17
Oct
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Making Lemonade Road Trip Part 2

It was a classic Manhattan moment; I was having dinner at a friend’s place, a high-rise on the east side (cue music) with an indoor swimming pool on the 35th floor that has an amazing view of the Empire State Building. Prior to ordering dinner, because you can get takeout 24/7 in New York City, she did laps while I kept my head above water to take in the view; even though I see Manhattan every day, enjoying the Empire State Building all aglow at night (and from an indoor swimming pool) is special. After our swim, we’re in the sauna chatting about my impromptu summertime road trip, and she was asking about Iowa.

Not sure what Iowans think of New Yorkers, but I think for most people living in Manhattan, Iowa might as well be the third world with corn fields. What they don’t know is that the home state of actors Ashton Kutcher and Elijah Wood is picturesque, serene and a quirky tourist destination. Thirty-five floors above asphalt, Starbucks and guys furiously peddling Chinese takeout orders down Second Avenue, I told my friend that Iowa actually reminded me of Ireland, lots of rolling green farmland, and yes, lots of farms and corn. When I went home and emptied out my wallet to pay for garage parking, the thought of returning to Iowa sounded wonderful. Parking was free in Iowa.

Our second-to-last night on the road was spent in Avoca, Iowa,, population 1,550, where we savored an old-school, classic middle-American dinner at a nearby truck stop that cost all of $18 for a family of three (less than what I paid at a Manhattan parking garage). Little did we know that not too far down the road stands a sculpture worth pulling over and breaking out the camera. Avoca is home to this:

We learned about this spider bug when we were 1,000 miles east of Iowa, but if you’re passing through Avoca, order the meatloaf with mashed potatoes and head to Chestnut Street to check this out. These types of roadside attractions are the reason you choose schlepping miles in a car versus schlepping miles on a plane. There’s nothing quirky in the sky; it’s just you and 200 other irritated, cramped passengers disappointed in the movie you’re stuck watching for the next two hours.

Building giant spider sculptures out of old Volkswagon beetles isn’t a new concept; or maybe it was new in Avoca and others were inspired to see what they could do to an old car. Check out Web Urbanist and you’d think the Western Hemisphere was crawling with giant metallic spiders. Maybe that’s the theme for our next road trip? Driving around checking out car art.

Instead, we drove past cows and hills and saw a beautiful sunset as we digested a hearty meatloaf dinner. It wasn’t your mother’s meatloaf, unless you’re mom is the owner of a truck stop in Avoca off Interstate 80.

6
Oct
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Pining

If I wasn’t busy earning a paycheck to pay for the leak in our kitchen and vet care for a new kitten, our next road trip would be to here:

Grass-fed cows…Ben and Jerry’s…Ethan Allen’s ghost…maple syrup…civil unions…skiing…a politically progressive single payer healthcare system,…Magic Hat beer, and, of course, leaf peeping. What’s not to love?

Vermont needs tourists right now. Southern Vermont was flooded by several late-summer storms, including tropical storm Irene, and the state is in dire need of visitors with dollars to spend on said maple syrup and Magic Hat. Autumn is when Vermont really rocks it out, though I admit, I’m partial to the Lake Champlain region in mid-August (that’s where I married Mike). The fall foliage report indicates those golden autumnal colors are surfacing around the Lake Champlain-Burlington area with colors peaking in central Vermont. The temperatures in the Northeast are supposed to reach 80 this weekend; the perfect way to enjoy all those chilly, fall things we enjoy like sipping cider and picking out pumpkins–without actually getting cold! Vermont offers more than 9,600 square miles of rural beauty and, with only a half million people living there, you’re bound to getting a little elbow room and quiet to yourself to take in Green Mountain serenity.

Sadly, we won’t be coming this weekend or even this year, not because of motivation or figuring out where to go, but because the nest and its inhabitants require some upkeep and care, which costs money. I doubt the reality of my budget will ever live up to my travel bucket list, even the quickie getaways, but this is the worst recession since the Great Depression, and part of being a grown-up means prioritizing. Vermont will have to wait until next year for our return. In the meantime, if you’re not saddled with plumbing expenses and vet bills, support the local Vermont economy. Peep at the leaves, buy a jug of maple syrup and don’t forget to pick up a six-pack of Magic Hat. You’ll have an awesome time and probably find yourself scheduling a trip back before you leave state lines.

