Tradition vs Globalization?

I know, I know, I haven't finished telling you about my latest trip. But I think this topic requires a little timeout from all the frivolous travel talk.

I came across two incredibly disturbing articles in the news on the same day.

The first announces the murder conviction of an Afghan family in Canada. The man, his wife, and their son were convicted in the murder of three teenage sisters because "they dishonored the family by defying its disciplinarian rules on dress, dating, socializing and going online." They were also convicted in the murder of the man's childless first wife in a polygamous marriage.

The second detailed the murder of a woman in Afghanistan, at the hands of her husband and mother-in-law, because she had given birth to a third daughter instead of a son.

Reading these stories reminded me of an article from a 2008 issue of Washington City Paper. The article details the murder of a young Afghan-American girl by the recent Afghan immigrant she had been dating. Dating is not acceptable in the Afghan community, and when she tried to end the controlling relationship this is how the rejected man responded. The article goes on to discuss the difficulties first-generation Americans face in attempting to meld their two cultures.

(Full disclosure: I once dated the brother-in-law of this woman. His attitude towards me was eerily similar to what is described in this article. I finally succeeded in ending it for good not long before this occurred. To say it was not my finest hour would be a serious understatement. To say it was the lowest point of my life would be much more accurate.)

Though these articles all happen to involve the Afghan community, that is mere coincidence.

In NO way is this relegated to Afghans. Let me be clear on that point.

During my two month stay in India last year, there was at least one newspaper article per week about an "honor killing" taking place, for reasons such as a woman's rape (yes, it was the woman who was blamed and killed) to not producing a son (again, blamed on the woman despite all that scientific proof that sex is determined by the man).

Aborting female fetuses is apparently so common that it is now illegal (at least in my in-laws' state) for a clinic to perform an ultrasound once the sex of the fetus can be determined. When I required an ultrasound, I was asked no fewer than seven times by three different people whether I could possibly be pregnant. When I answered "no" each time, I was then asked to sign a form to that effect before they could perform the ultrasound.

Dating is becoming more common, but is still not widely accepted. My husband and I had been dating for more than a year before he told his parents about me, and it definitely took them some time to come around to the idea (I'm still not entirely sure they have...).

I just finished reading Shobhan Bantwal's novel The Dowry Bride, about a young Indian wife who runs away after discovering her husband's and mother-in-law's plan to kill her. A plan hatched because, after a year of marriage, her family had still not paid the dowry and she had not yet become pregnant.

Families are constantly immigrating to the U.S. (and other western countries), and there are more and more first-generation Americans struggling to balance the expectations of their parents with the demands of their "new" culture.

So my question is this: is it possible to balance conservative beliefs and modern society? Preserve a culture yet break down outdated conventions? And not only in the western world, but also in conservative countries.

Thoughts? Discuss in the comments.

Disappointment and Awe in Kerala

Remember how I said I think I could live in India one day?

I must now retract that statement. With my entire heart, soul and mind, I know. I know I could never live in India.

India was all well and good last summer when I was essentially under house arrest. It was boring, but seemed manageable.

However, when you actually try to accomplish something in India (anything, no matter how small) you realize just how difficult it is.

In the U.S., there are certain rules and protocol, some on the books and some unspoken, for everything you do. And they make sense. Or perhaps it's just a matter of growing up with them, but regardless, the way things work here make sense to me and I can work with it. No matter how frustrating it may sometimes be (I'm talking to you, Federal Government).

There very well may be set rules for getting things done in India...but to me it seems that the rule is to be as rude and chaotic as possible.

India has always had its challenges for me.

Ok, ok. Everything about it has always been a challenge for me. I admit it.

But I think this time it may have been made worse by arriving straight from Sri Lanka.

As I said in my last post, Sri Lanka is like a more polite, more beautiful version of India. So to go directly from there to the real India, with its horrible roads, dusty terrain, and pushy leering people, was a shock to the system. Going from the U.S. to India I'm prepared for it to be drastically different. Going from somewhere with a lot of similarities to India, though, I feel like I expected it to be more of the same.

