It was a dream vacation, really. The company was setting up some equipment in Singapore and needed someone to go. Hindu Temple I traded a first class ticket for two seats in coach so that my wife could accompany me on our first trip to Asia, and after a grueling umpteen hour flight from Denver through LAX and Tokyo, we finally touched down on the island and were whisked to the Intercontinental hotel in the dead of night. The fourteen hour time difference combined with the flight made for a serious jet lag, but after some serious sleep, we were out exploring this unique nation state.
Singapore is a cauldron of activity with throngs of people crammed into a small area, but it manages somehow to maintain a sense of order and calmness. Downtown, modern high-rises alongside aging colonial architecture frame broad leafy streets and lush parks, making this a wonderful city for walking. Ethnic neighborhoods offer fascinating glimpses, and tastes, of different cultures, and a series of quays along the river provide plenty of opportunity for al fresco dining. During the frequent torrential downpours and the heat of the day, you don’t have to miss a beat, descending into a sprawling series of underground malls connected by pedestrian tunnels and an easy-to-use subway system.
One such subway line carried me out to my job site the next day in the suburbs, emerging above ground into a residential area studded with lots of technology company campuses. The work I did there over the next few days was interesting, but what I really remember is lunch. Lunch was at an open air food court and market, Mosquewhere technology workers sat in long tables enjoying fresh made soups, stews, meat skewers and fried things, a mix of Malaysian, Indian and Chinese. I devoured some kind of mysterious peanut soup that was fantastic and apparently significantly exotic enough to impress my hosts, who regaled stories of other foreigners who refused to eat anything questionable (which was mostly everything…). Personally, this market was exactly why I was here.
Singapore’s diversity reflects its location near the Asian Subcontinent, with a large Chinese population, and lesser but still significant numbers of Malaysians and Indians, among others. While these groups live in naturally segregated areas, there is also an amazing blending. Riding the subway during rush hour, you see people of all different cultures mixing and interacting seamlessly. Streets wind past traditional Chinese medicine shops, Mosque minarets and ornately adorned Hindu temples. Small microcosms of each culture offer small shops with products imported from home, as well as authentic restaurants and food stalls. Open air markets are a tropical fruit paradise, and make sure not to miss the Durian, a large spiky fruit that smells strongly like used gym socks, leading to its banishment from indoor areas, but whose flesh is really tasty, especially in a fresh fruit smoothie.
The second week of our trip, we moved hotels from the extravagantly priced, but paid for by the company, Intercontinental hotel, to the Hilton near a major commercial area called Orchard Road. We weren’t here for the glitzy Rodeo drive lookalike with Planet Hollywood, Saks 5th Avenue and Bloomingdales, but this is where the cheaper (and mind you I have my wife with me) hotels are. It was here that we had a most challenging Monk in Parkand rewarding Chinese Dim Sum experience. I found a blurb in the hotel magazine about a hole-in-the-wall place called East Ocean that promised a local and authentic experience. The first challenge was finding it, which turned out to be mostly because the door was completely unlabeled, but spying a family of hungry looking Chinese heading through the unmarked door and up a stairway, we took a chance and struck pay dirt. We were indeed the only tourists in the place, which was packed and had a bit of a wait, but once we got to the table, the feast of smells, sights and tastes that define Dim Sum was unleashed upon us. We didn’t know what many things were, and the servers rolling around the little metal carts filled with dumplings and sticky buns, couldn’t tell us. That only made it better, as we bought plate after plate of the tasty morsels.
The other big attraction in this western side of the island is Jarong Bird Park, a large nature area with hundreds of bird species represented in a variety of aviaries and well designed enclosures. It is a spectacular and well run park, with acres of open fields, woods and water, providing habitat for tons of exotic birds. There is also the large Singapore Botanic Gardens, which includes an impressive orchid garden, among lots of other tropical flora. Days are spent meandering through these tropical nature areas, enjoying the warm nights, eating world class cuisine and street food, and experiencing a wonderful mixture of first world modern luxuries and third world markets and ambiance. Singapore really is a truly fascinating city, clean and orderly on one hand, chaotic and exotic on the other, offering something for everyone.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Hiking the Sierra Norte
In the early afternoon heat, after experiencing the local Sunday tangui (market) in Tlocalula, Cabana in Lachataowe were bouncing along in the back of a flat bed truck ever higher into the mountains. The back and sides of the platform, shared with six indigena women and a bushel of some type of flower, were open or barely covered, causing the increasingly cooler, wetter air to chill us into putting on our fleece jackets. Finally above tree line, the desert scrub gave way to green forests, our height reinforced by the family of turkey vultures circling and diving over the steep mountain slopes alongside the road. Out of nowhere appeared the small town of Cuajimoloyas, it's grouping of houses and businesses scattered up and down a grid of very steep streets. The truck stopped and we stepped off to begin our two day trip into the Sierra Juárez mountains northeast of Oaxaca, Mexico, also called the Sierra Norte.
Our adventure began the day before at the offices of Expediciones de Sierra Norte in the capital city, where we decided on a day of hiking and day of horseback riding between Cuajimoloyas, Latuvi and Lachatao, three of the villages participating in the cooperative Pueblos Mancomunados run by the a group of non-governmental organizations. The office provides tourists and locals with information and arrangements to explore 100 kilometers of trails connecting eight mountain towns by foot, bike or horse, eating local food and staying along the way in "rustic" cabañas. The office collects a small fee (10USD) for their services, and writes up an itinerary with costs to be paid along the way to the individual towns. These services provide important revenue for the towns and promote responsibility and protection of the forest land.
In Cuajimoloyas, the cabañas are literally at the highest point in the village, looking out over what would be a great view if the town wasn't obscured by clouds. They have electricity, hot water, were very clean, well built and maintained, which would be true for all of the cabañas we stayed in. A quick walk down to the only open Rock Pinnacle in the cloudscomedor yielded a hearty dinner of chile rellenos, chicken in a chipotle sauce and wonderful salsa and tortillas prepared by two women in a small kitchen attached to the dining room. By the time we got back, a fire was raging in our room with more wood stacked for the night.