7
Sep
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Making Lemonade Road Trip 2011

If you follow me on Twitter, then you know from August 26 through August 30, I spent the bulk of my time in a minivan driving from Los Angeles to suburban New York City. This trip wasn’t planned, but, thanks to hurricane Irene, who was downgraded to a tropical storm by the time she hit my neighborhood, we had an eye-opening, wonderful time.

The long story short is that America is big. Big like a deep purple starless sky wrapping around a cornfield. Big like heavy-set ladies squeezing into too-tight capri pants. Big like the pasta bowls served at Olive Garden. There is nothing small or middle-of-the-road about America. Our land is big. Our people are big. Our ideas are big. Our debt is big. Our problems, our passions–yep, big.

Bigness was observed in two very different places: rural Utah, and the Olive Garden in Toledo, Ohio. First, Utah, the 45th state to join the Union as of 1896; the 13th largest state in our country filled with dinosaur fossils and Mormons. Home to a lone salty lake and the most sweeping, moonscape-like vistas I’ve ever seen, Utah embodies everything that is bizarre and large and ever-changing about America. Cruise Interstates 15 and 70 for about five to six hours hours as we did and the terrain changes every 20 minutes. You’re surrounded by miles upon miles of red rock only to be later surrounded by a surface that resembles the moon. And then eventually, there are green shrubs sprouting up. And then there aren’t. Utah has signs with names like “Devil’s Canyon,” “Ghost Rock,” and “Goblin Valley State Park.” These aren’t places where I’d want to be stuck for a night. And thanks to Japanese efficiency we weren’t; our Toyota Sienna breezed by every tree, rock and mountain staring us down.

Utah was spectacular, and turned what we originally thought was an irrational, completely impractical reaction to dealing with bad weather and horrendous backups at major urban airports into a fun, adventurous choice filled with colorful memories and images of craggy, lonely landscapes I haven’t seen since visiting a planetarium as a kid. Driving through Utah made me feel lucky we were on the ground taking four days and $2,000 to get home while others camped at airline check-in desks waiting to hear word about the next available flight. An intolerance for turbulence and overall hatred of flying paid off, at least visually. As I’ve said on Twitter, I regret the expense of this road trip, but not the experience. In fact, the road trip now has become Anna’s first art project of the school year.

Now to Toledo, Ohio–worlds away from Devil’s Canyon, Utah. The urban hub of northwest Ohio that is home to the fictional character Klinger. The last night of our road trip was spent in suburban Toledo. After days of roadside food, we were itching for fancy eats so we pulled over to an Olive Garden to uphold the restaurant’s marketing strategy and indeed be treated like family. We were fortunate to be seated in the jurisdiction of Josh, a loquacious waiter who fretted that his girlfriend really liked ordering the drinks from the bar there, and gosh, the drinks could be $7 or $8 a pop. We didn’t order the pasta bowl, but Josh shared with us how the previous night, he had served a hungry couple the endless pasta bowl special and a pitcher of peach iced tea. With wide brown eyes, Josh told us how the couple each consumed six bowls of penne pasta. When he remarked to the couple on their constitution for carbs, they told him how they did it: penne is hollow, they explained, so you’re not eating as much.

At that moment I had a flash of thoughts: Michelle Obama’s anti-obesity campaign, joblessness, squeezing every penny possible. Is this where America is now? The impact of American politics were playing out right here at the Olive Garden; right here at Josh’s table. A couple eager to score a bargain ate six whole bowls of pasta, only paid for one, and took comfort in the fact that you can look through a piece of penne like you can look through a telescope. Mike asked if the couple tipped well, and Josh guffawed. We now have a new joke–to exceed normal limits means to “go for the seventh bowl,” like “jumping the shark” but more subjective. Amused and grossed out, we tipped well and left without asking for doggie bags.

That, dear, readers, is America. Big. Bold. And unapologetic about wanting more.

Big and beautiful–photos from Utah:

25
Aug
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Spontaneity Flop

Spontaneity doesn’t always work out. I like to keep a vacation itinerary loose; mix it up with old haunts and new ones and not necessarily know what I’m going to be doing that day. This year, we visited The Huntington Library and I decided we would just show up, wander the gardens and galleries of the very rich, and enjoy a lovely mother-daughter afternoon tea, which, for Anna, means piling tons of precious little cookies and cakes on to dainty plates.

