Incompetence as Comedy: or, American Airlines Flight 82 from Auckland

The travel industry has a bad reputation in general. It has this reputation because it deserves it. Take, for example, our recent attempt at leaving Auckland, New Zealand on a flight to Los Angeles (Flight number AA82).

You all know what it’s like to fly somewhere: wait in a line here, another line there, have your passport inspected, your face scrutinized, and if you’re lucky, you’re patted down and felt up and herded around like a bunch of sheep for a few hours before finally getting to the gate, where you’re left to sit on some of the most uncomfortable chairs you’ve ever seen. Oh, and you do all this while carrying a toddler and your bag that felt quite light the day before when you packed it, but now feels like it weighs about ten tons.

Well, we made it through all the indignities of airports without losing our dignity, and settled in to our uncomfortable seats with all our baggage strewn around us at about 1:30 pm, an hour before the plane was scheduled to board at 2:25 pm.

A portly British man wearing a bow tie (or papillon as he called it) and a large tag around his neck that loudly proclaimed “Press Pass” sat down across from us. He boasted some about his experience flying, the fact that he was flying business class, and that he’d been upgraded twice because of his press pass (the only reason he wore it as he was mainly retired).

“What language is he speaking?” he queried, pointing at JQ.

“Toddler,” I said.

Not sure where he lived all his life to never hear a toddler speaking, but he was certain he knew a lot about flying.

As the scheduled boarding time got closer, the boarding area started to fill up. People were doing exercises, taking naps, and generally preparing for a long intercontinental flight.

2:25 p.m. came and went, with no signs of boarding or of anything else happening other than the usual passenger paging over the intercom. Mr. Hoping-for-an-upgrade assured us that the airline was probably just waiting for a few important passengers or perhaps a large group, and that we would be sure to board soon.

Then, at 3:00, they finally made an announcement. “We regret to inform you that American Airlines Flight 82 has been delayed due to mechanical engineering difficulties. We will inform you of our progress in 45 minutes.” Everyone rolled their eyes; JQ demanded to be taken back to the vending machines to “Beep beep” them, and, of course, Mr. Hoping-for-an-upgrade pointed out the pilot and copilot in the cockpit. “You see,” he said, “if anything were seriously wrong with the airplane, the pilot wouldn’t be on board playing cards!”

Alas, Mr. Hoping-for-an-upgrade was wrong. Fifteen minutes later, American Airlines sent emails and text messages to all the passengers, alerting them that the flight was canceled. Of course, the people at the desk made no announcement until thirty minutes after that, just to keep everyone in suspense. Or perhaps they didn’t even know themselves!

Then the announcement came: “We regret to inform you that American Airlines flight 82 to Los Angeles has been canceled due to mechanical difficulties. Your baggage will be found at bag claim five. Please go to the arrivals area and pick up your bags, then go American Airlines check-in at departure area D to rebook a flight and be given a lodging voucher. Also, make sure to return any duty-free items you may have purchased.”

And that was it. That was all the instructions we were given for what to do now that we had no flight to go on.

So we all got up, picked up all our luggage, and began the arduous journey back through the terminal, trying to figure out how to get to arrivals from the departure area (spoiler alert: you can’t). Groups of twenty or thirty people stood around looking confused, while one man wandered around asking everyone in sight, “Do you know how to get to customs?”

After trudging nearly halfway back, we spotted an airport help desk, who pointed back where we came from and said, “Oh, arrivals is just down the stairs over that way.” Back we trudged—only to find all the stairs we knew about only went up! After a lot more back and forth, we learned that actually, passengers from the canceled flight needed to go back to their gate so they could be funneled into arrivals. So we went back yet again.

By now, it was nearly 4:30 and all we had accomplished with our lives in this time was standing in queues and walking through hallways. Surely humans were meant for greater things than this?

