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29 Before 29

15 Sep
Birthday girls

Birthday girls

I happen to share my birth date with one of my closest friends in New York, Quincey. A while back the two of us were talking about possible ideas for our birthday. We laughed and said we should do a week-long celebration dedicated to the amazingness that is us. But the more we talked about it, the more it made complete sense.

Our birth date happens to be marred by a national tragedy which over time has affected celebrations negatively. In addition to that, we both moved a lot as kids and spent many childhood birthdays in a new town without friends. So this was the year to make up for it. Cabaret, Karaoke, Softball, $1 beers, Ice Cream Cake, Cupcakes, Shake Shack, Happy Hour, Czech Beer Garden, Dancing. This was a week-long celebration for the ages, and my liver, stomach, legs, vocal chords are still recovering.

Now that life is slipping into normalcy, it’s time to embrace the new year’s list. I dropped some things that just weren’t happening. I brought back some recurring standards. And as far as new items go, I went big and small. Some overly ambitious and some devastatingly simple.

THE STANDARDS

1. Visit a new state- 13 down, 37 to go!

2. Visit a new country- Due to my supposed risk averse nature, I was unable to travel last year. But this year my goal is somewhere in Central America. I have to break in that new passport.

3. Visit a new baseball stadium- I’m so close to so many stadiums, it’s a crying shame that my number is so low. 7/30.

4. Read Catch-22– Every year I dedicate myself to reading one classic that I’m embarrassed about not having read.

5. Make Jambalaya- My new recipe challenge for the year.

6. Eat Ox Tail- My new adventurous food choice of the year.

7. Eat Ethiopian- You really can’t have too many adventurous food options. I’d be happy with doing an entire list of food.

LEFTOVERS FROM LISTS OF YESTERYEAR

8. Be an extra in a TV show or movie***

9. Go Scuba Diving***

10. Go Sailing***

11. Go to a Gun Range***

12. Do a Juice Cleanse**

13. Go to a Dog Show**

14. Visit a Whiskey Distillery**

15. Go to a Live Taping*- My new goal for this is to see “Last Week Tonight” with John Oliver. I have such a nerd crush on him.

16. Ride a Mechanical Bull*

17. Take a Trapeze Class*

18. Eat at Serendipity*

19. Go to a Monster Truck Show*

THE NEW LIST

20. Sing at Live Band Karaoke- I love singing karaoke. Some might even call it a passion. A week ago, I delivered a drunken, impassioned performance of “All That Jazz.” I’m ready to step up my karaoke game.

Duet with Quincey

Duet with Quincey

21. Paint Nite- I know this is suburban and faux-creative, but I want to do it. I want to somehow paint a pretty picture and pretend I’m an artiste.

22. Go sky diving- I hesitated putting this on the list. I’ve hesitated putting it on for years. I’m concerned I might pee myself or have a similar humiliating experience.

23. Fencing Lesson- I took an archery lesson a couple of months ago. If the place wasn’t so far from me, I would have considered going back. Something so fun about medieval weaponry.

24. Learn to play the ukelele- I learned that my paternal grandfather used to play the ukelele. It’s a family tradition I’d like to carry on.

25. Go whale watching- I didn’t realize how much I wanted to do this until I missed an opportunity last week. I want to experience the majesty of those mammals.

26. Do a knitting donation project- I took down my “Pay for someone’s meal” item, because I’m just too shy. But I wanted to replace it with something charitable.

27. Go white water rafting- I fear this will go the way of my go scuba diving item. It’ll never happen.

28. Visit a horse ranch- I’ve recently started working with horses, and I forgot how deep my love for them runs.

29. Visit the United Nations- I had to add one New York touristy option.

 

 

28 Before 28: Visit a New Baseball Stadium

10 Sep

In my 28th year of life, I’m attempting to do 28 new things. Full list here.

Citizen's Bank Park

Citizen’s Bank Park

My, oh, my, the Mariner’s this year! I’ve been an avid fan since 2007 and have witnessed dismal seasons. But as I write this, they are in the second wild card spot for the American League and only one game behind Oakland. AHHH!! Back in February when the Seahawks won the Super Bowl, I joked that the Mariner’s were also going to win the World Series. It’s still a long shot, but it’s possible! We COULD do it.

So I was browsing their schedule a couple of weeks ago to see which teams we’d be facing in this epic playoff berth. The day I checked happened to be the first day they were playing the Phillies in Philadelphia for a three game series. I had the following day off and wanting to escape some personal drama, I made a last minute decision to hop a morning bus to Philadelphia the next day to spend the day there. I convinced my friend Quincey to go with me, and we were off!