For $21.50 (Anna’s admission was $6) we saw only a fraction of the estate (we simply tired out). Named after railroad magnate and fellow upstate New Yorker Henry E. Huntington, the “library” is a series of mini-museums spread across very well irrigated and manicured acres. The San Gabriel mountains watch over the estate. The museums are devoted to botany, science, art and books. Huntington left his hometown of Oneonta, New York, to follow the family railroad business in California (why does industry and innovation always move East to West? It keeps happening, from railroads to Facebook). The 18th century art collection is extensive and shows portrait after portrait of pale rich people staring. What interested me most is what the Huntingtons thought they should be collecting and sharing with a less enlightened public; that at the turn of the 20th century, this was how people were supposed to be wealthy. To be knowledgeable about 18th century French art was considered a privilege then and money was used to accrue evidence of this knowledge.

Wealth looks so different today. Warren Buffett still lives in the five-bedroom Omaha, Nebraska home he purchased more than a half century ago. Sam Walton prided himself on driving an old pickup truck. Bill Gates owns some Michelangelo originals (and we’re not invited to his Seattle lakeside home to view them) but he also gives billions to support vaccination efforts in Africa. Hygiene and public health were still embryonic concepts at the turn of the 20th century. Today, fortunate individuals donate huge sums to protect people from bacteria and viruses. Philanthropy has evolved.

These were my thoughts as we wandered. Then we were thirsty and hungry, but unfortunately, the impromptu afternoon tea did not happen. I didn’t make a reservation thinking that Wednesday would be a slow day at The Huntington Library. I was quite wrong. Tourists were everywhere and there was a long queue for the purchase of a commemorative stamp. The tea room didn’t have a table until 2:45. We walked through the gardens some more under a sweltering Southern California sun. There was not a cloud in the sky and even with a hat on, I was feeling cooked. Pooped, we got into the car, blasted on the air conditioning, and headed to Whole Foods in Pasadena for a very late lunch.

Monster cupcakes from Whole Foods helped low blood sugar levels and brought big smiles on a hot day.

22
Aug
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11 Hours in San Diego

San Diego is less than an hour’s drive north of Mexico’s border and a reasonable two hours drive south of downtown Los Angeles. And there’s so much to do between the hours of 9 am and 8 pm, making it the perfect day trip for kids and adults.

Yes, SeaWorld was our first stop, not surprisingly. After two trips to Disney Land, we decided to mix it up. We got there when the gates opened. SeaWorld is what it is; a little cheaper than Disney, some interesting exhibits with the occasional tortoise out wandering across some very pretty, well-kept grounds. The turtle reef and shark exhibits were impressive. However, I think SeaWorld misses a big opportunity to really educate families about our environment and conservation. The “Pets Rule” show at the Pets Playhouse did a better job at this than the marine shows; the cats, dogs, pigs, ostriches and ducks running across the stage were a delight, the show was fun, and trainers took time to share some backstories about their pets and the importance of helping animals at rescue shelters. The show at Shamu stadium was disappointing; the whales get people wet while the sound system pumps out a tune about living in one ocean. Not exactly a call to action. Kids love animals and there’s a captive audience during these shows so in addition to pushing product, which is everywhere in classic middle American abundance (need a plastic dolphin sippy cup? There’s one every 25 yards), why not push some knowledge? It would have been far more interesting to have learned where the whales came from, were they born in captivity, what are the natural environments of orcas, what’s happening to their ecosystems now, and what do the orcas like to do during their downtime? Someone in a Shamu costume walks around the park hugging kids and posing for pictures but he didn’t seem to be taking questions.

After five-and-a-half hours at SeaWorld, which included a decent lunch at Pineapple Pete’s Island Eats where the coconut shrimp was not overly fried, we got back into the rental to head to downtown San Diego’s Maritime Museum. This was Mike’s favorite part of the day, and if you have been following his blog, it’s obvious why. For $14 per adult or $8 per kid ages six to 12 (children five and under are free) you can tour 19th century sailing ships, a replica used to film the 2003 Russell Crowe movie “Master and Commander” and board some rather aged-looking submarines that I absolutely refused to go on. The 19th century sailing ship that dominates the waterfront view is the Star of India, a cargo ship that frequently sailed between London and Auckland, New Zealand, and went around the world 21 times, transporting everything from families to fruit. It took approximately 100 days to sail from England to New Zealand, and after viewing the passenger cabins, I have great admiration for the determination and physical constitution of these individuals. A lovely surprise that was part of our Maritime Museum admission was the Paul Gauguin exhibit that went into detail about his travels to Tahiti. The exhibit is titled “Cook, Melville and Gauguin: Three Voyages to Paradise” and includes many original oil and watercolor paintings by the French artist, as well as woodblock prints and sculptures depicting plenty of naked ladies and flowers, which to most white males of the 19th century embodied the ideal of “paradise.”

