As most travellers know, you don’t get a lot of sympathy when you describe how exhausting travel can be. “Oh! Poor baby! Did your lobster and filet mignon give you indigestion?” Put it in perspective, they say. No matter how tired you are, at least you get the chance to go travelling. There are orphan children starving in Krablakistan, etc.

The problem with this argument is that, taken to its logical conclusion, it means that no one – except a starving orphan child or possibly someone trying to assemble Ikea furniture – is ever justified in complaining. That’s silly. Everyone has a right to complain about something.

So I’m going to say it: travelling round-the-world in three months is exhausting. You are changing hotels every two to three days, and often wake up in the middle of the night with no idea of where you are. You try to put yourself back to sleep by playing a bizarre game of 20 questions. “Am I in Asia? Are those characters in Chinese or Japanese? Why is the toilet singing to me?”

The other problem with travel writing is that, even while enjoying a ‘once in the lifetime trip’, you still feel as though you should be carefully remembering every moment of your experience so that you can blog about it later rather than just, you know, enjoying it. This is fine at first, until you find that you have gotten so far behind in your writing that you now have 6 countries worth of extra-special-moments trying to find their way out of your head and you still have no idea where you are going to sleep tomorrow night. Then it is a bit stressful in the same way that Japanese bullet trains move a bit briskly.

So, one evening in New Zealand, I decided to stop travel writing and just enjoy the rest of the trip. I stuffed myself with meat pies and thought that was the end of it.

Why I’m Starting Again

Someone tried to buy this website last week. They ran their algorithms and social media statistics on it, and decided that it was worth $300. That’s probably a fair price, considering that this site has been drifting like a ghost ship for almost an entire year. But I knew immediately that I didn’t want to sell it – I want to keep writing.

For almost a year, I have been trying to decide on a new writing project. I even started a rather sad personal finance blog. It wasn’t enjoyable to write, nor did it receive any hits. At all. Meanwhile, HTBD continued to get hits from people people eager to play Airport Bingo and learn how not to get stabbed Tamarindo. The memories of the trip are still there, fighting to get out, and a writer needs to write.

And travellers like to read. After all, how else will you learn how to cook a New Zealand meat pie when all you have is a stove element? Or why you might be offered more than you bargained for at a ‘Japanese barbershop’ in Vietnam? Or why it’s a bad idea to watch ‘Yes Man’ when there’s a paragliding centre nearby?

So, for those of you who are reading this – thanks for sticking with me, and I look forward to bringing you the funny once more.

The band at Envy Club and Lounge performs a cover of Lady GaGa’s “Paparazzi”

By our second night in Da Lat, we had run out of evening activities.

Atop the Vietnamese highlands, the resort town known as the City of Eternal Spring and “Le Petit Paris” has much to offer for travellers. The cool weather offers a respite from the heat of the coast, and the European influence can be seen in architecture and cuisine alike. It is a fine place to spend time in cafes or take part in outdoor activities, such as kayaking or canyoning.

What Da Lat is not, however, is a bustling night spot. Beloved had decided to call it an early night by 9 pm on Saturday, and I was left at loose ends. Cafes were already starting to close their doors, and even the house band at the Ngoc Lan Hotel had ended their show for the evening.

The only spot to show some promise was the nearby Envy Club and Lounge, which was radiating an indescribable amount of light and sound, like a Vietnamese lighthouse against boredom.

As soon as I stepped inside, I was living like a Vietnamese rock star.

The club was packed with sound and lighting equipment, and filled with chic, comfortable couches and chairs. Da Lat’s movers and shakers sat around the side of the club, consuming endless waves of Heineken, cavorting with their entourages and hobnobbing with members of the band. I’ve seen my share of house bands before, and Envy’s was very good. I counted as many as five singers, and they played a mixture of Vietnamese, English and French songs.

I pulled out a cigar that I’d been saving for a special occasion. The server rushed over, and I resigned myself to what inevitably happened when I tried to smoke a cigar; they would look at me like I had just set fire to an orphanage, and tell me I was not allowed to practice my filthy habit in their establishment. Not this time, though. She rushed over so that she could light my cigar for me.

