New Yorker in New Zealand

We Begin in Boston...

2011-07-01T16:06:00.000-07:00

It didn't take long after I arrived home in Seattle for that familiar sense of restlessness to find a seat on my shoulder to start tugging at my ear. Sure, it was counterbalanced by the gorgeous views, close proximity to friends and family and of course a need for gainful employment, but I knew that I wasn't ready to settle just yet. I began formulating plans for my next adventure.

Teaching English abroad would combine three of my loves: travel, English and teaching. This seemed more practical than my previous attempts at balancing three part time jobs (teaching dance, freelance writing, and usually something in the service industry thrown in to actually make rent). The first step was a CELTA certification from Cambridge University via Teaching House New York.

The training was intense, but I was surrounded by incredibly supportive classmates and an awesome staff who took me from a nervous native speaker to the winner of the "Best Gestures" award upon graduation - I guess all those dance classes did help!

My first chance to put my education into practice comes from Ardmore Language Schools on the Emmanuel College campus in Boston. The campus is gorgeous and the cafeteria goes way beyond my expectations with an impressive array of local, sustainable food. I even managed to create a comfortable bed with a little creative rearranging of my dorm room.

And most importantly, the reason I've always felt comfortable traveling is that I carry a little piece of home with me everywhere I go. For everyone who has ever asked if they can jump in my suitcase - don't worry, you're already there!

Modern Music: My Travel Casualty

2010-01-07T02:13:00.000-08:00

I have no idea who Justin Bieber is. I mentioned this to one of my friends who immediately responded with, "Oh, you know, he's the guy that sings..." and I continued to stare blankly at her as she recited lyrics as foreign to me as any language. Okay sure, seeing that I’m not currently a teenage girl this shouldn’t be terribly detrimental to my life but when I start to hear him referenced in pop culture circles directed at my own age group and completely don’t get the joke, I’m clearly missing something.

The decline of my musical knowledge began its downward spiral when I moved to New York City. Without a car stereo dial to spin on the subway I got in the habit of shuffling my iPod and suddenly discovered that it is possible to get sick of your favorite songs. Luckily, the city that never sleeps is also full of aspiring musicians so I took pride in adding a few of my favorite indie artists to the rotation on a regular basis.

This trend held strong until I jetted off to New Zealand to conditions with zero access to MTV or the Billboard Hot 100. There I discovered a few local favorites, but was more likely found dancing to slightly outdated dance music in the clubs or singing classic power ballads in the car on road trips. Nothing bonds a group like discovering a song that you all know the words to. I even found travelers’ playlists from numerous countries to be surprisingly similar – this Seattlite traveled halfway around the world to be inundated with Pearl Jam (no disrespect intended).

One of my advertising classes once told us that every generation tends to gravitate towards the music that they come of age to, and that as we get older we become less and less likely to branch out. Although some music is inescapable (somehow overseas, I still managed to learn the words to every Lady Gaga song….), I need to approach music the way I do the sights of the world. There are some timeless songs and cities that I may revisit over and over, but in doing so I accept missing out on the undiscovered joys of the unknown.

What recent additions have made it onto your travel playlist?

Passports With Purpose

2009-12-18T01:10:00.000-08:00

Travel and travel writing can be viewed as containing elements of exploitation and indulgence, but a small band of Northwest bloggers have created a project that displays the opposite. Passports with Purpose was founded by bloggers Wanderlust and Lipstick, Delicious Baby, Wander Mom, and Nerd’s Eye View with the goal of making a difference in some of the conditions that travel has opened their eyes to. This year the beneficiary is non-profit organization American Assistance in Cambodia and the project is to build a school for children in a rural village.

These ladies know how to motivate. This incredibly worthy cause is organized into a raffle filled with prizes appealing to their target audience. Any blogger who wants to support the cause donates an item (with a value of $75 or more) and then readers contribute in $10 increments to buy entries into the drawing for the prizes of their choice. The more than sixty items include resort packages in New York, Costa Rico and Belize (among others), video and camera equipment, travel gear, gift certificates, and unique items like a Tahitian pearl or specialty cake.

This year their initial goal was set at $13,000, the minimum required to build a school. When they managed to break that goal in about a week they set their sights higher, adding a vegetable garden, water filter, and school nurse to their goals to ensuring the healthy standards students need to succeed. With just a weekend to go Passports With Purpose is less than 3.5K away from their new revised goal, thanks in part to a mention in the New York Times.

It’s not to late to get involved in this fantastic cause! You can still enter the raffle or simply donate to the cause by clicking here. During these tough times I’m inspired by such stories of generosity, compassion and simply feeling connected to the global community.

Travel and Holidays, a Love/Hate Relationship

2009-12-15T04:32:00.000-08:00

Just mention the sentence “It’s that time of year…” to people and you can expect their eyes to respond two ways: with twinkling or rolling. There are always going to be those people who start playing Christmas music while the rest of the family is still digesting Thanksgiving dinner and those who would prefer to slam the door in the face of carolers who dare knock on their door. This year, as I listened to friends who complained about being “too busy” with invites to holiday parties or sulked about not being able to afford the presents they desired, I was thankful for a few lessons I learned from traveling.

Do what you want to do, not what you’re supposed to do
If you dread addressing stacks of cards, skip it this year. If you would rather wear bright purple instead of red or green to the holiday party, feel free. If you want to sing “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer” in the shower every day then by all means, belt it out. Every family has their own traditions and you don’t need to embrace all of them anymore than you HAVE to see every monument in a major city you visit.

Spend some quality time on each other
I remember the first year I spent Christmas away from my family. I was living in NYC and they got me exactly what I wanted that year – a brand new iPod! But after calling home and passing the phone around the room over dinner, that little electronic device wasn’t much comfort towards pangs of homesickness. When I look back on that night the overwhelming emotion I remember was loneliness. The following year I saved up my frequent flier miles and booked a trip home. I remember the excitement I felt at being in my pajamas in the living room on Christmas morning and couldn’t for the life of me tell you what I unwrapped from under the tree.

Know when to splurge and when to sacrifice
Sure we’re all on a tight budget but every once in a while living in the moment outweighs the cost. The year my brother and I woke up to bikes in the living room I doubt if I noticed the bags under my parent’s eyes, but years later hearing how long it took them to assemble them continues to warm my heart. I once broke the spending limit on a Secret Santa gift exchange when I knew the person I drew couldn’t afford an upcoming concert. I was paid back in full when she tackled me with squeals of delight upon opening the gift. There are times when that memory in the moment is worth paying for in the future.

Remember the old saying “It's better to give than to receive”? Well I’m giving it a try
None of my closest girlfriends are in a financial high point this year so we decided on an alternative to exchanging gifts. Each of us is selecting a charity that we believe the other would support and making a small donation in their name. Then we’re getting together over wine (hopefully this one) to tell each other why we chose it for them. In other words, we do a good deed, compliment each other and share a cocktail. I’ll take a girl’s night out over a new scarf during any season!

Holidays, like travel, depend largely on a matter or perspective. Sure we could dream of staying in a nicer hotel in our future or wish for the snowfall of years past, but every holiday movie on repeat at this time of year will warn you not to missing out on living in the present.

Swell Season at Seattle’s Paramount Theater

2009-11-26T16:09:00.000-08:00

If music is the international language then seeing The Swell Season at Seattle’s Paramount Theater is like a therapy session in a penthouse suite. Commissioned by Paramount Pictures in the late 1920’s, the Paramount’s decadent décor filled with high arches, ornate touches and multiple chandeliers has seen Broadway, dance, theater and music ranging from vaudeville to Madonna’s first stop on her 1985 “The Virgin Tour”. When I was young I told my parents that if I ever won the lottery the first thing I would do is buy the Paramount, just to ensure no one ever tore it down. Luckily a Microsoft executive beat me to it pouring millions of dollars into restorations in 1993 leaving me free to dream of other extravagant indulgences.

No matter how beautiful the surroundings, the only thing capturing the attention of the audience on Sunday, Nov. 2, 2009 was the commanding presence of Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova who make up The Swell Season. These Irish (well, okay mostly, she’s Czech, but he and his bandmates are all Irish lads) indie darlings captured international attention in 2008 winning an Academy Award for “Falling Slowly” from the film Once, not to mention one of the first times I have ever seen an allowance for an extended acceptance speech!

This pair is inspiring on a number of levels. Their lyrics are full of hope in the face of struggle while the juxtaposition of Glen’s passion-filled wails with Marketa’s quiet, sprite-ish stature exhibits strength in every form. These unassuming stars are well aware of their roots and are known for wandering the streets of any city they play, finding a favorite struggling musician and inviting them to perform onstage in front of packed houses. Their performances are full of quirky moments from Irglova’s incorporation of her vintage Casio keyboard to Hansard breaking three guitar strings mid-song, forcing a stagehand to run a new instrument onstage multiple times, but refusing to leave the melody unfinished.

But don’t take my word for it, you can stream songs on their website and decide for yourself!

Talking About Twilight, No Teams Required

2009-11-22T02:20:00.000-08:00

I haven’t read a single book in the Twilight series. I’ve never taken a road trip to Forks despite my Washington State residence. My loyalties are limited to professional sports teams. Yet somehow, I found myself in possession of tickets to two showings in the first twenty-four hours of the release of New Moon.

