A Weary Traveler’s Appeal to the USD

Dear U.S. Dollar,

I know you’ve had your ups and downs over the years, and the recent economic turmoil has undoubtedly taken its toll.

Given the circumstances, it’s normal to feel a bit depressed.  The problem is you’re just not bouncing back the way I would have hoped.

There’s no surefire way to immediately eradicate your depression, but you do have options.

Some people swear by therapy.  Some turn to food or alcohol.  Others simply self-medicate.

I suggest the latter for you.

Just ask your friends at the drug companies to help you out. Not only have you been quite good to them over the years, they also have a vested interest in your wellbeing, so I’m sure they’ll conjure up a cocktail to help expedite your recovery.

Perhaps a nice combination of anti-depressants and steroids would do the trick.

Bottom line: you need to get your strength back. This weakness isn’t good for you, and it certainly isn’t good for me.

When I planned my trip to Europe, you weren’t in great shape, but you at least had the Euro in your sights.

Now it isn’t even a contest.  The Euro is doing victory laps while you seem to be content celebrating with a participation trophy.  And that’s just sad.

The time has come to get off your ass and fight back.  The Euro is hurting amidst rumors (which Greece’s PM is refuting) that Greece may defect, so capitalize on the fallout of these reports before your brief window of opportunity closes. 

Who knows - if you fight hard enough (and fly some pigs) you may even beat the Euro.

…Or tie.  Really, I’d settle for a tie.

Kind Regards (sorry, not feeling the love right now),

Lauren

Touché, Body. Touché

I was feeling pretty confident during my first couple weeks in Europe.

No longer did I feel like a 24-year-old trapped in the body of an 80-year-old woman.

I was still able to function after walking 5-10 miles a day, so I was confident that I was finally ridding myself of the not so coveted "lazy ass" title.

Well here’s the problem with confidence.  It’s hard to distinguish the difference between confidence and over-confidence (or in my case, stupidity – it’s a fine line, really). 

My first reality check came during a visit to Notre Dame.

For those of you who haven’t been to Notre Dame, the trek to the top is a spiral staircase, and they warn you that visiting the top is not recommended for the elderly, people who dizzy easily, etc.

Although it doesn’t take more than a bad camera angle in a movie to make me feel dizzy, I was confident I could make it to the top.

Around the 200^th step, however, my body became acutely aware that it was walking up hundreds of steps in a very tight spiral.

I carefully put one foot in front of the other and focused solely on staying vertical and reaching the top.  Finally, I saw the light. Literally - there was an open door and the sun was shining through.

I walked out into the glorious open space, inhaled a deep breath of fresh air, and thought, “Oh crap, I’m going to pass out.”

I found myself a little step and sat down on my own accord before gravity aggressively did it for me. And for the next several minutes, there I sat, looking pathetic, yawning like an anxious dog desperate for more oxygen.

Well, after composing myself and successfully making it back down to flat ground, I vowed to always have water with me, remember to eat, and avoid spiral staircases.

Cut to four days later in the Loire Valley, when my traveling buddy and I decide to go on a leisurely 17km bike ride to Chateau de Chambord.  Now, if you’ve read my previous posts, you know that one of the last times I was on a bike I ran over a snake, traumatizing me for life.  Well, the most recent time I remember being on a bike was over a decade ago, and I fainted while riding.

Given my history, a 34km bike ride was clearly a recipe for a successful afternoon.

Well, the first 17km turned into about 25-30km, and I ran out of water within the first 15km.

There’s that stupidity I mentioned earlier.

So, after I miraculously made it to the chateau, I refueled with some water and sorbet and decided it best to take the bus back to town.

So we toured the chatueau, spiral staircases and all, and arrived at the bus stop 20 minutes early, and waited.  And waited. And waited.

Just my mazel, the bus never showed. 

So, it was back on the bike, with the mantra, “I cannot call home to say I passed out on Mother’s Day and the day of my brother’s graduation,” running through my head.

Well, somehow it worked. 20km and 1.5 hours later, the 80-year-old version of me arrived back at the hotel.

All I have to say is touché, body.  You win this round.  But, mark my words, by the end of these three months I will no longer be trapped in the body of an 80-year-old woman!

…More like an in-shape 50-year-old woman.