Far and Away in Budapest

My recent travels are limited to New England, which exudes a charm of its own, for sure, but nothing gets me going like a far away locale.  A friend of mine is headed to one of my favorite cities in Europe, Budapest.  Here's my recommendations for her and anyone else who's headed thataway.

I once had an Italian corner me at a party and for nearly 20 minutes sang the virtues of Prague.  The 'song' went something like this.  "I ate like a king every night for change - Prague.  The gothic, cobbled streets were magical to explore - Prague."  And so on, every verse ending with a Prague chorus.  (For best results, draw out Prague with a rolled-r and a breathy gue.  Add in an Italian accent.)  

Perhaps it was like that a decade ago when he went, but now Prague, while charming, is no longer the secret capital of Europe.  The word is out; it is crowded and expensive.  Worth a trip, yes, but not the magical mecca of the East (Europe) it once was. 

Instead, if you want magic, go to Budapest.  (To say it like a local - Budapescht.)  It probably also helped that I made the trip at the end of October, when whatever crowds had been there had dissipated.  Budapest is actually downright cheap: try €6 for a bed in a hostel downtown.  Dinners for just a few euros and attractions for the same.  Its accessible: Budapest has the oldest subway in continental Europe, an extensive trolley system (great way to see the city) and buses for all other corners.  Here's my picks for a trip:

The Grand Hall Market

Luckily, this place is seeing way better days than under communist rule.  There's 1 paprika stand for every 2 vegetable stands.  Most stand owners won't speak English, so be prepared to use motions, Hungarian or German.  I picked up some great paprika and vegetables here and kept my costs low by cooking half my meals at the hostel.   Mmmm, vegetarian goulash.

Városliget:  The City Park

Here you'll find examples of each kind of Hungarian architecture and the statue of Anonymous.  Literally, this guy is called Anonymous and he apparently is some monk that wrote the only history of their country.  They take his book as truth--nuts!

Hero's Square

Best seen with a tour guide to explain all the history you're seeing.  I recommend Absolute Walking Tours.  Pick up a coupon card for them at the tourist center.

Kerepesi Cemetery

Absolutely gorgeous.  I recommend going as the sun is setting for the best spooky effect of the light on the art deco graves.  Make sure your camera battery is charged!

The Children's Railway

Probably the ultimate off-the-beaten-track sight.  Take a subway to a bus to a cog-railway.  Walk up a hill.  You'll reach a miniature train station run by children.  It was started by the communists, but the Hungarians still love it.  The ticket sellers are kids, the conductor is a kid, and they're all dressed up in little uniforms taking their jobs very seriously.  Go, seriously.

The House of Terror

Hands down the best Nazi/Communist museum in all of Europe.  Artsy, thought-provoking and downright horrifying.  

Coffee Houses

There's many here in Budapest.  Budapest was one of the first places in Europe to get the coffee craze when they were invaded by the Turks.  Today Budapest has a fine tradition of coffee houses, where the intellectuals of the day gather.

Statue Park

When Eastern Europe was liberated from Communist rule, most cities did the cathartic thing and smashed the commie statues to bits.  Not Budapest, they took all the statues to the outskirts of town and made the Statue Park.  It is on the side of the road, completely unkempt and overgrown with weeds.   Fitting and fascinating.

Bathhouses

Speaking of cathartic recommend doing the baths at least once during your stay.  The Gellert Baths are the fanciest, art deco ones with beautiful tiled rooms, but my favorite is the people's bath house, Szechenyi.  You'll find the Szechenyi bath in the city park.  It's huge, with several outdoor pools.  Make sure you catch the old men in speedos playing chess poolside, book yourself a massage and wait in line to stand under the spouting fountains in the pool.  Get used to seeing lots of skin.

Lastly, make sure you stop by a City Spy recommended hostel and pick up a hard-copy of a Mr. Gordonsky's City Spy Map.  I found these little guys, to be the best maps and have the best reviews of food and hangouts across Europe.  

