June 12, 2008
Rural Living
I’m in rural Wisconsin this week for a conference, staying at a lovely-but-rustic nature retreat where my lodging is a hermitage that best resembles a 1-room cabin from the 1930s. There is a wood-burning stove if it gets cold (which it is, but I’m too timid to play around with live fire in my combustible surroundings), an old-fashioned refrigerator (the icebox is located within the main compartment), and a hodgepodge of mismatched rugs, chairs, tablecloths, and draperies. It’s quite charming – at least for the 3 days I’m here. There is no television, no phone, and no Internet (although there is internet and a phone at the main building)—the last of which is killing me.
The nature center is founded on the principles of spirituality and a respect for the environment, and there are several nuns living full-time at the center. Work exchanges are available where, in exchange for 30 hours of work (cooking, cleaning, landscaping, etc.) you can have free room and board. It’s a great model, and there are people here to spend a couple of months writing a book, a couple of weeks on a spiritual retreat, or even one person who has been here for 4 years after just needing to “get away and reflect for a bit”. There are even two onsite “bodyworkers” (massage, reiki, etc.).
The food is amazing, bought from local Amish farmers, and the scenery is breathtaking. The tall green grasses and wildflowers ripple in the wind, and there are deer and fawns everywhere. It’s pitch black at night, which makes the stars seem to pop out of the midnight sky.
The people here absolutely love their community, with its 2-street “downtown” area (“six specialty shops!”) and its quiet pleasures. The locally famous B&B “mansion” (a 4-bedroom residence) hosts live jazz (the owner on bass and his colleague on the keyboard, singing slightly off-key) on summer weekends and the gun club positively bursts with skeet fans. People here talk about Minneapolis being an urban metropolis, and the small towns surrounding the twin cities being “too fast-paced”. Things here are slow, and intentionally so.
It reminds me a lot of my dad’s hometown in Kansas, where things move at a glacial pace. If you can get in the mindset of appreciating the community’s ability to really listen and take their time in doing things right, then it’s a charming place to live. If, on the other hand, you really like your Starbucks—this place is not for you.
June 04, 2008
South Africa!
I'm in Cape Town, South Africa, this week for the World Economic Forum on Africa. It's part of my Big Idea work, although I have to admit that I feel like a bit of a fraud in getting paid for this trip when I would have gladly provided my services for the cost of the plane trip.
Speaking of the plane trip, getting here was no mean feat. I went from Washington, DC to Doha, Qatar (pronounced, I am reliably informed by the people of that country as "Cuttar") to Johannesburg, South Africa and then finally to Cape Town. Total time in the air + layovers: 32 hours.
On the other hand, I have to hand it to Qatar Airlines--they have the BEST in-flight entertainment system EVER. I got all caught up with my movie watching (PS - I Love You, The World Is Not Enough, Barefoot in the Park, There Will Be Blood, Dan in Real Life) and even watched four episodes of The Office--all of which I had seen before, but the combination of sleep deprivation and office humor made me laugh hysterically throughout each of them...I think the guy sitting next to me was slightly worried.
Other observations: Qatar is hot and dusty (reign in your surprise!), the security line at Dulles on a Saturday night is ridiculous (and in my overly-sensitive liberal way, I suspect the decision to screw over everyone traveling overnight to the Middle East is somehow racially motivated), Cape Town doesn't really count as Africa (as I've been repeatedly told at every opportunity by the people here), and M&Ms taste best at 2:30 a.m. when jet lag is at its worst.
So far, I've spent most of my time working on Big Idea assignments related to the WEF, but I'm having dinner tonight with a colleague from my alumni network who went to school in Sweden a year after I did. We're meeting at an "authentic Cape Town" location, which in her words means "awesome atmosphere, but don't bring a handbag because it will be stolen". And if all goes well tomorrow, on Friday and Saturday I'll have some time to myself to explore the city properly.
Posted by madchen at 02:26 AM | Comments (1)February 25, 2008
Call Me Dante
I started the day in Washington and ended it in Vancouver. Along the way, I visited the seven circles of travel hell.
One
I had to leave the house at 5 a.m. to make my flight, and on the way there I forgot for a second that I was flying out of DCA (I normally go from IAD) and managed to miss the exit from the beltway. I ended up having to exit several miles down the road and then turn around and high-tail it back to the proper exit, praying that I would make my flight.
Two
Arriving just a bit late (but not THAT late, considering), the auto-check-in machine told me it was too late to check in for an international flight (what?!) but that I could try for "standby for $50”. I used my most charming smile and convinced the guy at the counter to manually check me in (thank goodness for carry-on only). I made the flight with time to spare, proving that a 90-minute international check-in rule is stupid.
Three
I had even MORE time to spare during my layover in Chicago, when my second flight was delayed for an hour because of some sort of anti-freeze mechanical issue.
Four
And THEN I got to sit next to a guy who had absolutely no respect for the seat boundaries and kept jabbing his elbow into my side--which, I feel goes without saying, was CLEARLY within my own seating area. He was a substantial (but not humongous) guy, and I think he was overcompensating for the substantial (and very humongous) guy on the aisle, but my sympathy was limited. VERY limited.
Five
Once I arrived the fun wasn't over, because I got to spend an hour in the customs line--yay! And then when I finally got to the front of the line, I was politely, but firmly, directed over to the immigration counter. This happens about every other time I go to Canada--I don't have a work permit and technically I don't need one (it's a gray area), but sometimes they want the immigration people to give it the official okay.
Six
So off to the immigration counter I went. Well, apparently it was "immigrate to Canada day" because the line stretched out the door. With only four immigration officials working the desks, and each person taking approximately 25 minutes (I had ample time to take an informal survey), it was like watching grass grow. In fact, it took me an additional 1 hour and 55 minutes to make it though the line, only to have the immigration guy take one look at my declaration form, ask me three pro forma questions, give me the stamp of approval, and send me on my way.
Seven
I made my way out into the beautiful spring-like Vancouver afternoon (having missed my meeting by a full 2 hours), and hopped right into a waiting cab. A-ha, I thought--things are starting to look up. And they were, right up until the point where the taxi driver HIT A PEDESTRIAN. That's right--high drama in the city.
---
So that's my sad story for the day...after that things got decidedly better. I somehow got booked in the "gold" level of my very fancy hotel, which means that I have access to a swanky guest lounge with a fully stocked bar, happy hour appetizers, a stunning balcony overlooking the harbor, and a concierge team whose sole purpose is to see to my every whim. Oh, and dozens of businessmen who had the good graces to leave their wives at home. So far this evening I have enjoyed a steam bath and am now happily sitting in my plush robe in bed (which got a turn-down service while I was marinating) waiting for my room service dinner (carrot soup and cobb salad) to arrive. I have a list of spa treatments for tomorrow sitting on the desk, thanks to the concierge staff, and plan to be tucked in my 750-thread count sheets by 9 p.m. Let's just hope I don't have “hitting the pedestrian” dreams all night.
Posted by madchen at 11:40 PM | Comments (0)February 06, 2008
Home Away from Home
I've been having terrible nightmares lately, and then last night I somehow managed to stay up until the sun came up, and so you might understand, dear reader, why I was not at my best when traveling down to Key West today. When I arrived at the airport at 7 a.m., the wheel fell of my suitcase and when I stopped to retrieve it from the floor I got grease all over my hands. Then my flight was delayed, and there was a crying baby next to me, and when we finally boarded I found myself on a three hour flight in the middle seat between two grumpy people.
Arriving in Miami for my two hour layover still fuzzy headed from lack of sleep, I met a potential colleague who somehow managed to slip past airport security for a quick meet-and-greet before I hopped my next flight. Of course, being in a daze and generally unfamiliar with anything she was talking about (every other word was an acronym, squeezed between name-dropped local politicians and policy makers), the meeting was not so productive and I was happy to escape with my life and a Starbucks coffee.
The flight down to Key West was mercifully brief and I was relieved to step off the plane into sunny weather and the waiting car of my Big Idea escort for the week. I was whisked off to a late lunch, where I met other Big Idea people (again, tiredness and hunger didn't make me particularly well suited for this encounter), and then later dropped off at my home away from home.
Here is where the story turns not-so-angst-y, since I'm being put up in the “corporate apartment” of a local non-profit, and it turns out to be more like a private cottage. It's a studio apartment with wireless internet but no kitchen (note to self, buy an apple for breakfast), and a fenced-in hot tub* for my own private use. Once the sun goes down, I plan to enjoy it sans bathing suit. Just because I can.
I'm only a block away from the main drag of Duval Street, and I'm sure that later in the week I will want to take advantage of the local festivities. For now though, I'm just hoping to make it through the next couple of days alive and with a modicum of sanity.
Just like at home, each time I think there is room for a quick 20 minute nap, I recall that rescheduled Big Idea teleconference, or that email I promised to send, or that online meeting we need to prepare for the big proposal pitch tomorrow morning. This lovely cottage does, indeed, feel like a home away from home. Except I just got bit by a mosquito.
* Update:It's actually more of a small swimming pool: deep enough to need to tread water *for real* and with jets on one side that propel you towards the stairs unless you are willing to swim against the tide. Which I was (during the 15 minute period I created by ducking out of one meeting early and rescheduling another one for tomorrow).
Posted by madchen at 06:24 PM | Comments (0)December 18, 2007
Virgin America - DC to SF and Back Again
While being wooed for a potential Big Idea acquisition, I was flown last week to San Francisco to meet with the executive team. And since the novelty of taking a flight on the newly available Virgin Atlantic airline was the least stressful thing about this week, I thought I would share my review.
First of all, Virgin Atlantic is owned by mega-billionaire and all-around crazy guy Richard Branson (who somehow I repeatedly confuse with Chuck Norris). He's known for bizarre antics like tossing Pam Anderson around like a sack of potatoes, albeit in a hot bimbo sort of way. So it's no surprise that he's gone out of his way to make his latest endeavor a bit edgy.
I'll begin by noting that the airplanes are brand spanking new--which is a nice change from my recent trips on Northwest and United, whose aircraft are on the far side of saggy and middle-aged. The passageway lighting is a violet black light, the flight attendants are spunky, and the bathrooms are the cleanest I've seen in years. They even offer Method hand soap.
I especially love their entertainment system, called Red. Not only does it allow you to watch live television* for free, pay for a wide variety of movies-on-demand, order food from the touch screen, listen to music videos, and watch the flight progress on Google maps--you can also play games like Mah Jongg!**
But possibly the best upgrade is the flight safety video. I appreciate the cartoon matador who doesn't know how to fasten a seat belt and the bull who scoffs at his ignorance. The bespectacled nun with the iPod, laptop computer, playstation, and wireless router is priceless, and the rest of the standard "if we crash into the water" part is mercifully brief.***
I will definitely take Virgin America again, and next time I'm going to try first class. The massage chairs convinced me.
* Granted, the live television thing has a few kinks to be worked out. On a six hour flight, I never once got to see a show all the way through. It kept freezing, or completely dropping the signal. But I have high hopes for the future.
** You can play games on the touch screen on the seatback in front of you. But do that only if you are willing to incur the wrath of the person sitting in front of you--or develop a lighter touch than me.
