travel without plans

Annika

- We have the first five days planned, I say. After that, who knows? We don’t know what we’ll do, where we’ll go or how long we’ll stay. We’ll see what happens.

- How fun, they all reply. That’s what being on vacation is all about!

-  Ah, I don’t know about that, I say. I kind of like having things worked out on beforehand. However, my travel companions beg to differ and so I have to back down this time. This is not my trip. This is our trip, and I have to learn how to let go. I am not in charge this time, it’s not up to me to make all the plans. It’s something I have to learn, and I guess it’s good for me, but it’s difficult!

Upon hearing this they all shake their heads. No, they say, they’re not like that at all. They like not having plans.

So I question myself. Am I just a mad control freak? Maybe I am. I have tackled travel the same way I tackle anything that I know very little about: I read and read and read, and make sure to learn as much as possible. I refuse to let fear of the unknown stop me - I face the fear, examine it inside out until it has no power over me.
I made plans and reservations and paid for as much as possible in advance - all with the intentions of creating a failproof trip. On solo trips this approach works beautifully, but in my quest of planning The Perfect Family Trip to Italy two years ago I fear that I turned into a Travelzilla. Somewhat manic, if you wish. I planned the trip for us, but it was mine mine mine. In the end, everything was perfectly planned and went smoothly according to my plans, and I had a great time, but the experience nearly destroyed my marriage because I kind of forgot my husband, both in the planning stages and during the trip. That one (perfectly planned) trip, made him extremely reluctant to travel again. I’d be damned to make that mistake again.

Three years ago I had never been anywhere on my own. I knew nothing about how things are done, what to do at the airport or how hotel vouchers work. I knew nothing, so I dealt with the problem the only way I know how to deal with anything, and so I learned.

I learned.

What if these tactics are no longer needed? I was a travel newbie and knew nothing, but then I learned. I am not nervous in airports anymore. Excited, yes. Nervous, no. I am not really nervous about travel anymore at all. Excited, oh yes, but not nervous. I learned my way around the world. I learned that things tend to work out for the best. I learned that it’s not that difficult, and that if you’re not afraid to ask people for help you’ll be fine just about anywhere.

Maybe it is time for a new approach.

6 Reasons to Travel Without Plans

I won! I won!

Annika

After - how many years? 3½? - my blog has finally receieved its first award, when Mary from The Flavors of Abruzzo rewarded me with the  Honest Scrap Award.

The award is given by other bloggers who consider a blog’s content or design to be brilliant. The awardee must then post ten honest things about themselves and pass the award on to other bloggers who fit the bill – in other words, whose blog is brilliant.

Ten honest things about me, then.  I can’t say for sure that I haven’t mentioned these things before, but anyway, here we go:

- As a teenager I developed a habit of piling up clothes on and around my bed. At almost 30, this habit has yet to be broken.

- At 17 I bought a very small bottle of very cheap rosé wine and got very drunk on the shore of Seine, while singing along very loud to Céline Dion’s French songs together with a very gay guy who played them on his Walkman. Oh what a fun night that was.

- I hate talking on the phone and avoid it at all costs. Yes, it means that I have lost quite a few friends over the years because I don’t stay in touch, but sadly that is not enough to overcome my fear of embarrassing silence.

- I have worn the same shoe size since I was 12 and the same clothes size since 16.

- Speaking of shoes, I can’t wear high heels anymore. Last year I had a bunionectomy, during which they put a screw into my toe to keep it straight, so now it is impossible to flex it enough to wear high heels.

- At 18 I won a 50 lb (22.7 kg) sack of corn. I had no money to buy food, so I basically lived on popcorn and tea for a long long time.

- I like a clean and tidy house but ours is a constant mess and I am by no means guilt free.

- I would much much much rather be a truck driver than a preschool teacher. I find the solitude in the truck and the long drives appealing, but groups of children freak me out.

- I am totally and completely worthless at cooperating with other people. I tend to think faster, research more and draw quicker conclusions than many others, and then I don’t have the patience to wait for them to catch up and so I end up doing everything by myself and they end up feeling run over and left out. I need to work on my teamwork skills, because as of now I have none.

- I am (surprisingly?) introvert and rarely talk to strangers. I can’t really say that I’m shy, I just don’t know what to say to them and I am quite happy with my own company. Becoming a hairdresser has been good for me in that aspect, because in my job I am forced to talk to strangers over and over and over again and it is slowly coming more naturally. My father is an expert at this, he can talk to anyone about anything at any time. He is also very good at keeping in touch with people on the phone (see #8). I should learn a few tricks from him.

So who do I want to give the award to?

Anait of Cap Ou Pas Cap
Kellee of If Not Now, When? (she doesn’t write very often nowadays, but when she writes… ah!)
Janie of Panini Girl
Tina of Tina Tangos
Charlie of Figs and Lemons

planning again

Annika

So… it seems like our roadtrip will happen for real. I work through July 22, then we (Myself, André, Alexander and our friend Lasse) take off early in the morning of the 23rd. The plan is as follows:

Day 1: Gävle - Vittsjö. Appx 611 km. Stay the night at my dad’s house.

