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I’ll Have What She’s Having

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The best ribs in the world are in Brussels.

I figured it might be better to just say that at the beginning in case no one reads anything after the first sentence. At least now you know what city to go to if you like ribs. For the restaurant’s name, however, you’ll have to read a bit more 🙂

Like everything hipster, being a foodie has become cool, and so everyone claims to be a foodie without having any idea what that means. Google seems to think it’s “a person with a particular interest in food”, which is silly, because anyone who wants to stay alive has a particular interest in food. Foodie or not, I enjoy eating products that taste like they were grown in soil, then prepared by a human. Fortunately, traveling provides many opportunities to try food that fits my rigorous requirements. I have tasted some truly decadent meals, and while I won’t be giving out superlatives, I will share with you my magical secrets.

The best meal I ate in Prague came from Lokál, a cafeteria/restaurant with Czech specialties and endless beer. I drank a beer, then ate goulash with bread dumplings (and beer), and because it was so good, I ordered a lentil soup (with more beer). Somehow, I was still hungry after that, so I went to Aldolce to eat what was easily the best dessert I have had in years. I ordered a lemon ginger mousse with grapefruit juice. I then became so happy with myself and life in general, that I proceeded to enter La Perla and try on 250 euro bras. I almost bought one*, but then realized I didn’t actually have 250 euros in my bra budget. Ahhh, well, next time!

In Bangkok, I happened to be staying right near what locals deem the area’s best Pad Thai, served at a restaurant named Tip Samai. If you don’t believe me, google “best Pad Thai in Bangkok”, and see what the first few entries are. I ate it five times in five days.

In Reykjavik, I ate at Sushi Samba, which offers Japanese-meets-South American cuisine. I ordered sushi and a “Pornstar Mojito”. The passion fruit, lime, mint, and rum mixed together so beautifully that I think no drink will ever perform as well as the “Pornstar”.

Sushi Samba

Sushi Samba, home of the Pornstar Mojito. A pornstar never tasted so good 😀

And now, for the ribs. One night while I was walking around Brussels with a friend, we saw a queue of people waiting outside a restaurant with a full size taxidermy cow. Obviously, we ate there. Practically everyone ordered the same thing: ribs à volonté. All. You. Can. Eat. Amadeo’s ribs are marinated in a tangy-sweet barbecue sauce that ended up in my stomach and all over my face. The ribs were ridiculously delicious, and if you go to Brussels (and eat meat), you must go there.

Amadeo

The ribs. ORDER THE RIBS!

I have eaten so many good meals while traveling in Europe and Asia, but this is just the beginning. Next stop? Fermented yak milk in Mongolia!

*La Perla may be expensive, but their bras make you look and feel like a goddess.

It’s my Birthday, I can Wine if I Want to

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Rather than talk about all the fabulous wine I tried in La Rioja and Médoc, which would most likely bore you, I will instead describe the idiosyncrasies of being a wine traveler.

wine barrels

Wine Barrels in Médoc, France

In Haro, La Rioja, the mountains watched (and didn’t judge) as I sipped the tempranillos and viuras that flourish in this lovely Spanish microclimate. The first winery I visited, Bodegas Roda, provided some of the best olive oil I’ve ever had (Dauro). I ate at least twenty small croutons smothered in that delicious elixir. After the next tasting, at Bodegas López de Heredia Viña Tondonia, the charming gentleman at the counter only charged me for one glass, because, apparently, he had “invited” me to the second. I didn’t argue. At Bodegas y Viñedos Gómez Cruzado, I went on my last tour before lunch with a father and son from the area. I was even able to communicate with them by the end of the tasting! The entire conversation consisted of me pointing at the bottles and saying “grape” in Spanish with a questioning tone, to which they kindly responded. Then I ate lunch, which I think was good, but as I don’t remember what I ate, I can’t attest. The tasting I went on that afternoon, at Bodegas Cune, was also delicious. I know I enjoyed it, because I sent some lovely e-mails with interesting typos. I apologize to those of you who had to suffer my orthographic inadequacy!

In Médoc, I had an altogether different experience, most likely the result of having to drive to get there. I arrived at the first winery, Château Hennebelle, just before 11 a.m. I went inside and asked if I could have a tour and tasting. The proprietor, who turned out to be one of the five generations that produce the wine, looked at me like I had asked what the capital of France was. So I tried their wine, which was fabulous of course, and bought a bottle while getting to know Pierre. His name was even on the bottle!

