It was our second day in Costa Rica. Luis, our zip-lining guide, had convinced us to go horseback-riding with his buddy, Alexander, who we could find, “fifteen minutes up the mountain, just past the sign for the waterfall, then make a right after a wooden gate.”
Fifty minutes, three iffy wooden fences, six waterfall signs, two sore coxsix, and one broken Spanish conversation with another waterfall tour operator later, we arrived at Alexander’s. An efficient exchange of apologies and fees put us into the hands of Miguel, a kind-faced, gray-mustached, Spanish-only speaking mountain horseman, who lifted us on to Serreno and Camarillo, two horses Miguel would guide with a light whip, two whistles and a “Ooooohh,” all day long.
Considering the remoteness of our departure point, we were quite surprised when, around the first bend, Miguel grabbed Serreno and Camarillo’s reigns, so that they wouldn’t be spooked by the rev of a chainsaw.
“Hotel?” we asked Miguel, knowing this was one English word he would understand.
“Si, et restaurantes,” he replied.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. The only painted signs more frequent than those offering calamari or frutas, along the coastal mountain roads we drove to reach Punta Leona, were those declaring “Solda!” This shout was followed by hectars, price and brief location of the property, in Spanish and English.
"Wow," I had thought to myself. "The Costa Ricans certainly know their audience."
By this I mean, unless there was an American demand, would the country that so proudly seems to carry the banner of "#1 in Eco-Tourism" allow acres of
trees to be slashed, in an area already littered with B&Bs and a
mere hour drive from land-gobbling coastal resorts?
Perhaps Costa Ricans themselves do understand this contradiction. Because, somewhere around San Ramon, property sale signs were replaced by those promoting "Eco-Art, Local Artisan, 100% Recycled Materials." Yet, as we approached Arenal Volcano, the Solda signs reappeared.
In my opinion, it seems Costa Rica has a crucial decision to make. Do we do our best to meet the increasing tourism demand with our current resorts? Or, do we risk destroying what tourists (and potential second-home owners) find so appealing in our land: the adventure sports, clear waters, and lush rainforest flora, fauna and air? That's a choice, Costa Rica, that you will have to make. And, you still can. Because, until someone signs on the dotted line, your Solda of precious land is not final.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Check Me Out As a Guest Blogger on CheapoTravel Blog
Today, I was featured as a Guest Blogger on Cheap O Travel Blog, with the following article (LINK: http://cheapoair.typepad.com/guest-travel-blog/2011/03/global-unemployment-the-travel-industrys-salvation.html):
Posted at 05:00 AM | Permalink
Global Unemployment: The Travel Industry’s Salvation?
Please welcome guest blogger Erika from Gypseagirl.matadoru.com
While in Thailand and Cambodia last September, I observed a shift in the profiles of backpacking hostel-hoppers. Of course, you still had plenty of Thai fisherman pant and tank-top clad Gap Year twenty-somethings. The surprise was the strong showing of mid-thirty to early-forty-something European and American singles and couples.
You see, average, working Americans get two weeks of vacation per year. So, an Asian trek, plus holidays, family obligations and summer weekends, is usually too tall of an order. And, while Europeans certainly have more flexibility, with four or sometimes blissfully five weeks of holiday, at least my French friends’ employers limit their time off to ten days in a row.
Over smiley toast at communal breakfast tables, I got some answers. Turns out, most of these travelers had begun and thrived in a career in their twenties and early thirties. Due to the economic crisis, they were now unemployed, not just for a few months, but for nine months minimum.
This realization made me feel less lonely — and, lots less guilty — as I too fit this profile.
Knowing how I had made my trip happen— odd job and gift cash, a kind husband and being ok with being nearly broke upon my return — I had to know how my new kindred spirits had managed. Answers included: subletting apartments, selling luxury items, dipping into car savings, and sympathetic gifts from family. The lower cost of living in many of the Asian countries, compared to the U.S. and Europe, had also been a deciding “destination” factor.
No matter what the “how,” however, the “why” was consistent across the board. As one early forty-something American man at my hostel in Siem Reap put it: “I looked for a job for nine months, and it was all a black hole. I was so depressed, and had no energy left. So, when my girlfriend took time off from her job to travel for a year, I said, well, I’ve never been to Asia…and, when am I going to have the time to do this again?”
While in Thailand and Cambodia last September, I observed a shift in the profiles of backpacking hostel-hoppers. Of course, you still had plenty of Thai fisherman pant and tank-top clad Gap Year twenty-somethings. The surprise was the strong showing of mid-thirty to early-forty-something European and American singles and couples.
You see, average, working Americans get two weeks of vacation per year. So, an Asian trek, plus holidays, family obligations and summer weekends, is usually too tall of an order. And, while Europeans certainly have more flexibility, with four or sometimes blissfully five weeks of holiday, at least my French friends’ employers limit their time off to ten days in a row.
Over smiley toast at communal breakfast tables, I got some answers. Turns out, most of these travelers had begun and thrived in a career in their twenties and early thirties. Due to the economic crisis, they were now unemployed, not just for a few months, but for nine months minimum.
This realization made me feel less lonely — and, lots less guilty — as I too fit this profile.
Knowing how I had made my trip happen— odd job and gift cash, a kind husband and being ok with being nearly broke upon my return — I had to know how my new kindred spirits had managed. Answers included: subletting apartments, selling luxury items, dipping into car savings, and sympathetic gifts from family. The lower cost of living in many of the Asian countries, compared to the U.S. and Europe, had also been a deciding “destination” factor.
No matter what the “how,” however, the “why” was consistent across the board. As one early forty-something American man at my hostel in Siem Reap put it: “I looked for a job for nine months, and it was all a black hole. I was so depressed, and had no energy left. So, when my girlfriend took time off from her job to travel for a year, I said, well, I’ve never been to Asia…and, when am I going to have the time to do this again?”
Monday, February 21, 2011
Theft in Morningside Heights: "Respectful Debate" Stolen From Some Columbia University Syllabi?
I have always held Columbia University and its offerings in high regard. Among other factors, its professors are a 'who's who' of talk shows and bookshelves, and the speakers it attracts are world-renowned.
So, when I had the chance to take two courses from a professor there, naturally, I jumped at it. I greeted seeing the former President of Latvia and Founder of Doctors Without Borders speak there and being invited to speak at an AIDS conference there with the same enthusiasm. Finally, I was highly-disappointed when I was not chosen for a job there.
But, after today's reports of some students at a town hall meeting debating the return of the ROTC to Columbia's campus, heckling, laughing at and calling injured, decorated Iraq war veteran, Anthony Maschek, a racist, this prestigious university has stumbled a few steps down my respect ladder.
Before I can comment further, I can't help but ask the obvious: "racist"? Really? You're going to bring that overwrought-since-Obama's-election topic of race into a debate about ROTC possibly returning to a university campus, too? Okay, now we can continue.
Not that the actions of a handful of individuals are representative of an entire student body. (For example, I would never seat my friend, who is currently a graduate student there, among this jeering gallery. Nor, would I count my professor among them either.)
But, it does make you wonder if some of Columbia's professors have forgotten to include one of the main goals of a university education on their syllabi. I mean, of course, the following set of small skills: learning to clearly express one's opinion, responding thoughtfully to challenges to that opinion, and listening to, then respectfully debating he or she who may hold a different point of view from your own.
So, when I had the chance to take two courses from a professor there, naturally, I jumped at it. I greeted seeing the former President of Latvia and Founder of Doctors Without Borders speak there and being invited to speak at an AIDS conference there with the same enthusiasm. Finally, I was highly-disappointed when I was not chosen for a job there.
But, after today's reports of some students at a town hall meeting debating the return of the ROTC to Columbia's campus, heckling, laughing at and calling injured, decorated Iraq war veteran, Anthony Maschek, a racist, this prestigious university has stumbled a few steps down my respect ladder.
Before I can comment further, I can't help but ask the obvious: "racist"? Really? You're going to bring that overwrought-since-Obama's-election topic of race into a debate about ROTC possibly returning to a university campus, too? Okay, now we can continue.
Not that the actions of a handful of individuals are representative of an entire student body. (For example, I would never seat my friend, who is currently a graduate student there, among this jeering gallery. Nor, would I count my professor among them either.)