Day 2: Vittsjö - somewhere in Germany, probably around Osnabrück (you all know where that is right?). Appx 658 km. Stay the night in the cheapest hotel we can find.

Day 3: Osnabrück (or wherever) - Metz. Appx 451 km. In Metz we meet up with Roberta, Lasse’s girlfriend, who is there for her nephew’s baptism.

Day 4: Metz

Day 5: Metz - Milan. Appx 715 km.

And that’s it. There will be five of us in the car on the way back north since Roberta is joining us, and we have to be back home again on the 9th of August. What we are going to do in the meantime, nobody knows and nobody but me wants to think about it before we go either. I guess we won’t know if we’ll be up for traveling even further south before we’ve actually made it through those first days in the car. I know what I would do if this was my trip, but I’m not alone this time. Milan - Positano is another 821 km in the car, or a day by train.

In any event this trip has worked rather well as a carrot on my journey towards that driver’s license you’ve heard me talking about for years and years now. I’m telling ya, it’s just around the corner now, I’m doing the written exam on Thursday. Of course with this being super safe Sweden and all, I also have to take a few risk handling courses, the first on Tuesday which is on a slippery track so that I will know how to handle the car on icy winter roads, and the second on Wednesday which is a discussion about drugs, alcohol and driving.
An intense week is coming up.

the breadwinner

Annika

- I can’t go on like this, I said. I just have so much to do all the time and I work all the time and I take on all kinds of things and then there is just no time left and even if I find the time I just don’t have any energy left to do the things I want to do, the things I used to do.

- Like what? he asked softly.

- Like… like baking bread! I blurted and burst into tears.

I think we were both taken aback, both by my answer and by my reaction. Who knew that baking is so important to me?

There is magic to it though, something almost hypnotizing about how you take flour and yeast and water and suddenly they disappear, they don’t exist anymore, there is no more flour, no more water, only dough. Then you take the dough, knead it and shape it and let it rise once, rise twice, and it’s a living thing that grows and bubbles and changes, and you put it in the oven and it changes even more until the dough too disappears and you have bread. No more flour and water, no more dough, only warm, fragrant, perfect bread.

I’m sure there is an analogy in there somewhere.

purely hypothetical

Annika

Time: Two weeks

Budget: Very limited

Definite route: Gävle - Milan. Time needed, 3 days in each direction.

Possible added route: Milan - Positano. Time needed, 8 hours of driving in each direction, so 2-4 days of driving.

6 days are needed to drive Gävle-Milan and back. 8 days remain. We could drive four hours south and spend a week in Tuscany, or we could drive four hours south, spend a night in Tuscany, drive another four to five hours south, spend three or four days in Positano/Amalfi, then do the same on the way back.

How much time can one spend in a car during a two week period of time?

Is a few days in paradise worth the extra sixteen hours of driving?

Damn you, Italy, for being such a long country. You too, Sweden, as your length means that it takes a whole day for us just to get out of the country. Damn you both!

I want to go down there to satiate this hunger, calm this burning desire for the area that eats me from inside. I want my husband to see Amalfi in the summer, to see it the way I see it, to finally see why I love it so much. I want to show him Capri. ***
Alexander wants to go there because he loves it there and most of all because of a certain longhaired mermaid who jumped and skipped her way into his heart more than two years ago.

There’s nothing wrong with northern Italy, and I’d much MUCH rather go to northern Italy than not go to Italy at all…
but can we really be so close and not go all the way?

Once you have tasted flight,
you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward,
for there you have been,
and there you will always long to return

– Leonardo da Vinci

*** then again, I also want to show him Tuscany, because I suspect that suits him better. I think he will love Tuscany.

And yet again, I don’t even know if this trip will happen. So far it only exists in my mind. Anybody who thinks I overthink things, raise your hand!

NYC: It rained. I walked.

Annika

The weather was beautiful on Saturday when I arrived. Once I had checked in to the hotel and changed clothes I went out for a walk - I walked East Houston Street westwards to Broadway and then followed Broadway all the way up to Union Square, and then back south past NYU. I had the most HEAVENLY burger at Knickerbocker Steak House somewhere around the university - I was starving and exhausted and that burger was so tasty and simply perfect. Then I stumbled back to the hotel which was at E Houston and Allen Street.

The next day it had started to rain, but I braved the weather and went out for another walk. I walked through NoLita and SoHo, got an umbrella and other essentials at the lovely pharmacy Avignone on Bleecker, then continued up through Greenwich Village… not quite sure where I walked, but I know that I walked a long way and when I recognized Washington Square Park (where I had been the day before) I felt like i was almost back at the hotel.
Then Deb  and Joe picked me up at noon and took me around town in their car. We went for lunch at The Riviera in Greenwich Village (lovely!!) and then drove through town, I got a glimpse of Central Park and we went in to St Patrick’s Cathedral and… well, around town. We managed to see a lot!