The prices at Envy are extravagant, but only by Vietnamese standards. (“How dare they charge $3 for a glass of 12 year old whisky!”) They offer bottle service for those who truly want to live like a rock star, and the fabulously rich can buy a bottle of Hennessy Richard for a mere 55,000,000 Dong (approximately USD$2,800). The price is matched by the service, and the staff will be by on a regular basis to top up your beer and add more ice, as needed.

Envy was clearly the place to bring a date you wanted to impress, and the club provided ample fodder for those travellers who indulge in flagrant people-watching. (There is no more fascinating cultural activity to witness than the process of Wooing, of which there was an abundance.)

I had a good time in Da Lat. I enjoyed the beautiful scenery, the temperate climate, the restaurants and the cafe lifestyle. But, for me, Envy was the highlight: a chance to enjoy great music, live the high life, and take the pulse of the new Vietnam.

We had a flight to catch next day, and I’d gone to bed later than I should have. There was the usual list of excuses: Skyping to do, e-mails to send, and a book too good to put down.

I tried to sleep, without success. And now I was hungry. Not just hungry, ravenous.

Usually, I travel with food. Or I stay at a hotel with a mini-bar stocked with Pringles. Or they have room service. Or there’s a late-night restaurant nearby. You get the idea.

It was the middle of the night in Saigon, and I was famished. And there was no food to be had.

I tried to ignore it, at first. Mind over matter. Don’t think about food. Think about something else, anything else. That strategy lasted for about 6 minutes. By the time I gave up, I was even hungrier than before.

My mind went over the list of items we brought on our trip, trying to determine if any of them were edible. Did I still have the gum I was given in lieu of change in Egypt? No, we’d thrown that out. Beloved’s chapstick, which was made of beeswax and honey? No, she only has one of them and, when she inevitably asked where it went, would not take kindly to the excuse “I ate it.”

I’m not too proud to admit that I raided our First Aid kit and ate some of our Tums. At first, they seemed to hit the spot. Then, the bicarbonate in the Tums mixed with my stomach acid to create my own 5th Grade Science Fair project in my digestive tract. I spent the next 12 minutes burping. Beloved was not impressed.

I went downstairs to see if the hotel had any food. The bellhops were asleep on their couches, but woke when they heard me shuffling around the lobby, looking for stray peanuts. I mimed holding a plate and shovelling food in my mouth with imaginary utensils, the universal gesture for food. They pointed at their watches and held up seven fingers. Not until 7 am.

I went outside, hoping there was at least one restaurant open at this hour. There was nothing. Not even the roadside cafes or the convenience stores were open at this hour. I shuffled back to the elevator, wondering how much Vietnamese toilet paper I could eat before I got sick.

Inspiration struck before I got back to the room. I went to the top floor, where they serve breakfast in the morning. To my amazement, the door was open. Through the near-total darkness, I could make out that they had set out some of it in advance. I was in raptures when I found the jam. Then I saw the cereal.

I had peeled back the cellophane and was searching for a plate when I heard the noise.

“Snuh… uh…”

To my absolute horror, I realized that the breakfast staff was sleeping in the room, less than 10 feet from where I stood. And I had my hand in the proverbial cookie jar. Delicious, delicious cookies…

I froze like a deer in the headlights. Then, abandoning what little dignity I had left, I quickly shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind me.

But then I paused. Could I really go back to Vietnamese toilet paper when there was cereal to be had?

With the utmost stealth, I reopened the door and tiptoed my way back to the buffet table. The crunch of the spoon dipping into the serving bowl sounded like a car crash, the tinkling of the cereal onto the plate like a thousand glasses shattering. I counted my scoops, pausing between each to ensure that I hadn’t been discovered. After 10 scoops, I could bear the tension no longer. I slowly made my way back to the elevator, closing the door gently behind me.