After some more queueing and more walking through hallways and through the arrivals area (which we saw when we first actually arrived in Auckland), we arrived at passport control. To add to the pointlessness of this entire endeavor, we had to fill out an arrivals form, to give them very important information about what it’s like to sit at the gate in their airport for a few hours. “Where are you arriving from?” the form questioned. “Have you been hiking anywhere?” “Do you have any fruits?” “How long are you planning to stay in New Zealand?” “What is your address here?” All these questions in their varying iterations put JQ right to sleep.

Untitled After passport control, where they carefully examined our faces to make sure they still matched our passports, it was off to more walking through hallways and standing in queues (now with a sleeping baby in arms) to pick up our baggage. On the bright side, we all finally found bag claim 5. And our baggage was actually on it, which seemed to be the one feat that American Airlines could pull off. The customs officer questioned us closely again: “Did you buy any fruit while you were in the departure terminal?” Apparently the departure terminal of the Auckland airport is no longer New Zealand and the fruit there will contaminate ALL THE CROPS and they will all DIE! Or maybe he just had to ask—because when we replied in the negative, he let us just walk through and not put our baggage through the x-ray machines (which would entail—you guessed it!—more standing in queues).

After all that, it was 5:00, and we finally made it to check-in counter D for American Airlines—with about four hundred other people, all in the same position we were in. More queueing entailed, and Jared used the last 16% of battery on his phone to call the number on the little ticket they gave us. So we got a flight rebooked for the next evening, which would get us to Oregon a hair’s breadth before a very important person’s wedding.

Now just remained the knotty little problem of where we would stay. If our phones had worked (mine had no data, and Jared’s no battery), we might have just sucked up the cost and called the Airbnb we had stayed at the whole week. As it was, we stayed in the queue to try to find some lodging for the night. We waited…and waited…and waited…and then JQ, who had napped about thirty minutes and was starting to get hungry, started screaming, “Mommy, go out! Mommy, I go out!” It was a lightbulb moment for the staff, who hurriedly came and escorted us up front. “Oh, you have a child! Come wait up here and we’ll be with you in just a minute.” Everyone around us looked a little jealous, and a couple people jokingly called out, “Wait, I’m his sister! I’m the auntie!” Moral of the story: definitely try to travel with a two-year-old if possible.

But! The story’s still not over. We were given the name of our hotel—which was in Hamilton, two hours away from Auckland (the hotels in Auckland were all completely booked)—and told to go out door two, where a bus would be waiting for us. So we went and waited with the bus. The bus driver had a bad back and was a little out of shape, so Jared helped him load everyone’s luggage. And then we waited some more while I fed JQ all the snacks I had packed for the airplane. We waited an hour—the bus driver said he was waiting for confirmation—but in the end his bus was full, and he decided to just go. It was a lovely little drive through New Zealand’s farmland: the sun glinted off of rivers and mountains, green fields with cows pastorally grazing, and Maori cemeteries. Untitled

When we got to Hamilton (New Zealand’s fourth largest city, apparently), a new comedy of errors began. The forty people on the bus were in about eight different hotels, all in different parts of town. The bus driver wasn’t quite sure where all of them were and kept stopping to look them up on his map.

When we finally got to our hotel—called the Quest—we were dropped off with about 8 other people, including a little old lady and gentleman (in their seventies, or so) who had three or four large suitcases. It was well after 8:00 p.m. at this time, and there was a sign on the door of the hotel saying that hotel reception closed at 7 p.m. Somehow someone opened the door and everyone crowded into the small reception area, where there were four envelopes waiting with the names of those who had reservations. Two of the envelopes had correct names and room sizes on them, but one of them had been booked and was a single room for a French couple, and the other was for a name that nobody in our group had. So out of 8 people, there were rooms for four (as two of the rooms were single rooms). We tried calling the hotel management, but they were just as confused as everyone else—except they did mention that more rooms had been booked at their branch two blocks away—Quest on Ward. So eventually Jared made the executive decision that the couple in their 70s should just take the room that was under someone else’s name, and we and the French couple set off for the next hotel—walking, of course, as our bus had long since departed.

