If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you’ll note that I’ve entered quite a few travel competitions in the last two years. I’m desperate for someone to pay me to follow my passions. Unsurprisingly, when I found out about gaytravel.com’s “Gay Travel Guru” competition- I was immediately intrigued.

The gig is simply amazing. A six month contract to travel around North America capturing film, photography, and travel reviews about what it’s like to be a Gay Traveler in each location I visit. This would obviously be an amazing fit for me as I’ve been unofficially doing this work for years now! What a ridiculous dream it would be if someone actually paid me to do it!

The amazing news is, I’m a finalist! Gaytravel.com chose 8 individuals (4 women and 4 men) to compete in the final leg of the race, if you will. Accordingly, they will be flying us all to Las Vegas at the end of this month to film, photograph and blog and show them what we can do!

I am really excited about this opportunity and am definitely spending a ton of time and energy setting up the trip before I get there. All of my years working at GLAAD, traveling, filming, and understanding how produce will be put to use. I can’t wait!

Check back here on www.journeywithjanelle.com between August 29-September 1st to get updates on the competition and news about whether or not I win. Wish me luck!

Related posts:

1. Travel helped me stop Smoking
2. Tomorrow is the Day.
3. Starting the Big Journey

A little over a year ago, I left a career in non-profit fundraising to become a freelance travel blogger, filmmaker, and photographer. It was the biggest career obstacle I’ve faced to date as I figuratively chose to become a starving artist and follow my passions.

The original company that inspired me to take this leap was STA Travel. Their brand is infectious, they cater to young travelers like myself, and they happen to have an incredible competition for what I would classify as my “DREAM JOB.”

In STA Travel’s WORLD TRAVELER INTERNSHIP,  two young travelers are sent around the world, all expenses paid, for the entire summer. These travelers are asked to film, photograph, and write about their experiences… EXACTLY what I already do on my website!

Getting this gig would be a HUGE platform for me. And the good news is, you can help me with ONE SIMPLE CLICK!

There are a number of things that you can do to help me win:
1. Click It: Go to my competition page and click on the green button that says VOTE!

2. Forward the link (http://www.worldtravelerinternship.com/member/janelle-eagle/) to EVERYONE you know and encourage them to do the same

3.Share it on twitter, facebook, email, wherever!

4. Comment It: Once you’ve voted for me, leave comments on the page about why you think I’d be perfect for this job

This is the chance of a lifetime for me and as a recipient of this note, you are someone that has supported me, believes in me, and wants to see me succeed. Now… there’s a very simple way that you can help all those things happen.

Best of luck in all you are doing and thanks in advance for your suppport!

Best,
Janelle

Related posts:

1. Get on board!
2. On Set with "A Marine Story"
3. Commercial Craziness

The fact that I would ever need to write an article about quitting smoking is surprising for anyone who knew the little girl version of Janelle K. Eagle. My father was a smoker, you see, and I was so vehemently against the habit that I pulled every heart string possible asking why he wouldn’t choose me instead of the cancer sticks. I didn’t understand addiction or how my presence in his life wasn’t enough for him to just stop. I blame that traumatizing anti-smoking ad where the woman smokes out of her trachiotomy tube in her throat for many a nightmare in my youth.

The Program that started it all

The young version of myself was constantly active, athletic, and though I had an aversion to brussel sprouts, I was healthy. When the D.A.R.E. program came to my school, I was singled out to lead the Pledge of Allegiance at our “graduation ceremony” because of my vocal support of a drug and alcohol free childhood. An overachiever, a daughter a parent could be proud of, I even sang in the temple’s choir. I was by no means a “bad kid” that was caught by the principal smoking behind the bleachers. In fact, I didn’t even pick up the habit until I was in college.

Like many impressionable young people, I started with what seemed like a noncigarette. It was a CIGAR. Eventually I slid over to clove cigarettes, thinking that a couple a day was something that cool artsy college kids did. Eventually I was hooked on the inhale, switched to regular cigarettes, and was suddenly something that “little girl Janelle” would be ashamed of: a Smoker.

Now let me stop here for a second and give a little love to those people in my life who are smokers. I hate how shame and smoking are so linked. Quitting is one of the hardest things you’ll ever do. No one will be able to tell you how to stop. You’ll get there on your own if you want to, promise. I am writing this article simply to share my own story. Find your own way and go for it! You can do it!