It was the best cereal I’ve ever had in my life, and I feel asleep moments later. I just wonder what the staff thought the next day, when they noticed that the cellphone had been peeled off the cereal bowl.

I know that in just over a week, I will be getting married in Prague. I know that, after the wedding, we will be leaving on a three-month-long round-the-world honeymoon. I cannot hold both ideas in my head at the same time. They are simply too overwhelming, and as soon as I fully grasp the importance of one concept, the other is bumped from my mental shelf onto the ground.

My errands completed, we begin the task of securing our home during our lengthy absence. It’s times like this that we truly appreciate the convenience of condominium living. The only real worry that we have is whether we have remembered to pack everything we need. With no leaves to rake or gutters to clean, a friend’s regular visit will be all the maintenance required.

Beloved and I have named the strange creatures that inhabit our stomachs. We have called them “the Nervous” and, after several days of relative calm, my Nervous has decided that it would like to swim a few lengths up and down my abdomen.

We lock the door, still plagued by unanswered questions. Will Beloved’s dress survive the trans-Atlantic journey? Will Beloved’s and my marriage survive three months of travel? Will our cats survive the care that has been sub-sub-contracted to Beloved’s youngest brother’s girlfriend’s friends? Such questions are no less persistent despite the fact that they can only be answered by the trip itself.

We push down the Nervous, and enter the twisted assembly line of international air travel.

Check in, towing two large and one small suitcases, a back-pack, a large purse and a wedding dress. Would we be able to upgrade to Executive Class? Not unless we are willing to upgrade our entire around-the-world ticket. I am tempted to ask how much something like that might cost, but realize we might well miss our flight while they calculate such a vast sum.

Clear security. Use Maple Leaf Worldwide card (one of our best purchases of the trip) to gain access to the Star Alliance lounge. Note the smell of cookies and privilege. Wash down cookies with pint of Guinness. Settle in for a while. Enjoy the last of our mobile web browsing before we are reduced to stealing WiFi. Exchange iPhones for eReaders. Eat more cookies, washed down with more Guinness.

Reach the gate. Ask whether there might be room for the wedding dress in Executive Class. Yes, of course. Sweetly ask whether they might consider moving us so that we could “be close to the dress”. Suggest that we might have to paid to do so, had it not required us to re-mortgage our condo. They will see what they can do.

Wait. Wait some more. Get paged to the gate. Receive an early wedding present from Air Canada of two Executive Class tickets. Thank the gate agents profusely. Surreptitiously bump fists on our way back to the departure lounge.

Board the plane. Note the irony of asking Air Canada to place us in isolation pods in recognition of our upcoming wedding. Learn from the lesson of the mother in Executive Class who is travelling with a three year old: isolation pods make it difficult for your child to receive comfort or be reassured of parent’s existence at any point in the flight, including the bizarre sensation of taking off while facing sideways.

Accept generous offer of pre-flight champagne. Turn on Iron Man 2. Gorge myself on food and wine as though this is my very first or very last meal. Ask for glass of Grand Marnier to go with dessert. Receive pint of Grand Marnier. Use Grand Marnier to wash down some Advil. Make full use of earplugs and sleep mask in First Class sleep kit. Promptly fall asleep.

Arrive in Frankfurt. Clear Customs. Clear security, again. Navigate the constantly shifting rat’s maze that is Frankfurt Airport. Locate Star Alliance lounge. Use Maple Leaf card, again. Enjoy sunrise mimosas, followed by several cappuccinos.

Head to gate. Ask politely about wedding dress. Receive reassurances that it can be stored in First Class. Resist urge to ask whether we can also be moved to “be close to the dress.” Resist temptation to carry wedding dress with us for remainder of round-the-world honeymoon as a tool for obtaining free upgrades.

Board plane. Receive small alpine picnic from Lufthansa, complete with red and white picnic bag. Wonder why Lufthansa always has the best food. Finish lunch. Land in Prague.

Answer the first of the questions: Beloved’s dress has indeed survived the trans-Atlantic journey.