Then I attempted to find the restaurant I had chosen for lunch, Café Lavinal, without navigation of the electric or paper kind. This turned into a game that I eventually won, but not without circumnavigating the tiny town in which I dined at least three times. The lunch, I must say, was inimitable. More so because Café Lavinal had a wine vending machine (which I didn’t use- I drive responsibly 🙂 ). And an exquisite chocolate mousse. AND they were adorably polite. I’m pretty sure they thought I was rich, which was a nice thing for them to assume, incorrectly.

The next winery on the agenda was closed, but I decided to visit one at random before checking in at my hotel. This was exceptionally easy, because as I drove through Médoc, I saw that wineries surrounded the countryside, rather than the other way around. The one I visited, Vieux Château Landon, had been bought by a Chinese company, which, my guide told me, was quite common. The wine there was alright, but I wasn’t really feeling it. Moreover, I was so excited to get to my hotel, where I would do a tasting and celebrate my birthday. I said almost as much to my guide, who invited me to fête my birthday with him and a friend. I told him I would get back to him.

vineyard in Médoc

Vineyard in Médoc

I finally arrived at my hotel, Rollan de By, near the Gironde Estuary and fairly close to the Atlantic Ocean. The proprietors there, Déborah and Benjamin, could not have been more kind or welcoming. They gave me a bottle of wine to enjoy with my dinner later, and also informed me of fun things to do in the area. So I went to Château La Tour de By, where I purchased tubes of wine. Yes, tubes of wine. They were made to be transported in carry-ons, and come in little vials that would be more appropriate for science experiments, or perhaps blood. I’m surprised I didn’t think of it years ago!

At my hotel’s winery, I went on the most in-depth wine tour I have ever been on. With no hint of sarcasm, this is the highest compliment I can give to a tour guide! At this point I was getting hungry, so luckily, my médocain platter was ready when I returned to the hotel. Benjamin also informed me that the guide from Vieux Château Landon had called the hotel to ask if I still wanted to go out for my birthday, and if so, to give him a call. I really wanted to text this young man that I had decided to stay in, but unfortunately I had purchased the crappiest cell phone credit that exists, and so no longer had any credit. Oops!

With my bottle of wine and médocain platter (which consisted of pâtés, boudin, ham, cherry tomatoes, bread, and desert), I feasted! I tried to find some Frenchy film on the TV to set the mood, but none were on. Instead I watched Les Simpsons. Très chic!

BIRTHDAY PLATTER

A médocain platter at my hotel, Rollan de By

After sipping from the wellsprings of two very different wine regions, what have I to say? Firstly, à chacun son goût. I may love a young Cru Bourgeois from Médoc, while someone else prefers to drink it years later. Secondly, it depends, always. For me, my mood, what I am eating or not eating, the weather, and the company I keep all contribute to a ‘good’ wine selection. And I rarely regret the wine I select. Lastly, have fun! Wine is not meant to be drunk only by the fancy-shmancy pants of the world. It’s a democratic, often inexpensive, beautifully crafted beverage for all those of legal age. Go on, have a glass…Cheers!

*For extra credit, share your favorite wine(s) below!

Do You Believe in Magic?

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Black Sand Beaches, Iceland

Black Sand Beaches, Iceland

It’s said that some percentage of Iceland greater than zero believes in elves. Despite my skepticism, at some point, we all have to believe in something. Why not elves?

After traveling for a few weeks alone, I was thrilled to join several close friends in Iceland for Thanksgiving. I bought my allotted amount of alcohol (18 beers, 4 bottles of wine) and, escaping duty free, the gates to Iceland parted as my Icelandic friend warmly greeted me. Thus began my journey in a land of Skittle juice and whale penises.

The view from our cabin was more stunning than the most ersatz Thomas Kinkade painting. Snow covered the ground and mountains beyond as the gray sky melted into the snowy vista before us. Only one thing would improve this scenery: exploring it on foot!

Making our way to Bruarfoss, an azure waterfall bounding down pitch-black rocks, we began throwing snowballs at each other. Laughing and chatting back to the cabin, we peeled off our layers and roasted pleasantly in the hot tub.

Bruarfoss

Bruarfoss, Iceland

The next few days, we hiked up a mountain blanketed with snow to a naturally hot river, ate a Thanksgiving feast in the Icelandic countryside, and squeezed through a fissure in a rock face, hopping from stone to stone to reach a waterfall well worth the effort (Gljúfurárfoss, below). Though we discovered many beautiful Icelandic sights, one eclipsed all others.

Gljúfurárfoss 1

Gljúfurárfoss, Iceland

There is a saying: “Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, but the other gold.” It is cheesy, even to me, but also true. I often can’t remember how I met those closest to me. One of my best friends, for example, I don’t remember meeting, because it seems we’ve always been singing Ella & Louis, and shouting at innocent bystanders in a butchered Cockney accent. It’s easy to forget how good things began, and how silver friends became gold.