It is most definitely not.

We left Colombo and flew directly to Cochin, in the state of Kerala.

I was excited about Kerala. I'd heard, repeatedly, that it is the greenest, most beautiful state in all of India. It's known as "God's Own Country." Hubby couldn't stop talking about the backwaters and houseboats. Neither of us could wait.

Unfortunately, we had let my father-in-law plan this portion of the trip. All we got to see was Thekkady Wildlife Sanctuary. While pretty, it is winter in India. And what looks like lush greenery in photos was actually  more...dead. And there was no wildlife to speak of. We saw a few otters at a distance. And there were birds, as there were everywhere we went. And monkeys, also everywhere we went. Though we did get to witness a monkey robbing a cop car, so that was fun.

Yes, that is the best view of the otters we could get

Monkeys stealing oranges from the cop car

We were in the wildlife sanctuary for all of two hours. It took about six hours of driving, each way. Three hours of which were on the curviest road I have ever seen in my life. My head was spinning for two days after that drive. We did get to spend the night in a pretty fun hotel. Very cabin-like with lofts.

Overall, the best part of the trip to Kerala (by far) was meeting my mother-in-law's sister Neeru.

Ok, I did meet her at our Big Fat Indian Wedding, but I also "met" 700 other people, so forgive me for not remembering every single person. Or any of them, really.

Neeru's is a fascinating story. Her marriage was arranged when she was 4 years old. She married at the age of 14 and moved nearly 2,000 miles away from her family.

She taught herself to sew and started her own business as a tailor. Later, she opened a store selling kitchen wares with her husband. Her husband died some years ago and she has continued to run the store on her own. I'm not sure exactly how old she is, easily in her 80s, but she's old enough for it to be very impressive that she runs her own business every day.

She is tough as nails.

Over lunch she told the story of how she was attacked in her own home. She lives in an apartment but still owns the family home right next door. A man who does odd jobs in the neighborhood learned her daily schedule. He teamed up with another man to rob her house while she was out. Unfortunately for her, she came home early and caught them.

She started to scream until one of the men covered her mouth, dragged her down to the floor and began to strangle her with his hands. She fought him until she felt herself begin to pass out. So she stopped struggling and managed to communicate that she would let them take what they wanted. They cleared the house of everything of value.

As soon as they left she alerted the neighbors, who alerted the police. She knew one man and got a good look at the other as he attacked her, so the police caught them within two hours. The police returned a few of the items, but as the robbers had no time to sell off that much stuff, she knew the cops had taken a cut. (Police corruption is a huge issue in India.)

It turned out that the neighborhood man had previously been in jail with the man he teamed up with. And that man had already murdered 18 women. Neeru easily could have been killed.

As I listened to this story with my stomach in knots and my heart in my throat, I asked her when this happened. "Oh about a month and a half ago," she said.

Here this woman was describing a situation that easily could have taken her life, where the only thing that saved her was a presence of mind that many many people would not have been able to have, at an age where you would almost expect the person to die of a heart attack if not at the hands of their attacker.

And she was completely calm. Cool as a cucumber. No anger, no anxiety at the memory, nothing. She'd made peace with what happened and moved on. In a matter of weeks.

She is my hero.

Sunburn in January

I know, I know. Woe is me. Sunburned in the first week of January by the reflection of the sun off the 80something degree crystal clear waters of the Indian Ocean.

Or, apparently, the Laccadive Sea, according to a map. Your geography lesson for the day. You're welcome.

Anyway, all I can say about that is if you're going to get fried in the sun, try not to do it the day before a wedding. Doesn't photograph well.

Ok, Sri Lanka.

Fun fact about the day we left DC. I was doing laundry (because I don't own enough clothes for such a long trip, so leaving any in the laundry basket seemed foolish) when I dropped the cup of liquid detergent on the floor. And it sprayed up more than 5 feet in the air to get me right in the eye. Oh, the pain. I managed to get the soap out (after a full hour of rinsing my eye), but I was forced to wear my glasses for the flight. The glasses that are two prescriptions out of date. The glasses that I stepped on three years ago and never bothered to get straightened out because I never wear them. Yeah those glasses. Fun times.

