Author: teha.kennard@gmail.com

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When it rains it pours

Programming note: Due to unforeseen circumstances this is an out-of-order post. Yes, I promised to write about my time in Croatia last week, but I need photos of the trip to do it justice. And, since I no longer have any of my own photos (more on that below) waiting on friends from the trip to send me a sampling of theirs. So, thank you for your patience-Croatia is forthcoming! I swear.

Sometimes I wonder if my blog makes my travels seem “Facebook perfect,” as if everything is sunshine and rainbows. Obviously this is not the case (def not all sunshine, as you’ll learn in my future Croatia post). I do try to keep it real, but, honestly, until now, I really haven’t had much to complain about. Ready to hear me complain? It’s time. Buckle up.

I seem to have stumbled upon a bad luck streak. It started when I was locked out of my life. I know that sounds dramatic, but bear with me. I was on an amazing kayak-adventure trip in Croatia (teaser for the Croatia blog!) and was sharing a kayak with my travel buddy, Kristina. Both of our phones were in a dry-bag, that was working perfectly…until it wasn’t anymore. Yes, we lugged around bags of rice for 48 hours, which did nothing to change the situation (I’m convinced the whole rice thing is a marketing ploy by Uncle Ben or one of his rich pilaf relatives). Then we had to face the sad reality. RIP iPhones.

Thankfully I have my trusty ipad (I think it’s version 1.0) that I have used maybe 25 times ever. When I logged in two days ago, I was asked to provide my Apple ID password. I had thumbprint recognition on my iPhone so haven’t had to type in my password in a good while and actually have NO idea what it is. I tried to re-set it and was asked to verify my phone number (seems easy enough and they even provided the last two digits). But I typed in number and was informed that it is not my number. But it IS my number. But it’s NOT your number (Apple and I have since had extensive back and forths on this point- more on that later). Without being able to sign in, while on WiFi I can access Gmail and old versions of Instagram and Facebook (as updating any apps requires the password). Not ideal, but I could handle it for a few days. And at the time, in Croatia, there was not much I could do about it anyways, so I decided I’d deal with it on the next leg of my journey, in Marseille. (Pictures upload really small from the iPad I’m using, sorry!)

When I arrived in Marseille, I felt like my luck had to improve! I was wrong. From the airport, I followed the Amazing Race instructions from my Air bnb host and took a bus from the airport to the train station and then took the metro to the port and then walked 1/2 mile, to meet him at his work. I was so proud of figuring all of this out, especially without having access Google Maps or having any way to communicate (including talking as I realized very few people spoke English and my French is limited to Bonjour, cava, and croissant). I was also proud that I’d lugged my suitcase pretty far by this point, including up and down several flights of stairs. I met Host at his office and I learned that he manages 30 Air bnb apartments around the city. He apologized that he couldn’t take me to my apartment, as he was swamped with many arrivals, but he gave me the key and said it was an easy walk. Okay…here we go….easy walk…

The directions seemed kinda long, but I figured it would be a hop skip and a jump, as Host had seen me and my big suitcase. Not so much. There was no time to dwell on it at the time as I was busy lugging my suitcase up FIVE sets of stairs. And we’re not talking just a few steps per set. I looked like I’d just finished a 10k by the time I got to the building, which is apparently at the highest point of Marseille. To top it off, to get to the unit I then had to walk DOWN two sets of the windy-it’s, most narrow stair cases I’ve ever seen. They were so narrow that my suitcase got stuck at one point. Here’s a sampling of the stairs:

But, I made it!! And I was rewarded with a very nice and clean-looking apartment with a charming balcony view. Things were finally looking up!

I then trekked to the Apple Store to sort out my phone/iCloud situation, as it was increasingly challenging to be off the grid while traveling internationally. I found an English-speaking Apple employee, who was stumped and connected me with the support center on her phone. My case was escalated, twice, to the Senior Support Specialist. Following an hour and 17 minute conversation, I was informed that there is absolutely nothing they can do. She suspects I mis-entered my phone number when I originally set up the account and the only think I can do is try entering every possible variation of my phone number (I can try this five times every eight hours, so my back of the napkin math puts my estimated date of completion at around 2043). At the end of the conversation Senior Support Specialist said “I’m amazed at how calm you sound. I would be a complete wreck if I were in your situation.” That did not make me feel better. In fact, the only thing that kept me from losing it at that moment was the amazing view from their Apple Store. It really is lovely! The stumped technician (note the view): 