Citizens Bank Park is beautiful! The people are so nice! I’m used to going to Mariner games at Yankee stadium where I’m harassed at least a couple of times by obnoxious Yankee fans. But the city of brotherly love lived up to its name. This is how a typical conversation with a Phillie fan went:

“You’re a Seattle fan?”
“Yeah, I went to college in Seattle and have been a fan ever since,” I say with hesitation, waiting to be berated.
“That’s great! Beautiful city! You sure have a great team this year.”
“It’s about time we have a good season!”
“Yeah, I wish the Phillies were playing that well. Enjoy the game!”
“Why thank you! You too!”

How nice is that?! Sometimes spending enough time in New York makes one forget that there is the possibility for human kindness and compassion in the world. But it’s out there.

One Mariner fan and one Mariner/Met fan.

One Mariner fan and one Mariner/Met fan.

It was a fun day trip. We ate Philly cheesesteaks north of the stadium before we arrived so I didn’t get a chance to try any of the ballpark food. But I loved the game there. Best part was the Phillie Phanatic. What a great mascot! He had an ATV that he drove around the field with abandon and even got into a play-verbal argument with the Mariner dugout. The Phillies might have a disappointing lineup this year, but they’ll always have the phanatic.

Risk Averse

2 Sep
Burning of the Witches Festival, Prague, 2007

Burning of the Witches Festival, Prague, 2007

About two weeks ago, I had dinner with a friend of mine who has a knack for popping in and out of my life. We fomented our friendship in Prague and for a while when I was new to New York, he was living in Brooklyn.

I admire him a lot. He can lean towards the hipster side of things, but he leads a life that I envy in a lot of ways. After college, he cultivated his bartending skills. He spends a couple of months in one place, living a meager existence while squirreling away as much money as possible, working at as many bars that will take him. Then he heads somewhere new to him with one tiny backpack and wanders wherever he wants to go, until he has barely enough money to fly him back to the states where he can crash on someone’s couch until he finds a bartending gig that will start the cycle over again.

During desperate times in my life, I’ve thought of his travels and adventures and thought that’s exactly what I should do. But for better or worse, I like my things. I like my life. I like the friendships that I’ve established and the career (however humble it may be) that I’ve built. So I stay. I settle for the vacations here and there and go about my daily routine.

Back to our dinner. We went to a Himalayan restaurant near my apartment, and we caught up. I heard about his upcoming travel plans which include train hopping and road tripping across the country and then booking a flight for Southeast Asia where he’ll ramble at will. I asked him for Central American travel advice. I want to go to Costa Rica, or Nicaragua, or Ecuador. Anywhere new! But I can’t find a travel companion, and I’m nervous about going alone.

“Well, that’s because you are risk averse,” he told me.
“RISK AVERSE!? That’s not true.”
“It’s absolutely true.”
“I took a boxing class today for the first time!”
“That’s spontaneous, not risky. You’re spontaneous and brave. But you are risk averse.”

I spent the rest of the night making him regret he ever said that. I somehow found a way to repeatedly circle the conversation back to “risk averse” and how I could not be risk averse, what are the steps I could take. He couldn’t give me a real answer on it and resorted to teasing me for trying to plan out how to be less “risk averse.” They Type A in me just can’t hide.

Risk averse. I have spent the last two weeks walking around thinking about that. It pops up in my head like a catchy pop song. I’ll be buying a salad for lunch and as I order, I think, “risk averse?!” Part of me wants to say I’m not. I’ve taken risks, tis true. Staying in New York after a devastating break-up. Risky. Battling evil cats at work. Risky. Drinking whiskey after beer. Risky.

But another part of me wants to be mature enough to take it as constructive criticism. I tried to think about how he must see my life and my choices. While I know he respects them, they could seem risk averse. Some of them are. I see the choices in my life that have been the easiest path or the path of least risk of pain. And while I don’t believe that I am one to be labeled as risk averse, I don’t think it’s a bad thing that he got that annoying phrase stuck in my head. My life could use a few more risks, a few more hasty decisions.

He left for Chicago yesterday morning. I have no idea when our paths will cross again. But when they do, I can’t wait to enumerate to him the ways in which my life in the interim has NOT been risk averse. Knowing me, I’ll probably have an outline.

28 Before 28: Visit a New State

11 Dec

1471751_10101126037224447_256169690_nIn my 28th year of life, I’m attempting to do 28 new things. Full list here.

I went to Virginia!

My small family has begun a new tradition. Over the past decade, we have scattered all over the country. My sister has lived in Alaska and now resides in Boston. I was in Washington, and now I reside in New York. My parents hold down the fort in Nevada. So gathering for the holidays can be difficult to arrange. So this is our second annual Christmas-in-a-different-place-and-on-a-different-date. We’re still working on the name.

