Six Impossible Things

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Judging books by their covers

How is it that I never have money for phone bills and petrol but always manage to scrape my last few dollars together for new books? These pretty young things were just calling my name on the shelves of Angus and Robertsons, practically free with my staff discount. Practically ;-)

I'm sad to say I'm one of those silly, shallow people guilty of judging books by their covers. I can’t help it, I just love stories wrapped up in pretty jackets! I would rather spend the extra dollars on a luxuriously embossed cover and textured pages than buy the cheaper Penguin version printed on dull toilet paper (again, where do all these extra dollars magically appear from??). And if I see a book that I already own in a prettier version than the one I already have, it’s a pretty big temptation not to buy it again (which is where my collection of Alice in Wonderland books comes from).

I tried to resist buying A Life in Frocks. I really did.  I knew it wasn't the type of book that I like to read and would be one of those forgettable stories that you read and then when a friend asks you what it was like, you can’t remember a thing about it. But after catching my eye for the third time on my meandering around the biography section, I finally succumbed to the inevitable and bought the blasted book!

As suspected, I am about three-quarters of the way through the novel and still don’t really understand what the book is supposed to be about. There was however one section of the book which did strike a cord with me which was when the author wrote of how clothes have the ability to transport us and how certain pieces of clothing not only hold so many memories but say something so essential about the kind of person that we are.

Now, along with being a book hoarder (or bibliophile as a certain someone called me the other day ;-), I am also a major clothes horse! Until recently, my wardrobe was bursting at the seams with clothes that I can't, won't or shouldn't wear anymore and it was only after reading an article in Frankie about reducing our carbon footprints that I was persuaded to go green and donate my unwearable clothes to the less fortunate. As I sorted through my wardrobe, I couldn't pick up a single item of clothing without being reminded of a funny story that accompanied it, a memory of where I was the last time I wore it or the occasion that I bought it for.   Here are some of my most memorable items of clothing and the stories that go with them. I would love to hear some of yours! 

THE KILT

In the same way that the scribbled, stitched and stretched pair of jeans in ‘The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants’ tell a hundred tales of love, loss and travel, my wee Scottish kilt was with me from start to finish on one of the biggest adventures of my life. I bought it at a tartan shop on the Royal Mile when I arrived in Edinburgh in the summer of 2008 and I wore it for the first time to a Ceiledh, where I twirled for hours with sweaty dance partners and drank so much Irn-Bru that my tongue was stained orange. I wore it when I went to Belgium where I ate countless waffles and walked all around the entire town of Brugge with a sprained ankle. I wore it on my first date with Jakob, a Swedish hipster who worked at the Elephant House where I went to write and gave me free lattes and elephant-shaped shortbread biscuits. I wore it during the coldest winter of my life, with German leg-warmers and thick, woollen tights. I wore it with a red beret and a souvineur shirt that read ‘Resident of the Berlin Psychiatric Ward’ in the most culturally clashing outfit imagineable. Putting on my kilt is the equivilant of opening a suitcase full of travel journals and photographs. Every fibre of that tartan fabric screams to me of adventure and mischief and unquenchable wanderlust.


THE PLATFORM TRAINERS

As a twelve year old, I was desperately in love with the Spice Girls. It wasn’t enough that I knew all the songs and dance moves, owned all the memorabilia and had a shrine to them on my bedroom wall; I wanted to BE one of them. As much as it pains me to admit, the red hair that I now sport originates from a time when I was imitating Ginger Spice. So when I saw those gleaming white platform trainers just like the ones that Baby Spice wore in the window of Truworths, I just had to have them. I think up until then my mom had been picking and buying my clothes which made the trainers feel even more grown-up and slightly naughty when I bought them with my own pocket money. They gave me the much needed confidence (and the much needed height!) that I sorely lacked when my family moved from Johannesburg to a tiny seaside town in the Western Cape where I didn’t know a single soul. They came to a sorry end after only a few months of owning them when my spiteful little pooch decided to get her revenge for being left home alone for too long and gobbled them up, laces and all. Maybe she wasn't such a fan of girl power.

THE RED TRENCHCOAT

My red jacket was my signature piece of clothing until I lost it last spring on an unfortunate night out at Lulu’s. It was bought while I was doing my journalism studies at university and became affectionately known as the ‘Lois Lane’ jacket among my friends and writing pals. This coat made me feel like a writer and made me want to work in a busy, bustling newsroom writing thrilling expose’s and doing investigative reporting in black-rimmed spectacles and starched white blouses with the collars popped up. This coat was not made for any wilting wall flower because everywhere I went, I became known as ‘The Girl in the Red Coat’ especially if I wore my matching red beret and clear acrylic umbrella with the cheeky red trim. I think the coat was the equivalent of a tracking device for my friends because they looked even more distraught than me when they found out that my precious coat was no more and all wondered how they would ever find me in a crowd now.