After breakfast at the other comedor in town (and the best coffee and hot chocolate of the trip), we met Evencio, our guide, back at the cabaña around 10am for the start of our first day's hike. The conversation was lively as we hiked down a wide dirt track past giant cactus, bulls and burros, occasionally passing farmers working their land, all the time descending out of the clouds. The track eventually became smaller and we found ourselves in the eerie mist, on a rock pinnacle surrounded by trees covered with hanging moss. This was the halfway point where we met up with Javier, our guide the rest of the way to Latuvi.
We quickly made our way down steep hills till we reached a stream with a trout farm, perfect for a meal or a quick rest. The climate was much warmer here and the pastoral country setting was relaxingly idyllic. After having a cerveza with our guide, we finished the primarily downhill hike with two exhausting kilometers up a steep road, cresting at the tiny town of Latuvi and the welcoming promise of a hot shower and rest. Latuvi's center was at the top of the hill, with a small school, municipal building, a couple comedores, and the dramatically perched cabañas, with a panoramic view of the valley below. The hillsides tumbled down from here, dotted with small houses and farms, all seemingly basic structures juxtaposed by electric wires running across rooftops and clusters of satellite dishes.
Life in these villages is much slower and less rigid than in the city. Time is largely irrelevant as people go about their daily lives, going to school, working the fields, or providing the limited services available, guided by a natural pace more than the exact hour. Often, while looking to pay for the cabaña or meet the next guide, we were told "mas tarde", a phrase that literally means "later", but more loosely translated, meant "sometime in the future, someone might be along and will probably come find you". There is literally nothing to do in these villages for tourists but to unwind and soak in the sun and slow pace.
The next morning, our guide Miguel appeared at the cabaña with two small horses named Fito and Guerra. We mounted and with Miguel leading the way on foot, proceeded down the cobblestone main street, veering off onto a narrow dirt track that wound its way down steep switchbacks till we reached the bottom of the valley. The path follows an ancient Zapotec trail along the small river for seven or eight kilometers past small subsistence farms, dry brown, yellow, and light green grass and scrub, that reminded me so much of Northern California in late Summer, it was easy to understand Mexico's historical attraction to the state that used to be theirs. The horses struggled up and down rocky trails, carefully choosing their steps to avoid plunging down the hillside. After four hours, we ambled into Lachatao, and were instantly smitten with the sleepy hamlet.
Santa Catarina de Lachatao feels bigger but quieter than the other towns, centered around an old stone Fito the Horsechurch that provides a sense of colonial times. Our cabaña had a balcony overlooking the church and from here we watched the hours tick by, seeing nothing but the occasional dog, or student learning their lessons in one of the church's outer alcoves. One of the highlights of the trip was a dinner we had at Restaurant Los Pinos, a one table affair in the kitchen of the owner Sylvia, whose house sits on a farm with a greenhouse, where she grows all of her ingredients naturally. We had excellent tasajo (thin skirt steak grilled straight over the burner flame), an excellent nopalito (cactus) salad, and the ever present frijoles (black beans), salsa and tortillas. While the food was fresh and wonderful, the best part of the meal was the conversation, as other members of the family came and went, greeting and engaging us warmly. By the end, we felt in some strange way that we knew these people, had been part of their lives in some small way.
The bus to Oaxaca left early the next morning from the square in front of our cabaña, and we had not yet paid. The teenager who we were supposed to pay had taken “mas tarde” to the extreme, and never come back. We left the cash in the room and boarded the brand new Mercedes mini bus. As it wound its way down the narrow switchbacks, more and more passengers got on until it was standing room only. Kids in school uniforms, university students with laptops, old women with goods to sell at the market and families heading to larger towns for services or work. Provided as a free service to the people of Lachatao, the bus is a visible example of the direct impact tourist dollars make to the people of the eight towns participating in the decade old ecotourism project. Visiting the towns of the Sierra Norte gave us a glimpse of modern day rural Oaxaca, an introspective and unique journey that will hold a special place in our memories.
Our adventure began the day before at the offices of Expediciones de Sierra Norte in the capital city, where we decided on a day of hiking and day of horseback riding between Cuajimoloyas, Latuvi and Lachatao, three of the villages participating in the cooperative Pueblos Mancomunados run by the a group of non-governmental organizations. The office provides tourists and locals with information and arrangements to explore 100 kilometers of trails connecting eight mountain towns by foot, bike or horse, eating local food and staying along the way in "rustic" cabañas. The office collects a small fee (10USD) for their services, and writes up an itinerary with costs to be paid along the way to the individual towns. These services provide important revenue for the towns and promote responsibility and protection of the forest land.
In Cuajimoloyas, the cabañas are literally at the highest point in the village, looking out over what would be a great view if the town wasn't obscured by clouds. They have electricity, hot water, were very clean, well built and maintained, which would be true for all of the cabañas we stayed in. A quick walk down to the only open Rock Pinnacle in the cloudscomedor yielded a hearty dinner of chile rellenos, chicken in a chipotle sauce and wonderful salsa and tortillas prepared by two women in a small kitchen attached to the dining room. By the time we got back, a fire was raging in our room with more wood stacked for the night.
After breakfast at the other comedor in town (and the best coffee and hot chocolate of the trip), we met Evencio, our guide, back at the cabaña around 10am for the start of our first day's hike. The conversation was lively as we hiked down a wide dirt track past giant cactus, bulls and burros, occasionally passing farmers working their land, all the time descending out of the clouds. The track eventually became smaller and we found ourselves in the eerie mist, on a rock pinnacle surrounded by trees covered with hanging moss. This was the halfway point where we met up with Javier, our guide the rest of the way to Latuvi.
