we are home, home from rome

(This was my stupid grin all through Italy.)

So we went to Italy.  We went to Italy for three wonderful, fabulous weeks.  Despite mixed weather, loss of one passport (mine), and fifteen (yes, 15!) bug bites (just on me, natch), it may have been one of our best trips ever.  

We flew into Rome and were there for three nights. Then we took the train to Sorrento and spent an afternoon at Pompeii, a day touring the Amalfi coast, and then took a ferry to Capri, where we spent our 9th anniversary. From there we returned to Sorrento, picked up a rental car, and drove to Le Marche by way of Civita di Bagnoreggio. We stayed 3 nights in Le Marche at the most amazing agriturismo and explored the area.  After that we drove down to Pienza through Arezzo and Cortona.  We spent the next day driving around Tuscany, and dropping our car off in Florence.  After three days and nights in Florence exploring museums, we took the train to Cinque Terre, stopping to spend part of the day in Lucca on the way there.  We explored Cinque Terre as well as Portovenere to the south and Sestri Levante to the north in 4 days, and then we spent most of a day traveling by train to Venice.  We spent two days and nights getting lost in Venice and then took the train to Milan, where we flew out the next morning.  It felt like a lifetime but it flew by seemingly in the amount of time it took me to write this paragraph.

And now we are back and we are sad. I can’t seem to get out of my funk. Nothing seems worth getting excited about: not work, not baking, not running, not the upcoming holidays.  All I want to do is curl up in bed and dream about Italy. Or possibly just grab Mr. Bump by the hand and head to the airport with our passports and a credit card and never come back.  Instead, while I am desperately trying to pull myself backward through the hedge into my life, I thought I would take some time to tell you the stories and show you the pictures from our trip.  Maybe it’ll help me get over Italy.  As if that were even possible.  Stay tuned for our adventures and  pictures.

part 2 - in flight

I'm going to start at the beginning here, and I don't know how long this is going to take to tell, so if you start to nod off just keep checking back until I get to the part that interests you.


We left on a Wednesday morning, the 23rd. Our first leg took us to Minneapolis, but let me back up a bit. The "we" on this trip mostly consists of myself, Mr. Bump, and our friends J&J. They were the instigators of this trip, and we were so grateful for their inviting us on it, and shepherding us through the complicated task of booking everything. It was, to say the least, an ordeal.

There was a good deal of nervousness about a close connection in between our flight to Minneapolis and the flight from there on to Amsterdam. The day before the trip we managed to switch (without fees) to an earlier flight (thanks to our friend J. who was extraordinary in managing all the flights. Really. She rocked it for over a year on all these details). Anyway our intended flight had been late 4 times in the last couple of weeks, which would have meant we would have missed our connection, with no great way to get on from there. So we managed to get on an earlier flight, which meant we had to be at the airport at 7:00-7:30. J&J picked us up at 6:30 so we could park their car and catch the shuttle and get to the airport, etc.


My contribution to the flight was some snacks--I made these and these, which ended up getting us all the way to Johannesburg. The food served on the flights drove me a diet of granola bars and chocolate through much of the next couple of days. I highly recommend bringing enough food to get you through on a couple of long international flights. We had a couple of edible bits of different meals, but not enough that combined would make a single meal.

So we get to Minneapolis, we have lunch at California Pizza Kitchen (this would be the last full meal I would have until we got to Mashatu on Friday around 1:30, basically I lived off all the non-hot portions of the meals and some granola bars for two days). The plane we would have taken later is late, and if we'd been on time taking off to Amsterdam, we would have missed our flight. But we were late taking off--there was a gate change and some other behind the scenes shuffling we weren't privy to. As we board the plane we part ways from J&J, who will travel the remainder of the trip in the luxurious lap of business class.



Aside from being too wired to sleep and relatively miserable with the normal plane discomfort, flight from Minneapolis to Amsterdam is uneventful. I watched 3 movies, listened to music, and shift shift shifted in my seat. Mr. Bump slept most of the way on both long flights. He's found some way to almost immediately fall asleep on airplanes that is really annoying because I can't ever sleep much on airplanes. This particular leg of the journey lasts 8 hours and 20 minutes, give or take.