The next day was my course. It was still raining. After the course I went on a shopping spree and then I realized that I had to get another bag so that I could bring everything back home, so off I went to K-Mart to get a bag. Had dinner at Cozy’s but that wasn’t a hit - it wasn’t bad, but not memorable either.

Tuesday came next. I packed my bags and checked out from the hotel. I had found a luggage storage place on West 46th street, so I took a cab there. Well, no luggage storage in sight. Instead I ended up carrying/dragging my two bags around town (again in the rain). I went to Times Square (Sephora, Toys R’Us, Hard Rock Cafe), Hell’s Kitchen, back to Times Square, up and down and up and down until I ended up at a restaurant on 46th/1st Ave. GOOD food and excellent service, don’t remember the name of the restaurant right now but it’s on my credit card bill…

After that adventure I was cold and tired and couldn’t wait to go to the airport, so that’s what I did. At 2 pm I took the bus back to Newark from Grand Central.

When I came home I was sick, and after one day I was put in quarantine - they took all kinds of tests to determine whether or not I had gotten the swine flu and until the lab results came in I was not allowed to leave my house. Thankfully I was cleared yesterday - they had found lots of viruses but no swine flu virus, just regular cold viruses. Whew!

Now… now everything is back to normal again except that I still haven’t unpacked my bags.

Now I want to go to Italy.

start spreading the news…

Annika

I’m leaving tomorrow!

When I come back, it will be as a Deva-trained Curl Care Consultant.

not a quitter

Annika

Here’s the thing: I’m looking for a new job.

I’ve been thinking about it a while, I even almost got my own place, but then I thought - hey, things are pretty nice as they are, safe and predictable and comfortable, and so I stayed. Well, recent events have finally broken this camel’s back. I have realized that I can’t stay there unless I want to keep feeling limited and disappointed.

This has made me discover things about myself. I have discovered that I am absolutely terrified of being called a quitter. When things are good I don’t walk away, but when things are bad I definitely don’t walk away. No, I place myself in the middle of the gunfire. I lower my eyes as my feet grow roots and I refuse to - can’t - move. I will not be a quitter. I will not let them win. I will not give them the satisfaction of having made me leave. I will not give them the opportunity to talk about me behind my back. I am a rock. A hedgehog.

But no more than curling up as a ball saves the hedgehog from the speeding car, does my tactic save me from pain.

So many things have been bad at work for the past year. I have already endured too much. I have tried and tried, giving it a second chance and a third chance and a twentythird chance. I have tried to step back and accept. I have tried to change. Most people would have left a long time ago, but not me. No. I am not a quitter, see?

The first issue got solved eventually. She stopped giving me the evil eye and we started talking again after ten months and a few visits to the counselor.  Today our relationship is almost back to what it was before, and I am very happy about that. Sadly, it doesn’t end there. There’s another one now, another co-worker, and I just don’t want to go there all over again. I am a nice person, a fun, smart, interesting and caring person. I have no interest in fighting with anyone, I just want to work. I want to be allowed to be me, because it’s taken a long time and a lot of work to learn how to be me and I’d be damned if I let them push me back into being who I was before.

That girl would probably fit them better, because she was just as insecure and dysfunctional as they are.

And yes, when I first set my foot at this salon I was still her.
It’s not them who have changed, it’s me.

I will have nobody call me a quitter. I do not flee.

It’s just that I’m done there. If I want to continue to grow, I have to move on. It’s been good to work there in so many ways, but I have come to the point where it’s holding me back. I want to develop new and improved skills, and that won’t happen there.

It is a career move and it is for my personal growth. It is not an escape.

I am not a quitter. 

putting it out there

Annika

Please, dear, sweet God, Universe, Almighty Power or whomever.
I really want a new job.
I need a new job.

Thanks in advance.  

love,
Annika

itchy

Annika

I’ve been good, don’t you think? Not a word about Italy in a long time. Which those of you who read my blog for its Italy connection probably aren’t too happy about although I hope you find other reasons to stay with me. Like, me.

It’s always there though, in every heartbeat, that unreasonable passion for a country. Silly, isn’t it? It’s just a country like any other. Isn’t it?

I gave up years ago trying to explain the feeling. Its unaccountability doesn’t make it any less real. It’s a country, and I love it. I love it, but I can’t live there now and so I put it aside. After last summer’s glorious weeks in Amalfi I put the love aside and focused on the here and now and it seemed to work quite well…

… at least it does until I see or hear something that reminds me, like just now when I laid my eyes on the first photo in Cheryl Alexander’s Slow Travel article In love with Orvieto and instantly teared up. God I miss my Italy.

- Mom, could all three of us go to Italy this summer? Alexander asked.
- I hope so, I said.

I hope so.