*** It is not brief enough, however, when a person--possibly me--is desperate to go to sleep as a result of the absolutely crazy holiday party attended the previous night. This party--which was like no other corporate party I have ever heard of, unless Studio 54 threw a Christmas mixer in 1977--included 500 of San Francisco's hippest designers, a copious amount of vodka, a famous photographer taking incredible shots of guests dressed up at harem girls and maharajas, and more than a few lines of blow. Everyone went home with someone. Everyone. And I'm pretty sure that a fair number of these people left the next morning without knowing their new friend's name.
Posted by madchen at 12:38 PM | Comments (2)November 25, 2007
Don't Fly Hungover
i'm typing to you, dear reader, from the Marriott in Anchorage, Alaska. I'm happy to report that--so far at least--there are no vampires on the hunt. And it's not even that cold--although I did almost take a tumble after slipping on some sidewalk ice.
But what I really want to talk about is why it is a stupid idea to imbibe several large glassfuls of vodka and orange juice on the night before a long flight. And because there are several reasons to enumerate, let me provide a list.
1. Because you will be unable to credibly defend yourself when someone says "you acted like an idiot last night". Even when you are sure that you only acted a little silly (but in a totally acceptable way), it's difficult to get the moral high ground.
2. Because you will fail to pack for your Arctic trip in a timely fashion, and will end up dragging yourself out of bed at 6 a.m. with only 45 minutes to find your long underwear, fleece sweaters, shell pants, etc., get them squished into a manageable size, locate toiletries (in case the barren Alaskan wilderness doesn't come with pint-sized shampoos), brush and comb your hair, collect your clothes from the floor and put them on in the dark. Because you don't want to turn on the light and disturb the sleeping boy still in bed. Although after commenting on your drunken state the night before, you may feel a strong compulsion to shine the light directly in his eyes and ask how HE'S feeling.
3. Because after rushing about, you will only at the last minute remember that you are supposed to bring a camera. And five minutes of scrambling around will result on precisely ZERO cameras being located. And you will end up in Alaska without any way to record vampire-sightings.
4. Because you will feel violently ill on the car ride to the airport, and may be so distracted by your churning stomach that you park in the lot at the wrong terminal, thus requiring you to take a shuttle bus that is so bizarrely hot and humid that it will take all of your willpower not to take rolling dive from the door simply to get a breath of fresh air.
5. Because after thinking that you've gotten past the worst of your horrible hangover and have managed to sleep for most of the flight from DC to Minneapolis, you will find yourself in the middle seat of the second-to-last row in a gigantic plane. You will be surrounded by college-aged hockey players who are also obviously suffering from hangovers (albeit in a bounce-back-I'm-19 sort of way), who will talk about girls and drinking and hockey for the next 6 hours.
6. Because when the pilot says "we are expecting some moderate turbulence on our approach into Anchorage", he is not fucking around. Dear reader, I assure you that there is nothing worse than being bounced around in the middle seat in the back of an airplane while the rustling of air bags is followed by a symphony of hockey-boy retching from all directions, including the seat three inches to your right.
7. Because once you finally touch down, it will still be thirty minutes until it's your turn to deplane. And during that thirty minutes, there will be no air circulation in the back of the plane, then hockey boys will have stopped vomiting long enough to find the whole thing hilarious (if in a slightly self-conscious way), and the odor will waft uncontrollably throughout the economy section.
In short, think twice before partaking in any pre-trip frivolities. No good can come of it.
Personally, I'm taking this advice to heart and sticking with diet coke tonight, since I have another two teensy planes to take tomorrow to get to my final destination. Once there, I hope to report back on adventures to include snowmobiling, dog sledding, Native American crafts, and a thorough lack of hungover hockey boys.
Posted by madchen at 09:42 PM | Comments (2)November 03, 2007
Manifest Destiny
When I got off the plane in San Diego yesterday, I was filled with a wave of nostalgia. There was the gate where I almost missed my flight back to grad school after the love of my life broke my heart. There was the airport hallway where I first saw Janie when she was just two months old and still a bit purple and wrinkly. There was Grape Street where that cool architectural salvage store still is. There was the Coronado bridge, and there was the restaurant where I was almost proposed to. There is the beach where the Navy SEALS run around doing their Navy SEAL thing. There is the sunshine that always makes me feel happy.
I lived in San Diego for just under a year, in between college and graduate school. I was ridiculously young--just 20--and I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. I had a liberal arts degree but no skills, and I ended up working as a random office person at a small local company whose product I still am unclear about. I didn't really have any local friends outside of the social circle acquired through my boyfriend (the aforementioned love of my life). I knew I didn't want to be in the Pacific Northwest anymore, missed my friends in DC, but had nothing pulling me back in that direction. When I was offered a chance for a free ride to grad school back East, I jumped at it. That was nine years ago, and aside from visiting my family I few times immediately afterwards, I hadn't been back to San Diego since.
It didn't really occur to me when I booked this trip that I would be coming back to a place with deep personal significance. Thus I was surprised to feel bursts of emotion—ranging from general amusement to bittersweet longing and throbbing anger—at every turn. And so for the last 24 hours I have been caught up in remembering the person that I was back then. I remember her as being much nicer, more open, and more generous with her feelings. But she was also aimless, restless, and dramatic. In short, she was a girl who graduated from college too early, when she should have stuck around another two years and grown up a bit.
Not that I regret the choices I made (or allowed to be made for me). After all, the chances that life would turn out this way—having a thriving business in a cutting-edge field—were so astronomically small that it could only have happened through the combination of all those small decisions along the way. I think I probably would have stayed close to my family, and stayed connected with my friends—but the career part of my life was a total fluke and I have to be grateful that it all spun out the way that it did.
All of this history makes it very strange to be here—at a conference on growing a small business—because it's forcing me to not just be retrospective in my ponderings, but also to look forward. For the last six months I've been struggling with the Big Idea and where I see it going. For the first two years, I just wanted to see if I could do it and not starve (or live off of my ever-patient parents). And now that I've achieved those milestones of industry credibility, financial solvency, and personal respect...well, I'm just not quite sure what the next step is. But being at this conference, and being challenged with some great information and thought-provoking questions, the way forward is becoming a little clearer.
At least on the career front. When I look back at what made my life meaningful when I lived here (being totally and completely in love with someone), the way forward looks pretty empty. As much as I have grown in the past nine years, I think my capacity for true intimacy has shrunk. And if I'm honest about where I'm putting my time and energy these days, it's not in the “emotional development” arena.
Of course, when I am rich and successful and sitting on my yacht in the San Diego sunshine, I might not care. And if you promise not to talk about your feelings, I might invite you along.
Posted by madchen at 12:11 AM | Comments (0)November 01, 2007
You Can't Be Serious
Can anyone guess where I am? Go ahead, take a wild stab in the dark. No really. DO IT.
If you guessed "sitting at Gate C12 at Dulles because your flight to San Diego was returned to the gate for a replacement oil filter, causing a 90 minute delay that screwed up your connection in Denver, thus causing you to rebook on a flight via San Francisco that will arrive a full four hours later than planned" you are right!
I could not be less pleased. If you were to see me right now, you would marvel at my seemingly peaceful demeanor. And why not, since I'm about ready to collapse from exhaustion having left from my house at 4 a.m. to make my supposed 6 a.m. flight.
But you would be wrong. So wrong. Under this veneer of calm bubbles a seething cauldron of rage, kept in check only via a solid internet connection, a Starbucks latte, and a suspicion that throwing a fit (however deservedly) might get me removed from the airport permanently. And I will make it to San Diego, mark my words.
All I can say is that my bag better be waiting for me when I arrive. Although really, with my luck, I'm basically preparing myself to replace everything from the airport gift shop. Because nothing says "I'm a classy professional" like an "Witness Protection Program: You Don't Know Me" sweatshirt.
Posted by madchen at 07:34 AM | Comments (1)October 24, 2007
Still. At. The. Airport.
Good lord, why me?
Upon arriving at the Fort Lauderdale airport today (having already endured a horrid ordeal with a tardy shuttle bus driver and a rude Holiday Inn staffer), I discovered a line a the United Airlines counter stretching back to the far corner of the airport.
At first, I was relieved to see that my flight was delayed, since that meant I wouldn't necessarily miss it while standing in the check-in line. But then I realized that the reason the line was so long was that the flight was not really "delayed" so much as MIA. Rumor had it that the original plane had massive engine failure and another was being sought. The line of people ahead of me were trying to get re-routed, and in some cases were having to spend an extra night in town.
I got on the phone with a United representative--after a solid 13 minutes of negotiating their stupid voice answering system (soothing man's voice, 'I'm sorry, I didn't understand you. Please say your confirmation code again"--and was dismayed to discover that 1) our connection was bad, 2) English was probably her third language, and 3) the term 'gross incompetence" was coined just for her.
She put me on a different flight via US Airways, which should have routed me through Philadelphia. So I traipsed over to the US Airways counter, where the check-in person told me that the flight was overbooked (and had been since yesterday) and there was no way I was going to make it to Philadelphia. Moreover, she had no record from United that I had been transferred over there, and the confirmation code I had received from Ms. Incompetent wasn't showing up in the system. She handed me my ID back, wished me luck, and went on to the next person.
So I walked back to the United line, which hadn't moved six inches in the 45 minutes since I'd first arrived, when I happened to overhear another person saying that the original United flight to DC had been moved to 4:30 p.m. since they had found a plane in working order that was being flown to Fort Lauderdale at that very moment.
I cornered a Broward County Airport representative (since there wasn't a United person in sight, other than the three dealing with the rebookings a half mile away) who confirmed this news and told me to go have lunch somewhere and come back to check in later.
That's what I did, dear reader, and only had to stand in line another 30 minutes when I returned. And now I'm waiting patiently at my gate, where I have been told that the plane might leave around 5 p.m. Of course, there is nothing on the board to indicate that the plane is on it's way (a simple "delayed" is all that's next to our flight number), and so I remain suspicious.
Will Ms. Write Again Soon ever get home? Has her airport luck run out completely? Given that she only brought one outfit for two days of work (in an admittedly stupid oversight), will she end up wearing these clothes for a third day in a row? Tune in next time to find out the thrilling conclusion to Why South Florida Sucks Balls.
Posted by madchen at 03:27 PM | Comments (0)October 23, 2007
Airport Karma
I haven't been home for more than 6 days in a row since April. Every week I'm off to someplace new, or back to someplace that used to be new, or someplace that is beginning to feel like a second home. And up until last week, I hadn't had much of an issue with the necessary air travel.
Apparently, I used up my "good airport vibes" on October 15th. Because since then, the three trips to the airport that I've made have involved some combination of 1) missed flights, 2) sitting on the runway for hours at a time, and/or 3) complete evacuation of the airport because of security breaches.
Bah! I grow weary of airports, although now that I have a T-Mobile HotSpot account it's nice to be able to access the internet basically anyplace I go. And I did spend last night in the most comfortable bed I've ever slept in. I now see why the TempurPedic brand is so expensive.
Other things that are offsetting my airport blues:
-- a new nightgown that makes my boobs look spectacular (even if I'm the only one to appreciate it)
-- seeing the HOTTEST guy I have ever beheld at the airport, and realizing he was listening to Dido on his iPod
-- getting completely swept away in a new book
-- holding my own in ongoing Big Idea acquisition talks
Incidentally, have you seen the RAW (pro wrestling) Fan Nation commercial that features an honest-to-goodness female police detective who says she wants to bring one of the RAW Divas to work with her, to help with the offenders that "don't really respect women". WTF! Because being roughed up by a scantily-clad, steroid-enhanced freak would make you respect women?