Last year, we met up in the Central Coast of California the second week of January and this year, we met up in Williamsburg, Virginia for the second week of December. And this was the first vacation I’ve experienced where it rained the entire time. I’ve had plenty of vacations where there is a day or two where it is best to find indoor activities, but my trip to Virginia was all rain, all the time.

Gate towards a Revolutionary War Cemetary

Gate towards a Revolutionary War Cemetary

We went to a couple of museums that had artifacts from the colonial period, and we went to a Christmas boat parade where Revolutionary War soldiers marched by with their drums and flutes. But I wanted more! I wanted to see people dressed in every day garb. The last day we were there, we sucked it up and went into the heart of Williamsburg and toured the Governor’s mansion. History makes me weak in the knees, especially when it is all done up like Williamsburg is. Our tour guide was dressed as a colonial servant, and she gave us the tour as if we were invited to attend the ball that evening. I loved the hokeyness of it all. I had grand dreams of becoming a re-enactor in my old age.

I desperately wanted to wear the colonial garb. It was only $25 for a full day’s rental. Before the trip, I had imagined my whole family wearing the costumes with me. Instead they stared at me in disbelief. “Are you serious? Do you really want to do this?” My mom asked of me. I did! I did! But the pouring rain and the frigid temperatures led me to put that dream away for another day. I settled for wearing a bonnet and straw hat in the gift shop.

The wig room of the Governor's mansion.

The wig room of the Governor’s mansion.

I wish I had more time there. I wish I had more good weather time there. I’d love to go back and immerse myself in the history. It’s like an amusement park for nerds.

My dream comes true...kinda.

My dream comes true…kinda.

Hiking in the Catskills

10 Oct

2013-10-06 11.46.57 Life in the city has been stressful. So to get away for awhile, my boyfriend and I planned a weekend in the Catskills. We got a room at a Bed and Breakfast in a no stoplight town called Fleishmann. We wanted to enjoy some quiet, some fresh air, take in a bit of hiking.

We almost didn’t survive.

We asked our innkeeper Ben for some advice on different trails. He pointed out his favorite one called “Giant Ledge.” Ben described it as an “aggressive” 4-5 mile hike which I found intimidating, but I ended up deciding I could take the challenge. The next morning, around 10:30, we bought water, chips, Ring pops, and Reese’s Pieces at the corner store and headed to the summit.

The weather wasn’t ideal. Crisp fall air in the 60’s with some sprinkling rain. Describing the hike as aggressive was the perfect adjective. There were some steep sections of the trail with high rocks to climb on. I’m not in shape and found myself out of breath for most of the hike. After an hour or so, we reached what looked like a Giant Ledge. The trail was self-explanatory with blue markers scattered on the trees and no other signage. So we only assumed it was the lookout point we had been promised. Because of the poor conditions, the view was underwhelming and bizarre. It was an abyss.

"View" from Giant Ledge.

“View” from Giant Ledge.

We spent some time resting, eating our snacks, and throwing Reese’s Pieces into the mist. We had no concept of how high we were. The light rain was making us chilly, so we wanted to keep going and get back to our inn to shower and rest.

We continued on the path which after a brief decline, became sharply steep with huge rocks to climb over. My legs were shaking with each climb. We assumed that the trail was taking us to a smoother descent than the rocky climb we had just done.

We seemed to reach another summit, but we were both so tired, cold, and wet that we opted to not stare into the mist but keep going. Finally the trail started to descend. It was steep and the trail seemed less defined. We walked through brush that scraped our legs as we tried to not step in mud or slip on the leaves. The path became so misty that it was difficult to see where the next blue marker was. After about an hour of descent, without seeing any other people, and not being able to see up or down the mountain, worry set in.

We began the hike just before 11, and it was well after 3. The trail was only supposed to be 4-5 miles, at that point we should have been done, we shouldn’t still be walking. We didn’t know what else to do but to keep following the blue marked trail. If we had turned around, we were worried that we wouldn’t make it back before dark. As long as we stuck to the trail, we weren’t too lost in the mountains. It was frustrating and a bit unnerving, but our only option was to keep moving forward.

At one point, I slipped on leaves and fell smack on my butt. I sat in the rain and the mud and began to cry. My boyfriend knelt down to comfort me.

“We’re going to die up here,” I told him through my tears.
“Do you want to rest a while?” he asked.
I thought about it and shook my head “no.” He helped me up, I wiped my tears, and just put one foot in front of the other.