And to all the loved ones out there that have a smoker in their life… Let me speak solely from my own experience. It never helped when someone attempted to guilt me into stopping. It never helped when someone gave me an ultimatum. I hated it when people would pass by and say “that’ll kill you, you know.” I never understood this as a child and publicly announce to the world an apology to my father for all the guilt trips; they probably only made his journey harder.

They say it takes the average smoker at least 10 attempts before s/he stops smoking. Oftentimes, a smoker may stop for a while and then may revisit their nasty habit when life’s larger obstacles rear their ugly heads (i.e. Death in the family, layoffs, etc.). I have attempted to quit the nasty habit a number of times, usually lasting at least of couple of weeks before I stopped. One of the attempts that lasted the longest was when I got an extremely severe lung infection that landed me in a hospital emergency room twice in one week. If you think that would stop me… you’ve probably never been a smoker.

I stopped for a while and then eventually went to a bar and thought “I’ll have just one.” Suddenly I’d be back in my groove and the habits would start again. I would wake up, smoke a cigarette. I would get ready for my day, get in the car, and light up. I’d eat my meals, have a cig, and then do it all over again the next day. My friends smoke. All the bars in Los Angeles that I frequent have built in smoking patios.While I have a strong spirit and am capable of dedicating myself to a goal, the familiarity of my life culture and smoking was too great for me overcome.

Me on the balcony formerly known as "The Smoking Balcony"

Eventually, I knew myself well enough to know that if I tried to become a casual smoker, I’d get looped back into my habits eventually. My routine in Los Angeles was so tied to when and where I lit up that I didn’t know how to enjoy my balcony’s sunset view of the Hollywood Hills without a cigarette in my hand. I even called the locale my “smoking balcony.” Having a beer in one hand automatically meant having a cigarette in the other. It seemed I didn’t even know how to live in Los Angeles without a pack of cigarettes. Every time I would leave town with the intention to quit, I’d come back to Los Angeles and light up again. My home seem inextricably linked to a habit I hated.

My brother Jason, unimpressed by a two week non-smoking stint that I was bragging about, mentioned to me once that “It takes 90 days to make a habit and 90 days to break one.” Always game to prove my brother wrong, I was heartbroken when I couldn’t get to that goal time and time again. Never one to give up though, I decided to add it to the Life to Do List, and thus entered #18: “Do not smoke a cigarette, not even one, for at least 90 days.”

About to light up in Bali

What finally allowed me to cross #18 off the List was a two-month trip around the world. Travel is not only my passion, it’s where I am in my groove. On this particular extended trip, I was out of my familiar surroundings long enough to break all of my habits. This was not the case in August 2008 when I traveled to Bali for 10 days (along with a carton of cigarettes). I smoked the entire time and hate that many of my travel pictures include me with a cigarette in my mouth.

On this trip, I knew I was lucky to be traveling in the first place. I knew that I would be viewing sites and meeting people that would change me. I had plenty to distract me. Nothing would be familiar, so habits weren’t applicable. It seemed like a perfect excuse to stop.

I fumbled quite a few times when I first got to Nepal simply because I hadn’t mentally “let go” of my habit. My local guide and dear friend in Bhaktapur is a smoker. Being around him while he smoked was a tease, so I lit up with him a couple of times in the spirit of camaraderie (or so I told myself). Slowly but surely during the month I lived in Nepal, I smoked less and less. I left that beautiful country on November 1st for India, smoking only twice during the five days I was in town. I enjoyed neither cigarette that I had and mentally felt the moment where I was done. On November 5th, 2009, I left India for Europe and left my smoking habit behind.

Today, the 3rd of February marks 90 days cigarette free. It was hard to come back to Los Angeles, but as soon as everyone got used to being around me without a cig in my hand (and I got used to not smoking while others did), it became markedly easier. I learned to love the Hollywood Hills view even more without the cigarette. It is still hard to not smoke when I am drinking, but I choose to focus on the company I keep or the music playing instead of how bad I want a cigarette at that bar. The longer I go without smoking, the easier it gets. Now I’m more used to not smoking than the opposite.