We quickly made our way down steep hills till we reached a stream with a trout farm, perfect for a meal or a quick rest. The climate was much warmer here and the pastoral country setting was relaxingly idyllic. After having a cerveza with our guide, we finished the primarily downhill hike with two exhausting kilometers up a steep road, cresting at the tiny town of Latuvi and the welcoming promise of a hot shower and rest. Latuvi's center was at the top of the hill, with a small school, municipal building, a couple comedores, and the dramatically perched cabañas, with a panoramic view of the valley below. The hillsides tumbled down from here, dotted with small houses and farms, all seemingly basic structures juxtaposed by electric wires running across rooftops and clusters of satellite dishes.
Life in these villages is much slower and less rigid than in the city. Time is largely irrelevant as people go about their daily lives, going to school, working the fields, or providing the limited services available, guided by a natural pace more than the exact hour. Often, while looking to pay for the cabaña or meet the next guide, we were told "mas tarde", a phrase that literally means "later", but more loosely translated, meant "sometime in the future, someone might be along and will probably come find you". There is literally nothing to do in these villages for tourists but to unwind and soak in the sun and slow pace.
The next morning, our guide Miguel appeared at the cabaña with two small horses named Fito and Guerra. We mounted and with Miguel leading the way on foot, proceeded down the cobblestone main street, veering off onto a narrow dirt track that wound its way down steep switchbacks till we reached the bottom of the valley. The path follows an ancient Zapotec trail along the small river for seven or eight kilometers past small subsistence farms, dry brown, yellow, and light green grass and scrub, that reminded me so much of Northern California in late Summer, it was easy to understand Mexico's historical attraction to the state that used to be theirs. The horses struggled up and down rocky trails, carefully choosing their steps to avoid plunging down the hillside. After four hours, we ambled into Lachatao, and were instantly smitten with the sleepy hamlet.
Santa Catarina de Lachatao feels bigger but quieter than the other towns, centered around an old stone Fito the Horsechurch that provides a sense of colonial times. Our cabaña had a balcony overlooking the church and from here we watched the hours tick by, seeing nothing but the occasional dog, or student learning their lessons in one of the church's outer alcoves. One of the highlights of the trip was a dinner we had at Restaurant Los Pinos, a one table affair in the kitchen of the owner Sylvia, whose house sits on a farm with a greenhouse, where she grows all of her ingredients naturally. We had excellent tasajo (thin skirt steak grilled straight over the burner flame), an excellent nopalito (cactus) salad, and the ever present frijoles (black beans), salsa and tortillas. While the food was fresh and wonderful, the best part of the meal was the conversation, as other members of the family came and went, greeting and engaging us warmly. By the end, we felt in some strange way that we knew these people, had been part of their lives in some small way.
The bus to Oaxaca left early the next morning from the square in front of our cabaña, and we had not yet paid. The teenager who we were supposed to pay had taken “mas tarde” to the extreme, and never come back. We left the cash in the room and boarded the brand new Mercedes mini bus. As it wound its way down the narrow switchbacks, more and more passengers got on until it was standing room only. Kids in school uniforms, university students with laptops, old women with goods to sell at the market and families heading to larger towns for services or work. Provided as a free service to the people of Lachatao, the bus is a visible example of the direct impact tourist dollars make to the people of the eight towns participating in the decade old ecotourism project. Visiting the towns of the Sierra Norte gave us a glimpse of modern day rural Oaxaca, an introspective and unique journey that will hold a special place in our memories.
Armchair travel during Winter
In the depths of winter, my first New England one in a decade, I find that more often than not the roads are a mess on my days off. I am stuck at home looking for a way to come through this unusually wet winter; I survive on books. The deeper we get into the season the more I wish to escape to someplace warm and far away. So it is through these books that I have gone off, while still seated in my chair with the old wool blanket under my chin.
Travels from Another Era:
A Room with a View, EM Forester, 1908
This classic follows Lucy Honey Church to Florence, England and finally back to England as she negotiates the social norms of Edwardian English along with her own more liberal feelings about love and passion.
The Immoralist, Andre Gide, 1902
Set in Italy and Algeria, The Immoralist follows the internal moral battles of Michael as he shifts his life from the study of ancient ruins to searching out the hedonistic pleasures of living life for the moment. Gide not only takes the reader through the ancient Roman ruins in Italy and the streets of Biskra, but he also brings us into the internal conflict that Michael goes through.
Around the World:
The Female Nomad, Rita Golden Gelman, 2002
In 1986, children’s book author Rita Golden Gelman, almost fifty, divorced her husband and got rid of most of her possession to live on the road. In the Female Nomad, Gelman talks about how she made her way around the world and the connections she made along the way. While she may not know the languages, Gelman connects with the different communities that she stays with by learning to cook with the women. Her descriptions of making tortilla’s from scratch and the Thai stews filled with coconut and lime leaves will make anyone hungry.
The Great Railway Bazaar, Paul Theroux, 1977
I first read this book while I was dutifully waiting for my son to be born. This memoir of a train trip from England to Japan, leads you on an adventure through Iran and India and many other spots. Like my pregnancy, Theroux starts out fresh and excited but as the trip continues he becomes more disillusioned by what he sees. The book seemed to match my feelings as I read it.
Alone Abroad:
Beyond the Sky and the Earth: A Journey Into Bhutan, Jamie Zeppa, 2000.
Jamie Zeppa spent three years in the country of Bhutan as a volunteer teacher of English. As one of the few foreigners in the country she learns how to live among the people without any previous knowledge of the country and its culture. This is a rare view of a country that holds its isolation paramount, letting in few outsiders.
Finally I will leave you with one of my favorite authors, Isabel Allende. Women traveling on their own, has become one of her more recent themes. Ines of My Soul and Daughter of Fortune both tell the story of women traveling alone in times when it was not common. Ines of My Soul focuses on a woman who leaves Spain for the New World and her role as a conquistadora, through Peru and Chile. Her earlier book Daughter of Fortune tells the story of Eliza, an English woman from Chile who heads to the United States during the time of the railway expansion, following her love, and father to her soon to be born child. This is her tale of learning a new place alone, and the world she creates for herself there.
Here I have only mentioned the books that are closest to my heart, but when it comes to travel, there are so many more out there for you to explore and enjoy. I hope that you can find time to sit down for a while with your own book.