A little while later, I heard an ESPN alert go off on my phone.

“The Seahawks must have scored,” my boyfriend said.
“Since I have service, maybe I should look up the trail.”

I googled the trail name and found a site that said in all caps, “WHEN YOU REACH GIANT LEDGE, TURN BACK. DO NOT GO STRAIGHT.”

Shit.

We called innkeeper Ben and told him our predicament. My phone was almost out of battery and the call kept cutting in and out. He said he thought he knew where we were, but that we should keep walking, and he would come meet us. We had continued on to a 15-mile trail.

We had no idea how far into this trail we were, but we had been descending for a while and decided to continue on. After about 90 minutes more, we see Ben on the trail ahead of us. A light at the end of the tunnel. He breathed a sigh of relief as well as he had been hiking for 45 minutes to find us. My legs have never felt more strained. I took to counting to keep them moving forward. As soon as I saw the road, I wanted to throw myself upon it and sleep for days. It was past 6pm.

Back at the inn, a hot shower has never felt quite that amazing. We threw out our muddy, soaked socks and headed to a fancy restaurant up the road. We feasted. Beer, onion rings, steak, fish, apple cake. As hyperbole as it may be, I was happy to be alive. I was happy to not be lost in the woods, to be a news story of hikers gone missing. I’m not going on another hike for a long time.

Normandy/Calvados

26 Jun
Morning in the countryside.

Morning in the countryside.

I have decided upon a new rule for myself when traveling. Up until now, I have always had a ratio of 80% in a major city and 20% off-the-beaten-path. This needs to change. The truly amazing, awe-inspiring, life-changing moments I’ve experienced while traveling usually happen in the middle of nowhere, in a place no one has heard about. Case in point #1: Yoshino. Case in point #2: our road trip through Normandy.

D and our Twingo which we dubbed Amelie.

D and our Twingo which we dubbed Amelie.

A bit of wary of driving in Paris, we decided to take a train to Versailles and rent a car there. Easier said then done. We ended up wandering around in the rain, trying to find a car rental place. We finally found our way to a Hertz station where two French men assisted us in broken English. What we gathered from them, though, was that they had given us their most pink car, since we were ladies and must like that sort of thing. As we prepared to leave the lot, I ran in quickly to ask them which way to the highway. The cute boy with bright, blue eyes looked at me worriedly before rushing into a back room. He brought out a GPS unit and showed me how to work it. “Uh, it’s no charge….um…but that’s…exception for you.” He was truly our hero as we would have been quite lost without it.

View of Honfleur from the Ferris Wheel.

View of Honfleur from the Ferris Wheel.

We had reservations at a bed and breakfast place in a tiny town called Torigni-sur-Vire. But along the way, we made a detour to the north at a small fishing village called Honfleur. Dr. G had recommended it to me as his favorite place he has ever been. Dr G has yet to steer me wrong in life. Honfleur was possibly the highlight of my entire France trip. Everything about it was charming. From the chocolate museum with mechanical beavers making chocolate to the old Ferris Wheel to the old man painting the carousel to the apple brandy liquor to the fresh mussels caught that morning. We would have loved to stay longer, but we didn’t want to be late to check into our B&B.

La Beauconniere

La Beauconniere

After much skillful driving along winding roads, past cows and other speeding French drivers, we found the B&B where we were to stay two nights. As we pulled up, a smiling man waved eagerly at us. This was Dean. He directed us where to park and as we got out of the car, he introduced us to him and his wife, Suzanne. I can’t say enough wonderful things about them. They were two of the warmest people I have ever met. Kind, happy, eager to learn everything about us. We were likewise interested in learning about them. Their story is a tale that proves happiness is possible, and it’s never too late to lead a life you love. They originally owned their own law firm in Manhattan, but they didn’t like the hustle and bustle of city life. Dean is British and had always loved the French countryside. So one day they packed up, moved to France, and opened La Beauconniere. She has a passion for horses and cooking, and he loves history and gardening. They share this with the visitors that pass through. Dean calls himself a collector of stories. He loves to learn about his visitors.

They advised us to get dinner at a small bistro in town. We drove through the tiny town with one streetlight. We drank Calvados (apple brandy made in the region, 40%, not for beginners), and I ordered a Nicoise salad. The lettuce in the salad was so fresh and flavorful. I was in heaven. We went back home and crawled into our big comfy bed with the windows wide open to let fresh air in. We slept like the dead.