But, it does make you wonder if some of Columbia's professors have forgotten to include one of the main goals of a university education on their syllabi. I mean, of course, the following set of small skills: learning to clearly express one's opinion, responding thoughtfully to challenges to that opinion, and listening to, then respectfully debating he or she who may hold a different point of view from your own.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The Non-Reusability of the Re-Usable Eco-Bag
From Steve Madden to Stuart Weitzman to The Strand Bookstore in Union Square, New York City's retailers have jumped on the ecological bandwagon. How? By handing customers their purchases in reusable a.k.a eco-bags. This, of course, does not include the grocery stores, such as Trader Joe's, my local Steve's C Town, and naturally, Whole Foods, which have eco-bags for sale at the counter.
Or have they?
During a recent cleaning of my closet, I realized that I have quite a collection of these free eco-bags, either from my own or my visiting mother's purchases. When I mentioned this to my friend, Capucine, she admitted to a comparably grand collection. Then, we both confessed: of all of our bags, we have re-used maybe five, and not so many times.
In all fairness, I happen to have several canvas bags and a backpack that I find much sturdier and better on my back. So, I favor them as my re-usable bags, when I remember them.
When I remember them. This is, for the most part, on weekends or when I am leaving from home to run an errand. As past articles, since November of 2008 to be more precise, on the subject of plastic bag use reduction and eco-bags in New York City have stated, contrary to the suburban population or that of more car-friendly cities, whose members can store bags in trunks, New Yorkers are more "spontaneous" with their errands (http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/07/nyregion/07bags.html?_r=1&pagewanted=2 explain). And, I will add, we run most of them on foot. So, unless we've had the foresight to store an eco-bag at work or in a handbag or over our shoulder, we will be needing a plastic or paper bag from our place of purchase.
But, what if someone forced us to bring our own? What if businesses simply stopped offering them to us? Then, would Capucine and I be more likely to fold up one of our many eco-bags (they do, as a matter of fact, fold down to a size quite capable of unobtrusively fitting into a New York City woman's purse or a man or woman's messenger or gym bag) and have one on hand for a pause at the MetMarket on the way home from work or brunch or Happy Hour? All hail the 24-hour deli!
How did the grocery section of Monoprix (a.k.a. in my lingo "French Target") in the also foot-and-bike-friendly city of Strasbourg, France, get their customers to do just that? During a visit last November, after paying for my purchase, I was handed my change, my item and bid a "Bonne Journée." There was no bag on offer in sight. Turning about, I realized, every single person was either making a purchase that they could carry by hand or had a bag with them, and nobody was putting up a fuss.
So, how did they do it? Probably very simply in fact. I imagine they posted a sign stating that plastic bags would no longer be offered after a certain date, and they stuck to it. Maybe it was a small sign. But, I bet it was a big one. Monoprix, even taking into account just its grocery section, is a big store.
But, a small sign could've worked too. At least the small cardboard one at the cash register at Area Kids in Park Slope, Brooklyn stating, "We are Bagless," worked on me (http://www.areakids.com/). On my first visit, I fit my items in my purse. The second time? I shrugged at my forgetfulness and carried my item out by hand. The third? I took a canvas bag with me. Now, every time I am bound for Area Kids, I remember a bag, and have it on hand to run all of my other errands. Go figure.
Something this simple may not work for every business. Some purchases are simply too big. In this case, I turn your attention to the best friends of Home Depot, The Container Store or Ikea: delivery, handles or twine. What will do no good is businesses continuing to give us paper or plastic bags (or as another friend reminded me after I mentioned my collection to him, often doubled-up plastic bags, because business owners fear being sued should something fall out of a thinner plastic bag and, for example, hurt a customer's toe). Ah, fodder for the "Only in America" column of The Week! But, signs, and sticking to what they say, seem to be a step in the right direction.
Whatever the solution is, it's certainly not giving me another free eco-bag.
Or have they?
During a recent cleaning of my closet, I realized that I have quite a collection of these free eco-bags, either from my own or my visiting mother's purchases. When I mentioned this to my friend, Capucine, she admitted to a comparably grand collection. Then, we both confessed: of all of our bags, we have re-used maybe five, and not so many times.
In all fairness, I happen to have several canvas bags and a backpack that I find much sturdier and better on my back. So, I favor them as my re-usable bags, when I remember them.
When I remember them. This is, for the most part, on weekends or when I am leaving from home to run an errand. As past articles, since November of 2008 to be more precise, on the subject of plastic bag use reduction and eco-bags in New York City have stated, contrary to the suburban population or that of more car-friendly cities, whose members can store bags in trunks, New Yorkers are more "spontaneous" with their errands (http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/07/nyregion/07bags.html?_r=1&pagewanted=2 explain). And, I will add, we run most of them on foot. So, unless we've had the foresight to store an eco-bag at work or in a handbag or over our shoulder, we will be needing a plastic or paper bag from our place of purchase.
But, what if someone forced us to bring our own? What if businesses simply stopped offering them to us? Then, would Capucine and I be more likely to fold up one of our many eco-bags (they do, as a matter of fact, fold down to a size quite capable of unobtrusively fitting into a New York City woman's purse or a man or woman's messenger or gym bag) and have one on hand for a pause at the MetMarket on the way home from work or brunch or Happy Hour? All hail the 24-hour deli!
How did the grocery section of Monoprix (a.k.a. in my lingo "French Target") in the also foot-and-bike-friendly city of Strasbourg, France, get their customers to do just that? During a visit last November, after paying for my purchase, I was handed my change, my item and bid a "Bonne Journée." There was no bag on offer in sight. Turning about, I realized, every single person was either making a purchase that they could carry by hand or had a bag with them, and nobody was putting up a fuss.
So, how did they do it? Probably very simply in fact. I imagine they posted a sign stating that plastic bags would no longer be offered after a certain date, and they stuck to it. Maybe it was a small sign. But, I bet it was a big one. Monoprix, even taking into account just its grocery section, is a big store.
But, a small sign could've worked too. At least the small cardboard one at the cash register at Area Kids in Park Slope, Brooklyn stating, "We are Bagless," worked on me (http://www.areakids.com/). On my first visit, I fit my items in my purse. The second time? I shrugged at my forgetfulness and carried my item out by hand. The third? I took a canvas bag with me. Now, every time I am bound for Area Kids, I remember a bag, and have it on hand to run all of my other errands. Go figure.
Something this simple may not work for every business. Some purchases are simply too big. In this case, I turn your attention to the best friends of Home Depot, The Container Store or Ikea: delivery, handles or twine. What will do no good is businesses continuing to give us paper or plastic bags (or as another friend reminded me after I mentioned my collection to him, often doubled-up plastic bags, because business owners fear being sued should something fall out of a thinner plastic bag and, for example, hurt a customer's toe). Ah, fodder for the "Only in America" column of The Week! But, signs, and sticking to what they say, seem to be a step in the right direction.
Whatever the solution is, it's certainly not giving me another free eco-bag.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Shall I Escape the Snow?: A Review of The Palma Paradisus Real, Dominican Republic
In his January 30, 2011 column, White Tie and Tiaras, renowned NY Times social photographer, Bill Cunningham, introduced the 51st Annual Quadrille Ball—a charity ball held annually at The Plaza Hotel, and benefiting the Germanistic Society of Columbia University and the Institute for International Education, and on whose Junior Committee I sit—by saying: "In the late 19th century, before people could fly to the tropics, New York society held balls in the winter."
Fortunately, we find ourselves in an age where, if we want to, we can do both.
With all of the snow dumped upon New York City (nay, the entire Mid-Atlantic and Northeast) this winter, some temperatures at a mere 6 degrees Fahrenheit, and storms predicted for what seems weekly, I would bet two tickets to St. Thomas that both ball-goers and clubbers alike are longing to ditch their open-toe dancing heels for open-toe sandals.
Should the Palma Paradisus Real in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic be on your list, a few insights from my own visit last year might be of interest.
To be fair, the resort itself is lovely.
Some features include:
- grand white columns
- a tiled terrace with nightly, lively musical and dance entertainment
- rooms with canopied beds and multi-jet shower and jacuzzi
- a swimming pool that might as well be an acre wide
- and a truly relaxing, Thai-themed spa with soft water pools, and an attentive, well-trained, kind staff.
Breakfast is a full, international and local mixed buffet, served al fresco with a friendly smile, all the passion fruit you can eat, and an Atlantic Ocean view.
There are a few items, however, that can make you forget the beauty of your setting and its positive amenities.