When we got to Quest on Ward, of course their reception was also closed and the door locked. We tried their intercom to get someone to open the door for us. The first time we called, a lady answered who said she couldn’t hear at all; eventually she hung up. Then someone else answered and said the same thing: “Your connection is terrible!” After about seven tries, we gave up on the intercom and called the number given. Just as we were finally getting someone to understand what we needed, a hotel resident came by and let us in. Once in, we discovered only one room had been reserved—and with us and the French couple, we needed two. So Jared called up the manager and asked what was going on, and he said he would be by shortly. In the end—apparently the manager had his own idea of “short”—the French couple wandered off and were never heard from again!

So—six hours after we learned our flight was canceled, we finally made it to a room and were able to rest. In the morning, the manager said that American Airlines hadn’t told him how many people were coming and had just sent random people an hour and a half away without booking them any rooms. There were still other, minor problems once we were in possession of our room, like our food allowance only being usable if we charged it to the hotel, ate at a select list of restaurants, and subtracted the 10% commission the hotel wanted, even though American Airlines staff insisted the hotel wasn’t entitled to any commission!

Was it all inevitable? After all, American Airlines didn’t know their plane would encounter a mechanical error, and surely it’s better to have a day of delay and queuing than to swim with the “baby sharks” (as JQ calls them) in the big blue Pacific? Jared, who happens to have helped edit a book on emergency response (which you could read, but it’s rather boring) says absolutely not. The basic planks of emergency management, he says, are prevent, prepare, respond, and recover. The first, obviously, is about stopping something bad from happening; the second is about planning what to do when something bad happens; the third is about enacting your plan and improvising when something happens; and the fourth is about restoring capacity and rebuilding systems even better after a disaster. American Airlines, we surmise, had invested almost everything in prevention—fixing the plane, which was rumored to have been on the ground since earlier that morning—and ignored preparation (which, this being one of the weeks of Chinese Spring Festival, was extra important). The result was a botched response, with the agents even unclear about how we were supposed to get to baggage claim, and the comedy of incompetence thereafter. One would think that a major international airline would have some sort of system in place for communicating with passengers and service providers like hotels, but apparently Auckland Airport’s American Airlines didn’t think it was worth their while. The problem, it seemed to us, was not simply that the person in charge didn’t know what they were doing, but that there was nobody in charge!

Resilience means being prepared for disasters, which are statistically inevitable: bad things, no matter what, will eventually happen. And when they do, laughing is always a healthier response to yelling or crying. If you make the wedding, that is—or maybe even if you don’t!

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Camping: The Good, the Bad, and the Ridiculous

DSC_0255.jpgWe made it. 3.5 weeks, 4,000+ kilometers across Australia, 60 meals cooked on a crummy stove, 24 nights of sleeping in a campervan, 12 mosquito bites per day, 3 blog posts, and 2 times driving on the wrong side of the road later, we made it to Melbourne.
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“So you’ve come to Darwin for therapy,” said one little old lady at the first Australian city we visited. We laughed, but in some ways it’s been true. As an escape from the never-ending city jungle of Singapore, Australia has been amazing. Seeing mountains and fields, breathing fresh country air, watching spectacular sunsets, admiring the stars at night (too much light pollution in Singapore to see any but the very brightest stars), and waking up with the sun have all been instrumental in cleaning away the dust of the city from our hearts. I didn’t know how much I missed the country until we were in it again.DSC_0334.jpg
Did you know the kookaburra’s call sounds a little like a crazy person laughing? It’s one of the strangest birds we heard in Australia. JQ goes around saying “Kookburra, mama! More Kookburra!”DSC_0440.jpg

