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About Ramblings of a Hopeless Khowaga

Welcome to my Web site. My name is Chris, and I’ll be your host. I live in Austin, Texas, with my partner, Ray, and our child dog, Mocha. You can read more about me, learn 100 random things about me, and if you’re wondering what the heck a khowaga is, click here. Feel free to browse, read, and leave comments!

Tag: ‘packing’



12 of 12: November 2009

Thursday, November 12th, 2009

I’m back!  I missed a month last month — it was very upsetting for me, but it couldn’t be helped.

Let’s launch right in, shall we?

8:06 am: Mopey Mocha

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Y’know, you’d think that it would make Mocha happy when I stay home from work, but it just seems to confuse and depress her…

8:37 am: Smile Pretty for the Camera, Dear

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I snap a photo of Ray and don’t show it to him so that he can’t tell me he doesn’t like how he looks in it.

8:40 am: Bone

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Ah.  That’s why she was moping.

9:00 am: All Hail the Browncoats!

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Shortly before leaving the house, Ray reminds me that there was a Halloween episode of Castle that we hadn’t seen that contained an homage by Nathan Fillion to his previous show, cult-hit Firefly (to whose cult I happily belong).  Sure enough, 12 seconds in, there’s Nathan, strapping on the brown coat and emerging from his room to the consternation of his TV daughter:

“What’s that?”
“I’m a … space cowboy.”
“OK, one, there are no cows in space, and, two, didn’t you wear that, like, five years ago?  It’s time to move on.”
“… but I like it.”

This elicits a squeal of delight from me of the sort that would have made my father very, very unhappy.

9:58 am: Packing

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I’m off to Atlanta for a conference.  I hate taking the large suitcase, and I hate paying to check luggage.  However, I’ve paid a ridiculous amount to ship stuff to this conference, and I’d like to be able to bring any leftovers home.  And, in my defense, the red backpack in the suitcase is all stuff for the exhibit table.

11:57 am: At the Airport

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1:14 pm: Into the Wild Blue Yonder

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1:18 pm: My Overpriced Airport Lunch

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You know you’re jealous.

3:17 pm (Austin) / 4:17 pm (Atlanta): I will not make fun of the guy in the obnoxious T-shirt oh, who am I kidding?

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Yes, I’m going to Hell.  This still isn’t why.

4:36 pm: Baggage Claim

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The good news about the Atlanta Airport is that by the time you take the escalator to the train to the terminal and up the escalator and finally find the baggage claim for your flight, your bags are already circulating.

5:29 pm: Room with a View

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Granted, the room only has this view if you press up against the glass, but it’s something.

7:02 pm: All ready!

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My corner of the exhibition booth is all set up!  Now it’s off to a reception (the word “stultifying” falls short — seriously, why bother having a mixer reception if you’re going to deliver prepared remarks through half of it?), a quick snack in the lobby of CNN headquarters (where I saw a picture of Anderson Cooper!), and off to early bed, because I’ve lost an hour over the course of the day — and need to keep it that way.  I’m on a roundtable at 8 am!

Hope your 12th was lovely!

Here, there, everywhere

Friday, July 3rd, 2009

I’m currently sitting in seat 5B on an AnadoluJet flight from Ankara to Sanli Urfa in the southeast part of Turkey.  We’ve been moving rather quickly these past couple of days — while we were sitting in the airport in Antalya, from whence we departed just a couple of hours ago, we had to take a moment to reflect on the fact that we have been in the country all of three days.  It feels like we’ve been here much longer.

In all honesty, this program has gone much better than I had let myself hope.  The organization that I’m working with is somewhat legendary for packing the itineraries on these trips so full that at least half of the participants wind up having to sit out a day or two due to illness incurred from lack of sleep.  Hence, I’m rather pleased that it does appear that they listened to my pleas not to overschedule the program, even if at first glance it may not have appeared as such.

When last I checked in, I was on an early morning flight to Izmir, Turkey’s third largest city.  I’ve never actually been to Izmir, and that, unfortunately, didn’t really change this time either.  We were met at Adnan Menderes airport and boarded a bus from which we went directly to the Greco-Roman city of Ephesus, an hour south.

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This was the group photo that we took that somehow I never wound up actually being in.  (“Hang on, I’m going to use my timer … where are you all going?”)  Oh, well.

There are, for the record, a lot more photos on my Flickr account.  As I’m doing most of my blogging offline, it’s very difficult for me to link to them from here, but check them out, OK?