What I do have are a few fanatical fans as friends and I accidentally agreed to see it with two different groups. Since both responsible parties snagged presale tickets to ensure our seats, I found myself committed to both a midnight and 10:00am screening of New Moon. You know what’s scarier than vampires? The thought of what an avid fan would do to me if I were caught snoring through the second morning session.

Luckily, I was thoroughly entertained by a few key points:

1. The blatant objectification of underage men. I may not be a firm believer in the eye-for-an-eye philosophy but a small piece of my feminist nature takes sheer delight in the amount of attention given to the appearance of the male costars instead of the female stars for once. As travelers we are trained to enjoy the landscape and jailbait Taylor Lautner definitely beautifies the land he occupies, preferably (and often) shirtless. And, in the spirit of appreciating the less publicized destinations on any adventure, the entire wolf pack and a few members of the Cullen family absolutely deserve mention in my indulgent guidebook to teenybopper land.

2. Blockbuster-worthy special effects. Their budget was clearly beefed up as much as the cast for this second installment, improving upon the comical running scenes and bedazzled glowing skin of the first film.

3. Soundtrack. I squealed like a schoolgirl in the first film when one of my favorite bands on the planet, Muse, blared over the baseball scene. They make an appearance again along with a blend of obscure and indie darlings for the perfect “Melodrama”-titled Pandora station.

Are you indulging in the Twilight phenomenon? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.

Go Ahead, Delay Away

2009-11-16T11:34:00.000-08:00

Airports are such an interesting place to observe human nature and this holiday season I'm giving thanks that I'm not an airline employee.

I had just gotten into my belt-buckled, headphoned comfort zone when the pilot turned on the air conditioner and all of a sudden waves of steam (smoke?) began pouring through the cracks. I clamped my hand over my mouth, not sure what I could be breathing, and cursed that we hadn't yet been instructed to locate the nearest emergency exit.

The pilots shut down the airplane and the substance disappeared immediately as they announced that all passengers should leave the plane while they investigated the problem. I grabbed my bags and gladly got the hell off the plane and back to the gate. Here is where people start to amaze me. Within two steps of reaching the terminal people began to demand an explanation. When there was no instant answer the gossip began to ripple through the aisles like a juicy high school rumor, and the airline immediately became an instant outcast.

When it comes to flying, I'm all for safety first. When they announced that we would be switching to a new airplane but would have to wait for it to be towed to the runway there was a collective groan throughout the crowd. It's this point that the flight attendants need to pull out their PR skills. "Attention passengers, remember how fifteen minutes ago you were scared for your life? And you know how flying involves incredibly complicated machinery that defies the laws of gravity? Well, we take that kind of thing seriously and would like to make sure you actually make it to your destination even if it's a little later than you expected."

Of course, I'm no fan of delays, and I realize that there is often an important event waiting on the other side of the connection for many people but I swear that there is a sense of entitlement pumped into airport air. When we were further delayed because we had to wait for a new crew (frustrating, sure, but would you rather have a sleep-deprived pilot?!) the airline immediately responded by informing us that everyone would be compensated for the delay and offering sincere apologies. I just pictured that smoke, picked up my magazine and waited for the next boarding call.

Around the World On A Stage

2009-10-17T16:06:00.000-07:00

One of the things I have picked up through my travels is a love of the theater. I saw my first “Broadway” show in London (and just to further confuse the geography of that sentence it was a production of Chicago). Some of my favorite shows have addressed issues ranging from inner city life in Upper Manhattan to the AIDS epidemic in Africa without adding a single stamp to my passport.

So, when my beautiful and talented friend Taryn Darr, star of the 5^th Avenue Theater’s Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, invited me to an opening night performance I threw on my theater-going heels and raced out the door.

I'll admit to being slightly religiously-challenged and a little skeptical of a “family” show, but I was quickly converted. This silly storyline takes the audience on a journey from Israel to Egypt riding on the backs of every musical genre they can cram in. I was especially impressed with Jennifer Paz, the narrator whose kid-friendly voice could soothe a rabid dog to sleep yet still manages to remain saccharine-free, and the band of brothers whose vocal prowess and comedic timing were more memorable than any of their names.

And of course, the entertainment industry loves any excuse to throw a party. Palomino hosted the cast, crew and lucky few who took advantage of a buffet dinner and “Technicolor Coolers”. Theater parties rival Halloween for costume watching with attendees in satin dresses, baseball caps and jeans (lead Anthony Federov…), and a fabulous older man in a sequined Technicolor coat (where was my camera when I needed it?!).

Six Key Members of a Winning Pub Quiz Team

2009-10-13T14:34:00.000-07:00

The Over Achiever Consider this person your team captain. They will invite the maximum number of players (with alternates on-call if a team member doesn’t show up) and organize the time and meeting place to get the best seat. This isn’t just for fun - they take trivia seriously! They’ve got spare cash to cover those who forgot their wallet and are the first to shush members caught talking when the questions are being read. Sure, their obsession with the rules may seem a little overbearing at times, but when they argue their way into that extra half-point that puts you in the lead, you’ll be glad to have them on your side.

The Frat Boy This American boy in a beer logo t-shirt may not have aced economics, but he can quote movies from classic Caddyshack to the latest Will Farrell blockbuster, not to mention the lyrics to every classic hair metal or nineties boy band. He’s got a memory for mindless pop culture knowledge that anyone with their nose in a book through school may have missed out on. As an added bonus, he’ll go through drinks fast enough to ensure that the bartender/server checks back on your group on a regular basis throughout the night, so your glasses will never go empty.

The Old Timer It never hurts to have a generational gap among team members. When those “classic movies” and “World War II” rounds come up, someone who actually remembers these events can contribute much more than those who studied them in film school or enjoy the history channel. The best way to learn general knowledge is through life experience and those additional years can add invaluable depth.

The Super Fan I have never been to a pub quiz that hasn’t had at least one round or question devoted to sports. You may have trouble keeping this person’s attention if there is a televised game anywhere else in the bar, but that friend who can spout off statistics or MVP’s in any given sport, and follows everything from rugby to racquetball deserves to be a first round draft pick on any trivia team. Warning: they may even expect their first beer as a signing bonus.

The Backpacker As a world traveler you already bring a wealth of knowledge to the table. What city is that famous monument located in? What language is spoken in this small South American city? What is the national anthem of Luxembourg? It just so happens that on your travels you somehow stumbled upon the answer and it involves a story embedded firmly in your memory. You may not become a Slumdog Millionaire, but you’ll never forget why you’re sure of this answer.

The "Dead Weight" There is always one member of every team who is just along for the ride. They swear they’re not any good at trivia, are just out for the company and apologize in advance for bringing the team down. Then that one question comes up that has your entire team staring blankly at each other, and this person jumps in with the perfect answer to save the day. That’s the joy of a pub quiz, you never know what you’ll need to know until it’s too late.

What tips can you add to organize a winning trivia team? And which important members did I forget?

What Comes First, the Sports Team or the Fans?

2009-10-07T02:42:00.000-07:00

After a particularly brutal weekend of Seattle football (not to mention coming off of the worst year ever for any sports fan), I got to thinking about the relationship between sports and the city. There is no denying that an athletic presence contributes to the identity of both a city and its people.

Seattle has a reputation for good, but not great, professional sports teams. The Seattle Seahawks made a Super Bowl appearance in 2006, but our rings ultimately ended up on the fingers of the Pittsburgh Steelers. We invested in a gorgeous baseball stadium, spent $100 million dollars on star-studded Mariners talent like Ichiro Suzuki, but still boasted a baseball team that lost a heart-breaking 100 games in 2008. And then there was the winless college football season of my alma mater, the University of Washington…

And yet somehow, Seattlites look for something to cheer about. We rally around individual records, monumental moments and the pure joy that comes from the unexpected success of a perpetual underdog. Our fans actually celebrated the loss of UW’s first college football game simply because we held our own with the highly ranked LSU. In the face of defeat, we remain hopeful.

I find this attitude interesting because as a city itself, Seattle is a bit of an underdog. Sure, it has a reputation for being beautiful, but it doesn’t hold the worldwide the recognition of Los Angeles or New York City. And yet, residents are fiercely loyal in the belief that we don't need a title when we know how great we've got it. So are our sports teams a product of our environment, or an example of it? And how much of this resilience, or is it acceptance of disappointment, finds its way into the everyday life of our residents?

Every city’s fans have their own reputations. I’ve witnessed in-your-face New Yorkers boo their own players if they didn’t feel up to their standard of excellence. Still, this was unsurprising in a city that attracts worldwide talent and accepts only the best in every arena. Could this be a contributing factor to the championship ring collection of the New York Yankees? Or a byproduct of it?

Every sports fan I know wants to feel like they make a difference in the outcome of the game. We bring our attitudes, cultures and our personalities into the stadium, I’m simply curious how much of this mentality actually factors onto the field.

Toilet Humor

2009-10-03T13:48:00.000-07:00

I'm always entertained by the signs, customs and advertising campaigns I discover while traveling, but don't always expect it at home. This was before discovering the wall of a bathroom stall in the women's restroom at The Duchess in Seattle's University District:

"Please secure your cell phone before flushing!"

Cue mental image of drunk college female trying to explain to the significantly older gentlemen who run this bar why she was on the phone with her pants around her ankles in the first place....