THE PURPLE WIG

Could there be a more frivolous thing to buy than a purple wig? Probably the most pointless of my travel purchases, I bought this on holiday in Sydney at the Paddy markets and spend a very entertaining evening wearing it on our apartment balcony, yelling to people passing by, 'Deal or no deal!!' It did come in handy when I had a 1920's night to go to last year...but that's about it really.

Lots of love,

Miss Manship

xxx

You say good-bye and I say hello....

Hello, you!
It’s been a while, I know. I’m an appalling blogger, what can I say. Goodness and mercy have rained down on me in the past few months and I have neglected my writing duties. My apologies! Here is a brief update on what’s been going on during the past few months of my absence:

I went to America!
A lifelong dream of mine came to fruition a few months ago and I was lucky enough to touchdown in the United States of America! I can’t even begin to list all the things I experienced, all the wonderful people I met and all the sights I saw in my three week trip. Here are a few things that I will never forget:

Blueberry picking in Henderson

Jack's Creek church of Christ

Line dancing at the Wild Horse Saloon

Endless bandhero!

One night in Philly with the best roommate ever!

A day in Memphis

Falls Creek Falls

I went back to university
After struggling to get a job in my studied profession and suffering in retail, I decided to bite the bullet and do my graduate diploma of education. It is one intense year of studying but at the end of it, I will be able to teach, travel and terrorize little children. Well, maybe not the last one ;-) I am actually fairly happy to be back at university. I love being surrounded by an environment of learning and creating and besides, I quite missed the freaky folk at the Mount Lawley campus.

I’m surrounded by babies!
Not my own, of course. Spring really does seem to be the season of new life because everyone around me is having babies! We have just welcomed two adorable little babies into our extended family, born one day apart. Jacob Daniel Sanderson is my cousin Joanne’s beautiful baby boy (yes, named after the Twilight character) and is the first great-grandchild on my mom’s side of the family. The second baby is a lovely little girl born to my mom’s cousin named Emily. Baby booties and miniature dungarees were flown swiftly over to the UK and many tears were shed over the distance that feels so much greater in times like these. It’s hard being on the other side of the globe for special family occasions.
As well as these two human additions to our family, we have also been blessed with two animal babies as well. My sister’s guinea pig Rogue gave birth to the two most adorable little babies affectionately named The Giblets. They are absolutely gorgeous and I’m besotted with these two little menaces. It’s love, I tell you!

Bill

Sooky

I road-tripped down south
Now I am usually the first person to moan about Perth being the most boring place on earth. So I was pleasantly surprised when some girlfriends and I took a trip down south to Busselton/Margaret River and had ourselves a grand old time! Busselton is a charming little country town that is so swamped in vineyards that it wouldn’t surprise me if the rivers started running red from all the wine produced in this region. We spent the weekend trying out the local produce (cheese, fudge, chocolate…and maybe a wee tipple) and all came away a few kilos heavier in weight and a whole lot lighter in pocket!

Canal Rocks

Not chocoholics at all! ;-)

Winery in Margaret River

Darling, you are the only exception....

My new love!

Travel Tuesdays with a B-udiful Texan Traveller!

Normally, when I have a guest blogger writing on Travel Tuesdays I like to do a little introduction about the marvellous misadventurous traveller who has offered to share their tales on my blog. However, I think that Bryttany's profile is far more eloquent than anything than I could ever write about her or her lovely blog and so without further delay.... 

To Interlaken We Go ... With a Leap of Faith!

The summer after my junior year in college, I was 21...full of life and adventure! One of my best girl friends and I took a tour of Europe that summer; thus, covering 7 countries and some islands. Oh the stories we have to tell! It was a summer of living, eating different foods, drinking an abundance of vino, laughing, learning, and Bien Sur...some shopping! Anywho, once we had arrived in Switzerland ...next thing we know we were signing up for Canyoning and Skydiving out of a helicopter. Then came the "If you die Voucher, it's not our fault." The what?!?! Wait, who - when?!?! What on earth was I signing up for?
Okay, they ran the credit card and cheered us on...there was no turning back! Good Lord, I knew I couldn't call Mommy & Daddy now and tell them what I had just signed up for! So, the next day we went canyoning. This is a sport (if you call it that) in the canyons of Interlaken, Switzerland. The water is 36F, you are wearing two wetsuits, foot-booties, helmets, harnesses, etc. You are jumping off cliffs, repelling around canyons, and doing back flips down waterfalls. Okay, my adrenaline is going...maybe I can do the skydiving?!?!?