Thanks to Air Canada, Beloved's wedding dress survived the trans-Atlantic journey.

Next – First Destination: A Prague Wedding

Sometimes, you just need to take a day to read by the pool. (Taken at Supetar, Island of Brac, Croatia)

I am not a novice traveller. I am not of the timid horde that obediently follows the tour guide as she hoists her umbrella skyward, so that no one might become lost or have an original experience.

I do not wear a photographers vest, and I have no tightly-secured fanny pack in which to store my passport.

I have climbed the Andes by horseback, nursed a flat tire through the Costa Rican rainforest, and explored the temples of Prambanan in Indonesia. And yes, I have been to both Disney Land and Disney World, and can tell you which has the best Monte Cristo sandwich.*

But, I am sad to admit, I have never travelled for more than two weeks at a time until we left for a three-month, round-the-world Honeymoon.

I was perhaps unprepared for the difference that long-term travel might have on my travel habits. I had expected that it would be much the same, but that I would be able to enjoy my voyage at a more reasonable pace. I am amazed by the naivete of my three-week-younger self.

I was perhaps five days into the trip when I realized that clothes won’t clean themselves, and that I was either going to need to either do laundry or start wearing my underwear inside out. It was then that I picked up the handy hotel laundry card and realized that it was entirely possible that the cost of hotel laundry would be more than my stay.

Since then, I have both used local laundromats and hand-washed in the hotel room sink. I think that hand-washing has proven to be the better option, though the laundry often requires more than a full day to dry.

Soon after, I realized that I should be careful where I store my laundry. While in Prague, we acquired the hotel laundry bags in order to store dirty laundry, so that they would not contaminate the rest of our clothing. We continued this habit in Zagreb, right up until we realized that the hotel had assumed that we wanted them to wash a week’s worth of laundry at the rock-bottom price of $10 per sock.

(Aside: I will never understand the argument that laundry should cost more at a nice hotel. Will my underwear be hand-washed in natural spring water by virgin maids? No? Then it should not cost $300 per load simply because you have four stars on your sign.)

The hotel management was understanding, and did not charge us. However, they did not seem to understand that we were not willing to wait around for 10 hours after check-out to pick up our clean clothing, and promptly delivered two bags full of damp laundry to our room minutes before we left.

“Beloved,” I might well have needed to ask at the Croatia-Bosnia border, “Can you please search the phrasebook for how best to explain to the border police why we have laundry drying in the back seat of our rental car?”

Our next lesson came at Day 10, when we suddenly realized that life goes on outside of the trip. The administrivia of daily life – paying bills, answering e-mails, and figuring who owed whom for what – could not simply be pushed back until the end of the trip, when we would have absolutely no idea what the charge from PZAFFUNK on our credit card referred to. (“Was that a really cheap rental car or a very expensive pastry?”)

Since then, we take an hour or so every few days to ensure that our notes and our records are up to date, and that the bills back home are being paid.

On Day 13, I learned the hard way that it pays to plan ahead. We had booked our hotels for only the first half of the trip, based on my argument that it would nice to have some flexibility in your plans. I have since learned that flexibility is easy for a young man travelling alone, but not for a couple on their Honeymoon, particularly when it seems as though every hotel within 300 miles has been booked out.

Although we eventually found a suite on the Dalmatian coast for less than 40 Euro per person per night, I had learned a simple but important lesson. Whether the destination is 40 or 4,000 miles away, it takes just as much time to plan your trip. Would you rather plan your trip from the comfort of your cubicle, or from a hotel room when you could instead be sipping a cappuccino by the beach?

While the more adventurous types might still prefer to fly by the seat of their pants, I now know that if I want to have flexibility, I’ll book into hotels that have good cancellation policies.

It is now Day 17, and I am seeing the truth to a lesson that was recently passed on by a more experienced traveller: sometimes, you just need to take a snow day.