Posted by madchen at 07:50 PM | Comments (2)October 19, 2007
Rolling in My Six-Fo'
I spent several days in Fort Lauderdale this week on Big Idea business. While the actual business part of it went extremely well (they've invited me back next week), I can sum up the rest of the trip thusly:
Yo so I continued to A1A Beachfront Avenue
Girls were hot wearing less than bikinis
Rockman lovers driving Lamborghinis
Jealous 'cause I'm out getting mine
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be channeling Vanilla Ice, but there it is. But wait, let's explore just what "out getting mine" means in this context.
Any guesses?
If you said "missing your first flight, sitting in the airport an extra 5 hours, staying in a scary hotel room right out of The Shining, spending $250+ in taxi fares over 48 hours, getting locked out of your hotel room, having your computer completely melt down, getting food poisoning and spending 6 hours puking up everything you've eaten in the last six months, and finishing up the trip by sitting on the tarmac at Dulles for 90 minutes and as a result having to drive home in the middle of rush hour traffic" you would be right. And perhaps psychic.
Yes, dear readers, it was by far the worst trip I've ever taken. Which means that next week when I make my return trip, I'm going to have to live it up to compensate. Anyone want to join me? I promise to keep the vomit to a minimum.
Posted by madchen at 09:56 PM | Comments (0)June 27, 2007
Saved Not By My Acts
For a long time I have struggled with my faith. Raised a Southern Baptist, my fall from grace was hard and fast and left me wondering about the nature of God and his relationship to mankind. But here, today, I am pleased to say that I have found the true meaning of life, a transcendental bliss that exceeds all others.
Yes dear reader, heaven is on earth, and it's a mere two hour drive from Vancouver. Tucked away in the snow-capped mountains of the Whistler-Blackcomb Resort, the Four Seasons Hotel is a place so glorious that I'm pretty sure angels whisper about it in awe behind Jesus' back.
My hotel room cannot justifiably be called a room. It's more a suite fit for a king, with handsome and tastefully appointed furniture, crisp white sheets of a thread count higher than my bank account, a glassed-in shower with massaging showerhead (with a separate gleaming bathtub calling out for a long soak), and even a gas fireplace by which I am sitting at this moment, feet propped up on an ottoman I would try to sneak home if I wasn't sure it exceeded carry-on baggage restrictions.
There is classical music playing in the background, the lighting is flattering and indirect (except for the 10X magnifying mirror in the bathroom which points out every pore and unplucked eyebrow, and gently points one towards the spa menu), and there is even a welcome gift waiting on my bed from my Big Idea client.
The landscape of Whistler is stunning, at least what I could see from our tented barbeque dinner out on the veranda. Several of the clients played the golf course, where they spotted a mother bear and cub. There is a heated outdoor pool, with requisite Jacuzzis and steam rooms, and enough space in my room to do vigorous calisthenics, if one were so inclined.
Walking into the sumptuous and yet understated lobby for check-in, my gaze fell over the nightly rate. I was surprised at how reasonable it was for such a luxury, but figured that it must be the off-season. It was only later that I noticed the daily room rate on the inside of the closet (which alone was equal to a studio apartment I once rented in college). Apparently, down in the lobby I had missed a decimal point—these rooms are (per night) half again as expensive as the monthly mortgage for my old condo.
I don't care if it is extravagant. I don't care if the gulf between have and have-not is widening. I am giddy with delight, with an enormous and unprofessional grin on my face. I feel like I have slipped in unaware, and get to hide out in this wonderland until I'm caught.
And I might never go back.
June 22, 2007
Wastin' Away Again in Margaritaville
I'm still in Key West.
Yes, dear readers, my flight got cancelled. No reason was given, although the general consensus based on anecdotal evidence (derived from the water cooler at my client's office) is that American Airlines is randomly cancelling flights that aren't fully booked. Bad American Airlines. Very, very bad.
Bad because it means that I have to hang out here for another 2 hours--not enough time to throw on a bathing suit and lap up some more sun, but not quick enough to just go to the airport (a 2-gate building where "dilapidated" is a kind adjective) and wait it out.
Bad because it means I won't get back to DC until 10 p.m., meaning that I won't get back to my house until 11 p.m.--thus messing up my evening plans with a gentleman caller.
Bad because it is not the way it's supposed to be. Bad because I said so.
Posted by madchen at 02:30 PM | Comments (1)June 19, 2007
Let's Get Drunk and Screw
I'm in Key West this week, where it's a different world. There is no internet access at my hotel (hence the lack of interesting updates), the entire island lost power for 15 minutes this afternoon, and there is always time for a margarita.
Even though I'm working today with a client I'm coated in SPF 45, since I got a little pink walking back and forth to my hotel yesterday. I've been wined and dined by some of Key West's most prominent citizens, and am thoroughly enjoying the pleasures of Duvall Street.
I think I *might* be enjoying myself a bit more if I was partaking of alcoholic beverages. Currently, that is a big no-no, and it makes me a bit sad to walk home past all of the bars each night and know that I will not be following the Key West mantra of "let's get drunk and screw". Sad for me.
Posted by madchen at 04:49 PM | Comments (0)May 23, 2007
Vancouver, BC
This week I'm in Vancouver for a Big Idea project (and a little vacation). The work is going splendidly, and the city is beautiful. It's been ten years since I was here on an ill-fated spring vacation with my college boyfriend (our intent was to go backcountry camping on Victoria Island--he just didn't think about the 3 feet of snow at the trail head or the hurricane coming in--I insisted that we stay at a hotel in downtown Vancouver). In the intervening years, the city has changed dramatically, some better and some not-so great. But it's still once of the nicest cities in North Amerca, and here's why:
#1 - You might run into a tiger.
Vancouver has this strange problem with tigers running about. Not tigers from the zoo so much as from people's homes and/or private ranches. I know--isn't it crazy? And it's not like it's just happened once or twice:
September 22, 2006. An escaped tiger has been caught by police and conservation officials. The tiger was being transported in a vehicle when there was a collision with a truck on the Alaska Highway.
May 11, 2007. 32-year-old Tanya Dumstrey-Soos was standing near the tiger's cage in a private zoo-like ranch owned by her fiance when the animal clawed her. She bled to death despite the efforts to save her.
May 22, 2007. A Siberian tiger cub was on the loose in the Vancouver Island community of Cowichan Lake. Police were called out to handle the 90-kilogram tiger, which was eventually captured by its owner.
How crazy is that??
#2 - Super swanky hotels.
I'm currently staying at the Pan Pacific Hotel, where at this very moment I'm lolling on a chaise lounge chair and staring at the harbor view from my 17th floor window. The room itself is plush and delightful (complete with $4 cans of diet coke in the mini bar), with a fabulous room service menu (mmm, west coast cobb salad with crab instead of chicken...) and a giant bathtub.
I might never leave, except for the hip coffee shops on every corner, the trendy boutiques lining every boulevard (I've made an executive decision to skip the Chanel store across the street), and the gorgeous weather that just begs you to sit in a cushioned chair on the balcony overlooking the water and take in the sights.
#3 - Friendly west coast people.
In the years since I've left the west coast, I had forgotten how nice people are here. Seriously, I walked back to the hotel last night and passed the police addressing a homeless person for some infraction and they could have been sharing a beer for all the cameraderie. Everyone smiles. All the time. I tried it, but my cheeks started to hurt after a couple minutes so I stopped. I have to maintain my east-coast mystique, you know. And get prepared for my trip to NYC next week, where random smiling will get you kicked in a New York minute.
Also fun - The delights of international travel (since when has Canada required traversing to the "international departures" line at the airport?), the rainforest exhibit at the Vancouver airport, and televisions in the taxis.
Posted by madchen at 10:18 AM | Comments (1)November 19, 2006
To China and Back Again
Days 5 and 6 in China were largely uneventful. I spent Wednesday catching up on Big Idea work (several hours of it that was subsequently eaten by my laptop never to return again), visiting the offices of the company that hired me to do the Shanghai workshop, and a visit to the hustle-and-bustle of The South Bund Soft Spinning Market. TSBSSM is a coglomeration of fabric sellers that hock their wares in an overwhelming wave of free-market enterprise. You can have any kind of fabric imaginable, and their tailors are only too happy to make you a Chanel knock-off overnight for the low, low price of $60 for a two piece suit. It was like heaven.
I got a Chinese silk jacket made, along with a 60's inspired cashmere coat. The suit I had made was less successful (apparently I wasn't meant to wear Chanel--real or fake) and I declined to accept the finished product. On the other hand, I did pick up several lovely Chinese silk purses (gifts for two of my lovely friends) to go with the tea I had previously purchsed (gifts for three of my other lovely friends).
Nothing else really merits mentioning about the trip, other than a VERY scary 20 minutes when the taxi dropped me off 1/2 mile from TSBSSM on Thursday with no futher directions about how to get there. It turns out that the Chinese characters written down for me (to give to the taxi driver, since they don't speak a word of English) had just the *area* of TSBSSM, not the exact address. So while the taxi on Wednesday knew where it was from previous experience, the taxi driver on Thursday just took me to the general area (which was comprised of empty streets and cold, dirty office buildings, and looked NOTHING like the actual location I had visited the previous day) and dropped me off in the pouring rain. I ended up triangulating my way to TSBSSM through use of an elaborate game of charades at three separate cigarette-stand stalls. Highly amusing, now that I have some space, but it was simultaneously terrifying (I was completely, COMPLETELY out of my element) and irritating (I was forced to wear my wet clothes the rest of the day, which included a 20-hour flight plan back to D.C.).
Anyway, I'm back home now and fighting jet lag. Somehow, it's always more difficult for me coming back home--I suspect because it's not as exciting to be back in my room, as opposed to a bright new city ripe for exploring.
I've spend a significant amount of time catching up on the Big Idea, and even managed to spend Friday night with good friends, saying goodbye to one of our group who headed off to Iraq this morning. On Saturday, I finally got around to unpacking my suitcase and cleaning up my room with the help of Janie, who insisted that *she* be allowed to sweep up the cat litter tracked around the hardwood floors. What can I say? She's been trained well.
One unexpected development was an impromptu date with Mr. Bethesda on Saturday. Good times were had by all, let me assure you. And in an even MORE strange development, he's coming over for Thanksgiving dinner. Rest assured, it's more of a "he doesn't have any other place to go" thing than a "oh, it might be serious!" thing. But still.
And...I have tentative plans with two boys (let's call them Mr. Doctor--he's actually a Ph.D., but I like to call him Doctor anyway--and Mr. Pilot, who's name is self-explanatory). I went out with these gentlemen the week before I left for Shanghai (on separate dates, just so we're clear) and both went surprisingly well. So now there are 3.5 boys (Mr. FWB is the .5 here) being juggled. Thank goodness they have VERY different names, since I fear calling one by the other's name. A delightful problem to have, I admit.
Posted by madchen at 09:04 PM | Comments (2)November 14, 2006
China--Day Four**
**Alternative title: Disillusionment
I just finished the second (and final) day of the Big Idea workshop. After all the work I put into it, and all the stress associated with the project, and all the anticipation of coming to Shanghai, and all the tension about whether or not I could perform up to everyone's standards, I feel like I might have a nervous breakdown.
