TRAVEL PACKING – a refined art form

The more I can travel the better. Any size of trip broadens my mind and teaches me a lot; it’s a fascinating thing to do, it really is. And it’s not just the trip itself, but the planning, the expectations and of course the utter excitement of packing. Calculating the right quantity of clean undergarments, decide on ankle or tube-socks and other life-saving being-away-from-home necessities to bring along, can in itself be extremely exciting – okay, in a weird kind of way, but still exciting.

My packing background and self-inflicted packing expertise is based on countless trips within Europe as a young lad living in Denmark and then from many trips to Europe and elsewhere since I moved to the USA. We go to Scandinavia at least once a year. It’s not like we travel with deep pockets, but visiting our family and friends in Scandinavia has always been a travel priority – so we have made it happen. 

Tomorrow morning we are off to Florence and Tuscany (Italy) and on to Denmark and Sweden. We planned and bought the flying, hotels, museums and rental cars some 4-5 months ago; a lot of time to enjoy great expectations. And then the all-important travel packing must be done; talking about utter excitement. 

Some travel light with barely enough clean undies and socks to last half the trip; the reason some tourists smell, well like tourists. Some overload on a lot of unnecessary stuff (flat screen TVs and microwave ovens); some pack and repack 2-3 months ahead of time. Some promise themselves that THIS time the packing will be done so ahead of time – and then they scramble to fill the suitcase with anything an hour before departure – but they promise themselves that NEXT time will be different – and it really won’t.

We have the ones who, for some slightly warped reason pack every bloody thing in Ziploc bags of all sizes – and then mark them using a blue Sharpie just in case they don’t fully recognize their own underwear through the clear plastic - duh.

Some travelers use bags bigger than Ziplocs, cramming a bunch of stuff in there and mark it “Tuesday”, or whatever day these clothes will be worn; from undies (sounds like I’m excited about undies, huh? Well, I am, all depending…) to blouses, socks, shoes, jewelry, and the occasionally weird travel hats. I’m positive that we have as many different packing-strategies as we have travelers.

When I pack depends solely on the time of departure – rather scientific, huh? Tomorrow’s take-off is at 8am which means we leave home for the airport at 4:30am, getting up at 3:30am. So my packing will take place the evening before, with a light round-up in the morning. Pay attention, because this is how it’s done – fast, furiously and efficient; you might even want to take notes.

We will be gone 22 days including full days of travel on each end. Looking at the itinerary, we are staying with good friends in Bedonia (Italy) from day 8 through day 11. So I inquired about the availability of laundry facilities. All Angela said, in fluent Italian, was: “DUH”, which actually means: “Duh, e persona stupida” (translates to: “of course, you silly person”). A second laundry facility will be available near Stockholm (Sweden) on day 17, so I plan my clean underwear strategy accordingly.

Based on the above and without the use of an adding machine, I can now calculate quantities using the figure 10. This will leave me a bit of breathing room for the “just in case” moments, of which I have had none what so ever – ever. You are proud of me, aren’t you?

So the evening before take-off I lay out my travel-clothes, top to bottom. Then I pack, based on 10: 10 pairs of underwear, 10 pairs of socks (2 variations), and a mix of 10 T-Shirts, polo-shirts and perhaps a dress shirt – but rarely. As the weather should be warm in Italy and predictably unpredictable in Denmark and Sweden, I will bring 3 pairs of shorts (heavy duty with lots of pockets) and some cargo-pants. I add a couple of sweaters (for cool Nordic nights) and a thin nylon jacket that is actually very warm (for cool and rainy Nordic nights).

I travel in sneakers, light as can be, and pack a heavier pair for variety and support. We are going to do a lot of walking, but mostly on flat and paved surfaces, so hiking-boots are not needed. By the way, the last time I said “hiking-boots are not needed”, I broke a leg – brilliant. And that’s about it – fast, furious and simple; not the broken leg thing, but the packing.

I’m a very active photographer, so my carry-on will have a couple of cameras, some lenses and other photo stuff. I also pack a laptop (checking E-Mails, looking at the day’s photos, etc.), my Kindle Fire (for reading), both my US and European mobiles, as well as my iPod for musical entertainment and Italian lessons; yes, I want to verbally communicate (and embarrass myself) with the natives beyond handing out round and shiny objects to appease them; “prego prego”. I also pack a few pens, a steno-pad as well as all the reservation documents, passports, ticket information, a bit of cash, a credit and debit card – just in case, huh?