Well-read Weekend #3

Another Saturday, another trip to the library. This week, my stack of checked out books has gotten quite large. It's the trap of the 'hold this item for me' button. You see, the Jamaica Plain library branch is quite small. It's a place that exudes literary magic--old, old fiction paperbacks and dated non-fiction. A sizable travel book collection and a curious shelf on JP history. It's all housed in a building that I'm sure was once some one's home with dark wooden paneling and high ceilings. It invites you to pull up a chair.

But then there's the other several dozen branches out there. All connected online, you can surf them all at once, create a saved wish-list and with one click the book you desire is whisked right to your branch. You get a call when it arrives. I recommend seeing if your library does this.

It's dangerous to have so many books at one's fingertips. I get greedy, and then stressed as the due-date approaches and they are yet to be read.

Here's one such stress-inducer that isn't quite done yet:

Gaudí: A Biography by Gijs Van Hensbergen

What is Barcelona without Gaudi? Just another Valencia with second-rate paella. Gaudi not only puts the facade on Barcelona, but infuses it with soul too. His ideas of Catalan nationalism and his helping birth the modernista movement is what creates the Barcelona of today.

To think that his architecture was laughed at back in his day: "I don't know whether we are graduating a genius or a fool," declared his patron upon graduating him from architecture school. Famous Barcelonian resident, George Orwell despised his buildings. Today he is revered. There's even an effort to have him sainted.

Though little records remain of his life, author Hensbergen does an amazing job at piecing together the information we have left, weaving it in with the politics and cultural revitalization of turn of the century Catalunya. The result is a deep delving into the brain of one of the greatest architects of all time and a picture of the shaping of the pride of a nationless state. There's a lot of guessing of the part of the author as to what made Gaudi such a devout Christian, vegetarian and celibate, but he walks us through all his reasoning and evidence of his answers.

If going to Barcelona, it is best to know a bit about the man at the forefront of the Catalan spirit and so many spots on your tourist map. I highly recommend as a read for those on their way to this modernista beacon.

Haven't been to Barcelona and want to know what all the fuss is about for Gaudi's architecture? A simple google image search of 'Gaudi' will give you the answer.

Well-read Weekend #2

It's another well-read weekend.  Of course there's something special about curling up in a blanket next to a fire when it's snowy outside, sipping a hot-chocolate and reading a good book.  There's something even better, though, about sunbathing on your private deck, the long-awaited spring sun warming you, reading a good book.  

So that is what I did today.  Now that the sun is once again out, the snow, come on Monday, was gone by Sunday, ao I had another chance to enjoy being outside.  I hopped the bus to "Rahsi," what the locals apparently call my new favorite hood, Roslindale.  I've become a regular at the cheese shop.  I did my grocery shopping at the Village Market and picked up a fresh loaf of bread at the bakery.  While I waited for the bus I finished my latest travel read:

A Year in the World: Journeys of a Passionate Traveler by Frances Mayer. (go ahead, pick it up on Amazon used for $.01)

Frances is the author of several books about travel, including Under the Tuscan Sun, which catapulted herself, and the rustic region in Italy to fame.  It must be strange to have a movie made of your memoir, with the leading character using the same name.  The fame has gone a bit to her head.

The book is a straightforward, poetic account of a year of her travels through Europe, Morocco and Turkey.  Her rich, vivid descriptions of the luxurious meals tantalize my tastebuds and her dramatic rendering of the landscapes and water surrounding far-away lands take my soul's eye there.  I skip her just as lengthy descriptions of English gardens, one of which is enough to give me a picture of what the dozen or so flowerbeds she visits might look like.

I sympathize with her drive to find the local, the authentic, the back-door experiences, that any traveler seeks out, but her fame and wealth taint the authenticity of the experiences.  How many of us can stay at a different British country-side cottage every other night, taxi around Greek Islands, go shopping for 3 Turkish rugs to ship home, or get comped into a Mediterranean cruise to lecture on travel?

It's not so much that it's wishful thinking, but rather, I'd rather skip the lofty tourist experiences.  Mayes looses most likability when, during her most stressful part of her journey, she misses all the taxis back to her cruise ship, being forced to walk 3 miles and take a bus back to the ship. 

