Travel Year in Review 2012

After two years of crossing a lifetime's worth of bucket list trips off the list, 2012 was guaranteed to slow down a little bit from a travel perspective. The trips of 2012 were more about reconnecting with family and friends that had been more or less neglected for the previous two years. If we weren't flying to see them, they seemed to be flying to see us - not the worst problem to have.

Here are the four things I learned from my travels this year:

If you want to experience cool places in the world, meet cool people that live in cool places.
Our longest trip of the year was a ten-day jaunt to the Canadian Rockies to reconnect with our trekking friends Judith and Glenn, whom we spent more time with than any other non-expats while we were in India (in my next life I want to be a Canadian that works in the oil and gas industry, let's just say the vacation benefits are advantageous and leave it at that). Judith and Glenn live in Calgary and they escorted us immediately from the airport into the clutches of Cowboys tented bar near the Calgary Stampede. They had always described the scene like it was some sort of "Cowboy Mardi Gras." Had Lindsay not been six weeks pregnant, we may have lived more of that scene.

Calgary Stampede, 2012

We spent the initial weekend with them in Calgary, attending our first rodeo (completely outfit in cowboy gear, well, except I had exchanged my boots for flip flops after some unfortunate blisters after the first night) and meeting their friends, most of whom we felt like we had known for years after countless hours of conversation on the Himalayan trekking trails from the previous two years. On other quick thing about Calgary - when most people think of Calgary, they don't think of the food, but it's kind of a hidden foodie's paradise.

After Calgary, we headed to the mountains for five nights. The vibe of the Canadian Rockies reminded me of the Colorado Rockies where I've spent a lot of time. In Alberta there's Canmore, in Colorado there's Frisco. Alberta has Banff; Colorado, Vail. Completing the SAT comparisons, Lake Louise is to Alberta as Beaver Creek is to Colorado. The area where Canada far exceeds the Colorado Rockies, in my opinion, is the scenery. I always equated "better" with "higher" in mountains. Not the case. The Canadian Rockies are extreme. More extreme than Colorado. Case closed.

The highlight of the trip, other than dinner at the Post Hotel, was a two night side trip to Shadow Lake Lodge. It's a hike-in/hike-out lodge that provides more luxury than one might expect at a place only accessible by foot. The only downside to the experience was it was the most mosquito infested place I'd ever been, but it's hard to hold that against an entire country or an unusually wet spring. Plus, that's what 98% deet is for.

Lindsay and Judith reunite at Shadow Lake Lodge

Our Canadian adventure would have been but a shell if not for Judith and Glenn. Not only were we able to really experience a new part of the world, we were able to do so with people we basically met our of sheer luck in Kathmandu and have since become lifelong friends. So the lesson is thus, meet cool people that live in cool places and go and visit those places. If you can't meet those cool people, at least know people that know cool people so you can replicate their experiences (in this example, my parents and their friends are taking advantage of Judith's planning services to take much the same trip in September).

Orlando has a lot of direct flights but is a hub to nothing.
What do the numbers 15, 9, 8, 6, and 3 add up to? The easy answer is 41, which is the number of segments I flew this year. Unfortunately, when you spread those flights across United, Delta, Southwest, American, and AirTran, it adds up to a whole lot of no special status for 2013. Nearly everyone wants to come to Orlando but no airline makes it a hub. As a result, I can get most places with a direct flight, I just have to pick the airline that flies direct (unless I want to sacrifice a couple hours in transit which isn't something I feel the need to do).

For a busy airport, Orlando is surprisingly easy to navigate. However, as one might expect, there's a dearth of children in the airport at any point in time. They try to create an "expert travelers' lane" to expedite the process for those that know what they're doing; however, when I got into that line behind a double wide stroller, I knew it was time for a change. Since attaining status wasn't an option and I haven't been asked to join that TSA Pre-Check thing, the best and only option was to pony up $179 for an annual pass to Clear, which is basically a concierge that cuts you to the front of the line. The $179 may seem steep, but then you've probably never seen the lines on a weekend morning in Orlando. It also enabled Lindsay to catch a flight when she ran into unexpected traffic one afternoon, so it paid for itself that day.