Restaurant Reservations
Upon our arrival, Guest Services assured us that securing a reservation at any of the resort's ten or so restaurants, beginning at 9 on the morning of the evening we wanted to dine, wouldn't be a problem. "Even with a party of thirteen?" we inquired. "No problem," they repeated.
Let's now introduce the following caveats:
1. Guest Services must wait for all pre-booked reservations to load. Pre-booked reservations are ones made by travel agents.
2. Our travel agent, David Temple of Apple Vacations, never offered us the 'pre-book' option and rudely responded to my mother's complaining e-mail on this subject.
3. The dinner booking system was often down until 11AM. The back and forth from beach chair to Guest Services route became all too familiar to and loathed by us all.
4. The icing on the cake? When we finally arrived at these coveted dining establishments, for the first half of the week, we found them only half full.
Money/Change
I could get change for $100 and my new Belgian friends could get their first dollars ever at a small bank in Thailand’s Rongulua Market.
Yet, neither the Cambio Exchange, the Casino or the on-site luxury shop at Palma Paradisus break even smaller denominations. That’s not entirely true. At 7PM, the Casino could, but our cash-only scuba class was at 10AM that day. And, the luxury shop would “if you buy something." The front desk finally did do our exchange. We had to wait in line with all of the new arrivals, but they did it.
While we ultimately got our desired outcome, pray tell, what were the Cambio employees being paid to do all day?
"Free" Water Excursions
Let me clarify free. Free at Palma Paridisus means included in the “All-Inclusive” Resort all-encompassing fee, and anything that does not require a motor.
Thrilled there were so many good ones, we booked them for every day. Sunday? Cancelled due to weather. Monday? Cancelled due to weather. Tuesday? Cancelled due to weather. Welcome to a stay on the Atlantic side, where the seas and your stay are much more weather impacted.
To be fair, this is one thing that the resort can't control, and they are liable for their guest's safety. Yet, somehow, the same day that the visibilty was deemed "too poor" for our ‘free’ scuba excursion, it was not so for the paid scuba lesson participants...
Family-Friendly Facilities
My older sister and her two little children were part of our group. To ensure their good time and her own relaxation, she had spoken at-length with David Temple of Apple Vacations, about which of Paradisus Palma Real's two resorts were most family friendly. He had assured her that the one we ended up choosing—the larger one with the ocean view, not The Reserve—would best suit our needs. I guess he missed that The Reserve has nightly, included, organized activities for kids, a supervised jungle gym, and a children's pool on his tour.
All in all, we made our own fun. You have to laugh at making English words from a Spanish Scrabble board! We did manage to go on one (paid) excursion. And, two of our group did get certified in Open Water Scuba. We also developed a...passion for passion fruit and learned how easy it was to get antibiotics in DR: a phone call to a local pharmacy, $30 and a tip. Finally, to reinforce, the spa was lovely.
In sum, it was unfortunate that our Apple Vacations representative was so incompetent, and that so many of the amenities that had drawn us to Palma Paradisus Real were not executed to their advertised level.
Fortunately, we find ourselves in an age where, if we want to, we can do both.
With all of the snow dumped upon New York City (nay, the entire Mid-Atlantic and Northeast) this winter, some temperatures at a mere 6 degrees Fahrenheit, and storms predicted for what seems weekly, I would bet two tickets to St. Thomas that both ball-goers and clubbers alike are longing to ditch their open-toe dancing heels for open-toe sandals.
Should the Palma Paradisus Real in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic be on your list, a few insights from my own visit last year might be of interest.
To be fair, the resort itself is lovely.
Some features include:
- grand white columns
- a tiled terrace with nightly, lively musical and dance entertainment
- rooms with canopied beds and multi-jet shower and jacuzzi
- a swimming pool that might as well be an acre wide
- and a truly relaxing, Thai-themed spa with soft water pools, and an attentive, well-trained, kind staff.
Breakfast is a full, international and local mixed buffet, served al fresco with a friendly smile, all the passion fruit you can eat, and an Atlantic Ocean view.
There are a few items, however, that can make you forget the beauty of your setting and its positive amenities.
Restaurant Reservations
Upon our arrival, Guest Services assured us that securing a reservation at any of the resort's ten or so restaurants, beginning at 9 on the morning of the evening we wanted to dine, wouldn't be a problem. "Even with a party of thirteen?" we inquired. "No problem," they repeated.
Let's now introduce the following caveats:
1. Guest Services must wait for all pre-booked reservations to load. Pre-booked reservations are ones made by travel agents.
2. Our travel agent, David Temple of Apple Vacations, never offered us the 'pre-book' option and rudely responded to my mother's complaining e-mail on this subject.
3. The dinner booking system was often down until 11AM. The back and forth from beach chair to Guest Services route became all too familiar to and loathed by us all.
4. The icing on the cake? When we finally arrived at these coveted dining establishments, for the first half of the week, we found them only half full.
Money/Change
I could get change for $100 and my new Belgian friends could get their first dollars ever at a small bank in Thailand’s Rongulua Market.
Yet, neither the Cambio Exchange, the Casino or the on-site luxury shop at Palma Paradisus break even smaller denominations. That’s not entirely true. At 7PM, the Casino could, but our cash-only scuba class was at 10AM that day. And, the luxury shop would “if you buy something." The front desk finally did do our exchange. We had to wait in line with all of the new arrivals, but they did it.
While we ultimately got our desired outcome, pray tell, what were the Cambio employees being paid to do all day?
"Free" Water Excursions
Let me clarify free. Free at Palma Paridisus means included in the “All-Inclusive” Resort all-encompassing fee, and anything that does not require a motor.
Thrilled there were so many good ones, we booked them for every day. Sunday? Cancelled due to weather. Monday? Cancelled due to weather. Tuesday? Cancelled due to weather. Welcome to a stay on the Atlantic side, where the seas and your stay are much more weather impacted.
To be fair, this is one thing that the resort can't control, and they are liable for their guest's safety. Yet, somehow, the same day that the visibilty was deemed "too poor" for our ‘free’ scuba excursion, it was not so for the paid scuba lesson participants...
Family-Friendly Facilities
My older sister and her two little children were part of our group. To ensure their good time and her own relaxation, she had spoken at-length with David Temple of Apple Vacations, about which of Paradisus Palma Real's two resorts were most family friendly. He had assured her that the one we ended up choosing—the larger one with the ocean view, not The Reserve—would best suit our needs. I guess he missed that The Reserve has nightly, included, organized activities for kids, a supervised jungle gym, and a children's pool on his tour.
All in all, we made our own fun. You have to laugh at making English words from a Spanish Scrabble board! We did manage to go on one (paid) excursion. And, two of our group did get certified in Open Water Scuba. We also developed a...passion for passion fruit and learned how easy it was to get antibiotics in DR: a phone call to a local pharmacy, $30 and a tip. Finally, to reinforce, the spa was lovely.
In sum, it was unfortunate that our Apple Vacations representative was so incompetent, and that so many of the amenities that had drawn us to Palma Paradisus Real were not executed to their advertised level.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Excerpt from "The Little Bathroom Attendant of The Killing Fields"
The Little Bathroom Attendant of The Killing Fields
“Hello,” her little voice said in clear English, making me jump, pinning me with her big chocolate eyes. Having just come from The Killing Tree—the tree in The Killing Fields of Cheung Eck outside Phnom Pehn, Cambodia, against which the murderous Khymer Rouge had pounded children’s heads, then thrown their beaten bodies into mass graves, as their often-wrongly-accused mother’s were dragged away to their own execution—the sight of a live, gorgeous child was a startling.
“Would you like some paper?” she asked, poised to tear from the roll of pink toilet paper in her hand.
“Sure,” I smiled, having regained my composure. Nodding, she rose, carefully stepped barefoot over a partially-assembled, multi-colored plastic game on the tile floor at her feet, and handed me a small, neat, pink bundle.
Only when I took it with a “Thank you very much” did it occur to me to wonder why no adults were around....
STAY TUNED FOR THE REST!
“Hello,” her little voice said in clear English, making me jump, pinning me with her big chocolate eyes. Having just come from The Killing Tree—the tree in The Killing Fields of Cheung Eck outside Phnom Pehn, Cambodia, against which the murderous Khymer Rouge had pounded children’s heads, then thrown their beaten bodies into mass graves, as their often-wrongly-accused mother’s were dragged away to their own execution—the sight of a live, gorgeous child was a startling.