For those of you wishing to get inspired to stop smoking, feel free to adapt my story to work for you. There are a couple of disclaimers that are relevant (especially because I believe we all have our own journey):

1. You need to have a lifestyle that allows you to GET OUT OF TOWN! You need to be gone long enough (and far enough) so that your habits are broken. Any other big life change or move might actually be a perfect excuse (new apartment? new city?)/

2. Instead of saying “I will quit smoking,” consider the 90 day option instead. I may light up again in the future, but knowing that I’ve already gone this long makes me think its unlikely.

3. I had supportive friends and family that didn’t make me feel like I’d be a failure if I didn’t make it. They congratulated me along the way but didn’t pressure me.

4. I refused to bring cigarettes with me and none of the countries I was traveling in were going to carry my brand. I’m pretty loyal, so this was a big advantage. (If you travel to Europe, the sticker shock of extremely expensive cigarettes also makes it easy to pass up)

A Travel Picture sans smoke!

5. There were some advantages to my European travels that made it easier for me to stop. I was constantly moving, traveling by train to a new city at least once ever three days. Nothing was habitual. Focus on catching the next train or tour rather than the location of the closest smoke shop.

If you have any of these options, take them. Getting to see the world is a wonderful side effect of crossing this item off the list. I had the time of my life and got healthier at the same time. Not to mention, I think I look much better in my vacation pictures without a cigarette in my hand!

Related posts:

1. #20: Going Back to Paris
2. The Newest To-Do’s
3. #51: In the Flesh

Hey visitors! As you know, I am a world traveler who wants to keep traveling. Especially if someone else is going to pay for it! Well there is an opportunity for this to happen as I am in contention for “The Big Trip” (learn more at www.thebigtrip.com).

You can help me by watching this YouTube video, heading to THIS LINK and rating it 5 stars and leaving comments about why you think I’d be great for the job!

Thanks for the support!!

Related posts:

1. The Dinah 2009
2. VIDEO: India’s Golden Triangle
3. Get on board!

A Torah Scroll in Prague

There were 9 high schools in my hometown of Fremont, CA. Good ole’ American High School (home of the proud Eagles) happened to be the farthest from the only Jewish Temple in town. This meant that all the Jewish kids I hung out with all went to different schools than me, and I was one of only two practicing Jews at AHS. By day I was Varsity Head Cheerleader (I know…) and by night or the weekend, I rejoined “The Jew Crew” at Temple Beth Torah, just a short 20 minute drive from my house. At a young age, I was already used to living two separate lives.

Living this “double life” gets rather exhausting. Being a Jew in a predominantly Christian community forced me to become an expert at explaining to my teachers that I couldn’t be present in class because of the High Holy days, or declining a Friday night get-together with school friends because it was Shabbat and my parents were singing in the choir.

As a result of having to constantly explain to people why I was different, I fully endorse public educational systems being forced to recognize all holidays from all religions/faiths. Having others understand that I celebrated something different made my life easier and made me not feel like such an outsider.

Besides, even though I was Jewish, I celebrated many Christmases and Easters (and even Kwanzaa!); I even went to midnight mass when I was dating a Catholic. I can sing any Christmas carol and many a gospel song without needing the lyrics written down. Jesus has been my literary homeboy since having to read “A Tale of Two Cities” in high school and learning what a “Christ-like” figure was. I’m used to being surrounded by a religion and its parts that is not my own. It gets overwhelming during the holidays, but I’m used to it.

Because I lived as a minority amongst my peers, I recognize that I have a bit of a complex. When given the opportunity to unite with fellow Jews (or those who love us), I flock wholeheartedly to my peeps. Being around other Jews has the addictive effect of making me feel part of a community.

Exhausted during Gadna Israel Army Simulation

Imagine my enthusiasm when at the age of 14, I traveled with 118 of my young Jewish peers from the San Francisco Bay Area to the Holy Land of Israel(pictured RIGHT). I was surrounded by Jews in a land full of Jews. The ooey-Jewey goodness of it all was overwhelming to say the least. Suddenly having my Jewishness make me part of a majority was alarming. It felt weird to not have the fact that I am Jewish make me weird.

Being a traveling Jew in Europe, I got overwhelmed by the beauty of the churches I saw. The frescoes on the dome of the Duomo in Florence are stunning. Stained glass has always been a secret obsession- so my eyes were spoiled by the splendor throughout Italy and particularly at St. Vitus Cathedral in Prague.

