Last week, I had the pleasure of returning to Germany for work. The trip was great. But it was the day before the the airports went banana over the recent terrorist plot. (Not that I'm complaining. If given the choice between inconvenience or dying in a fiery ball thousands of feet over the earth, I'll pretty much always go with 'inconvenience'). My colleague and I planned to get back to the Frankfurt airport a bit early, to make sure that we had ample time to get checked in and go through security. We were both flying British Airways (to different airports - he was going to Heathrow, I was headed back through the Manchester airport), and so we checked in seperately. Surprisingly, they let us have out bags on the plane, as long as there were no liquids included. Seemed pretty reasonable to me. "But you'll have to check that, sir." "What, this? It's an instrument. You let me carry it on the other flights." "Yes sir, but with the heightened security risk, you'll have to check it, I'm afraid." "Can't I check it at the gate? I hate putting it in the hold, as it's fairly fragile." "I'm sorry sir, it's due to the potential risk of terrorism." "And I thank you for keeping me safe. But look. It's a banjo. You're pretty safe unless I try and play it. It's not liquid, I promise." No go... I had to check it in. They stood firm behind their "no banjos in carry-on" position. I do love my new little banjo (the one on the left, next to my normal sized one) - it's just small enough to go everywhere I go now. Which probably means I'll be invited to go less places - which, given the determination to ruin your day the average lunatic has been displaying, is Not A Bad Thing (TM)

"Hey look - there's a wireless network here." "That's not ours - you shouldn't be able to log into it." "Apparently I can - I'm on the internet." "It didn't need a password or anything?" "I guess not. Oh well - if they didn't want me to use it, they should have protected it better." "Stealing bandwidth makes Baby Jesus cry."

You'll have to excuse the infrequent posts for the past few weeks. I've been spending a great deal of time in airports (and am, in fact, writing this from a quasi-quiet corner of the Atlanta airport). After Egypt, I spent a week in Budapest. Cool town - in a "lots of Communist iconography still floating around" kind of way. I spent a total of 15 hours back in England before we headed out to Tennessee to see what my people like to call kinfolk. We stayed for a week with my parents, who, contrary to first appearances, were once worldly professionals, climbing their respective corporate ladders. Now, they're goat farmers. Tennessee was almost as hot as Egypt, and a hell of a lot more humid, but we had a great time running from the air-conditioned car, to the air-conditioned Country Music Hall of Fame (just to see the Bluegrass exhibit, of course!), to the air-conditioned retirement home where my grandmother - the Critter's namesake - lives. And I managed to eat nearly my weight in biscuits and gravy at the Cracker Barrel, even if it did take me a couple of trips. On a side note, out of all the places I've visited, I've never had problems with connectivity for my Blackberry. Hell, I think I had three bars of reception in King Tut's tomb. But in the hills of Tennessee? Nada. I had to drive 45 minutes to the Interstate if I wanted any reception. To be honest, though, it was more a relief than a problem to be that cut off. (But I'll never admit that to my Bride). Tennessee really is a beautiful part of the world. It's visits like these that remind me that I don't want to live abroad forever. A little while longer, maybe, but I definitely know where my roots are. And I'm not sure how much longer I can really live in a place that I don't have free access to boiled peanuts.