Three Good Reasons to Love Argosy Cruises

2009-09-28T00:08:00.000-07:00

1. Gorgeous views of the Seattle waterfront

2. Way better than anticipated buffet dinner

3. Support for one of my favorite charities, Camp Goodtimes

And if I can recommend the perfect party game for any occasion, reminiscent of the great Pee Wees’s Playhouse, you should always have a secret word. Ours is “ninja”.

Squeezing the Last Sunny Days Out of a Seattle Summer

2009-09-24T01:37:00.000-07:00

I’m definitely not what you would call a morning person. I’m a firm believer that days should start once the hours enter double digits. Still, when the West Seattle Blog announced that Alki Kayak Tours slashed their $65 Alki Lighthouse run to $20, simply because they felt it would be a crime not to take advantage of 80+ degree weather in late September, they got me out of bed. Who can resist that kind of staff commitment to sharing an experience they clearly love?

So at 8:30am on a day when I was scheduled to work the closing bar shift, I found myself scarfing down a bagel & cream cheese and a boiled egg (fuel for this three-hour tour) and catching the free Water Taxi shuttle to our launch site.

This last minute plea brought together seven strangers, picked to paddle the waterfront, and find out what happens when they stop enjoying the scenery and start getting…tired. Our group consisted of a cute young couple, two adult women who had never kayaked before, myself, with the limited experience of once on a lake this past summer, and an old pro called “North Dakota Dave (or was it Dan?)”. Our gregarious guide was named Greg, but went by “Kona” since half the staff also appeared to be named Greg.

The staff had every amenity imaginable on hand, from the essential life jackets and equipment to waterproof bags for cameras and loaner sunglasses. Kona led us through a brief tutorial of how not to end up upside down while entering and exiting the boat and emergency exit procedures should you find yourself flipped to face the fishies. Then it was all hands on deck to haul the boats to shore and start paddling.

Alki Beach provides one of the best possible views of the Seattle skyline, but being locals our eyes were peeled more for the possibility of a seal sighting, foreshadowed by the far off barking echoing over the water and granted about ten minutes in. The group kept an easy pace to the lighthouse and back, stopping sporadically to let lagging members catch up, snap photos or bask in the sunshine. By the time we were halfway back to our starting point my arms had definitely begun to ache, but I took very little advantage of the freedom of the out-of-sight back paddler to slack off every now and then… I swear!

Home is Where the Permanent Address Is

2009-09-22T00:00:00.000-07:00

I can remember to exact moment that I decided to move to Manhattan. I was standing in the middle of Times Square, fresh from dinner on the town and tickets to RENT, my first Broadway show. My girl friend and I stepped into the middle of Times Square and instead of feeling overwhelmed I let out a sigh of belonging. “I love this city,” I said to my girl friend. When she responded, “Why don’t you move here?” I was left literally speechless, racking my brain for an answer.

I grew up very attached to my hometown of West Seattle. On every family vacation I was afraid that something important was going to happen at home and I would miss out on the moment of a lifetime. I applied to college based on in-state tuition and proximity to lifelong friends and imagined settling down and building a family in the same zip code as my parents.

This all changed in my senior year of college. I toyed with the idea of transferring to an out-of-state school amidst changing my mind and my major almost seven times (hello, undeclared!), but I never had the guts to follow through. It wasn’t until a friend passed through the study abroad office and discovered a pamphlet for a quarter in Greece (a place I had always dreamed of and talked about going) that something clicked.

Of course, I was terrified. I didn’t pack for my three-month trip until the night before my flight departed. The layover in New York City to visit a friend was meant to break up my flight and ease myself into the trip. I had left the country before, but I had never spent more than three weeks away from home. I had no idea that those three days would change my life.

I went back to my friend’s dorm room after that night in Times Square and emailed my parents, “I think I want to live here one day.” I was convinced that I had just been given the perfect trial period- if I spent the next three months studying abroad homesick and miserable than I wouldn’t move, but if I came home to the same friends, family and city that I knew and loved then I was free to go anywhere in the world. As you may have guessed, Greece was amazing and a crowd of friends met me at the airport upon my return with balloons and a “Welcome Home” banner strung above our freeway exit.

Travelers are often characterized as “brave”, which was a label I had a hard time getting used to. Sure, a new place can be intimidating and keeping up long-distance friendships can take work, but when the worst-case scenario is coming home to a place that you love, it makes taking that first trip a whole lot easier.

Forget Mega-Millions, I’ll Take Mileage!

2009-09-15T14:24:00.000-07:00

The more I follow travel news the more I’m amazed by the too-good-to-be-true contests that abound in the industry lately. I don’t want to contradict the highly-respected opinion of my fellow travel blogger Camels & Chocolate (who gives a firsthand look at the actual WORK it takes to do this for a living) but there are some pretty serious chances at a travel enthusiast’s lottery out there. As they say, some lucky dog’s got to win it.

I was sucked into the Trazzler.com dream of a $10,000 prize and travel writing trip to NYC that had me spamming friends and begging for votes to make the finals. The idea of a quick route into something I desperately wanted to do seemed so simple, until I remembered that I hate mass self-promotion via social networking. I was momentarily disappointed by falling ten spots short of the finals where I would actually be judged on the merit of my work, but quickly decided to refocus my attitude on the amazing support I got from friends, fellow bloggers and complete strangers. If nothing else this provided a networking opportunity and growing blogroll of travel writers I discovered in the process.

In the meantime, there are other possibilities to be rewarded with a destination, while at the very least enjoying the journey. Wanderlust and Lipstick is offering a 12-day Health and Harmony spa vacation in Vietnam for the best travel story submitted, judged by five travel journalists. There are also five runner-up prizes for best in various categories.

Details here:
http://wanderlustandlipstick.com/about-us/contests/wanderwomen-write-contest/

The other best piece of advice I’ve received is to live an interesting life so that you have something to write about, so I’m preparing to skydive for my 30^th birthday! Ridiculous photos, terrified faces, and video full of octave-breaking screams to come…

Trazzler Travel Writing Contest

2009-09-01T19:10:00.000-07:00

I've broken the top 20 of the 200+ semi-finalists in an online travel writing contest sponsored by Trazzler.com and NYCGO.com. The top ten most voted trips go to the finals to be judged on the merit of their writing, so I need your help to get there! The theme of the contest was to find an "Oasis", a place that lets you escape from everyday life and describe it in roughly 150 words or less.

As an added incentive, if selected as a winner I plan to donate half of the $10,000 prize to the American Cancer Society's Camp Goodtimes, a much needed "oasis" for children battling cancer.

I chose the sunset on Alki Beach in West Seattle, a view that has kept me going through many busy nights working at the restaurant where this is my "corner office". I can practically predict my night based around what time the sun goes down and our staff makes it a point, no matter how hectically we may be running around, to stop and enjoy this sight every night for at least a minute.

You can read my entry "Searching for the Perfect Sunset on Alki Beach" here:
http://www.trazzler.com/trips/alki-beach-in-seattle-wa-98116

***Update- made it to the top 20 contestants, but didn't break into the top ten finalists. Thanks for the love from those who voted!

Discovering Seattle’s OTHER Favorite Football Team

2009-08-29T02:06:00.000-07:00

People like to say that Americans are the last to embrace the game of soccer as a professional sport, but it appears that someone forgot to tell that to the fans that occupy the Brougham section of Qwest Field during a Seattle Sounders game. Keeping a close eye on your friends is key in order to avoid being lost in a sea of bright green jerseys and twirling scarves (You’ve GOT to love a sport that provides its fans with not only uniforms but accessories!).

As a newbie to the sport I knew just enough to follow along the basic rules (no hands allowed, go for the goal on the opposite ends of the field, etc.), could distinguish the difference between red and yellow cards, and quickly learned to groan at the amount of time players spent rolling around on the field in pain and then miraculously leapt up and continued playing on said agonizing injury if it didn’t warrant a whistle.

What I didn’t realize is the sheer level of involvement of soccer fans! There was a young guy in the front of our section with a megaphone who led cheers, chants and songs nonstop throughout the entirety of the match. These ranged from multiple verses regaling the strength of Seattle to the less than PG-13 jeers of “F*!? You, A$$hole” directed towards the other team’s goalie every time he kicked, to the downright disturbing chants of “Let-him-die!” when an opposing team member was being carried off the field in a stretcher. Okay granted, he immediately got up and ran down the sidelines once off the field, but seriously?!

Overall it was good-natured fun. I may be a Seahawks girl at heart, but the passion of these season ticket holders was contagious. The only thing less than satisfying was the end result of tie with a score of 0-0. When neither side gets to walk out of the stadium taunting the other relentlessly, doesn’t everybody lose?

Woman Around the World

2009-03-14T15:14:00.000-07:00

The more traveling you do, the more you discover ways to make it easier. In this season of spring break travel, I recently shared a few of my insights with Woman Around Town.

I’ve done a fair amount of traveling, from backpacking through Europe to basking in the Bahamas, and have discovered one universal rule- expect the unexpected. No matter how meticulously you plan your itinerary or confirm your reservations, rarely will everything go according to plan. This is part of the fun, embracing the unknown and learning to survive on your own resourcefulness.

But, as I learned this last year, a sense of adventure can become exhausted. While returning from six months abroad I was stranded for a week in snowstorm delays and holidays and quickly learned the value of a few helpful travel trips. So, as you plan for Spring Break escapades and sunny holidays, may I add a few suggestions to turn your trips from stressful to stress-free:

Write it Down
Sure, we live in a digital age where information seems available at your fingertips, but a good old fashioned piece of paper never loses reception or runs out of battery life. Keeping a copy of your passport, flight numbers, addresses and confirmation numbers in your carry on will save you from searching for an outlet, not to mention strengthen your argument if a computer system mysteriously loses your reservation.