I am on the Island of Brac on the Croatian coast. It is just a short jaunt to the beautiful port city of Split, some of the best beaches in the Adriatic, and the beautiful village of Bol. You know what I’m going to do today? I’m going to sit by the pool, soak up the sun, and read a book. You know why? Because it never hurts to have a reason to return to a place you’ve visited once before.

* The restaurant in question is right beside the Pirates of the Caribbean ride in Disney Land. The sandwich comes with blackberry jam. It’s delicious.

Do you have a lesson learned from a long-term trip? Post a comment!

We’ll be visiting a wide range of countries, with an even wider range of climates and activities. It wasn’t until we started packing that we realized just how challenging it would be to prepare equally for walking through Eastern European drizzle, exploring the Egyptian desert, touring the jungles of Vietnam and hiking the mountains of New Zealand.

Suffice it to say that my usual strategy of haphazardly packing inappropriate footwear just won’t cut it this time.

It also doesn’t help that airlines’ baggage weight allowances have dropped to less than 8 helium balloons, especially when I’m planning to bring my full travel blogging kit along for the ride.

What’s more, we live in fear of the airline losing our luggage and having to spend three weeks fermenting a single pair of underwear as our checked bags slowly but surely lag us by one destination for the duration of our trip.

With these considerations in mind, we came up with The Packing Strategy:

1.) Bring clothing and equipment that will suit a wide range of climates and activities.

2.) Pack as much as humanly possible into carry-on bags, using checked luggage for non-essential toiletries, bulky gear, and purchases.

3.) Resist the urge to pack Just One More Thing.

Laptop Bags

Travelling with a friend can help your limit the range of gear you're bringing, provided that friend doesn't mind carrying your laptop in her purse through most of Europe.

The Bags: Deuter Backpack, Coach Purse

What’s Inside: Flight and hotel confirmations, water, sunglasses, sunscreen, Sony e-Readers, mobile blogging kit, raingear, wide-brim hat, and a change of t-shirt, socks, underwear.

Beloved and I soon realized that we would not find bags that would work well for both European cities and remote hiking trips. We decided to split the difference, and each pick up a bag that would work for a different situation. Beloved’s stylish but durable Coach purse would handle the cities, while my voluminous steel-framed pack would tackle the more remote locales.

The only physical books we’re carrying are guidebooks, and only those because electronic guidebooks are horrible. Otherwise, we each have Sony eReaders. We chose Sony because they are compatible with the ePub format used by our local library, which allows us to check out eBooks at no charge. Screen and battery life are both excellent, but the Reader Library software needs improvement.

The one true luxury I’m allowing myself is a paper notebook that I haven’t had time to write in since 2004.

The Carry-On

I hear the theme song from Tetris every time I look at this bag.

The Bag: Wheeled Carry-On, Approx. 14” x 8” x 22”

What’s Inside: 4 x polo shirts, 3 x t-shirts, 3 x dress shirts, 1 x sweater, 2 x ties, 1 x long pants, navy blazer, 2 x belts, 2 x shorts, and 7 x changes of socks and underwear, basic toiletries for one week. Bathing suit and sandals in the outer pockets. Beloved’s layout is similar, but with slightly more emphasis on pretty dresses.

Neither of us trusts the airline to handle our bags without losing them, or possibly employing them as goal posts for a pick-up game of ball hockey. This is why we chose to carry as much of our clothing and other essentials as humanly possible via carry-on. Light cotton polo shirts and khakis are dressy, but also very comfortable.

The Follow-On Bag

Our 'sacrificial lamb' for the airline gods.

The Bag: Standard, Run-of-the-Mill Wheeled Suitcase Inherited from My Mother

What’s Inside: Larger bottles for toiletries, first aid kit, laundry soap, diving masks, surf shirts, and trail runners (a.k.a. Battle Sneakers), and lots of room for purchases made en-route.