Oh and about those clothes that I don't own enough of. I took everything I have, and still I had to do laundry on the trip. Twice. And one of those times was by hand in the shower. Or rather, in the bathroom floor. Because they're the same thing.

It's amazing the little things I take for granted. The opportunity to shave. A washcloth. Water pressure. A shower head. Hot water.

Anyway, Sri Lanka.

As we prepared to board the plane to Dubai (our second layover, the first being JFK), my husband suddenly gasped as he looked out the window. All around me, men looked like kids in a candy store. The women all looked confused or simply amused by their husband's reaction. We were flying the Airbus A380. A giant double-decker airplane. There were two gates, one leading to the bottom level (the commoners) and another leading directly to the upper level (so the rich don't have to mingle with us). That's all I know about it, but apparently men love it. For the rest of the trip, every guy we met had to be told about the plane, and every one of them was impressed. Go figure.

So, after more than 30 hours of traveling (and spending the turn of the year in the Dubai airport...at least we could see the fireworks over the city), we arrived bright and early at the in-law's hotel (they'd arrived the night before) and started out on our first day.

A little piece of advice from me to you: if you love your spouse, and value your relationship with them, never ever go on vacation with your in-laws. Big extended family events may be ok. But intimate one-on-one time? Uh uh. You don't need to really get to know your in-laws. You may not like what you learn.

On the plus side, reminding yourself 47 times a day how much you love your spouse can do wonders for your marriage.

Where was I? Oh yes, day one, heading straight into the sightseeing as soon as we touched ground.

Sri Lanka is like India's nicer prettier cousin. You know, the one who's voted homecoming queen while you have braces and acne.

The shops and fruit stands along the roads look just like Pune. Except the roads are well-paved. And drivers (mostly) stay in their lanes. People are genuinely polite. And there's grass. And trees, lots and lots of trees. Sri Lanka works to preserve their green space, rather than just building up and out until there is no unspoiled land anywhere. It's the best of both worlds.

Our first stop was Anuradhapura, one of the eight UNESCO World Heritage sights in Sri Lanka. It's famous for its well-preserved ruins, but frankly it seemed to just be a lot of Buddhist temples. Which were, perhaps, ruins. But sure didn't look like it.

Nothing against Buddhists, but if I never see a Buddha statue again I think that'd be alright. Unless someone wants to create one that isn't 100% identical to every single other statue. Just sayin.

Next stop: Dambulla, another World Heritage sight. We were to have two stops there: the Golden Temple and Sigiriya, an ancient rock fortress and palace with an amazing view. Unfortunately, the price for foreigners (i.e. white people) to get into Sigiriya is really really steep. So we had to skip Sigiriya. The Golden Temple, with its cave temples, was quite impressive though.

Just because it's cute

No photos were allowed inside the caves, though I seemed to be the only one following that rule. What can I say, I respect the rules. Also, the light from camera flashes can degrade the statues and frescoes. So basically all those tourists were destroying the very things they were so interested in seeing. Ok, stepping off my soapbox now.

Each cave was filled with probably no fewer than a dozen Buddha statues. All more or less the same. Some were laying down, others sitting up. But every lying Buddha was the same, and every sitting Buddha was the same. Sometimes made of different materials, sometimes flashing a different gang sign (or whatever it is going on with his hands...I'm assuming not actual gang signs but it makes for a better story). But all essentially the same. The walls and ceilings were decorated with the same designs repeating over and over. Mostly pictures of Buddha just like the statues before us.

To be honest, we got bored after the first five or six caves and left. Still pretty impressive to see, though. At least the first cave or so.

Next it was on to Kandy, home of the Temple of the Sacred Tooth Relic. Which is home to the Buddha's left canine tooth, saved from his funeral pyre.