Travels from Another Era:
A Room with a View, EM Forester, 1908
This classic follows Lucy Honey Church to Florence, England and finally back to England as she negotiates the social norms of Edwardian English along with her own more liberal feelings about love and passion.
The Immoralist, Andre Gide, 1902
Set in Italy and Algeria, The Immoralist follows the internal moral battles of Michael as he shifts his life from the study of ancient ruins to searching out the hedonistic pleasures of living life for the moment. Gide not only takes the reader through the ancient Roman ruins in Italy and the streets of Biskra, but he also brings us into the internal conflict that Michael goes through.
Around the World:
The Female Nomad, Rita Golden Gelman, 2002
In 1986, children’s book author Rita Golden Gelman, almost fifty, divorced her husband and got rid of most of her possession to live on the road. In the Female Nomad, Gelman talks about how she made her way around the world and the connections she made along the way. While she may not know the languages, Gelman connects with the different communities that she stays with by learning to cook with the women. Her descriptions of making tortilla’s from scratch and the Thai stews filled with coconut and lime leaves will make anyone hungry.
The Great Railway Bazaar, Paul Theroux, 1977
I first read this book while I was dutifully waiting for my son to be born. This memoir of a train trip from England to Japan, leads you on an adventure through Iran and India and many other spots. Like my pregnancy, Theroux starts out fresh and excited but as the trip continues he becomes more disillusioned by what he sees. The book seemed to match my feelings as I read it.
Alone Abroad:
Beyond the Sky and the Earth: A Journey Into Bhutan, Jamie Zeppa, 2000.
Jamie Zeppa spent three years in the country of Bhutan as a volunteer teacher of English. As one of the few foreigners in the country she learns how to live among the people without any previous knowledge of the country and its culture. This is a rare view of a country that holds its isolation paramount, letting in few outsiders.
Finally I will leave you with one of my favorite authors, Isabel Allende. Women traveling on their own, has become one of her more recent themes. Ines of My Soul and Daughter of Fortune both tell the story of women traveling alone in times when it was not common. Ines of My Soul focuses on a woman who leaves Spain for the New World and her role as a conquistadora, through Peru and Chile. Her earlier book Daughter of Fortune tells the story of Eliza, an English woman from Chile who heads to the United States during the time of the railway expansion, following her love, and father to her soon to be born child. This is her tale of learning a new place alone, and the world she creates for herself there.
Here I have only mentioned the books that are closest to my heart, but when it comes to travel, there are so many more out there for you to explore and enjoy. I hope that you can find time to sit down for a while with your own book.
Sights and Sounds
We were heading south to escape the cold of the central European winter and to bask in the rich Mediterranean sun. Our two month long journey during the mid-February semester Grand Bazaarbreak began in Southern Germany, and wound it’s way slowly through the Czech Republic, Hungary, Bulgaria, Serbia and then a final long haul train down to the port of Istanbul, the European gateway to Asia. After weeks of traveling in snow and cold, visions of warm clear days in Istanbul framed by the turquoise waters of the Bosporus Strait sounded pretty good.
Arriving in the afternoon, we immediately noticed that our intentions of basking in the sunshine might have been thwarted, as not only was it cold in the city, but it was uncharacteristically snowing. Glumly, we set out to find one of the backpacker hotels recommended by our guide book, and after working our way further into the labyrinth streets of Istanbul, we finally found the place we were looking for. We were shown upstairs to a bedroom with eight single beds aligned. The price was right, so we decided to stay and were oddly (at the time it seemed odd) given six or seven large wool blankets for our bedding.
To orient ourselves, we began our explorations at the massive complex of impressive structures in the Sultanahmet district, the heart of the old city. Sprawling parks dotted with fountains and lawns connected beautiful mosques like the Ayasofya (Hagia Sofia) and the Blue Mosque, as well as historical buildings and museums. We had planned to explore on our own avoiding guided tours and the like, but after ignoring a number of offers from touts, we were approached by a middle aged man who pursued us in an impressive variety of Hagia Sophialanguages including Russian and some form of Scandinavian. For reasons that have been lost to me over time, we decided to finally engage Ahmed, representing ourselves as Germans instead of Americans. We were studying in Germany at the time, and it seemed like we would garner more enthusiasm from the Turks than a couple of Americans might. Ahmed had lived in Germany for many years it turned out, and we made arrangements to meet him the next day for a personal and intimate tour of the city.
That night we discovered why we needed so many blankets for our beds….there was no heat! Istanbul is generally very mild to hot, so most cheap hotels and homes didn’t have heat. We slept that night with many layers of clothing and still were miserably cold the entire time. The next day, we upgraded to another youth hostel that offered little space heaters for about an extra dollar per night. Running on empty from a sleepless night, we met Ahmed back at the Sultanahmet district and began our behind the scenes tour of the city, and behind the scenes it was.
Aside from visiting the aforementioned mosques, which were magnificently adorned in rich wall to wall mosaics and tiles, we rambled through the city down passageways no tourist would ever find, or more to the point find their way back out of. Small steep alleyways crisscrossed the sprawl of Istanbul, affording wonderful views of the crystal blue strait below and glimpses of the cobbled together houses that the common people lived in. As we got further out from the center, it took on the look and feel of shanty towns, with structures made from whatever people could find, barely able to withstand the mild weather, and certainly offering no running water or electricity. We visited a traditional tea house, beautifully tiled and peaceful, where old men sipped the strong sweet nectar that is Turkish tea and played dominoes. We visited small pastry shops that offered sticky treats all based on puff pastry and flavored with pistachio, honey and rosewater. Minarets could be seen everywhere and the haunting and mesmerizing call to prayer that rolled through the city from these towers blended with the sights and smells to create an exotic and truly intoxicating experience. The day with Ahmed turned out to be one of my most lasting memories of the entire trip.
