Go West!

Where in the World: Westward! Mostly to the coastal states.

The Inspiration: "Paradise is there," among other things. This weekend starts a series of weeks where I would like to be on the west coast. For starters, there will be a fantastic party to celebrate my cousin's 30th birthday in San Francisco. Then, my best friend will be completing some tremendously challenging tests, during which time I'd like to provide moral support and ice cream, and be there at the completion to celebrate her overall brilliance and success, and help her move half way across the country again. Also, I'd love a chance to just visit and talk with my brother, who lives in Seattle, and I'm feeling more and more like I'll need a plane ticket to do that. Oh, and he invited me to go to a really fabulous music festival with him in three weeks, so that too.

All of these lovely attractants exist without even mentioning the overwhelming beauty of the Pacific Northwest when it's not raining, the loveliness of Pacific coastlines, the delightful temperance of San Francisco's weather, and the glorious buttes and curves and wide open landscapes from southern California to south central Texas. I'm all full of itinerant lusting today.

My Golden Ticket Dilemma

Warning: Ignorance may be bliss regarding this one.

Where in the World: ANYWHERE that JetBlue Flies, September 8- October 8, for $599.

The Inspiration: It's pretty obvious that I've found an airline special, isn't it? I think I'm in love with JetBlue. Check this crazy action out (go ahead, I'll be right here debating and waiting for you to get back): http://www.jetblue.com/deals/all-you-can-jet/?intcmp=HPHero1Eng_All-You-Can-JetPass

Here's the tricky part: this is AMAZING, but I work on the weekends, and go to school during the week. I don't know if I could take off all of the weekends in September without getting fired, or even to have enough cash to eat and stay in all the places I'd like to visit in that month. If this were for August, while I don't have classes, there is no question that I would already be a happy vagrant, sending a postcard goodbye to my tea shop job. My tea shop job is nice, though, and they are very kind to accommodate my occasionally ridiculous class schedule, and I am very far from wealthy and need the cash. Knowing that this special exists is rather torturous, though; it's my Pandora's box, full of all sort of delights and evils, and nearly impossible to avoid opening.

Hmmmm.... Perhaps I can get someone to pay me to travel, and to write about it? I think tonight I'll fall asleep singing "I've got a golden ticket!" and dream about just that.

A Culinary Tour of Europe

Where in the World: A Culinary Tour of Europe.

The Inspiration: Accurate stereotypes. Seriously. And, if you haven't noticed yet, a fondness for delicious food. Today I was reading and writing about ethnic stereotypes and humor for one of my classes, and came across this joke:

“Heaven is where the police are English, the cooks are French, the mechanics are German, the lovers are Italian and everything is organized by the Swiss. Hell is where the police are German, the cooks are English, the mechanics are French, the lovers are Swiss, and everything is organized by the Italians.”

It was in the article “Science gets the last laugh on ethnic jokes” by Kathleen Wren, and although she said it was an old joke, I hadn’t read it before, and thought it was hilarious (the rest of the article is pretty interesting, too). I haven’t visited Switzerland yet, and I’ve only been to the airport in Munich (which was, incidentally, a model of efficiency on which all international airports could be based) but it got me thinking about the fact and fiction of stereotypes that I encountered when I’ve been in Europe.

When we were in college (for the first time) my best friend, who has always been braver than I am, decided to spend her junior year studying the French political system while in France. I promised to visit her, and since I always work very hard to keep my travel promises, I went at the end of her school year in Paris. I took French in high school, which was close to useless, and a year of French in college, which was marginally better, so it’s generous to call my linguistic abilities “limited”. So, stereotype in mind, I was really worried that I would have a terrible time in Paris not being able to speak to anyone. Of course I was wrong; I loved all of it. I had S to speak for me when my words were inadequate, and I didn’t encounter a single rude French person. Every time I tried to speak French, I was met with encouragement, understanding, and often a reply in English to help me along. I read somewhere a few years ago that the number of tourists visiting Paris ever year is nearly 10 times the size of the population. When I imagine living in a place where only one out of every ten people on the street is a citizen, I find it staggering that the locals would acknowledge the visitors, let alone go out of their way to be kind to the deluge of tourists. However, when I got myself a wee bit lost on my independent day in the city (S was finishing a term paper) I met several Parisians, and that’s exactly what they did.