You cannot make that stuff up.

I didn't see this tooth (and frankly didn't want to, it's creepy), but the temple itself was a sight to behold. Different than any temple I have ever seen, and with free entertainment to boot.

All drummers should dress like this.

Judging by the crowd shoving me around and the long line to actually get in the door,
I'm thinking the tooth is in this room.

As we waited for our driver outside our hotel the next morning, getting more and more anxious at how late he was, we learned that our watches were actually 30 minutes ahead. The flight attendant had announced the time when we landed in Colombo. But that announced time was 30 minutes later than the actual time, for reasons unknown.

This was a comedic anecdote for about a second, until I realized the ramifications. You see, there is a running joke about Indian Standard Time. While that is actually the name of the time zone, it also refers to the fact that Indians are perpetually late. They have their own concept of time.

When hubby and I were dating in college, I learned that whatever time he was supposed to pick me up was the time that I would start getting ready. That kept me from sitting around waiting for him, all dressed up with nowhere to go. I've learned to adjust to this, although it can still be very frustrating, especially for someone who hates to be late.

What better way to ensure we're on time for everything than to have my in-laws' watches set 30 minutes fast? But alas, they learned of the error and we were never on time again for the rest of the trip.

Once our driver finally arrived (on time, according to real time), we set out on the most incredible day of our trip. Possibly the most incredible day ever. The Pinnawala Elephant Orphanage.

I have a thing for elephants. I'm not exactly sure how it started or why. I know my grandmother had a pretty extensive collection of elephant paraphernalia and several pieces of it came to me after she died. After that I started acquiring elephants left and right. I have more elephant figurines than I have space to put them. I have elephant picture frames, stuffed elephants...you name it, I've probably got it.

I know the collection started with my grandmother. But my actual love of them...well that's harder to pinpoint. All I can say is they are amazing creatures. They are so intelligent and beautiful. Incredibly peaceful, yet incredibly fierce. Like the ocean (for which I also have a deep love), an elephant can be gorgeous and calm but it can also turn on you in a second. They're unpredictable (which I realize is not usually an attribute I appreciate).

The orphanage takes in, well, orphaned elephants. Many of them grow up in the orphanage, then have their own babies there. One elephant that will really melt your heart is Sama, a female elephant who lost a foot to a landmine when she was little, which is why she came to live at the orphanage. At one point she passed very close to us, but her hobbling caused the other elephants to move closer to us and we were shoved out of the way by a handler...thus, no photo.

There are, however, plenty photos of other elephants :-) Absolutely adorable elephants.

Wow she has not aged well...

About 4 seconds before we nearly got trampled

We arrived at the orphanage as feeding time was wrapping up. So we figured why pay to get in (and not get to feed them) when we can wait five minutes and watch them walk through the village on their way to the river for bath time. After all, watching something walk down the street should be free, right?

Not so much.

There were people waiting to collect "tickets" to let you on the road leading to the river. We figured screw that, we'll just find another way to the river.

Yeah...

We found our way to the river, all right. About a mile upstream from the elephants. With no way to get closer on that side of the river. And so we started rock hopping. Then we got to the middle of the river and had nowhere to go. So we took off our shoes and waded right in, at least where we could see the bottom. Eventually one of the elephants' handlers started yelling and gesturing for us to get away, so we figured that was as close as we were going to get. Luckily, my camera has a 12x zoom.

After a while of baking in the sun, we decided to go back across the river. Except we didn't go back the way we came. And then we got stuck. And some nice guy trying to sell elephant rides had to come help us. And we got him stuck too. So then the other nice guy selling elephant rides had to come rescue us all. Good stuff.

When we finally got back around to the main area, people were still trying to collect tickets. So we lied and said we were just going to the row of shops on the way to the river. And they believed us. Why didn't we try that in the beginning!?

Anyway, we pulled a fast one and walked right on down to the river. Right next to the elephants. I even got to bathe one. And touch it. There's video of me screaming "I'm touching an elephant!!!"

