My Year in a Suitcase

Did you ever see the movie 'Up in the Air'? Well I didn't. But I've been told I lead a similar life to George Clooney's character, whose job has him constantly flying around the country firing people. Only I don't fire people, and I'm not the Sexiest Man Alive.

One year ago I moved to DC to be a peon  management consultant. Of the 52 or so weeks I've "lived" in DC, there've been 6 total weeks where I didn't leave town on a plane, train, or automobile. Six. (but before you turn sour-punch green, let me assure you that Indianapolis and Groton, CT are not the most glamorous places on the map) At the very least, I've gained a few notches in my travel-smarts belt, right?  

Things I've learned from a year of 3-ounce bottles and window seats:

• A month in a carry-on is completely doable.
• Ziplock freezer bag = makeup bag.  
• You will NEVER feel good about yourself after eating an Auntie Ann's pretzel.
• Make friends with airport personnel, and magically you're never "randomly" selected.
• A window seat is a must for red eyes and overseas flights, unless you packed this: 

• You can easily sneak a 5-oz. tube of toothpaste through security, but the same isn't true for a 16 oz. jar of clover honey.
• Skip the jewelry
• For goodness' sake, check in online. 
• Order to put your items through the security scanner:
1. suitcase
2. laptop case
3. laptop 
4. toiletries
5. shoes

Promise. It's the fastest way to get everything off the belt on the other end.

• The December SkyMall edition is by far the best one.

"Potty train your cat faster than most people can potty train their kids"

Must have that Sianket: a snuggie for 2??

I haven't really decided how I feel about the lifestyle. Some people are super resilient and born to fly, but I personally can't imagine juggling it for too long, especially once a family is in the mix. Gah, I can't imagine. 

Until then, you can call me George - I'm Up in the Air.     

The Time I Stalked Harry Potter

**Seriously embarrassing story disclaimer**

I used to have an unhealthy obsession with a boy. He was a scrawny kid from London, never really brushed his hair, and had a weird thing for owls. But I just adored him.

When I was 15, my friend Tash and I took a trip to Southampton, England to visit her family. You know what is close to Southampton? London. You know who lives in London? Harry Potter (or at least the actor who plays him).

Yes, that's right - we stalked Harry Potter.

I'll spare you the top-secret/borderline-creepy details on how we actually found his house, but all you need to know is when we finally found it, he was away on vacation! We got royally yelled at (because anything that happens in the UK is a royal experience) by his neighbor for "star gazing", but we were not deterred. 

We came back, wrote the 10-year-old star a letter about how we came all the way from Texas to see him, and stuck it in the mail slot. Two weeks later, I received an autographed photo in the mail, and life was pretty much downhill from there.

**End of seriously embarrassing story**   

I thought of that experience this week, because I went to a different Harry's house. But not in a stalkerish way at all this time (and you're thinking, 'yeah right, this is the creeper who flew all the way to England to stalk a kid!'). 

Cross my heart.

I spy a yesterday's-glory jazz star hiding behind the hydrangeas

I was visiting Cape Cod with a friend who was giving me a tour of the town, and she stopped by Harry Connick Jr.'s house. Maybe you don't know this, but I am a HUGE HCJ fan. And I wasn't even the slightest bit tempted to go knock on his door and tell him 20 and Harry for the Holidays are my favorite albums and beg for a jazz piano lesson and a take a picture with him to send to my sister. The thought never even crossed my mind. No no, I am so much more mature than that, now. 

My days of stalking Harry's are behind me.

Other Cape Cod delights:

First ones at the beach. This is nice

Getting ready to parasail

Turns out, parasailing is not hard core even with cross bones on your parachute.

 But the view was a beaut!

I could live here. Some day. Some day.  

    

Mlle Swan va à Montréal

I'm about to let North America's best-kept secret out of the bag. Ready? Set?