We can leave our house (twenty five minutes from the close-in parking garage at the airport) ninety minutes before departure and very safely make a flight. That's worth something as well. Clear might not be the best option for every airport and every traveler, but for our situation in Orlando, it makes complete sense.

Key West is nicer than people describe.
After flying someplace every other weekend this fall to see family and friends, we wanted to take a trip with just the two of us but decided we had spent enough time in the airport and on planes. As a result, we planned our "babymoon" in the state of Florida. Even though we knew it was a seven to eight hour drive, it was a drive I'd also wanted to complete: US-1 through the Florida Keys with Key West as the final destination. The drive was everything we expected, utterly boring until you get to the Keys and fascinating  once you get there. That being said, if and when we return to Key West, we'll likely fly - it's worth the drive but worth it only once (unless you're coming from south Florida).

People had told us that Key West was a little slice of Bourbon Street, full of derelicts, drunks, and debauchery. Honestly, it was every bit of that but we stayed far enough from the craziness in the luxurious Casa Marina. The room itself underwhelmed but the outdoor area at the hotel more than made up for it. For more details, I penned a Trip Advisor review called “Not great but would go back (if that makes sense)”. It reminded me a little of some of the travel we did in India. We could dive into the craziness knowing that we always had the peace and serenity of a nice place to say. Some travelers would call us wusses or, worse yet, tourists. Many people that go to Key West want to live like Jimmy Buffett. Casa Marina is probably very much like the way Jimmy Buffett experiences Key West. Jimmy Buffett 2012 as opposed to Jimmy Buffett 1972.

Hammocks are awesome

The unexpected thing in Key West was that the restaurants were far better than expected. We ate at Louie's Backyard two nights (once at their upper deck with the small plate menu and once on their main lower deck) and couldn't have been happier. The night we hit Duval Street, we tried Bagatelle which had unbelievable seared ahi tuna.

We had been told Key West was a total drunkfest, which sounds delightful if that's what you want and expect. However, Key West really is what you make of it. It's one of the more remote places in the United States where it really is possible to get away.

Pigeon Forge is tackier than people describe.
In the spirit of full disclosure, I didn't learn this just this year. I was just reminded of it. In college my fraternity had a Smoky Mountain date party each year. On three occasions we made the trip to mountainside chalets near Pigeon Forge. If you're into bumper cars, outlets, chain restaurants, mini-golf, airbrushed t-shirts, and Dollywood, Pigeon Forge is the place for you. I hadn't been back to Pigeon Forge in over 14 years until my Dad invited me to join a portion of a planned hiking trip he had with his cousin.

The thing about Pigeon Forge is that, for its tackiness, it serves as the primary gateway for some of the grandest scenery in the United States, Great Smoky Mountain National Park. It was a short trip but was able to hike three days and only use one vacation day from work. In years prior, my Dad and I have taken short father/son ski trips in the winter, and since a February due date effectively screws up an entire ski season, a hiking trip was the next best option. In three days, Dad and his cousin Jerry showed me three distinct sides of the great park. The first day was a trip up Mount LeConte. My first time up, Jerry's ninetieth. Yep, ninetieth. There's a great daily blog, High on LeConte,  about the conditions on the top, where a rustic lodge sits that reminded me a little of Shadow Lake. It was an unseasonably warm day though only a few days later the sidelights of Hurricane Sandy would dump multiple feet of snow on the mountain.

High on LeConte with Dad (left) and Jerry

The second trip was a through-hike (we left a car on one end and started from a different spot) that we started from the park headquarters and took the Cove Mountain trail up and around to Laurel Falls. It was a steady climb. People think, again because the elevation is low, that the Smoky Mountains are inferior; however, the altitude you can gain in a day in the Smokys is similar if not more than what you might find in the Rockies, the mountains are just smoother on top. The third and final day was a little bit shorter trip, only an eight-miler, to Ramsey Cascade Falls before getting cleaned up and heading back to the airport.

Thankfully, we hiked Mount LeConte on the clear day and were wise enough to stay lower as the weather got worse. Thankfully even more, I have a 70 year old father that not only can still do these types of things but invites me to do these types of things.