The next flight is pretty much a reeeaaally loooong work day in length (10 hours, 55 minutes) and in theory it would have been a good idea to stay awake through it, but since I've gotten no sleep so far, sleep of any kind seemed like a good idea. I took a Benadryl and managed to get a bit of sleep on this flight. Did I mention it was really long? Mr. Bump and I have different winners for worst plane trip, and I think this one was his pick. He was in the middle seat (the plane was three, three, three across) and I got the window, and I suppose that's part of it. (In case you're wondering, I chose the leg from Johannesburg to Paris, which is another post.) But either way, the seats were tight and uncomfortable, the food was awful (except for the little cup of ice cream--that was good), and it just kept going and going. There was too much cloud cover to see the Sahara, sadly, but our flight took us essentially the route you would take if you drew a straight line down from Amsterdam to Johannesburg. It was pretty much all cloudy, so we didn't see much of anything from the window.

Finally land in Jo-burg, get through customs (new stamp for the passport! yay!) and get accosted by friendly taxi drivers who want to help us get to our hotel. They warn us that the shuttle we're supposed to take doesn't come that often this late (it's about 9:30-10:00pm), but that they can take us to our hotel ("safely!") for 400 Rand. We say no. They say "ok, 300 Rand." We say no and walk on. Some gentleman in blue coveralls walk us over toward the place where we meet the shuttle, and halfway there we realize they aren't just being nice, they expect a tip when they get us to the shuttle pick-up point. Somehow we scrounge up some dollars but then they explain that because they have to exchange them we should give them more because it costs so much to exchange and so they won't get very much for it. We smile and say no, and our hotel shuttle comes and we go. There is a scuffle amongst the blue coveralled and the driver for who is going to lift our bags into the little trailer behind the van, which the driver eventually wins, I think. I don't know if it was because the international flights arrive around then, but there seemed to be a swarm of people not really begging but looking for some way in which they can earn your tip. When we flew domestically the next day, it wasn't nearly the same. We tipped as generously as we could with the rand we had. We got a guideline from the company through which we booked our travel within South Africa, and they said somewhere between 1-5 rand for porters and drivers. I think we tipped mostly 5 or 10 rand in these situations. Honestly I was so tired I'm not entirely sure, but I'm sure Mr. Bump will correct me in the comments if I'm wrong.

Our hotel is attached to a casino called Emperor's Palace, but we saw very little of any of it that night. We arrived late and our rooms aren't quite ideal. J&J's room had 2 single beds instead of a king, and ours had a smell in the bathroom (as well as some hairs that weren't ours). But really it didn't matter. We had to get up at 5:30 in order to make a 7:30 flight, so it was of utmost importance to get horizontal as soon as we could. And the bed was really soft and clean and not an airplane seat. And it was horizontal. Did I mention it had been two days since I'd had my head and feet at the same angle to the floor?


So I shower (I think I heard the angels singing), and go to bed. At what feels like approximately one minute later our phone rings for our wake up call. They were kind enough to give us a bag with breakfast to go for each of us, so we had some water, some juice, and a couple of granola bars. There is an apple that wasn't very good and some kind of mayonnaise based sandwich in there as well, but if you know me even a little bit you know that's possibly the last thing I would put in my mouth. So juice box and granola bar it is. Which were both good and fine. On to the airport again (we will become fairly well versed in the Jo-burg airport before this trip is done).



Our flight is through South African Airlink, which interestingly enough, is different from South African Airlines, and after a few false starts we manage to find the correct desk. We have to check our bags for this leg since there really isn't space for it in the cabin, and there is some confusion about our boarding passes, but eventually everything is taken care of on that end. We go through security, who don't seem bothered about water, or 3-1-1 toiletries, or taking your shoes, jacket, watch, etc. off. As as side note, this is what is so interesting about international travel. Every place seems to have some different theory about what's "dangerous." On our way out of Paris they made Mr. Bump take his lenses and camera out of their bag and run them all through separately. In Amsterdam we got off a flight, stayed in the same terminal, but had to go through security again before boarding (and dump our water). This also happened in Atlanta after we went through passport control--we had to go back through security, and if you had bought wine or something in duty free it had to go in your checked luggage. It's so odd and the more I travel the more arbitrary these rules seem to be.



