An Ode to Pooping in Public

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Baby Hippo Toilet Fail

Baby Hippo Toilet Fail, at the Reclining Buddha, Bangkok

When people tell me they don’t poop in public, I never really believe them. I mean, if you don’t poop in public, where do you poop? Do you really want to be that disciplined? It seems a big sacrifice for a little privacy. There are no ifs, ands, or butts about it, I squat firmly in the poop-in-public camp.*

Because I poop in public:

  1. I can eat whatever I want, wherever I want, whenever I want, with whomever I want.
  2. I can get messy. Life is messy.
  3. I can travel and not worry about being somewhere private by the time my bowels get kickin’.
  4. I can LIVE in a world where I’m never poop-shy.
Happy Room

A room with a toilet is always a happy room…in the end 😀

Living in a poop-anywhere world is my only option. I travel often, eat questionable food with unmatched zeal, and experience spontaneous pleasures that the poop-shy only dream about. It’s true, this line of thinking leads to both good and crappy times.** But I’m not complaining. It might be your oyster, but the world is my bathroom stall.

*I know…I couldn’t help it.
**Yeah, you really should have expected that.

Don't Flush

What NOT to Flush

Everything Falls Apart

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After returning from a long trip (journey sounds a bit much, doesn’t it?), you realize that everything you brought has been in some way affected. More specifically, everything I brought with buttons no longer works. And so much more than that broke. My portable light? Gives light no more. My sunglasses? Askew. My favorite watch which hung on a necklace? Now a pocket watch. And the flashlight at the end of my umbrella? Not a flashlight anymore. Well, actually, I later lost that umbrella because I decided to put it on the outside of my backpack….so I guess the flashlight bit is irrelevant.

Necklace Pocket Watch

The necklace broke…but now it’s a pocket watch!

You get the point. Things, as in material objects, fall apart when we push them to their limits. As I reflect two weeks after returning, I really shouldn’t have expected what I brought to come back the same. And now’s the part where you expect me to launch into some metaphor about how I’ve changed. But I won’t. I’m not sure it would be fair, much less accurate, to wax poetic about my newfound whatever. Instead, I want to think about the way that I acted, spoke, was, while traveling, and how that can be found in non-travel life.

  1. The People

I consider myself very friendly. I crack jokes in lines to lighten the mood, and always enjoy meeting new people. On my recent trip, however, I was stranger-friendly. For example, when I would sit down after filling my cereal bowl at a hostel, I chose to sit near people I didn’t know to strike up a conversation. And then I would actively join or start a conversation with them. In other words, I didn’t worry about the fact that people might not want to talk to me. I just went up to others and assumed that we would want to get to know each other. That’s not the attitude I have in quotidian life. But I imagine I would meet some pretty awesome people if I did.

  1. Embracing the New

When I travel to a new place, I am undaunted by its newness precisely because I expect it. Any odd thing I encounter, then, seems appropriate because I assume it fits into this unknown context. So when I went to the bathroom in Thailand and saw no flusher, but only a bucket of water, I wasn’t shocked. I just filled the bucket with water and dumped it into the toilet (after doing my thing).* Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy. If I usually took this approach, I would not assume that something was out of place, but rather that I didn’t yet know its place.

  1. Don’t Sweat it

Too many annoying things happen when you travel to get upset. I fell asleep on a train in France, found out I was on the wrong train, and then got off at the first stop because I figured that was the best idea. But I walked a few meters from the station, and low and behold, I found a cheap hotel! I had a comfortable rest, woke up, and made it to my destination. I got there a little later than planned, and consequently only spent a few hours in Luxembourg City, but really, that was enough. The advantages of not getting angry in difficult situations are obvious. I’ve always thought I had this talent, but I know there’s room to improve. When the Wi-Fi stops working at my new sublet, it makes no sense to get mad. I knew that the Wi-Fi would either a) work or b) not work, so it seems silly to let its non-functioning ruin my day.

If life is travel, just go with it. Because the other option is that you miss meeting someone who also loves Hemingway, that you don’t find out how much like the ocean fresh oysters taste. And you certainly don’t use the time when your plane is delayed to journal about how much all of this has most certainly impacted you. So yeah, all my buttons broke. But this journey (see, now it’s appropriate) adds up to much more than the sum of its broken buttons.

