took a glance, rather than experience. We didn’t calm down to enjoy life... we just lived it.

But when on vacation, after that first week when I learned how to lower my shoulders and put timeschedules aside, I am grateful to say we unwind. We took the time to relax and just inhale the spirit of just being at ease.

Or, did we? I can’t say I remember much from our vacations. Not when I really think back. I remember what I see when looking through our photo albums. Albums where I have glued in programs, tickets, tiny objects picked up here and there, along with the pictures, where careful notes are written down... at least on those first four pages.

The panic when packing and you have to explain your kid he can’t bring an entire suitcase stuffed with toys, and definitely not the teddybear the size of himself (never plays with it, either, but found it when packing and just felt he needed it for the trip).

The passports just disappear 10 minutes before you HAVE TO rush out the doors, and just in time you find them in that small pocket in your bag, where you always keep them when travelling.

I have a special bag when travelling; it has room for everything, and then some, and is very convenient.

Being a mum means that you end up being a beast of burden. Even though all the kids have their own rucksack, I end up with all the waterbottles and small matters they collect and buy.

It stresses me to always carry a heavy bag, when what I really want to do is to just carry my camera, and keep cash and credit card in a pocket. Especially when I am always trying to keep track of where my lovely ones are at all times. (I am not a tall person so after three days my neck feels four inches longer than it does the rest of the year.) And my eyes get that wandering, searching gaze you recognize all parents on holidays by.

The feeling of being disoriented is intensifies by the numerous free, and bought, maps which you get hold on to get where you want and do and see what you want at site. They are very seldom updated, and toilets nearby are forgotten about. Everybody with kids knows how important it is to know where those facilities are at... they are needed NOW, preferably ten minutes ago.

Those things have completely slipped my mind... also the fact that I never look sharp when travelling with my family: sticky sunscreen, melting ice cream and sand everywhere are never becoming.

Just struck me now: the things I have no pictures of, but which characterize our holidays the best, are bags, maps and wet wipes...

Humiliation

I have been humiliated, my self-esteem has been reduced to next to nothing. To be cocky led me nowhere but to grief. I guess you can say I learned the hard way to never stray from what you preach… I am humble, but not broken… just about ready to build my confidence back up to the level it used to be.

Last weekend I was in Barcelona along with the staff at my school. 120 coworkers travelled together to a big city for a workshop on classroom management and to get challenged on social bonding. The school has 200 employees, and it is hard to get to know one another. On a trip like this we are forced to interact on a different level than we do on an everyday basis and I have to say it really lifts the spirit and the motivation. To know your coworkers on a more personal level makes cooperation easier and more… we just consider cooperation more of a commitment towards one another when we get to know each other. Just like we do in any other aspects of life.

So, what is the humiliating part in all this? My handbag was stolen in a skating park/playground. It seems so unfair, and yet I have no one to blame but myself; I knew we were in a big city, I knew that a lot of theft occure and I know about all the precautions you have to take in order to protect yourself from being robbed.

I even told my roommate not to bring any valuables with her: “Bring a credit card, if you have to, and cash. Everything else you put in the safe and lock it”.

So.... instead of doing what I preach and taking the time to put everything in the safe in the room; I chuck everything in my bag and ran off... I was planning to return to the room shortly anyway, and it was stolen.

 We were 8 coworkers sitting on a bench working. That is what the hurry was all about: I had to get there on time, you see. (Feels good to come up with an excuse, no matter how dumb.) I had my hand on my handbag.... turned to my coworker to discuss what we were going to do.... put my hand back on my bag and hit empty air

None of us even noticed anybody. That is: we were approached by a guy on a bicycle who asked us where we came from and if we spoke English (Very classic, I know; one person distracts the group, and a second person steals the stuff.)

It is very annoying and I could kick myself for falling for the trick. On the other hand you really have to admire the skills. So clever. Imagine what they could do if they used their skills to something constructive.

They are so fast as well, I didn’t even notice a shadow or anything. A guy sitting on a bench behind us said I was looking for a very young child, so young he was not even in school, but…

I don't know if he was in on it or not, but the essence is: my handbag was gone.

The outcome from this loot, apart from making me feel like an idiot (and to some of you this might be an interesting insight in a woman’s handbag) was:

-       A very nice handbag

-       A jacket

-       A great purse containing:

o   Cash:

§  140 Euros,-

§  $ 40,-

§  Nok 100,-

- Visa credit card
- Visa Cash card
o   Proof of travel insurance
o   Register id for my dog

o   And a couple of discount cards to different stores.

-       My lunch (prepared by the hotel: a baguette, a sandwich, a youghurt, an apple, a bottle of water and a juice with a straw)

-       A printout of my ticket

-       My passport

-       A mini flask of Wunderberg (caughmedicine…ehm…)

-       Make up (a couple of lip sticks, hand lotion, concealer and a mascara)

-       My mobile phone

I have been criss crossing the Middle East, travelled around Europe to quite a few cities and places, been to the US and this was the first time ever for me... but I had a clear thought of what I had to do, so basically they got nothing from it other than cash, which, to be honest, I think is what they were after.

At the end of the day they didn’t get anything really valuable to anyone else but me, but it is just so humiliating knowing some stranger has been going through my stuff, I don’t know how they treated it all, i.e. what they did to my mobile phone with pictures of my kids in it.