“Would you like some paper?” she asked, poised to tear from the roll of pink toilet paper in her hand.
“Sure,” I smiled, having regained my composure. Nodding, she rose, carefully stepped barefoot over a partially-assembled, multi-colored plastic game on the tile floor at her feet, and handed me a small, neat, pink bundle.
Only when I took it with a “Thank you very much” did it occur to me to wonder why no adults were around....
STAY TUNED FOR THE REST!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Extreme Sledding, Central Park
"We should get style points for that," cried Tim, as our sled spun a 360, and we watched the man we had nearly run over gracefully leap over our heads.
Naturally, Raphael had caught the whole thing on his Flip. Tim and I high-fived, grabbed the red toboggan and started climbing Plymouth Hill for another go.
Mary Elizabeth had started it all, with a message on Facebook: "New York Winter Society Goes Sledding, 5:30PM, Plymouth Hill, Central Park". That sounds like fun, I thought. I'll go, I'll still make my 8PM plans, and have dinner with Ben!
I arrived at the appointed place, a few moments tardy. Ben was stuck at work, one of few doors, besides retail stores and some restaurants, I felt, open in Manhattan. For public schools even, Mayor Bloomberg had declared an official Snow Day. But, my new Goretex pants seemed to be doing the trick so far; so, I was glad that EMS had been open! Not recognizing anyone, I decided to give an abandoned trash bag a go as a sled. I caution you to avoid protruding roots. Otherwise, good, cheap fun!
As I ascended the hill for the third time, I spotted Raphael. Over 6 feet tall with a white ski jacket, red goggles and a head lamp, he was hard to miss! Mary Elizabeth, on the other hand, was so buried under her ski mask, only when she spoke did I finally know she was there! And, she had a head lamp, too! And, then Tim showed up, a sight in an orange camouflage suit, with glowing devil horns perched upon his head. At least they wouldn't get lost in the crowd! With this crew, arrived four toboggans, two flat sleds and one Flip. I chose the bigger, red one, requested a co-pilot (Tim accepted) and, there is no better way to put this, then, "Let the Woo-Hoo begin"!
After our little stunt with the man and the 360 Degree spin, all felt empowered. First, there was the Double Stack, which was two bodies, face down, over "The Bump," i.e. the snow-covered tree root at the top of the hill's slickest chute. Second, there was the Triple Stack. One man face down, two ladies on top of him. Anyone else feel like we're at IHOP?
Third, someone discovered the skip jump a previous sledder had made. I'm not sure if Natalie or Brian went first. But, by the time Tim flew over, and Lenin and I wanted a turn, Natalie was offering us angling advice worthy of any pool shark!
Finally, there was Nine Stack, in two configurations. One was The Human Jenga, the other, a three man, six woman pyramid.
Our first three runs sent giggling bodies flying every which way, less than halfway down the hill. By the second three, we made it to the first tree before the whole stack unraveled. By the last few runs, shouts of "Grab shoulders!" "Hold my hand!" "Watch the man!" got us nearly to the bottom in one piece. Ben made it at the tail end of this. He got in three strong runs and even won a race!
Curiously no one complained of cold, even in their fingers. It was only rumbling stomachs that tore us from our little mountain!
Naturally, Raphael had caught the whole thing on his Flip. Tim and I high-fived, grabbed the red toboggan and started climbing Plymouth Hill for another go.
Mary Elizabeth had started it all, with a message on Facebook: "New York Winter Society Goes Sledding, 5:30PM, Plymouth Hill, Central Park". That sounds like fun, I thought. I'll go, I'll still make my 8PM plans, and have dinner with Ben!
I arrived at the appointed place, a few moments tardy. Ben was stuck at work, one of few doors, besides retail stores and some restaurants, I felt, open in Manhattan. For public schools even, Mayor Bloomberg had declared an official Snow Day. But, my new Goretex pants seemed to be doing the trick so far; so, I was glad that EMS had been open! Not recognizing anyone, I decided to give an abandoned trash bag a go as a sled. I caution you to avoid protruding roots. Otherwise, good, cheap fun!
As I ascended the hill for the third time, I spotted Raphael. Over 6 feet tall with a white ski jacket, red goggles and a head lamp, he was hard to miss! Mary Elizabeth, on the other hand, was so buried under her ski mask, only when she spoke did I finally know she was there! And, she had a head lamp, too! And, then Tim showed up, a sight in an orange camouflage suit, with glowing devil horns perched upon his head. At least they wouldn't get lost in the crowd! With this crew, arrived four toboggans, two flat sleds and one Flip. I chose the bigger, red one, requested a co-pilot (Tim accepted) and, there is no better way to put this, then, "Let the Woo-Hoo begin"!
After our little stunt with the man and the 360 Degree spin, all felt empowered. First, there was the Double Stack, which was two bodies, face down, over "The Bump," i.e. the snow-covered tree root at the top of the hill's slickest chute. Second, there was the Triple Stack. One man face down, two ladies on top of him. Anyone else feel like we're at IHOP?
Third, someone discovered the skip jump a previous sledder had made. I'm not sure if Natalie or Brian went first. But, by the time Tim flew over, and Lenin and I wanted a turn, Natalie was offering us angling advice worthy of any pool shark!
Finally, there was Nine Stack, in two configurations. One was The Human Jenga, the other, a three man, six woman pyramid.
Our first three runs sent giggling bodies flying every which way, less than halfway down the hill. By the second three, we made it to the first tree before the whole stack unraveled. By the last few runs, shouts of "Grab shoulders!" "Hold my hand!" "Watch the man!" got us nearly to the bottom in one piece. Ben made it at the tail end of this. He got in three strong runs and even won a race!
Curiously no one complained of cold, even in their fingers. It was only rumbling stomachs that tore us from our little mountain!
Thursday, January 14, 2010
What's Your Weekend Worth?
This evening, I was planning to try to lighten everyone's mood, in light of the recent Haitian tragedy, with a whole posting about Donald E. Goerke, Creator of Spaghettio's, who died today at 83. Guaranteed, every single one of my college classmates was raised on this tomato-meatball stew. I know it was a quick fix lunch in our home, and my mother cooked! My final point was going to be for my little sister, and every hangover that she's ever had. She's completely in mourning.
Instead, I go with a challenge.
My challenge is this: all of the money that you would normally spend during the weekend, try not to spend it. For example, Ben and I will go to brunch at least once of the weekend days, to the total of at least $37 with tip. And, the weekend is the ideal time to catch a movie. That's $24 for two. Now, I am not saying hermit! No! But, eat at home, explore what's free in the city (or wherever it is you call home), volunteer, talk with friend face-to-face (this is free!!!).
Then, whatever money you save, give to the Haitian Relief Effort.
Yele Haiti
This organization, founded by Wyclef Jean, creates projects to improve the quality of education, health, environment and community development in Haiti. To donate to to its Haiti relief efforts, go to yele.org or text YELE to 501501 to donate $5.
This is the one that I've heard most recommended by legitimate sources.
Game On.
Instead, I go with a challenge.
My challenge is this: all of the money that you would normally spend during the weekend, try not to spend it. For example, Ben and I will go to brunch at least once of the weekend days, to the total of at least $37 with tip. And, the weekend is the ideal time to catch a movie. That's $24 for two. Now, I am not saying hermit! No! But, eat at home, explore what's free in the city (or wherever it is you call home), volunteer, talk with friend face-to-face (this is free!!!).
Then, whatever money you save, give to the Haitian Relief Effort.
Yele Haiti
This organization, founded by Wyclef Jean, creates projects to improve the quality of education, health, environment and community development in Haiti. To donate to to its Haiti relief efforts, go to yele.org or text YELE to 501501 to donate $5.
This is the one that I've heard most recommended by legitimate sources.
Game On.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
The Controversy Caused By Four-Legs and Two-Feet High in New York City!
There are three types of dog people in New York City. There are Dog Owners. There are Dog Lovers who haven't become owners due to time, financial, and/or housing restrictions. And, finally, there are Dog Haters.
I begin with the final group. The Dog Haters of New York City can, primarily, be identified by "The Transformation". One moment, they are just other figures sharing your sidewalk, moving briskly between appointments in their day. Yet, one glance at you and your companion, and they seem to be tripping across non-existent hot coals! This is accompanied by a look of disdain, which says, "Dogs? You dare corrupt by pristine concrete with the paws of that filthy beast?" This expression appears, be the pup Bernese or Peakenese, teeth-bearer or teddy bear, on the end of a leash or in your purse. To the Dog Haters, neither size nor snuggle matter. Your companion is simply a yapping and crapping machine and he or she is to be despised.