American cemetery at Omaha beach

American cemetery at Omaha beach

The next day I had made arrangements to spend the day horseback riding through the countryside with Suzanne. But there were huge gusts of wind, and Suzanne was worried about the horses getting spooked and didn’t want to not be able to communicate with each other. She offered to take me out the next day, but we had to return our rental car by a certain time or face a huge penalty fee. I was disappointed, but Dean promised to map out a good sightseeing day for us.

We headed to the D-Day beaches and in particular Omaha beach where the American cemetery was located. It was fascinating to see what those men had to go through, the long beaches and dunes they had to cross over. It was a moving experience, and I’m so glad we got to see it. There was a quote engraved there that stood out to me.

“If ever proof were needed that we fought for a cause and not for conquest, it could be found in these cemeteries. Here was our only conquest: All we asked…was enough soil in which to bury our gallant dead.”

-General Mark W. Clark

Amazing to see you much of the war came down to that one moment, that final hope to free France, all the countries that worked together to make it possible. USA, England, the French resistance. Astounding.

Afterwards we drove to the small town of Bayeaux to see the Bayeaux tapestry which was made in the 11th century depicting the Norman conquest. A stark contrast between the two wars and what people have fought for over time.

Our next stop was going to be Mont-St-Michel, but our trusty GPS broke, and we were nervous about getting too lost. So we found a convenient store with some maps and made our way back to Torigni sur Vire. Once there we found a little pub that was open, bought some beers (whilst noticing a black cat napping on the bar) and played darts. Naturally.

D proved to be a formidable opponent.

D proved to be a formidable opponent.

Once we started feeling a bit hungry we headed out to wander around the town. We stopped in a bakery to grab fresh baguettes, a liquor store to buy a bottle of cider (apples are big in that region), a grocery store so D could pick out some smelly French cheeses, and a butcher to buy some sausage. Back at La Beauconniere, we ate our humble feast and followed it up with some more Calvados brandy. D fell asleep early while I took a long shower, played with the cat Jake, gazed dreamily at the horses and wrote a little.

Jake resting in a sunbeam.

Jake resting in a sunbeam.

The next morning we said our goodbyes to Dean and Suzanne while they packed up some baguettes, homemade pear bread, and what was left of our stinky cheese, so we could snack on the road. We drove back to Versailles to drop off the car and spend the day at the palace. After our amazing countryside experience, it was difficult to stomach the mass amounts of tourists. The palace was interesting to see, but we ended up rushing through it, trying to get away from the crowds. The gardens were beautiful, and it was good to get fresh air after being herded like cattle from room to room. If I were a wealthy Queen of France, I think I’d rather stay at La Beauconniere as opposed to Versailles.

Paris, France

24 Jun

2013-06-10 11.46.41My dear friend Danguole and I had been talking about taking a trip abroad together for a long time. In fact, we were thinking about going to Columbia together a couple of years ago. I ended up moving to New York, and she (being the brave, little toaster that she is) went on her own. But finally, we got ourselves together and decided to go to Paris. A lot of people were surprised by our choice. The trend for people our age is to go to more exotic places, like Asia or Central America. Those are places we discussed, and it just came down to Paris. D had never traveled around Western Europe, and I’ve been dreaming of Paris for years. It’s kind of a mainstream option. But not liking something because it’s popular is just as sell-out as liking something because it’s popular. Like what you like, do what you wanna do. We had an amazing time in Paris.

Nutella crepe in the Tuilleries Gardens

Nutella crepe in the Tuilleries Gardens

Our trip was divided into thirds. Paris the first third, Normandy the middle third (later post), and back to Paris for the last third. We spent the first third doing all the things one has to do and see. Eiffel Tower, Louvre (outside, we didn’t go in), Musee D’Orsay, Notre Dame, Arc du Triomphe, Place de Concorde. All the major things one is supposed to do. But it got to the point where we were weary of our guidebooks and didn’t want to be herded like sheep along with thousands of other tourists. We had seen that side of Paris.

The French don't fuck around with salads. This one has foie gras, duck breast, and roast potatoes.

The French don’t fuck around with salads. This one has foie gras, duck breast, and roast potatoes.

The French have the idea of how to live right. They take their time with things, they enjoy everything. If you’re going to eat a meal, why not eat a delicious one? If you’re going to drink coffee in the morning, why not have a delicious espresso while watching the rain inundate the streets? If you’re going to get dressed in the morning, why not look stylish and amazing all the time? Some of the laws the French have might sound unnecessary, but they make life more enjoyable, so why not? One of their laws is that all bakeries have to make bread both in the morning and the afternoon, so that your evening baguette is as fresh as your morning one was. So. Logical.