However, no visit to Istanbul can be complete without a visit to the expansive bazaar, a large area of narrow streets lined with vendors of all shapes and sizes selling pretty much anything you could think of. Passageways were clogged with people, animals and cars, all trying to make their way from here to there. Boisterous and endless shopkeepers offered their wares to anyone passing by. If you saw something you liked, you had better buy it then, because you’d never find that particular stall again, as I quickly found out. Haggling was expected and required with many beautiful items worthy of purchasing, especially rugs, pottery, spices and antiques. Leaving the bizarre was as challenging as navigating through it, as you get so turned around that you’re not sure where you are when you leave. But the chaotic nature of the bazaar is what makes it so wonderful…you can go back many times and never have the same experience twice.
Arriving in the afternoon, we immediately noticed that our intentions of basking in the sunshine might have been thwarted, as not only was it cold in the city, but it was uncharacteristically snowing. Glumly, we set out to find one of the backpacker hotels recommended by our guide book, and after working our way further into the labyrinth streets of Istanbul, we finally found the place we were looking for. We were shown upstairs to a bedroom with eight single beds aligned. The price was right, so we decided to stay and were oddly (at the time it seemed odd) given six or seven large wool blankets for our bedding.
To orient ourselves, we began our explorations at the massive complex of impressive structures in the Sultanahmet district, the heart of the old city. Sprawling parks dotted with fountains and lawns connected beautiful mosques like the Ayasofya (Hagia Sofia) and the Blue Mosque, as well as historical buildings and museums. We had planned to explore on our own avoiding guided tours and the like, but after ignoring a number of offers from touts, we were approached by a middle aged man who pursued us in an impressive variety of Hagia Sophialanguages including Russian and some form of Scandinavian. For reasons that have been lost to me over time, we decided to finally engage Ahmed, representing ourselves as Germans instead of Americans. We were studying in Germany at the time, and it seemed like we would garner more enthusiasm from the Turks than a couple of Americans might. Ahmed had lived in Germany for many years it turned out, and we made arrangements to meet him the next day for a personal and intimate tour of the city.
That night we discovered why we needed so many blankets for our beds….there was no heat! Istanbul is generally very mild to hot, so most cheap hotels and homes didn’t have heat. We slept that night with many layers of clothing and still were miserably cold the entire time. The next day, we upgraded to another youth hostel that offered little space heaters for about an extra dollar per night. Running on empty from a sleepless night, we met Ahmed back at the Sultanahmet district and began our behind the scenes tour of the city, and behind the scenes it was.
Aside from visiting the aforementioned mosques, which were magnificently adorned in rich wall to wall mosaics and tiles, we rambled through the city down passageways no tourist would ever find, or more to the point find their way back out of. Small steep alleyways crisscrossed the sprawl of Istanbul, affording wonderful views of the crystal blue strait below and glimpses of the cobbled together houses that the common people lived in. As we got further out from the center, it took on the look and feel of shanty towns, with structures made from whatever people could find, barely able to withstand the mild weather, and certainly offering no running water or electricity. We visited a traditional tea house, beautifully tiled and peaceful, where old men sipped the strong sweet nectar that is Turkish tea and played dominoes. We visited small pastry shops that offered sticky treats all based on puff pastry and flavored with pistachio, honey and rosewater. Minarets could be seen everywhere and the haunting and mesmerizing call to prayer that rolled through the city from these towers blended with the sights and smells to create an exotic and truly intoxicating experience. The day with Ahmed turned out to be one of my most lasting memories of the entire trip.
However, no visit to Istanbul can be complete without a visit to the expansive bazaar, a large area of narrow streets lined with vendors of all shapes and sizes selling pretty much anything you could think of. Passageways were clogged with people, animals and cars, all trying to make their way from here to there. Boisterous and endless shopkeepers offered their wares to anyone passing by. If you saw something you liked, you had better buy it then, because you’d never find that particular stall again, as I quickly found out. Haggling was expected and required with many beautiful items worthy of purchasing, especially rugs, pottery, spices and antiques. Leaving the bizarre was as challenging as navigating through it, as you get so turned around that you’re not sure where you are when you leave. But the chaotic nature of the bazaar is what makes it so wonderful…you can go back many times and never have the same experience twice.
Canadian Tulip Festival
St. Valentine’s Day is noted for roses, but the holiday always reminds me that my wife’s favorite flower is actually the tulip, Tulips and Churchsomething that can be hard to come by in a snowy February in Vermont. Planted before the first frost of autumn, they’re quickly forgotten about until they emerge unexpectedly in the sunny warmth of spring. The red, yellow, purple, pink and white heads on single smooth green stalks begin to frame gardens and walkways around the country, reflecting our fascination with this simple and elegant flower from Holland. As a belated gift last spring, I took my wife to one of my favorite Canadian cities, Ottawa, which just happens to host an annual Tulip festival that showcases both the city and this wonderful flower.
This quaint capital city reflects both the English speaking majority and the French speaking Québécois minority, divided by the Ottawa River separating the provinces of Ontario and Quebec. Punctuated by beautiful parks, stunning architecture, scenic river overlooks, and lively outdoor markets and cafes, Ottawa is relatively small and often overlooked, lying midway between the larger cities of Toronto and Montreal. While winter might be a challenge here, since it’s considered one the coldest capital cities in the world (with an average temperature of 41.9 degrees Fahrenheit), the spring and summer months are fantastic, perhaps made more so by the contrast.
The Canadian Tulip Festival began in 1953, several years after Princess Juliana of the Netherlands gave Ottawa 100,000 tulip bulbs to show appreciation for the city’s harboring of Holland’s exiled royal family during World War II. The eighteen day extravaganza each May has become the largest Tulip festival in the world, hosting hundreds of thousands of tourists viewing millions of tulips spread throughout the city. Many of the events are free, or can be accessed with an inexpensive pass including transportation between the venues on the “Tulip shuttle”. The event has grown in scope, and features Tulip Fieldmusical concerts, competitions, and a formal Tulip ball including beautiful dresses made from flowers. Visiting in the beginning of the festival can be risky since the weather determines when the tulips bloom en masse, but the crowds increase as the weather gets warmer, so going early can often be a risk worth taking. Make sure to take in the lower key display at Commissioner’s Park, set in a beautiful suburb surrounding Dow’s Lake.