The third morning in Interlaken, was THE morning I was going to take the Eiger Jump (13,026 ft). I couldn't eat or drink due to the fear of yakin' it up as I jumped out of helicopter. Not only was I taking a leap of faith by skydiving, but this was my first trip in a helicopter! Let's just say after fast pitter-patter heart beats, sweaty palms, and chittering jaws, my skydiving instructor literally had to push me off the ledge of the heli as I was a frozen little lady! After 50 seconds of free fall, and then a joyous ride looking out onto the city of Interlaken...I was in heaven! It was worth all the nerves and crazy thoughts...it was the best ride of my life! I highly recommend anyone traveling to Europe, to visit Interlaken. The city is perfectly clean and beautiful, and the adventurous sports are out of this world!

Travel...because there is so much more in the world for one to see, hear, taste, and feel.

"b.free"
Love, Queen B
http://www.thebfreeblog.com/

To my sweet, sixteen-year old self

In December, I was hunting down some last minute Christmas presants in my local shopping center and found this gorgeous little gift book in Collins *please excuse tacky nail polish. It was christmassy red and I was attempting to be festive*.  It's called 'Dear Me' and is a collection of letters from famous British personalities to their former sixteen-year old selves.  The letters ranged from the humourous anecdotes of Jon Ronson and Peter Kay to the expected coming-out advice of Elton John to the pretentious name-dropping of Joan Collins.  The letters were absolutely priceless and I started thinking about my teenage years and what advice I would possibly give if I were able to time travel back to my sixteen-year old self.

I turned sixteen in the year of the millenium.  I celebrated my sweet sixteenth in a security enclosed complex in Johanessburg, South Africa (which before the war in Afganistan was named as the most dangerous city in the world) and ended the year in Perth, Western Australia (most isolated city in the world.  Seriously).  A huge year of extremes and I did not adjust well to the sleepy way of coastal living or to the culture shock I was not expecting to experience in a city that has more South Africans than any I've ever encountered.

At sixteen, I was shy, homesick, lonely and self-conscious.  I did not like who I was or the kind of life that I had but had no idea how to go about changing these things.  I wasted so many opportunites because of my shyness and struggled so hard to fit into the Australian lifestyle and culture.  So if I could magically turn the clock back and whisper a quiet word in the ear of my sixteen-year old self, I would say:

Battle it out for the next few years because your twenties will be beautiful.  You will try things you never imagined and learn things about yourself that will thrill, frighten and mystify you.  You will meet people who will inspire you and astound you and even a few who will truly disgust you but it will all add to the collection of mischievous misadventures you will be known for having.  Take hip-hop classes because you will regret not doing so in years to come.  Piano lessons also.  Cherish every single moment you spend with your brother and take every opportunity to strengthen your relationship with him.  You have no idea how precious this will be in years to come.  Don't waste time on fair-weather friends because they will only disappoint you and in time you will make amazing friends who will value you and love you the way that real friends should.  In fact, your circle of friends will be positively international! Respect yourself and show respect to those around you, even if they don't deserve it because in doing so, you will become a much better person for it.  Love God and your family above all else because you have no idea how much you are going to need them in the years to come. 

And if, in 2007 you are on your way home from Dubai and a blue-eyed man from Bolton offers to carry your overweight shoulder bag for you, run! Run, run away as fast as your sparkly ballet-slippered feet will carry you and don't look back!

Speaking of time travel, what a weird coincidence it is that Book #5 on my list is 'The Time Traveler's Wife' by Audrey Niffenegger.  This was another one of the books that I took with me to Bali and I'll admit that I came back to my hotel room a little earlier some nights just so I could have a little bit of extra reading time with this book.

The story is about a guy who develops a disorder which causes him to time-travel against his will at any given time to any place he has every visited.  The condition gets worse as he gets older and he struggles to maintain the facade of having a normal life while trying to force his body to stay in the present.

Now, I'm not a huge fan of time travel stories.  Back to the Future did nothing for me and I never choose 'time travel' when asked what my imaginary superpower I would be if I had the option (teleporting, if you must know).  So I was thrilled to find that the heart of this novel is an old-fashioned love story that had me sobbing quietly underneath my hotel bedsheets in the early hours of the morning.

I have a real love/hate relationship with books like this.  I devour them with such gusto and finish them in a few days but then am left feeling quite deflated and lost once I've turned the final page.  I adore great romance novels but I always feel so melancholy afterwards, wondering if such sincere love really does exist.

What do you think?

Lots of love!
xxx

A Great, Big Glob of Blog Lady Lovin'

In my previous post, I mentioned that I had been nominated for a GLOB award by Amanda from La Blondie Peruana. However, I was so excited about Travel Tuesdays that I forgot to nominate all of my favourite female bloggers!! I adore each one of these lovely lady bloggers and I highly recommend you check out their blogs.  And girls, don't forget to pass on this award to all of your own favourite lady bloggers.