Talking about pictures: they saw the picture of me in my passport… a picture I have refused to show anyone (for reasons known to everybody who curl up inside with shame every time they have to present their passport). I am not sure a theft can be more personal than that.

hand luggage

I love to travel. To see new places and meet new people is a great joy to me, and I enjoy travelling by myself. Not that I don’t enjoy travelling  with someone, but when you are on your own you get to move in your own pace, you sit down and watch people, drink a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, you get in touch with people who address you just because you look a bit helpless when you turn the map or traveller’s guide in all kinds of directions… and it does not help a bit and you just look very disoriented… which I am all of the time, but that is a well kept secret…. Until now…

Being blond and having blue eyes does not assure people I know what I am doing either. But you know what? I have never met anyone anywhere who was not nice and helpful.

One of the things I appreciate is to check in my baggage and just hold on to my handbag; let someone else worry about getting my suitcase to its destination.

I have never lost luggage, yet, so I have no bad experiences on that department. My well used, worn out brown suitcase, with pink flowers on it, always gets where it is supposed to end up: on the conveyor band in the pick-up zone. Thinking about it now the strange look of it might have something to do with my successful luggage experiences. It does not scream “exclusive contents”, to put it mildly.

Now… most airlines state you are allowed to carry one hand luggage, and there are limited measures for this hand luggage, in order to make sure there is room for it in the luggage rack. Problem is: travellers have a lot more in their hands than just the one allowed hand luggage.

So, people pack a small suitcase in order to not check in their luggage, they want to bring it into the plane in order to make sure they do not lose it, or they just want to be able to leave the destination airport as soon as possible, without the hassle it is to wait 5 minutes for it to arrive, so they trolley their suitcase, with wheels rumbling on the tiles, because it is amazing how heavy a small suitcase can get when you pack with determination.

Then they have their handbag the size of a traveller’s bag, where they keep everything which did not fit into the suitcase, and then they need to stop by tax free shops to get some bottles or snacks or make up or whatever they fancy… (In big, international airports I often see cars displayed. Do people actually buy cars at the tax free on airports? I always wonder when I pass the fancy line up of cars.)

By the time last call is announced for my flight, people line up to check in struggling with everything they have to make sure they remember to bring.

I take my time; the plane will not leave without me as long as I am there in time and my boarding card is ok.

So I sit and wait for the busy passengers who want to get there, where ever “there” might be. (I am not sure if they think the plane will leave early if they push, if they just enjoy being on board so much they will  board as soon as possible or if they know they have so much on their hands they need to get there early to occupy a luggage rack in order to get all their items and bags stuffed in there.)

In either case: when I enter the plane I am waiting in the isle for forever. People stack their suitcase, their computer bag, their handbag, their shopping bags and their jacket or coat and it takes time. Things fall out and need to be carefully nudged in place so they can close the hatch.

Eventually people sit down, with a relieved sigh, and I get to find my seat. I place my handbag under the seat in front of me and struggle to find place for my feet. I do not even think about placing it in the luggage rack, I am not tall and my one experience doing that was an avalanche of things over my head and 3 very annoyed fellow passengers.

On long flights you get a blanket and a pillow… with my handbag under the seat and me struggling to find comfortable room for my feet, there really isn’t a lot of room for the blanket and the pillow… so they end up in my lap.

It is hard to fold down the table when you have a blanket and a pillow on your lap, but even worse is how warm it gets. The temperature in an airplane full of passengers is high, and with the blanket and the pillow on my lap I feel like having the world’s longest hot flash… getting worried this is the exact time my menopause sets in. Not yet, but I have an idea of what it will feel like.

When you have been on a trip, it is normal to mention you have been away, and those you talk with will always comment upon what you tell and give their anecdotes from their own travels.

When I get to the part where I complain about how difficult it is to get comfortable on the plane they burst out with an enthusiastic tirade about how genius it is to bring the suitcase and handbag and computer bag and shopping bags and coats into the plane and just stowe it away in the luggage rack… no sweat!

On holidays in the Middle East

20 odd years ago I lived in Israel for a year. Working as a volunteer in a Kibbutz appealed to me with its easy going carefree approach to life. I was in my late teens, blond, blue eyes, alone and had no other concern than showing up at work on time. Other than that I was taken care of. No bills, no deadlines, I handed my clothes in at the laundry service, I showed up at mealtimes, I was given free alcohol and cigarettes (if I wanted any), there was a pool available and if I did not want to take the bus (which then was an easy and convenient way to travel) a car was provided if I ever wanted to go somewhere. I had a good and carefree life with perks noone could sneer at or brush aside as trifling.

Two years ago I took my family back to the Middle east. My kids were 2, 8 and 14 years old. I thought I was going to familiar grounds. That I was going to show where I spent a year of my life totally different from the life I have here.

My kids were so impressed by the temperature, the beaches, the food in the restaurants, the vivid people and friendly attitude. My sons got their hair ruffled by almost every person who passed us by, complimented with a smile, and I had to explain to them that it is still not common to see natural light blond people in Israel.

However: what impressed the kids the most was how we could walk around in a museum, go diveing with dolphines, wander about in some historic ruin and then end up in an amusementpark. Just within short distance and hardly any travellingtime at all. And for this reason they wanted to go back this year as well. When children that different in age agree on something a mother is thankful, and to me Israel is the ideal country to go on a holiday.