I grew closer to each of the people I traveled with in Iceland, in the way you can only when you travel. By experiencing newness together, whether in uncomfortable moments of cultural ambiguity, or in awe of Mother Nature (who is surely Icelandic), we formed a visceral bond different from those made in coffee shops and group projects.

There were times when I wanted to be alone during our week in Iceland, but the moments together will be those I remember most fondly. The connections you make with the people you meet make life worth living. That is a magic more powerful than that of elves or witches. It’s at least as strange, and much more available. After all, I might not believe in elves, but if I’ve got to believe in something, why not the magic of human relationships?

Harpa, Reykjavik

Harpa, Reykjavik, Iceland

If You Can, Climb It

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Travel and tourism are two sides of the same cookie. One just tastes a little less processed.

A few days ago, I was walking through the ruins of Angkor Wat. I was sweating, and stickier than a popsicle. I saw hordes of tourists snapping pictures while also taking in the sites, as a thought occurred to me: “Is Angkor Wat really so different from Disney World?”

Sadly, there are no roller coasters at Angkor Wat. And definitely no air conditioning. But while dripping my way through the masses, I saw an opening and turned. I entered a chamber the size of a childhood bedroom, with few wall carvings. More remarkably, I was the only person there. I stayed in that room, enjoying the chill of being alone amongst many, thinking what the thousands who had existed in that room before me had done, and how they had lived.

I left the room, turned another corner, and saw again the tourists. My thoughts turned as well, to my comparison of Angkor Wat and Disney World. Perhaps the difference lie not in the places as much as in the way they were experienced.

hand climbing thailand

Indiana Jones would be proud

To fully enjoy the temples at Angkor Wat, then, I needed to do a little climbing. Some of you will know that I have a unique desire to climb and explore things that really shouldn’t be. If anyone shares this propensity, I have a bit of advice: go to the temples of Thailand and Cambodia. The guides there actually told me to climb on fallen pieces of the temple as I was looking for a more legitimate exit. And few things have made me happier than channeling my inner Indy to squeeze through broken windows and climb on thousand-year-old temples.

At the end of this long day exploring the temples near Siam Reap, my guide suggested I watch the sunset from the top of a temple on top of a hill. Part way up the hill, an official asked me to cover my shoulders. I didn’t have a scarf, so I had to put on a sweater I had in my backpack. I walked quickly up the hill, sweating more than I thought possible, until I reached the top. Once I did, I had to pee. Doing the pee dance while searching for a restroom, I realized nature’s toilet would have to do. I should note that I was wearing harem pants, those diaper pants that MC Hammer made famous in “Can’t Touch This”. As I attempted to gracefully relieve my bladder, I may have misaimed and ‘spilled’ a bit on these ridiculous pants.

SO, sweaty, pee-stained, and pissy as a teenager, I climbed to the top of the temple, and sat to watch the view. A Chinese man next to me motioned for me to scoot closer. It became apparent that he wanted to take a picture with me. I obliged. After, he looked at me and exclaimed, “Beautiful!” In case you were wondering, I felt- and was -the farthest from beautiful that I could possibly be. But that didn’t stop me from smiling. Quietly cracking up at the hilarity of the situation, I watched the sun set over the temple. From sweaty and grumpy, to cooler and calmer, I reflected on my mercurial moods. All it took was a little climbing to find my peace. That beats a roller coaster any day!

sunset temple

Sunset at Phnom Bakheng

Eat, Drink, and Walk Slowly

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This is the true beauty of travel: getting lost so that you can find something you never knew existed.

People will tell you that a jam-packed itinerary while traveling is the best way to see everything. Others insist that eating long meals and seeing one thing a day is better. I won’t be so categorical, but after the past week, I’ve realized what works for me.

I arrived in Budapest to a hostel full of chatty travelers. I didn’t sleep much in Budapest, but spent much of my time simultaneously getting to know the city and these warm people.

In Prague, I spent the days on my own, but the pattern of eating, familiarizing, and wandering stayed the same. It wasn’t until I chanced upon a small courtyard that I realized there was more method to my madness.

Zahrady Gardens

As I was walking to Prague’s Rudolfinum, I looked to my left and saw a little cobblestoned courtyard strewn with fallen leaves and trees preparing for winter. The trees’ branches hung heavy like damp hair, the green, brown, and yellowing leaves obscuring exactly what lay behind. Streetlamps straight from Singin’ in the Rain or Paris in the Belle Epoque guarded the trees. – I have a love affair with streetlamps; they remind me of chilly nights and romantic bridges.- So when my eyes set upon this scene, I really had no choice!