In Prague, I suddenly got to go on my first “Jewish” tour. This wasn’t a tour for Jewish people, it was a tour about Jewish people. My people. We toured the streets of the Josefov region of Prague- where the Jewish ghetto “Terezin” once existed. I walked through temples laden with old Torah covers, yads (torah pointers), and siddur (prayer books). Hebrew was written on the walls and I could read it. Songs played over museum sound systems and I recognized the melodies. It seemed I was suddenly in a different world.

The Stained Glass at St. Vitus Cathedral, Prague

While I often reminisce about my trip to Israel 10 years ago, I forgot what it felt like to travel to a predominantly Jewish location. I forgot the sensational freedom that accompanies a relief that I don’t have to fight to help someone understand me or my beliefs. That being Jewish just isn’t an issue- it’s an assumption. It was a rare and very welcome treat.

Back at our hostel, I heard a young Christian missionary complaining to another traveler about having to go into Temples. She said, “I don’t even believe in that religion- so why go there?” I did not interject in her conversation, but instead thought about how beautiful the churches and mosques were that I had seen. I thought about how much I appreciated their religious and historical significance, though not specifically tied to my own.

I feel that history belongs to all of us. A true traveler embraces the opportunity to learn about other cultures and religions. After all, If I had had the same mentality as that young girl, I would have missed out on seeing most of Europe! Seeing as how I am rarely part of a majority, I’d rather humble myself and appreciate all the beauty that comes from different cultures/religions than my own. There’s just too much to see that has nothing to do with Judaism and if growing up in a constant state of “otherness” has simultaneously imbued me with a capacity to appreciate what is not mine… then maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

Related posts:

1. #41: Shabbat Shalom
2. Supporting Israel
3. Hope Remixed

The Golden Triangle is a very historical trifecta of landmarks that exist in India. Made up of Delhi in the North, Agra in the southeast and Jaipur in the southwest, these three destinations are each approximately 250 km apart from one another. Each destination is packed full of highlights and landmarks that are worthy of days of exploration. It is not uncommon to explore each of the three points on the Golden Triangle for at least a week.

Patty and I did the entire Triangle in 36 hours, thank you very much. And if you are ever considering doing something similar in the future, I am telling you right now… DON’T.

Let me explain.

To get from Delhi to Agra (home of the Taj Mahal), Patty and I decided to share a taxi with two lovely girls that we met at our hostel. The four of us packed into an air conditioned sedan and met our driver at 5:30 in the morning. After naps in the car, we arrived at the Taj close to four hours later. It was epic and monumental and everything you’d ever hope it would be (more on that by clicking HERE). While Agra Fort is another popular destination in the area, we knew that there was a larger one back in Delhi (the Red Fort), and that we had to get on the road.

Patty and I arranged for another private taxi to drive us the almost 5 or 6 hours it takes to get from Agra to Jaipur. In case you don’t have a calculator handy, that’s 11 hours in one day in a taxi on the crazy streets of India.

Standing in front of an absolutely stunning masterpiece

We had a very difficult time reaching our contact in Jaipur, so we just crossed our fingers that we’d make it into town and somehow the stars would align and we’d find him when we arrived. The good news is, we did find him after an extremely exhaustive attempt at using multiple cell phones and numerous numbers. We met Kaushl’s brother (remember him from THIS entry in Nepal?); his name is Dewang. He graciously met our taxi and drove us to his friends house.

Unfortunately that’s where things got a bit sour. The gentleman’s house that we went to was nowhere near the old city we were hoping to see. He spoke no English and was just plain awkward. At one point he literally attempted to convince us to fly off the roof with him. It wasn’t fun.

The next morning we decided we didn’t want to stay another night and risk continued discomfort in the city- so we decided to high-tail our butts back to Delhi. We didn’t want to spend another $100 on a taxi, so we had Dewang book us “sleeper tickets” on a train. Paying a little extra for a rush order, we found ourselves with about 4 hours to explore all of Jaipur. Impossible. We decided to focus on the most important part- the City Palace (which was gorgeous).

The lattice and pink architecture of Jaipur

After taking many a picture, Dewang escorted us to the Jaipur train station. If you’ve never experienced riding the trains in India, then you haven’t experienced India. Sprawling and massive and scary and full of noise, there was not a more overwhelming option for us to choose for the final leg of our whirlwind journey through the Golden Triangle. Mice ran at our feet, stinky men stared and invaded our space, and we just prayed we’d make it back alive.