Choose Space-Saving Entertainment
If you were traveling with a two year old, you would bring a bag full of toys, right? Well, twenty-two and fifty-two year olds deserve the same consideration. Stock up portable entertainment devices with downloads of your favorite songs, movies and television shows. Plus, paperback books and magazines that you won’t mind leaving behind will leave you extra room to bring home souvenirs.

Opt for Natural Nourishment
You never know when or where delays are going to strike, and if your red-eye flight gets put on hold airport food may not even be an option. Stash granola bars, nuts, dried fruit and health-conscious choices in your purse—just be sure to declare or dispose of anything prohibited by quarantine laws before boarding. Skip the caffeinated beverages and stick to bottled water in case you need a nap, not to mention fight the inevitable dehydration of flying.

Dress for Security
There is nothing worse than mile-long lines when you’re racing to make a connecting flight. Opt for slip on shoes, take off scarves, big jewelry and sunglasses while waiting in line and have your liquids and laptops ready to remove. Those extra ten seconds of effort really add up during high-volume times.

Talk to Thy Neighbor
When your flight gets cancelled it can turn into every passenger for themselves, particularly when it comes to fighting for those last few seats on the next flight. Talking to those around you might actually provide alternatives, like splitting a rental car for short destinations or to the nearest airport. Also, discovering that the person ahead of you in line is a soldier on leave or visiting a sick relative can ease resentment when a week long vacation gets cut a few hours short.

Wait Your Turn
Delays and cancellations can lead to crowded terminals. When boarding, stick with the directions given by flight crews. Stay seated and let those with small children or who may need a little extra time have the space to get through. Standing in the aisles as soon as boarding begins only causes congestion, and the plane can’t leave until everyone boards.

Be Nice
Flight attendants and ground crew are given the miserable job of delivering bad news that they have absolutely no control over. Aggression, yelling or making a scene these days is more likely to lead to calling security than a first class upgrade. Incorporating understanding and respect when approaching crew members with potential problems has led me to placement in aisle seats with extra legroom and inspired a phone call to ensure that a connecting flight would be held for our arrival.

Make the Best of Your Situation
Sometimes you just have to accept your circumstances. When choosing air travel we are at the mercy of increasingly unpredictable weather. When three days of flights around the holidays were canceled it became physically impossible to rebook every passenger immediately, airline staff were happy to accommodate my request that if I had to spend a three day layover anywhere, I wanted to be rerouted through Las Vegas (discount hotels and year-round entertainment!). Instead of dwelling on missed opportunities, start brainstorming your best possible Plan B, even if it’s simply which dream destination you’ll use for your refunded ticket.

The Novelty of Familiarity

2009-02-19T16:33:00.000-08:00

One of the strangest habits to break after living abroad is learning not to get overly excited about things that remind you of home. In a foreign land your ears get accustomed to perking up at the mention of your hometown, or even just the sound of your native language. Sweatshirts with sports team logos and college colors seem to be written in neon lights.

These beacons are essential in combating homesickness. Wearing your home on your sleeve lets other people know a little bit about you, and can be especially helpful when you’re struggling to find any common ground to start with. It can lead to conversations based on mutual interests in completely unexpected places, and not just with fellow patriots- I found an Australian friend obsessed with the NBA!

And, if you can hold on to it, these little moments can help you see your hometown as someplace just as new and as wonderful as wherever you just visited. Just be prepared to feel like a kid in a toy store surrounded by a crowd of disinterested grown ups, or at least kids who already got everything last Christmas.

Worth Every Delayed Minute

2008-12-19T00:43:00.000-08:00

What is it about the combination of sunshine, sand, saltwater and swimsuits that spells paradise? I may have missed my shuttle to the ferry in the morning (thanks to misdirection from the geniuses working reception at Grand Malenesian Hotel), but the moment my feet touched that warm beach all of my worries were washed away with the surf.

As my South Sea Cruise docked at various islands to drop off and pick up fellow travelers, I noticed that half of the passengers boarded half-dressed and without shoes. I immediately embraced their carefree attitude and showered adoration on the staff members who refused to let me lift a finger to move my luggage.

I was booked for one night on Beachcomber Island, one of the Mamanuca Islands. You can walk the perfectly manicured, white-sand circumference of this mini-mirage in about ten minutes. The only buildings scattered among the jungle wild life in the center are a huge lodge of 114 bunk beds, a few private villas, shared bathrooms, and a covered outdoor dining area and bar on the beach.

Upon arrival, we were greeted by cheers of Bula!, which means "welcome" or "hello" in Fijian. I checked in and left my valuables in the capable and methodically documented hands of the resort staff. They encourage guests to charge all purchases to their room or bunk number so that carrying cash becomes unnecessary.

I was excited to spend the afternoon with Alex and Nick, a waitress and chef who had worked at the Chateau and whose itinerary happened to overlap for one day in paradise. After exchanging stories of our last few weeks of travels, we took a dip in the crystal clear blue water just as the evening rain began to drizzle. This didn’t deter us at all and just cooled the top layer of the water, while everything from our waists down remained the temperature of a lukewarm bath.

On Beachcomber Island, the banging of a drum announces buffet-style meals served in the outdoor cafeteria- basically rows of picnic tables under a covered roof. You will never go hungry with breakfast, morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, and dinner provided daily. There were always a variety of options from spaghetti or grilled fish to chicken curry and fresh fruit.

Apparently, it also has a reputation as the “party island”, which I discovered meant that every kid from the South Pacific who had recently graduated was here to celebrate before heading off to university. The drinking and dancing started early, including a performance of traditional dancers and fire shows.

From there it turned into an MTV Spring Break-vibe that somehow incorporated a theme of cross-dressing. The boys began raiding girl’s suitcases for bikini tops, sarongs and make-up and by the end of the night the smell of one-too-many-Sex-On-the-Beaches wafted out of every overgrown corner of plants. I retreated to my bunk bed, feeling little too old to join in on the Macarena-inspired “Bula dance”, recalling fond memories of my teenage days in Mexico. Let the kids live it up, and I’ll have the beach to myself in the morning while they sleep it off!

The Fiji Fiasco

2008-12-18T23:12:00.000-08:00

***Warning, written by a tired, grumpy traveler who may come off as slightly less than appreciative that she has just arrived on a tropical island...***

It was clear from the get-go that things in Fiji were not always going to go as planned. After dragging two huge suitcase, a laptop, and a carry-on through Rose Bay to the ferry and onto an airport shuttle (I know, I know, I brought it on myself, but c’mon- Six months! Multiple climates! And taxis are expensive!) I thought the hardest part was behind me. This was before I saw the line to check in snaking through what appeared to be half the terminal.

I joined the line and surrendered to an hour and a half of shifting weight from foot to flip-flopped foot, half-sitting on bags (see, large, heavy luggage is good for something!), and inching forward every time someone took the slightest step in order to maintain some sense of progress. After holding my breath during the baggage weigh-in (success!) the attendant robotically pointed to the time on my boarding pass that my plane would begin boarding. It had passed five minutes ago.

I still had customs and security to get through, with lines clogged full of the same passengers I had shared my afternoon rubbing shoulders with. By the time I made it into the duty free shopping area an attendant was bustling through calling for any final passengers to Fiji. I hustled to the gate and took my seat, cursing missing the more profitable side of currency exchange, and waited for another twenty minutes as the crew realized that the backlog had started hours ago.

After an uneventful flight on Air Pacific (except that I wasn’t impressed when they turned off the in-flight entertainment forty-five minutes before landing) I made it to Nadi International Airport in time to catch the end of a breathtaking sunset. Other than the cheerful band playing at the end of the exit corridor, the airport staff seemed overworked and tired. My immigration officer failed to mumble a single word while stamping my passport and the security screeners did nothing to facilitate bags getting stopped up through security screening.

I finally reached the exit, expecting the free shuttle from my pre-booked Grand Malenesian Hotel room to be waiting, but when I approached information the suggested hopping into a taxi, claiming it would be cheaper! I refused and moved down the line to an agent who called the hotel directly. I was stunned when she hung up the phone and confirmed that they had just told her to put me in a cab.

When I questioned reception upon arrival I was told that yes, they do have an airport shuttle van, but there was no one available to drive it today. Not in the mood for an argument, or to be labeled as a high-maintenance American, I shrugged and followed a porter carrying one of my bags. As he began climbing stairs to the second floor (no elevator!), I gave myself a mini-pep talk and refused to be disheartened.

My evening continued this way: Anywhere to grab a bite to eat? Shops in town are closed. Light bulb in the bathroom? Burnt out. Internet access? Yes, but I’m sorry, cards are sold out. I consoled myself with an early night in and the mini-blessing of an otherwise empty shared room and crossed my fingers that the shuttle scheduled to pick me up in the morning and whisk me away to Beachcomber’s Island Resort actually existed and came with a licensed driver.

Did I Mention I Climbed a Volcano?!