Where was I?  Ephesus.  It’s a large old city, and I’ve been there before.  Still looks old.  The new attractions this time around were that the very large amphitheater was open (last time it was closed), although I walked in, took one look, and realized that I would have given myself heatstroke walking up to the top.  Instead, I discovered the other new attraction: Royal Caribbean and Celebrity Cruises pay local people to dress up like Romans and act out cheese-tastic skits for their passengers coming in from the nearby port of Kusadasi.

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This appeared to be a swordfighting match – it was kind of hard to tell, since the two fighters just yelled a lot a la Conan the Barbarian.  I guess that’s what you have to do with such a multilingual crowd.

After Ephesus, we went up the hill to the Meryamane Evi, the house where it is reputed where the Virgin Mary lived her last years in this earthy existence.  Most of you probably do not recall (as I don’t think I blogged it at the time), but the last time I was at Meryamane, one of the people in my group pitched a complete and utter fit in the parking lot because one of the interpretive signs at the site said that Mary lived there “until she died.”  As good Catholics know (and this woman was a better Catholic than you, and wanted everyone to know it) Mary did not die — she fell asleep and was lifted into heaven by angels.  The fact that she had earlier sneered that Eastern Orthodoxy was still full of superstitious beliefs that had been removed from Catholicism was an irony lost only on her.

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Anyway, as pieces of real estate went, Mary had a pretty nice one.  It’s set on a hilltop just outside where the walls of the city of Ephesus would have been located amongst the fir trees and pleasant flowering vines, and it catches a nice sea breeze coming in off of the Aegean Sea.  I should be so lucky.

Then came the visit to the pottery factory.  I’m always resistant to these sorts of “quick visits to a local factory” because they inevitably turn into sales pitches, but it wasn’t bad as these things go … and it turns out that membership has its privileges.  She knew the group we were with and offered us a 50% discount on the spot.  Unfortunately, that means that most of it was still out of my price range, but …

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Purdy, ain’t it?

After that, lunch at a ranch … that turned out to just be a ranch.  No actual house there — we thought we had been invited to someone’s home for lunch, and that turned out not to be the case.  They did, however, have a random yurt in the yard, which got us going on at length about words that are fun to say — “yurt” being one of them.

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Yurt!

So, after the yurt excursion, we did a double-shot in Selcuk to the site of the Basilica of St. John and the so-called Jesus Mosque.  The problem with the first is that they don’t actually know who St. John was — they’re not sure if it’s the Apostle, the one who wrote the Gospels, the one who wrote Revelation, or a completely different John.

It’s a prettier site than I remembered, though:

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Next door is the mosque of Isabey.  Isa is the Islamic name of Jesus, but despite the fact that everyone said it was the Jesus mosque, it turns out that it was named for some guy who lived in the thirteenth century named — you guessed it, Isabey.  Close, but no cigar.

After that was our first visit to a school on this trip, which was interesting.  As of now, we’ve had three with a fourth pending.

Shortly after the school visit, it was back to Adnan Menderes airport for a flight to Antalya that arrived at 11:30 pm.  Exhausted,we trundled off to the Marmara Hotel, which turned out to be a five star deluxe on the coast (not to be confused with “the beach”).  But when your coast looks like this, who cares?

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The day was fraught with various ventures: morning visit to the Antalya Museum, followed by lunch at a local school, followed by a walking tour of old Antalya that lasted for three whole blocks.  Again, when the blocks look like this, who am I to complain?

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This was followed by the inevitable shopping excursion to a carpet store.  The guide was very sneaky on that front — after consulting with our hosts, the four of us had unanimously decided that there would be no carpet shopping.  Then prayer time came and the three of them went into a nearby mosque to pray …and so the tour guide suggested that a nice place to wait for them might be the carpet shop.  Ha ha!  I went into the mosque and sat in the air conditioning instead.  If I buy a carpet — and that’s a big if — I’ll do it in Istanbul at the end.  I’m flirting with overweight luggage flying domestically in Turkey and I don’t need that weighing on my conscious.

I’m going to wrap up this narrative here.  At the moment it’s half past midnight in Sanliurfa (see map), and although I’m wide awake, balancing a hot laptop on my stomach isn’t the best thing to do to get ready for bed.  More later …

Geography Lessons

Sunday, June 28th, 2009

It’s a lazy Sunday afternoon.  Or, rather, I’m being lazy this Sunday afternoon.  In a little over 24 hours, I’m supposed to leave for Turkey and Egypt for three weeks, and as of this moment I haven’t lifted a finger to begin packing.  I am relaxing, as it were.