Ayutthaya Monks

These boys were so sweet! We took pictures of each other, and they waved to us as we motored off ❤

* OK, I have to admit someone did warn me about this…but it had been months before and I temporarily forgot!

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.

One Perfect Night

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Palais Garnier

A view of the chandelier and Chagall-painted ceiling of the Palais Garnier in Paris

I wish I could have seen my face as I stepped inside Paris’ Palais Garnier. I could feel my eyes growing larger, my neck tilting to catch every last detail, and my cheeks tensing because I couldn’t stop smiling. I saw women in floor-length dresses, wrapped in furs, arm-in-arm with their tux-clad lovers. I saw young girls similarly awed by the Opéra’s majesty, running about and pointing emphatically.

I walked up the grand staircase cut from Italian marble, soft light reflecting off each step. Every time I see a staircase like this, I can’t help but think that people just look sexier on staircases. Why else would Jack have that awed grin on his face as Rose descends the Titanic’s grand staircase?

I walked up and up, and entered my box. It had a place for coats, a little bench, and individual chairs overlooking the stage. I imagined myself in the nineteenth century, waiting as my friends and admirers came to my box during intermission to gossip about everyone else.

I leaned over the edge of the box, holding the column with an iron grip, straining my neck to see every last detail of Chagall’s colorful explosion on the ceiling. He painted scenes from various operas, from Carmen to L’oiseau de feu to The Magic Flute, indicating to which composer each opera belonged.  Some may think the newer ceiling clashes with the late-nineteenth century building, but I thought the ceiling balanced the auditorium in a way that paintings of nymphs and goddesses from antiquity never could.

When the curtains raised, dancers in Christian Lacroix-designed costumes sprung about on stage, telling the story of La Source, in which a beautiful water nymph sacrifices herself so that a hunter she falls in love with can be with the woman he loves. As the dancers moved, light would catch the Swarovski crystals adorning their costumes, splashing glittery light across the stage.

I felt my eyes become watery as the water nymph sacrificed herself and the two lovers embraced. I didn’t want the night to end! Descending the grand staircase and watching again as the spectators glided down the steps in their fancy dress, I beamed.  There are certain moments in life you think of and recall exactly how ebulliently happy you were. When I think of my night at the Palais Garnier, I smile, that sense of awe and inextinguishable curiosity coursing through me. A la prochaine!

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!

Obviously, I’m in love!

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This is the first time I’m doing this (and it may well be the last), but here it goes. I am going to post something I wrote in my travel journal verbatim, because, well, it’s just kind of more awesome that way. You’ll see…

wine_Granada

At Casa de Vinos La Brujidera, Granada. If you go, try the Calvente, a local white wine!

In La Brujidera Casa de Vinos, sipping Calvente, which apparently is the “local pride” of Granada. It’s nice! Doesn’t have a strong smell, but when you sip it, it’s full of citrus BANG- like a smack full of grapefruit & nice minerals. And they’re playing AMAZING jazz standards. Obviously, I’m’ in love!

OMG- I don’t usually like olives that much, but these are heaven. Salty, but not too much, with the olive taste you get from olive oil. In other words- the GOOD olive taste- they even taste a bit tangy-sweet- I WANT MORE! Spain is such a good idea! Maybe even a little pepper in these olives? Wow- it’s like I’m converting to a new religion. This bar has excellent proselytizers!

The wow-ness continues- that bread w/ the ham & melted cheese. I think I’m coming here again. Or maybe I’ll have another glass…or both. Both. (I’m really hoping they bring out another plate of tapas w/ the 2nd glass.

~

They did bring a second plate 🙂 First sip of the 2nd Calvente, just as snappy-fresh as the last glass! And the olives are still bomb-diggedy! Maybe I should move to Spain- THEY JUST started playing “C’est si bon”!!!! That’s it. I give up. This is one of those moments you look back on years in the future thinking “That’s the life”, but it is my life. And c’est si bon!! 🙂

As I read this post, sitting in a café overlooking the Atlantic in Donostia/San Sebatstián, I smile. There are things about me that will change, especially as I continue to travel, but one thing will never change. I will never abandon that joie de vivre that makes me, me!

Reflection on Sevilla

A puddle reflecting Sevilla

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!