The morning of departure, I place my beauty-bag on the bathroom counter, and as I go through my normal beautification routine, the stuff I use, go into the bag after I use it (after brushing teeth, all of them, toothbrush and paste are dumped in, etc.) very quick and efficient. And I’m good to fly…

I have never missed anything, but at times I have packed stuff where I have spent a bit of time going: “Now why the heck did I bring this?” Case in point, on a 12-day solo trip to Denmark visiting my Mother, I brought one of them rubber elastic band exercise things that never made it out of the Ziploc (Oh my, it WAS in one of those bags). Well, the intentions were good.

On another solo-trip I brought so much writing-stuff as I was working on my first book. A heavy duty HP laptop, research material, pads and pens and lots of notes. I sat down and wrote only once – and then I dragged everything back to California.

I have never been insanely concerned about how I dress when I travel – simply because I travel, so I consider whatever I want to wear is cool. I have never felt over-dressed, but on the other hand I have never felt under-dressed either. I start every day in clean clothes, including clean undies – isn't that all we should expect from a vary traveler?

But I wouldn’t be surprised if the natives are commenting behind my back: “Look at what he is wearing – he must be a great travel packer… Or perhaps his wife is…” – I would tell them that it’s just from years of experience.

In spite of my travel packing being a thing of efficient beauty and swiftness, I am staying so far away from commenting on how my wife or anybody else packs for trips, simply because I am not, as they say in Italian: “Una persona stupida” and I think that’s pretty smart, don’t you?

Ciao, Pietra

PARTY ANIMAL – not I, unfortunately

Don’t you just hate people who were born to party, the ones floating around, charmingly chatting away with everybody, drink in hand, while laughing, smiling and seemingly having a great time? I enjoy being social, I enjoy conversing and I can smile rather charmingly while downing a few adult beverages. But unfortunately, I can’t do all those things at the same time to make me a wild & crazy party animal (sigh).

A party, the gathering of people invited by a host or hostess or both, has the purpose of socializing in a recreational setting, which can involve beverages, food, music and (my least favorite) dancing. We have many reasons to party; some I will not mention here because I think my Mother is reading this blog…

We have birthday, bachelor and bachelorette parties; surprise, dinner and cocktail parties; non-political tea parties; dance, block and costume parties; Xmas, graduation and housewarming parties; wedding, divorce and farewell parties; and the list is long. Some party for no reason – other than to party…

I’m a fun kind of person; I chat with people all over the place, including elevators; I can make people laugh (even without taking my clothes off) and for the most part I thoroughly enjoy smaller dinner parties for two (the ones with my wife, of course) but real party-wise, I feel most comfortable with 4 to 8 people; more than that and I get lost.

The reason? I like conversation that has a bit of meat on it – something that makes me wake up the next morning with “interesting evening” on my mind. But don’t get me wrong, because FUN is so essential to everything I do in life. The meaty part of dinner dialog MUST have a bit of FUN sprinkled on it; and to me, that works a lot better in smaller groups.

The times I was invited to bigger parties, I always felt unsure of what was going on, how these big things actually functioned. There would be a lot of people I didn’t know and a few I did. I cannot do the ‘small-talk’ thing, as it seems a superficial, nervous and an insecure way of communication; a feeling that makes me uncomfortable. I can start fun conversations with just about anybody anywhere, other than at big parties; so perhaps I’m superficial, nervous and insecure? Nah…

Back in the days of early adolescent party-time, which had dreaded added peer pressure, I would quickly end up against a kitchen wall, nurturing a beer, next to somebody looking as uncomfortable as I felt. Funny thing is that many times I actually had some great conversations with these fellow kitchen wall-flowers, females as well as males.

Bigger party situations don’t give me the stimulation I get from small gatherings. Too much time is wasted explaining in a very loud voice into an ear I have never met before, how I know the host and hostess. And after my intense moments of screaming, it’s my ear’s turn to be screamed at; you tell me, where’s the fun in that?

I also have a thing about noise, the mixture of chatter, music and other loud party sounds. In those environments I struggle concentrating on basic conversation and especially anything deeper than “Dancing with the Stars”. I’m simply lost. But this is not a complaint at all; it’s just that perhaps I would like to be more of a party animal – experience a lot more stimulation from those bigger gatherings.

I met my wife at a BBQ party; I guess we could call it a party – so of course that’s the best party I have ever been to (and we just celebrated our 29th year of marriage). But there is another party that stands out, and thinking about it makes me smile, sigh and giggle – every time.