Unless you’re a horticulturist however, the amazing variety of colors and styles of tulips mostly provide a stunning backdrop to experience the rest of the things this city has to offer. The downtown area is about four square blocks and centered on the ByWard Market, featuring lots of indoor and outdoor vendors selling their wares, from crepes to cheese to hot sauces and pretty much else anything you can imagine. It’s surrounded by specialty shops, boutiques, cafés and restaurants, and cute little cobblestone alleys where you can sit and watch the world go by.
For people watching and an interesting menu, I especially recommend the Fox And Feather Pub, tucked down a picturesque pedestrian street. On a hot day, they had a Tulipsrefreshing melon bisque special, Leffe beer on tap, and they even welcomed our overheated canine companion providing ice water and lots of attention. There are plenty of other bars and clubs around which create a relatively subdued but fun nightlife. For those fans of Douglas Adams, one that sticks out is a club called Zaphod Beeblebrox that is known for live music and festive young crowds.
Despite the small area, downtown Ottawa (called Centretown) also reflects the melting pot of cultures with a variety of restaurants from high end cuisine to hip vegetarian joints, and choosing one may be a challenge. One of our favorite places we always go back to the Calendario Azteca restaurant, a very authentic journey through the cuisine of Mexico, including the rare Huitlacoche, a mushroom that grows on the corn cob, spiced and served in a crepe. There is also a Little Italy (and it’s really little), and we had a wonderful meal at Trattoria Café Italia which offers a large menu of traditional items including a number of vegetarian options. You can also snack your way through the market, and if you’re not from the area, don’t miss the bagels made Montreal style at Continental Bagel.
Besides being the provincial capital of Ontario, Ottawa serves as the national capital, and it has the official and parliamentary buildings to prove it. Most of them border Major’s Hill Park along the western bank of the Ottawa River, and they’re joined by cultural landmarks like the National Arts Centre, National Gallery, the Mint, and a War Memorial. Take a scenic walk across the Alexandra Bridge into Quebec and visit the Canadian Museum of Civilization in the Hull area, which includes an IMAX theatre. While this side of the city doesn’t have a lot of restaurants, there are a number of nice patisseries and coffee shops. The best place to stay if you can swing it is the Fairmont Chateau Laurier, which looks like a castle, and sits right on the river along with the other buildings on Parliament Hill, making it the perfect location to walk anywhere.
This quaint capital city reflects both the English speaking majority and the French speaking Québécois minority, divided by the Ottawa River separating the provinces of Ontario and Quebec. Punctuated by beautiful parks, stunning architecture, scenic river overlooks, and lively outdoor markets and cafes, Ottawa is relatively small and often overlooked, lying midway between the larger cities of Toronto and Montreal. While winter might be a challenge here, since it’s considered one the coldest capital cities in the world (with an average temperature of 41.9 degrees Fahrenheit), the spring and summer months are fantastic, perhaps made more so by the contrast.
The Canadian Tulip Festival began in 1953, several years after Princess Juliana of the Netherlands gave Ottawa 100,000 tulip bulbs to show appreciation for the city’s harboring of Holland’s exiled royal family during World War II. The eighteen day extravaganza each May has become the largest Tulip festival in the world, hosting hundreds of thousands of tourists viewing millions of tulips spread throughout the city. Many of the events are free, or can be accessed with an inexpensive pass including transportation between the venues on the “Tulip shuttle”. The event has grown in scope, and features Tulip Fieldmusical concerts, competitions, and a formal Tulip ball including beautiful dresses made from flowers. Visiting in the beginning of the festival can be risky since the weather determines when the tulips bloom en masse, but the crowds increase as the weather gets warmer, so going early can often be a risk worth taking. Make sure to take in the lower key display at Commissioner’s Park, set in a beautiful suburb surrounding Dow’s Lake.
Unless you’re a horticulturist however, the amazing variety of colors and styles of tulips mostly provide a stunning backdrop to experience the rest of the things this city has to offer. The downtown area is about four square blocks and centered on the ByWard Market, featuring lots of indoor and outdoor vendors selling their wares, from crepes to cheese to hot sauces and pretty much else anything you can imagine. It’s surrounded by specialty shops, boutiques, cafés and restaurants, and cute little cobblestone alleys where you can sit and watch the world go by.
For people watching and an interesting menu, I especially recommend the Fox And Feather Pub, tucked down a picturesque pedestrian street. On a hot day, they had a Tulipsrefreshing melon bisque special, Leffe beer on tap, and they even welcomed our overheated canine companion providing ice water and lots of attention. There are plenty of other bars and clubs around which create a relatively subdued but fun nightlife. For those fans of Douglas Adams, one that sticks out is a club called Zaphod Beeblebrox that is known for live music and festive young crowds.
Despite the small area, downtown Ottawa (called Centretown) also reflects the melting pot of cultures with a variety of restaurants from high end cuisine to hip vegetarian joints, and choosing one may be a challenge. One of our favorite places we always go back to the Calendario Azteca restaurant, a very authentic journey through the cuisine of Mexico, including the rare Huitlacoche, a mushroom that grows on the corn cob, spiced and served in a crepe. There is also a Little Italy (and it’s really little), and we had a wonderful meal at Trattoria Café Italia which offers a large menu of traditional items including a number of vegetarian options. You can also snack your way through the market, and if you’re not from the area, don’t miss the bagels made Montreal style at Continental Bagel.
Besides being the provincial capital of Ontario, Ottawa serves as the national capital, and it has the official and parliamentary buildings to prove it. Most of them border Major’s Hill Park along the western bank of the Ottawa River, and they’re joined by cultural landmarks like the National Arts Centre, National Gallery, the Mint, and a War Memorial. Take a scenic walk across the Alexandra Bridge into Quebec and visit the Canadian Museum of Civilization in the Hull area, which includes an IMAX theatre. While this side of the city doesn’t have a lot of restaurants, there are a number of nice patisseries and coffee shops. The best place to stay if you can swing it is the Fairmont Chateau Laurier, which looks like a castle, and sits right on the river along with the other buildings on Parliament Hill, making it the perfect location to walk anywhere.