Anyway, where was I? Ah yes. When it is time to board our plane we get on a bus, which takes us out to the tarmac where our plane sits. We attempt to take a picture of the plane but are told we can't do that. (We get one as we get off in Polokwane, since they don't seem to have the same kind of security concerns.) So the plane seats 27, two on one side and one on the other. The flight is bumpy but we have a lovely flight attendant who actually has a teeny little cart and does a beverage AND breakfast service. All the while managing to smile and not spill much of drinks she's pouring as we bounce around. In case you were wondering, the choice for breakfast was a chickenfish sandwich. I can only assume that it was tuna, but as none of was up for it at 7:30 in the morning I only have what my nose told me to go by. I think I'll call it chickenfish from now on.

Our 27 seater takes us to Polokwane International Airport, which has a newly built domestic terminal. However, we have to go through the international terminal, which consists of a small one room building which you walk through while your pilot fills out the paperwork for your flight.
Our pilot is a sweet, apple cheeked young gentleman named Benedict. Our plane is a little single prop Cessna with 6 seats. We will be flying this to Limpopo field, just across the border in Botswana. By the time we pile into the plane it has begun to rain lightly.







But all goes well, and we find ourselves at Limpopo International Airport, really just a dirt strip with a hut on one side. We have to wait for someone to come from the border crossing in order to stamps our passports. As we wait a Land Rover pulls up. This will be our vehicle for the next several days, and driving it is Justice, who will be our tracker. He drives us for about 45 minutes from somewhere that feels like the middle of nowhere to what can only be just over the horizon from the middle of nowhere. But even on this drive (which he is careful to point out is not a game drive, so we won't be stopping for every animal we see and we won't be going off road to follow anything) we see giraffes. We see all kinds of birds. I think we saw some zebras, too. After a long, drizzly (yes, it's still raining) ride, we make it to tent camp. And that's where I'll leave you for the moment. Actually, check out the video from my last blog post, and that'll get you settled in at Mashatu.

time

I've been working on the second post about our trip, but until the pictures are finished (ahem, Mr. Bump), I'm going to hold off on posting it. I love a blog entry with photos, don't you?

Anyway, in lieu of that post, I leave you with this one. I came across this poem today and it seems to say what I've been feeling lately, better than I can say it.

In the Middle
of a life that's as complicated as everyone else's,
struggling for balance, juggling time.
The mantle clock that was my grandfather's
has stopped at 9:20; we haven't had time
to get it repaired. The brass pendulum is still,
the chimes don't ring. One day you look out the window,
green summer, the next, and the leaves have already fallen,
and a grey sky lowers the horizon. Our children almost grown,
our parents gone, it happened so fast. Each day, we must learn
again how to love, between morning's quick coffee
and evening's slow return. Steam from a pot of soup rises,
mixing with the yeasty smell of baking bread. Our bodies
twine, and the big black dog pushes his great head between;
his tail is a metronome, 3/4 time. We'll never get there,
Time is always ahead of us, running down the beach, urging
us on faster, faster, but sometimes we take off our watches,
sometimes we lie in the hammock, caught between the mesh
of rope and the net of stars, suspended, tangled up
in love, running out of time.

--Barbara Crooker

Part of this feeling is that this is my favorite time of year to be at home, in my house, at Bumpalot, and I feel like I'm missing it. I haven't had a moment to enjoy the smell of wet and mouldering leaves, to pull out last year's sweaters and scarves and gloves, or spend a cold and rainy night baking cookies, drinking tea, curling up on the couch with my wonderful husband and a good book. The trajectory of my next couple of weeks seems out of my control. My precious time with fall is out of my grasp. I was away for the beginning, and since we're in Southern California this weekend it seems like I might even to miss the end. Life is busy, crazy with work and coming down off a trip and gearing up for another one. Our house is a mess, the laundry is piled everywhere, the mail is in piles and things are rotting away in our vegetable drawer. And I know it's terrible to complain about any of it because it's all been the wonderful stuff, but there it is.

I'm hoping this weekend, as we spend some time with dear old friends celebrating at the wedding of one of the dearest, reconnecting with people from different times of my life, that we'll be able to take off our watches and just enjoy every minute of it.

part 1 - i packed my bags pre-flight

I don't know how long this is going to take to get through, but you can ignore until I get to the part that interests you. My source material for these entries are my own wonky memory and Mr. Bump's meticulous journalling of the trip. Some of his entries lack my own flair for language, but they're spot on for recollecting the events. And I contributed to a lot of the content when he would ask "So after that we...?"

Before I get to the trip itself, a note about luggage. I wanted to include this because I found other people's lists of what to take/what they took to be very helpful. We had specific requirements for luggage, and what I have learned with every successive trip I have taken is that what is enough is less than you think.