I must have been 13-14 years old. A classmate of mine had a secret costume-party, and I was invited. “Secret” was because you had to dress in a costume where nobody would be able to guess it was you. My Mother helped me create an awesome clown costume; it was cool & clowny & extremely secret. Only a couple of my friends figured out it was me – mainly because I told them. Those were the years of insecurities, anxieties and me being awkward and shy; but hiding behind a cool clown, made me feel wonderfully secure. But still, I quickly found a comfy-chair and a nurturing beer.

The house was full of great secret costumes, loud noises, music, dancing and decorations, laughter and fun. It was by the latter part of the party that all of a sudden a funky looking ballerina landed on my lap – just like that. As I had never experienced a landing ballerina before, the surprise was intriguing – in a very good way, I quickly found out.

She had a very pretty ballerina-like body, but her face was maked-up so well that I did not recognize who she was – and I desperately wanted to know. I asked her several times, but she laughed and said NO in her made-up secret voice.

She had put her arms around my neck and we started to chat, now both in secret made-up voices – and we actually laughed a lot. Oh, and then we kissed; I was a true gentleman, as during the kissing part I removed my nose. It was the first time I kissed a ballerina sitting on my lap. After about 20 minutes she got up; her father was there to take her home, she said – and she was gone.

Back in school the following Monday I tried hard to find out who she was; nobody knew, or wouldn’t tell me. During the last recess that day, I was sitting on a bench pouting and feeling depressed when a made-up voice asked: “can I sit on your lap today?” I looked up and there was Jytte Knudsen, the girl none of us boys dared approach because she had always seemed so beyond us. Jytte was a beautiful girl and in that respect intimidating to a shy and insecure boy like me (and all my friends).

She sat down next to me and started chatting away, about the party, the many fun costumes and that ‘clown’ she had had her eyes on for many weeks – I realized she meant me. As the bell sounded, she grabbed my hand and we walked towards the school entrance, very together – in retrospect, I floated more than I walked.

Jytte and I were together for about a year, which at that age was like being married forever. She was very intelligent, had a quick wit and was a lot of fun being around. I can’t remember why it ended; I wonder how Jytte’s life has been.

I do not condemn big parties, as my option is to go or not to go – if invited, of course. But I have never been that perfect party-animal that I envy to some extent. Am I willing to learn? Nah, I’m happy where I am party-wise. But when you invite me to your next big party, I will come, because I’m sure you have a kitchen-wall I can lean against; and then you can easily find me so you can scream into my ear for a few moments and then I’ll scream into yours – party on, Peter…

GETTING OLDER – no need to hurry

It’s my birthday today – hitting 68. Is it a happy birthday? For me, it has never been a day that is extraordinarily more exuberant than any other day, as most days of my life have been and actually are rather happy. But of course, frosting drenched layer-cake and colorful-wrapped surprises, does make it a bit happier. But no matter the quantity of frosting, I am still getting older; at times that thought doesn’t make me overly happy – my free advice to you: don’t hurry getting older.

When we were kids we couldn’t get older fast enough. It was perhaps 16 that had a glow of excitement and freedom when we were 13. Then we hit 16 and 18 was the next goal covered in nirvana (not the band, but the emotion). After enjoying being 18 for a couple of minutes, 21 looked like the Holy Grail. But then I think it stopped – don’t you? I mean, when I was 35 I didn’t have any urges getting to 50 anytime soon. 

Asking a kid how old he or she is they go: “7-1/2 but I’ll be 8”, already involving that next year into the answer. I giggle and get an uneasy eye-rolling smirk on my face when an ‘older’ person responds: “67 but I’ll be 68…” yeah ‘duh’, if you live that long. What’s bothering me is the dreaded reality of actually hitting that additional year, which we underline by birthdays; it’s iffy because it’s part of getting older – and I don’t think I want to, so take that...

I use the term ‘older’ and not ‘old’, because I don’t really know what ‘old’ means. A joke can be old, as in worn out, boring and told too many times. As far as I know, ‘old’ has not been established as a measure of age, like we hit 68 and now we are officially ‘old’ – or something like that (I hope not)… Sure King Tut could be filed under ‘old’, but to me he is simply: ‘extremely very older’. Sounds better, don’t you think?

Okay, all this sounds perhaps a bit down and depressing, but in reality it’s not – just some deeper birthday thoughts. You see, for an ‘old fart’, sorry it should be: ‘older fart’ like me, I’m in a good place. I do not have any health issues; I exercise daily, I eat healthy with the occasional binge-inhalation of Redvines or any form of sugar-based soft candy-like stuff; I do not smoke (anything) and alcohol is only consumed in the form of wine and the occasional micro-brewed beer.