It's all over now, and I'm drained, exhausted, and perhaps on the verge of tears. Overall I think it went well, and I think there is a fair chance that the company will invite me back for another round in the spring. And in general, the evalutation forms were complimentary--but certainly not outstanding. In fact, there was one participant who even marked "disagree" on the item "workshop leader is knowledgable about the subject matter". And another person marked "disagree" on the item "workshop leader has an effective presenation style". Harumph. It's those comments that make the 90% of the favorable replies feel like cheap pity scores, when I know that I did a damn fine job considering all the factors at play.
I remember feeling the same way after finishing up teaching a class while I was in grad school. There was such a feeling of relief when the semester was over, and yet knowing that the comments would inevitably include some poor scores (after all, I am not a natural teacher) made me feel like the whole thing was a waste of my time (and everyone else's). In this case, however, I was MUCH better prepared, and I know deep down that some of the criticism is really a reflection of the company who hired me (and who told me how to approach the topic) and not me. But right now it's a very lonely feeling, and I'm tempted to take the rest of the evening and just feel sorry for myself.
On the other hand, I'm meeting the a representative from the company for dinner in 20 minutes, so perhaps I better cram all my self pity into the next 15 minutes, so I have 5 minutes to recover and put on a fresh coat of make-up before the evening meal. (Incidentally, I will be going on a strict diet when I return--I have been stuffed full of delicious Chinese fare every 20 minutes by various hospitable guests, and it is definitely showing.)
I'm sure the payment (in cash!) will help me feel better about myself. And if that doesn't work, I suppose I can always go downstairs to the spa for another round of breast massage.
Update: It's true, having thousands of dollars in your purse DOES make a person feel better! And the host of the workshop was very complimentary about my role as a workshop leader. So all is well again, and I think I may take the rest of the night off from the Big Idea and try to get back on track with my NaNoWriMo project--which is WOEFULLY out of date.
Posted by madchen at 04:28 AM | Comments (0)November 13, 2006
China—Days Two and Three*
*Alternatively titled: Molested in Shanghai
Sunday was my day to explore Shanghai. I was met at 9:30 a.m. by a bright, chipper 23-year old by the name of Jackie, who graciously took me to see all of Shanghai's most prominent attractions. I saw the Oriental Tower, a monstrosity of ugly design that seems to delight the residents to no end. We took a walk around Pudong, the new financial district that is all 100-story glass-fronted buildings and carefully sculpted parks, then partook of the Shanghai Sex Culture Museum, the Underwater Mysteries Tour (which was really just a few aquariums full of fish and a row of disgusting 100-year old fish in formaldehyde), the Fantastic World of Sound (a bizarre experience that neither Jackie or I understood), and the fancy underground crossing that took us under the Huangpu River from Pudong to Puxi—the "older" side of Shanghai (where the oldest things date back to the 1920s).
A nice walk through the main shopping street Nanjing donglu and then a taxi ride ultimately led us to the Old Town section for a traditional lunch. By then I was exhausted, but delighted to take the ferry back to Pudong, then a walk and bus ride back to the hotel. All in all, I managed to try out all of Shanghai's transport options (except the subway—and I'm not sure I can manage that on my own).
By then I was desperate to take a nap, but decided that a massage was a nice alternative—and one that would better serve my attempt to acclimate to the time difference. And what an experience it was! First of all, a massage at the hotel spa was surprisingly inexpensive—two hours for $60. And it wasn't just a massage—on no, there was also molestation!
(It occurs to me that some of you, dear reader, will attribute that last statement to my flair for the dramatic—but let me assure you that I am *not* exaggerating. Unless you think that a breast massage (complete with nipple pinching) is part and parcel of a Shanghai massage. Which maybe it is, but was still rather shocking. My complete inability to communicate prevented me from better dealing with the situation—I confess that my ultimate reaction was to keep my eyes shut and go to a "happy place" where my breasts weren't being assaulted by a strange Chinese man.)
Aside from that very uncomfortable 15 minutes, I thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the massage, but was very unhappy to discover that the process left me bruised. (I actually took a picture of my back this morning,, where the row of fingerprints down my spine does not do justice to the pain that woke me every time I moved last night.)
After the massage I had a very nice dinner with the company that contracted the Big Idea for the whole Shanghai project—then called it a night. So ended Day Two in China.
Day Three began early, and was filled with Big Idea activity. The workshop that I'm leading was VERY stressful, but I think it went well. Nothing as exciting as an uninvited breast massage—so I'll skip the details. Suffice it to say that the participants were quite nice, with excellent English skills. We'll see how it goes tomorrow, several of the participants were quite forthcoming with how they thought I should "improve" the sessions. Oh well—can't be everything to everyone, you know?
It's about 6:30 p.m. now. I've had a lovely dinner of room service and am now watching the tail end of Vanity Fair on HBO and making some corrections to tomorrow's workshop. I still haven't figured out how to spend my remaining time in Shanghai—that will be a task for tomorrow night. For now I just need to concentrate on convincing the workshop organizers to bring me back for a second time in the spring. I am determined to take a proper Chinese vacation, this week in Shanghai is just not enough.
Posted by madchen at 06:00 AM | Comments (2)November 11, 2006
China--Day One
Dear reader, it has been an exhausting trip. I left the house at 4:30 a.m. on Friday morning to catch a 6:50 a.m. flight to Chicago. A three hour layover, and then a 15 hour flight to Shangai (in a packed plane)--and then there was the hour and a half to get through customs. And THEN an hour drive from the airport to my hotel. Where I am right now, thank goodness, because any more and I was going to just curl up and sleep on the side of the road.
Shanghai is a strange place--a mix between Tokyo and New York City. And since I'm too tired to do a proper description justice, let's instead play a fun game of "Like/Not Like". Here we go:
How China is Like Japan: Fun English translations, like "New Paragon of Urban Bedroom" real estate and "Beauty Shadow Club" night life.
How China is Not Like Japan: Japan doesn't require Americans to have a visa, and the entry into the country is quick and painless. In China, not only do you have to have a visa (which is twice the price for Americans as for other nationalities), but there are THREE different forms to fill out upon entering the country. First, a SARS form, in which you are asked to list any SARS-like symptoms you've had in the past 48 hours, including cough, sneeze, and/or snivel. Second, an entry form, similar to all other countries, where you list name, address, reason for visit, etc. Third, a declaration form, which basically asks you to re-enter all the entry form information, plus identify whether you are carrying into the country any fruit or poisonous reptiles.
How China is Like Japan: Crazy drivers that believe lanes are mostly suggestions, and men who pull their cars over to the side of the road, and then pee into the gutter like it's no big deal. Also, adorable trucks with guys and their lady friends driving together to deliver their goods.
How China is Not Like Japan: In China, they drive on the right side of the road.
How China is Like Japan: Oh the neon signs. It's everywhere, EVERYWHERE. And there are cars and bikes and people and vespas and old people pedaling giant flats of shrubbery and more people and more cars everywhere you look.
How China is Not Like Japan: I don't remember Japanese drivers using their horns with such frequent, not-so-friendly vigor. From my hotel room on the 10th floor, the cacophony outside is distinctly New York-ish.
How China is Like Japan: Two words: Picture Menus. Thank goodness, because there were several things I would have ordered based on their descriptions that were totally revolting in the picture. And I'm not a picky eater by any means, but there is something about jellied meats that just doesn't sit well.
How China is Not Like Japan: I was secretly hoping that Shanghai food would be more like Japanese food. I love ramen noodle bowls (the real Japanese kind, not the kind you get for $0.08 a piece at Safeway) and everything that goes along with it. And maybe I was missing something, but the pork and vegetable rolls I got tonight more resembled a deep fat fried roll of lunch meat (with a sprig of cabbage in the middle for good measure) than an exotic foreign food.
How China is Like Japan: EVERYONE SMOKES. Even during meals. Between bites. From gold cigarette holders.
How China is Not Like Japan: Nope, the smoking is JUST LIKE JAPAN.
How China is Like Japan: Fancy toilets, with Star Trek control panels. Bidet options include "hip cleaning" (with a nice picture of a spurt of water between the buttocks) and "for women" which I can only assume means a different location for the spurting. There is a drying option, and a caution about the heat level--which makes me VERY nervous about trying the whole thing out.**
How China is Not Like Japan: As far as I can tell, there isn't soft core porn on any of the television channels. But it's early yet, so perhaps in a few hours this will, indeed, become just like Japan.
Ok, that's all I can muster for now. I'm sitting in my room after a strange dining experience. I wasn't sure if it would be considered rude to bring a book with me to dinner, so I went unarmed. I was surrounded by groups of people in the middle of elaborate, multi-course (and, of course, smoke-filled) dinners. About five minutes after I ordered, the jet lag caught up to me and I had a full-on Lost in Translation experience where everything was a blur (with weird Asian techno playing in the background) and I felt very out of place. Not in a bad, uncomfortable way--just in a regular out-of-place sort of way.
So now I'm back in my room, dressed in the robe and slippers so thoughtfully provided, and greedily eyeing the bed with its fluffy white duvet and piles of pillows. Everything seems to be in order, and I can't wait to get started on my sightseeing tomorrow morning.
**But, since I consider it my duty to all my America-bound readers to give them the full vicarious experience, I will make a point to try it all out and report back tomorrow.
Posted by madchen at 05:12 AM | Comments (1)September 14, 2006
More Pictures of Hawaii
I've posted more pictures of our trip--click on the picture to see the whole album. I just realized tonight that we haven't taken any pictures since moving to the Hilton Hawaiian Village (read: resort full of rich Japanese people), probably because I've just sat by the pool and Mr. Bad Apologies has been in a conference. Since tomorrow is our last day, we'll be sure to make up for that oversight.
Posted by madchen at 02:03 AM | Comments (0)September 12, 2006
Reflections on Life at the Beach
Reflection #1
While sand may indeed be an excellent exfolient, nipples rarely need exfoliating.
Reflection #2
No matter how rigorous the sunblock application, there will always be surprising patches of red at the end of the day. For me, there are bright spots along my hairline (and especially at my temples) and a slice along the left side of my cleavage. For Mr. Bad Apologies, it's basically his whole body.
Reflection #3
It's not that there aren't attractive men at the beach. It's just that they are all with their attractive wives.
Reflection #4
I could get used to this. Oh yes.
Posted by madchen at 02:28 AM | Comments (1)September 10, 2006
Almost Paradise
The weather has been gorgeous, the ATV-ing exciting, the surf gentle, the beaches white and sandy, the company delightful. It's almost paradise. What's the problem? It's twofold:
1. Our scavenged internet suddenly disappeared on Friday night, leaving us without connection to the outside world. "But it's your vacation, " I can hear you protest, "you shouldn't need internet access at all!" Well, dear reader, you are flat wrong. Having no internet access meant we can't download the hiking maps offered through Amazing Waterfall Adventures, can't verify Big Idea meetings (I hope I'm still on for a 7:30 a.m. conference call tomorrow morning), and are otherwise inconvenienced.
2. The shark cage people refuse to call us back, thus preventing us from making an appointment to scare the living bejeezus out of ourselves. Mr. Bad Apologies chose the ATV adventure as his preferred outing and I chose the shark cage. Guess who got screwed? The third option on the table was swimming with sting rays, but frankly I find that to be more daring than the shark option.
