Tag Archives: international travel

Pack your bags, baby

I’m doing something I’ve never done before. I’m packing well in advance of my trip.

And by “well in advance”, I mean four days.

I’m normally a have-all-the-lists-made-in-advance-but-pack-the-day-before sort of person.

But this time, I thought I’d experiment and do it on the weekend since we leave on a Tuesday.

So far, so good.

The biggest thing I’ve noticed is that it’s taking me way longer. Way.

I have too much time to deliberate about what to wear. (And wonder what people are wearing “over there” these days. And what the weather will be like. And if I will have enough pairs of undies.)

Maybe it’s a little less stressful to pack a few days in advance, but I think I like the just-get-it-done pressure of doing it the day before. (It’s just that I’m learning with kids, the less pressure the better. You never know when melt-downs might strike!)

There will still be plenty of “last minute” things to put in – electronics, toiletries, snacks – but I can say that I already have three of the four of us packed. I’ve impressed myself. (And the fourth one can do his own packing.)

The biggest dilema is the shoes. I hate packing shoes.

(How many pairs of shoes do you take when you travel??)

Good thing I still have three more days to change my mind.

STOP.

 

Q for you: Do you enjoy packing or hate it?

 

Love,
A

 

Click Clink Five | Five minutes a day, unedited

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I write to remember

There are many reasons I write.

I write because I enjoy it. I also write because I’m good at it. (And don’t we all like to do things we’re good at?)

But I also write to remember.

I’ve never been one of those people who can sit around and tell stories.

My husband is like that. I lvoe that about him – he’s never without some story to tell.

Often I try to think of stories to tell… and I just can’t think of any. Seriously. It’s like they don’t even exist in my brain.

I know they must be buried in there somewjere, but wherever that somewhere is, it’s not close to the surface.

So one of the reasons I write is to remember.

I really started writing when Levi was a couple of months old. I’m SO glad I did.

Even now I thnk back to those days (which aren’t that long ago) and the details are hazy.

What helps me to remember are the things I wrote about and the things I photographed.

If I’ve somehow captured it on paper or in image, it’s much more cemented in my mind. (Luckily I have thousands of photos to help jog the old memory!)

But what I don’t have much recored abotu are my travels.

This makes me incredibly sad.

I’ve been to around 35 different countries I think, some of them multiple tiems. Some just for fun, adn some with my work.

I remember a story here and there. I remember how I felt. I remember random facts about hte people I met or something I ate or did.

But largely, my memory is hazy.

How I wish little laptops had been available then like they are now!

I’d have volumes and volumes of stories recorded.

I’m grateful to have (already) lived such a full and interesting life.

I only wish I could remember it a little better.

STOP.

 

Q for you: Do you write? If so, why?

 

Love,
A

P.S. This is the same reason I’m a “list person”. I’d remember nothing if it weren’t a part of some list or another. *sigh*

 

Click Clink Five is a blog by Adriel Booker. | Five minutes a day, unedited. | 2012 All rights reserved. | Adriel also writes on parenting and motherhood at The Mommyhood Memos.


Different isn’t wrong, it’s just… different.

Culture shock is a funny thing.

People often think they don’t have it. I don’t have culture shock, I like it here they say. As if “liking” has anyting to do with “shocking”. (Yes, “shocking” is a word I just came up with to shorten for culture shock. And then by explaining it I made it a thousand tiems longer anyway. Humph.)

When I was living in Greece my culture shock came by way of please and thank you.

I was 18 and working as a waitress at a restaurant on Santorini Island. Most of our customers where vacationers from Eurpoe and America and Canada and AUstralia. They wanted english-speaking staff for that reason.

But every once and a while we’d get a day with lots of Greek holiday-goers.

One day in particular I was serving Greek couple after Greek couple after Greek couple.

“Coke!” they would shout at me. “Spaghetti Bolonaise!” they would shout next. “Refill!” And on and on it went.

Never a please. Never a thank you.

maybe I woke up on the wrong side of hte bed that day, but for whatever reason by mid-shift I was ready to break down into tears.

They don’t appreciate me. They’re so rude. They’re condescending and belittling.

They haaaaaaate me.

(Why do they hate me so much?)

And then I realized… it’s cultural.

As an American it’s considered rude to throw out your orders to the server. You request. You use pleasantries. You make eye contact.

But as a Greek these people weren’t being rude in teh slightest.

They were just being Greek. THeir role was to tell me what they wanted. My role was to follow directions adn deliver. End of story.

They didn’t hate me. They weren’t being rude. (Well, most of hte time anyway.)

They were just being Greek. They were different. And different isn’t wrong, it’s just… different.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said htat over the last 15 years, most of whichI’ve lived abroad.

Different isn’t wrong, it’s just different.

STOP.

 

Q for you: Have you ever experienced culture shock? How did you handle it?

 

Love,
A

p.s. went over time today!

 

Click Clink Five is a blog by Adriel Booker. | Five minutes a day, unedited. | 2012 All rights reserved. | Adriel also writes on parenting and motherhood at The Mommyhood Memos.