We had to take soft sided luggage, and our total weight restriction on some of the smaller planes was 20 kg, or around 44 pounds. I took a soft-sided rolling duffel bag made by CalPak (can't find it any more), which met the criteria for carry-on (less than 45 linear inches), was filled with the following:

• 1 pair Merrell hiking shoes
• 1 pair flats from Patagonia
• 1 pair flip flops
  
• 1 bag assorted chargers and adapters for electronic devices (Mr. Bump had an outlet extender which was a godsend--allowed us to charge everything off one outlet, which was often all we had)
  
• 1 toiletry bag of non-liquids
• 3 books for Paris (french phrase book, Paris Top 10, and Clotide's Edible Adventures in Paris)
• 2 pairs pants
• 2 skirts
• 1 dress
• 3 tank tops
• 3 short sleeve t-shirts from Gap Body. These were great--thin enough to dry quickly, stretchy enough they didn't wrinkle.
  
• one long sleeve t-shirt also Gap Body (I actually took two, wore one on the plane and packed one)
  
• 2 long sleeved button up shirts
• underthings for 4 days
• pajamas
• 3 pairs socks
• first aid kit including antibiotics, pain relievers, bandaids, polysporin, motion sickness meds, bug repellent, benadryl, immodium, pepto. We used some of almost all of these except (thankfully) the antibiotics and the polysporin.
  
• 1 hat
• swimsuit (used this only once, should have left it home, probably)
• 1 bandana (not sure exactly what I thought I'd use this for, but I never did)
• several plastic bags, and two large compression bags which I packed almost all of my clothes in (these worked less well in the "compression" department as time went on, but they were still useful for quarantining dirty clothes, etc.)
• spare atm card and credit card, euros, copy of passport and important numbers in case anything was stolen
• Laundry sheets - I used a whole packet of these. They were really useful and very small to travel with (also not liquid), but you have to be careful and have dry hands or they all melt together in a big mess. Also they don't really suds up and it's hard to tell if you've used enough and/or if you've got them completely rinsed out. But I highly recommend.
  

I also took a backpack as my "personal item" which contained the following:

• laptop
• cell phone
• ipod touch
• bag of 3-1-1 toiletries
• pen and notebook
• auxiliary charger
• 1 book
• shawl/wrap
• jacket
• handiwipes and hand sanitizer (I'm crediting this for keeping us from catching anything on this trip)
• snacks (chocolates, granola bars, m&ms)
• sunglasses
• nalgene bottle (this is really useful because you can dump before security and refill after almost everywhere, and they never give you enough water on planes)
• 1 book crossword puzzles (never used this)
• travel documents
• camera, extra memory card and extra battery and charger for camera
• earplugs
• wallet 1 credit card and atm card
• LED flashlight

The only thing I wish I might have taken that I didn't was a rain jacket. It would have come in handy in Paris but we wouldn't have probably used it until then (maybe on Table Mountain), and I chucked it out of my bag at the last minute. But I'd say that's pretty good.
Whew. That's it, I think. Mr. Bump took a few of these things, but we didn't have much overlap. Part of our dilemma is we needed to dress for safari where we'd go from chilly at dawn to blazing hot in the middle of the day, then Cape Town where we'd be in spring but near the water, and then Paris in the fall, when it rains almost every day. We managed fine but I might take a warmer jacket next time. The one I took was a Nike zip up one, but it was a little thin.

Anyway, this was the content of my bags. It's the night before our trip. All this is packed up and waiting by the front door. The granola bars and apricot scones I made for breakfast the next morning are cooling on the counter. Ruby is already safely ensconced with my mother-in-law. All is ready. Who wants to place bets on whether or not I got any sleep?

home

After three new sets of passport stamps, approximately 20,000 miles flown, 3600 pictures, and 3 continents--we're home. We're fighting the expected post-travel depression, trying to adjust to snow on the ground, and enjoying the chance to cuddle with our little dog. After being up for 23 hours, and a couple of long, sad last legs of flight, I was glad to be home. That won't last forever, but for now it's a good thing. We've taken stock, hit the grocery, started some laundry. We've got about 3600 photos to go through and cull, and about 5 pounds to lose. We've got to start the long slow road to earning money and vacation time for our next big adventure. But it was an amazing, amazing trip. I've got stories for you, I do. Telling them over the next few months will hopefully allow me to cling to the memories of this trip, and make the transition back into real life a little less bumpy.