Her passion wins you back over when she recalls lines from Greek Poet, Alexander Matsas as she stares out over the sea on the island of Crete or richly-details the cooking of food in Lisbon.

All in all, an enjoyable read for foodies, history and poetry enthusiasts, and gardeners.  Skip it if you're looking for adventure.

Snow Day

When you're grown up snow days don't mean the same thing.  Trade in that sled for a shovel, the hot chocolate and snow pants for coffee and a slushy commute.

I got a glimpse into how nice the city will be when spring decides to finally hit Boston.  This weekend I slipped on my much neglected tube-top dress and pedaled around Centre street to do brunch, hit the library and check out the growing multitude of second-hand stores on the main drag. 

Today it's 10-13 inches and back to the wool coat.  :::sigh:::

Well-read Weekends

Weekends are not typically the day you start resolutions. Mondays are more apt for those kind of things, but who's got time to blog on Mondays, but professionals. As we know, I'm not quite there yet (or rather a continent or two away), so I'll start on Sunday. Introducing . . .

I've been through many literature phases from historical to sci-fi, to even dabbling in a bit of biography. My recent love are travel books. Let's hope this one isn't just a phase. Every weekend I'll review a recent book I've read; it could be travel literature, a guide book, or even a book that's so much about a place that the setting is almost it's own character. I've amassed a decent collection of books of this type so far, but the Boston library is my new literary playground, so I'll be sure to include some new gems from there too.

This week's pick:

My French Whore by Gene Wilder

I picked this up in a small book store in Aspen. Reading a book by Gene Wilder was intriguing and the small size was perfect for packing in my already over-stuffed suitcase.

The story goes like this: Paul Peachy's work and one-sided marriage in Minnesota leave him empty, so when the chance to enlist in World War I comes, he does. He's shipped off to France and ends up impersonating a famous German spy. He eventually fulfills the exciting life and love he's always wanted--something he never would have found if he had stayed at home in Minnesota.

The hilarity and heart-felt feelings that come from Paul Peachy's tale, you would recognize from Wilder's acting. You can imagine a young Gene Wilder playing the character of Paul Peachy the whole story, which makes reading The French Whore almost like watching a film.

But I digress, this is a travel book review. The book does a fantastic jobs of caricaturing the characters of different countries--Germany, France, US--in a way that doesn't make them just stereotypes. And who can't relate the confusion of a traveler getting way in over his head on his first trip to Europe--and falling in love with a foreigner.

A short read, but a sweet one that I whole-heartedly recommend you pick up to carry around in your over-stuffed bag on your next trip. It'll be worth the space.

Best Places for Being Bougie in Boston

I filled this weekend with good wine, modern art and lots of cheese.  I kicked off my bougie weekend with a wine tasting in the South End.  The Wine Emporium had a bubbly wine rep and a good deal on 3 bottles.  (Good thing too because we finished them all the next night.)

Saturday I shared my new favorite nook of  Boston with Chris and Colleen--Roslindale Village.  We started at the Boston Cheese Cellar, a food store you actually want to be smelly.  Chris gravitated to the stinky, strong British cheeses.  Colleen tested all the French selections.  I nabbed some more Spanish cheese to go with my membrillo and some holy swiss.  

Next stop was Fornax Bread Company for fresh bread then Tony's Italian Market for buffalo mozzerella, gnocchi and prosciutto.  Last, we swung by the Roslindale Fish Market, which was stocked with giant slabs of fish, gallon jugs of olives and curious cans of greek specialties.  I picked up some stuffed grape leaves and Socrates soap.  

We then proceeded to cook and eat for several hours.  Cheese plates, gnocchi with gorgonzola sauce, squash tortelli with sage.  And 7 bottles of wine.  (To be fair, there were 8 of us.)

Sunday more cheese with breakfast then off to the Institute of Contemporary Art for Shepard Fairey's first museum exhibition.  The museum is a gorgeous one, a glass, boxy structure that juts out over the Boston harbor.  The exhibit was a raw, beautiful and thought-provoking one.  After seeing so much of Fairey's work - clean-lined posters, stenciled graffitti in NYC and Andre stickers on phone poles - it was great to see the layered, textured and larger than life art in frames and good lighting.  The rest of the museum was quality, though small.  