How will we resolve these issues? (There is also the fact that teensy ants have taken over every square inch of our condo—even setting up house in my laptop so that every 17 seconds one scurries across the screen—but I've decided to prioritize this as a second-tier complaint, thus proving I can distinguish between REAL problems and minor irritants.) Well, Mr. Bad Apologies had the brilliant idea to scoot up to the roof to scam another free wireless internet signal. I can't believe we didn't think of this before. So while I’m writing this entry in the comfort of my own sofa, I will soon put on some clothes (I'm wearing a post-bathing-suit nightshirt) and see if I can make the magic happen too.
As for the sharks, we have 4 more days to find them. I just hope we're in a Plexiglas cage when it happens.
September 09, 2006
Beached
Our first day in Hawaii started early, and we were out on the beach by 10 a.m., slathered in sunblock. Since our philosophies on tanning differ, I used SPF 30 (thumbs up on the continuous spray version) and Mr. Bad Apologies used SPF 8, much to my dismay. We traipsed across the street to our lovely, virtually private beach and contempated nude sunbathing but eventually decided against it. I can't remember why, except that there was a distinct possibility that my lily white breasts might burst into flames when brought into direct contact with the sun.
Moment of confession brought on by Mr. Bad Apologies: I have gone completely off the vegan bandwagon. In fact, 30 seconds ago I was eating beef jerkey. I don't feel one bit bad about this lapse, since I'm not doing it for any particularly "moral" reason. And it's vacation anyway, so get off my back.
Where was I? Oh yes, the spontaneous combustion of my breasts. Anyway, we decided against it for the time being--at least until a time when SPF 30 could be applied in copious amounts to nether regions usually covered by nylon swim suits.
Instead we lolled on the beach until about 1 p.m.--discussing things like our future plans, the freakish number of people with dogs on our part of the beach, and the likely number of sharks within a 1 mile radius of us (I said three, Mr. Bad Apologies said, after some thought, one thousand). We swam in the shallow water, venturing only to where we could just barely stand because water turned rocky and jagged, and occasionally poked up in unexpected boulders in unexpected places, and we didn't think it would be very sophisticated to flip out when bumping into an unknown mass and wondering if it was a shark or a rock.
We came back in for lunch, and then wandered off in separate directions to relax in the air conditioned condo. Of course, "reading" turned into a nap--mine of the two-hour variety and Mr. Bad Apologies...well, I finally woke him up at 7 p.m. It's vacation, after all and if we want to sleep away the afternoon, so be it. I decided not to worry about the Big Idea, and instead did more reading. I realized, though, that my choice is a bit ironic. I'm reading "Snow" by Orhan Parmuk and it could not be more of a non-beach read. The summary:
A Turkish poet who spent 12 years as a political exile in Germany witnesses firsthand the clash between radical Islam and Western ideals in this enigmatically beautiful novel. Ka's reasons for visiting the small Turkish town of Kars are twofold: curiosity about the rash of suicides by young girls in the town and a hope to reconnect with "the beautiful Ipek," whom he knew as a youth. But Kars is a tangle of poverty-stricken families, Kurdish separatists, political Islamists (including Ipek's spirited sister Kadife) and Ka finds himself making compromises with all in a desperate play for his own happiness.
The whole thing is set in Kars, where a snowstorm has cut off the tiny town and creates a insulated, isolating, and inspiring setting. Not exactly the chick lit that I read during my last beach adventures. But I was in the middle of it when I left, and I was afraid that putting it aside for a week would mean putting it aside forever.
So now the question is: how should we spend the rest of the night? Not exactly dressed to go out for dinner (I removed my bathing suit and threw on a t-shirt and skirt, sans underclothing--shh, don't tell Mr. Bad Apologies), we aren't equipped for dinner here. Perhaps a shower--that, at least, would remove some of the sand that has gathered in uncomfortable places.
New vacation blog entry tally, as inspired by Ms. Rather Be Travelling's challenge:
Write Again Soon: 2
Bad Apologies: .25 (I'm only giving his crappy entry 1/4 credit)
(Click on the pictures to be taken to the ever-growing Hawaii photo album...more to be added as relevant.)
Posted by madchen at 01:22 AM | Comments (0)September 08, 2006
Aloha
It's 7:30 a.m. here in Hawaii. I have just finished a lemon poppyseed muffin on the ocean-side balcony of our lovely condo, and now I'm debating my next move. Mr. Bad Apologies is still snoozing in the bedroom, and all historical evidence suggests that I have a good couple of hours until he stirs.
The weather here is gorgeous, and we're only steps from the beach. We're on the North Shore, which suggests two things: big waves and buff young people with a flair for the overly dramatic break-up scene. Well, apparently the North Shore in September has neither. The waves are quite negligible (calmer than I've seen Ocean City in the summer) and Mr. Bad Apologies and I agree: no attractive men. There have been a few attractive women, all on the arms of icky, unshowered, largely too-short-yet-still-swaggering beach bums. We're hoping that once we move over to the $250-a-night swanky hotel on Monday that there will be more of "our people". You know, those who can't surf and will live to regret that expensive dinner of butterfly shrimp, fried calimari, and ahi sashimi when the credit card bill arrives.
A word on Our Place: we're renting a condo from a lovely couple who lives here year round. He's a photographer for Surfer Magazine and she's firecracker who ordered a glass of wine while waiting for us to show up at the designated meeting spot. They've only owned the condo since June, which leads us to believe that they had little hand in the current decorating scheme. Let me put it this way, the place would have been HOT in 1988. I can't even describe it to you, dear reader, but I assure you that it's a hoot. I'll try to take some pictures so you can appreciate the pink-and-black color scheme, the lit glass accessories, and the truly atrocious "flower pillow".
But for now, I'm going to work. I have a feeling these early morning hours are going to be my only opportunity to do Big Idea stuff, and since I plan on writing part of the trip off as a business expense, I probably should make it worthwhile.
(Thanks to Mr. Bad Apologies' cell phone for the picture.)
Posted by madchen at 01:38 PM | Comments (1)September 03, 2006
Views from Seattle
I've uploaded some of the best photos from my recent camping trip in Seattle--click on the photo to see the whole album. In no particular order you will see our campsite, Mt. Baker, Baker Lake, hot springs, and the Northern Cascade Loop. Fun times!
Posted by madchen at 09:44 PM | Comments (1)August 28, 2006
A Postcard from Seattle
Dear Loyal Readers,
I'm back in Seattle, having survived 4 days in the Northern Cascade Mountains with 8 of my very favorite people and approimately 22 million mosquitos. I'm totally inspired by the work that my former classmates are doing and itchy as hell. Pictures showcasing the glorious Mt. Baker and its surrounding campgrounds and glacier-fed lake will be forthcoming--for now, I'm catching up on the Big Idea from a chaise lounge strategically placed on the backyard deck of Ms. Ann's house in the lovely suburb of Ballard. The weather is a perfect 70 degrees, there isn't a cloud in the sky, and there is a plump cat perched at my feet. Every few minutes I pause and marvel at my good fortune to be living a life that allows me such amazing afternoons.
Yours in blissful repose,
Ms. Write Again Soon
PS - Did you know that there are 20,000 mosquitos for every person on the planet? That fact, courtesy of Mr. Bastish--who is, at this very moment, mid-air on his way to visit family in Michigan--was little solace when comtemplating my mumps-like appearance.
Posted by madchen at 08:37 PM | Comments (1)August 24, 2006
Off to the Races
And by races, I mean off to camping in the Northern Cascade mountains of Washington State. Seattle has been beautiful--with attractive men, delicious food, good friends, and great boutique shopping (which I have yet to partake of, thank you very much). I want to move here immediately--but I realize that I tend to have these feelings every place I go. It's something about the *newness* of a place that always gets me. This time last year I was ready to pack my bags and move to Istanbul.
Our car is packed and we're ready to go. Can I survive 4 days in the mountains with only one long-sleeve shirt? Only time will tell--fortunately, Mr. Bastish is here and a newly minted wilderness emergency responder. I have a feeling he's secretly hoping I will catch hypothermia so he can put his new skills to the test. (Incidentally, he is a lovely golden color and I can't tell if it's from spending so much time in the sun or just the dirt he's collected from living in the woods. My bet is on a solid mix of both.)
Posted by madchen at 03:48 PM | Comments (1)July 09, 2006
Wanderlust
One of my defining characteristics, and what probably sets me apart from most of my close friends, is an almost obsessive desire to travel. The more remote and more bizarre, the better. While I'm certainly not averse to sleeping in a pristine hotel room, I'm equally happy (and more able to afford) nights at a cheap hostel or sleeping overnight on a train. In fact, even now as I'm battling a major funk, I find that my brain has decided that the way to kick myself back into reality is to escape it altogether with an exotic trip somewhere.
Thankfully, cooler parts of my brain (and my pocketbook) prevail, and I'm not quite ready yet to jet off to another continent. Instead, I have been thumbing through some of my favorite travelogues (I didn't realize I had so many until I took a closer look at my bookshelves--clearly I've been sublimating more than I realized). So I was especially intrigued by an article in today's Washington Post: Expert's Picks: Travel & Adventure. The gist is that Tahir Shah -- an intrepid traveler -- lists which books best inspire wanderlust. And while reading the article did make me want to throw some things in a backpack and hit the Kenyan hillsides, I probably will just wander over to Barnes and Noble to pick up a couple of these gems:
-- Arabian Sands , by Wilfred Thesiger
-- Kon-Tiki: Across the Pacific by Raft , by Thor Heyerdahl
-- The Songlines , by Bruce Chatwin
-- Seven Years in Tibet , by Heinrich Harrer
-- Danger My Ally , by F.A. Mitchell-Hedges
-- Touch the Top of the World: A Blind Man's Journey to Climb Farther Than the Eye Can See , by Erik Weihenmayer
March 05, 2006
Girls in New York
I'm in Brooklyn, visiting Ms. NYC Rouge (every time, I want to type Rogue) for the weekend. While there are many intriguing options in NYC, we've decided to focus on just one: the lesbians.
Ms. Rouge is the self-appointed social organizer of the Park Slope Lesbian Social Club. As the group's cruise director, she has not only surrounded herself with a fun group of lady friends, but has also discovered that life in NYC is not as hard as it was last year. And since I'm in town and always up for a new scene, I've been tagging along.
Shortly after arriving last night, we trotted off to Bar Sepia, and charming little bar with fun music, good drinks, and about a dozen Social Club women. We had a fun time, chatting about life in New York, and I managed to leave without buying myself a single drink! From there we went to the Brooklyn Museum of Art, where they were having a First Saturday with free admission, live music (Brazillian Samba), and 18th Dynasty Egyptian Art. Frankly, the music was less than thrilling, but the art was fantastic (I wanted to bring one of my much-loved Amelia Peabody audiobooks and listen to the story as I walked through the section on Amarna).
Although the night was still relatively young, poor Ms. Rouge and I betook ourselves home for a full night of sleep in preparation for today's activities: lesbian brunch at Beast (home of the "best breakfast ever"), a stop by Whole Foods, and a brisk walk in the chilly, but glorious, afternoon sun.
Our trip to Whole Foods comes as my determination to fulfill one of my 50 Things has hit a snag. For despite the plethora of good-looking, fun, and funny women I met last night, #10 remains incomplete. So instead, I will be making a souffle tonight, under Ms. Rouge's watchful eye. Because not only is she an excellent lesbian, she is also quite the souffle expert.