Next, we move on to the group to which I pay my membership dues: Dog Lovers who haven't become Dog Owners due to time, financial, and/or housing restrictions. Before you say, "Well, I don't have enough time either, but, I have a dog!" I reply, "'Time' in the sense of owning a dog in New York City warrants its own, special definition."
And it is: one's ability to construct a schedule conducive to 6AM risings, and in the case of certain breeds, ball throwing sessions, managing to be at your desk on time, dashing home in the less than an hour most NYC Employees are allotted for lunch, and passing on staying late to complete a project or participate in X after work activity (and there really is something to do in this City every night of the week, the gym aside, if you just seek it out) to tend to your pup's natural needs. Add to this, the countless New Yorkers whose days don't begin until noon, and you begin to understand how finding rhythm can be problematic.
But, again, I know, some of you will continue to insist that it can be done. To this, I now reply, "I guarantee that you are lucky enough to have or pay for one of the following: patient and working from home or nearby roommate or partner, childcare giver/dog walker or occasional Doggy Daycare, or Gentle Octopi." I was the first during my second year in the city; I got calls at least twice a week from my roommate. I am now that pup's official aunt! The second and third are among the Puppy Financial Restrictions. And the third definitely requires a definition!
The Gentle Octopi of New York City are its dog walkers. Characteristics of these caring souls include durable outerwear (particularly colorful Peruvian hats and made-to-be-trampled-on-and-easily-cleaned walking shoes), a beaming smile, and a minimum of six additional appendages, in a rainbow of canvas and those little clips that create that tinkle telling of a pup's approach. Naturally, the Gentle Octopi must be respectfully compensated for their time and dedication. After all, aren't they caring for your best friend, or in some cases, your 'child'? Sentiments expressed to me include, "my husband wants another child; I told him we can get a dog" or "we discussed adopting or getting a dog, and decided a dog better suited our lifestyle."
Finally, there is the housing issue. Contrary to "Sex and the City," and 75% of apartments portrayed in New York City set films, not all New York 20 and 30-somethings can afford copious one-bedrooms in Soho with walk-in closets! 6-Floor Walk-Ups, Shoebox Studios or Three-Way Splits in "Chelsea" or Brooklyn, some a half hour ride from one's job in Midtown Manhattan and you can forget any semblance of a backyard, are most of our initial realities! Into none of these situations do I consider it fair to bring in a dog! And, in many cases where you happen to have enough space, you are met with a big X next to "Pet Friendly" on your lease!
The final group, the Dog Owners, are the simplest to explain. This is a rare breed of human being who, in my opinion, really has it all: the time, the partner or money, and a happy and large enough home to welcome their beautiful bundle of choice. Members of this group are also fully aware of all of the issues faced by Group #2. In most cases, they have probably been members. Thus, to the thrill of Group #2's members, if you ask nicely and offer a big smile, the Dog Owners will happily allow you to stop them on the sidewalk and give their treasure a scruff.
I begin with the final group. The Dog Haters of New York City can, primarily, be identified by "The Transformation". One moment, they are just other figures sharing your sidewalk, moving briskly between appointments in their day. Yet, one glance at you and your companion, and they seem to be tripping across non-existent hot coals! This is accompanied by a look of disdain, which says, "Dogs? You dare corrupt by pristine concrete with the paws of that filthy beast?" This expression appears, be the pup Bernese or Peakenese, teeth-bearer or teddy bear, on the end of a leash or in your purse. To the Dog Haters, neither size nor snuggle matter. Your companion is simply a yapping and crapping machine and he or she is to be despised.
Next, we move on to the group to which I pay my membership dues: Dog Lovers who haven't become Dog Owners due to time, financial, and/or housing restrictions. Before you say, "Well, I don't have enough time either, but, I have a dog!" I reply, "'Time' in the sense of owning a dog in New York City warrants its own, special definition."
And it is: one's ability to construct a schedule conducive to 6AM risings, and in the case of certain breeds, ball throwing sessions, managing to be at your desk on time, dashing home in the less than an hour most NYC Employees are allotted for lunch, and passing on staying late to complete a project or participate in X after work activity (and there really is something to do in this City every night of the week, the gym aside, if you just seek it out) to tend to your pup's natural needs. Add to this, the countless New Yorkers whose days don't begin until noon, and you begin to understand how finding rhythm can be problematic.
But, again, I know, some of you will continue to insist that it can be done. To this, I now reply, "I guarantee that you are lucky enough to have or pay for one of the following: patient and working from home or nearby roommate or partner, childcare giver/dog walker or occasional Doggy Daycare, or Gentle Octopi." I was the first during my second year in the city; I got calls at least twice a week from my roommate. I am now that pup's official aunt! The second and third are among the Puppy Financial Restrictions. And the third definitely requires a definition!
The Gentle Octopi of New York City are its dog walkers. Characteristics of these caring souls include durable outerwear (particularly colorful Peruvian hats and made-to-be-trampled-on-and-easily-cleaned walking shoes), a beaming smile, and a minimum of six additional appendages, in a rainbow of canvas and those little clips that create that tinkle telling of a pup's approach. Naturally, the Gentle Octopi must be respectfully compensated for their time and dedication. After all, aren't they caring for your best friend, or in some cases, your 'child'? Sentiments expressed to me include, "my husband wants another child; I told him we can get a dog" or "we discussed adopting or getting a dog, and decided a dog better suited our lifestyle."
Finally, there is the housing issue. Contrary to "Sex and the City," and 75% of apartments portrayed in New York City set films, not all New York 20 and 30-somethings can afford copious one-bedrooms in Soho with walk-in closets! 6-Floor Walk-Ups, Shoebox Studios or Three-Way Splits in "Chelsea" or Brooklyn, some a half hour ride from one's job in Midtown Manhattan and you can forget any semblance of a backyard, are most of our initial realities! Into none of these situations do I consider it fair to bring in a dog! And, in many cases where you happen to have enough space, you are met with a big X next to "Pet Friendly" on your lease!
The final group, the Dog Owners, are the simplest to explain. This is a rare breed of human being who, in my opinion, really has it all: the time, the partner or money, and a happy and large enough home to welcome their beautiful bundle of choice. Members of this group are also fully aware of all of the issues faced by Group #2. In most cases, they have probably been members. Thus, to the thrill of Group #2's members, if you ask nicely and offer a big smile, the Dog Owners will happily allow you to stop them on the sidewalk and give their treasure a scruff.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Speaking "Le Poisson"
If a leading expert in the field says "fishes" not "fish", does that mean that I can too? More importantly, is citing this expert, and the speech that she gave at The Museum of National History, enough evidence for a teacher or professor not to mark one wrong?
Good sleeping!
Good sleeping!
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Can a Map Really Make You Ill???
It's 11:56PM, and I am getting sick. Yes, that's physically. A souvenir from France, er, Ben, er, Ben's exhaustion in France.
But, the ill feelings I really want to discuss are my mental ones. My distraught feelings, specifically. Actually, I guess I am 2x physically, 1x mentally, ill. Because, the feeling of unease generated by my mental stress is causing symptoms similar to nausea deep within my stomach. I am not well.
Why? Because I just began my favorite annual read, The Best American Travel Writing! To begin this highly-respected compilation of the 20 plus most well-written, ingenious and timely American travel writing articles, a chosen guest editor offers his or her perspective on the current need for travel writing... and, thus, why he or she selected the articles he or she did. In 2009, this is British travel writer Simon Winchester, and he, he is the source of my mental ill. For on page xxi, he writes: "We all know the statistics-73% of American children can't find France on a map,...".
My fingers are trembling too much to complete that sentence for you, or offer you the most disturbing fact of all: Geography is no longer a class at UN International School. And, I wasn't kidding when I said that I was physically sick. And, I have a really early morning.
For all of these reasons, I can only propose that you pick up the book for yourselves. That's The Best American Travel Writing 2009. And, when you do, I ask you to consider the following questions. Are they right? Do we even need to teach Geography? I mean, according to someone I mentioned my concerns to, why would U.S. citizens need to know of other nations, when we have everything we need for basic survival right within our own borders? Why do we need it? Is it even important that your child can shout, "I know where that is!" and point at a map, when great-grandmother says, "We are Irish"? If it is important, who's to blame for this course's absence? And, should we play the blame game in this situation?