And the nominees are.....

Simple Truths from a Creative Liar Alana is one of my co-workers/fellow book fiends and is the person who motivated me to start a blog.  So there would be no record of Miss Manship's misadventures around the world if it weren't for Miss Alana here!  Not only is she one of my dear friends but she is also a fantastically talented writer and I am in awe of her ability to write about an everyday situation with such elegance and creativity.

La Blondie Peruana Amanda was one of the first ladies on my list of GLOB nominees, not because she very sweetly nominated ME for this award but firstly because she is one of my beloved contributors to my new blogging venture Travel Tuesdays.  She wrote a hilarious re-enactment of her airport antics in Canada and you can read the full story here or go to her blog to check out all her Peruvian missionary misadventures.

Lady Tells All is a classy, sassy lady blogger who says it like it is because as she states in her byline, 'Without the bitter, the sweet aint as sweet'.  Smart, witty and always adorable, her blog is one I always begin reading with anticipation of greatness.  Not once does she disappoint.  Her post The Post-Relationship Friendship is a particular favourite of mine.

Everyday Adventures (of me in the city) Jessica is a 30-something blogger who writes about her random antics around the city of Chicago.  Her writing is fresh and funky with lots of gorgeous photos of all her adventures.  And she loves purses! How could you not heart a blogger who loves purses!

Sarahbration Whenever I see that Sarah has added a new update, her blog is always the first that my mouse clicks on. Her posts are creatively insightful and always well-written (could be due to the fact that she's a reporter...) My only complaint is that I want more posts! I gobble them up for too quickly!

Confessions of a Twenty Something Year Old Cheryl's blog was one of the first that I followed when I started blogging and she always seems to be able to come up with interesting, thoughtful post that have me tittering to myself at my computer screen. Her writing is sharp as a tack, witty, poignant, intelligent and always, always relatable.  *Cheryl has been nominated to be February's featured blogger for website 20 Something Bloggers.  If you agree with me and think Cheryl should win, send her some sugar and vote for her here*

Kind of That Girl I've only recently discovered Alexandra's blog but basically, any girl who is willing dance around with a lampshade on her head or sing at the top of her lungs in the car at a stoplight is ok with me! I really love her style of writing and this NYE post is just a teeny morsel of her flair for the creative.

Austenprose A daily celebration of the brilliance of Jane Austen's writing??? Yes, please!!

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I also realised the other day that I've been absolutely horrible in keeping track of the books that I've read for the 50 Book Challenge.  I've read about ten since I last reviewed but I'm far too lazy tired at the moment to write about them all so I'll have to review more of them in my next post. 

Book #4 ~ Austenland by Shannon Hale. This book was recommended to me by my favourite roommate Jen, who shares my love of Austen and the Tudors and knows my taste impeccably so I knew before the first page that I would love it. The story is about a young woman from New York whose aunt bequeaths to her a trip to an exclusive resort in England catering to the Austen-obsessed. Full of romantic romps through misty moors, saucy scandal in a Pemberley paradise and is, to quote Jen's exact recommendation, 'as delicious and indulgent as strawberries and double cream on a hot summers day' and scrumptious right to the last page!

That's all from me tonight, I'm afraid.  It's almost 2:30 in the morning and my eyes are starting to glaze over from the glare of the computer screen.  I hope any Australian bloggers reading this had a fantastic Australia Day on Tuesday. 

Lots of love!
xxx

Travel Tuesday with 'The Blonde Peruvian'

One of the best things about having guest bloggers is that I get to meet fascinating bloggers from all over the globe and be the first person in the blogging world to read about their mischievious  misadventures.  And occasionally be bribed by them ;-) Amanda from La Blondie Peruana tried sweetening me up so that I would let her guestpost on Travel Tuesdays for me by nominating me for a GLOB award.  Unbeknown to her, I was gonna let her anyways!  Haha, I'm just kidding.  I am so honoured to have Amanda guest-blogging for me, I would have given HER an award just for the privilege!

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First of all, 'Muchos Gracias' to Rachel for having me! I am so excited to be a guest blogger! I don't really know the rules (if there are any) since this is my first time to GB but I've heard about this several times now and finally decided to jump in on the fun.


Well, the challenge was to blog about my greatest travel misadventure and all the mischief I got into along the way. I've done quite a bit of traveling but, besides my honeymoon, I haven't been anywhere outside of the USA...until now!

In 2008, my husband went on a mission trip to Lima, Peru and we had no idea how this one event would forever change our lives. The next year began our adventure to move to Peru as missionaries. Shaun, the hubby, left in October 2009 and I stayed in the states to finish working and tie up a few loose ends.