For now though, I'll leave you with this: I love Paris. I love the food, I love the architecture, the monuments, the art, the language, even the people. Especially the people. There's some great people watching in Paris. *Warning, the following story is not for those with a vivid imagination and an easy gag reflex*

The "but" is this: I have never been in a city that's streets were so smeared in dog shit, so filled with someone puking on this corner or peeing on that one (yes, the man peeing it was in Place Pigalle--where the Moulin Rouge is--but it was also at about 11:00 in the morning) We realized after an incident waiting to go into the towers of Notre Dame where a line full of people managed to smear dog shit to and fro in front of Notre Dame, that it was important to look down, even if you were in amazement over some feat of French architecture. On our last morning in Paris we get up and head down to the boulangerie for a farewell baguette breakfast. As we're going I hear someone across the street who appears to be in the death throes of tuberculosis. We cross the street, given the fact that we have plane travel in our near future. On the way back he's gone, so we pass by where he was. Apparently, he was not hacking up a lung but his last night's dinner. Just in time for us to step over it on our way to breakfast.

After packing everything up, we had a little time before we had to leave, so we decided to walk down along the quay on the Seine. It's lovely, the leaves are turning, it's quiet at 9:30 on a Sunday morning. We put our arms around each other, so happy to be together, to have had this wonderful trip. We hear (and then see) a couple of police boats charging up the Seine, some of whom appear to have dry suits on. They seem to be scanning the river from side to side. And then I realize that there's something strapped to a board, and wrapped up in plastic that looks like it can be nothing other than a body. I ask Mr. Bump if he sees it, and he does, and that's what it looks like to him too. The police have pulled a body out of the Seine, it seems. And given the number of corks stuck in the slats of the pedestrian bridge just above where we're standing, it is chilling but not surprising. We start to wander on, arms around each other and wide-eyed with big city shock, pulling the hayseeds from our teeth. I'm scanning the ground for yellow puddles and/or dog turds when I smell something, aside and behind a corner, that smells horrible. But not in a dog turd kind of way. Our romantic Parisian morning is buzzkilled not only by the body wrapped in plastic on a police boat on the river, but by the toilet someone made for themselves on the quay of the Seine.

Ah, Paris! You sure know how to make someone fall for you. Paris may be for lovers, but the lovers need to make sure they've got shoes they can hose off.

five days

So we have one week five days (although I started this post a couple of days ago, I've dawdled in finishing it) to go before our Big! Trip! to South Africa! Botswana! and Paris! (Oh my god shut up Mrs. Bump.) (But in all seriousness I think it kinda deserves some of those exclamation points.)

We've still got some bits to figure out about cash/ATM/credit cards (done!) to take, figure out if it's worth it to get a Walgreens flu shot (done--but ow! I've never had a flu shot wake me up from my whole arm hurting), and spray the clothes with the bug spray that stays through several washings (this one is not yet done). I'm crazy enough to contemplate making some plane snacks of the baked good variety. Mr. Bump wants to scrub the deck down before we go. We've got to get rid of the produce from our CSA share. Anyone interested in some fairytale eggplants, pattipan squash, or a head of cabbage two weeks old? I've still got to get everything stuffed into my luggage. I've got to try and wrangle with my insurance for extra days of my medications since they're going to run out on the trip. Mr. Bump has virtually no books so we've got to find some that we'll both read and maybe find him some Kindle or Stanza books. Gah--not ready! Not Ready!!!

I'm a list maker extraordinaire, but there are lists. Oh people, the lists for this trip! List of meds to take, lists of chargers (by the way, anyone seen my cell phone charger? ...anyone? ...anyone?) and power supplies, itineraries, lists of phone numbers. You'd think we were going away for years. Ah, if only. I've got almost everything laid out on the bed in the spare room, which bothers Mr. Bump to no end. (Sorry honey!)

But I can't help the constant companion of these lists, which is the nagging feeling that I've left something off them. Is it the end of the world if I forget something? No. Even though we're going to Africa, even though we're going to be in remote locations for some portion of the trip, I can probably pick up whatever I forget in Johannesburg or elsewhere. Because of our weight and space limitations for the light aircraft portions of our trip, everything must fit in one soft-sided duffel bag and a backpack. I have the advantage of not schlepping heavy camera equipment, which buys me an extra 10 pounds or so over Mr. Bump. But let's face it, I could easily make that up in books, makeup, and shoes.