With my head spinning with the French cold remedy, Fervex (French cold, French medicine...wait, I take it for U.S. bred colds too!), I bid you all, good contemplating, wherever on the world map you are! Wait, you know, correct?
But, the ill feelings I really want to discuss are my mental ones. My distraught feelings, specifically. Actually, I guess I am 2x physically, 1x mentally, ill. Because, the feeling of unease generated by my mental stress is causing symptoms similar to nausea deep within my stomach. I am not well.
Why? Because I just began my favorite annual read, The Best American Travel Writing! To begin this highly-respected compilation of the 20 plus most well-written, ingenious and timely American travel writing articles, a chosen guest editor offers his or her perspective on the current need for travel writing... and, thus, why he or she selected the articles he or she did. In 2009, this is British travel writer Simon Winchester, and he, he is the source of my mental ill. For on page xxi, he writes: "We all know the statistics-73% of American children can't find France on a map,...".
My fingers are trembling too much to complete that sentence for you, or offer you the most disturbing fact of all: Geography is no longer a class at UN International School. And, I wasn't kidding when I said that I was physically sick. And, I have a really early morning.
For all of these reasons, I can only propose that you pick up the book for yourselves. That's The Best American Travel Writing 2009. And, when you do, I ask you to consider the following questions. Are they right? Do we even need to teach Geography? I mean, according to someone I mentioned my concerns to, why would U.S. citizens need to know of other nations, when we have everything we need for basic survival right within our own borders? Why do we need it? Is it even important that your child can shout, "I know where that is!" and point at a map, when great-grandmother says, "We are Irish"? If it is important, who's to blame for this course's absence? And, should we play the blame game in this situation?
With my head spinning with the French cold remedy, Fervex (French cold, French medicine...wait, I take it for U.S. bred colds too!), I bid you all, good contemplating, wherever on the world map you are! Wait, you know, correct?
Monday, January 4, 2010
Penny-by-Penny, Sale-by-Sale, to "Make It" in New York City
In no other city in the world, but New York City, could one piece together a sustainable living.
Reason #1: The majority of people who offer work in New York City, understand the cost of paying the basics of city living, i.e. rent, food, Con Edison, Time Warner Cable, and public transportation. And those who don't, like the ones who extend "$8/hr for a bi-lingual, childcare giver holding a valid Driver's License and a Bachelor's Degree in Special Education" or "lunch for three days, to a P.A. with technical know-how of camera, audio and set experience gained from over 5 years of well-paid jobs" on craiglist are bluntly and publicly berated for all of the web world to see.
Reason #2: Most New Yorkers are in this city for a reason. And all have either escaped, overcome, achieved, sacrificed, and clawed their way here. Damned if they are going to allow something like the Rent Man stand in their way now!
Reason #3: Everything and anything is for sale in this city; and, conversely, someone is always in the market for everything. Clothes (especially with labels), cats (that may of may not eventually turn out to have ringworm), maps to the backdoors of old speakeasies; recorded 'live' (translation, illegally taped) DVDs; stilettos, Size Drag Queen (you do the math!). Even the oldest profession in the world is for sale on craiglist, albeit and apparently, cleverly veiled. Key Words: Young, Pretty, Female Roommate; Housemaid; Roommate to Share with Couple.
Insert final notes of that Frank Sinatra here!
Reason #1: The majority of people who offer work in New York City, understand the cost of paying the basics of city living, i.e. rent, food, Con Edison, Time Warner Cable, and public transportation. And those who don't, like the ones who extend "$8/hr for a bi-lingual, childcare giver holding a valid Driver's License and a Bachelor's Degree in Special Education" or "lunch for three days, to a P.A. with technical know-how of camera, audio and set experience gained from over 5 years of well-paid jobs" on craiglist are bluntly and publicly berated for all of the web world to see.
Reason #2: Most New Yorkers are in this city for a reason. And all have either escaped, overcome, achieved, sacrificed, and clawed their way here. Damned if they are going to allow something like the Rent Man stand in their way now!
Reason #3: Everything and anything is for sale in this city; and, conversely, someone is always in the market for everything. Clothes (especially with labels), cats (that may of may not eventually turn out to have ringworm), maps to the backdoors of old speakeasies; recorded 'live' (translation, illegally taped) DVDs; stilettos, Size Drag Queen (you do the math!). Even the oldest profession in the world is for sale on craiglist, albeit and apparently, cleverly veiled. Key Words: Young, Pretty, Female Roommate; Housemaid; Roommate to Share with Couple.
Insert final notes of that Frank Sinatra here!
Sunday, January 3, 2010
The Current Nonsensicalness of International Travel: Part III: Visa Requirements
Why does Australia require its Mother Country residents to get a visa?
That's all I've got for today.
Any direction to an answer is appreciated.
LYGD
That's all I've got for today.
Any direction to an answer is appreciated.
LYGD
Saturday, January 2, 2010
The Current Nonsensicalness of International Travel: Part II
In the age of Kayak.com, Orbitz.com and Priceline/WilliamShatner.com, Heathrow Airport (where three airlines servicing one city are housed in three separate terminals) does not have an airport employee capable of accessing these sites for customers. It does, however, have a lovely woman who will advise passengers to do so for themselves.
Why would this be necessary, you ask? Say a passenger’s connection was cancelled due to inclement weather throughout Europe, the threatened strike of an airline, an airline’s attempt at operating with as few personnel as possible over the holidays (I wouldn’t want to work either. But, my sister had to, as did two other friends, and they did it, alright?) or the downsizing of Eurostar’s fleet to 75% capacity at the height of holiday travel. (Eurostar is the train whose sole purpose is to do the Channel Tunnel or Chunnel crossing, between France and the UK. Local newspapers and fellow stranded travelers, some who had been grounded in the London area for 5 days, reported route closures, lengthily halted trains, and an electrical failure, due to, as The Week put it, “excessively “fluffy” snow in France and warm, humid conditions in the tunnel”. And, say, just for ‘s and gs’ (that’s ‘shits and giggles’), said passenger has been advised by his/her carrier, that his/her best chance for arriving at his/her destination on his/her foreseen day, instead of on Christmas Eve for example, is to find another carrier, and be reimbursed for his/her original flight.
How lovely it is to try and find oneself paying British Pound 3-4 for 45 minutes of a fruitless internet access! Every single Outbound flight to my destination was taken, a fact of which, I am sure, they were fully aware. Now, let me just stop for a moment and say, I get it. Sometimes there is just nothing available. It's really the Hopeful Circus that is at the root of this posting! This, excess luggage tax when only one checked bag is allowed, and the Duty- Free Shop that greeted through the doors just beyond “Nothing to Declare” at Heathrow are my three new favorite, shameless money- making schemes.
Why would this be necessary, you ask? Say a passenger’s connection was cancelled due to inclement weather throughout Europe, the threatened strike of an airline, an airline’s attempt at operating with as few personnel as possible over the holidays (I wouldn’t want to work either. But, my sister had to, as did two other friends, and they did it, alright?) or the downsizing of Eurostar’s fleet to 75% capacity at the height of holiday travel. (Eurostar is the train whose sole purpose is to do the Channel Tunnel or Chunnel crossing, between France and the UK. Local newspapers and fellow stranded travelers, some who had been grounded in the London area for 5 days, reported route closures, lengthily halted trains, and an electrical failure, due to, as The Week put it, “excessively “fluffy” snow in France and warm, humid conditions in the tunnel”. And, say, just for ‘s and gs’ (that’s ‘shits and giggles’), said passenger has been advised by his/her carrier, that his/her best chance for arriving at his/her destination on his/her foreseen day, instead of on Christmas Eve for example, is to find another carrier, and be reimbursed for his/her original flight.
How lovely it is to try and find oneself paying British Pound 3-4 for 45 minutes of a fruitless internet access! Every single Outbound flight to my destination was taken, a fact of which, I am sure, they were fully aware. Now, let me just stop for a moment and say, I get it. Sometimes there is just nothing available. It's really the Hopeful Circus that is at the root of this posting! This, excess luggage tax when only one checked bag is allowed, and the Duty- Free Shop that greeted through the doors just beyond “Nothing to Declare” at Heathrow are my three new favorite, shameless money- making schemes.
Friday, January 1, 2010
In the Name of, well, Sisterhood!