Sculptures can be found inside and outside the Maritime Museum (which isn’t really a one-stop museum, but a series of ships and submarines). San Diego’s waterfront sculptures are now ranked among one of my favorite outdoor public art collections in the Western Hemisphere next to Seattle’s Olympic Sculpture Park and Isla Mujeres’ Sculpture Garden on the farthest eastern point of Mexico, which has a breathtaking view of the Caribbean. A stroll along these works of art under the Southern California sun will do anyone good. You can also purchase from street vendors palm leaves sculpted into roses.

We were told by a pedi-cabbie passing by that this fish sculpture would go on auction starting at $4,000. I would totally consider this for my front lawn as a way to get to know my neighbors better.

Art is everywhere along the San Diego waterfront, even on these benches made of tiles handpainted by children.

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After about two hours along the waterfront, we were pushing 5:30 in the afternoon and decided to head to Old Town San Diego, allegedly the birthplace of California because the first permanent Spanish settlement took root in 1769 when Father Junipero Serra brought Catholicism to the natives, setting up a mission that would breed more missions, a move that helped launch California’s colonization.

Old Town is a series of blocks filled with old Colonial-style churches, shops selling painted skulls identical to the ones we saw in Isla Mujeres, and festive flags zig-zagging across strings of lights in red, orange, yellow, blue and green. We browsed, we shopped around Bazaar del Mundo, and then we enjoyed dinner at Casa Guadalajara where the party does not stop, not even on Sunday nights. The mariachi band was in full swing that night (and included a female violinist!) and the tequila was flowing! I ordered what was considered a “small” margarita, which seemed like a normal six-ounce glass to me until I saw the wading pools that waiters rolled out for customers who had ordered the “large” margarita (there’s a “medium” one too, for those who want to take their drinking to new heights, but want to remain upright during dinner). I was unable to capture a photo of these drinks simply because I could not get them to fit in the frame.

After enchiladas, margaritas and fried ice cream it was about 8 pm and time to make the two-hour drive back to LA. Our only regret was that the sun had set and it was too dark to enjoy the view from the Pacific Coast Highway. So we took I-5 back, which isn’t as exciting, but was a fine way to cap a perfect summer’s day.

18
Aug
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Defining Summer Vacation

Summer vacations need to involve water. It’s that simple. I can visit mountains, deserts, cities and small towns any time of the year, but a summer getaway must take place near a lake or an ocean (rivers won’t do–don’t ask why). Perhaps summers feel so fleeting because I grew up in upstate New York where obstinate snow sits on the soil well into April. The snow melts and suddenly it’s summer, brutally hot, 92 degrees, beg-for-winter-because-it’s-so-damn-hot summer. But upstate New York summers are short. You get a finite number of weekends to frolic on the beach before Mother Nature closes that window, making you appreciate those weekends all the more. New England summers are just as intensely brief.

August is half over and I have yet to visit a beach, any beach, but hopefully that will be remedied soon with beach trips to both coasts (and all in one week!), though those jaunts won’t take me to New England. I’ve spent summers vacations in Spain, the United Kingdom, Ireland, New York’s Finger Lakes, California, Lake Chelan in Washington State, Jersey Shore, Martha’s Vineyard, and the Maryland coast, but no matter where I go, I associate this time of year with that stretch of rugged, curvy Northeastern coastline. As a kid, our family spent summers cocooning in a cottage in Mystic, Connecticut, a popular 19th century whaling village. When we decided to mix it up, we headed to Bar Harbor, Maine, where fog quilts the town. But New England is more than just childhood memories; summers there are idyllic and feel that way because winters there are so unforgiving. As much as I love summer trips to Southern California, I know that the weather I’m enjoying any given summer weekend is pretty similar to the weather I would get to enjoy around Thanksgiving. California skies spoil me with their imperturbable hipness.