Baby voice: "Look at that little wittle elyphant! Oh you're so cute! I'm going to eat you up! Oh yes I am! Oh yes I...what's that? Your mom doesn't like that? Now she's going to eat me? Bye little guy! I have to run now! Very fast. Oh yes I do! Oh yes I...shit. Run!"

And here I am splashing water on an elephant. That I also touched, but there's no photo. There sure is video though. Oh and please ignore the yoga pants hiked up to my hoohah. K thanks.

So that day was the highlight of my...well, life.

Oh, sorry, honey. I know you thought the day I married you was the highlight of my life. And it totally was. Really. Promise.

So.......

We left the elephant orphanage and drove straight to the beach.

Oh. My. God.

Best. Beach. Ever.

Beautiful beach, water so clear you can see your feet, waves that can kick your ass into next week...heaven.

Hubby loved playing in the waves too. My father-in-law seemed to love it, but he wasn't so good at it so he exhausted himself quickly. My mother-in-law was straight up scared of it. We finally convinced her to come into the water, and then she had her ass handed to her on a silver platter. Oopsie.

But once we stopped the bleeding and iced everything down you could hardly tell she'd face-planted into the bottom of the ocean. It's all good. I think she forgave us, too. Maybe.

After nearly two days of sun and sand and more sun and saltwater and more sun and then a little more sun, we set out for Colombo.

I had no idea what to expect from a Sinhalese wedding. Due to Sri Lanka's proximity to India, I had thought maybe the weddings are similar. And so my first question for the happy couple when we decided to attend was "So is this a one day event or what?" They seemed a little confused, but humored me. One day it is. Thank god.

Even then, on the morning of the wedding we didn't know what was going on. The groom (who is Dominican) was all in a tizzy because everything was running late. Hey, so it's kinda like Indian weddings after all!

I asked what he understood about the ceremony. Nothing. So again, kinda like Indian weddings. I mean, why should people explain what's happening when you have no choice but to go along with it anyway? Waste of time I tell you!

So I really don't know what went on. There were a lot of leaves. Everyone handed the happy couple leaves. And then they in turn gave the leaves to people. Pretty much the same people who'd given them to the couple to start with.

A friend of ours kept joking that it would be really funny if they did this with cannabis. After the third or fourth time he said this, my husband leaned over and asked me what cannabis is. And I died a little inside. I mean, he did go to college, right?

The ceremony itself was pretty short. Thirty minutes tops. And there were professional dancers and stuff. Waaay cooler than any Indian wedding I've seen. I didn't get no live performers. Dammit.

Here's a few photos. In a genius move, hubby and I both forgot cameras until we were already in the ceremony. So I had to steal these from the groom's Facebook page.

And since this is a public blog and these are very private photos, I blacked out all the faces. Which is a shame because the bride is GORGEOUS! And it makes the photos look really weird. But like I said, public blog, private photos, and I don't have permission to circulate their likeness on the internet.

BUT you do get to see the clothes which are completely worth it. At my next wedding I'm going to dress like a Sinhalese bride. It's funny because it could happen.

Check out the details on that skirt!

Bling bling bling

The dancers that led the bride into the ceremony.
I don't know these people so sure, you can see their faces. Whatever.

The second outfits of the day

More dancing!

These awesomely dressed guys led the groom's procession

Beautiful bridesmaid saris

Ceremony

More dancing! LOVE it!

The wedding took pretty much all day, what with all the eating and dancing and such, and we were up early early the next morning for our flight to India. Which only reconfirmed my feelings that Sri Lanka is prettier and nicer. In every way.

This is a place I would revisit. Well, the elephant orphanage and the beach, anyway. And maybe catch a wedding or two.

Letter to My Father

It's been three years.

And still I miss you.

Still I pick up the phone to call you only to realize you're not there.

Still I come across things that I know only you would get, and without you there's no one to share the humor with.

And yet...

The space between thoughts of you seems to be getting larger and larger.

I know it's normal. It only takes so many books and movies and grief counselors to get that point across.

