Travelin' Man

When I was growing up, my dad would occasionally go on business trips. I thought it must be pretty glamorous, hanging out in all of those Marriotts and airport lounges, to say nothing of being able to eat every single meal by myself at IHOP if I wanted. Turns out, my dad's business trips must have been more exciting than mine -- I just got home from a two-month travelin' extravaganza and I didn't stay in a single Marriott and I didn't eat a single meal at IHOP. But I did get to hang out in a lot of airport terminals, which was pretty exciting (like in Paris, where I had to avoid the French jerk I almost got into a fistfight with on the flight from Istanbul). I'll spare everyone the nitty-gritty details of both my travels and the almost-fight (just know that it all started because I really had to pee and the seatbelt light was still on, he was on the aisle and I was on the window, and he was French), but I managed to see about 15 different airports and hang out in sexy places like Montgomery, Alabama for extended periods of time. In between training conferences, I did get a chance to go back to Utah for a week where I got to hang out with family and friends -- and catch the mighty Utes' come-from-behind win over Oregon State. I got spoiled rotten by my parents, grandparents, and siblings -- and I didn't have to eat by myself for a whole week!

After spending four weeks in the States, I came home for a grand total of five days before I was off to Germany for two rape trials. Good times. In the first one, my client got convicted and sentenced to 5.5 years -- highlights included having to go to England in the middle of trial to depose a couple of his bitter ex-girlfriends (which was a fun spur-of-the-moment trip since my client didn't have a passport -- somehow, we managed to talk our way past British immigration ... good thing none of the traveling party was Pakistani!), not eating anything but Starbursts and Red Bulls for two solid weeks, and my sentencing argument (which apparently was delivered with the same tenor as a Hitler speech -- as I sat down, my boss/co-counsel simply said, "Well, that was a little loud"). For the second trial, my client was actually spared -- the day before the court-martial was supposed to begin, the Powers That Be dropped the charge ... but only after our guy passed a polygraph and we pointed out that there were about 16 different reasons why he couldn't have/didn't commit the offense.

After my month in Germany, it was back home -- where I spent six days before Emily I went to Istanbul for the weekend. We met up with her parents, who eventually made it from Denver, and we spent three great days checking out the splendors of the Hittite, Byzantine and Ottoman empires, bargaining with the vendors in the Grand Bazaar, and seemingly having the muzzein from the Blue Mosque broadcast the morning call to prayer while standing at the foot of our bed. At the museum at Topkapi Palace, we got to see Moses' rod (um, yeah, it sure looked like a gold-plated stick to me), John the Baptist's decaying hand (plated in gold armor and looking suspiciously like chicken bones), and Mohammed's tooth and beard clippings (um, no comment). We also saw a 80-something karat diamond, only to hear some American wench complain, "Well, it's rough cut, so it's not that impressive." And we wonder why the world hates us. Well, that and we bomb people. And fight with French people on airlines.

Perhaps the best part of the trip, however, was when we were walking around the Grand Bazaar and noticed that Emily's mom had somehow (and unknowingly) snagged a turquoise earring with the back of her hair. Since the bazaar is full of dudes selling the same exact earrings, taking it back was impossible. Unfortunately, her hair never could snatch a companion ... or a knock-off Gucci bag. Even more unfortunate, all of the stuff Emily ended up with was legitimately purchased.

Then for Thanksgiving weekend, we all went up to Cappadocia and spent Thanksgiving chillin' with some belly dancers. Well, actually, we spent Thanksgiving eating crackers and goat cheese in our charming (read: tiny) hotel room (that Liam so tactfully described as a "piece of crap"). The belly dancers were not crap, although Liam wouldn't know since he spent the entire belly portion of the show staring at the ground and squirming. Rowan, on the other hand, seemed mesmerized. I was very tasteful in my oogling.

But now, I'm back. Back in my own bed. Back to sharing a bathroom with my wife (which is LOADS better than sharing a bathroom with the random enlisted guy who was in the room next to me for the month I was in Germany ... I will continue to believe that the can of Lysol that was left on the toilet one day was from the cleaning lady and not a sublte hint from my suite mate). Back to hearing the kids fight, whine, and cry. Back to getting ready for my next glamorous trip.