Six grueling hours later, we rolled into Delhi station. There are three stations in Delhi, by the way. We had arrived at the one opposite the one we had told our taxi to meet us at. So we waited… By ourselves… At the Old Delhi train station. Rats. Bats. Men and women urinating right in front of us. What’s not to love?

How about the taxi ride back to the hostel? We had an extremely long drive (because we’d gone to the farthest possible station), and the van pickup almost ran out of gas. So we had to drive around looking for a fill-up. At 1am. The drivers are crazy, remember, so inevitably we hit a big bump and I went sailing up and cracked my head into the roof of the van.

At that point in the journey- I just lost it. I cried uncontrollably in a van while Patty attempted to comfort me and the driver and hostel staff person asked if I should be taken to the hospital. After Patty confirmed that I didn’t have a concussion, I just begged them to (safely) get us home.

Stepping foot into Nirvana Hostel was like coming home, after all. We marched right into our room, I crawled into the shower and just CLEANED myself. I believe Patty’s favorite quote that I sobbed from the shower was “I… just… like… need SO much soap.”

The good news is, that was the low point of the entire trip we’ve had abroad. It’s over and done with and we experienced it and learned from it. There will be more blogs about specific sites we enjoyed afterwards- because there were quite a few that are breathtaking.

The point of this particular entry is that adding haste into an already stressful travel journey between three cities in five days was not a good choice. I don’t know that I wanted much more time in India, at least not on this visit. But I do wish that I hadn’t rushed us so much. I do wish that I’d taken the time that India deserves.

Related posts:

1. VIDEO: India’s Golden Triangle
2. Opening up to Nepal
3. About India

A talented man uses all limbs to string necklaces

Though it may surprise you, I’m shy when meeting new people. If someone introduces me to a new person, I am usually just fine and can jump into conversation. Friends of friends are easily embraced. It is not the same, however, when it’s just me and person x and there is no particular reason to have a conversation.

I am happy to say that traveling, especially on this particular journey, has begun to break me of this habit. I noticed it recently when Patty and I were set to rendezvous with out tour group at a specific place in Kathmandu called “The Lotus Gallery.” Owned by a dear friend of the Unatti Foundation’s director, she assured us that Santosh would always take care of us if we stopped into his gallery. He’d offer us tea, a place to sit, and a place to wait.

Patty and I were feeling quite proud of ourselves when we found Lotus Gallery on our own. However, when we walked in and Santosh greeted us, I suddenly felt very nervous. What was I to say to this man? How well does he speak English? Why would he even want us in his space? To top it off, there was another unidentified man already hanging out there. I made awkward conversation as I pretended to be very interested in the art on his walls.

Then everything changed. One of our fellow travelers, Clinton Bopp, showed up at the Gallery as well. A younger guy from New Zealand, he’s got a personality and warmth that immediately makes anyone feel at ease. He also spent some time living as a homeless artist in Los Angeles, so he’s had his fair share of striking up conversations with people he doesn’t know. When he got to the gallery, he jumped right into conversation with both men.

As it turns out, the guest was an artist from Tibet with an incredible life story. Santosh was extremely interested in the film that we are creating. We learned a bunch about Clinton that we didn’t previously. More of our traveling party showed up and then left again, and suddenly I saw the vision of what Lotus Gallery was to become for us. We kicked off our shoes and simply talked. A man from New Zealand, an Indian-born Nepali, an artist from Tibet, and two American girls sipped tea and just talked.

I am struck by how obvious it seems that we are surrounded by so many similar opportunities everywhere we go. We hear German, Spanish, Italian, Dutch and other languages surrounding us as we walk every day. We are all out of our element and I believe, all crave deeper human interaction. Passing by strangers gets old, making new friends never does.

As soon as we embraced this philosophy, we met Kaushl Patel. His name is pronounced like Kosher with an “l” at the end. We met him in the most random of ways. Patty and I were in a bead shop commissioning some trinkets for our parents. We literally got to pick the colors and shapes off the walls and watched a man make brilliance before our very eyes.