New England is the opposite of California in every way; craggy, not smooth, and smothered by seasons that are moody, not even-keeled. Haunted lighthouses, witches, the grave of Robert Frost, real maple syrup, Stephen King…California can’t claim them. We’ve visited all six New England states (and I lived in one of them–New Hampshire), but the one least known to me is Rhode Island. I am hoping we can grab a long summer weekend or week here. Block Island is said to have the windswept beauty of Martha’s Vineyard without the trepidation of bumping into Carly Simon or any other celebrities in hiding while hunting for organic blueberries. Natural wonder without hype. You can be yourself on Block Island. And then eventually we want to make our way back to Lake Champlain in Vermont, one of our favorite places on the planet. That’ll be more of a homecoming.

New England summers are also delicate. Walk along the beach with the frothy Atlantic licking your feet and you know that 85-degree topaz blue day won’t last. Leaves shrivel and yellow as early as September and by October, sunny days on the shore already are a lifetime ago (it doesn’t help that Halloween decorations are in store windows before school starts). New England makes you work for it; you weather months of gray, sleet, snow followed by months of wind, slush, mud and a few budding daffodils to keep your hopes up to make it to the finish line: a glorious summer. And when you sit there on the sand savoring your ice cream cone, reading your New York Times, and questioning where to go for fresh lobster that night, you know you’ve earned those indulgences.

3
Aug
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Some Thoughts on Camping…

Camping is the ultimate form of budget travel. You can’t get any cheaper than squatting in dirt stooped over a campfire eating something you probably would never have ordered in a restaurant (unless you’re an adventurous gourmet camper, and I’m just not there yet).

It’s been a few years since I’ve braved the Great Outdoors, but my daughter is older and lately I’ve been hankering to give camping another go. I have an odd ambivalence toward camping that began May 1999 when I camped in Orick, California, which should have been a breathtaking experience had sand not been blowing up my nose while bears lurked yonder waiting for me to doze off so they could steal our S’mores.

What rekindled the interest was our recent trip to Colorado and hearing about scalpers snatching up campsite reservations at Yosemite. Yosemite National Park gets two million visitors every year, which made me think I’m missing something by not being among them.

I’d love to add Yosemite to my camping oeuvre. It’s the real deal and seems like a must for campers and camper wannabes. Here’s where I’ve pitched a tent and stooped over a campfire:

– August 1993, Brown Tract Pond, Adirondack Mountains (camped with two guys who both played guitars; very granola)
– August 1994, Acadia National Park in Maine (had a great time and ate plenty of blueberry pie!)
– May 1999, Orick, California (did not have a good time and sold our tent once we got home to ensure that camping never, ever happened again)
– June 2002, Assateague Island, Maryland (decided to give camping another try; had a good time on the beach and enjoyed watching the wild horses roam)
– October 2002, Shenandoah Valley, Virginia (thought autumnal camping might be more fun and romantic, and it started out that way until nighttime temperatures dropped into the 30s and we froze our butts off)
– July 2003, Assateague Island, Maryland (attempted to repeat our wonderful weekend from the previous year and failed; Mike was consumed by mosquitoes and it stormed, causing our tent to collapse in the middle of the night)

Then Anna was born in 2004. So as you can see, it’s been a while since I camped. When Anna hiked Rocky Mountain National Park last month, she decided she wanted to get closer to nature, sleep under the stars and ponder the wonders that make up our world. Why leave the park before sunset when you can pitch a plastic trapezoid into the earth and huddle inside it through the night? So we’re thinking about it. If anyone has any camping recommendations, we’re open to ideas. We don’t own any gear any more (because I sold it out of anger…it’s true), but allegedly there’s a mystery tent in our house. We don’t know if someone gave it to us, left it to us or if we were weak and bought a tent at some point, truly believing that camping would be part of our lives again.

27
Jul
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No Such Thing as “The Perfect Vacation”

My beloved New York Times recently ran an article about planning the perfect vacation. In a nutshell, the article compiles recommendations suggesting that anticipation of a great trip is just as important, if not more important, than the trip itself; long weekends or long holidays away don’t make a difference; you don’t need to completely unplug to have a good time; and actually try to enjoy yourself (yes, people need guidance on this).