2008-11-21T18:41:00.000-08:00

**Alternately titled “You can take the girls out of New York City, but you can’t take New York City out of these girls!”

When Helen and I decided to do the Tongariro Crossing, also known as “The Best One Day Hike In New Zealand” or “That-Famous-Tourist-Landmark-That-We-Lived-Next-To-For-Five-Months-And-Will-Kick-Ourselves-If-We-Go-Home-Without-Seeing”, we decided to do it in style. This was born out of a ridiculous conversation where I claimed that I wanted to do the hike in heels, but clearly the hiking boots and waterproof jackets were a necessity. Neither of us are big fans of drab attire so we made the best of the rest of our ensembles by donning the most formal dresses we had packed.

Our fellow shuttle passengers were amused at first, but when we arrived at the entrance to the trail they meant business. We started a few minutes behind the crowd after stopping to slather sunscreen on our exposed skin, and began our ascent of the Devil’s Staircase, the ominous name for the first leg of this seven-hour trek. Picking our steps carefully through some rocky paths and along a stream, we were surprised at the ease with which we were moving- this is of course until the incline changed from rising slope to lung crushing steep.

We started our hike with only one backpack, having woken up late as usual and thrown our supplies together in a hurry. We decided to take turns carrying it and that whoever was carrying the bag decided when it was time for a break. Fighting against asthma and completely untrained hiking abilities, this next leg of our climb included trading roughly every ten minutes. Luckily, this allowed us many opportunities for silly photo ops, which we are somewhat notorious for, while being constantly stopped due to our attire to ask if we were professional guides to which we laughed hysterically and politely declined.

When we reached the top of the mountain we were treated to the

gorgeous views of the geothermal Emerald Lakes where most hikers stop for lunch and pictures. We started a conversational trend when we posed for pictures wearing our “Team Awesome” badges and had every group around us looking to dub themselves in similar fashion- Team Cobra became our immediate friends.

The next leg of our journey was a surreal flashback to the winter we had just survived when we found ourselves tramping through snow-covered paths in the middle of what New Zealanders consider springtime- especially odd considering we had been fighting against sunburns over the first hours of the hike! Luckily, we had rented color-coordinating jackets to match our dresses (actually completely by chance!) upon embarking so we were well prepared for one last chance to play in the snow.

From that high point onward our journey was spent looking for conversation to fill the air, willing ourselves to admire the beauty of the view, and begging our knees to continue working despite their screaming cries of pain in return. The incline may have been difficult on our lungs, but the physical strain on our bodies on the way down without the anticipation of fantastic views left us counting mile markers in disbelief and playing various versions of “If you were a…… what would you be?” We now know what kind of shoe, building, animal and article of clothing best represent our respective personalities (and if you’d like the answers feel free to ask me, or invent your own).

As we stumbled into the field at the end of the hike with the crowd of other hikers awaiting the arrival of our shuttle home we were overwhelmed with exhaustion, mutual admiration, and an overwhelming sense of accomplishment… oh, and in dire need of a good dry cleaner!

Happy Birthday to Me!

2008-09-18T18:32:00.000-07:00

Having a birthday in another country is a strange experience, particularly when you’re way outside of both your comfort and time zones. I’d already had a wild night out with friends for our No Clothes Party and an amazing day of skiing and now I just wanted to relax. I decided to splurge and spend the day being pampered.

I’d been neglecting my hair to the point of resembling the Venus de Milo, so I asked around for recommendations for a cut and color and ended up at Chocolate Blonde in Taupo. From the moment I walked in the door I knew I had made the right decision.

We (my friend Luci came along to keep me company) arrived early (always allow time to be stuck behind a logging truck while driving on single lane mountain roads). As we flipped through magazines, each of us was offered our choice of coffee that arrived with a piece of chocolate cake on the side- and this was before we had even mentioned that it was my birthday! When they discovered that little tidbit of information, another piece of cake appeared, along with a complementary glass of white wine for each of us.

The stylist was good. Within a few words she knew exactly what I was asking for and how to explain it, the way a painter can tell you what type of brush strokes to use to make the clouds look different than the trees. We chatted easily with the other women, in typical hair salon fashion, about everything from work to fashion to the scary nature of Botox. Some things are just universal in the developed woman’s world.

There’s no use looking good if no one’s looking so we hightailed it back to National Park for dinner at Elvin’s. We popped a bottle of bubbly and took our time so that we could arrive fashionably late to Schnapps, where the rest of the gang was meeting.

Turns out we had no reason to rush because, despite claims of a band playing that night, it was a solo acoustic singer called The Ollie Knox Project who whined and strummed painfully before absolutely butchering a Pearl Jam cover. Luckily, the laughter of good friends always drowns out in the end. I ended up with a perfectly content start to the last year of my twenties. Good thing, too, because next year I couldn’t even get a visa!

Skiing Mt Ruapehu

2008-09-17T22:09:00.000-07:00

It may have taken me two and a half months, but I finally made it up the mountain to try a day of skiing. Being a complete and total beginner I was dressed almost head-to-toe in borrowed gear- one of the perks of living in a lodge full of generous friends with opposite days off. This saved me from buying or renting: skis, boots, poles, gloves, thermals, waterproof pants and sunglasses.

In many social circles, reverting to talk about the weather is a safe and boring standby but in a skier’s life it’s absolutely essential. Too windy or cloudy and you can’t see five feet in front of you. Too warm and the snow turns straight to slush. I considered our ideal conditions of sunshine breaking through weeks of perfect snowfall an early birthday present and didn’t even bother bringing a jacket. I was, however, extremely adamant about applying sunscreen after working with walking cautionary tales sporting red faces and raccoon eyes.

Marc (more commonly known by his last name, Brooker) volunteered as my eternally patient instructor. An experienced skier and fitness instructor, he came up with different visualization techniques to help me with the various positions. Turning my toes out was “dancing”, going up hill was like “ice skating”, and turning toes in to slow down and stop was “pizza” (it makes the shape of a slice). Having trained in ballet my entire life, this last one was the most foreign to me, and unfortunately, stopping is a fairly important part of the process. I constantly had to remind myself to turn in, keep my weight on my toes and roll onto the inside of my feet.

Still determined, we skipped Happy Valley, the beginners hill, partially out of overconfidence but mostly because it gets overcrowded with kids and tourists and I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of plowing over another human being. I took three runs on the basic rope tow to get the feel for turning and stopping, with Brooker giving me a new goal (follow his path, wide turns, stop and start) every time. Convinced I was a natural we moved up to Rock Garden to try some real runs.

This is where I fell in love with the sport. Despite my inability to instinctually stop (toes, Toes, TOES!), I did a few successful runs with only three major tumbles. I was fearless after discovering that rolling on powder is just about as painful as an overaggressive massage, nothing I couldn’t handle. That was, until on my next run I managed to fall into a backwards somersault and smack the back of my head on the hill. Swaying slightly as I stood up, I decided it was time for a break.

We grabbed a quick coffee and headed to the café at the top of the Waterfall run. I took one look and decided this one would be pushing my luck so, after enjoying some great views, I rode the chair lift back down to where I was comfortable. I fell in love with Tennants Valley, which starts with a step hill but drops into wide, open space so I could coast without fear. After the last possible run, I tramped back to the car with boots on my feet, skis over my shoulder, and a triumphant grin on my face.

No Clothes Party

2008-09-16T17:01:00.000-07:00

I’m not sure if it’s an English thing, a traveler’s thing, or just the people I happen to surround myself with but while away from home I’ve found a common theme of people dressing up in crazy outfits to go out. The first time I heard the term “fancy dress party” I assumed it was similar to our formal dances back in America. I was definitely wrong.

We discovered a slew of September birthdays among the Chateau staff and tried to come up with a way to celebrate together outside of the limited options on the mountain that everyone was bored of. This was supposed to be something special. We settled on a night out in Taupo with one stipulation- everyone had to come wearing an outfit made of something other than clothing. One group started early with a pub quiz at Mulligan’s and moved on to dancing at Element until the rest of the staff could get off work.

With scarce resources on our fingertips (not to mention a limited time frame for those of us racing to catch at least last call after work) most people ended up in variations of bin bags, also known as can liners or trash bags to us "Yanks" (On a side note, when it was first suggested I kept thinking that people were suggesting we wear “bean bags”… got to love the English language barrier!). I grabbed the one thing in my room that wasn’t clothing and would still cover me, a towel, tied a tapestry around my head and called it a night.

One of the greatest things about the night was that all of us, whether we worked late or had to be up early, put in the effort to make an appearance. I’m not sure if it was the months that we had worked together or the fact that we all looked ridiculous, but any bonds that were formed felt cemented that night. Blood may be thicker than water, but garbage bags can definitely hold their own.

Prawn Fishing in New Zealand

2008-09-13T19:43:00.000-07:00

Traveling can generally be divided into two schools of thought. First, you could attempt to learn how locals live their daily lives. This becomes a much easier task when your travels include long-term residency. Your best options include taking a working holiday, studying abroad, or staying with friends who can show you the sights not listed in every guidebook.

Option two is to take advantage of being on vacation and indulge in activities that you, or those native to the area, wouldn’t normally be inclined to do. These can fall along the lines of guided tours, visiting historical sights, or finding the perfect scenic backdrop for a photo op to memorialize your experience. You could even call them a traveler's guilty pleasures.

I generally fall more into the first category. It took me three years of living in New York City before I made it to the top of the Empire State Building, but I was thrilled when friends visited and suggested that I join them. Every once in a while you have to let your inner tourist emerge.