 

It's like someone took a chunk of Paris and wedged it between New England and the Maritimes. Only it's cheaper. And it's right here in our own backyard! (no, I'm not saying Canada is the backyard of the US, so stop it right there with that Canada joke you are brewing)

Are you digging this? The jetlag-free French experience. Now don't get me wrong, I love visiting Paris just as much as every other crepe-loving-idealist American, but sans the Eiffel Tower, a few priceless masterpieces and a triumphant arch here and there, Montreal has it all. Who says Lance Armstrong needs to bike up the main drag in your town to make it cool? 

I was shocked at how much I loved this city. Maybe it was because it's not exhausted on the 'Top Places to Go' lists and I wasn't expecting too much? Or maybe it was the pervasive street art, the "we're French and we know it" cafes that line the streets, or the beautiful cathedrals? Or perhaps it was the woman at the gas station who could definitely speak English, but would only respond to me in French? Je ne sais pas quoi.

 

Did I nearly wet myself when we saw this? I'll never tell.



The LDS temple might be next to an adult novelty store, but again - I'll never tell  

Could not have asked for a better travel buddy

Notre Dame Cathedral

Olympic Stadium from Mount Royal

You know you are in an artsy town when there are polka dots on the street

Rue Saint Denis

Who needs the Red Light District? It's right here!

Feelin ritzy in the financial district

So next time you are thinking of shelling out thousands of dollars to go visit gay ol' Paris, pocket those extra loonies and go be amazed at Montreal.

Miss Swan Goes to New York...State

Viola: Wow, you're not missionaries anymore! You look so---

Me: . . . normal?

Viola: Well I was going to say 'human' . . .

I guess the electric-blue pants and leopard sandals blared the "not a missionary anymore" message loud and clear. Yep, I went back to my mission last weekend to my favorite area: Westport, NY! And to make the trip even better, BCE (best companion ever) Dano came all the way out from Utah for the ride. It was so good to meet up with old friends and catch up after 3 years. 


Two non-missionary humans



Sandy, Larry, and Viola. Love them dearly.

3 years ago we helped lay the first 2 layers on this, so I can claim I built the whole thing, mm?

Best. Stop by. Ever.

They didn't used to be as tall as me. . .

BCE

This area isn't really on the tourist radar, but whoa Nelly - after you read what I'm about to throw down, you'll be itching to go.

Attractions That Should Put This Place on the Map:

The Ticonderoga Pencil Museum

The former Branch President helps run the Ticonderoga Heritage Museum. You can thank Ticonderoga for that yellow #2 pencil that you used to bomb the SAT.

I know, I know. You are already wishing you lived here.  

Champ the Sea Monster

I'll always remember opening the door one morning to see a parade full of green sea monsters: the "Champ Day" celebration. Lake Champlain makes up most of the NY/VT border and is home to the Loch Ness Monster's lesser-known-but-equally-heinous cousin, Champy. I spent 9 months on the lookout for Champy to no avail. We learned a hard truth on this trip:

But the town still believes.



The New York State Fair

The NY state fair is where demolition derbies meet quilted maple leafs with a side of Democrat Fries. As missionaries we had a booth at the fair and contacted more people within 2 days than we had in 2 months (did I mention it's rural?). This time around, we went with some friends to cheer on Malynda in the talent show. She sang like a Champ (the regular kind, not the sea monster) and advanced to the final round!

Cute Ella who can now pronounce all of her  S's. That means I'm finally "Sister Swan" rather than "Mister Thwan"

Gene's Michigan Stand                   

You haven't really lived until you have tried a Michigan - an upstate New York treat. Picture a Sloppy-Joe-esque sauce with a shot of maple syrup. Slop that ground-beef-for-gods sauce on a hotdog, top it with diced onions, and voila! You have the most delicious misnomer imaginable (I haven't the slightest idea why they are called Michigans - they have nothing to do with that state).    

Don't knock it til you try it

So are you packing your bags to head to Westport yet or what? I'll meet you there.