I’ve traveled far and wide; I’ve done the jet-to-Paris-for-a-long-weekend to the let’s-escape-to-a-Caribbean-resort to let’s-be-cheap-and-go-camping to 10 days in the Galapagos. I’ve gotten food poisoning in Jamaica, developed a yeast infection in Spain, called a doctor to my hotel in Dublin because of severe cramping, and spent my last 15 cents on toilet paper before being flown out of Cuba. Had our plane been delayed for any reason, I seriously would not have had a dime to my name because I had absolutely no purchasing power there. I was out of cash and couldnt’ wait to get to Mexico to shop. During my travels, I’ve lost money, underwear, an iPod shuffle, and this hand-crocheted hat I’m wearing here as I ride a monorail at Newark airport to board a plane to London.

But I still had an awesome time wherever I was because I was someplace new doing something I probably hadn’t done before. The setbacks became part of the adventure. Take the Galapagos; our luggage got lost during a transition in Quito and remained there for over a week while we island-hopped. I went without clean underwear and we had to sometimes hand-wash the few clothes we had. Thankfully you don’t need a lot of clothes to enjoy the beach. Or take strolling through Seville asking cashiers at neighborhood pharmacies if they have yeast infection cream? How do you say “anti-fungal vaginal suppository” in Spanish? We weren’t successful despite my husband being fluent in conversational Spanish.

None of these vacations were perfect, but we still had a great time. Here’s why:

Anticipation is fun!
- A 1997 study published in the Journal of Experimental Social Psychology suggests that the period leading up to the vacation is often the best part. You’re going somewhere! What could be more fun? Although the data is more than 14 years old, I wholeheartedly agree. I need to have a trip on the calendar. Doesn’t matter where or when but something to somewhere needs to be on the books. For six months, Istanbul was on our calendar and we even had tickets for a long ride on Turkish Airlines, which were quickly replaced with tickets to Cancun. And you know what? We enjoyed looking forward to both trips even though one didn’t happen.

Realistic expectations go a long way here and abroad
- If the plane lands safely, the car doesn’t break down and everyone gets to their destination, then that’s a good trip. If the hotel is clean, not loud, and there are no bugs, that’s also a good trip. If no one loses their wallets, that, too, constitutes a good trip.

Have money, but don’t go nuts with it
- We love eating street food. It’s authentic, cheap and a great way to experience a culture and a neighborhood. We don’t need five-star dining to feel special. I want to eat what the abuelitas are cooking. And stay at two-star hotels that serve breakfast. I hate hunting for breakfast early in the morning; I prefer to stumble downstairs and find some fabulous buffet of crossiants, nutella, bacon and coffee (ok, and fruit, too) waiting for me. Yes five-star hotels are beautiful; we stayed at the Swiss Hotel in Quito and it was stunning with its diaphanous arrangements of roses. But I’m not on vacation to stay at a hotel and I don’t need to be pampered. A nice, soft bed in a quiet neighborhodd at a clean, bug-free place works for me.

Roll with it
- If you get your panties in a knot over the small things during the day to day at home (assuming your panties don’t get lost in baggage claim as mine have), you’re probably not going to leave that habit behind when vacationing. But the whole point of a vacation is not to worry. Delayed taxis, lost luggage, and upset stomachs are all very annoying, but not worth coloring the whole experience.

Bottom line? Enjoy the experience, from planning to coming home. Happy travels!

9
Jul
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Gettin’ the Skinny and Chasin’ it With Beer (and Inner Peace)

Colorado is filled with sinewy people who relax by biking up mountains. The Red State has the lowest obesity rate in the nation, according to a recent survey by the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation, and this was very evident during our four-day stay there. Bike paths criss cross every town; people jog; everyone hikes…even the wheelchair-bound; and communities invest heavily in public playgrounds and other wellness activities that are made accessible to everyone. Basically, the state is saying “If you can’t get in shape here then you can’t get in shape.”

Do Coloradans ever splurge? Yes. It’s called beer. They drink it daily. Hourly. They drink some of the finest beers outside of Belgium. And when the sun rises, they power through any residual hangover with a robust bike ride through postcard-perfect scenery. See how this cycle works? One brilliant Colorado resident and entrepreneur decided to combine his two loves: beer and biking. He’s the owner of New Belgium Brewery, a quintessential Colorado experience that should be a must on everyone’s travel itinerary.