I know I'm not supposed to still be thinking about you all day every day.

I know I certainly didn't when you were alive.

But when you were alive, I knew you were always there, even when I wasn't thinking about you.

Now that you're gone, it feels like if I stop thinking about you for even a minute I'll completely lose you.

I don't want that. I cling to my memories of you like a lifeboat on the Titanic. But that's all they are now: memories. All of my new experiences, the new memories I'm forming, you're not there.

And so every day that I don't think about you, every moment that happens without me imagining how you would have been a part of it, leaves me feeling guilty. As though the tie between us will break and you will drift away and it will all be my fault.

I know if you were here you'd tell me to shut up and stop whining. That I'm being ridiculous. That nothing could separate us, not even death. And I know you're right.

But still, if it's ok with you, I'm going to keep doing everything I can think of to keep you close. I'm going to keep telling my husband the same little stories over and over even though he's starting to tell them better than me. I'm going to keep imagining you with me in things, even if you never would have been there anyway. (You would have kicked butt at that kite flying festival. Even though you wouldn't have been in India with me anyway. I still say you would've kicked butt.)

I'm going to let myself off the hook for not thinking of you every moment. But when I realize I haven't been thinking about you, I'm going to go back and tell you everything that happened and imagine your reaction. And don't tell me to shut up.

Things I Learned from Cutting Off My Hair

When you realize you've had the same style for...well, forever, it's probably natural to want to change it up. When you do, you're going to learn a LOT about yourself. And sometimes, there's a good reason you had the same style so long.

1) I have a very big head.
Not just in relation to some other people. In relation to every person. I always thought hats didn't fit me because of all that hair. But now I have no hair. And still, hats don't fit me. I look at photos of myself with long hair: I look fine. I look at photos of myself with short hair: I look like a friggin bobble head doll. How did I never know this?

2) My head is misshapen. And I have cowlicks.
Long hair can hide all kinds of evils. That much regretted misspelled tattoo on the back of your neck. That giant mole behind your ear. Or, in my case, the fact that several parts of my hair are just going to do whatever the hell they want to no matter what I say, even if it means looking like a rooster. Long hair weighs it down and makes it behave. Short hair...not so much.
I also have a massive flat spot on the back of my head causing my hair to perpetually look like it's been smooshed against a pillow for hours even when I just stepped out of the shower. From the front, my head looks narrow and long. From the side, my head looks wide and short. That bigheadedness I was just talking about? Yeah that's all going front to back. Not so much on the side to side. Again, no wonder hats don't fit me. Hats are round. My head is not.

3) A hairstyle change requires an entire style change.
A uniform of tshirts and jeans only looks feminine with long feminine hair. With short hair, it just looks butch. Now I wear stuff with ruffles for pete's sake! Just to look like a girl! Big boobs and cleavage also would probably help in this area. I have neither.

4) I don't have the attitude.
Short hair (at least not of the "I'm a mom and drive carpool" variety) requires a certain "look at me!" attitude. Kind of like being a redhead. You don't fit the carbon copy (why does everyone seem to look like they have the same hairdresser?) and so you're going to attract attention. You better be able to handle it.
I've always been kind of a wallflower. Not kind of. If you look up "wallflower" in the dictionary, you'll see my picture. I'm the girl who stands by the snack table to make sure my hands are busy so it doesn't look like I have no one to talk to. Not the girl who jumps right into being the center of attention. Unless I'm completely drunk, in which case all bets are off. Which is why alcohol should not be served at company functions. But that's another story altogether.
Short hair and shyness do not go together. When I learned the attitude required for short hair (which I of course only learned after I'd cut it all off), I hoped maybe it would force me out of my shell and make me be a bit more outgoing. You know, to match my hair. Unfortunately it seems to have had the opposite effect.