The small bead shop (literally 10 ft. by 6 ft.) was simultaneously filled by a large Indian family, Patty and I, Kaushl, and the bead man. All eyes seemed to turn to us. He asked where we were from, we told him California. “Cal-ee-four-nee-yah!” He responded with enthusiasm.

The next question (which is standard practice here) is “How long are you going to stay in Nepal?” One month. “And then you are going home to Cal-ee-four-nee-yah?” he asked. “No,” I said, “Next we go to India.” You can imagine how a room full of Indian women and Indian-born Nepalis would react to such news.

“INDIA! You are going to India! Where in India?” We are going to Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur. “Jaipur?? That is where my brother lives! You are family! You stay with my brother!” Patty and I laughed at the attention and then continued to chat with Kaushl long after our commissioned pieces were finished.

Aquamarine gems glimmer on the display table

Kaushl owns a jewelry shop in Lazimpak- a few kilometers away. He gave us his cell phone number and said “You are here in Kathmandu for a few more days. You come visit me and see my store in Lazimpak.” And I don’t know what possessed us to- but we did.

Yesterday we took a taxi to his store in Lazimpak. Somehow we found it, right there was “Swan Gems and Jewelry.” We got to the door and it was locked. Of course. Silly us, we’d traveled all the way here and he wasn’t even at his shop. Then in the distance we hear a voice… “Friends! Friends!! You are here!!!” And there he was. Kaushl was running down the street to greet us.

We sat with Kaushl for four hours. He bought us the best momos we’ve had the entire trip, provided us juice boxes and beer, gave us a private tour of all his jewelry and gems, and was officially our friend. He even got us a private taxi to get us all the way back to our hotel and paid for it himself, instructing us to call when we arrived safely- just like a parent.

Kaushl Patel in his Swan Gem store in Lazimpat

On Monday we go back to Lazimpat to pick up the Jewelry we bought from Kaushl. We spent very little at his store, but gained so much. His charm and sense of family and pride is perhaps one of the best gifts we’ve received while on these travels. I think we will stay with his brother when we get to Jaipur. And I think we will have some more momos with him before we leave Nepal.

And none of this would have happened had we not been brave enough to simply have a conversation with someone we didn’t know.

Related posts:

1. Mornings in Nepal
2. Calling me Fat?
3. Leaving Nepal

Me still smiling before leaving LAX airport

My personal in-flight television screen says that we have traveled 1585 miles from Los Angeles. It’s hard to tell because we are surrounded by 360 degrees of the Pacific Ocean. It’s blue skies and sea blue all around. My medical mask hugs my face, simultaneously keeping my breath warm and my lungs from interacting with swine flu or other airborne gross-ness.

It’s happening. I’m on a plane headed to Nepal. My best friend is sitting next to me, my camera pack is in the overhead compartment and I’m off to make my first movie. It’s a claustrophobic-bathroom, swollen-footed dream come true.

Because we’ve been anticipating this journey for close to six months, Patty and I are extraordinarily prepared. We’ve thought through every possible ailment, taken every precaution, and set ourselves up for success. Now comes the waiting and crossing of fingers. Will “the story” we hope to tell actually exist? Will we be able to capture it on tape? It’s leap of faith time.

All signs point to a raucous adventure, indeed. I awake to find a text message that Patty has already lost her ipod and we haven’t even left LA. My roommate Tara and I arrived at Patty’s house to load the car with our luggage and get on the road to LAX International Airport. After knocking on the door, Patty offered me an English Muffin for the road. I gladly accepted. I should have declined.

Patty displays her disbelief in her ill-timed injury

While cutting the muffin, Patty sliced her finger. Badly. Right before we are about to head to the airport. Through tear-soaked eyes she asked me whether or not we needed to head to the ER and get her stitches. I remained calm, looked at her profusely bleeding appendage and made the uneducated medical decision to forego stitches in favor of Neosporin and a band-aid. The good news is, that was the right decision. Patty stayed all in once piece and we hopped into the car.

During the ride, we listened to Ingrid Michelson’s recent album. One of her singles is entitled “Keep Breathing.” The irony of said instruction is beyond humorous as you’ll read on. At the end of the song, the talented vocalist builds musical tension by repeating the mantra “All You Can Do Is Keep Breathing.” A fitting mantra for the ever-stressed 20 something, Patty and I have repeated those very lyrics on multiple occasions. For the purposes of embracing the morning craziness, I jokingly changed the lyrics to “all you can do is keep bleeding.” Patty pointed her bandaged finger to me with a smile on her face and said “I hate you.”