The one thing I do hope to bring along on this trip is you, dear reader. I make no promises but I hope that I'll be able to blog on occasion, share some photos and whatnot from Cape Town and Paris. I hope you can join me for updates as we go.

P.S. Oh and yeah, my Half-Marathon is two days away. I'm trying not to think too hard about it. I'm ready. I mean I have to pick out my race outfit and figure out where to stash my shot blocks and whether I'm going to bring my own water, and I still have to pick up my race packet and figure out parking. (Shaddup.) I've got a short easy run to finish up my training tonight, drink lots and lots of water today and some of tomorrow (but not too much--not a fan of the porta-pottie, especially someplace where everyone using it is in a hurry ifyouknowwhatimean). And then I'm done. And then we're on to The Great Adventure. I'm trying not to see the big ol' ball of stress hunched over in the corner rocking back and forth just in my peripheral vision.

P.P.S. Questions for you: what are your go-to plane snacks? I've got 22-22 on-plane hours. I want to make sure I'm fully prepared in the snack department. I'm probably going to avoid salt as much as I can. Also, music? Any and all suggestions will be greatly appreciated. I have 6 episodes of This American Life, 6 Prairie Home Companions (just the News from Woebegon), and one of Radio Lab--any other podcasts I might enjoy? They are good for bus rides to work, so I think they'll work well for plane travel as well. I'm going to put a couple of movies on my iPod, and the plane has a fairly good selection of movies too. Hopefully somewhere in there I'll get some sleep too (I pray at the temple of Benadryl, in case you're wondering where I place my faith). Please share--I love to hear what everyone else does to while away the plane time!

i dream of africa

Ok, so Africa is now bought and paid for and I'm looking forward to it. And even though it is 8 weeks away, I'm getting started on all the things I do before big trips, like make lots of lists of things to bring and do. I love a good list--it makes me feel like I've got control of something.

So I've got a camera. I've got luggage. I've got two pairs of travel knickers (although one pair has gone missing. I can't lose a $16 pair of knickers, people! Let me know if you've seen them. I promise amnesty for the knickers if they just return to me!). I've got all the appropriate clothes and shoes (I think), including a sweater/wrap-like thing for the plane, which will be blanket and sweater combined.

On the technology from we're still weighing the laptop concept, which would be good and yet we're not real sure how much/often we'll get to use it. We've got a sim based cell phone that is unlocked. To some extent I think we might be in the territory of overkill with some of this stuff--we'll see what makes the cut.

I've got an iPod touch which should take care of a good portion of the rest of my media needs. I have the Kindle app for it, and I'm planning on loading a ton of books, some movies and a whole lotta music on there, along with game apps and hope that keeps me occupied for some of the extreme amount of time that we're in the air.

So what else is an absolute travel essential that I'm forgetting? What is the thing that you can't live without when you travel? Please let me know so I don't forget it, bearing in mind that all my stuff has to fit into a 22 inch duffel on wheels and a backpack. I know there exists a contingent of people who will just tell me to take a credit card and my passport and go, but sorry sweetie--that ain't me. I need to keep stuff to a minimum, but there will be stuff.

My next question for you is what books do you recommend I take? I need things that are good page turners. Things that can sustain me through the long hours cramped in to steerage. Throw out your suggestions, even if they aren't available for the Kindle. I'm waiting with bated breath!

what are you going to do with your little bit of stimulus?

There is something just so, I don't know, appropriate about using our economic stimulus rebate check to take a trip to Vancouver in October. It makes me giggle a little at our subversiveness. Or, maybe that's just excitement over our Trip! To! Vancouver! I have restaurants picked out already, but of course, as I recently relayed to Mr. Bump, in the meantime I could have a baby, so I'm going to be exhausted by the anticipation I'm going to endure between now and then.

I said I could have a baby. That doesn't mean I am. Because I'm not. It was just a way to make the point about how looooong it will be before we get to Vancouver. My belly is only pregnant with anticipation for our Trip! To! Vancouver! and our upcoming road trip to New Jersey in September. No baby. Really.

So, congress, you're going to have to come up with something better than a check to get us out of this "slowdown." 'Cause I'm making a run for the border with mine. What are you going to do with yours?

leavin'

This morning we got up early at our regular work-day hour and drove my parents to the airport. This sounds like an early morning, but not a particularly stressful one. However, I have been fielding calls about the details of plane travel from my mother for over a week, and the leavings of those conversations left me as anxious as a mother dropping her child off at school for the first day. It isn't that my parents haven't flown before, but they have not flown in many years, not since a few years before 9/11, well before the advent of internet airfare booking.