We may have ruined JQ with all the Australian wildlife: now he’s fond of seeing “Nakes!” in everything–hoses, squiggles, bus seats–everything and anything has the potential to be a snake.
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and pet lizards. And now he’s asking if he can go see a “kangroo eat.”
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The other animal he got to feed was the “croc croc dile,” known to most normal people as a crocodile. Crocodiles now apparently lurk in any small space, such as under the coffee table or in holes in walls. And a beware any pair of tongs, because it will be quickly re-purposed as a croc croc dile.
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It’s kind of shocking how much JQ has grown up over the last month. Not only does he now eat like a horse and chatter non-stop, but he’s assigned himself duties too, and become our personal servant of the restrooms. Any time either one of us says we have to go, we hear an insistent “I day two (JQ) come with!” and an immediate putting on of shoes ensues.  While in the bathroom, he then proceeds to check every trashcan (perhaps for bombs or other hidden threats?), wash his hands multiple times or at least smear them with soap, lock (and unlock multiple times) the stall doors, make sure there’s enough toilet paper for general use, and flush the toilet when we’re all done. He takes great pride in carrying out all these duties faithfully. Though I have to admit, it will be nice to finally get home and have a closable bathroom door that NO TODDLERS can get through.
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Sometimes there was great lighting, so I tried to persuade my models to go for a family picture. They’re too impatient to go for more than one try, so apparently I only have half a picture of me in Australia. I assure you all of me was there, though!

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So it’s been four weeks of seeing sunsets, walking on the beach, taking photos, and spending time together as a family. Oh, as well as spending plenty of time being bitten by mosquitoes, getting annoyed with each other (definitely don’t try camping with people you can’t stand), alternately sweating or freezing at night, and having my ear talked off by a two-year old.

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And after four weeks of close quarters in a campervan, I’m ready to head home.

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How Long Does it Take to Cook a Mushroom?

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We stayed last night at a beautiful caravan park with a lovely river, the loudest birds ever, and the best camp kitchen we’ve come across in our travels. Usually, “camp kitchens” will include a roof and two things Aussies call “barbecues” which resemble an actual barbecue in nothing except that they use propane gas to heat them. However, THIS kitchen had two real barbecues—the kind that will actually put char marks on your food and put out a decent amount of heat.

Yes, you read that right. I’m actually excited that something designed to cook gets hot. Does life get any better than this? While our campervan is cozy and cute and has its own sink and refrigerator and gas stovetop, the person who designed the stovetop must have been someone who never cooked, because this flame struggles to even boil a cup of water within less than twenty minutes. And forget overcrowding the pan. If you put more than four mushroom slices in a skillet over this flame, they turn into nice little bundles of mushroom boiling in water—and never get past that stage.

On top of winning the award for slowest cooking, it also has to be coddled to even stay on. It lights easily enough: just a click of the lighter will get it going. But you then have to remove your hand from the knob ever so gently, like it’s a sleeping baby you’ve just laid down. If you do it wrong or go too fast, the baby will cry—or in this case, the flame will go out—poof! And then you have to start the process all over again. When it’s being especially infuriating, it makes you hold the knob down with one hand while doing everything else you need to do with the other hand until your four mushrooms are a nice brown and it’s time to put the next four in. At least, being in a campervan, the kitchen is small enough you can grab an onion, find a knife, rummage through the fridge, and help JQ “cook piece bread” without ever letting go of the knob.

So yesterday, we used the barbecue and had some grilled hamburgers, onions, and mushrooms. And the best part was, I could even use both hands.

Campervan Adventures in the Bush: In Which We Almost Lose Puppy and Get Eaten by a Huge Snake

I’m not sure who I am anymore. I’ve never been camping in my life (unless you count sleeping in our log cabin playhouse), yet here I am, renting a campervan in Australia with Jared and JQ for almost an entire month.

So far, it’s been one and a half days, and in those days, I’ve learned how to drive on the wrong side of the road (with no major mishaps besides turning on the windshield wipers instead of the turn signal), had a somewhat hot and sleepless night with a small person kicking me, and been on a hike in the bush that was a bit longer than we expected.

Since we’re in a campervan, we wake up as soon as the sun comes up, which here in Cairns, Australia, is at the rather early hour of 6:00 a.m. Since it was still pretty cool early in the morning, we decided to take a short walk through the bush (which is what they call the rainforest/any area not in cities that’s not the Outback) and have a look at the wilder side of Australia.