I'm wrapping up my weekend finally fininshing up D.H. Lawrence's Women in Love.  

Tomorrow I think I might have to eat burger king, watch a reality show and drink a bud just to balance this all out.

Diving into JP

I finally end up moving to a sweet apartment in Jamaica Plain and then I leave to travel more. Then the cold weather got a grip on me, giving me bronchitis and strep throat. Okay, maybe those were more my doing than the weather. Finally the past 2 weekends I had a lull in my busy schedule and recovery to finally take advantage of my new neighborhood.

At first I resisted the mass exodus of nonprofit workers from Cambridge to JP. I like cities, I like culture and JP seemed more of a place to settle down with a family. You can see how skewed my sense of what is 'suburban' by the fact that I judge seeing 10 trees and 1 baby stroller as being suburban. At face value Cambridge seems way hipper. Filled with glasses-wearing intellectuals, stores like Urban Outfitters and bars like the Cantab, you'd just assume this is where cool people like.

Au contraire, however! JP is as hip as it gets. Perhaps it was the down-to-earth nature of the residents that fooled me. I wasn't used to niceties after NYC, LA and Miami after all.

Around since 1630, JP is filled with lots of old buildings, local business, and plenty of colonial-cozy bars. It's got a sizable gay population and artists. Though I've heard it called up and coming, it's still pretty cheap and the orange line is quick.

I've spent my last few weekends reveling in what, up until now, I resented--snow.

My neighborhood is equipped with a free skating rink. For $2 skate rentals you can whirl around on the ice and watch a crazy skate show from the local urban youth. (Who knew they like skating?) I joined the community pool, a mere $25 annual membership and loved the warm water after spending the morning biking around in the cold.

Last weekend's topper, though, was the Franklin Park Snow Festival. We seemed to be the oldest non-parents around as we watched about a hundred kids barrel down a hill on toboggans. We contributed a pretty scary-looking snowman to the snow crowd and warmed ourselves inside on free hot chocolate.

I'm excited to see what else JP's got to throw down before I start traveling again.

Squished States

Florida and California are sunny paradises that seem to go on forever, but it's fun being in New England where's a short drive to your next-door neighbor states.  Friday I offered up my car for a group drive up to Portland Maine to a friend's 30th birthday party.  I couldn't imagine anywhere having more snow or being more cold, but there they were, giant 5 foot piles of frozen white stuff.  

Next was Providence.  I had driven down to Ikea and figured, well half way there, might as well call my friend.  My friend, whom I hadn't seen in years, was, thankfully, not doing anything, so I sped right down to the Ocean State.  The city was absolutely adorable.  Hilly roads, small little streets, cute New England houses.

Despite the car fatigue, today I drove a load of co-workers up to Concord, New Hampshire for a staff meeting.  My day was spent in meetings, but I ventured out to a cute little co-op that served a mean cup of coffee, of which I imbibed several throughout the day. 

In each case, my experience was limited to basically seeing the people that I had come to see and not exploring the city.  Heck, I've barely had a chance to explore Boston, but each little state capital left me with the impression that in New England, small and quaint are beautiful.  Neon is completely unnecessary when you've got little capitol buildings with shiney gold domes.  

Sick

This city is kicking my ass.  First bronchitis now strep--I've been sick since I got here.  I think I'm allergic to cold weather.

You Meet the Nicest People on Vacation

My eyes open slowly a giant wall-window lets in the bright, bright sun.  If it weren't for the immediate pain that surges through my temples, I'd think this was paradise.  

Through the window there's a pool with jets streaming over a waterfall.  A couple sit in the hot tub and a long bar winds around to a door to the outside world.  

The outside world doesn't seem to exist.  The sun is so bright that nothing can be seen through the door.  Over the walled yard are a few palm trees swaying in the wind. 

I've spent myself again this weekend.  It was Aspen all over again.  Substitute swing dancers for environmentalists.  Sub beaches for snow.  My body can't really take so much anymore.  Too many hangovers--I think I'll swear off drinking (again) for good.