It’s been a heck of a couple of weeks.  I’ve run three workshops — the last one was the orientation for another group going to Turkey who left yesterday morning.  Now that they’re gone, I’m barely able to grasp the concept that I, myself, am leaving.  Tomorrow.  So, instead of getting ready to go, I’m going to blog about it instead.  Ha!

Ray’s parents were visiting — they left this morning.  I barely got to see them since this last workshop was the sort that involves me playing host at breakfast, lunch, and dinner (I did eat well).  Yesterday, before my marathon two hour nap that is part of my effort to not begin my trip already physically exhausted, we all went to see the new Transformers movie, Revenge of the Fallen.

Some things you might be interested in knowing about it up front:

  • Even Ray, the one who really wanted to go, said it was “OK.”  This is tantamount to saying it wasn’t very good.
  • Megan Fox is not a good actress, but she’s hardly the worst actress in the movie.
  • Shia LeBeouf is going to have to stop playing a teenager soon.

However, the part of the movie that started making my head hurt was the utterly ridiculous sequence set in the Egyptian desert in which the filmmakers used very famous landmarks apparently banking on the audience not knowing where they are located.  That and the continuity gaffes were appalling.

To whit (potential spoilers ahead):

Part of the plot involves, for no particular reason as far as I can see, the northern tip of the Gulf of Aqaba, which our friendly geography specialist announces, “is where Egypt and Jordan meet.”  Thats’ not quite true: Egypt and Jordan don’t meet there because Israel is located between them.  Lest the movie be accused of being anti-semitic for pretending Israel isn’t there, Jordan seems to be flexible.  By which I mean, it apparently gets up and moves out of the way when it would be too inconvenient to recognize that an international border is being crossed.

In fact, based on all of the GPS technology and maps, it would appear that the climax of the film takes place in Saudi Arabia, another country denied its due as a member of the club of countries that border the Gulf of Aqaba (Jordan having only 9 miles of coastline).

Lest this be a problem in and of itself, the pyramids of Giza are conveniently relocated (by Michael Bay) to be located on the Gulf of Aqaba itself.  (Again, in what should very clearly be Saudi Arabia). To be fair, they’re never specifically identified as the pyramids of Giza, but if that were the case they could have used less recognizable pyramids.

The pyramids of Giza, for those not in the know, are no longer on the outskirts of Cairo — now, they’re kind of within the urban area itself.  At various times during the scenes that follow, you might be able to see Cairo itself in the background.  Sometimes it’s replaced by desert, giving the sites the appearance of being out in the middle of nowhere.  Once it seems to have inexplicably been replaced with Los Angeles, with the telltale skyline quite clearly visible in the background.

We won’t even get started on the concrete quarry located at the base of the pyramids itself.

There’s another intriguing play with geography involving John Turturro’s character.  The pyramid that plays a critical role (I won’t say what it is) is quite clearly the number two pyramids: the pyramid of Khafra (sometimes spelled Kahfre or Chephren).  It’s distinctive because part of the smooth limestone casing remains covering the top portion — it’s the only one of the three at Giza that still has part of that original casing.  Turturro is shown at the bottom of this pyramid, and then, when we go to close up, it appears behind him while he’s supposedly still standing at the bottom of it.  Clearly those scenes were filmed at the base of the next one over.

Another interesting move in the film is that Karnak temple, located 350 miles south of Cairo, is relocated to the foot of the pyramids.  Which were supposedly undiscovered.  Next to a big city.  Next to a source of navigable water.  And — another favorite — within shouting distance of the ruins of Petra … which, in a nod to Jordan’s new geographic flexibility, is located in Egypt.

I’m willing to forgive oversights in geography from time to time, but this was too much for my brain to handle.  I instead amused myself by identifying where the scenes were filmed (this being how I noticed LA suddenly replacing Cairo in one take).

Anyway.  My vote on the movie as a whole is to save it for video … if you’re really interested.

The drier has dinged and it’s probably time to drag out the suitcase now.  Happy weekend!

The Never-Gonna-Get-There Blues

Tuesday, January 6th, 2009

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It’s currently 8:19 pm Austin time, 6:19 pm San Francisco time, and I haven’t got the foggiest idea what time it is in Korea because, as far as I can tell, we’re never actually going to get there.