See New York
It is a Monday evening in New York and I find myself on the subway heading to Brooklyn. The car is filled with young people with laptops and messenger bags heading home from work. They don’t look like they work in offices but the occasional building pass gives them away. At DeKalb Avenue I get off the train and walk over to Gold Street to the Clock Tower Building.
I’ve spent the last few days in galleries and Museums looking at art. I am literally itching to create some myself, except that I didn’t happen to bring any supplies in my small suitcase. Lucky for me there is the Etsy Lab’s open house. Every Monday night 4-8 and the first Sunday of the month 2-6 you can use their equipment and make stuff and meet people.
The Etsy Lab is an offshoot of the Etsy an “online shopping bazaar Etsy, a very much for-profit entity that bills itself as 'your place to buy & sell all things handmade'” (Rob Walker New York Times Magazine 12-17-07). Located at their headquarters in the Clock Tower Building (325 Gold Street) the open lab takes place in and around all of their offices. Etsy has taken over most of the sixth floor and filled it with various offices and studio space.
I am buzzed into a very industrial looking building and take the elevator to the sixth floor. Inside the office there is an Etsy local sellers meeting. Beyond that there are people working on various projects talking and occasionally running across the room to find some supplies.
They are in the middle of dismantling a half pipe to make room for more desks. They explain to me that they aren’t too upset that it’s being dismantled since they just got a shuffle board table. At two and a half years Etsy has grown from three guys at a dining room table to a staff of 55. It is a busy place, not only does everyone talk to you but there is the feeling that you might be hanging out with friends in someone’s apartment (or in my case the art room after school in high school).
I am here to make something, so after getting the grand tour I get started. I’m going simple, a little wall hanging made of fabric scraps, and there are lots of leftovers from people’s screen printing projects, so I mix and match until I’m happy with my nine little squares.
There is a table full of sewing machines to use as well as other tables for other projects. For the more ambitious, or local person, they could bring their own silk screen and use their very cool silk screening set up. Or if you have the urge to do a little jewelry making there is a fully loaded jeweler’s bench; just bring your own piece of silver or what ever you are going to work with.
As I sew I talk with two women who met while doing a bird count in some years before. A staff member stops by to see what people are working on and we talk a while about Etsy and how she got involved. In general it is a low key relaxed evening, a good way to take a break in the middle of a New York City trip without going home.
I’ve spent the last few days in galleries and Museums looking at art. I am literally itching to create some myself, except that I didn’t happen to bring any supplies in my small suitcase. Lucky for me there is the Etsy Lab’s open house. Every Monday night 4-8 and the first Sunday of the month 2-6 you can use their equipment and make stuff and meet people.
The Etsy Lab is an offshoot of the Etsy an “online shopping bazaar Etsy, a very much for-profit entity that bills itself as 'your place to buy & sell all things handmade'” (Rob Walker New York Times Magazine 12-17-07). Located at their headquarters in the Clock Tower Building (325 Gold Street) the open lab takes place in and around all of their offices. Etsy has taken over most of the sixth floor and filled it with various offices and studio space.
I am buzzed into a very industrial looking building and take the elevator to the sixth floor. Inside the office there is an Etsy local sellers meeting. Beyond that there are people working on various projects talking and occasionally running across the room to find some supplies.
They are in the middle of dismantling a half pipe to make room for more desks. They explain to me that they aren’t too upset that it’s being dismantled since they just got a shuffle board table. At two and a half years Etsy has grown from three guys at a dining room table to a staff of 55. It is a busy place, not only does everyone talk to you but there is the feeling that you might be hanging out with friends in someone’s apartment (or in my case the art room after school in high school).
I am here to make something, so after getting the grand tour I get started. I’m going simple, a little wall hanging made of fabric scraps, and there are lots of leftovers from people’s screen printing projects, so I mix and match until I’m happy with my nine little squares.
There is a table full of sewing machines to use as well as other tables for other projects. For the more ambitious, or local person, they could bring their own silk screen and use their very cool silk screening set up. Or if you have the urge to do a little jewelry making there is a fully loaded jeweler’s bench; just bring your own piece of silver or what ever you are going to work with.
As I sew I talk with two women who met while doing a bird count in some years before. A staff member stops by to see what people are working on and we talk a while about Etsy and how she got involved. In general it is a low key relaxed evening, a good way to take a break in the middle of a New York City trip without going home.
Island Life on Utila
Time really does slow down on an island, which is hard to comprehend for those of us caught up in the fast paced Biking in Utilapressure cooker of modern society, but it’s the single thing I enjoy most about the island life. The smaller the island, the slower the pace, and the first one I visited was also the tiniest I’ve been to, but it was just this smallness that made it such a special place. In the southern Caribbean Ocean, just north of the Central American nation of Honduras are the Bay Islands, a string of three small tropical islands, of which westernmost Utila is the smallest.
Known in backpacker circles as a great, cheap place to get your scuba diving certification, Utila offers little more to do, but plenty to enjoy. Like the other Bay Islands, Utila is reached by a short ferry ride from the mainland coastal city of La Ceiba. Unlike the rest of Honduras, English is more widely spoken than Spanish, and the native inhabitants are primarily Garifuna, descendants of Black Caribs, giving it a much different feel than the rest of the country. Tourism has become the primary source of income, and Honduras recently made Utila a tax-free zone to encourage its further development, as well as standardizing scuba diving rates (read this as get there now before it gets overdeveloped).
hammocksArriving at the docks is a mellow affair, with few or no hawkers, so take your time walking the several blocks of accommodations and dive shops before choosing. The main road goes in both directions along the coast as well as going straight ahead to the uninhabited North side of the island, where the road literally just ends at an empty beach. Most people come for the diving, and there are several places that offer free dives, dive courses and accommodation. We stayed at Cross Creek, one of the larger hotels and dive centers, and signed up for the beginning PADI dive certification course.