Were it possible, Beloved and I would have merrily trekked around the globe with nothing but carry-on luggage. Unfortunately, restrictions on travelling with liquids have made this all but impossible. Rather than living out of travel-sized toiletries for 3 months, we elected to pack most of the ‘large bottles’ in the follow-on bag, along with non-essential (but still worthwhile) travel items. This way, we’re not out of luck if the airline loses our bags for a few days.

I’ll be posting profiles on some of our favourite bits of kit once we’re on the road.

Is there anything mentioned above that you’d like to hear more about? Are there bits of gear that you can’t live without when you’re on the road?

Admit it. You are jealous of this man for having ridden down the airplane slide with a beer in each hand.

In what can only be described as an explosion of sheer awesomeness, JetBlue flight attendant Steven Slater signaled the end of his twenty year career by cursing over the PA system, grabbing a couple of beers from the beverages cart, deploying the emergency slides and sliding his way to freedom. He was arrested at his home shortly thereafter.

I feel for Slater. I have a hard enough time ignoring the people I sit beside during a three hour flight, let alone catering to their every whim for twenty years. Throw in the stress of caring for an ailing parent and being cursed out by some jerk who bashed him over the head with a piece of luggage, and I think JetBlue should be grateful that Steven didn’t ride the beverage cart down the slide with no less than 6 exploding champagne bottles tucked under his arms as a means of propulsion.

Two things sprung to mind when I heard this story.

1.) That lucky bastard. I have always wanted to ride an airplane slide.

2.) What the hell did he say over the PA system? What on earth do you say in a situation like that?

There seem to be multiple versions of Steven’s ‘last words’ floating about the Interwebs, but the most concise version I found was: “To the f***ing a****** that told me to f*** off, it’s been a good 28 years!”

That’s not bad, if you ask me. It’s much better than I would be able to do with such short notice. I probably just would’ve keyed the PA system and said, “Uhh…” for forty  seconds.

But I think we can do better. I would like to offer these suggestions for any flight attendant who wants to make a similar dramatic, slide-based exit:

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have now reached the end of our flight. I would like to inform you of a contest that we are running today at JetBlue. The first person to leave this airplane will never again have to deal with ignorant douche-bags like that waste of skin in 17F.” (inflates slide, exits plane)

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have a riddle for you. Who has two thumbs and will never pick up someone’s used face towel ever again?” (points to self with thumbs) “This guy!” (inflates slide, exits plane)

(after making a quick call to the departure airport) “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to teach you a lesson about common courtesy. Before you hit a flight attendant in the head with your carry-on baggage, you should first ensure that the screener running the X-Ray machine does not owe the attendant a solid for bailing him out of a Tijuana prison. I am pleased to inform you that the passenger in 17F brought the following personal care products with him on board today’s flight: hemorrhoid cream, a copy of Martha Stewart’s Living, adult diapers, a stuffed bunny named Mr. Bun-Bun, a bright pink vibrator and lots of batteries. Thank you, and have a good day.” (inflates slide, exits plane)

“Quick question for the passengers with us today, particularly those who think it’s all right to hit other people over the head with your luggage. Does anyone know why it why today’s airline fares are so expensive? Anyone? Anyone? Well, I’ll tell you. It’s just the high price of INFLATION!” (inflates slide, exits plane)

“Ladies and gentlemen, I was going to issue you all with free first-class upgrade certificates. But because of the behavior of one of our passengers, I am instead going to ensure you don’t leave this plane for at least another hour. Please feel free to let her know how you feel about this in my absence.” (inflates slide, exits plane)

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I just can’t let that… SLIDE!” (raises single eyebrow, then inflates slide, exits plane)

Have a witty one-liner you’d like to suggest? Post it in the comments suggestion, and I will update the article as they come in (with credit to the author).

Want to show your solidarity? Join Free Steven Slater on facebook.

Beloved and I leave for our long-awaited Round-the-World trip in less than a month. 26 days, to be exact. The trip will last for 90 days, and will take us from Prague to Croatia to Egypt to Vietnam to China to Japan to New Zealand and back to Canada. We’ve been planning this for more than 5 years, and the timing just happened to work out for our honeymoon.