On December 2, 2009 I boarded a flight to my final destination: Peru. You've all heard the song, "Leavin' on a Jet Plane" and if you're anything like me you sing it to yourself whenever you travel. Well, this time the lyrics were true because, "I don't know when I'll be back again." For now our timeline is one year but we don't have a returning date yet and it's always a possibility that God could call us to be here for longer...Who knows??

Thus begins my biggest "Misadventure" to date. My day started out fairly normal: A 6:45am flight to Houston, TX where I had a 2 hour layover before boarding my connecting flight to Canada...*Insert screeching halt sound effect here* If you know anything about world geography, you should have pieced it together by now. From Texas, to Canada, to Peru?? Anyone with common sense would raise an eyebrow to that itinerary. What was Continental thinking?! So I boarded the flight from Texas to Canada, all the while contemplating if a walk straight to Peru would be shorter. (I still think yes.) At the same time, I was excited to visit yet another country even though I was slightly disappointed that my first time in Canada would be nothing more than a quick glance through the window before jumping on my flight to Peru. Oh well.

As we descended into Canada the pilot announced that our flight attendant would be passing out our customs forms to complete that we had to take with us through customs before picking up our bags. Hmmm...Before I boarded my first flight, I had asked about the process for going into another country for a layover and had been assured that because it was only a layover, my bags would be flown to my final destination. So, as the flight attendant handed me a form, I declined and informed her that I wouldn't need one. She smiled politely and assured me that I would if I wanted to get into the airport. I asked her the same question and she said that everyone coming in or out of the country would have to go through customs and baggage.

*siiiiiigh*

As I walked off the plane I decided my first trip to Canada was going to be a great one, despite the unexpected turn of events. I followed the crowd through the double doors and on the other side were 2 halls where everyone spilt. I looked up, no signs. I looked down, no signs. I turned around to go back through the double doors and ask what I was supposed to do, but of course the doors were one way and were already locked. So, I took the hall to the left and asked the first person I saw...who replied in French. I should have expected this, but my very American mindset told me everyone speaks English in Canada. I had to ask 3 different people and finally someone told me (in English) I had gone down the wrong hall. "Turn around, take the hall to the right and that is baggage claim, then proceed to customs." After thanking them, I took the hall to the right and waited for my bags.

As no less than 5 able-bodied men watched, I chased each of my bags down and hauled them off the belt. Now, in a perfect world, one of the men would have helped me or my husband would have been with me and I wouldn't have had to haul a backpack, carryon and 4 oversized/overweight suitcases by myself. But remember, this is a story of "misadventures"! Keeping an eye on my bags, I ran to grab the nearest luggage cart, only to find it was much too small for my 300 (thats 3-0-0) pounds of luggage. I spent the next 10 minutes balancing the bags perfectly onto the cart, so I could push it myself (since obviously everyone else was too busy standing around in amusement to help). I got 3 of the 4 suitcases and my carryon onto the cart. My backpack was on my back and the other suitcase was awkwardly dragging behind me as I followed the signs to customs.

As I approached customs the two agents working, stopped mid-conversation to watch me half drag/half push myself and my luggage into the room. (At this point, I literally started to feel like a one woman circus and seriously considered charging people to watch my act.) It wasn't until I had come to a complete stop before someone asked if I could use any help. "No, thanks" I said as nicely as I could through my desperate gasps for air. I explained that I had no idea what I was doing, and after they interrogated me about where I was going with 300 pounds of luggage, directed me through another double door to the right, to drop off my luggage. (I have no doubt they were talking about me after I left.) Through the doors and to the right was another desk...that stood unmanned. I looked for someone, then I looked for a bell or something to get someones attention...Nothing. So I stood there, making the most of my time by catching my breath. All of the sudden I heard a voice come from somewhere. "I'm sorry?" I asked and the voice replied, "Where are you going with all of that luggage, young lady?" I peered around my luggage as a very short (but very cute) old man appeared from behind the desk. I handed him my ticket and he made a face. He then proceeded to tell me that I was running very late, and if I left my luggage with him it would not make it to my flight in time, therefore it would be late to Peru. He then explained that I needed to follow the hall to the SECOND set of elevators and to go to the 4th floor where I had to take Train 1 to Terminal E where I would then check-in (again?!) and leave my luggage at the check-in counter.