As I stepped into the aisle, two things made my heart sink. First, there was a woman waiting at my destination’s door. Second, was the thought that the person she was awaiting, the one who had turned the happy, green “Vacant” sign into the dreaded, “Occupied” red, was also a woman. Because, in my experience on international flights, it is women who hold the dreaded Red in position for so long, that I am at a loss to do anything but ask, with all due respect, lack of malice, but just utmost curiosity: what the heck do you do in there?
I mean, really, it’s the size of an outhouse. And, there’s really not that much to do, but either take care of...business... brush your teeth or wash your hands!
Let’s break this down, hmm? The first, bladder relief: even if you have had five cocktails, this does not take five minutes. The second? All I can say is, if I can do this while upon the throne, so can you! The third? Well, the water, in my experience, doesn’t run for more than five seconds before automatically shutting off. I understand that international flights can get boring, especially when the movie selection sucks or in the absolute worst case scenario, your video console is the only one around you that does not work (flashback nightmare, flashback nightmare), but pushing a few levers to see if the water will run longer? Now seeing how many ‘free’ feminine products you can take without getting noticed on the way out? That sounds like fun! But even I would not do that, out of just pure, ol' fashioned sisterhood!
Finally, I hope that your nicotine addiction is not so great that you would risk either a. the smoke detector going off (I’m not sure what the punishment for this is; but, I betcha it’s not pleasant!) or b. being being arrested and/or fined $2,220 for disabling the smoke detector!
So, I ask again…what do you do in there?
Makeup, you say? Yes, I too am guilty of wanting not to look like I have been punched in the face either! Believe me: I win in the sleep-induced dark circle department. But, ladies, I have a secret for you. Everyone around you is too spaced out to care that you are putting it on at your seat. And, psst…terminals have bathrooms too, really big ones with huge mirrors that are much better lit.
In sum, from one woman to another: next time you are squeezed between the miniature sink and the plastic wall, think. Wouldn’t it be much more fun to go hang with the flight attendants and see if you can score a free drink? Might be worth it for the U.S. 6 bucks In-Flight cocktails cost these days!
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
The Current Nonsensicalness of International Travel: Part I
As I am just about to board a plane, in tomorrow's early afternoon, I did not want to piss the travel's gods off too much with my rantings! So, I chose to begin with something gently chiding.
P.S. Before anyone comments upon it, I completely realize that "Nonsensicalness" is not a word, and thus, makes no sense. Kind of fits the point, eh? Bon Voyage!
The Current Nonsensicalness of International Travel:
Part I: Check-In Information Boards On these grand, overhead dangling panels, one can find flight numbers, destinations, gates, and departure times, blaring in letters of bright and block yellow. Missing from this panel? A real time clock. Now, I don't know about you, but at the end of an international flight, when the pilot, you know that genial, reassuring voice that reminds you of your best friend's father who you adored or your favorite grandfather, is announcing the local time and weather, unless I have been really lucky, I have slept a total of 2 hours and the passable coffee is doing its best to seep through my pretzeled system. Not my short term memory's shining moment! And, unlike European or Asian carriers, U.S. mobile phone companies make it financially-prohibitive for the budget traveler to have international phone access, i.e. no checking the cell phone for the time. And, before you ask about a watch, not all of like to wear them whilst traveling, although, point taken, maybe I should. Either way, those boards should STILL post real time. I mean, what if your hands are completely full with whatever or you are one of those people to whom "Unattended Baggage" means not letting it out of hands, let alone out of your sight? Some questions to ponder, as I try to catch a few winks of sleep...
P.S. Before anyone comments upon it, I completely realize that "Nonsensicalness" is not a word, and thus, makes no sense. Kind of fits the point, eh? Bon Voyage!
The Current Nonsensicalness of International Travel:
Part I: Check-In Information Boards On these grand, overhead dangling panels, one can find flight numbers, destinations, gates, and departure times, blaring in letters of bright and block yellow. Missing from this panel? A real time clock. Now, I don't know about you, but at the end of an international flight, when the pilot, you know that genial, reassuring voice that reminds you of your best friend's father who you adored or your favorite grandfather, is announcing the local time and weather, unless I have been really lucky, I have slept a total of 2 hours and the passable coffee is doing its best to seep through my pretzeled system. Not my short term memory's shining moment! And, unlike European or Asian carriers, U.S. mobile phone companies make it financially-prohibitive for the budget traveler to have international phone access, i.e. no checking the cell phone for the time. And, before you ask about a watch, not all of like to wear them whilst traveling, although, point taken, maybe I should. Either way, those boards should STILL post real time. I mean, what if your hands are completely full with whatever or you are one of those people to whom "Unattended Baggage" means not letting it out of hands, let alone out of your sight? Some questions to ponder, as I try to catch a few winks of sleep...
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Belote, not just a game at Tous Va Bien!!!
About a year ago, Ben and I were sharing our plans with each other for the week. On Tuesday, I said, "I'm watching Paulina and Gabby for Outi", to which Ben replied, "okay, then I'll go to Belote". Belote, I thought. Is this the name of a new bar?
Upon finishing with the kids, I called Ben to see if I could meet him. Turns out, he was still at Belote. Instead of giving me foreign directions, he offered me a very familiar address: that of the Bretagne (or thee of Brittany-descent)- run, French Expat restaurant in Manhattan Midtown West, known simply as Tout Va Bien.
Upon my arrival, I was offered a seat, a glass of red, and a cursory rule rundown. Oh, and a buddy, a real Belote card shark (pun intended)... to help to me win. And, I did. But, only because of him. I left that evening with no knowledge of the game beyond that it was played in pairs, and one lays down cards in some order!
And, that's what I came with, into the game with Ben and Herve and Ben's father: Belote is played in facing pairs and one lays down cards in some order!
Yet, what I came out with, after two evenings of intense play and exchanging smiles with his father over Ben's competitive nature, was this:
Belote is a game is played with a special 32 card deck. Really, it's just a U.S. deck, with all cards from 7 up, without the Joker either.
The game begins with the Dealer asking the person to his/her right to cut the deck, after which the Dealer begins, beginning w. the player to his/her left to deal 2 or 3 cards each to each player. Then, the Dealer continues to deal either 3 or 2 cards to each player, until all players have 5 cards. The dealer then places the remaining part of the deck in the middle of the table and flips over the top card.
At this time, the player to the Dealer's Left can decide whether he/she wants to take the flipped card, thus making the suit it represents the TRUMP. The TRUMP means that, no matter what card is laid down, this suit can cut or win over that card. BUT, there is an order to the TRUMPS as well, which is Jack, 9, Ace, 10, King, Queen, 8, 7. The higher the better. For Non-Trumps, the Order of Worth goes Ace, 10, King, Queen, Jack, 9, 8, 7.
If s/he does not want it, the next player to the Left can take it, and so on. If no one takes the card, the Player to the Dealer's Left then takes the card that is face up, but can decide which suit s/he wants to be the TRUMP. The Dealer continues to finish dealing the deck, giving the player to his/her Left 2 cards, and all other player's 3.
Play commences with the player to the Dealer's Left laying down a card, and play moving to the Left. Obviously, each player is trying to lay down the card that will win the hand (see Non-Trump Order of Worth). BUT, each player also must keep in mind what his/her partner is laying down. Because if your partner has laid down, say that Ace of a suit, and no one has cut, why would you waste your Ace, and thus give away points to your competing team?
In conclusion, I have no idea how the points are counted, or what each of the cards are worth! I just know the order that makes me win! For the rest, I could suggest going to the following website: http://www.pagat.com/jass/belote.html. Me? I'm just going to ask my card shark buddy next time at Belote at Tout Va Bien. Happy learning!!!
Upon finishing with the kids, I called Ben to see if I could meet him. Turns out, he was still at Belote. Instead of giving me foreign directions, he offered me a very familiar address: that of the Bretagne (or thee of Brittany-descent)- run, French Expat restaurant in Manhattan Midtown West, known simply as Tout Va Bien.
Upon my arrival, I was offered a seat, a glass of red, and a cursory rule rundown. Oh, and a buddy, a real Belote card shark (pun intended)... to help to me win. And, I did. But, only because of him. I left that evening with no knowledge of the game beyond that it was played in pairs, and one lays down cards in some order!
And, that's what I came with, into the game with Ben and Herve and Ben's father: Belote is played in facing pairs and one lays down cards in some order!
