Where in the World: The Chautauqua Institution, Chautauqua, New York
The Inspiration: Looking for a place to get away with friends that's not too far away. Family friends have had a cabin there since I was little, and I've always been a nerd, so I've always been intrigued by a place that was "founded on the belief that everyone 'has a right to be all that he can be -- to know all that he can know.'" Every day of their entire summer schedule is full of fascinating lectures, concerts, sermons, and art classes in a really lovely setting. Elie Wiesel and Justice Anthony Kennedy are two of this the speakers this year on a stage that has also hosted Franklin Roosevelt, Susan B. Anthony, and Ameila Earhart. I'm thinking of going after the summer class term ends and learning just for the fun of it for a few days. If that's appealing to you too, you may want to check out their website: http://www.ciweb.org/
PS: Here's something a bit crazy: spell check struggles with "New Zealand" but is fine with "Chautauqua." How does that work?
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Hiking on the Edge
Where in the World: A Rocky Ledge with Great Views; Katoomba Australia would be nice, but Utah could work, too.
The Inspiration: More reminiscing. Two years ago today, B and I had progressed to Australia, and my friends in Sydney took us out to the Blue Mountains to hike for the day.
I believe this was in the area known as the King's Tableland. From here, we went to see The Three Sisters rock formation, and hiked around there. I couldn't get over the fact that there were wild cockatoos in the woods; my friends couldn't believe we were surprised.
It was a fantastic day, and remembering it has me anxious for my next wilderness adventure.
The Inspiration: More reminiscing. Two years ago today, B and I had progressed to Australia, and my friends in Sydney took us out to the Blue Mountains to hike for the day.
I believe this was in the area known as the King's Tableland. From here, we went to see The Three Sisters rock formation, and hiked around there. I couldn't get over the fact that there were wild cockatoos in the woods; my friends couldn't believe we were surprised.
It was a fantastic day, and remembering it has me anxious for my next wilderness adventure.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Kiwis have a pretty strong sense of humor.
Now Qantas is by far the best airline that I've taken. However, Air New Zealand "has nothing to hide," and they really make me laugh, so I'm considering them for my next Pacific adventure. One of the funniest airline ads ever:
Sunday, June 28, 2009
"Excuse me, is this the town?"
Where in the World: The tiny towns along New Zealand routes 1, 6, and 7 between Kaikoura and Franz Josef.
The Inspiration: Nostalgia etc.; I did warn you. Once upon at time exactly two years ago, I stopped at an intersection near Victoria Forest Park, New Zealand. We got out of the car, and I approached a man walking down the side of the road, and said, "Excuse me, is this the town?" It was a reasonable question. Other than the "T" intersection of the highways that matched the map, there were only three buildings to indicate any sort of town-ness. The man laughed, and told me it actually was Springs Junction, and asked me what I had been expecting. At the puzzling advice of the woman from whom we tried to rent a motel room, we pressed on to Reefton for food and shelter that night. The next day we drove to Punakaiki, and then south down the coast to Franz Josef. Since I'm all misty-eyed over it, and I'm not sure you actually exist, lovely reader, I'm going to show off some more of the photos that are inspiring me. It's also worth noting that neither words or photos could ever adequately capture the beauty of that landscape.
This was on the "highway" across central New Zealand.
The plains run right up to the mountains, and make the geology lessons about the power of glaciers make sense.
This drive was unbelievable
As we got closer to the coast, the snow on the mountains vanished and was replaced by vegitation that looked delightfully prehistoric.
Here's me at the Pancake Rocks, which are amazing rock formations on the west coast. It was freezing cold, and raining, and I was so happy to be there.
The Maori name for New Zealand translates to "Land of the Long White Cloud," so when the views were obscured by fog I felt like I was at least having an authentic Kiwi experience. It actually added to the landscape, and gave it a sort of mythical property. This is one of my favorite photos.
The Inspiration: Nostalgia etc.; I did warn you. Once upon at time exactly two years ago, I stopped at an intersection near Victoria Forest Park, New Zealand. We got out of the car, and I approached a man walking down the side of the road, and said, "Excuse me, is this the town?" It was a reasonable question. Other than the "T" intersection of the highways that matched the map, there were only three buildings to indicate any sort of town-ness. The man laughed, and told me it actually was Springs Junction, and asked me what I had been expecting. At the puzzling advice of the woman from whom we tried to rent a motel room, we pressed on to Reefton for food and shelter that night. The next day we drove to Punakaiki, and then south down the coast to Franz Josef. Since I'm all misty-eyed over it, and I'm not sure you actually exist, lovely reader, I'm going to show off some more of the photos that are inspiring me. It's also worth noting that neither words or photos could ever adequately capture the beauty of that landscape.
This was on the "highway" across central New Zealand.
The plains run right up to the mountains, and make the geology lessons about the power of glaciers make sense.
This drive was unbelievable
As we got closer to the coast, the snow on the mountains vanished and was replaced by vegitation that looked delightfully prehistoric.
Here's me at the Pancake Rocks, which are amazing rock formations on the west coast. It was freezing cold, and raining, and I was so happy to be there.
The Maori name for New Zealand translates to "Land of the Long White Cloud," so when the views were obscured by fog I felt like I was at least having an authentic Kiwi experience. It actually added to the landscape, and gave it a sort of mythical property. This is one of my favorite photos.