You will notice in the photo that we have lots of spiffy guidebooks to help us make the most of our journey. You may also notice that these books have apparently never been opened. Having planned this trip for the past five years, you might think that we would be ready for it now. We are not.

For the past year we’ve also been planning our destination wedding in Prague for 30 of our closest friends and family. I have just one word of advice for those considering a destination wedding: Elope.

“How much work could it possibly be to organize a church service and a dinner?” I had asked with hopeless naivete. One month before the wedding, and I have more than 470 e-mails in my Wedding folder. At last count, Beloved had more than 170 items on her To Do list.

At a time when we should be picking out new hiking shoes and ruthlessly vetting which items should be packed based on style, weight and ability to look good while wrinkled, we are instead trying to figure out which colour of flowers will be on the wedding cake and how to prevent various family members from murdering one another, Agatha Christie style.

To be fair, the latter isn’t really a concern. Even if someone does get murdered, there’s nothing to liven up a boring brunch like a real-life game of Clue. (“It was Uncle Harry in the receiving line with a bottle of table wine!”)

All of this must sound hopelessly selfish. After all, who wouldn’t want to have a destination wedding in Prague and then jet around the world for three months? But there is something worse than not going on a Round the World Trip, and that’s being hopelessly unprepared for a trip that you’ve been saving for and dreaming about for five years.

In my more rational moments, I realize that Beloved and I are both resourceful, experienced travelers, and that we can make up for our lack of preparation with ingenuity and a positive attitude.

But I will feel much better when I stop having nightmares in which I am fleeing from Croatian border security guards wielding cake topper truncheons, but can’t escape because my tuxedo pants have fallen around my ankles.

“And what do we have for in-flight entertainment for today… a new episode of ‘Medical Miracles: The Colon’? Jackpot!”

(as drink cart approaches) “I would like a pint of Bourbon, please. No ice.”

(singing softly under his breath) “And ayyyy… EEEEAyyy…. EEEAAAAYYYYY… …will always love yooooooooooo-ah… will always-ah-love yoooooOOOOO-OH-whoa-oh-OHHH…”

From the Flight Attendant:

“I’m sorry, sir. All of our other passengers have stored their clearly over-sized luggage in your overhead storage bin. You need to keep your wheeled suitcase on your lap for the remainder of the 20 hour flight.”

“Did anyone seated in rows 18 to 21 find a set of dentures when they sat down? Anyone? Anyone?”

“Sir, would you prefer the tofu stir fry or the oyster fettucini for breakfast today?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but the only beer we have on board is Bud Light Lime.”

From the Cockpit:

“This is your Captain speaking. I’m sorry to inform you that there will be no desserts on today’s flight. I have one hell of a hangover, and fudge brownies are just about the only thing I can keep down right now.”

“This is your Captain speaking. Because one of you little bastards turned on your iPod before it was safe to do so, we’re going to have to make an emergency landing in a Moldovan farmer’s field. I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

“This is your Captain speak… (static) … technic… (loud crash) … escaped raccoons… (sound of glass breaking)… bubonic pl… (growling animals) … if you want to live… (more static) … that’s all, thank you.”

The last in-flight movie you watched was Jurassic Park.

You suddenly realize that you’ve been at your desk for more than three hours, without any recollection of waking up, your hour-long commute, or whether you put on pants that morning.

You’re still vaguely surprised every time you hear that smoking is no longer allowed on planes.

Your co-workers have started an office pool on when that vein in your temple is finally going to blow. The long odds start at six weeks.

You’ve built up enough air miles on your credit card to take a trip to the International Space Station.

You think that “all-inclusive” is something that men with beards ask about at run-down massage parlours.

The last time you went through airport security, they asked you to take out your Bowie knife – but just because they thought it looked cool.

You cried at the end of Couple’s Retreat.

The last time you took a road trip, your back seat was wide enough that your kids couldn’t hit each other without a slingshot.

The last time you looked at a map, there were two Germanys and one Korea.