More views from the deck outside the Apple Store, as I was there so long it got dark (I’m not smiling quite as big inside):

The harsh reality is (you may have seen things going this way) that without my iCloud password I can’t access much of anything (or actually anything) …meaning that I’ve essentially lost ALL the photos I’ve EVER taken (or at least the ones that didn’t involve a CVS Photo Center). I’ve also lost all of my contacts, notes, apps, etc. And I’d been sooooo smart (or so I thought) by installing a password encryption app a few months ago and encrypting all my passwords. Problem now being that I can’t access the encrypted key to the encryption app, as it’s in my iCloud along with everything else. So, now I don’t know any of my passwords (thankfully by the time I set up my blog I’d lost steam on the encryption thing so can access that at least). This is the last time I try to fend off those hackers. In fact, I could use a hacker right now!

NOTE: This is where I left off my draft blog my first night in Marseille, vowing to finish it up in the morning when I hoped to be in a more positive mindset. Little did I know…

I woke up a little bit disoriented, and realized I’d been scratching my arm. I looked down and I gasped out loud as my arm was covered with itchy red bumps. Knowing that European pharmacies are practically equivalent to Urgent Care in the U.S., I headed straight there. I held up my arm. The three pharmacists seemed to only be conferring about how to translate the situation to me. They finally got to what I had suspected…bed buds. I admit I’ve always been dubious about the whole bed bugs thing and I sincerely apologize to my friends who I’ve mocked for paying lots of money for exterminators with bed bug sniffing dogs. I stand corrected and beg for your forgiveness. These things are real. Sigh. I took a deep breath and silently vowed not to feel bad for myself. It was difficult.

I left pharmacy with a tube of cortisone and immediately stumbled upon a free walking tour, so I joined in. I mean, what else was there to do at that moment (except maybe scratch my arm)? It ended up being a great tour and I enjoyed learning more about the city. Afterwards I had a delicious lunch with the guide and a lovely couple, Roger and Allison, at the guide’s favorite local couscous restaurant. Roger and Allison had quit their Silicon Valley jobs two years ago and moved to Mexico City and then Valencia, which they use as a home base for traveling. They do not seem to be missing America. Following lunch, the guide went his way and the three of us climbed to the top of a huge hill (so much easier without a suitcase) to the Notre Dame cathedral, where we were rewarded with stunning views.

After we parted ways I found WiFi and realized Host had not responded to my panicked email from the morning and decided I should probably address that whole bed bug situation. I found Host at his office and my news (and my arm) threw him into a complete tizzy. I’d been hoping to enjoy the sunset at the port that evening, but that did not happen. It took about four hours, and several calls to corporate Air bnb, before I had a hotel room at the Holiday Inn Express (that I may or may not be reimbursed for by Air bnb). At one point corporate Air bnb lady asked me to provide photos of the bugs and bug casings (???) as well as medical documentation. I just sent her a picture of my arm and that seemed to be enough. My final battle of the evening was with oh-so-gracious Host when I asked him to get me an Uber to the hotel. I’m sure he thought I could just walk, per the ushe, and he said that was asking for too much. Too much?!? This did not go over well and it wasn’t until I reminded him that I’d be leaving a review that he capitulated. AND, he accused me of trying to blackmail him!! Is that really blackmail??

I have to say I am not sad to be leaving Marseille (no fault of the city itself) and was relieved to get to the train station this morning. My relief dissipated quickly upon the realization that I’d purchased a ticket from Dijon to Marseille. Noooo!! I was already in Marseille. I was trying to LEAVE Marseille! The kind ticket agent informed me that the booking website lists your destination location first. Well, that just seems silly. It got sorted out but it felt like a final kick in the pants (really hoping it’s final). I’m now on the train to Dijon where I’ll be visiting some dear friends who live there. I emailed to warn them that they have an emotionally precarious and potentially bed bug laden visitor on her way. I wouldn’t blame them at all if they don’t show up at the train station…

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Florence and Venice, Ciao Bella!