JQ insisted on bringing Puppy, his favorite stuffed animal, as what could be more useful on a hike than something to cuddle? Untitled So we found the trailhead, where there was a big sign with a map, bearing warnings like “Do not touch the Suicide Plant as it contains a terrible neurotoxin that will make you want to kill yourself,” and “Only experienced bushwalkers should attempt these trails.” We decided maybe it would be best to not touch any plants, and found a nice loop walk that looked short. Jared had me take a picture of the trails, just in case, and then we set off. The first bit was easy: a boardwalk with some well-spaced stairs and otherwise flat terrain. But then it became just a narrow track lined with tree roots and leaves, and not brushing against leaves became increasingly more difficult. The first casualty was Puppy: JQ was sitting on Jared’s shoulders, and as Jared passed underneath a particularly low hanging tree, a nasty thorny vine snatched at Puppy’s fur and JQ’s shirt. JQ clung to Puppy and shrieked until we disentangled them, then he sobbed like it was the saddest day in his life. Thankfully, it was just a mean-spirited tree with spines over every inch of it including the leaves—but not containing any potent neurotoxin!

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The second time it happened, Puppy actually got snatched! JQ looks at this picture and keeps saying, “Mommy, baby sad!”

We kept walking, checking our map every once in a while to make sure we were on the right track. Suddenly, Jared stopped and cried, “Get back! Get back! There’s an eight-foot-long snake with its head raised! That’s the biggest snake I’ve ever seen!” I was a bit miffed that he stopped me even getting a good look at it, but I suppose I’d rather be alive than bitten by one of Australia’s poisonous snakes or crushed by a python.

We walked and walked—up hills and down, over more tree roots, past more nasty vines that snatched Puppy away from his owner, around one more snake (much smaller this time), and still there was no end in sight. Then finally we came to a sign that stated: Speewah Campground: 3.4 km (for those of you who are metrically illiterate, that’s around 2 miles). We looked at our sore feet, the slimy leaves, the hills, the clouds of mosquitoes following me wherever I went and devouring my blood as soon as I stopped—and groaned.

However! We made it—inexperienced bushwalkers though we are. We walked (or nearly crawled) up the hill to our campsite with 7 miles already logged in shoe leather.

And then came the fun part. Since I had assumed we’d be taking only a short walk over decent ground, I had worn open-toed sandals. That wasn’t the best idea. When I came back, there were three leeches stuck to my feet, and they didn’t want to come off. I pulled off one black, slimy end and it immediately started waving around, looking for another place to latch on. (Is it bad that it kind of resembled a hungry baby ready to nurse?) Untitled

So today we learned: do not go hiking in the bush unless a) you’re sure you know how long the hike is, b) you’re dressed appropriately, and c) you don’t mind seeing rather large snakes. There may be a bit of puppy rescuing involved too!

Feeding Fish: A Photo Essay

The problem with blogging once a month is that life doesn’t slow down for you to blog it later. So now I’ve got loads of pictures from Malaysia and Sri Lanka…and little desire to write about them. I guess I’d rather not be a travel blogger?

Although, on second thoughts, we loved the short time we spent in Malacca. It was a beautiful city and probably one of the nicest things we saw in Malaysia. So maybe I’ll write about that one of these days. No promises, though!

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Anyways, this set of pictures from the butterfly garden in Kuala Lumpur was too cute not to share. JQ loved feeding the fish and had the best time watching them bubble to the surface when he threw the fish food in. Plus, what’s cuter than hearing a baby say “Fizzshie!”?

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The instructions
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The food
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The grab
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The help
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The look
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The throw

A Weekend in Indonesia

Has it ever been busy around here lately! One brother decided to come surprise the other brother, so we had some fun times with brothers (still trying to convince them to write a blog post). Then once all the company left, we took a trip to Malacca and Kuala Lumpur, and as soon as we got back from that I started a training for 1v4 online classes that had a ridiculous amount of homework. So I’ve only been trying to write this post for about a month and a half. So on top of things over here!