Posted by madchen at 04:22 PM | Comments (2)February 22, 2006
Photos from Europe
While I'm home babysitting a sick, and very petulant Ms. Janie, I took the opportunity to upload all my pictures from Europe. It turns out I took more than I thought--never mind the failing battery and lack of flash, not to mention my inability to recharge because of incompatible plugs. Click on the photo to view the rest of the album. And I promise, even though there are no photos to document it, I really was in Bratislava for the weekend. I have a Slovan hockey shirt to prove it!
And just in case you're wondering how I keep Janie in line while she's sick, here's a clue: I trap her in a laundry basket that allows just enough freedom to move around, but prevents her from flailing too much when I deny her the awesome priviledge of jumping on Grandma's bed.
February 16, 2006
Travel Stats
I've slowly brought the whirling dervish of "random after-travel things to do" to heel, and life seems to more closely resemble normal this morning. As I take the first steps into "no more traveling" land, I thought I would take a minute to reflect back on the last month, through my favorite writing tool: the list.
Total money spent: $2,324.17 ($83/day)
Cities visited: 7 (Budapest, Bratislava, Milan, Riva S. Vitale, Lucerne, Basel, Berlin)
Moneny spent on transportation: $1,104.29 ($39/day)
Flights taken: 6
Trains taken: 5
Subways/trams taken: Too many to count
Money spent on lodging: $394 ($14/day)
Nights in a hostel: 12
Nights with friends: 13
Money spent on food, liquor, entertainment, and shopping: $825.88 ($29/day)
Best Purchase: Fuzzy boots in Lucerne
Caffe lattes drunk: Too many to count
Pounds gained: 6
Best city: Berlin
Worst hangover: Berlin
Next trip: After I make $2,324.17 from the Big Idea
Posted by madchen at 08:53 AM | Comments (2)February 13, 2006
Hip in Berlin
After an excruciating 8 hour train ride, I met up with Roya in Berlin on Thursday night. We were staying in the very fashionable Prenzlauer Berg district, an up and coming section of East Berlin that houses the very hip and artistic Aurora Hostel, definitely one of the nicest hostels I've ever stayed at (except for the very unfortunate lack of hot water in the late morning hours).
Our extended weekend was jam-packed with activities, which could be generalized as "The Weekend in Which Roya and Jen Looked for Jazz, Failed Miserably, and Yet Managed to Have a Great Time". These adventures included:
Friday
On Friday we did our major sightseeing, (after a quick but yummy lunch at Malzcafe), with a visit to Checkpoint Charlie and its associated musuem. We also strolled by Brandenburg Gate, and looked at one of the spots where the Berlin Wall once stood.
We heard that Berlin was a great place to hear jazz, so we used the Tip Berlin Magazine to track down multiple places to hear some live music. Friday night, after a decadent meal at Olivia, we set off to explore.
First we hit the Firebar, which turned out to be WAY too young for us, in addition to playing 30-second bits of remixed music that certainly did not qualify as jazz, unless Britney Spears has suddenly changed genres. Saddened, but thoroughly enjoying my caipirinha, we moved on to the Yorckschlösschen, where we JUST missed the end of the set (but didn't have to pay the cover charge, so it worked out ok). Instead, we got another round of drinks and sat down to plan our next move--made easier when we got acquainted with the jazz pianist who accompanied us to the next place on our list, Tango Vivo Salsa Viva. In what was beginning to be a trend, it was closed. Undeterred, our new friend took us to a local hangout, HotelBar where we found our groove and danced until 4 a.m.
Saturday
After a period of recovery, we embarked on another adventure Satruday afternoon. We started with a long walk around East Berlin, stopping at the local open air market and an English secondhand bookstore (as well as at least 2 coffees--every few steps we felt the need to come in from the cold). Nevertheless, by evening we were game to try another round of "find the live jazz". We began with Scotch and Sofa, a forgettable place where we were told that "the music man sleeps long" as the reason the advertised music hadn't started an hour and a half after we got there. We moved on to Red Rooster, which also showed no signs of live music. We decided to call it quits, and headed back to the hostel, making a quick stop at Sharazad, a shisha place next door. In bed by 2 a.m., we were determined to make the most of Sunday jazz opportunities.
Sunday
Apparently, Sunday brunch with live jazz is a common event in Berlin and we had three places to choose from. We opted for Harlem, wandering about starving until we located its locked doors. Apparently, they had cancelled their Sunday brunched, but failed to inform the Tip Berlin Magazine. Fortunately, Roya and I were saved from cannabalism by finding a charming cafe (whose name I can't remember) down a few blocks, where we indulged in a scrumptious repast.
The goal of the day was to see a movie, and we successfully bought tickets (two hours early!) to see Memoirs of a Geisha. After sipping away the intervening hours with yet another latte, we found ourselves sitting in the theatre with 10 minutes to spare when suddenly it occurred to us to ask if the movie was in English (with German subtitles). No luck--the move was dubbed. The movie theatre people were very nice, gave us a full refund, and sent us off to Potsdamer Platz where the movies retain their original language.
Little did we know that Berlin was in the violent throes of the 56th Annual Berlin Film Festival--taking place in the very same Potzdamer Platz we arrived at a mere 30 minutes later in search of a Hollywood epic. We opted instead for an independent film from Singapore called 4:30. I even managed to ask the director a question, in my mind the most important question of the film.
QUESTION: WHAT DOES THE MAN SAY TO THE BOY WHEN THEY ARE SITTING ON THE STEPS?
Answer: When the person you love dies, where do they go?
It made so many things clear, while still leaving the film ambiguous enough to allow the audience to create its own meaning and interpretation. Of course, the director immediately regretted telling the answer, and vowed that it would be the only time he did so. I felt quite smug! Anyway, I liked it, and highly recommend it, even if it was a little sad and depressing.
From the movies, Roya was insistent on trying to conquer our jazz demons one more time, so we headed off to Unique Music Lounge--arriving after nearly an hour to find that it is closed on Sunday nights. Our last shot was the A-Trane, a place the jazz piano player from Friday had recommended for its improv jam sessions on Friday night. All we knew was that it was at the same subway stop as the Unique Music Lounge, so we ended up asking half a dozen people before getting proper directions. Of course, when we got there (surprised, dear reader?), we found that--although there was indeed live music coming from inside the club--the set had only 10 minutes left. We shelled out the 3 Euros to get in, only to discover that the band, called Interplay, really was shilling a brand of "funk bossa jazz" that was, ahem, not to my liking. Thankfully it was over quite quickly, and although it ended our search for live jazz in Berlin on a low note, Roya and I managed to have an interesting conversation about American foreign policy (well, it left her pretty depressed, but I thought it was interesting).
Our dawdling over bad jazz meant that we had missed the last subway train (by 2 hours) and ended up taking a taxi home, with only 3 hours to sleep until we packed our things and headed our separate ways.
Monday
There were no real adventures today (except for the trials and tribulations of trying to pay the bill when the hostel reception wasn't open on time and I was late in getting to the airport, only to have the flight delayed), and I'm now sitting back in Budapest, where I started this grand adventure. The late-night activities have left me sleepy, so I'm off to take a nap before enjoying a nice hot shower. And before I know it, I'll be back on the plane to D.C., with dreams of my next trip dancing in my head.
I've missed you all, dear readers, and I'm looking forward to blogging from the comfort of my own room in just a few short hours!
Posted by madchen at 09:45 AM | Comments (0)I *heart* Basel, but not as much as Berlin
I'm back in Budapest, as least for the night. Tomorrow I'll hop back on a plane, take a quick stopover in Munich, and then be back in D.C. by dinnertime. Whew...I'm tired out from all that travel. And possibly from the late night partying I've been doing in Berlin.
Upon leaving Lucerne (henceforth referred to as a Total Waste of Time), I took the train to Basel. Next to Graz, Basel is the city in Europe I would most like to live in. Even in bleakest February the place is humming with activity. The Old Town area is spectacular and if all the cars disappeared you might actually believe for a second that you were back in the 16th century.
There are gads of cafes and boutiques, and a surprising number of vegetarian and organic food and healthcare shops. The tram runs hither and yon, and people laugh on the streetcorners and kiss goodbye.
Highlights of the 2 days include:
-- The absence of nausea on the train from Basel to Lucerne, unlike the VERY unfortunate ride from Riva to Lucerne. Oh the agony.
-- Accidentally knocking (ok, pounding) on the door to a church residence, thinking it was the hostel. Only upon realizing the little sign indicating that "George Christ" lived there did I furtively grab my suitcase and slink off.
-- The Kunstmuseum, one of the best smaller collections (at least in comparison to the Smithsonian--my primary art reference) I've ever seen. Each (or almost each) painting or sculpture is a gem. I'm especially fond of the second floor with the 20th century artists. As the website says, "In the field of 20th-century art, the accent is on Cubism (Picasso, Braque, Léger), German Expressionism, Abstract Expressionism and American art since 1950." The rooms crammed with works by Picasso, Klee, Rothko, Modigliani, and others moved me in a way I am rarely moved by art. At one point, there was a moment when I thought that a full figure statue by Rodin was going to come alive--I was a little freaked out thinking that the man's body was trapped, condemned to wear that same searching expresssion in perpetuity.
-- The "body wash" that turned out to be "body oil", leaving me with a not-so-clean feeling until I could locate and purchase another $10 travel-size bottle of soap. (Actually, the whole showering experience, along with the overall prices in Switzerland were more of a "lowlight".)
-- The realization (after lugging my suitcase up and down and up and down and up and then up some more flights of stairs) that I packed poorly. Next time, I will strive to bring fewer sweaters, fewer pairs of socks, another pair of shoes, and more personal care products.
-- The Bird's Eye Jazz Club, a local hangout that I visited with two girls from the hostel. The club itself is quite small, and we were able to move to one of the front tables for the second set of music, courtesy of the Andy Scherrer Trio.
In short, I had a great time, and wished I had skipped Lucerne altogether to spend another couple of days in Basel. As Carmen points out in a previous comment, the city has a Carnival festival that is a must-see. Unfortunately, the tickets for the pre-Carnival musical/folk/circus extravaganza were sold out for the night I was there, or I would have extracted the ATM card from the bowels of my bag and paid the exhorbitant price with a smile.
Nonetheless, I have to admit that my time in Basel was nothing compared to my time in Berlin...
February 07, 2006
Alive in Basel
I have filled about a hundred pages with thoughts on traveling (I take back my earlier pretentious thoughts on traveling, and instead proclaim that I love traveling because I get to leave behind all the baggage and judgments that come with being Ms. Write Again Soon at home...more on that later), genius ideas for the Big Idea, and a new and improved list of 50 things to do before I die.
All of which will be transcribed and posted later. Because, I swear, its easier for me to find hot man love than it is to hook my computer up to an internet line.
So for now, know that I'm alive and kicking, and very, very sad about the high cost of living here. Just call me,
Poor thing in Basel.
Posted by madchen at 02:33 PM | Comments (2)February 04, 2006
Why I Love Travel
I was struck by the recent entries by Mr. Bad Apologies and Ms. NYC Rouge about their hometown love for D.C. and NYC, respectively. I thought they captured the essence of how each city is different, and each has a way of fulfilling needs in a unique way.