Like most inexpensive dive centers, Cross Creek is a magnet for traveling young people from around the world, either learning to dive, or master divers plying their trade. We stayed in the clean and sparse hotel, which was a single row of small rooms with fans and small beds, fronted by an open terrace perfect for hanging hammocks and lounging. There is a restaurant and bar on site, which the dive masters are required to work at to earn their keep, but often was not open. The dive course involves classroom training a couple hours each evening, and diving from about 6 to 1 each morning, including quite of bit of prep time getting the gear ready and cleaning it when you return. The remainder of the time we were free to explore the island, although often exhausted from the rigors of diving.
Utila was hot, really hot, probably the hottest place I had ever been to that point. By the end of the first day, I was walking everywhere shirtless and had given up trying to protect against the sand fly bites that now covered my body. The heat is really what creates the slowness of island life though, and you can’t really have one without the other. A siesta is normally taken in the midday, as it’s really too hot to do anything and much of the activity is in the relatively cooler mornings and evenings.
Fresh seafood and simple ingredients are the staples of the food on Utila. Most of the restaurants are single person affairs, Xijing Restaurantranging from a person’s home to a slightly larger restaurant with several tables. At some of the smaller places, there may only be one item, whatever was fresh and available that day. One of my favorite places like this was Xijing restaurant, with four shaded outside tables, and such tasty dishes as rice and beans, barracuda with fries, or if you time it just right, you can get some sweet rice, made with coconut milk, cinnamon, and sugar in a ten gallon vat over an open flame, and gone within half an hour. Other staples of the island include fried chicken, grouper, tuna and conch. Almost everything is accompanied by salad or fries (papas fritas). Dinner will cost you less than 5 USD with beer. Baked goods are a favorite at breakfast on the island, and if you’re up for a challenge, you have to find Taracina, a woman with a shack in the middle of nowhere offering the best Pan de Coco around, definitely worth seeking out.
Outside of eating, diving and relaxing in your hammock, there is deliciously little to do. You can take the single track dirt road to the Northern side of the island, which is a couple hours walk through quiet palm trees and woods, to an empty beach on the other side. There is a primitive Iguana research station that you can visit, or volunteer at and stay a while, and help protect the spiny tailed Utila Iguana. There are some small cays to the Southwest that can be visited in your spare time. You can hang out with fellow travelers and discover many things about the world. Other than that, enjoy the sunsets, and the lack of excitement. It’s what makes any island special, reminding us of what is really important in life. Be careful though, because you may not want to come back.
Known in backpacker circles as a great, cheap place to get your scuba diving certification, Utila offers little more to do, but plenty to enjoy. Like the other Bay Islands, Utila is reached by a short ferry ride from the mainland coastal city of La Ceiba. Unlike the rest of Honduras, English is more widely spoken than Spanish, and the native inhabitants are primarily Garifuna, descendants of Black Caribs, giving it a much different feel than the rest of the country. Tourism has become the primary source of income, and Honduras recently made Utila a tax-free zone to encourage its further development, as well as standardizing scuba diving rates (read this as get there now before it gets overdeveloped).
hammocksArriving at the docks is a mellow affair, with few or no hawkers, so take your time walking the several blocks of accommodations and dive shops before choosing. The main road goes in both directions along the coast as well as going straight ahead to the uninhabited North side of the island, where the road literally just ends at an empty beach. Most people come for the diving, and there are several places that offer free dives, dive courses and accommodation. We stayed at Cross Creek, one of the larger hotels and dive centers, and signed up for the beginning PADI dive certification course.
Like most inexpensive dive centers, Cross Creek is a magnet for traveling young people from around the world, either learning to dive, or master divers plying their trade. We stayed in the clean and sparse hotel, which was a single row of small rooms with fans and small beds, fronted by an open terrace perfect for hanging hammocks and lounging. There is a restaurant and bar on site, which the dive masters are required to work at to earn their keep, but often was not open. The dive course involves classroom training a couple hours each evening, and diving from about 6 to 1 each morning, including quite of bit of prep time getting the gear ready and cleaning it when you return. The remainder of the time we were free to explore the island, although often exhausted from the rigors of diving.
Utila was hot, really hot, probably the hottest place I had ever been to that point. By the end of the first day, I was walking everywhere shirtless and had given up trying to protect against the sand fly bites that now covered my body. The heat is really what creates the slowness of island life though, and you can’t really have one without the other. A siesta is normally taken in the midday, as it’s really too hot to do anything and much of the activity is in the relatively cooler mornings and evenings.
Fresh seafood and simple ingredients are the staples of the food on Utila. Most of the restaurants are single person affairs, Xijing Restaurantranging from a person’s home to a slightly larger restaurant with several tables. At some of the smaller places, there may only be one item, whatever was fresh and available that day. One of my favorite places like this was Xijing restaurant, with four shaded outside tables, and such tasty dishes as rice and beans, barracuda with fries, or if you time it just right, you can get some sweet rice, made with coconut milk, cinnamon, and sugar in a ten gallon vat over an open flame, and gone within half an hour. Other staples of the island include fried chicken, grouper, tuna and conch. Almost everything is accompanied by salad or fries (papas fritas). Dinner will cost you less than 5 USD with beer. Baked goods are a favorite at breakfast on the island, and if you’re up for a challenge, you have to find Taracina, a woman with a shack in the middle of nowhere offering the best Pan de Coco around, definitely worth seeking out.
Outside of eating, diving and relaxing in your hammock, there is deliciously little to do. You can take the single track dirt road to the Northern side of the island, which is a couple hours walk through quiet palm trees and woods, to an empty beach on the other side. There is a primitive Iguana research station that you can visit, or volunteer at and stay a while, and help protect the spiny tailed Utila Iguana. There are some small cays to the Southwest that can be visited in your spare time. You can hang out with fellow travelers and discover many things about the world. Other than that, enjoy the sunsets, and the lack of excitement. It’s what makes any island special, reminding us of what is really important in life. Be careful though, because you may not want to come back.
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