How Long is Pregnancy?

One of the strangest and most problematic aspects of pregnancy is trying to determine exactly how long a woman has, in fact, been pregnant.

In my limited experience, there are three calculations:

• When determining “how far along” you are for medical check ups, you’re basically on a 40 week schedule which starts around the last menstrual cycle prior to the pregnancy. But if that’s before the pregnancy starts, how can that be the starting point? I never realized a due date is determined from that date which has no direct relationship to conception.
• The generally held standard, at least as I understood it, was that pregnancy lasted 9 months. If there are 52 weeks in a year and nine months is three-fourths of a year, this calculation would mean that a pregnancy would last 39 weeks (I’m good at that math stuff).
• If you’re measuring from conception, that’s a trickier since it’s not always entirely clear what the start point is. Based on my rudimentary knowledge of ovulation, I’m under the impression that the “best” time is approximately halfway through a standard 28 day cycle (and yes, I feel as awkward writing about this topic as you’re probably getting by reading it) which would cut two weeks from the 40 week schedule in the first calculation. Said another way, 38 weeks.

So there you have it, three calculations, all with different answers. The one thing I’ve heard people say is that pregnancy is ten months. I think it’s clear that that is not the case. A month has more than four weeks, so unless you’re pregnant in some weird year that inexplicably has ten straight Februarys, the standard gestational period is less than ten months. Case closed on that calculation, which is why it didn't get its own bullet point.

Since months have inconsistent numbers of days, the generic “nine month” calculation is utterly useless and really should just be stricken from the lexicon of pregnancy. And to be honest, since Lindsay has been pregnant, I’ve never thought of her as “x” months pregnant. Though she has recently started making reference to the "fact" that she'll be "8 months pregnant" at 32 weeks, which is next Friday. I've tried to argue that fact but the only thing it causes is confusion.

Other than the looming "8 month mark," we speak in weeks (even though, until recently I have to admit that I got confused as to how many weeks along she was – I’m not a total stereotype though as I’ve always remembered the due date, which is February 22 – it’s possible I’ve remembered that just because 2/22 is easy, perhaps even easier than our wedding anniversary, October 4 – ten-four, good buddy).

However, if you measure in weeks, it makes trying to identify the start and end point of a trimester difficult, given neither 40 nor 38 are divisible by three. It also would seem strange, if you use the forty week measure, to start your first trimester two weeks before you’re even pregnant. Using that logic, every woman without child is technically pregnant two weeks out of every month of her entire life.

While there’s really no milestone that marks the start or end of a trimester, it just seems like other than the first is when you’re supposed to be sick, the second is when you’re supposed to glow, and the third is when you basically want nothing more than to just have the child.

At the end of the day, I guess it really doesn't matter - so what if it causes confusion as to what "month" your wife is trying to complete in her pregnancy journal and you secretly wishing it just said, "weeks 29 - 32" to alleviate that confusion. The goal is to keep the little bugger in the oven for as long as possible, even if your wife isn't sure which "month" to be filling in the pregnancy journal.

It's Not Delhi Belly, Weeks 29 - 30

Lindsay spent the weekend after Thanksgiving weekend in Chicago getting showered with gifts (I tagged along and got some time with family and friends as well). That trip marked the end of Lindsay's air travel until after the arrival of Baby Luth. It ended an aggressive fall travel season that basically involved leaving Orlando every other weekend and included such exotic locales as: Chicago, Raleigh, New York City (Lindsay only), Great Smoky Mountain National Park (John only), Key West, Disney World (OK, that's not really travel but it's about as far away from the Orlando we've come to know over the past year), and Chicago again. In Lindsay's words, it's time to nest.

I had the pleasure of an additional trip to the Chicago area last week for work but I'm officially shut down (from a travel standpoint) until after the first of the year. After this week of work, we're taking off between Christmas and New Year's. It's the first time we've been in this country where we won't be working those days (last year doesn't count based on the fact we were moving and ending the most hectic December of our lives). Bottom line, we're looking to the down time.

Enough of the rambling, here's the latest two weeks of pictures. It's still not Delhi belly (sorry for the flash/demon eyes on Week 30, I was simply too lazy to get the photo off the DSLR).