When I hit 50 I started to think ‘older’, perhaps from the realization that my life was no doubt half done by then. And when you are a healthy, happy and a productive human being at that age, that thought might be an issue of concern due to its morbidity. But on the other foot, I have always had ways of moving negative thoughts into something positive.

So when I hit 50 I got my lists together and wrote everything down that I found negative in my life (and options to solve or dispose of), as well as everything positive – and there was a lot of that. After I finished the lists, the positives outweighed the negatives by a million miles (that would be 1,6 million kilometers, by the way), still, by a lot - you get the idea. After that exercise, 50 did not look bad at all.

There are so many things I enjoy and have enjoyed beyond my expectations as I am getting older. So many things I have found pleasures in, things in my ‘earlier’ life I had bypassed due to self-inflicted time-limits, seeking something more profitable during those times – so a lot of great stuff got overlooked. By now I have revisited many of those earlier neglected items. 

Don’t get me wrong and believe to any extent that I have more time to myself today, than I had back in those earlier days. My days are full of it (that would be stuff to do), and my pre-retirement visions of relaxed afternoons by the fountain in the back-yard, a glass of chilled white-wine and a good book? I found they were just that – visions. But this is not a complaint, because when all my whining is out of the way, I am still in control of my own time these days – but there are still other things that must be done, have to be done. But it’s still my choice ‘when’; well, for the most part.

I have found enhanced interest in the things I was interested in as a younger person. I have liked art and art history from I was in my late twenties. I was more or less breastfed with interest in music; I have always liked reading, for the most part non-fiction, but also well-written fiction and photography is a main interest. I like to write stuff – and I am getting better at it as I get older; perhaps getting ‘more mature’ plays a part.

Of the many things I have pondered and learned through my life, one stands out. When talking ‘older’ as in reaching birthday after birthday: DO NOT HURRY. If I could do my younger life over, of course with the experience and appreciation I have today (duh), it would be rather different in the WOW department.

 Unfortunately the deal is that we are not blessed with too much experience or knowledge early on. Appreciating our surroundings has to be earned by learned; and that takes time. To me, that is not fair at all, as what I know now would have made me a much more productive and even more ‘enjoying’ human being back then. But at least I enjoy a lot of that ‘stuff’ now that I couldn’t fully enjoy way back then.

Don’t hurry getting older, but thoroughly and fully (at least make a big effort) enjoy where you are now. Open your eyes and your mind even more so; don’t be caught looking at your smart phone more than you are looking at your friends. And talking about ‘looking’, make sure that you take it all in, your surroundings, the times with family and the times alone. Listen more than talking as you will learn a lot more by closing your mouth and open your mind. Never take anything or anybody for granted. Make sure you have the best relationship with the most important person in your life – and that is you. 

I like my previous 67 years, warts and all. And ‘yes’ I would do it all over again, warts and all. There are a couple of things I did I would like to apologize for; no, nothing criminal, thank you. But I would still do it all again, because those first 67 years (like there will be a second set of 67 years) were really good.

So I advice you not to hurry; stop and smell the proverbial roses, inhale whatever you are doing (legal stuff only) and enjoy where you are in your life, create more positives than negatives. No matter how busy you are, don’t pass all this fantastic stuff on the way – those many magic moments you should be able to look back at and treasure when you hit 68 - just like I do today. So the above said and done, perhaps it will be a HAPPY BIRTHDAY, after all.

SECRETS – nearly impossible to keep

If I have a secret and decide to tell you what it is, what I’m concerned, it is not a secret anymore. But the official definition of secret is hiding information from certain individuals or groups, so my much more logical philosophy doesn’t hold water – but it should, don’t you think?

When looking up the word secret in books that explain words like that, you are quickly guided to secrecy, which fans out to clandestinely and furtiveness, both challenging tongue-twisters; say each word six times really fast and you might never be able to untangle your tongue.

 Clandestinely is an adjective invented back in the days (1528) and explains “marked by, held in or conducted in secrecy”; like love affairs, and stuff like that – not something everyone should know about, huh? Furtiveness is from around 1612 and means “done by stealth / obtained underhandedly”. What I’m concerned, nobody got it right - well, except me; but you decide, of course.