As I repeated these directions to myself, I ran (as fast as you can run pushing 300lbs of luggage) to the second set of elevators. As the doors opened I quickly realized that these elevators were not made for someone carrying luggage, but I wheeled myself inside praying the elevator would not get stuck from the weight. I pushed "4" and rode to the Train station. As the elevator came to a stop I waited for the door to open. I then heard the wall behind me open up...Oh joy. I then proceeded to back off the elevator into a room with 2 trains, I noticed that neither we labeled "Train 1"...or "Train anything" for that matter. I stood there trying to figure it out and a man walked up to me and asked which was "Train 2", as I explained that I had no idea if I was even in the right place, we had a nice conversation, before the trains arrived. We figured out which was which and parted ways. I chose the train car in the back because no one was in it- and I didn't want to crowd anyone with my luggage. As the sign flashed "Doors closing in 5..4..3.." I ran across the room and slid into the car right before the doors closed. A voice inside the car said, "For your safety please sit down and hold on." I was already situated with my luggage, so I opted to stand, and held the nearest bar. All of the sudden the train shot forward and my cart flew to the opposite side of the train car throwing myself and my luggage all over the place. I hit the floor on my hands and knees as pain shot through me. I looked up to see the sign flashing "Terminal E in 1 min 20 seconds." By this time I was laughing hysterically as I literally crawled through the car to each piece of my luggage and used my feet to kick it all to one side. I laid out on the floor to keep everything in one place until the car came to a stop. As the doors flew open I jumped to my feet and started throwing each bag out the door one by one. I know I looked insane, but I didn't have time to think about it or care!

As the doors closed behind me, I began collecting my luggage and again balanced each piece onto the cart. I composed myself and found the check-in counter. As I walked up, a lady grabbed my arm and directed me to a line that was empty. She then inquired about where I was going and when I told her Peru, she literally pushed me to the front of the line. I explained to the lady at the counter what the man downstairs had said, and as she placed my first bag on the scale, informed me it would be extra for an overweight bag. I then explained that my bags were already paid for and I was told they would fly all the way to Peru, but apparently somewhere there had been a miscommunication. She was pretty rude about it and said that if I wanted my bags to be on my flight, I needed to pay and go because I was already late for boarding. By this time, I lost it. I started sobbing uncontrollably, and tried to explain everything I had been through, AND I had been traveling ALL day and just wanted to get to my husband who SHOULD be with me, I NEVER travel alone and my bags were very heavy...I sounded like a 3 year old trying to plead my case about why I should get another cookie or something. About this time, a manager came by saying that anyone who was going to Peru needed to board NOW and she waved him over. He was also rude and seemed extremely annoyed but because I was short on time, he waved me through to security, informing me that next time I would have to pay (Like he would remember my face or something?!)
As I approached the long line at security there was a woman in front of me who started up a conversation, and when I told her I was going to Peru, she said, "Doesn't that board, like...now?" She told me to go to the "Elite' line and explain that I needed to get through, but I was forced back into line to wait. The woman in front of me wouldn't hear of it and let me in front of her...then she started protesting for me and telling everyone else in front of me to let me through. Everyone was so sweet and understanding and as I got through security I turned around to thank everyone and they were all smiling and waving. The woman was shouting, "RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN! DONT MISS YOUR FLIGHT! HAVE FUN IN PERU!" I was laughing so hard because it literally felt like I was in a cheesy movie! I made it to my gate with a few minutes to spare and even had time to take a few deep breaths before boarding my final flight to Peru. 

I don't know when I will fly again, but my hope is that this experience was enough of an adventure that any other time I fly will be a breeze. Granted, being an American living in Peru- I have no doubts that the next year will be filled with "Mishaps" of every kind. Feel free to join me in these "Misadventures" at La Blondie Peruana.

Thanks again Rachel!

Two-Facebookers and Drama Queens

I am not a fan of drama queens.  On my recent trip to Bali, I bought the TV series 'Privileged' and if anyone hasn't watched it, the show is about a Yale graduate named Megan Smith who goes to work as a private tutor for a sickeningly wealthy Palm Beach family.  Megan has major family issues (father who is a drunk, mother who abandoned her as a child) and the show is basically just the 'woe is me' whinings of this girl who pulls everyone she comes into contact with into her family dramas and has not a thought for what's happening in the lives of the people around her.  Obviously, the show is fictitious and the scenarios acted out are scripted by very well-paid writers but the attitude of the main character rings so true to a few people I know that I can't help raising my hackles in distaste every time she goes off on a rampage about her latest dilemma.

Now, I loooove facebook.  It's almost unhealthy how much time I devote to commenting on all 120 pictures of a friend's wedding or sitting with my finger on the refresh button on my home page in case a new comment has been made on my profile (quite sad, I know).  But one thing I do not love is the amount of attention-seeking status updates that pop into my news feed on a regular basis.  Facebook statuses such as 'Daisy May can't believe it' or 'Martha Mutton doesn't know what to do'.  What can't you believe, Daisy May? Do about what, Martha Mutton? And why do you post these dramatic tantalising teasers that bring my misbehaved, nosy-parker self racing to the surface!