Week 29

Week 30

 

Are Dads Morons?

Last night before going to a movie, we stopped by the local Buy Buy Baby - it's what suburban folk with or expecting children do when they're not too busy at The Home Depot or Buy Buy Baby's sister store, Bed Bath & Beyond. We had merchandise to exchange, and I wanted to see the stroller Lindsay had selected. I think she made a great choice, and that's after the Buy Buy Baby dude said it was the best single stroller that converted into a double for a second child. Huh? I'm pretty sure I've agreed to a one child deal with an option on a second, but last night at Buy Buy Baby didn't seem like the time and place to have that conversation. Regardless, it appears as though she selected the perfect stroller, the Baby Jogger City Select. It folds easily, has cool tires, and pushes like a dream.

What irked me about Buy Buy Baby last night was a onesie that basically implied Dads are morons. (for those fathers that don't know what a onesie is, you may be the target market for the item below; I'd highly recommend your spouse, significant other, or a catty friend of that special person make the purchase).

I get it, very funny: Dads are idiots that don't take care of children. While the shirt isn't entirely inaccurate as I really have no idea what I'm getting myself into (I do, in fact, know what a head and arms look like and how to operate a snap), I have the exact same amount of parenting experience as my wife. To no one's surprise, the "Mommy-proof" onesies were nowhere to be found.

I'm sure this isn't the last time I'll be discriminated against. We just signed up a class at the hospital called "The Gift of Motherhood" which you'd think the name would suggest is a class for mothers. It's not. I'll be spending 8 hours on a Saturday happily attending. I get that this pregnancy thing is 90% plus about the mother, but is it to much to ask for a little respect, for some level of benefit of the doubt? Can't I at least screw up before having people shove "Daddy is an idiot" onsies in my face?

Just like it's not 1955 where the only "acceptable" female professions included nursing, teaching, and switch board operating, it's not like 1955 where males get involved in the actual child rearing.

(And if you buy me the onesie pictured above, you might get punched in the nose.)

It's Not Delhi Belly

On February 22, give or take a few days, I’m scheduled to become a father for the first time. I’m not going to lie, I have no idea what I’m getting myself into. Many of our friends already have kids, so I'm sure I can learn from them. Thankfully, there seems to be a second wave of friends and/or acquaintances in their mid-thirties all trying this parenting thing for the first time, many of whom with due dates within plus or minus three months (which means some are even lucky enough to get that little tax miracle in 2012). Taxes notwithstanding, I'm sure we'll learn together.

That being said, we have some things taken care of and other things are not. The nursery is 95% complete (I realize it’s early, you realize it’s early, let’s not share that with my wife). We’ve read a little about what’s been going on in various books, though probably not as diligently as we had planned. We’ll take some sort of classes after the first of the year. We'll get the tour of the hospital. I still have no idea how to install a car seat. We’ll finalize whether we’re going to get a nanny or elect daycare (we’re leaning heavily toward giving the nanny thing a shot). We still need to find a pediatrician. There is still a lot to do.

Regardless of how well or how much we prepare, the one thing that doesn’t change is the fact there’s an actual human being growing inside my wife, which becomes more and more evident each day. While we haven’t found a need to track on a daily basis, for the past few weeks I’ve sent a picture and email to family on Friday called, “It’s not Delhi belly, week "xx." Some might find that title offensive or inappropriate (for those not familiar with the term “Delhi belly,” it’s basically the Indian equivalent of “Montezuma’s Revenge” or whatever mild-to-severe, generic gastro-intestinal issues might befall a visitor to the developing world.); however, the reality is, what is getting documented is not Delhi belly, so it’s completely accurate.

Plus, Lindsay looks awesome, so how can it be offensive (though it will be interesting to see how long she let’s me continue this little recurring bit)?

With that, I get you up to speed on the previous eight weeks in anticipation of tomorrow's newest (and only) weekly feature, where you can follow along with what is most certainly not Delhi belly (and yes, I think Lindsay is looking into copyrighting an official “pregnant pose” and/or wearing a cardigan while pregnant).