I walked into the courtyard and heard a violin playing. One song later a jazz tune floated out from somewhere. Searching for the source of the music, I noticed a set of stairs blocked by a gate. Never one to be deterred, I walked up the stairs and pushed on the gate. It was firmly locked, though not that tall. I could see Prague’s Zahrady Gardens before me. For once, I turned back, mind swimming with thoughts of Babylon, and memories of past travels. I sat in the courtyard for a while, enjoying the kind of view that bears more significance than any insta-captured, filtered, or posted photo. I sat and then, all at once, I left, knowing I would have to return to these gardens… one day.

 cafe_Prague

 

Thoughts on a Plane

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The next time you fly, try the following:

1. If you fly more than never, get TSA PreCheck. Trust me.

2. When choosing your beverages for the evening, consider this: how much do I want to sleep? If you’re anything like me, you can only sleep on public transportation with the help of mild depressants. Fortunately, most flights supply these. I recommend having a couple of glasses of wine, or your equivalent. Which brings me to my next point…

3. If they offer you mini-bottles, take them. You don’t have to drink them now, but when you’re eating your soggy sandwich later that evening, you’ll be glad you can wash it down with some nice red wine. Border security took my red wine 😦

4. When using the flight’s bathroom facilities, remember to multi-task. You can in fact pee and brush your teeth at the same time. This is somewhat disturbing, I concede, but when I remember the sheer number of bowel movements on the plane, I get over it.

5. Keep in mind that others can see your movie selections. To the guy who kept fast-forwarding, then pausing his Scarlett Johansson  movie at opportune moments, I saw that. Also, ScarJo can’t feel your finger caressing her lip. I’m judging you, and I’m probably not the only one.

6. Talking to neighbors is tricky. You have to strike that nigh-imperceptible balance between politeness and respecting her/his own time. Good luck, and proceed with caution.

7. If you do want to sleep and have already read step number 2, look for the best way to stretch out without committing the most venal of flight crimes: popping your neighbor’s space bubble. If there are free seats next to you, I recommend a somewhat diagonal corporeal positioning. If you’re limby like me, this is difficult, but COURAGE, ’tis possible!

8. I don’t care how stupid you look, to release the pressure you feel after a flight, follow these steps: close your mouth, pinch your nose, AND BLOW OUT OF YOUR EARS. It works. Just blow. Your ears and head will thank you.

9. Socks are a long flight’s best friend.

10. When it comes down to it, flying is incredible, to use the word literally. If you find yourself angry, cramped, or annoyed that your flight doesn’t stock Woodford Reserve, just remember the words of Louis C.K.: “You’re sitting in a chair…IN THE SKY!” Pretty amazing 🙂

Post your best flight recommendations below. I can always use more tips!

A Lusty Wanderer?

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People change, or so they say. But, the more things change, the more they stay the same, right?…

T-2 weeks from now, I will leave my country of birth, traveling for several months with no final destination. This might sound like a nightmare or a dream come true, but for me it is the only option. After exiting the Ivory Tower to take on the Real World, I decided that the best way to find my ideal job would be to go to it. There were many other reasons, including an instilled desire to perpetually move and meet people meaningfully different from me. But what clinched the decision to go was a watershed moment commuting home.

I was thinking about this round-the-world ticket I had purchased. It was cheap but had no return flight. I had always known that soon after graduating I would look for a job “in the field”, but I had absolutely no conception of how that would work. As my heart started to beat rapidly, eyes watering, and breath shuddering, I smiled. I knew that I had to go.

Lately, though, I’ve been having cold feet. It’s not that I don’t want to go. It’s that I want to go so badly, it hurts to know that I’m putting myself before everything else I love and want in my life. And while people tell me, “Now is the time to do it. You’re only young once!”, I have a hard time imagining them leaving everything they’ve ever known because they started tearing up on a train.

My point is more prosaic: change is hard. Really hard. And actually changing- your location, your job, your state of mind,  yourself- is harder still. I find it difficult to fathom that I may have changed, that my desire to explore and live unfettered has lessened. Am I still the same wanderlusting traveler excited by every plane ticket purchase, or have I matured into a rooted young adult excited by symphony tickets and trips to the vineyard?

