My two pet travel hates. No, wait, make that three...
1. People who stand up and line up for the door immediately the plane hits the tarmac.
Helloo? They're not planning on opening the doors until we get to the gate! If I was the pilot I would take great delight in slamming on the brakes just before we get to the gate so all those people who take off their seat belts immediately on landing go tumbling over... "I'M the pilot and I tell you when it's ok to get up".
I love it that you see all the same premature exiteurs still waiting for their luggage on the carousel way after you have retrieved yours, eaten some greasy takeaway, had a piddle and made some inappropriate jet-lagged impulse buy ("But I need a kangaroo scrotum bottle opener! My life will not be complete without it!") and your late-arse lift has arrived. There they are, staring forlornly at the belt, still waiting, waiting...
2. People (and they're normally the premature exiteurs) who stand about a bee's dick away from the baggage carousel. I take extreme delight in bowling them over with my trusty old backpack. If you line it up right, it's people dominoes. Maybe they were sick the day they taught 'wait your turn' at kindergarten.
3. People who just don't get my backpack. "It must be so inconvenient" they say as they origami their joints as they lug their oversized wheelie bags up stairs and bang onto train platforms.
I suppose I should add that I love my backpack. This November it will be twenty years old. It has taken me around the world twice, honeymooned with me, sea kayaked, helicoptered, jeepneyed, bussed, Le Metro-ed, Vaporettoed, endured many back of the truck rides and uncertain train trips as well as faithfully cradling my gear on many, many bushwalks, big and small, north and south of the equator. It is not especially pretty nor capacious (hell, I know I've certainly used every last millilitre of its 65-litre capacity and hung my excess on eevery last spare strap, but it fits me like a well-worn shoe. I know one day it will die- probably in spectacular fashion on one of the monster baggage carousels, but until taht day I can't imagine travelling without it. Whether it's carrying Christmas Presents or duty-free Chanel, or filthy dirty thermals and a fuel stove, it's been my one constant travelling companion since I was 15 years old.
(Do you think if I sent this to Berghaus they will send me a new one, free?)
The ONLY thing that could make me stray from my one true travel love would be a Spencer and Rutherford travelling set.http://www.spencerandrutherford.com/Collectionnew.php?Type=3&Page=4 Mmmmmmmmm..... pretty.
I'm trying to kill 5 hours in an airport. I have browsed the Lonely Planet section of the bookstore and had impure thoughts... (I'm sure I'd be fine on the Annapurna circuit even if I was pregnant... and T is a doctor, after all...)
Helloo? They're not planning on opening the doors until we get to the gate! If I was the pilot I would take great delight in slamming on the brakes just before we get to the gate so all those people who take off their seat belts immediately on landing go tumbling over... "I'M the pilot and I tell you when it's ok to get up".
I love it that you see all the same premature exiteurs still waiting for their luggage on the carousel way after you have retrieved yours, eaten some greasy takeaway, had a piddle and made some inappropriate jet-lagged impulse buy ("But I need a kangaroo scrotum bottle opener! My life will not be complete without it!") and your late-arse lift has arrived. There they are, staring forlornly at the belt, still waiting, waiting...
2. People (and they're normally the premature exiteurs) who stand about a bee's dick away from the baggage carousel. I take extreme delight in bowling them over with my trusty old backpack. If you line it up right, it's people dominoes. Maybe they were sick the day they taught 'wait your turn' at kindergarten.
3. People who just don't get my backpack. "It must be so inconvenient" they say as they origami their joints as they lug their oversized wheelie bags up stairs and bang onto train platforms.
I suppose I should add that I love my backpack. This November it will be twenty years old. It has taken me around the world twice, honeymooned with me, sea kayaked, helicoptered, jeepneyed, bussed, Le Metro-ed, Vaporettoed, endured many back of the truck rides and uncertain train trips as well as faithfully cradling my gear on many, many bushwalks, big and small, north and south of the equator. It is not especially pretty nor capacious (hell, I know I've certainly used every last millilitre of its 65-litre capacity and hung my excess on eevery last spare strap, but it fits me like a well-worn shoe. I know one day it will die- probably in spectacular fashion on one of the monster baggage carousels, but until taht day I can't imagine travelling without it. Whether it's carrying Christmas Presents or duty-free Chanel, or filthy dirty thermals and a fuel stove, it's been my one constant travelling companion since I was 15 years old.
(Do you think if I sent this to Berghaus they will send me a new one, free?)
The ONLY thing that could make me stray from my one true travel love would be a Spencer and Rutherford travelling set.http://www.spencerandrutherford.com/Collectionnew.php?Type=3&Page=4 Mmmmmmmmm..... pretty.
I'm trying to kill 5 hours in an airport. I have browsed the Lonely Planet section of the bookstore and had impure thoughts... (I'm sure I'd be fine on the Annapurna circuit even if I was pregnant... and T is a doctor, after all...)
posted by jen at 12:54 AM
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