Week 21

Week 22

Week 23, Central Park

Week 24

Week 25, Key West

Week 26

Week 27, Magic Kingdom

Week 28

The Upgrade "Dilemma"

Thanks to our back-and-forths to India, both my wife and I attained "gold" status on American Airlines which is their entry-level premium status. I'd wager that we attained that status in as few flight segments as any other member of the program. As you might assume, I'm kind of a big deal.

It's been helpful this year for the few times when we've flown American from Orlando. Not only do you get to board first and check a bag for free, the prospect of a first-class upgrade always exists. In September when we got upgraded, I sat across the aisle from Nick Faldo on his way to the Ryder Cup. Other than being somewhat surprised by seeing him fly commercial on his way to broadcast the event (though I suppose he's wealthy and has a good gig with The Golf Channel, it's apparently not a gig worthy of a private plane), it was the only time I've ever seen anyone famous on a plane.

I would say we probably get an upgrade about half the time. On Friday when we flew up to Chicago for a weekend of baby showers, half of us got an upgrade. The non-pregnant half.

Let me lay out the entire scenario: Upon arriving at the gate, we asked if first class had checked in full. It hadn't, there was one seat. I was number three and she was number four on the list. The two spots ahead of us were occupied by another married couple. The gate agent (who was actually the friendliest gate agent I've met in a while) let us know that our only real chance would be that one of us would get it if that married couple didn't want to sit together. Knowing that if either Lindsay or I got an upgrade, we'd sit apart in half a heartbeat, we weren't too hopeful. However, what we didn't know was that that couple was flying with an infant and they both wanted to sit with the kid. I can't imagine people turn down upgrades too often, but that's exactly what they did. We moved up to numbers one (me) and two (my pregnant wife) on the list. For one seat.

I'd like to say this was a blog post about how I made my pregnant wife sit in coach while I swilled fine red wine in the front of the plane waiting for everyone to respond about what a heathen I am. But then I realized that this would be a story that would be recounted not just the entire weekend at her baby showers but pretty much any time I did anything wrong for the rest of my life. Baby Luth would hear this story; in fact, it might be the first story the baby every heard. There really was no option, no dilemma. I chivalrously stepped aside and gracioulsy deferred my upgrade for the comfort of my wife and our unborn child.

Shortly after, the world's friendliest gate agent let me know that the bulkhead row was open, so don't feel too bad for me, I had plenty of legroom and an open seat next to me. Some good deeds go rewarded.

Unfortunately, there were mechanical issues on the plane and we ended up sitting on the ground in Orlando for about 90 minutes. Well, they actually said the mechanical issues had been fixed and we were waiting on paperwork (even though mechanic-looking folks kept getting on and off the plane). They probably shouldn't have even loaded the plane but it was probably easier to just keep everyone situated. At any rate, if I had been sitting in first class because my spouse had graciously given up her seat, I would have, at the least, tried to send a fermented beverage of some sort back to my noble spouse. Was this what happened? Of course not. Some good deeds go rewarded, but sometimes they could be rewarded more.

(I know, I know, the warm and fuzzy feeling knowing that my wife and unborn child were comfortable should be reward enough….blah, blah, blah….)

Seriously though, I've read articles about frequent travelers that travel with spouses where the frequent traveler doesn't give up the upgrade. I get that we live in a liberated age where all things are "equal," but as a man, I can't imagine the shame I would feel watching my wife (pregnant or not) walk past me into coach as I sat comfortably up front. Now, if it was one of those planes where you enter and turn left to get to first class and right to get to coach, that would be an entirely different situation altogether….

Orlando Winters

I lived the first 33 years of my life in the Midwest. Changing seasons were a given, some better than others. Starting in mid-November and lasting until early April, I was relegated to the cold. There might be weeks where car washes wouldn’t open. I might see the sun one day a week. Sounds awesome, doesn’t it? That’s Chicago. In all fairness, December wasn’t too bad. It’s a great place to be for Christmas and the deep freeze hasn’t yet set. January and February are miserable. Anyone that tells you different is either a masochist or in real estate.