What is even worse about these drama queens is that rarely do they ever clarify what they were refering to, even when directly asked. 

'What do you mean, Kelly Katwell, that you want to crawl up in a ball and die?'

*no response*

'What can't you take anymore, Donna Day?'

*crickets chirping in the background*

              By the way, I don't actually have facebook friends named Kelly Katwell and Donna Day.    
              I'm not too sure why all the made-up names I came up with either have the same first letter
              or sound like they belong to a Southern hill-billy.  Maybe I've just been hearing too much
             about True Blood at work :-p

I'm not aiming this at anyone in particular or meaning to cause offense to anyone.  It's just really, really annoying when people post comments like these that are obviously going to make people wonder what's going on but then get upset when friends ask what's wrong. 

Another minor grievance that I have with this world of electronic communication we find ourselves in (now that I'm firmly sat on my high horse) is how easily misinterpretable information can be.  My sense of humour is questionable at the best of times and without facial expression and tone of voice, I somehow manage to land myself in a great, big pot of bother without having the faintest clue why. 

In the same way that it's easy to cause offense through electronic communication, it's also just as easy to take offense.  Faceless communication allows cowards to make their grievances known without the reprecussions of a verbal confrontation.  A face-to-face discussion demands a solution, a resolution to a problem.  Whether it's a heated debate, an agreement to recognise each other's differences or a tearful apology, it generally brings some sort of conclusion to the matter.  Social networks allow problems to go unresolved, simply by applying the 'Block friend' option.  Not very brave and definitely not cool.

And I'd just like to end this mini rant of mine by saying one small thing: I am not a mind reader.  If I have offended you or said something to hurt you but am still smiling and being nice to you, then most likely I am unaware that you are upset.  If you are upset, please tell me so that I can apologise.  But please don't be nice to my face and then call me every name under the sun behind my back.  Be a grown-up and give me the chance to tell my side of the story.  It might not be as bad as you think :-)

An Adventurous Train Ride on Travel Tuesday

I am so pleased to welcome my very first contributor to Travel Tuesdays!Canadian blogger The Adventurer has very generously agreed to sprinkle my blog with some of her writing charm and guest post for me about her travels in Europe.  Thanks so much for the post, Erin! If anyone else would like to guest post on Travel Tuesdays for The Misadventures of Miss Manship, please email me at mizzmanship@hotmail.com.

Lots of love!
xxx

Five Mother Hens & A Foreign Baby Chick

My first time getting on a train in Italy I was stuffed in a carriage for six, filled beyond capacity with angry Italian men who yelled...a lot. Oh, and that one shy little Italian girl. So in actuality we were OVER stuffed. Beyond belief. This story however...has no problems with seating. Or sweaty, angry Italian men.

 I was on my way to Genoa and happened to be in a train carriage made up entirely of women. Where I was by FAR the youngest.  Due to my last Italian train adventure...I was relieved to see this and quietly took my seat, smiling at the woman across from me.  As I sat there quietly, the women around me transformed until they were COMPLETELY like mother hens. So sweet and caring and clucking over me...especially once they figured out that I didn't speak Italian!

Now, you have to understand that none of them really SPOKE English, but they'd been trying to share some of the MOST delicious homemade treats with me...and trying to talk with me...and they were so cute that I think that I automatically fell a little bit in love with them. In the 'I had a really bad week and need someone to take care of me' kind of way.

Now, as we were sitting there and I was trying to be polite and not eat ALL of their WAY too delicious food..they started clucking amongst themselves about something. Being a foreigner, I was (mostly) oblivious...because well, the lack of understanding the Italian language thing sort of lets you tune out.

But then, I realized that they were directing their rapid Italian at ME...and I got a little concerned. Especially when they started yelling and pointing and acting a little too much like the Italian men I had encountered on the train the last time I was in Italy. I was worried - what had I done? Had I eaten too much? Too little? Something not intended for me? Oh jeeze - what had I got myself into. Why oh WHY didn't I listen mother about not taking food from strangers. Hadn't I got it through my thick skull that mothers know everything and are ALWAYS RIGHT?!

But then they used a word I could understand! SUCCESS! They were talking about my BILLETO! Peeeeeeeerfect! I hadn't upset them all! There were no problems of too much or too little. All was good...no worries here! - Except...wait. ...What about my ticket now?! And suddenly I got MORE concerned...the train was about to leave and they were having a very heated discussion about my ticket. Enter me starting to lose my cool a little as I became terrified that there was something wrong with my ticket.