Yet, what I came out with, after two evenings of intense play and exchanging smiles with his father over Ben's competitive nature, was this:
Belote is a game is played with a special 32 card deck. Really, it's just a U.S. deck, with all cards from 7 up, without the Joker either.
The game begins with the Dealer asking the person to his/her right to cut the deck, after which the Dealer begins, beginning w. the player to his/her left to deal 2 or 3 cards each to each player. Then, the Dealer continues to deal either 3 or 2 cards to each player, until all players have 5 cards. The dealer then places the remaining part of the deck in the middle of the table and flips over the top card.
At this time, the player to the Dealer's Left can decide whether he/she wants to take the flipped card, thus making the suit it represents the TRUMP. The TRUMP means that, no matter what card is laid down, this suit can cut or win over that card. BUT, there is an order to the TRUMPS as well, which is Jack, 9, Ace, 10, King, Queen, 8, 7. The higher the better. For Non-Trumps, the Order of Worth goes Ace, 10, King, Queen, Jack, 9, 8, 7.
If s/he does not want it, the next player to the Left can take it, and so on. If no one takes the card, the Player to the Dealer's Left then takes the card that is face up, but can decide which suit s/he wants to be the TRUMP. The Dealer continues to finish dealing the deck, giving the player to his/her Left 2 cards, and all other player's 3.
Play commences with the player to the Dealer's Left laying down a card, and play moving to the Left. Obviously, each player is trying to lay down the card that will win the hand (see Non-Trump Order of Worth). BUT, each player also must keep in mind what his/her partner is laying down. Because if your partner has laid down, say that Ace of a suit, and no one has cut, why would you waste your Ace, and thus give away points to your competing team?
In conclusion, I have no idea how the points are counted, or what each of the cards are worth! I just know the order that makes me win! For the rest, I could suggest going to the following website: http://www.pagat.com/jass/belote.html. Me? I'm just going to ask my card shark buddy next time at Belote at Tout Va Bien. Happy learning!!!
Monday, December 28, 2009
Royal Lessons Learned, from a game of "Le Rummy"
I can't recall the first time that I played Gin or Rummy with my Mother. But, on every plane ride and by every poolside thereafter, she and my little sister and I we were never without our deck of 52.
So, when Ben's mother suggested a round of 'Le Rummy' after dinner the other evening, I was thrilled! A break for them! No teaching involved on their part! I knew the rules! And, because of our Belote of the other evening, I had been refreshed on the French vocabulary for the suits: le trefle, le pique, la coeur and le carrot, and the Royal Family, la Dame, le Roi, le Valet, as well as, of course, the most powerful, L'As! I was so ready to rock 'n roll, in fact, that I smiled at the their choice to stack the cards next to the Take Pile, a la Gin, meaning players can only take the top card to play, versus spreading them out, allowing for that oh-so-fun, grand sweep!
However, the first time that I went to lay down my cards, one finger and three heads were shaken at me. What, I thought, staring once at my hand, then at their faces? Since when wasn't a Royal Threesome of Jack-Queen-King an acceptable Rummy laydown?
Since the rules in France require the following! First, one must go through three rounds of taking a card until one is allowed to lay down anything. I had presented my Royals in Round 2. Second, one must have 51 points in one's hand. This first laydown must consist of a combination of the following: a run or runs of the same suit or run or runs of cards of the same number, with a minimum of 3 cards per group. I had had a mere 30 points. Each Royal is worth 10 points in Rummy. Still with me? As play continued, I also learned the following. Because in France, one plays le Rummy with not one, but two decks of 54 cards, one must be conscious of not laying two numbers of the same suit in any run combination! Cool?
Finally, in the game my Mother had taught me, I could add points to what I had already laid down. Well, in France, you add points to what your competitors have already laid down! Because, once a player goes out (the same way as in the U.S, by placing down one last card or three or foursome, then placing one's final card on top of the deck next to the big pile) one counts the number of points remaining in each player's hand, not what each player has laid down!
The moral of the story, which applies to both card sharks and non-card sharks alike? Never ever assume, when in a country where you are still learning the language, and thus, ever learning the culture, that you can sit back, count your cards, and quietly sip your schnapps! Happy playing!!!
So, when Ben's mother suggested a round of 'Le Rummy' after dinner the other evening, I was thrilled! A break for them! No teaching involved on their part! I knew the rules! And, because of our Belote of the other evening, I had been refreshed on the French vocabulary for the suits: le trefle, le pique, la coeur and le carrot, and the Royal Family, la Dame, le Roi, le Valet, as well as, of course, the most powerful, L'As! I was so ready to rock 'n roll, in fact, that I smiled at the their choice to stack the cards next to the Take Pile, a la Gin, meaning players can only take the top card to play, versus spreading them out, allowing for that oh-so-fun, grand sweep!
However, the first time that I went to lay down my cards, one finger and three heads were shaken at me. What, I thought, staring once at my hand, then at their faces? Since when wasn't a Royal Threesome of Jack-Queen-King an acceptable Rummy laydown?
Since the rules in France require the following! First, one must go through three rounds of taking a card until one is allowed to lay down anything. I had presented my Royals in Round 2. Second, one must have 51 points in one's hand. This first laydown must consist of a combination of the following: a run or runs of the same suit or run or runs of cards of the same number, with a minimum of 3 cards per group. I had had a mere 30 points. Each Royal is worth 10 points in Rummy. Still with me? As play continued, I also learned the following. Because in France, one plays le Rummy with not one, but two decks of 54 cards, one must be conscious of not laying two numbers of the same suit in any run combination! Cool?
Finally, in the game my Mother had taught me, I could add points to what I had already laid down. Well, in France, you add points to what your competitors have already laid down! Because, once a player goes out (the same way as in the U.S, by placing down one last card or three or foursome, then placing one's final card on top of the deck next to the big pile) one counts the number of points remaining in each player's hand, not what each player has laid down!
The moral of the story, which applies to both card sharks and non-card sharks alike? Never ever assume, when in a country where you are still learning the language, and thus, ever learning the culture, that you can sit back, count your cards, and quietly sip your schnapps! Happy playing!!!
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Unadulterated Meal Planning
There is meal planning, and I have learned in the past few days, there is meal planning. The first is the kind that my mother and sister do, to ensure that all tastes are accommodated and the work is not doubled, for one or another family gathering. Or, the kind that I do when I have offered, for reasons I cannot recall once knee deep and crying into onions, to cater an affair in New York City for 60 plus people.
I learned of the second, markedly more intense level, in Alsace over these Christmas holidays. Mind you, I have witnessed pieces of this second type before. It begins with Ben emailing or calling each of his parents, separately and with each of their culinary strengths close in mind, about a week prior to departure, with his stomach's deepest desires. Usually, it continues with Ben salivating on the plane as he tells me what we will eat at midi, or midday meal, upon landing.
This year, and what leaves me no choice but to declare a 'second' level, is two things. First, calls were actually made between Ben's long- since- divorced parents to compare menus. And, at each home, prior to parting ways for the evening, we have been told exactly what we will be eating the next day for each meal we will be sharing.
A bit intense? Yes and no. Yes, because there is a chance that your stomach will growl in your sleep! No, because it makes the hazy breakfast choice oh-so-very much easier. Espresso and croissant or espresso and yogurt? When escargots and mussels, with white wine and garlic and parsley, and real, unadulterated butter, is going to be only your lunch appetizer, you too may find yourself saying, "just a double espresso for me, this morning, please!"
I learned of the second, markedly more intense level, in Alsace over these Christmas holidays. Mind you, I have witnessed pieces of this second type before. It begins with Ben emailing or calling each of his parents, separately and with each of their culinary strengths close in mind, about a week prior to departure, with his stomach's deepest desires. Usually, it continues with Ben salivating on the plane as he tells me what we will eat at midi, or midday meal, upon landing.
This year, and what leaves me no choice but to declare a 'second' level, is two things. First, calls were actually made between Ben's long- since- divorced parents to compare menus. And, at each home, prior to parting ways for the evening, we have been told exactly what we will be eating the next day for each meal we will be sharing.
A bit intense? Yes and no. Yes, because there is a chance that your stomach will growl in your sleep! No, because it makes the hazy breakfast choice oh-so-very much easier. Espresso and croissant or espresso and yogurt? When escargots and mussels, with white wine and garlic and parsley, and real, unadulterated butter, is going to be only your lunch appetizer, you too may find yourself saying, "just a double espresso for me, this morning, please!"
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