There are a zillion lovely things that I could tell you about my week in Paris, but I started writing today with the intention of telling you that the food in Paris lives up to whatever lofty, stereotypical expectations you may have, from the street vendors to the nicest restaurant we could afford (which, notably, was far from the best restaurant in Paris). The only meal that was less than excellent was when we went to the Mexican restaurant that S took me to because it was where she would go when she was a bit homesick; the food was beautifully prepared with quality ingredients, but it was astonishingly bland. However, after that dinner I got my first taste of gelato, the most delightful dessert on the planet, so it was a great culinary evening after all.

Lovely reader, I was going to tell you all about how I went to Rome for the history and the food, and how each exceeded my expectations there as well, but I think that will have to wait for now. In the meantime, I did dig up some photos of my trip to Paris. They’re each worth a story of at least 1000 words, but this will have to do for now.

This scene was on the cover of my high school French book, so when I was in Paris I had to go have my portrait drawn. This artist is Damien, and he has twinkling eyes, and only one arm, so he'd hold one pencil in his teeth while drawing with another.




This is where I first tried real gelato. I was excited enough to be taking pictures before I'd even tried it.















S and me at Versailles. There are somethings that you have to see to believe; Versailles is hard to believe even once you've seen it. =)

Melbourne

Where in the World: Melbourne, Australia

The Inspiration: Good friends and a cheap plane ticket. Here's a true story: Last night I was up until 3:00 (which is midnight in California, and therefore the last minute for the sale that ended on June 16) staring at my computer screen, trying to figure out how to take advantage of amazing air fares. I had to called my friend JC in Melbourne twice, first to make sure the dates worked for visiting, and then because I had run out of ideas and was still indecisive, and he was the only person I knew who was awake. Okay, that's half true: I could have called my friends N&P, who also live in Melbourne, but N would help me be excited and not reasonable, when JC could try to be both. In the end, at 3:02, I closed the window asking for my credit card information, and the logical, responsible half of my personality beat out the adventurous half. Now, I know that was the better choice, but today Qantas extended the sale (although all the tickets have gone up by at least $100 each way) and after spending a day imagining all the fun I'd have visiting Melbourne and some of my other Aussie friends, I just want to get there soon, and I'm pouting like a two year old about it.

I visited Melbourne for the first time almost exactly two years ago with my brother, when JC was unfortunately out of the country and I hadn't even met N&P yet. We had a fantastic time without knowing anyone in the city, and I can only imagine it being better with delightful friends. Since I have photos from that trip, I thought I'd share.


This is my brother in Melbourne. Unfortunately, I can't remember the name of this bridge.








In most major cities, you're encouraged to avoid the alleys. In Melbourne, they tell you to go check them out. It turns out that they're full of wonderful restaurants and interesting little shops.












We also took a day trip from Melbourne to Phillip Island to see the Penguin Parade, which is one of the most charming natural phenomenons in history. We were not permitted to photograph the penguins, but the whole trip was full of fun sights.



I fed kangaroos at a petting zoo.

















We stopped at gorgeous beaches on the way. It was winter there, so they didn't have many visitors, which made them all the more majestic.





And before we left Phillip Island, I spotted the best sign I've ever seen.








I can't wait to go back!

While You're Waiting

Where in the World: Wherever you're stuck.

The Inspiration: I read this delightful article today by Bruce Turkel in the New York Times. In it, he talks about how he loves all parts of travel, and usually takes a harmonica and a sketch pad with him on business trips for when he is delayed or laid over at airports. Since lay overs and delays are such a big part of air travel these days, it makes sense to be prepared for it with something you enjoy. I usually travel with at least two books and a notebook, since I'm a bit of a bibliophile. I'll take a new book, and an old favorite, and have every intention of journaling in the notebook which usually gets lists instead of thoughtful, detailed entries. Now I'm wondering: what do you do while you're waiting? Do you plan for it? Would a spontaneous guitar and harmonica jam session between your fellow travellers bring you joy or aggrivation?

This also made me think about delays, and the reasons and stresses behind them. I think the worst kind of delay is when there is a storm somewhere else that is going to impair your chances of making your connecting flight in Chicago. Delays to check on something mechanical about the plane always make me nervous; I never want them to hurry up on those ones, but they make me antsy until the plane lands at the destination. The strangest delay I've ever experienced was when I flew from Singapore to London. Before we left the gate, the pilot came on the loudspeaker and said we'd have to wait a little while before taking off, we wanted to make sure the timing would be right and Afghan air space would be clear for us; I thought, "PLEASE, take all the time you need!"