Friday, June 26, 2009
New Zealand
Where in the World: New ZealandThe Inspiration: Nostalgia, and the fact that I didn't really want to leave the first time I was there. Two years ago, I left LA on a flight around 11pm on June 25, and 15 hours later I arrived in Auckland, New Zealand, around 7:30am on June 27. That's not a typo, the first part of my trip to New Zealand actually involved time travel, and I think that's crazy cool.* Of course, that's just the beginning. My trip lasted a total of 40 days, and so for the next 40 days I'm predicting that I'll be daydreaming about revisiting most of the places that I went to on that adventure. With that in mind, it's only fair to share a bit of what I saw on my first day in NZ.
I met up with my brother in Auckland, and we flew together to Christchurch. This is what NZ looks like from the air.
We rented a car, and drove from Christchurch to Kaikoura. We had to stop a few times on the way there, because it was simply too beautiful to just drive by.
Kaikoura is in an area with several marine sancutaries. We went directly to the beach to see the seals. I was just a little excited.
We then went for a walk along the cliffs. I was thrilled to be looking east towards the Pacific Ocean, and the scenery just took my breath away.
I may have chased these sheep a little bit, and then decided it was proof of my natural shepherding skills, and that I could live there forever.
This photo doesn't do justice to the colors we saw there; it was unspeakably beautiful. That's why I need to go back to see it again. =)
*You know what else isn't a typo? The spelling of "New Zealand". The spell checker keeps underlining it like it's wrong, which I think is pretty irksome. It's a country, for goodness sake! It's not like I'm using the Maori name, Aotearoa.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
My Favorite Trail at the Park
Where in the World: My Favorite Trail at the Park
The Inspiration: Today's non-adventure. Class let out early this evening and it was such perfect weather that I was really excited to be able to go to the park. I went home and got Angie, my dog, and arrived at the time of evening that comes right before dusk, where the eastern part of sky is almost white, and the opposite edge is just getting darker. Angie was all fired up because it was cooler, and the animals at the park are more active and more fun to chase.
We started towards our favorite trail, a wide dirt road that loops outside of the paved circle, and I felt a little pang of guilt because I had promised not to go there by myself; a man who could be reported as "a streaker" at best had been seen in the woods recently, and when my parents saw a sign about it they made a point of asking me not to go alone. As we approached the trail, I realized how long it's been since I was there in the evening; the trees' leaves have grown in, and the trail was a lovely, dusky green, perfected by the combination of rains earlier in the week and today's heat. It was beautiful, but already almost too late to be setting off into the woods. I paused at the trail-head and read the homemade sign for myself. It warned women not to travel alone, that a "NAKED CREEPER GUY" had been spotted in the woods, and that he had put shorts on and run away when he was seen, and the police were investigating. So I sighed, and remembered what I'd told my parents, and looked at Angie, who had bounded ahead and was watching me expectantly. Then, dear reader, I swear that it bubbled into my mind and I just had to say it:
"Come on Angie. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep..."
We turned around and walked around the big, paved loop. I was stunned at how few people were there, considering the fantastic weather, and for most of the walk it was like being in the woods except for Angie's nails clicking on the concrete. The road did have the other advantage of showcasing one of my favorite summer sights at the park: a family in a car driving as slowly as possible with sleepy but wide eyed children in the back seat, peering out the windows with flashlights, hoping to see coyotes. =)
We finished our walk with just a bit of daylight left, an inch of orange stretched across the horizon. Driving home I had to laugh: with the danger of creepers and coyotes, who wouldn't consider a walk at the park to be a little adventure?
The Inspiration: Today's non-adventure. Class let out early this evening and it was such perfect weather that I was really excited to be able to go to the park. I went home and got Angie, my dog, and arrived at the time of evening that comes right before dusk, where the eastern part of sky is almost white, and the opposite edge is just getting darker. Angie was all fired up because it was cooler, and the animals at the park are more active and more fun to chase.
We started towards our favorite trail, a wide dirt road that loops outside of the paved circle, and I felt a little pang of guilt because I had promised not to go there by myself; a man who could be reported as "a streaker" at best had been seen in the woods recently, and when my parents saw a sign about it they made a point of asking me not to go alone. As we approached the trail, I realized how long it's been since I was there in the evening; the trees' leaves have grown in, and the trail was a lovely, dusky green, perfected by the combination of rains earlier in the week and today's heat. It was beautiful, but already almost too late to be setting off into the woods. I paused at the trail-head and read the homemade sign for myself. It warned women not to travel alone, that a "NAKED CREEPER GUY" had been spotted in the woods, and that he had put shorts on and run away when he was seen, and the police were investigating. So I sighed, and remembered what I'd told my parents, and looked at Angie, who had bounded ahead and was watching me expectantly. Then, dear reader, I swear that it bubbled into my mind and I just had to say it:
"Come on Angie. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep..."
We turned around and walked around the big, paved loop. I was stunned at how few people were there, considering the fantastic weather, and for most of the walk it was like being in the woods except for Angie's nails clicking on the concrete. The road did have the other advantage of showcasing one of my favorite summer sights at the park: a family in a car driving as slowly as possible with sleepy but wide eyed children in the back seat, peering out the windows with flashlights, hoping to see coyotes. =)
We finished our walk with just a bit of daylight left, an inch of orange stretched across the horizon. Driving home I had to laugh: with the danger of creepers and coyotes, who wouldn't consider a walk at the park to be a little adventure?
Monday, June 22, 2009
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. =)
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. =)
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