This is how I ended up at a prawn fishing farm in Taupo, New Zealand. I’d been to the town many times, as it’s generally the closest big city for us to go out for a night or do some decent shopping, but today’s mission was different.

We arrived at Huka Prawn Park, paid an admission fee and received a brief lesson on the best techniques to catch a prawn. Apparently, once you feel them take the bait on the end of your pole they have to walk around and show off their prize to all of the other prawns around them, so you don’t want to pull up as soon as you feel a tug. Instead, you’re supposed to follow them with your line as they stagger about with bravado, waiting for the jerk that means they’ve finally taken a bite before pulling them out of the water.

Some of us were better at this than others. Although I was one of the first to feel a tug on my line, I managed to either pull it up too early or wait too long and discover that they had eaten the bait and scampered off on their prawny way. We watched as the boys managed to catch a few (including Arturo’s monster prawn) and laughed as Keri squealed with a combination of delight and fear when she pulled hers out of the water but was too horrified to take it off the hook herself.

We brought our bounty inside to be cooked (slightly disappointed that our time and effort resulted in about one bite per person as opposed to the full meal we had been expecting) and hit the driving range in the meantime. There were inner tubes floating at various distances offering prize money for sinking a hole in one, but I simply prayed that it wouldn’t take me too many swings before making contact with the ball. I managed it in two.

We finished our afternoon with a stop at one of the more natural attractions of New Zealand- hot springs.

After a stop at the store for some picnic food, we changed into our swimsuits and began vying for the best seat among the rocks. We sat back and enjoyed absolute tranquility- until it started to rain without a single trademarked umbrella in sight! Tourists may occasionally be better prepared, but it’s unpredictable moments like these that will stick in my memory long after the prawns have left the farm.

“Weekend” in Wellington (Part Two)

2008-09-11T23:21:00.000-07:00

Satisfied with our glimpse of the city’s nightlife, we got up early to dive into daylife expeditions (and check out of our room on time…). Without another night to spend in town, we decided to spend our bar tab on breakfast at the pub we had discovered the night before, indulging in eggs, potatoes, coffees, a bloody mary and soft drinks to take with us. We may have been one of the first teams in history to spend the minority of a bar tab on anything to drink!

The cable car came highly recommended by everyone we talked to, but we were greeted by miserable rainy weather that is apparently typical of Wellington. We took our chances anyway and, after a five-minute uphill ride filled with college kids and commuters, spent approximately thirty seconds appreciating glimpses of what would be a beautiful view through a cloud-covered haze.

We wandered through the largely unbloomed but fairly enjoyable botanic gardens, that I’m sure appreciated the drizzle more than we did, and took a brief shelter in the tree house, whose misleading name materialized as simply a visitor’s center and gift shop.

Slightly disappointed, we moved on to another highly recommended tourist attraction, the Wellington Zoo. Although it proved more difficult to find than one would imagine for a place housing the likes of lions, kangaroos and giraffes, it existed just outside of the city center and just off the edges of all of our maps. After a few circles and one stop for directions, we arrived to breaking blue skies. We took this as a good sign.

The zoo ended up being a highlight of our trip. Although a few of the animals sat disappointingly still, the swinging spider monkeys, swivel-necked mere cats, a chattering trio of inseparable otters and a pair of leopards intent on licking each other from head to toe were full of personality. We watched with a combination of childlike wonder and adult admiration and made up stories about the dramas in their lives. It wasn’t until the wildcats began to roar over a chorus of squawking birds that we realized it was diner time, both for the animals and our grumbling stomachs.

I had begun begging for us to eat at least one sushi meal, one of the things I miss most being at my fingertips in both Seattle and New York. We were, after all, in a seaside town and had spotted a “sushi” sign on Courtney Place the day before. It ended up being the type where you grab dishes off of a rotating river in the center of the room and your prices are color coordinated by the plates left when you finish your meal. This may not have been ideal, (or fresh?), but I took what I could get and built a stack halfway to eye-level to hold me over.

We couldn’t leave without trying Tuatara, “New Zealand’s finest beer” as boasted in a local newspaper. We stopped into a small bar filled with business men winding down from a long day of work and twenty-somethings getting a head start on the weekend ahead. We chose the wheat variety on draft, not necessarily overwhelming, but definitely an impressive note to leave this beautifully cosmopolitan town.

“Weekend” in Wellington (Part 1)

2008-09-10T00:00:00.000-07:00

One of the hardest things to reconcile on a working holiday visa is how to fit your holidays in around work. I rounded up three friends- Hannah, Tony Salmon (who everyone knows as “Salmon”), and Tim- who had never been to Wellington and we put in requests to our respective departments to get the time off. One of the things I had to get used to in this country is that our work roster runs from Wednesday to Tuesday, so technically we called this a weekend road trip.

After breakfast, we made it through a roughly four hour drive with minimal stops, entertaining ourselves by arguing over music choices and attempting to pronounce the Mauri names on street signs as we passed. We arrived at Base Backpackers in the afternoon where we dropped the car, checked in, and marveled at the size of our private suite and cleaner-than-we’re-used-to, non-communal shower for a fairly decent price.

Visually, Wellington reminds me a lot of San Francisco. The city sits right on the waterfront with ships lining the harbor, a few cobblestone streets, trendy dining and shopping districts and it’s very own cable car. My Lonely Planet boasted that, “Wellington is undisputed king of NZ’s nightlife with copious clubs, bars and other insomniac refuges,” so we couldn’t wait to hit the town.

We dropped our bags and began by scouring the neighborhood for lunch options, settling for the $15 lunch special at Coyote. Our stomachs quickly turned from rumbles to satisfied purrs and I rediscovered my love for a good draft beer with a Montieth’s Radler. From there we split into gender-friendly pairs so the girls could shop and the boys could hit up TAB gambling spots, but it wasn’t long before Hannah and I were ready for a nap so we dragged ourselves back to the room and collapsed onto our bottom bunks.

After the boys returned to rouse us out of bed, we showered, dressed up for the night and headed just down the street to a pub quiz at The Speights Ale House at The Shepherds Arms Hotel. It turns out that two Americans, an Aussie and a Swedish girl make a pretty good team because we won two pitchers of beer and a $100 bar tab to split between us! To be fair, we won both on lucky guesses of how many times the Earth could fit inside the sun (somewhere over 900,000) and by changing our answers to three questions in the bonus round three times. Our bar tab came a weeklong expiration date so we finished our beers and went to explore the rest of the town.

We started on Courtney Place, which everyone had told us was the heart of

the city when the sun goes down, and bounced from place to place. We fell in love with El Horno, a cute little Spanish bar that played classic American music and served yummy sangria. We popped into Shooters, a multi-level club, to find four people on the dance floor and promptly turned on our heels to leave. Hannah and I spent a few minutes dancing at The Establishment where they had champagne drink specials for ladies night, but we took one look at the boys’ bored faces and agreed to move on.

After stopping for one more drink at El Horno we ended up back at Basement, the bar in the bottom of our hostel, where everything behind the bar was $5. We plopped onto the couches and people-watched as couples who had far more to drink than we had paired off and danced around the subject of blatantly asking whose room was likely to have an empty bed. Before long, we called it a night, happy to have a double-bunk bed suite sorted out for ourselves, and geared up for a full day of sightseeing.

Road Trippin’

2008-09-09T18:38:00.000-07:00

The best inauguration for a new car has to be a road trip, as long as you remember a few key elements:

1. Comfortable seating- Don’t try to cram too many people in the car or you’ll end up with a crick in your neck and drool on your shoulder. Seat belts all the way around is usually a safe bet.

2. Eat up- You don’t want to stop eight times along the way for pizza, burgers and water bottles so stock up on car friendly snacks and drinks before getting in the car.

3. Bathroom breaks- It may have been an annoying rule when you were a child, but every person tries to go every time you stop. A spare roll of toilet paper in the glove box can also save you from drip-drying through public restrooms worldwide.

4. Soundtrack- Save yourself from making small talk for hours with a solid mix of music to suit the taste of every passenger. Take turns creating iPod playlists or tune in to local radio stations to get a feel for what the natives are listening to. Classic rock that everyone can sing along to can be a lifesaver when you’re struggling to stay awake. On that note…

5. Sleep in shifts- Never leave the driver awake on their own. Consider the back seat fair game for napping but keep an alert pair of eyes and ears in the passenger seat to avoid both accidents and boredom- equally dangerous.

Let’s hit the road!

I Bought A Car!

2008-09-05T19:15:00.000-07:00

Ok, to be fair I bought half a car. Well, technically I’m long-term-renting a car.

When our friend Ewan was leaving and selling his car, Tony and I were both interested in buying it but neither of us was keen on spending a ton of money. I approached Tony with the idea of sharing it, since we work in the same department and generally get opposite days off. On top of that, he wants to keep the car when he leaves the Chateau to travel further while I only want it as an escape from the mountain while living here. He's going to buy me out when our travels part paths.

So, I’m a joint property owner of an old Mitsubishi. It has its quirks- the rear window leaks, the defrost takes a while, the driver’s side lock is a bit moody…. Throw in that the steering wheel is on the opposite side that I’m used to and they drive on the left hand side of the road and every time behind the wheel becomes an experience.

But, all things aside, the freedom it brings is invaluable. I’ve driven to Oakhune, thirty minutes away, for a bagel and a good cup of coffee. It gives me the freedom to plan road trips or even have a night out on the town without working around someone else’s schedule.