Seasons still change in Florida; it’s varying degrees of hot and humid, it rains more in the summer, and every winter day feels like the best of fall days in Chicago, except in Orlando those days last for three months. Everyone said the summers would be brutal. Those people have never lived in Delhi, which hot season ranges from 50 degree heat (that Celsius, folks) to humidity that makes Orlando feel like a desert. In Orlando this summer, there was a heat advisory when it topped 90. In India, I wore a sport coat to work to stay warm when the temperature hovered around that same mark. But this is a post about winter.

Here are the bad parts of living in Orlando in the winter:

¨       It’s too cold to use the pool; that is, unless you’re willing to pay to keep it warm (note, this does not apply to the hot tub)

¨       Some days get too cold to wear flip flops (not that it keeps me from wearing them; I’m a little like the annoying kid at school that wore shorts the first day it broke 50 except I’m wearing flip flops so what do I care)

¨       Having been conditioned with a life of Illinois winters, it gets dark earlier than you would expect given the temperature (in fact, the length of the day is the only thing that winter in Florida has in common with winter in Illinois).

¨       It’s annoying to fly to colder climates because you get hot in the airport when dressed for your destination

¨       It doesn’t snow on Christmas

That’s it. Those are the only bad parts. And since you typically experience a white Christmas about as often as you elect a Senator, the “no snow” thing is quickly negated by the fact I can eat breakfast outside next to the pool I’m too cheap to heat.

You might ask yourself, “but John, you’re an awesome skier, don’t you miss the snow?” Just because one lives in a climate where snow routinely appears in winter (and quickly transforms into some sort of gray, frozen sludge) without a mountain in sight doesn’t mean you’re close to a location with decent skiing. I’m a 90 minute further flight to Denver from Orlando than I was from Chicago. When you take into account total travel time, I could probably argue that my house in Orlando is closer to the slopes than my house was in Chicago (but don’t get be started on O’Hare and traffic). If I want to see snow, I know where to go and how to get there.

As you can tell, I don’t miss the weather in Chicago. I’ve become one of those annoying warm weather people. And I’m OK with that.

Introducing from "Delhi to Disney to Diapers"

For two years I maintained a blog, which I playfully described as the “expatriate adventures, travels, observations, perceptions, and misconceptions of a married couple living in India” and not so originally called Mr. (and Mrs.) Luth Go to India. Topics were plentiful, life was an adventure, and people (especially those I had left in the states) genuinely seemed interested in what it was like to uproot a suburban Chicago life and thrust it near the capital of the second most populous country in the world.

Rather than repatriate back “home” to the Chicago area, my wife accepted a job that moved us to Orlando. I knew next to nothing about Orlando other than it was where people drop years worth of vacation savings in a single week and was where Shaq started his NBA career. Sure, I had been to Central Florida once as a kid and twice as an adult; however, both adult visits had been work-related and I had spent exactly 90 minutes outside the airport, hotels, and the office. When we moved, I didn’t actually see the house we were purchasing until closing day.

Like most expatriate bloggers, I thought the notion of a repatriation blog made total sense. But there was a catch, life wasn’t as overtly unique in Orlando as it was in Delhi. Topics seemed difficult to identify and my heart just wasn’t in it as we got ourselves settled into a “regular” American routine. The net result was 23 posts in a blog called From Delhi to Disney (man, I love alliteration).

After being back in the states for a year, I realized there was a gaping creative void in my life that writing Mr. (and Mrs.) Luth had filled. Adding to that was a new transition. Shortly after feeling like life was slowing down and that we were “settled,” we learned that we were going to become parents. This blog is a means to ensure that Baby Luth has a father that feels creatively fulfilled, at least as creatively fulfilled as an adult male in an analytic profession can feel while still remaining gainfully employed.

This blog is about transitions. It’s about trying to stay somewhat connected to the life I had in India (though if you saw my house, you’d probably say that was connection enough), readjusting to American life, living in a completely new region, trying to maintain some sense of adventure, and most importantly, figuring out this parenting thing I’ve heard so much about.

I recognize that’s not a terribly specific mission statement. I really don’t care. This blog is for me (and for Baby Luth).

Try and enjoy, and let me know what you think.