I spend the rest of the day alternatively laying out by the pool to faithfully work on my tan and dozing inside when it gets too hot.  Its so nice to feel hot again. 

After another exciting dance on Saturday, I finally talk someone into giving me a ride back to Miami Beach.  This time I'm not encased in a gated Boca Raton community, but in the Environment Florida staffer flophouse.  I head over to the beach, which is quiet and more ntaural then what I remember for Miami Beach.  When I've recovered again, I jump on the bus and head down to South Beach. 

When I jumped off the bus, the same feeling that overwhelmed me that I felt when I emerged from the metro in LA.  I felt at home.  

It's gotten worse.  The more I trave, the more pieces of me get left in each city.  I find things and people to love and I grow roots.  When I leave each piece of me I left behind tugs me back, so that now I feel happy and unhappy in each place.  Sometimes I feel that it's better not to travel.  Not to know who you're missing.  Never be able to close your eyes and feel the warm sand or see the view from the top of Mullholand Drive.  Not to know four walls that feel like home.  

The only solution is to travel more--to visit the places and people where the roots pull me.

Thank God for 4 weeks paid vacation.

I'm sitting at Tapas Y Tintos on Espanola Way.  I used to come here 2-3 times a week and I never had one visitor to South Beach that I didn't take here.  The manager and bartender both remember me.  My espresso martini tastes the same.  And when my friends arrive and we sit down for dinner and the flamenco I don't think there's anywhere else I'd rather be. 

I ask Adam to hire me to work in Miami again, half jokingly, half for real.  That dream will have to wait a year or two though.  

And who knows?  By then my heart may have taken root in Boston.

Almost Abroad

Just when I'm thinking I'm loving standing still, I start itching to travel again. My new posters just came in for my apartment--luscious Cote d'Azur landscape, a 1950's tourism poster for Mexico and a view of LA's cityhall from Olvera Street. I finally got my library card and found out that the JP library is known for it's travel section, so I picked up Mexico, A traveler's history and La Revolucion. I've subscribed to new travel blogs and obsessively ask anyone who's been about beaches in Mexico.

The time (or budget) for travel abroad hasn't come yet, but I figure Miami is darn close. Every year this weekend is the South Florida Lindy Exchange. Since moving I've gone from host to hostee, but it's so great to return to Miami and feel at home again. There'll be the normal dancing all night, but I'm most excited to feel the humidity again, to see my old bartenders at Tapas, to watch the sunrise on the beach, to chat with the characters on Lincoln Road.

I think it was my move to Miami Beach in the first place that started my wanderlust. I packed up everything, got dropped off in what was, granted, the same time-zone, but a 24 hour drive away from anything that I knew. Spanish was the first language. Palm trees didn't signal vacation, they were your landscaping. The clothing, scarce and the parties, huge.

For this northeastern girl, I might as well have been in South America. That's the thing about Miami, you're so close to dangling off the edge of America, that you may have well not be in America. The papers are filled with news of Cuba and even the tourists seemed to adopt their own special 'Miami' personality now that they were on vacation.

Bring it on.

Paht-holes

I actually saw a work men's crew filling in a pothole today on my main road in my neighborhood.  "Hey there!  Watch the paht-hole!" they cautioned as I crossed by on my commute.

I feel like potholes are the thing that cantankerous city-dwellers always complain about and never get fixed.  In New York City they certainly didn't fix them.  Most walkers never would notice since they're easy enough to see and walk around, except of course when they filled with rain water, but as a biker in New York you notice.   And especially when you're riding a 50's cruiser bike through midtown with an old-school basket holding your CD collection on the way to a gig.  And most definitely when you're a driver (though potholes paled in comparison to jaywalkers, one-way streets and cabbies).

Potholes are part of New York's charm.  It adds to the grittiness that New Yorkers love and see slipping away as 42nd street is Disnefied and Alphabet City is more and more Sesame Street friendly.  Ask a New Yorker why potholes don't get fixed and they'd probably tell you to love it or leave it.