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For spring break, we decided to go to Batam, a small island in Indonesia that’s about an hour ferry ride away from Singapore. Apparently Singaporeans like to visit Batam for seafood, shopping, and a special kind of cake called Kueh Lapis that’s a lot cheaper in Batam. DSC_0442.jpg

However, we are not Singaporean, so we didn’t eat any seafood and we didn’t do any shopping, although we did go to a giant shopping mall because Jared and Abel wanted to see a movie (Q is pretty averse to being quiet and still so he went to the kid’s playplace instead).  We DID try the special cake and it was actually quite good. Abel thought it was almost one of the best things he’d eaten in Singapore, the best, of course, being a chocolate peanut butter sandwich (for some reason fish balls just didn’t do it for him).

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Outside the shopping mall

Our apartment building, which was close to the middle of the city but also kind of in the middle of nowhere and next to a slum, had a great view from the top–at least from the one window we could see out of.

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I think it was part of a development that ran out of money: big fancy buildings that were now weatherstained and nearly empty except for a few token businesses, and, as I mentioned, sitting right next to a large slum. Call me a privileged American, but it was kind of shocking to see an actual slum and realise that yes, people do live in buildings made out of rusty corrugated iron and leave trash sitting around everywhere (trash not depicted as I wasn’t able to get a good picture of the entire slum).

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And that slum was sitting right next to buildings that looked like this:

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They’re a little waterstained and what not, but still. Only a few stores inhabited them, one of which was this cute coffee shop (I think it was owned by the same people who owned our hotel). It was stuffed with all kinds of toys and memorabilia and JQ took great delight in attempting to play with everything.

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The highlight of the trip, by far, was the day we hired a car (and a driver) and traveled over the whole chain of islands around Batam.

We saw some more slums,

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little shops by the roadside selling fruit or snacks and drinks,

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more sad-looking dwellings,

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some abandoned houses that a reservoir had been built over (we surmised)

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and the bridge that all the tourist websites said was a must-see: Barelang Bridge.

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We stopped here and stretched our legs and drank some coconut juice, which JQ “very liked.”

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Then we admired the bridge some more

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and Abel tried to learn some Indonesian from our driver, whose English was pretty poor.

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Then we kept driving on to Vietnam village, an old refugee camp for those displaced by the Vietnam war (empty now). We all agreed that if we were refugees a camp in the middle of the jungle would not be the nicest place to be (can you say mosquitoes!).

The main attraction of the camp now seems to be the monkeys.

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So many monkeys, and they looked like they were used to handouts.

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Also, Abel endured his five minutes of fame for being one of the only white people around when he sped ahead of Jared and me on one of the walking trails and a nun and her friends pressed him into taking a picture with them. Jared and I laid low and took pictures from a distance while sniggering silently.

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Of course, on the very next bend of the trail (which, by the way, was full of scenes from the crucifixion–so this was taken in front of the empty tomb), we were all accosted by an even larger group of people–I assume they were Indonesian–and pressed into taking a picture with them.

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Much picture-taking and rearrangement of people ensued: they practically wanted a picture of everyone individually!

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Once all our celebrity photos were taken (and now we have about a million photos of us on some random strangers’ phones!), we headed back to the car before I could get eaten alive by the mosquitoes.

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Then we headed back home. It gets tiring to get your picture taken all day! I’m sure these deer had the same feeling.

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Before we left Indonesia, we had to try some of the food (even though it’s really pretty similar to Singaporean food). I don’t remember what this was called, but it was some kind of curry and was actually much more delicious than it looks.

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And we came back to Singapore feeling grateful not to live in Indonesia!

Seven Ways to Achieve Bliss: or, How to travel with your baby and still have some sanity when you’re finished

Since John Quincy was born, we’ve traveled to around 8 different countries (England, Scotland, Ireland, France, Germany, the US, Singapore, Malaysia, and Indonesia). I think he may have spent a quarter of his life traveling so far. Perhaps it’s not quite 1000 hours, but I’m starting to think we’re getting pretty proficient at this traveling thing. Here’s what we do:

1.

Baby wear. Babywearing is the best thing for traveling anywhere, at any time. It keeps the baby contained if he’s mobile, is easily portable, and keeps your hands free. Cons of babywearing are that the baby gets heavy after wearing him all day, and if you wear him on your back, it’s tough to sit down, but I find it much less difficult than trying to hold a baby along with all my other stuff.              Travel photos iPhone

2.