I’ve been on long flights before, but it never ceases to amaze me how you can zonk out for what feels like hours, have vivid dreams (in my case, accompanied by equally vivid cursing people out–out loud–to the consternation of both my boyfriend and the other passengers, and wake up to discover you’ve been out for about thirty minutes.  Ugh.

It has been a long, exhausting couple of days. On Saturday night (jeez, was that only two days ago?), Rodney had us over for a make your own pizza night.  We’ve done these in the past; they’re kind of fun.  He gets dough from a local Italian restaurant and then everyone gets to make up their own toppings.  It’s a nice idea in theory, however, between the overconsumption of pizza with odd and conflicting toppings and my nerves about the trip (yes, I get a little anxious before travel, especially to new parts of the world where I don’t even know how to say “yes” or “no”), I was up half the night.  Had my digestive system been an airplane, the flight attendants would have been on the PA making the announcement to “please exit the aircraft through the nearest door.”  That started around 2 in the morning and continued in fits and spurts (no pun intended, although perfectly applicable) until around 9.

The panic attack happened around 10 when I began contemplating what would happen if I hadn’t recovered enough to make the trip.  Between the, “what if I can’t fly tomorrow because I’m still too sick?” and “dear God what is wrong with me that I’m stressing this much about this trip,” well … I’ve had panic attacks before, and I’ve heard said that people have confused them with heart attacks.  This was the first time I ever had one of those kinds of panic attacks.  Fortunately, I knew what was happening and was able to take measures accordingly without involving a trip to the emergency room or somesuch.  It did, however, involve me sleeping a good chunk of the early afternoon.

Anyway, where this is all going is that it was mid-afternoon before either myself or Ray was ready to begin packing.  As the luggage is in the cargo hold, I’m still not convinced we didn’t forget … many things, but we seem to have done all right with the carry ons.

Mom and Dad came to pick us up at 5:30 in the morning — which, because it’s my parents, meant that they came at 5:20.  I had these grandiose visions of taking all sorts of artistic shots of the luggage and the tickets splayed out along with out passports and … yeah, no.  Flying the first Monday morning — the first work day — after New Year’s is ridiculous.  We got to the airport in Austin, and thank God that Dad has earned elite status with United Airlines because if we’d had to go through the main check in line, we might, in fact, still be waiting.  The line for security — all three of them — were wrapped around the terminal.  By the time we got through security, we stopped-by mutual agreement-long enough to pick up something to eat since none of us had had breakfast, and walked right on the airplane.

Three and a half hours later we were in gray, rainy San Francisco, where we had the fun and excitement of a four hour layover that involved repeated walks up and down the G concourse, where there isn’t much in the way of food that’s inexpensive or particularly fast.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we boarded this here Boeing triple-7  that, according to the Airshow program on my little foldout screen, is currently at 35,000 feet, traveling around 500 miles per hour on a west northwest heading over the Pacific Ocean a good distance south of the Aleutian islands.  We’re not even halfway there yet – Korea (nor Japan) hasn’t even come into view on the screen.

I know the best thing for it is to just sit here and tune out everything, and accept that we’ll get there at some point, but there’s no rush.  My limit on being able to sit still the entire flight, though, is right around 9-10 hours.  This one’s scheduled at 12 and a half.

I wonder if I can score another glass of water off the flight attendant.

Next post from Korea, or bust!

Results of the packing experiment

Saturday, May 24th, 2008

And now, a few days later than I intended, are the results of the packing experiment that I outlined in my .

I just returned from a whirlwind business trip (got home last night) to southern Spain and Morocco during which I would need to dress somewhat formally for meetings, and a few days before I left, I heard an interview on NPR with the founder of OneBag.com, a sort of self-help guide to the overpacker.

As anyone who has been paying attention to the latest shenanigans of cash-strapped airlines knows, advice on how to pack for a length trip using only a carry-on roller back is about to become golden, given that American Airlines announced this week that they intend to start charging passengers to check baggage. That’s right, $15 for one bag, $25 for the second (for a total of $40 — each way — if you want to take two bags with you). In other words, one of the US legacy carriers has decided to take inspiration from RyanAir, Europe’s rock bottom low cost carrier, and charge you to take luggage on board the aircraft.

Soon, I imagine, they will install coin-operated turnstiles at the entrance to the jetway, and passengers without exact change will be unable to board the aircraft (or exit it). Also, you’ll need to bring your own cup on board for sodas. As a casual business traveler who makes a few trips each year, my response will likely be typical of most travelers: I shall avoid American Airlines when possible (I notice that Northwest is considering following suit, which is fine with me because I never fly them. I make a habit of avoiding airlines whose employees actively hate working for them).