Upon arrival at LAX, we head towards Terminal 4- the acclaimed Tom Bradley International terminal- and wave goodbye to my roommate. Then we learn that our flight is in fact leaving from Terminal 7. We have six bags, two English Breakfast tea lattes, and about a quarter mile of space between us and our actual destination. We scurry our way down to T7 and arrive panting.

Patty and I simply laugh it off

After waiting in an extended check-in line, we hurry over to Security. I let them know in advance that my entire carry-on is filled with camera equipment. Wires, harddrives, lenses, mics… we are loaded and there is no way to simply take it out of the bag and place it in one of those white bins. I mentally prepare myself to have to go through special security and am immediately told that my assumptions were valid. It was me, a private security officer, and a shrinking window of time before our flight was to depart.

While I was mentally prepared for additional security, I was not mentally prepared for the officer to remove every. Single. Individual. Item from the bag. He scanned them separately. He brought the monopod (think tripod with one leg) back to his supervisor for even more security because it looked too much like a weapon. But Patty and I must have been on happy pills because we handled the entire thing with grace, and ascended the escalator towards gate 76 with a smile.

Our smiles faded quickly when we reached the summit of said escalator. The voice over the loudspeaker greeted our ascension with “Final boarding call for flight 891 with service to Tokyo. Final boarding.” Oh yeah, you betcha. We are the farthest distance possible from our gate and have to RUN.

In case the mental picture isn’t self-evident, think back on those movies or cable crime dramas where someone is rushing through the airport. Perhaps McCauley Culkin chasing after his assumed father in Home Alone. And we know how that sprint ended. He’s fatherless and alone in New York.

In our case, the terminal is packed, most folks are leisurely wheeling carry-ons, and then there is us. We are sprinting like there is no tomorrow. The experience conjured up 9th grade physical education when my teacher told me I wouldn’t get an A in the course unless I ran a mile in under 8 minutes. Ever the over-achiever, I arrived at the finish line at 7:56 with a burning pain in my chest. I got there, but it hurt.

We booked it across the entire airport today, folks. Barely avoiding collision and barely permitting air into our lungs, Patty and I got on the plane. But it hurt.

And the Ingrid Michelson song has come full circle. As we claim our seats on this journey, panting and gasping to regain a normal heartbeat, I smile and think “All we can do is keep breathing.”

Related posts:

1. Layover Blogging
2. Leaving Nepal
3. While Traveling In… Nepal

You’ve probably been reading a bunch about the adventures I had when I visited my family on Salt Spring Island in Canada. If you long for more than just words and pictures, check out the latest “Journey with Janelle” video:

Related posts:

1. VIDEO: India’s Golden Triangle
2. My Canadian Training Day
3. #71: Ferry’s Anatomy

Bottles of Pinot Noir from the Laetitia Winery

Obviously I’m a bit addicted to traveling. In particular, I get a kick out of experiences that feel fancy but, in fact, are rather affordable. When my dear friend Patty asked me to travel with her to Central California in order to support a mutual friend’s theater project, I thought, “Let’s kill two birds with one stone!” And alas, we decided to cross off #13 from the “Life To Do List” and go wine-tasting as well.

The drive from Los Angeles up to Santa Maria is about 2.5 to three hours up the 101 Freeway. The views of the famous cali coastline did not disappoint and we truly couldn’t have asked for better weather. While singing along to whatever our iPods threw at us, we made the following “Journey with Janelle” videos about visiting Laetitia Winery.

Grapevines at the Laetitia Winery in Santa Maria, CA

We were particularly lucky in that the day we arrived happened to be an “Open Cellar” day on the winery. They had live music and had opened all of their cellars and brought out their professional staff to tell us about everything that goes into making their incredible product. The entire experience cost only $10. We brought along our $5 footlongs from Subway and after buying a couple of bottles for our own expanding vino collection, had spent about $50 for an incredible and lush experience.

As a Pinot Noir lover, I can tell you, Laetitia makes one of my favorites. If you’d like to take a similar adventure, you should visit their website and find out more about the next time they are opening up for guests!

http://www.laetitiawine.com

EPISODE 1

EPISODE 2

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1. #14: Call me Farmer Janelle