Don’t sleep train. There’s nothing wrong with sleep training if you’re a homebody. But if your child can’t sleep anywhere other than their own bed, traveling for several days on end is not for you. You’ll always be worrying about whether you’re ruining a sleep schedule (and you probably will be). Instead, train your kid to sleep anywhere, like on your lap in the train–

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or on the airport floor.

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So far, JQ has slept in trains, planes, taxis, and boats, not to mention napping in his carrier. My motto is “A sleeping baby is a good baby.” Much better than a baby that’s trying to run down the airplane aisles or steal everyone’s earbuds. And much much better than a baby that’s crying because he doesn’t have his own bed to sleep in.

3.

Don’t schedule feedings. I know this might sound like heresy to a lot of you, but seriously, when you’re traveling, would you rather stick like glue to your schedule even though your baby is screaming his head off because he’s hungry, or would you rather suck it up and distract that grumpy baby? I go with distraction and comfort every time. I’d far rather be a human pacifier for my baby than have a grumpy baby who will inevitably make me grumpy.  Like a sleeping baby is a good baby, an eating baby is also a good baby. And the best part is, eating will often make that baby become a sleeping baby.

4.

Pack light: the more you pack, the more you have to carry. That means leave your 30 just-in-case books behind and maybe get a Kindle or something if you fear you’ll be bored. And remember, you’ll be wearing that baby for at least part of the time. And when you’re not wearing him, you’ll probably have to chase him everywhere and won’t have a break to sit down and read anyways. Travel photos iPhone

Or you might only get to sit and read TO the baby. Which is good too.

5.

Don’t be afraid to go slow. Don’t try to see everything all in one day. Of course, I follow this motto even without a baby because sight-seeing can get exhausting and I can’t stand just going to museums all day.

So take a break while you’re at the Louvre looking at the Mona Lisa and let your baby enjoy his version of museum seeing–crawling under benches and crawling out again.Travel photos iPhone

Made his day. And I didn’t mind the chance to sit down for a minute either.

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6.

Find kid-friendly places to stay.

This one’s kind of obvious, but it always helps to stay at places where they don’t mind if your baby has pulled all of their pans out of the cupboard for the 574th time that day and then proceeded to be very loud with said pots and pans. Untitled

Cuteness won’t steal everyone’s  hearts, especially not those who have never had babies and had to try to compensate for their messes.

The most difficult place to stay was in Germany, where we stayed with two college girls who kept their “pantry” in boxes on the floor. JQ was in heaven pulling out boxes of beans and crackers to shake and scatter all over the floor, and I couldn’t keep him away all the time as he hated being shut in our room! We tried our best, but I think they felt we were ruining their tidy house (they were German, after all!).

Now, we mostly try to stay in places where we can have an entire apartment to ourselves. It’s much less stressful than trying to keep someone’s entire house out of the reach of a thoroughly destructive baby.

7.

Walk. A lot.

Not only is walking the best way to see things (in most places–we have visited some VERY unwalkable places recently) but it also helps keep your child occupied. All that movement will often lull him to sleep or at least keep him happy. And it keeps you out of small spaces with a screaming child. What could be better?

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Jared with JQ outside Notre Dame de Paris.  Somehow I failed to get the cathedral in the background, so you can imagine with the below picture:

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7.

Be flexible.

I know that’s easy for me to say–I’m the kind of person who goes with the flow. As long as we’re not totally bored or lost forever, it’s fine with me.

BUT–personality types aside–babies have needs. Sometimes they just need some downtime or need to stop and eat. So sometimes we need to give up whatever plans we have for that day and take the time to help that baby be happy. Because when you’re traveling, a happy baby means everyone else can be happy. Edinburgh

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Go forth and travel!

Linking up at This Ain’t the Lyceum for Quick Takes!