Anyway.

OneBag.com encourages the idea of bundling your clothing (handy chart here), which I illustrated in my 12 of 12 post to a number of intrigued comments. The whole idea is that you bundle clothing together in a way that minimizes hard creases so that wrinkles don’t set in. The OneBag.com guy (whose name I don’t remember and am too lazy to look up) says that folding each item of clothing individually and packing it in stacks is about the least space-efficient thing you can do, and it pretty much guarantees that every item of clothing will arrive at its destination with sharp creases in it. I can definitely attest to that, so I was willing to give it a shot.

Several of my commenters raised the point that the disadvantage of bundling your clothing is that if you’re on a multi-stop itinerary, you have to un-bundle and then re-bundle at each stop, because the only way to reach stuff on the inside is to undo the entire bundle. This is true. For me, it wasn’t a concern on this trip because I had two meetings at my first destination, Sevilla, from which I would return to Madrid for the night, fly to Morocco, and then, at my destination in Morocco, there would be a laundromat, where I could wash all of my clothing. Hence, I really only needed to pack for Sevilla, and then have a set of travel-ready clothing for the last night in Madrid — once my clothes were washed in Morocco, I could then re-pack for the second half of the trip.

So, let’s off to Spain!

I had two bundles, packed into a large Samsonite suitcase that looks like every other large Samsonite suitcase out there, which I checked with Delta Air Lines because they don’t charge for bags yet. (They have, however, dropped their maximum weight to 50 lbs, even for international trips.)

The day I left, my luggage was loaded into the trunk of my car, hauled down to the Austin Airport.

From Austin, we flew to New York on a regional jet:

In New York, we had a three and a half hour layover before we flew to Madrid.

To our surprise — and clearly to the captain’s — shortly after we started taxiing out toward the runway, he came on and made the following announcement: “Well, folks, usually at JFK around this time in the evening, there’s quite a bit of traffic. We’re used to being 30th in line for takeoff. Tonight, however, we must have pushed back at just the right time, because we’re number 4 in line for takeoff. We’ll be airborne shortly — flight attendants, please be seated.”

Thus freed from waiting in line, we took off and flew across the ocean and landed in Madrid almost an hour early.

From Barajas Airport, we took a taxi to the Puerta Atocha train station, where I tried in vain — unsuccessfully — to get us on an earlier train to Sevilla. We were at the train station a little before 10 am, and I had booked us on the 1 pm train, since we weren’t originally supposed to land before 9:30. However, it’s apparently somewhat difficult to change return tickets on the AVE — Spain’s high speed train — so instead we sat with our luggage and drank repeated cups of coffee in the old section of the station, which has been converted into a large atrium.

At 12:30, we reported to the appropriate platform and hauled our luggage into the overflowing luggage rack for the two and a half hour trip to Sevilla’s Santa Justa Station.

In Sevilla we (I) collected the rental car, threw the luggage in the trunk, and, after several sweaty moments with cars honking behind me and a gate that wouldn’t open, managed to figure out how to put a Pugeot into reverse (pull up on the ring under the gear shift knob), ran back into the station, got another ticket for the gate, out into Sevilla traffic, and following the voice of our uptight British-accented GPS, arrived at the Ibis Hotel Sevilla, where, after yet another round of swearing at the car, I finally managed to get into the shower, wash off 24 hours of travel, and see the results of the bundling experiment.

Bundle number 1.

The only major casualty in bundle 1 was this shirt, which had nicely defined creases in the lower section. In all fairness, this probably means I didn’t pull them out when I bundled the shirt in the first place.

Bundle 2:

Bundle two was the less secure of the two, as it was on top and overlapping the other slightly.

For a linen shirt, this is nearly perfectly pressed after being in a suitcase for two days.

My Brooks Brothers Shirt has quite a bit of wrinkling – the nice thing about Brooks Brothers stuff is that the wrinkles hang out overnight. Still, this one’s a bit of a mess. So were these trousers:

As I hung these up, I realized that I had made what was, in all actuality, a bit of a blunder in choosing a suitcase — it was much too large, and only about half full, with the two bundles secured by the straps. I chose it because it has four wheels instead of two, knowing that I would be traveling around airports and train stations, and four wheeled suitcases move much easier. However, this also gave the bundles — especially the one on top — far more room to bounce around and loosen, and thus form more wrinkles. I’ll need to give this a try when the bundles are much more securely packed and see how that works.

 

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