But Boston tries to win you over.  Paving pot holes, genuinely apologetic voices from the train conductor when the train is late, countless community gardens, a dozen public ice rinks and folks that excuse themselves when they squeeze themselves next to you on the train.  I love it.  Have I become soft?  Jaded by the self-absorption of all the other cities I've lived in (probably deserved, I admit) and tired of the perfection of LA and the perceived-perfection of grit in NYC?  The laissez faire of everything in Miami?  The self-important politicos of DC?

Is it time for me to settle down?  I think I could not have picked a better place.  Boston is a city that actually wants you.  Their population has shrunk over the last century and the state laments the potential loss of a representative in congress this year.  So many things are meant for sharing here--the gardens, co-ops, large multi-bedroom apartments, zip cars, neighborhood associations. 

And with the disappearance of potholes in my neighborhood, I might just be getting a little comfy.

Survivor

Well, that's it.  I've survived another year.  I ended up living in 6 different cities and sleeping in 22 different beds, couches and futons.  

I had weeks where I dined in fabulous restaurants across the country on my dad's tab.  I had weeks where I'd eat sushi for lunch and dinner.  I also had weeks when I resorted to grits 3 times a day and a power bar for vitamins.  I danced the night away on the beach in Virginia and at house parties in Boston.  I watched the Sunrise in Miami and set in Santa Monica.  I had a live-in boyfriend and I had my Aspen flings.  I just braved 20 degree weather and a 20 minute walk to a New Year's party, though I preferred cruising along the Pacific Coast highway in Malibu last January.

This year was full of stark contrasts.  My life was taken out, flipped over, shaken around, and stirred.  And while it's clear that the scenery changed frequently and dramatically, it'll take some sorting out to figure out how I've changed.

Here's to settling down and figuring it out in 2009.

"When I go abroad I always sail from Boston since it is such a pleasant place to get away from."

-Oliver Herford

Gladly, my new home hasn't inspired these words from me. In fact, I'm considering leaving my parent's in NJ early, I'm so anxious to buy some furniture, put up some photos on the walls and settle in. You would too after 48 hours on the road and in the airports during the holiday rush.

My flight would have been missed either way, but I did experience some luck on my 2 day trek to Boston from Aspen. The last night in Aspen I did my normal revelry, waking up in someone else's bed in someone else's condo. Through a morning haze I glanced at my wrist watch and noticed it was 7:30. The bus to Denver to catch my plane left at 6am.

I ran back to my condo packed in seconds and began racking my brain for plan B to get to Denver while I microwaved some leftover grits. Then my phone rang, "Megan? Are you still here? The bus arrived late. We're going to leave now." The Gods had smiled upon me!

I made it just in time to hop on the back of the line into the bus. I settled in. Eating my grits I had thrown into a paper cup on my way out the door, I thanked my lucky stars. No matter that my name during roll-call elicited some loud boos from the crowd (they had been waiting 2 hours in the cold while I had slept soundly through the alarm)--I was on board!

Of course with the tardiness of the bus and the heavy snow, we all still missed our flights, but at least I didn't have to hitchhike into Denver.

When I finally made it into Boston the next day, the 2 feet of snow there made Aspen pale in comparison. We spent a good long time digging the car out of it's mini-snow mountain. It was all worth it when I lugged my suitcase up the stairs in my beautiful 3-story victorian house--I was home.

Boston, such a pleasant place to come home to.

Road Tripping Photos

I barely had time to blog about this before since I was driving 7-10 hours a day to get across country, but this fall I repeated my cross-country trek. This time going East, I was joined by Dad. We had a good, if tiring time.

Highlights from the Trip and Photos

Driving through Las Vegas during daylight and seeing 3 people getting arrested and an Elvis wedding

Amazing Mexican food in Nevada

Work retreat in Keystone, CO

Listening to RadioLab podcasts with Dad

Chicago! -- staying with Dad in a hostel, drinking and suprise dance night at the Green Mill, Lonley Planet-led walking tour

A tiny diner in Indiana next to an industrial mill

Seeing the great lakes, multiple ones

Reaching Boston!

Tips for Sleeping in Airports

Layer on the sweaters.