It all started this May when my uncle passed away. My parents didn't feel they could make it out for the memorial service, so they told my aunt they would come out to Phoenix to visit her in a few weeks, once all the company that had flown in for the funeral left. Mom asked me to look for airfare "on the computer" for her, because she doesn't have a computer or internet access and wouldn't know how to do more than play a good game of solitaire with a computer if she had it. So I gave her some flight dates and prices. But then one thing and another happened, and suddenly it was September.

I finally booked a flight for them one slow afternoon at work, for which my mom was effusively grateful. But as the trip approached, the phone calls began to come.

First the questions were broad. "What is this about liquids on the plane?" and "Tell me again exactly what I can't bring on the plane."

Then they got more specific. "Can I take my nail clippers? What about my nail file?"
"What about the bottle of hand sanitizer I keep in my purse?"

Then finally she just began to list the contents of the purse she was carrying on the plane, and the suitcase she was going to check. She opted for taking the full bottles of her shampoo rather than 3 oz.bottles in her quart ziploc in her carry-on. I suggested she might want to put them in ziploc anyway, which she thought was a great idea.

But I think her panic really began to mount when I began to recall small details that have been added to the airline travel experience in the last 6 years. You know--take your shoes off, check-in 90 minutes before your flight, don't make jokes about blowing up the plane. My mother remained unconvinced that both she and my father would have to take their shoes off.

By Thursday night, I thought we had covered enough ground that I could get some of the details down firm.

You know, such as who is picking you up in Phoenix, etc. They were going to take the shuttle.

Which shuttle? The one from the airport.

But which one? There are probably 10 shuttle companies. The one that drops you at your door. Apparently it went to my aunt's neighborhood.

But how much does that cost? She didn't know but she thought $60.00.

Per person? Per person.

But you could rent a car for less than that. No, that's not true. It is. No, it costs hundreds. Travelocity says $60.00 for the amount of time you're there.

By the end of this conversation I knew I had chosen the wrong path and whipped my mother into a travel induced frenzy. But I couldn't help it. Their basic ignorance of the complications of air travel and the plucky "we'll get there" attitude made me crazy. And I couldn't stop myself from puncturing her Pollyanna bubble with the facts.

At the same time I began to run over in my mind all of the minute details that travel entails, and question whether they were, at this point in their lives, capable of navigating that obstacle course. I checked them in online, got their boarding passes printed for them, and did everything I could this side of walking them up to security.

So when they overslept this morning because the three alarms they set didn't go off, I think they began to panic, believing this sign that all my doomsday neysaying was a version of reality that was conjured by daring to Take the Plane. By the time they got to our house they both were as skittish as teenaged colts.

We managed to get them to the airport on time anyway. In the car Mr. Bump and I coached them on the layout of the airport, recounting to them where they needed to drop their bags off, which way to go to go over the bridge to Concourse A, what to do in security. We did all but draw them a map on a stray napkin. Finally we got there, dropped them and their bag off at the curb and pointed inside to the exact counter they needed to go to to drop off their bags, making them promise to call when they got there.

We then went on our own way for the weekend, a trip up north to visit friends and Mrs. Bump (the other one). I kept an eye on the time, hoping that their plane was on time, that they had found their way, that my father's nervousness (more well masked than my mother's) would result in him making further statements about how a plane could be bombed, if you really wanted to. I had warned him in the car that that particular conversation needed to end in the car, but Dad's always a wild card.

It was after two when I checked my voicemail on my cellphone and found a message from my dad, stating that they were there and "everything went fine."

Whew. That was a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. More than ever, I find myself feeling that the roles of parent and child are reversing. Suddenly I am the one that knows the ways of the world, can explain the details of things, from landscaping and homeownership to the layout and workings of various airports. They are uncertain, and scared of new things. I find myself vacillating from the sadness of it all, to feeling good that I can be in this position, and guide them through new experiences. I feel so grateful for the life they gave me that I would do anything to make their lives easier. I just wish they would stop thanking me for it. I keep telling them it is the least I can do, but they don't agree. Booking the flight for them was such a big thing for them, because they felt they needed me to do it. It feels nice to be needed. But it is painful, too.