So I was pretty confused...and on the brink of freaking out when the one who speaks the MOST English (aka...none --> very little) out of the group tried to translate...And no word of a lie...she just started yelling: "OBLITERATE! OBLITERATE!"   And the others...following her lead were like "SI! SI! OBLITERATE! OBLITERATE!" So of course...I'm all like WHAT THE?!?!? And I'm SO confused and have NO idea what they're talking about...except now I'm pretty sure that all Italians are NUTS and there is no way they're going to convince me to OBLITERATE my ticket. No matter HOW good their little balls of pastry heaven are.

The youngest of the Hens pulls out her ticket, points and goes “Obliterate...ticketo!" (because of COURSE, you must add an O or an A to the end of EVERY word...duh.) I take a deep breath. And breathe a sigh of relief.  Then I calmly pull out my ticket...and show my dear little hens that YES, I have indeed validated my ticket.  Happy now that all was taken care of - they continued on their merry way, clucking amongst themselves in their beautiful Italian all the while stuffing me full of the most delicious pastries I've ever encountered.

Perfect-O! 

Happy Hogmanay (or New Years, for the non-Scots...)

A very happy new year to all and welcome to the start of 2010!  I hope that everyone's NYE was filled with much madness, magic and mayhem.  It was after all the end of the noughties and should have been celebrated as such. Maybe not millenium style but still enough sparkle to put the Dorothy shoes to shame! I know that I'm ridiculously late in my new-year well-wishings but I think that there should be a small grace period to give people the chance to gather their writing wits after the fun and festivities of the Christmas season.  Besides, one of my resolutions is to start doing things in my own time and in light of this resolution, I think it's perfectly acceptable for me to be writing my new year post on the seventh of January! ;-)

I'm not normally a resolutions kinda person. I never do them and I rarely remember what I resolved to do anyways. I think that 'Learn French' has been on my New Year Resolutions list for about five years now and still the only French I know is 'Au Revoir' and 'Viola!'. I am however starting a blog resolution though. I've decided to start a travel feature on my blog, seeing as this originally started off being a travel blog. 'Travel Tuesdays' will start next week and am looking for some guest bloggers! I want stories about all your misadventures and all the mischief that you got up to along the way!

As this is a New Years post, it seems fitting that the first misadventurous travel tale should be about New Years Eve.  Last year, I celebrated Hogmanay in Edinburgh.  I spent Christmas week in Manchester with family and had to take a train back to Edinburgh on the day of New Years Eve as that was the only available train ride between Christmas and New Years.  I think that every single person in Britain decided to descend on Edinburgh that day because despite having paid for a seat, I had to stand in the hall by the stinking toilets for most of the three and a half hour journey.  Then when we finally arrived at Waverley train station after major delays, all the taxis had to be redirected away from the train station due to the street party on Princes street and so I had to walk all the way to the nearest taxi rank, carrying a bulging suitcase, two duffel bags and a backpack.

The plan was to have a relaxing afternoon before the madness of the night began.  Some holiday banter with my flatmate, unpack my stuff and take my time getting ready.  Maybe have a little nap.  Instead it was a sandwich on the run, throw on the cleanest dress in my wardrobe and leg it down to the local pub before my friends took a taxi to the street party we were going to.  Banging through the door of the pub in a great, big tangle of handbag straps and ankle boot laces, I practically fell into the arms of none other than The Rat.

Most girls are familiar with the behaviour of The Rat.  One guy who manages to make you feel like the most beautiful, attractive girl in the room by lavishing you with honeyed words and rapt attention.  He then manages to make you feel like a complete fool when you come back from the bathroom to find he's left without a word or doesn't call you when he says he will the next day. My Rat was a guy I met the first night I arrived in Edinburgh and is not someone I would wish to see the new year in with.  Unfortunately, he still had my number and this brief meeting at the pub sparked off an evening of one-sided phone calls and text messages.

On top of this, I managed to leave my coat at home and arrived at the street festival in a very thin, off-the-shoulder dress and stiletto ankle boots.  I think that the temperature by that time was in the negative degrees and my poor Southern-Hemisphere adapted body has never felt cold like it before.  I was freezing to death, almost crippled by my new stiletto boots and somehow managed to get separated from my group of friends within the first half hour.

By the time midnight struck, I was jammed in the middle of a mosh-pit, ignoring The Rat's constant phone calls and desperately dodging a New Years kiss from a Kiwi rugby player with cauliflower ears while masses of sweaty emo teenagers bounced on my toes.  I couldn't even be bothered to sing Auld blimin' Lang Syne and ended the evening crying my eyes out in my bathtub and pouring boiling hot water over my legs because my toes had turned blue and I couldn't feel them anymore. Happy Hogmanay everyone! I hear Paulo Nutini was playing at the street party but I honestly couldn't tell you. 

What are your most miserable NYE memories?

Lots of love!
xxx