Having relied on public transportation for almost four years I had a hard time adjusting to being isolated on a mountain without so much as a flashing taxi light or subway station in sight. Sure, traveling (for some) is supposed to push you out of your comfort zone, but I’ve discovered that one of the most important things for me to pack is control of my own destiny.

Give and Let Give

2008-09-03T15:02:00.000-07:00

Human nature doesn’t get nearly the credit it deserves. One of the most important attributes that I’ve found upon moving to both New York and New Zealand is the kindness of relative strangers- particularly in times of distress.

New Yorkers have a reputation for being a fast-walking, tough-talking, competitive breed but upon arrival I found a culture dying to feel a connection. One can’t stand on the street or stare at a subway map for five minutes without someone approaching with an offer to help. Complete strangers will start a conversation in an elevator or subway and, particularly while working in restaurants, patrons were dying to ask about your life story. Work acquaintances and fast friends were always willing to go above and beyond to help find a new job, place to live, or promote an aspiring artist’s show. In New York I found the strong support network absolutely necessary to cultivate a city of dreamers.

I was struck by a different kindness from the international travelers making up the Chateau staff. I was a little bit nervous to join a team slightly later in the season than most, afraid that previous friendships may have already formed impenetrable bonds. What I found was the polar opposite: a welcoming group of open arms, an open-door environment, and a willing trust to lend money, a car, or some advice at any hour of the day.

Truly beautiful colors were revealed during a recent bout with the flu that plagued almost every member of our staff. While some people were barely able to breathe or get out of bed, others were making runs to the pharmacy in town to pick up medication, lending magazines and movies to keep patients entertained, covering long hours at work, and even sitting in germ-infested rooms to dull the loneliness and boredom of being quarantined away from home. The selflessness and kindness that I witnessed gave my faith in humanity and my immune system enough of a boost to ward off this round of illness- and yes that’s the sound of me knocking heavily on wood!

I’m not sure if it’s the difficult pace and constant rejection of being a struggling artist in the big city, the isolation and backpacker’s conditions of a small mountain town, or the inherent goodness of people in general, but what I’ve seen of the world is far from what is reflected on the front pages of newspapers and gossip magazines. They are the small voices offering to buy you a coffee, recommend a word-of-mouth traveler’s destination, and pay forward the kindness offered by those before them. What I’ve seen is hope for our future.

A Taste of Home

2008-08-31T21:28:00.000-07:00

One of the best ways that I’ve discovered to combat homesickness is to recreate the traditions that you miss most. This is how the idea of All-American Brunch was born.

Sunday brunch is a New York staple, as much about the company of friends and the excuse to drink champagne in the morning as it is about the food. We rounded up the American staff hailing from Seattle, Tennessee, DC, New York and Massachusetts, coordinated days off, and dressed in our finest red-white-and-blue for a little taste of home without anyone making fun of the way we say “tomato”.

We scoured the grocery store in town to find bagels (surprisingly scarce in this country!), eggs, smoked salmon, hollandaise, bacon, fruit salad, mimosas and coffee and dove into our feast. Saturday Night Live’s the Best of Will Farrell provided the perfect entertainment, making it tough to chew through laughter.

To top off the afternoon, Helen and I dove into a Sex and the City marathon, which turned out to be a bit of an overkill. It’s one thing to enjoy the benefits of a good brunch, and another entirely to taunt yourself with visions of the things from home you can’t have: good friends, a different restaurant everyday of the week, and all of the perks of cosmopolitan life.

So, I just reminded myself of the humidity of an East Coast summer, bundled underneath a blanket and drifted into a nap. Central Park grass can’t always be greener.

Mother Nature is a Tough Boss!

2008-08-20T05:22:00.000-07:00

One of the largest adjustments from moving to a concrete jungle to a mountain environment has been conceding major decisions to the whims of the weather. As a pedestrian town, New York is somewhat affected by the forecast - do you carry an umbrella to the subway? Do you eat at an outdoor café or seek solace in an air-conditioned room – very rarely will the weather actually disrupt the flow of daily life.

On the mountain, we are at the mercy of the skies. My work schedule is dependent on access to the ski areas: if they’re open we can expect to be busy later in the day as families come down after a day on the slopes, but I get called in early on days that the slopes are closed to accommodate guests who settle for tea and scones as opposed to a day of snowboarding. Deliveries and trips to the nearest towns depend on the roads being open and ice free, and whether or not the car available has chains or four-wheel drive.

It can be a humbling experience, and a frustrating one. Ski and

snowboarding fans are stuck sleeping with crossed fingers that they can take full advantage of their days off. A heavy snow can turn the walk to work into an obstacle course, dodging the snowball fights that automatically ensue after a heavy snow.

Even our moods can be affected. I worried about the idea of living through two winters in a row when I chose to change hemispheres. I may have soaked up the sun in Las Vegas before arriving, but the idea of snowstorms in September is still tough to wrap my head around- especially with pictures of friends from home lounging on the beach taunting me on Facebook.

I’ve always respected the power and beauty of the weather - lightning storms and sunsets are a few of my favorite things – but there are certainly days when I wish Mother Nature took requests into consideration.

Taranaki Falls

2008-07-27T01:07:00.000-07:00

One of the best things about being surrounded by travelers is the element of spontaneity. People from around the world with different personalities and varied interests come up with adventures that you could never have dreamed up alone. It was over lunch that I decided I wanted to jump into Taranaki Falls.

Helen and I were eating in the staff room and planning to use the internet before our shifts started when Mike, a sweet young guy from England, plopped down at the table across from us. Everyone knew that he was heading home to start university in a few weeks and was trying to cram in as many activities as possible before leaving.

“What are you up to today?” we asked.

“I’m going to jump in a waterfall,” he replied matter-of-factly, “I just wish I had someone there to take my picture.”

Helen and I exchanged a quick glance. “I’ll go with you,” I volunteered, “but if you’re jumping in the water then so am I.”

“Well I’m not going to be the only loser who doesn’t jump in,” Helen chimed in.

And so, our idea was born. We each ran home to change into swimsuits and pack a bag of warm clothes to bundle up for the walk home. We met at the entrance to the Taranaki Falls walk, checked our watches and realized that there was no way we would make it back to work in time if it actually took us the allotted hour posted each way.

Refusing to accept defeat, we decided to run the downhill portions of the trail and Manhattan speed walk the rest of the way, reassuring ourselves that the time was overestimated for dawdlers. Stopping for a few pictures in between, we reached the falls in about forty-five minutes.

Since it was his original idea, Mike stripped down and went first while Helen and I stood on the rocks armed with a disposable camera. After striking a few poses he crawled out shivering but grinning. We took turns wading to the middle, standing still long enough to get a good shot, and then trying to convince the next participant through chattering teeth that it really wasn’t that cold.

After we had each taken one turn, we concluded that we couldn’t really claim to have jumped into a waterfall while we still had dry hair, so Helen and I grabbed hands, plugged our noses, and tip toed far enough out to completely dunk our heads. Not one to be outdone, Mike followed suit, splashing water overhead as he broke the surface.

Exhilarated, and possibly delirious from the cold, we started our walk back at the same fast pace that we had taken there. Even slowed slightly by a scraped knee that I earned taking a fall around a slick corner, we made it back in time to change clothes and get to work with barely a minute to spare. For the rest of the evening, fueled by adrenaline, endorphins, and the sheer timing of coming across the idea on a day filled with blue skies and sunshine, I couldn’t wipe the grin off of my face. As fate would have it, a blizzard hit Whakapapa village the next day making the savoring of our experience even more sweet.

**This little adventure was featured on www.Trazzler.com!

Just Do It.

2008-07-22T20:05:00.000-07:00

I’ve never thought of myself as an adventure sports junkie. In fact, most people laughed when I told them I was going to live on the side of a mountain and work at a ski resort when I don’t ski or snowboard. I’m simply here for the experience of seeing another country and having some quiet time to write without the millions of distractions that New York provides on a nightly basis.

That being said, I promised myself that I would be open to new experiences and take advantage of any that presented themselves. When I heard that a group was organizing a white water rafting trip I jumped right in.

Eight of us drove down to Tongariro River Rafting (www.trr.co.nz) where we met our guides Nick and Ben and changed into wetsuits, life jackets, and helmets. They corralled us onto a bus and took us to the river where we got a few brief instructions before hauling our boats into the water.

The severity of a river is rated on a scale of one to five, and my favorite explanation was that one was equivalent to a warm bath, while five was similar to dropping a live hornets nest into your pants. Our river was a level three, and of course we chose a rainy day so we spent our time between rapids (which was probably seventy-five percent) sitting on our hands for warmth.

Luckily, our guides were full of jokes and silly banter to keep us entertained.

After a two hour ride full of gorgeous scenery, a few thrilling moments of water splashing into our faces and a few more spent bouncing up and down in the boat trying to dislodge ourselves from the top of a rock, we piled back into the busses for a soak in the nearby hot pools. Numb skin tingled against the warmth of the water the moment our toes broke the surface, but within minutes we settled in and never wanted to leave.

Before we knew it we were being called out of the water (just moments before the skies broke and began to rain again) to change back into comfortable clothes. We headed back to home base where tomato soup (homemade from Nick’s garden) was waiting for us with bread and butter. We ate, drank and laughed at the slideshow of photos already streaming on the wall and left as soaking but completely satisfied customers.