5) My husband loves spontaneity. But not as much as he loves long hair.
When I cut my hair, I had been mulling it over for about two weeks. Which is a very short time in my world. In my husband's world, two weeks is an eternity. So when my husband came home to see that I'd lopped off literally 13 inches of hair in one go, without debating it into the ground with pro and con lists and the opinion of everyone I've ever met, he was psyched. I'd made a (relatively) impulsive decision! It was only about three days later when he said "so...how long do you think it will take to grow out?"

6) If I had it to do over again, I probably wouldn't. Which would be a shame.
Everyone should take a chance now and again. If I hadn't cut off all my hair, I never would have realized why I had the long hair in the first place. When my hair finally does grow back out, I will appreciate it all the more.
Also, short hair makes life a helluva lot easier. Making me understand why moms do it. Now my hair is dry before I leave the house, whereas with long hair, it would still be damp the next morning. Unless I used a hairdryer, which took an hour. Literally. I can wash my hair, bathe, and shave my legs in less than 10 minutes. I couldn't even get my long hair wet all the way through in that time.
So now, I can appreciate the long hair and I can appreciate the short hair. And I can respect the reasons behind both.
And now I know that, while I'm enjoying some aspects of having short hair, I am solidly (and should remain) in the long hair camp. But I'll never again wonder "what if," and that's a pretty good reason for doing anything.

World Travel for the Poor

World travel is largely seen as a luxurious extravagance reserved for multi-millionaire celebrities jetting from one tropical beach to another, always paparazzi-ready. It's not something that's available for the regular middle class person with bills to pay.

If you think like that, you haven't seen the way we travel.

We don't fly on a private jet with a personal chef, a bed, and oodles of space to move around.

We fly coach. The seats are so narrow you can't fit your arms by your sides, and so sit with your shoulders crunched forward for the entire flight. There is so little space between your seat and the one in front that you can't get past the person sitting beside you without giving them a lap dance. The aisles are narrow to the point that even a skinny person passing a toddler requires serious maneuvering. If two or more people stand within ten feet of each other in the aisle, you're considered a potential terrorist. You're warned about the possibility of blood clots caused by sitting for so many hours, yet if you attempt to walk around the plane you are berated by the flight attendants and made to sit down immediately. Your seat doesn't lean as far back as the driver's seat in a car. The food tastes like school cafeteria food after the resident anorexic has thrown it up.

We don't buy whatever ticket makes for the easiest flight with the fewest connections.

We buy whatever flight route makes for the cheapest ticket, no matter how arduous.

We don't arrive looking refreshed, freshly styled and wearing cute outfits.

We arrive in stretchy workout clothes (intentionally chosen to allow for maximum body contortion in said tiny spaces) stained by the coffee we spilled when the plane hit turbulence. Our unwashed hair is flat in places and standing straight up in others. The bags under our eyes are carrying groceries. There's a massive breakout in at least one spot on our faces caused by passing out on the palm of a hand that is oily and unwashed due to the only bathroom in coach that hasn't been crapped all over running out of soap 5 minutes into the flight. We smell. Bad. We are so exhausted from lack of sleep that we literally cannot see straight, and then we carry our own luggage and spend hours on public transportation overnight because we spent all our money on plane tickets and can't afford a taxi or an extra night in a hotel.

We don't otherwise live luxuriously.

We agree getting to travel is a priority, and so we scrimp and save in every other area of our lives.

We take very little time to relax on our "vacations," much less spend weeks at a time doing nothing.

We know that the odds of us being able to visit a country a second time are very slim, because there are so many places we want to see and we can't waste money on revisiting anything, so we cram every day to the brim to ensure we see everything there is to see. Or at least a decent sampling.

We arrive home so exhausted, we need a vacation to recover from our vacation. We're so physically drained that our bodies are extra susceptible to whatever illness is floating around the plane, and often end up with colds (or worse).

But it is completely, without a doubt, without exception, 100% worth it. Because no matter how tired we are at the end of the day, no matter how long we have to refrain from spending money on so much as seeing a movie in the theater, and no matter what else happens in life, we will always have the memories, the experiences, and the lessons learned from our travels. And that cannot be taken away.