I think I’m probably all of these things, and I think that’s probably OK. Right now, I know I’m leaving, and that’s what makes the leaving so hard. The present is far more challenging to live in than the past or future, and my life to come is just that. So when I’m sitting on my home-bound train, tearing up because I feel selfish for leaving, I think about the person I am becoming. No matter how much or little I value being a nomad, I will always strive to live passionately. I owe that to myself and those I love. Because in our short lives, what is it worth to sit when you could stride, or complete when you could create?

(Answer to come)

A Good Bye

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NYC_Central Park

“I don’t belong anywhere. I belong where I want to go .”

This weekend, I was in NYC to see a fellow traveler and friend whom I hadn’t seen in two years. When he said the quotation above, we were talking about being able to move our lives with ease, and how it felt to leave one place for another. We both expressed our deeply-bound need to explore the new. We agreed it was not something we could ignore, but rather a core foundation of our character. When it comes to relationships, then (both platonic and romantic), things get a bit tricky. How do you explain to those you care about that traveling is more important to you than they are? It’s just not that easy.

My patient friends have often heard me say that I don’t miss people after moving, which is pretty much a lie. I do miss them, but I would never want to give up a chance to see new places and meet new people, just to stay in the same place as loved ones. And of course everyone experiences something like this during a lifetime. But it’s struck me as particularly odd that once I arrive at Destination X, it’s all about me at Destination X. My friends are “back there” and I am here. So,

How do you live your life as a traveler, feeling compelled to keep moving when you also find it incredibly difficult to leave behind your friends and family?

There is no one answer, I suppose. My answer is a common one. I keep in touch with those that I love, and try to see them when possible. The hardest moment is the actual leaving. What I mourn is the fact that things will never be the same. In that moment, I know I’m leaving and I know that when I see them in the future, it will be in a different place, with different people, with different feelings towards each other. So, to those whom I’m leaving soon, I will miss you. And if when I cry, I’m mourning the loss of the way things are.

But who’s to say the future doesn’t hold better things for us? ❤

Rose_MOMA

 

Bluegrass Dragon

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When you grow up in a musical family*, you are so surrounded by music that you see little need to seek it out. I saw little need to seek out new sounds until not so long ago. And then began my bluegrass affair.

On a recent Wednesday, my roommate, his girlfriend, and I packed up a U-HAUL bigger than our kitchen and drove West. Actually, my roommate did most of the packing, but regardless, we all ended up at Grey Fox Bluegrass Festival in upstate New York. I confess. I had never been to a music festival before, and as an extremely amateur musician, I saw this as a failing. Remedy: Grey Fox!

With our mansion popped up, it was time to head down the hill and check out the music. I could write a detailed analysis of the many bands’ musical stylings, but you wouldn’t give two hoots. So listen for youself: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1BrFbvOnUVc

I also took a pretty sweet shot of someone hula hooping.
P1020197

Over the next few days, I heard many more gifted artists, and some damn fine tunes. But I also had a hard time letting myself slip into the relaxing bliss that is vacation. Part of me felt that I should be listening to as many new bands as possible.

We could clearly hear the bands on the main stage from our tents, so I ended up staying at our campsite reading for much of the time. And then I realized. That was OK! I didn’t have to get up, walk down the hill, and sit in a plastic chair to experience the festival. I could do it while reading about dragons, the Starks, and an Iron Throne. I just needed to sit back and enjoy the music.

In case you’re wondering, dragons and bluegrass do mix well together.

*Your extended family is basically an orchestra.

“Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity!”

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Why should we live with such hurry and waste of life? We are determined to be starved before we are hungry. Men say that a stitch in time saves nine, and so they take a thousand stitches today to save nine tomorrow.

~Walden, Henry David Thoreau

Before you roll your eyes and stop reading for fear of moralizing aphorisms, fear not! I will talk about a trip, not on a road less travelled, but down the Minuteman Bikeway.

The Minuteman trail starts just beyond where I live, and goes all the way to Concord, Massachusetts. I biked through both Lexington and Concord, those cities we first learned about in US History that witnessed the beginning of our Revolutionary War. I rode through forests and marshes, down dirt paths and paved ones. I saw other bikers, dogs, even endangered species!*  When I reached Concord, I went straight to Walden Pond.**

I sat in the sand to read, enjoying the sun, breeze, and pine-scented air.

Walden Pond, Concord

I then returned to Concord, and strolled along its main streets. I found lots of cute, Massachusetts-based shops selling local goods. I also missed my chance to try cheese, which was a serious disappointment. But at least I got this picture 🙂Cheese Shop, Concord

Next time!

I got another scoop of ice cream, this time ginger and vanilla with oreo, because why not?*** I then biked home at warp speed, having found that sweet spot between physical comfort and awareness of surroundings.

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