Use your scarf as a mat and balls of yarn in your bag as a pillow.

Give crying babies dirty looks and imagine yourself telling them that they're going to rot in hell if they don't shut up.

Find the waiting area where 1/2 the lights are out (near the Continental checkout counter in Denver.)

Just remember that the next night you'll be warm in your own bed (unless of course you're moving into a new 

apartment with no furniture).

Sleep is for the weak!

Worse for the Wear

This year's Aspen was definitely the kind of vacation you need a vacation from.  Luckily, Christmas vacation starts Thursday.  

Unluckily, there are inordinate amounts of work to do.  I have to move my belongings up 3 flights of stairs and I'll likely pull an all-nighter on Tuesday to get all my work done.

I have only a few regrets this year from Aspen.  I should have slept more.  I should have excercised.  I probably should have watched less tv and gone outside to enjoy the place.  There's a few friends that I didn't even know were there until the last day!

The theme of this year's Aspen was pah-tay.  Every night was full of dinner parties, drinks, dancing and a bit of mischieviousness.  While I barely moved from the couch next to the fireplace and tv all day, I kept myself very busy from 9pm-2am every night.  

I happily have figured out the secret to avoiding hangovers, but my nose is runny, my throat is scratchy and my makeshift bed on the airport floor won't be good for making up for lost sleep. 

In the Air (almost)

Of course I can't write this from the air, but I'm sitting right next to gate 18 at the Boston Logan airport.  I think I didn't know what I was missing after flying out and in of Miami, LAX and Denver the past few years. 

Office to Airport: 30 minutes

Check-in and security: 15 minutes

Time left to hang out at the Borders store reading up on Mexico travel and blog: 2 1/2 hours!

Free wifi to boot!

(edited: Turns out not free, I'm just tapping into an unsecure network.  Why the hell is there an unsecure network at the airport?!)

I might just have to take more flights.  

In fact, I'm already planning my next 4 trips--Miami, Montreal, Virginia Beach and Mexico.

Feel free to join me or just give advice!

"Europe will be more fun without you."

As I had hoped, Rick Steves did not disappoint.  He changed his normal talk about Europe traveling tips to his own personal musings on 'Why We Travel.'  Some of it was about why we do travel, but a lot of it was 'Why We Should Travel.'  Especially meaningful in our  protectionist, more narrowly-minded society than ever.  The 21% of us in America with passports have some work to do in bringing cultural understanding to the folks for whom travel is lying on a cruise ship deck to tan.

We should travel because we will understand and be more compassionate of other cultures.  We should we'll learn to appretiate why certain people around the world are incredibly passionate about cheese or cigars--or religion for that matter.  We should travel becuase it will help us realize that other cultures find other truths to be self-evident.  (got that one from Rick)

Much of the material was familiar since I read his blog regularly, but there were some pretty inspiring snippets.  Rick's critique about legislating morality--like marijuana and prostitution--in America, that it doesn't stop people from breaking the law, just makes it more dangerous and wastes tax payer dollars on prison.  His railing against the dumbing down of society by our media and politicians.  

The crowd's favorite moment was when he told us about customers who would write to him that they were no longer going to go on his tours since he promoted 'trying to understand the enemy' (his visit to Iran) and legalizing drugs (decriminalizing marijauana).   His comment, "Well, Europe will be more fun without you," was greeted by loud applause.

Ah, it is good to be back in a city full of progressives.  For the long term I still haven't decided where I should settle down (if I should decide to do so).  Do I like old friends and liberals more than sunny skies and palm trees?  

I think they might be winning me over up here.

Rick's in Town

My favorite travel guru is in Boston this week! Rick Steves is not only an excellent guidebook writer, but a great travel writer, host of an awesome NPR show and a progressive activist.

I saw him speak in California at a travel conference where he railed against all the profit-driven tours that take kick-backs from crappy tourist stores pointing to their booths right outside of his speaking area and then complained about how the media scares people from traveling while there was a big LA Times banned behind his head.

If you're in the Boston area, check it out:

Rick Steves at the Globe Bookstore

This Thursday at 5pm

90 Mt. Auburn St.

Harvard Square