A Quick Trip to Malaysia

A couple weekends ago we took a day off to visit Malaysia. It would have been a quick trip, but it felt like most of our time getting there and back was spent in passport control since we had a baby and couldn’t go through the automated lines. Thankfully, after spending about half an hour in one line that moved maybe two feet, an officer took pity on us (and our screaming baby who definitely feels he has better things to do in life than stand in queue for hours at passport control leaving Singapore) and shunted us through a more quickly moving line. Oddly enough, for being so much more developed than its neighboring countries, Singapore has the slowest moving immigration lines ever. Malaysia got us through much more quickly.

Once we finally got through immigration and got on the bus again and got off the bus in the city, we got some sketchy Malaysian food that surprisingly didn’t make us sick but was extremely spicy, and then got a taxi to go to a palace that had been turned into a museum. Jared had checked it all out beforehand, and on the internet it said that it had been closed for renovation in 2013 but was open to the public in 2016. Well, as soon as we got there we saw a giant sign in front: “Close to Public.”  Apparently, Malaysians are quite bad at updating their websites, as the guard told us it wouldn’t be open until late 2017.

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That plan put on hold, our taxi driver suggested another museum that he knew of. So off we toddled, and found that this one was actually open.

Their main activity was playing some traditional Malaysian game whereby you move marbles around a tray. Whoever still has marbles left at the end wins–although they didn’t mention that fact until Jared had moved all his marbles into the main area.  JQ didn’t care about winning–but he loved moving all the marbles around.

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They also had a really cool skylight shaped like the Malaysian flag.

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The rest of the museum was full of random trinkets and posters about the sultans of Johor Bahru back when it was its own Sultanate. Fascinating stuff if you happen to be a student of Malaysian history and speak the Malay language. Unfortunately, neither of those is on my CV.

JQ, of course, had his fair share of admirers among the guards at the museum. He wasn’t quite sure what to think, though.

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So after that, we took some pictures outside the museum.

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And some more pictures.
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And Abel goofed around a little.

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And looked handsome.

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Then we walked to the bus station and marveled at the lack of sidewalks and the masses of unfinished buildings, stood in line for another two hours at immigration, and made it home happy to be living in a city with sidewalks and crosswalks and all the other amenities of civilization.

Fall in Colorado

It’s fall, and it’s gorgeous. I’d forgotten just how gorgeous Colorado falls could be, and I’m definitely enjoying it while I can, because who knows how long it will be until I get to see a proper fall again!

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I may be biased, but I think Colorado scenery is some of the prettiest for fall. Blue mountains, blue sky, and blue lakes contrast so nicely with the yellows and reds of fall.

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So even though I’ve traveled all over recently (it feels like it, at least!), it’s been so nice to come home.

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Sadly, the leaves left quickly when a giant windstorm came up and blew them all away. But we sure enjoyed them while they lasted!

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There’s just something about the mountains that is so beautiful against the sky.

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I hope you’re enjoying fall wherever you’re at, though I’m guessing it’s not as gorgeous as this!  Now if I can just pack in a little snow before I move to the tropics!

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The Life of a Tramp, part 2: Cumbrae Island

Of all the places we visited, Cumbrae Island was definitely one of our favorites. We stayed at an adorable little village in Scotland called West Kilbride, and our hostess recommended we see Cumbrae island.

So we headed off early in the morning on the ferry and hoped it wouldn’t be too chilly since I’d gotten rid of all my jackets. That’s what happens when you put all your stuff in one carry-on sized suitcase.

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But even though it started off cold and gray, it became beautifully sunny when we got there. And I have a ton of pictures to prove it.

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When we got there, we thought about being cheapskates and just walking all the way around the island (about 10 miles), but decided to take a bus into the town of Millport and rent bicycles.

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It was an adorable little town (and super cheap housing prices!) and we were almost convinced to buy a beach house there for summer vacations.

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It was so much fun to cycle around the island on the most beautiful day ever and feel the fresh air and see the gorgeous scenery. I might have enjoyed it a little.

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We stopped and ate lunch overlooking this view.

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JQ sat on a rock and supervised.DSC_0907

Then it was off for more cycling and enjoying the view.

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What can I say, except that it was gorgeous and you should go there if you ever get the chance?

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