Here’s how we enjoyed last Saturday, a recipe for an ideal summer’s day in Colorado:

Late morning drive to Shambala Mountain Retreat and a brief walk up a hill to see the The Great Stupa of Dharmakaya. Walking up the hill, I felt the sky sitting on my shoulders…you’re enveloped in blinding blue brightness that doesn’t abate until well past 7 pm. At the top of the hill sits the Stupa.

Consecrated in August 2001, the Stupa is said to promote harmony and reduce fear. The path to the Stupa is lined with frayed red prayer flags fading in the relentless sun. Our host, Matt, who is a practicing Buddhist, explained to Anna that the prayer flags are left to the elements and once the wind finally takes them, the wind carries these prayers out to the world. It was my first visit to a formal Buddhist site of prayer, the first of many, hopefully.

After some walking and prayer it’s the perfect time to get lit. Our sojourn to the Stupa was followed by a tour at New Belgium Brewery where the serving samples are shamelessly generous and where employees receive an old-fashioned beach cruiser bike once they reach their one-year milestone. I drank Fat Tire, Abbey, something that shared the same color as pee but tasted great and was called Mothership, and a sour beer that tasted like nothing I’ve ever drank before.

Here’s Mike mastering the pour:

And a tray full of Abbeys:

Anna didn’t sample beer, but kids are welcome on the tour and they do get an earful about the aging of hops, barrels, and bottling. Brewing beer involves quite a bit of chemistry mojo.

New Belgium Brewery tours ends with a ride down the company slide, which, after six or seven four-ounce glasses of beer, can be a real treat when you’re pushing 40.

We felt so empowered by Colorado awesomeness and alcohol that we decided to go wrestle a bear. Actually, we really just hugged a bear statue in downtown Fort Collins.

And the best way to end the perfect summer’s day in Colorado? A backyard barbecue with the family and a dip in the pool.

Best…summer’s day…ever.

7
Jul
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Coming Off My Rocky Mountain High

Monday through Friday, I drive from one aggressive region of the United States (New Jersey) to work in another aggressive region of the United States (the Bronx), so I do not get a lot of opportunities to zone out from the backseat of a vehicle and take in a view…any view. Needless to say, it was a visual treat and somewhat of a sensory overload to let someone else drive me around while I drank in the Rocky Mountains from the backseat of a minivan. When this is what lies before you, you can’t help but feel the possibilities.

And who wouldn’t be happy waking up to this every day?

Or this?

Coloradans are a happy people and why wouldn’t they be? You’ve got purple mountain majesties and abundant sunshine smiling down on you morning, noon and yes, even the early hours of night. It’s called Big Sky Country for a reason–the sun doesn’t seem to budge and the sky is as endless as the sea. I couldn’t distinguish 11 am from 3 pm for mornings felt as hot as afternoons. It was just one long day of fun after another…I was blissfully disoriented and completely unaware of the time for once.

I’ve been to Colorado before, but that was before I lived nearly eight years in the New York City metropolitan area; Colorado doesn’t know an authentic bagel from hardened moose dung, but by God, this state is drop-dead gorgeous, and I don’t need to eat as many bagels anyway. Antsy East Coasters looking for a new life on the frontier can’t help but stop, breathe it all in and decide this is where it begins and ends for them. I also discovered Colorado is far more of a foodie state than I expected. You can buy chocolate bars containing cherries AND chilies for under $3 thanks to a delightful chocolatier called Chocolove that’s based in Boulder. Bacon bits in chocolate? That’s so 2010. Chocolove throws sea salt and orange rinds into its candy bars. And don’t think Colorado is just a land of steak and sides; Californians who need their sunshine and mountains have gravitated to Colorado in search of cheaper real estate and hungry diners eager to feast on dishes beyond burgers (Coloradans cook, too…just saying I noticed an influx of Californian influence). Funky new restaurants are popping up like wildflowers. More to come about the beer, chocolate, beef and Tex-Mex that added up to an extra two pounds on my five-foot-three frame. Oh, and the Buddhist temple we visited and the shopping in Fort Collins!!! I know…you might be wondering how we mixed a core Buddhist principle–detachment–with materialistic consumerism? Well, Colorado makes it easy. And out west, anything is possible.