I wanted to write something similar, but realized that I don't have an abiding passion for the near-city suburbs where I live. I tell people I'm "from the D.C. area", and only when pressed do I specify the actual location. Not that it's unpleasant or somehow distasteful to live in Bethesda. In fact, it's close to the metro (giving me quick access to the "real" D.C.) and has a plethora of restaurants that cater to every palate. It's just a hop, skip, and jump away from the beltway and I-270, making it convenient to Virginia, as well as farther-out suburbs that would be an abhorrent thought from the center of the city.
And yet...
It's not home. Not that I can readily identify a place called "home". The house in Maryland where I spent the majority of my K-12 education was nice, but I don't feel nostagic for the uber-suburbia life it presented. College in Oregon was a blip on the radar--living in a dorm room, sharing an apartment, and having my own studio apartment, all in the space of 2.5 years, did not exactly cement the place in my memory--not to mention the summers in Japan (which, although splendid in an easy-access-to-boys way, was not "home" either). From there, I spent a year in San Diego, where living with my parents and working a meaningless job weren't exactly the way I planned to start of my glamorous 20s, thus driving me to Blacksburg, Virginia for graduate school.
What was supposed to be a 2 year program, I managed to squeeze into a single 12-month period, including a 3 month stint in the D.C.-region satellite facility. I moved into an apartment with Ms. Wish to See, where we happily lived for 2 years before I decided to get into the property game.
My condo (how I so quickly managed to fill a 3-bedroom, 2-bath place still boggles my mind) was an oasis, a time when I finally felt like I was a "real" adult--but living in Silver Spring never felt like my real "home". So after 18 months, when I was desperate to leave my job, I jumped at the chance to go to Sweden for a year.
Selling my condo and spending the year in Sweden was both the best decision and one I will always question. The opportunity to travel around Europe, think about BIG issues, and meet my fellow classmates was an invaluable experience. On the other hand, the academic program itself, the loss of income, the sale of my home, and my lack of direction upon returning to the United States was disappointing and potentially disastrous.
And once again, here I am with itchy feet, wanting to get out of my rut (can 6 months in one place really be a rut?) and travel. It's not like I have the income, or need, to make this 4-week trip to Europe. In fact, it would probably be a MUCH smarter move to stay put in my little room and diligently work on the Big Idea.
But something drives me to get out and see what I can see. I look around and wonder why everyone isn't hankering to hop on a plane at the first opportunity. Instead, I see plenty of friends who are content to plan a wedding, work their jobs, and play with their dogs. Am I missing something? Is there contentment in the little things that I'm just not getting?
Maybe by traveling I'm searching for something that's missing in my life. Or maybe I'm just clued in to something that most Americans are missing. Meeting fellow travelers (none of whom are from the United States, at least on this trip), has made me realize just how isolated we are in terms of worldviews--even those of us who label ourselves "liberal". While I considered myself fairly up to date with world politics (I suppose I'm predisposed, given my political science and international relations background), I'm constantly amazed to see the hidden viewpoints so eloquently revealed by citizen travelers. It's something missing in the newspaper articles that I think America very much needs right now.
So for now, I'm happy to be homeless--or at least recognizing that my place in the world is a temporary one, and that there's a trip just around the corner.
Posted by madchen at 08:51 AM | Comments (5)Off to Lucerne
After a lovely few days in Riva S. Vitale, I'm leaving tomorrow for a couple days in Lucerne. From there, I'll either go to Basel or Zurich (or perhaps an as-yet-unknown third option)--with the goal of being in Berlin on the 9th.
My time here has been refreshing, and our afternoon in Lugano yesterday provided a bit of nice shopping. I got a new watch and a pair of fuzzy shoes, which I'm wearing this very moment and can attest to their warmth.
No telling when the next opportunity to blog will be, so stay tuned!!
Posted by madchen at 07:51 AM | Comments (0)February 03, 2006
Milan! (I mean, Riva!)
I'm sitting in Riva, Switzerland--a tiny town just across the lake from Lugano. The town is tiny and perfect, reminding me of a smaller Karlskrona. Mandy and Greg's apartment is charming, with eclectic art on the walls and television that surprises the viewer with Italian, French, German, English, and the occasional Portuguese. The view from the main living room window (next to which my little bed is set up) is gorgeous, looking out to the steep, snow-capped mountains and over one side of the lake. The air is clear and invigorating (if a little brisk), and the people are cheerful and welcoming to strangers. I could see how living here could be very addictive, and I'm a little sad that there's really no place like it in America.
Mandy and I arrived last night on the train from Milan, where we spent two days. While we did indeed see the Duomo (which I am assured is the most important cultural sight in the city), we spent the majority of our time shopping and eating. Oh the gelato. I'm proud to report that no major shopping sprees occurred--because it was very tempting--although I did get a lovely leather bag, which can double as either a large purse or a computer bag. And, as is becoming our international-travel-routine, we both got haircuts from a gay stylist in a random, tiny salon. Mandy's hair is glorious, and mine is short. While she prances around with swinging locks, I'm not quite sure what to make of mine yet. I think it will be fine, as long as I can walk the narrow line between chic bob and mullet. The layers always get me.
Rather than chronologically list the events in Milan (shopping here, shopping there, gelato, more shopping), here are the highlights of the trip:
-- The Arno Hotel, which was chosen for its "inexpensive" accommodations. While the bathrooms weren't as clean as I'd prefer, Patrick the owner/operator was a delight and we were in a great location. The most arresting feature of the room was the persian cats prominently pictured on our bedspreads. I swear, their eyes seemed to follow us around the room, and in more of a menacing way than a cute way.
-- The gelato. Never having been to Italy (somehow I always pick the less "obvious" travel choices), I had only heard about the wonders of gelato. Now that I've experienced the delight myself, I might consider living in the grossly polluted and dirty city of Milan, just to have continuous access.
-- The blister on my pinky toe, which developed during the first day in Milan. It grew to the point where every step was agony.
-- The blister on top of the blister on my pinky toe, which developed during the second day in Milan, culminating in a point where I wasn't sure I could manage to haul myself off the train at our final stop in Riva.
-- The Osteria del Lazzaretto, the restaurant next door to the hotel. It served traditional (and fantastic) Italian fare, but was run by a family of Asians. Kind of weird, but the prices were great and the pizza and pasta was yummy.
And now, I'm in Switzerland, fourth stop on my whirlwind European adventure. This sleepy little town will provide me with some much-needed down time--even when I'm not bouncing around seeing museums and churches, the constant travel is exhausting. I found Milan to be especially tiring, because my brain was overloaded with visual stimuli. Everywhere I looked--from the storefronts to my bedspread--I felt assaulted with too much information. Having a day or two to recoup will be a lovely change, and hopefully will make my final burst of travel in Berlin next week a rousing success. Mandy and I are still debating how exactly to spend the week. We'll do a day trip to Lugano, and perhaps even a couple-day trip up to Lucern. Since I have to be in Berlin on the 9th, I'm thinking that I might end the week with a day or two in Zurich, because I have a feeling that trains/flights will be easy to manage from there.
The only potential challenge with Riva is its sporadic access to internet. While I'm not totally tied to email, I do need to keep up with things from the Big Idea angle, as well as make sure that my plans to meet up with Roya are still in place. Mandy has promised to take me over to the student building, where internet access should work (however slowly and intermittantly), so with a bit of luck, I should be able to get everything done in a semi-prompt manner. As a result, my blog postings will probably be delayed (if not held until I get back). Such is life in a small town, I guess!
Posted by madchen at 06:05 AM | Comments (1)January 30, 2006
Leaving Bratislava
I'm sitting in the hostel's internet room, the drizzling rain and frigid wind having driven me out of the streets. It's hard to believe that in just a few hours I'll be leaving this charming (and cheap) city for Milan.
While I approached the whole "dorm-style" hostel with trepidation, it turned out to be a wonderful experience. After writing my last entry, I had only managed to make a grocery run to Tesco's and return to my room to drop off my purchases when I met up with the two Australian girls. We decided that a coffee was in order, and headed off to one of the coffee shops highlighted in our guidebook.
Founded in 1878, Kaffee Mayer (Hlavné nám. 4) is Bratislava's most famous café, an upscale Viennese coffee shop with gorgeous cappuccinos and "apfelstrudel mit schlag". These delights may be pricey for Slovakia but are much cheaper than you'll find at Mayer's Vienna branch.
After that, Sandi and I decided to do a bit of walking around, and took in the local castle.
Bratislava Castle (Bratislavský hrad) seems a bit boxy and Lego-like, but it's still a grand, impressive structure that dominates the skyline, and an easy walk from the center. Built in the 15th century when Bratislava was the capital of Hungary, it was remodeled by Habsburg queen Maria Theresa, only to be gutted by fire and bombed in World War II, and then rebuilt during the Communist era. The castle is now home to a branch of the Slovak National Museum (Slovenské národné múzeum) with a respectable collection of Slovak paintings through the ages and a staggering array of arms and armory; entry is 60 Sk. From the castle walls you can look over the city and see a fascinating contrast of Gothic Old Town and Communist paneláks across the river. A pleasant green park on the castle's east side is a good place to relax.
Having seen my share of "respectable collections" we decided to forego the museum and just admired the view from the top of the hill. Then we saw a couple of nice churches, along the way realizing that--after a significant amount of international travel--most tourist spots seem to blend together. Bratislava's castles, churches, and museums are undoubtedly nice, they are rather forgettable in the grander scheme of things. Even a walk through the old town section was quaint, but not thrilling.
Instead, we decided to go to the opera.
The Opera in Bratislava is popular among international visitors - for its quality as well as favourable prices. The Opera of the Slovak National Theatre is located in a Habsburg-era building right in the center of the city on Hviezdoslavovo Square.
For a mere 80 SK (about $1.50), we got seats at the top tier of the opera house, to see Verdi's Don Carlos. Unfortunately, the last-minute ticket buying adventure left us with no time to locate an English summary of the plot, so we had to guess our way through it. We looked it up later at the hostel, and were quite proud to have figured most of it out.
After the opera (well, at intermission) we went to the Jazz Cafe.
Jazz Café (Venturska 5, Old Town) Live jazz every Thursday through Saturday in an intimate cellar pub setting. Interpret intimate to mean hot, stuffy, smoky and packed. Get there before the doors open at 8pm or forget about finding a table.
Long story short, there was no jazz, but a fun local band that played an eclectic mix of rock, oldies, salsa, and undecipherable Slovak music. The drinks (oh so many of them) were also nice--at least, I have vague memories of them being nice.
A late night trip to McDonalds (the thinking was that a hamburger would soak up some of the alcohol so copiously consumed and prevent a hangover in the morning) was followed by a freezing walk back to the hostel. The next morning, it became glaringly apparent that the McDonalds had NOT done its job and we all laid low for most of the morning. In the afternoon, we walked around a bit more and then set off for the ST Arena for an ice hockey match. The home team lost, which was quite sad, but I was happy to leave because I had ceased feeling my extremities early in the first period.
We called it an early night, and this morning we packed our bags and went our separate ways after a final cup of thick, warm, pudding-like hot chocolate. The Australian girls are off to Budapest, the 2 French girls are off to Prague, and the Russian girl is staying another night. We exchanged email addresses, and I hope we get the chance to meet up again sometime.
So now, because my flight isn't until this evening, I have several hours to kill. The weather is crappy (we had beautiful--if cold--weather the rest of the weekend) and there's not much left to see. While I'm tempted to go on a crazy shopping spree (this being the last of the cheap cities for this trip), I have to admit that I'm not particularly entranced by the local fashions I see (plus there is a dangerously-low 15 kg weight limit for baggage on my flight to MIlan). Instead, I had hoped to catch up on friends' blogs, but sadly I see that January has been a slow month and the entries are few and far between.