10AM watching storm clouds roll in

10AM watching storm clouds roll in

So much of Paris is an experience. While I was there I was reading a book called, “The Most Beautiful Walk In the World: A Pedestrian in Paris” by John Baxter. It’s written by a man who gives literary walking tours in Paris. While he talked about his favorite places in Paris, he likewise talked about how Paris is at its best when it becomes your own experience. D and I stayed in the Northern neighborhood of Montmarte, and it got to the point where after a day of sightseeing, we were so happy to be back in our neighborhood. OUR neighborhood. Our last couple of days we didn’t even leave Montmarte.

Having a picnic of baguettes, cheese, and strawberries in front of the Sacre Couer, Montmarte.

Having a picnic of baguettes, cheese, and strawberries in front of the Sacre Couer, Montmarte.

So I can tell you how we ate two meals at La Marmite on Rue de Clichy. But I can’t guarantee that when you go there you will also have Linda, the most badass waitress we’ve ever met or that it’ll be pouring rain just beyond your table. I can tell you that we drank beer and chain smoked cigarettes at the bar across the street, but I don’t know if you’ll have as much fun as we did playing “Marry/Murder/Sleep With” as French boys walk by. You can go to Les Deux Moulins where “Amelie” was filmed. But if like me you sit and write for an hour, I can’t guarantee that two French boys will wave at you and go to great lengths to get your attention and make you smile. France was an experience. It was a true vacation with relaxing, eating, drinking, laughing, staying out late, getting soaked in the rain. It was perfect.

View of Paris from the Sacre Coure, Montmarte.

View of Paris from the Sacre Coure, Montmarte.

  • Travel Notes
  • Learn a little French- Just a little! Know how to say hello, goodbye, know how to order in a restaurant, please, thank you. I’ll take you a loooooong way. The French were so warm and kind to us, and I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that we made a bold attempt to speak their language.
  • Sacre Couer- I know I said that Paris is your own experience, but if there is one touristy thing I can recommend, it’s going to the Sacre Couer. We went a lot. We had picnics, I laid in the sun reading, we drank beer at 1 in the morning while someone blasted pop music from their car nearby. Best view of Paris.
  • Eat with abandon- I gained 5lbs in Paris. I’m not ashamed. I ate duck, foie gras, escargot, stinky cheeses, weird pastries. I regret nothing!
  • Dress your best- This is Paris after all. When I travel, I often opt for the comfortable walking shoes, layers, maybe even a backpack. In Paris, people are on display. The seats in cafes all face the street, none face the other way. Parisians love to watch one another, to inspect your fashion choices. So give them something good to look at. It’s the least you can do.
  • Find your hood- Paris is divided into arrondisements (neighborhoods). We loved Montmarte and were happiest exploring every nook and cranny of it. But there are many other neighborhoods that are lovely as well. St Germain de Pres was incredible, the Latin Quartier was beautiful. Enjoy your neighborhood, don’t rush through it.
  • Take your time- Enjoy that beer. Sip your coffee. Taste every last bite of your Duck Confit. Stare at that piece of art for 20 minutes. At one point, I saw a little old French woman let go of her husband’s hand, walk toward a beautiful rose bush, lean in and take a deep breath. She literally stopped and smelled the roses. That’s the way to enjoy Paris.

27 Before 27: Go Hiking

5 May
Hiking through Glaciers

Hiking through Glaciers

In my 27th year of life, I’m attempting to do 27 new things. Full list here.

Two assumptions about myself that I’ve had to let go of in the last couple of years.

Assumption 1: I’m not athletic. Growing up, I was the runt of the litter. I had breathing issues, I had stomach issues, I was pale, skinny and preferred to read a book as opposed to subjecting myself to the teasing about my athletic ineptitude.

Assumption 2: I hate nature. This goes along with the not being athletic thing. Instead of going outside and being active, I have always enjoyed reading, writing, brooding, all typically indoor activities.

Hiking is something of a breakdown of these two assumptions about myself.

A secret no one tells you about hiking is that it’s just walking. I can do that! I think of myself as something of a binge walker, sometimes wandering the island of Manhattan for hours at a time. Hiking is doing the same thing, but in more serene surroundings and without cabs threatening to end your life.

So I went to Iceland. Iceland’s natural beauty is a huge part of their tourist appeal. It is a country designed for hiking.

Attempted selfie behind a waterfall.

Attempted selfie behind a waterfall.

I spent a full day hiking at the base of volcanos, trekking behind waterfalls, and to top the day off, cramponing my way across glaciers. And it was breathtaking. The beautiful views, the fresh air, the feeling of accomplishment. I loved it. I knew I would. Like so many things I’ve checked off on my bucket lists, I wish I had more time to make them a full hobby. Hiking would be a fantastic one but is especially difficult given my urban location. Oh, sigh, one more reason to miss the Pacific Northwest.