We all have secrets; some are juicy (my favorites) and others are just utterly boring. Our secrets are about things we do not want to share with anybody, not even Fluffy, the family bunny, because you never know, do you? It’s stuff about ourselves, stuff about people around us, things we do, have done and might want to do, very personal opinions, thoughts and so forth – all sensitive stuff. 

Sharing any little bit of this with others, could be embarrassing, devastating for us and/or the person/people around us. These are secrets we must hold on to and definitely want to keep to ourselves – if we want to keep the peace.

Do I have secrets like that? Of course. Would I share them with you? Are you mad? Besides, it wouldn’t be a secret anymore if I did, would it? But my secrets are not really juicy, mystical or very exciting; they are more so opinions and thoughts I prefer to keep to myself, stuff that wouldn’t improve anything if revealed or make things bad. Yeah, not very exciting, huh? It’s just stuff that I believe we all carry around, and for the most part, keeping these secrets to ourselves is the ticket.

We keep secrets for many reasons. It could be based on shame, on fears, on hurtfulness, acceptance or just common sense. Some things are better not said, I truly believe in that. This should not be misconstrued as being fake, dishonest or cowardly holding back information; the term diplomacy comes to mind.

As mentioned above, the official explanation of secret/secrecy is when we hide information from certain individuals or groups. Family secrets can cover many issues, but that Uncle Ed is a jerk is hard to keep secret. Governments are hiding all kinds of stuff from us, at times stuff we wonder why it was hidden in the first place, why it was packed in secrecy. Corporate secrecy can be rather extensive and of course there are a lot of secrets the corporate world do not want consumers to know about – a huge lot, which is very scary. 

Technology secrets are massive and very much in demand, with corporate spying and worldwide networks of groups doing their very best getting/stealing any of these secrets, at any cost. Military secrets are so vast an area and pretty much every single nation are trying to extract these secrets from each other, even from the ones they call their friends and allied (please remember: these are all adults, which is even more scary). 

But what’s up with Top Secret? Now, if I’m not totally dizzy, when a secret is already a secret, how much more secret can it be? Is Top Secret more secret then a basic secret? Does it mean that I should keep my mouth totally shut trying desperately to keep a Top Secret and perhaps it’s okay to let my mouth run a bit concerning a basic secret? Does Top Secret mean that we also have a Bottom Secret? I didn’t think so; I’m convinced Top Secret was only invented to make movies and spy-novels more exciting.

Officially secrets and secrecy mean sharing information only with certain individuals and groups. So if you are an official secret-holder, not following my interpretation (which of course you should, duh), I hereby officially warn you to always be utterly careful with whom you share your secrets with. Be extremely cautious, especially if it’s a secret that you do NOT want to go any further.  Remember, that since you couldn’t keep this secret to yourself, the person you pass it on to cannot either. 

Confession: on the keeping secrets scale, I am as way down below the bottom-line as you can get. So many times (as in ‘all the time’) I plan something exciting or bought stuff or done stuff for my wife that was supposed to be a secret (as in: surprise) for 30+ years of blissful marriage, I have not been able to keep it to myself – always exposing the (secrets) surprises way ahead of time. Oh well, if nothing else, do I get points for consistency?

  

If you are near exploding concerning a secret you have, I suggest you take a deep breath and reconsider the damage it might cause, before you let it out. Remember that everybody around you has the same darn problem concerning leaking secrets – especially if the secret is not their own. Also remember that the secret you tell somebody will no doubt be retold very differently and so forth. An ongoing retold secret can go from Uncle Ed being a jerk to Aunt Winnie winning the Nobel Peace Prize (which still leaves Uncle Ed a jerk – because that has never been a secret).

I trust we all have some secrets we are not comfortable to share for good reasons; personal stuff, thoughts about, opinions and what-not. And I am fine with people around me not sharing these secrets with me; and perhaps lucky?

I don’t have many secrets as I am a fairly straight-forward and out-spoken person; at times too out-spoken, I’m told. So keeping secrets is not my strongest side – at all. I don’t think my wife has any secrets, if so only very few; she is utterly honest and most people are like that – I believe.

If you have any secrets you can’t keep to yourself anymore, this is your chance to get them out worldwide as this blog has over 26,000 readers from 122 countries – so feel free to place those dark, deep and juicy secrets as a comment, and let’m rip, okay? (I can’t wait). And of course you don’t have to use your real name – as that would be utterly stupid - duh…

DISCLAIMER: If any of you have an Uncle Ed in your family, I’m sorry I made him a jerk, especially if he is not – but remember, to me he is just a person I made up. I’m sure there are a lot of nice Uncle Ed’s out there.