Perhaps this is the opportunity I've been looking for to get caught up on some work. I had planned on working a couple hours each day, but sadly (or not) the pull of high adventure in Slovakia delayed that schedule. And even know, as I glance over to my laptop, so sedately resting in my bag, I'm not particularly motivated to fire it up. There will be plenty of time for that later, when I return to my humdrum life. For now, I think I'll explore the internet for places to go on my next global adventure.
Posted by madchen at 06:31 AM | Comments (1)January 28, 2006
Bratislava!
After a full day of sightseeing and an evening at the International Circus Festival on Thursday, I left Budapest yesterday by train and arrived in Bratislava (capital of the Slovak Republic) last night. I tried to follow the directions to the hostel, but my lack of Slovak coins (the lady at the deli would only give me bills) and the overall lack of a Bus No. 80 (turns out I was supposed to take Tram #1--who knew?) resulted in a quick taxi ride instead.
I'm sharing a room with two other girls, both from Australia and both traveling alone. The hostel is relatively nice with free internet and sort-of clean bathrooms. Not too shabby for $17 a night, I think.
I'm about to venture outside for some breakfast. It's just after 9 a.m. and it looks freezing outside. I hope there is a nice and cozy cafe on this block, because if I don't get some caffeine in me soon, bad things will happen.
Cheerio!
Posted by madchen at 03:14 AM | Comments (0)January 25, 2006
Numb Noses
It's day six in Budapest and I'm beginning to forget what warm weather feels like--and by "warm" I mean anything above freezing. I just returned from dinner at Mongolian Barbeque, where we had what seemed like a million courses of bizarre foods (like fried cheese with blueberry sauce, cream of potato soup, cavier, smoked goose breast, and carapaccio--and that's not even counting the main course). Looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I can definitely tell that the rich Hungarian food is not being good to my waistline (or my cheeks, which are looking particularly rosy these days).
Yesterday was definitely one of the highlights of the trip so far. A and I went to Szechenyi Baths, a landmark of the city. For a mere $13, we got full access to the mineral baths (all dozen or so of them, at various temperatures), the steam room (which was so crowded we just stood like sheep until the sweat started running down our faces), and the outdoor thermal pools--the best of them all.
Surrounded by the buildings on all sides, from the outside pools it's impossible to tell that you're in the middle of the city. Instead, everyone lolls around on the pool steps, with head and shoulders above the water (and yet somehow not cold in the below-freezing temperatures) and the rest of the body toasty warm in the geothermally heated water. Foggy steam billows, creating a haze that prevents you from seeing 6 inches in front of your face, and then suddenly clearing to reveal the entire pool, with old men playing chess and couples in various stages of copulation (they are quite free here with the PDA).
Anyway, it was a delightful experience, topped off with a 15 minute massage in a locker room that the guide book accurately called "a scene out of the hospital in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". We returned home feeling woozy and relaxed, and exhausted in the way that only results from hours spent in warm water.
And finally! I've made plans for this weekend...that's right, I'll be visiting Bratislava, the charming capital city of Slovenia. I know next-to-nothing about the city, which will make it interesting. My first solo trip!!
Posted by madchen at 04:34 PM | Comments (1)January 23, 2006
Dancing with Hungarians
Today was chock-full of Hungarian goodness. A and I spent the morning and early afternoon at the Budapest History Museum, which is a random assortment of Budapest History, from prehistoric times to after World War II. Strangely enough, there was no discernable chronology to the museum, with the prehistoric times on the 3rd floor, the 1st and 2nd floor dedicated to the Middle Ages (with a temporary exhibit on the 2nd floor dedicated to the Rennaisance era), and the Medieval Age in the basement, where we also saw the chapel and cellars of the Middle Ages palace.
Thankfully, there was a LOT of information in English, so after giggling about the statues, A and I were able to take it all in. I've decided that, overall, Budapest's history is too complex for anyone but a Budapest history buff to understand. From my 2 hours in the history museum, I'm convinced that the government completely changed every 10 years, not to mention all the invading armies, class warfare, and religious animosity. The trick to enjoying the museum was to just go with the flow and not try to understand it too much.
After that, we hopped over to the Grand Market Hall (also called the Central Market Hall) for a quick lunch of sandwiches. The marketplace isn't heated, and the bitter cold (it was about 25 degrees with a driving wind) drove us quickly out, after a brisk walk around the stalls. From there, we sought out a tea shop, where we each had a fragrant pot of tea (A had spiced apple, I had senchu citrus). It was a bizarre experience to be having tea in an asian-inspired tea house, in Budapest, with Cajun zydecco playing in the background.
Fleeing the freezing streets, we took the subway back home--or at least, I did. A got off the subway early to attend a lecture on something related to The End of American Hegemony and Its Implications for the Future of the World. I decided that, since I had been up since 4 a.m. (I blame residual jet lag AND the pizza I had for dinner), I would instead take a nap...because, the best part of the day was about to begin.
Tonight, A&N and I joined a Hungarian family (all 20 of them) to celebrate the 52nd anniversary of one of the patriarchs of the family. The couple was adorable and hilarious, and spoke fluent English (as did many of their family members). A&N knew their son and his wife from N's work, and so we met the smaller group for dinner. Over a mammoth meal of turkey and vegetables, we got to hear all about their lives. They were both refugees in the war, and met in a Yugoslavian camp. They immigrated to the United States in 1958, but still have most of their family here in Hungary. Now that their son is posted here, they've come back to visit and see all the relatives again. Somehow we were all invited to the party, at Club Kameleon.
That's right, the 70+ couple had their anniversary party at a club, where the dancing started at 10 p.m. and was still going strong by the time we bowed out at midnight. Apparently, the club's live band plays 50's rock (with a little modern country and other miscellany thrown in) every Monday night. And let me tell you, the crowd knows how to dance--and I mean full-on swing and shag and charleston and two-step. I myself was taken for a 3-song spin with one of the guys in the family. While I have no idea how to swing dance, he was an excellent lead. A said I looked like I knew what I was doing, which could NOT be farther from the truth--in fact, most of the time I was so dizzy from all the twirling that I was afraid I might fall over (or at least step on his feet). Nonetheless, I had a GREAT time--one of those experiences that you would NEVER get without knowing the locals.
Now it's almost 2 a.m. and I'm ready for bed. A has a class tomorrow morning, so I'll get to sleep in before we try out the famous Budapest baths. Then it will be time to decide how I'm going to spend my weekend, with the goal of getting to Milan on the 30th. And if that weren't enough, I got an email from my Berlin partner, who indicated that she might bail on her part of the trip too, if a workshop in Arhus pans out. Grr.
On a totally side note, I also received a notice that my paper for a conference in Graz (in April) has been accepted. Now I have to decide if it's worth paying 250 Euros for the entrance fee, plus travel and accommodations. I wonder if there's any way they will let me in for free, like last year. Fingers crossed, because I'd love to be back in Europe this spring!!
Posted by madchen at 07:17 PM | Comments (0)January 22, 2006
Budapest!
I'm here in Budapest, with the lovely A&N. They have a delightful apartment right in the heart of Old Buda, on what my guidebook refers to as "probably the most attractive street in all of Castle Hill." In fact, my guidebook even specifically references their apartment building number, as several famous Hungarian revolutionaries were held as "prisoners of status" here in the 1840s.
Aside from waking up every morning at 5 a.m., I'm having a blast. The weather was beautiful yesterday, so we did a bit of sightseeing, navigating the public transportation scene with ease (A is a pro at this sort of thing). We had a lovely lunch a new and happening place called Voros es Fehir, where I had a delcious pumpkin soup. Then we were off to Hero's Square and City Park, home of an ice rink, the famous Szechenyi Baths, and the Vajdahunyad Castle, which is really a collection of buildings, each built in a different style (Romanesque, Gothic, Rennaisance, Baroque, etc.). Quite an eclectic place.
After that, we were off to the Terror Museum. The building was used by the Nazi Party in the 1940's and after that became the headquarter of the secret service during the communist era. Today it is a memorial museum of both dictatorships and the victims. While most of the information (and all of the film) was in Hungarian, it was still a powerful place to visit, and VERY well designed.
What struck me most was one of the first rooms, which was divided into two sections, with television screens featuring scenes of the Nazi invasion of Hungary on one side, and the Soviet occupation on the other. It was shocking to see how exactly the same it looked--cheering crowds, benevolent leaders, battalions of soldiers, and pictures of the disenfranchised and persecuted. For two parties with such divergent philosophies, it was hard to tell the differences through film clips alone.
Another feature I found interesting was in the basement, next to the cells preserved from the days when they were used to house (and torture) prisoners. In a long hallway, the museum has posted 3x5 photos of all the people who actively participated in the terrors, along with their birth and death years. I looked at row upon row of these photos, trying to identify some characteristic that set them apart from the pictures of their victims posted in the cells down the hall. I was unsuccessful--in general, both sets of people looked pleasant and capable. Then I noticed that a good portion of the photos indicated that the person portrayed was still alive. It made me how they felt about the museum, and about being publicly identified as a terror perpetrator.
Afterwards, the three of us went to Gerbaud, one of the most famous cafes in town--and also on my list of 1,000 Places to See Before You Die. While it was indeed delightful, I'm not sure it qualified to be on the list--I think that Nemrut Dagi would certainly trump a chocolate shop. That's not to say that our treats weren't delicious--I thoroughly enjoyed my hazlenut chocolate torte. Yummm.
After a leisurely break back at the apartment to enjoy some wine and plan our next move, we were off again--this time to Nancsi Neni for a traditional Hungarian meal. Once again, I was delighted with my food, a chicken breast with cheese and baked apple, as well as rice spiked with sweet raisins (which I didn't expect to like at all!).
We timed the bus-trolley-bus perfectly, and arrived back home just in time to enjoy a little more wine and an interesting political discussion. Then it was off to bed to prepare for another day in Budapest.
Of course, with dreary weather and a slow start, we didn't actually make it out of the house today. We decided that it was completely acceptable to "rest" on Sunday and that we would explore with renewed vigor starting tomorrow--assuming of course that the snow, which started this evening, doesn't strand us inside for the next few days. It's been known to happen, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
June 20, 2005
Day 22: Istanbul to Copenhagen to London to D.C.
(Subtitle: Hurry up and wait.)
• 0500 – Alarm goes off. Go back to sleep while Jess finishes packing.
• 0530 – Alarm goes off again. Drag sorry ass out of bed.
• 0532 – Turn on hot water for shower.
• 0537 – Shower finally warms up.
• 0546 – Jump out of shower, throw on clothes, brush hair, pack pajamas in backpack.
• 0549 – Jess takes both backpacks and goes to the lobby to catch ride to airport.
• 0550 – Reset alarm. Get back in bed. Close eyes.
• 0551 – Knock on door. Get out of bed. Jess has left her flight itinerary on the dresser.
• 0552 – Jess leaves again. Get back into bed.
• 0730 – Alarm goes off. Hit snooze.
• 0734 – Alarm goes off. Hit snooze.
• 0737 – Alarm goes off. Hit snooze.
• 0741 – Alarm goes off. Get out of bed, straight