On the bright side, I was so happy that I got to cross off something on my list…in Iceland.

Iceland

3 May
View of Reykjavik from Hallgrimskirkja Church

View of Reykjavik from Hallgrimskirkja Church

I went on a quick weekend trip to Iceland with my sister. That might sound crazy, but the flight is under 6 hours, about the same amount of time it takes for me to get to California from New York. I had never been to Iceland, so off I went.

Something I had to wrap my head around in visiting Iceland was that unlike many other places I’ve visited, I wasn’t there to be wowed by the city, by the architecture, not even necessarily the history (although the Viking history is an interesting one), I was there for the natural beauty, the eerie landscape. I can safely say I have never been any place like it.

Cold, yes. Unpleasant, no. The air is so clear, the waters so blue. There was definitely a lot of bundling up and a light investment in an Icelandic wool hat to keep my head warm, but other than that the cold wasn’t difficult to deal with. There’s a saying that goes, “If you don’t like the weather in Iceland, just wait 5 minutes.” I had one hour stretches where I experienced snow, sunshine, rain, wind, cold, warm. God, what a strange place.

Our first day was spent in Reykjavik, the capital of Iceland and where about 2/3 of the Icelandic population of 300,000 reside. It was a charming fishing village with colorful buildings, shops selling homemade goods, a Beatles coverband playing from a balcony, teenagers running around dressed in animal costumes, signs about knitting elves. After taking a couple of pictures from the top of the Hallgrimskirkja Lutheran church and wandering the streets, we stopped into a traditional Icelandic cafe and dove headfirst into the strange cuisine.

Cafe Loki: Rye Bread Ice Cream, Fish on Rye bread, and Hakarl (fermented shark.)

Cafe Loki: Rye Bread Ice Cream, Fish on Rye bread, and Hakarl (fermented shark.)

Before leaving for Iceland, my co-worker kept telling me about a delicacy he had heard about called Hakarl. It’s shark meat that’s left to ferment for a couple of months. I told him there was no way I was going to eat that. But I found myself sitting in a cafe in Iceland, seeing it cheaply on a menu, and not coming up with a good reason to not try it.

Weird. Plain weird. I don’t know how to begin to describe the taste. Salty, fishy, fruity, chewy, juicy. Weird. Not bad. Not good. Weird. Then, I swallowed. The aftertaste that followed was horrific. The strong scent of ammonia that follows these shark bites around invaded my mouth and sinus area. All I could do was devour the Rye Bread Ice Cream (delicious!) and try to bury the horrible taste. I later learned that it is tradition to take a shot of Brennivin (Icelandic Schnapps) after eating the shark to avoid the experience I had.

At the base of Eyjafjallajokull in my new Icelandic wool hat!

At the base of Eyjafjallajokull in my new Icelandic wool hat.

Our second day was a scheduled “Volcano Tour/Glacier Walk.” I wasn’t sure what to expect, and I typically don’t go on tours when I travel, but this turned out to be a highlight of the trip. An Icelandic guide came and got us in a massive land rover and drove us along the south coast. The countryside is pristine. Iceland uses something like 99% renewable resources, and they are environmentally aware. The island itself is volcanic, so the ground everywhere is black from ash and covered in a light layer of moss which is about all the vegetation that can grow there. The snow melt from the top of these volcanic mountains creates stunning waterfalls. Our tour included driving through riverbeds, hiking to the base of Eyjafjallajokull (that volcano that erupted a couple of years ago and ruined air travel in Europe for weeks), trekking behind waterfalls, hiking along glaciers, and eating lamb stew at a small Icelandic hotel. Of all the natural beauty we saw, it was once again the ocean that took my breath away. The long, black beaches and the crashing waves, the clouds rolling in with occasional sunlight breaking through, the loud roar of the ocean, the strong winds nearly knocking us over. Pictures don’t quite do it justice.

The ashy beaches of Iceland.

The ashy beaches of Iceland.

The following day I had arranged to go horseback riding on the famous Icelandic horse. Again, I was taken out to the Southern coast to a ranch that leases out wild Icelandic horses. The horses are rather small but sturdy. There was a German woman in my group who was rather large, but her horse didn’t seem to mind at all. The horses have a thick coat of fur and come in 100 different shades. Because I was a more experienced rider I was given a wilder horse named Rouðka (meaning “the red”). She was beautiful, and I was in love with her in an instant. Once we began the ride, she became feisty, pulling at her reins, wanting to break away from the horses in our group. Looking out over the endless Icelandic countryside I wanted the same thing, and she could tell. Once or twice, when we were trotting along in the special Icelandic horse gait called a tolt, I loosened the reins and allowed her to run ahead of everyone else. Our guides would warn me to pull her back and stay with the group, I played dumb, shrugging, blaming it on my Rouðka.