The Job

2008-07-20T01:52:00.000-07:00

So, what am I actually doing here?!
My official title is Food & Beverage Assistant at the Bayview Chateau Tongariro. I am generally scheduled to work Lounge Service, which is pretty much a combination of bartender/barback/barista/waitress /American ambassador (people LOVE to ask the staff where we’re from, what it’s like, and what we’re doing here) and anything else that gets thrown my way.

My schedule is pretty ideal- most of my days start at either noon or 3:00pm and run up until midnight, unless there is a special event or particularly rowdy crowd that keeps us open late. Our clientele make up a stew full of varied ingredients- we’ve got high-end hotel guests having cocktails before dining in the five star restaurant spiced with skiers and snowboarders looking for a cold beer after a long day on the mountain and garnished with families placating their children with hot chocolates for a moment’s peace so they can get a glimpse of the gorgeous mountain view out the enormous picture window. You’re as likely to see a cocktail dress and heels as you are grown adults tossing dripping wet coats over the backs of couches and warming their stocking feet by the fireplace.

I work in a bit of a boys club, but they’re a great crew. Jon, our bar manager, is from England and a big kid at heart who could charm the pants off of anyone who approaches the bar window. Tim, our assistant bar manager and Jon’s best friend, is a smart ass Boston boy. He can rub people the wrong way until you realize that he only pushes people’s buttons when he knows they can take it. He can also turn on a smile the second any guest approaches and knows fine-dining etiquette like the back of a white-gloved hand. Rounding out our crew is Tony W, who everyone calls “Dubs” due to the number of other Tonys running around. He’s from Northern England with a great accent to match and hides his sharp wit inside the demeanor of a big teddy bear.
During busy times my job keeps me running, and in down times I turn to silly details like organizing the six different types of coffee saucers we use or taking walks around the lounge with rambunctious rug rats. It may not be the reason I came to New Zealand, but it is my means to income, housing, and a social life, and so far it’s not half bad.

Oh, and it allows me the time focus on my real career aspirations and get an article published in an Australian newspaper…. more on that later!

The Staff

2008-07-15T19:09:00.000-07:00

Living in the lodges is basically like being in college again, on an international campus. The staff here at the Chateau is primarily from England, Scotland, and New Zealand with a few Americans sprinkled in, topped off with travelers from Sweden, Poland, Brazil, etc. Most are skier/snowboarders (we do live adjacent to a mountain and all…) or backpackers looking to earn their way to the next destination.

Like most young adults in a new setting, we turned to drinks and games to get to know each other. There is a tavern two minutes down the road that hosts pub quizzes, pool tournaments and beer pong games where you can generally find a crowd unwinding after work.

Helen, the manager and friend responsible for bringing me here, celebrated her birthday the weekend after I arrived and she decided to combat summer-sickness with a beach themed birthday party. The whole staff got into the spirit with festive gear and crazy games that lasted until breakfast was being served in the cafeteria the next morning.

And, just as a reminder that we are actually living in a small country on the side of a mountain, we awoke the next day to the news that the water supply was contaminated by sewage getting into the village water supply (and yes, I made that face that you’re making right now!). So much for rehydrating- or even brushing our teeth! It was treated within twenty-four hours but not before plenty of moaning, groaning, and missing the simple pleasure of access to boiling water.

NY vs NZ

2008-07-13T18:49:00.000-07:00

I definitely prepared myself for a culture shock before this trip. I went from a small island crammed full of everything one could ever need or want to a village where every building is within walking distance. Despite that, life in New Zealand is surprisingly similar to life in Manhattan, with a few distinct differences:

1. A good pair of walking shoes is absolutely required.
In New York mine were generally a good pair of black heels.
In New Zealand they look more like this:

2. Someone else cooks all of my meals for me.
In New York they’re superb quality, delivered to my door and generally overpriced.
In New Zealand they’re served in a cafeteria free of charge, and surprisingly good quality.

3. I’m surrounded by people from all over the world speaking many different languages.
In New York it’s generally Spanish or something European.
In New Zealand it’s English, Scottish, or Kiwi English and I’m still constantly asking for clarification.

4. A car is optional.
In New York I can go anywhere I want on the subway or in a taxi.
In New Zealand I’m subject to the whims of any friend who drives, and the nearest town is about an hour away.

5. You can’t always drink what you want.
In New York I would get upset if the local deli ran out of lo-carb Monster energy drink on my way to work and I had to walk a block out of my way to get another.
In New Zealand I get annoyed that the water supply was contaminated and we to boil it to have access to fresh drinking water or brush our teeth for 24 hours.

Despite the differences, I’m feeling pretty comfortable here. My access to phone, internet and amenities may be limited but I’m surrounded by friendly people with a job and a roof over my head. And the most common question to start a conversation is the same here as it is in Manhattan: “Where are you from?”

At the Chateau

2008-07-08T15:47:00.000-07:00

I didn't get to see much more than the mall in Auckland due to sorting out a bank account, tax ID number, and forgotten personal items (towels, boots, etc.). Then Ami and I jumped on the road for a four hour drive to the village of Whakapapa. Oh, and in New Zealand "Wh" is pronounced like an "F" so it's quite a funny town to say aloud...

Thankfully, she and I got along right from the start and were

comfortable enough to turn the music up and sing Beatles tunes at the top of our lungs for most of the ride. Having grown up in the Northwest, I was instantly comforted by views of green trees in the dead of winter and being surrounded by water. I also saw enough livestock along the roads to erase any doubt in one of my most favorite quoted facts- that there are 5 sheep to every person in this country.

At times the drive felt almost like a Disney movie- rainbows popped up over the hillsides to welcome us to town and our first glimpse of the majestic mountains came just as the sunset painted the sky a picturesque pink. I took all of this as a good sign.

Once we arrived I was reunited with my friend Helen, a former co-worker in New York who recommended me for the position and a calming dose of familiarity in a new environment.

I settled into my dorm-style accommodations, which are far from glamorous, but are easily offset by spectacular views and the old-world charm of the Chateau itself.

Thanks to jet lag, I've been up to see the sunrise once and awake before 8:00am every day so far- anyone who knows me that anything before noon can be considered miraculous! It's proven quite productive so I'm going to hold onto the routine for as long as possible, but I make no guarantees.

First Day In

2008-07-06T02:55:00.000-07:00

So, I've met my new boss...and she's brilliant! We had chatted online and I knew we would be friends, but I had no idea how much fun until I got here!

Backtrack- I took a shuttle from the airport to Hostel Auckland International, which provided decent accommodations for a night. Ami- the food and beverage manager and my future boss's boss- happened to be in Auckland the same weekend I arrived so I have a ride up to Bayview Chateau Tongariro tomorrow, where I'll be living and working for the next few months.

Ami and I hit it off right away. She and her brother picked me up from the hostel and we hit the mall for the basics: a new cell phone, rain boots to wade through the snow, silly umbrellas to keep our spirits bright in cold weather, etc. We talked and laughed to the point where silly errands started to feel like fun and I knew that my next few months were the right decision.

From there, we went home to change clothes, drop off the car, and grab dinner and a drink. We picked up some local New Zealand wine and headed to Hong Thai-a restaurant that the two of them knew so well that after we walked in, we warned the staff that we probably shouldn't be seated in the small dining room in close quarters with the other guests. Our loud conversations and uninhibited laughter bought us a place in their private garden.

Our drinks and stories flowed easily through the evening until we realized our stomachs couldn't hold another ounce of food or laughter. We bundled into jackets, scarves and gloves and prepared for the road trip ahead of us the next day to Bayview Chateau Tongariro- that is if the roads aren't snowed out!

I've Arrived!

2008-07-05T12:15:00.000-07:00

I'm officially a temporary Kiwi!

It wasn't easy to leave friends and family behind after amazing week of send offs in New York, Seattle, and Las Vegas, but they only served to remind me how much I have to come home to- and gave me a great excuse for bringing enough luggage to cover five months in four different climates!

As I sat in the San Francisco Airport, it really started to sink in. I had just turned off my cell phone and internet service and immediately felt disconnected from my own personal universe. Would I really survive without texting?! I took a deep breath, shoulders fighting to rise against the weight of carry on luggage and a winter coat and walked toward the gate.

Luckily, fate decided to throw me a bone. On every flight I sit hoping that no one claims the seat beside me, and for this twelve hour leg of my trip my dream came true. The space nestled between my aisle seat and the girl next to the window was filled with nothing but breathing room. I was free from a sleeping head drooling on my shoulder, and free to curl my feet onto the seat. I bundled under the blanket, propped up pillows and turned to the in-flight entertainment system.

At this point, I have to take a moment to adore Air New Zealand. They were the only airline not to charge me for checking a second bag, the economy class seats were comfortable, they had a huge selection of movies and games to choose from, and they served local wines with dinner free of charge.

I willed myself to stay awake through 21

and Penelope (and was struck by the similarities between Jim Sturgess and James McAvoy) and played a few rounds of Tetris before drifting off to sleep- without the help of my well-stocked sleeping pills.

By the time I woke up, breakfast was being served and I had two hours left to dive into the local culture courtesy of Flight of the Concords:

And, although I'm fully aware that expecting every Kiwi to be this awesome is about as likely as my life being as glamorous as Sex and the City, I'm holding out hope.