Bad picture of me, glamor shot or Rouðka,

Bad picture of me, glamor shot or Rouðka,

Our final day, on the advice of a friend, we stopped at the Blue Lagoon on the way to the airport. My guidebook put it well in calling the Blue Lagoon, the Eiffel Tower of Iceland, with all the good and bad connotations such a comparison elicits. It’s a touristy thing to do, but it is also the most iconic part of the country. I was expecting it to be so-so as most iconic things turn out to be. But instead it was relaxing, refreshing, beautiful and the exact thing we needed before getting back on a plane. Walking through the milky blue waters of the lagoon is soothing with different temperatures every few steps. There are sandy areas to sit, a bar to enjoy a beer at, masseuses, and silica mud to put on your face for a mini-facial. Although there were plenty of tourists around, the lagoon has so much steam rising from it that it was difficult to see a couple of feet ahead, not to mention that the swimming area is huge. It was easy to be alone and enjoy it without crowds. We stayed in until we were completely pruned.

Blue Lagoon

Blue Lagoon

A quick weekend trip to Iceland is exactly what I needed, to get away from work stress and personal stress. There’s nothing like traveling to a weird little nook of the world to reset yourself.

 

  • Travel Notes:
  • Skyr- Icelandic yogurt. It’s a little sour, but fluffy and satisfying. I ate it with berries every morning I was there. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since I’ve been back.
  • Expensive Food- While the American dollar is currently strong against the Icelandic Koruna, I found that eating out was crazy expensive. People warned me about this, but I shrugged, figuring I was from New York. But $40-$50 for a meal for one person is typical in Iceland. Most everything else is relatively inexpensive.
  • Tours- While I don’t like tours in general, the ones in Iceland were spectacular. The guides are all friendly locals. It felt more like hanging with a local as opposed to paying for a tour. Plus, Icelanders LOVE their country and want to brag and talk about it with you every chance they get.
  • Liquor- Drink Viking beer, skip the Brennivin. It tastes like bad Vodka.
  • Layers- Holy shit, it’s cold. Then it’s warm. Then you think you’re going to freeze to death. Bring layers.
  • Conditioner- Don’t let your hair touch the water in the Blue Lagoon! Condition the shit out of it before you go in, and condition it even more when you get out. Also, don’t get any water in your eyes. I did and temporarily blinded myself and ruined a new pair of contacts.

 

26 Before 26: Ride a Segway

23 Jun

In my 26th year of life, I am attempting 26 new things that I’ve never done before. Full list here.

Look at me in this picture. Do I have on a hot pink helmet? Yes. Am I standing upon one of the goofiest modern inventions? Yes. Do I look like a fool? Absolutely.

But is the Boston weather behind me practically perfect? Yup. Am I knocking another thing off my 26 before 26 list? Hooray, I am! Do I have the biggest grin on my face, ever? Of course! That’s the smile of someone having the time of her life.

Segways. Where do I start? This was so much fun. If you haven’t ridden one, I highly, highly recommend it. My sister, who accompanied me, was initially skeptical and a bit incredulous that she was spending a Sunday afternoon doing this. But I think she would agree that it was pure fun.

For some reason, when I thought about riding a Segway, I had my heart set on doing it in Boston. A year ago when I was visiting, my sister and I were waiting for a table at The Barking Crab, I saw a touristy, middle-aged couple, fanny packs and all, getting a private Segway tour of the city. I don’t know why I was so taken by those crazy machines, but I certainly was.

It’s all about balance. It feels a little awkward at first, and I would occasionally find myself accidentally moving backwards. But about 15 minutes in, I got my Seg-legs on, and it felt completely natural. Oh, it feels awesome to go 12 miles per hour by simply leaning forward. And dare I say it, but I was good! There was one lady in our tour group who kept running into the curb or running into other people. Amateur.

I felt like a celebrity. Everywhere we went, Copley Square, Beacon Hill, Boston Commons, crowds of people would whoop and holler at us. So many iphones flashing at me and my sexy red Segway. My sister even got cat-called from a car while we were making a left turn.

At the end of the tour, our guide took us to a concrete landing next to the water where we had 15 minutes to play around. We sped from one end to the other, did twirls around each other, and did a little synchronized Segway dancing.

What a day. What a day. One day, when I have so, so much money, I will certainly buy one, and hopefully be on par with the most famous Segway owner of all.