It was a sad Ciao Bella when we departed Italy this morning, following two out-of-this-world stops in Florence and Venice (while, obviously being in this world-no intergalactic travels on the agenda yet). Our farewells to Italia (yes, Kristina has a pizza on the water taxi):

First up….Florence [insert sigh] Florence, oh Florence, how I miss ye so…I’m sure there’s also an incredibly romantic sounding way to say this in Italian. We arrived via our first Euro-rail experience, which of course went seamlessly, as those Europeans know how to build and operate an efficient train system (ahem, America). We dropped our bags and then jumped right into things with a ½ day wine tour of Tuscany. I will admit (Kristina don’t kill me) that neither of us realized that Florence was actually IN Tuscany- we thought we were going to a whole new place on the wine tour. Although if felt like we were, as the bustling streets and churches of Florence were replaced by lush rolling mountains, dotted with olive groves and vineyards. It truly looks like a painting- Diane Lane had the right idea for sure!

We went to two vineyards and learned all about Chianti, which was underappreciated in my world of wine before this trip. We also sampled an assortment of delicious cheeses and balsamic vinegar. I really never thought twice about balsamic in the past and I’m pretty sure I buy the Safeway brand (as well as in the “glaze” format, that the balsamic maker seemed horrified by). In Europe, and mostly stemming from Italy, they have their balsamic situation figured out (similar to their rail system…hmmm). Their stuff is not mostly sugar, as our ‘merican versions are, AND they have a quality control system so you know what you’re getting is the real deal. We sampled balsamic that was 25 years old and I have to say it was amazing. This superior product does come at a price, however, and a smallish bottle of the really good stuff runs upwards of $150!). When I’m rich (hopefully from partnering with George Clooney on his next tequila venture) I think I’ll only buy the top of the line balsamic. Everyone has their thing, right?

After the vineyards we swung by a castle on the way back to Flo, as one does in Tuscany. Not shockingly, Kristina and I made some friends in our tour group- two lovely couples (we met one couple at each winery). Jess and Matt were travelling from Brisbane and Alexandra and Oscar were on travels from Finland. Talk about coming from different places! We brought our new friends together and the six of us had dinner together after the tour. It was a relaxed and thoroughly enjoyable dinner with a lot of laughs, as we learned about each other and our respective countries and cultures. More pics from the day:

The next day we powered through Florence, touring the Doumo, which included a beautiful cathedral and climb to the top of the cathedral’s Gothic dome. It was most definitely worth the 463 winding steps that it took to get there! I would not recommend this climb for someone with claustrophobia but even then maybe you could just suck it up, as the 360 degree view of the city from the top are phenomenal.

We had wanted to see the real statue of David while in Florence but learned too late that the Gallery dell’Accademia is closed on Mondays (bummer but we rebounded quickly), so we “settled” for the replica, located in the Piazzale de Michelangelo. This trek required many more vertical steps, but we made it, and just in time for sunset. It was truly spectacular! While not the real David, the backdrop may have made it more breathtaking and you ever go to Venice you need to do this- trust me. We topped off the day with a drink and a snack (olives and potato chips seem to be the snack of choice Italy) at the restaurant overlooking David and the city. Here’s a few pics from our date night with David:

Onward to Venice! So, I’d heard a lot about Venice from friends and some mixed reviews, including lore of the city being smelly/dirty and over-run with tourists. While there were a lot of tourists navigating the narrow streets in places, we also found places where it was just us and the locals. And we learned from our tour guide that the new water system they’d employed fairly recently took care of the smell problem (at least while we were there).

The first day we roamed the beautiful city streets, squares, and bridges (there’s over 400!) admiring the canal views, with a consistent soundtrack of that Italian restaurant music (but so much better and with a real Italian person playing it). I was smitten. We water bused (the way to get around) to a rooftop bar with the “best” view of the city. And while we’d been spoiled in Florence, this Venetian sunset was also spectacular. Loving the world-wide sunsets I’ve been collecting in my memory bank so far (and on my phone…but they never quite translate).

We met a couple at dinner that night (you may notice a theme here), who met in Hungary and now are both doctors living in New York City. They were “swinging through” Venice only to see an art exhibit…the same art exhibit that we had purchased tickets for for the next day. Unlike the Hungarians, who had made a special trip, we had just learned of the exhibit that afternoon and we’re lucky to get tickets. The exhibit is called “Treasures from the Wreck of the Unbelievable” by Damien Hurst in the Palazzo Grassi museum. It’s been a controversial exhibit, as basically Damien got his hands on a huge collection of old pieces of art/artifacts from the mid first and second centuries. The stuff was being shipped to ordain a temple the collector was building when sank and lay at the bottom of the Indian Ocean for TWO THOUSAND years before it was discovered in 2008. The artist took the sculptures (some of which were unrecognizable after, ya know, after just a few thousand years on the ocean floor) and restored them, adding a contemporarty flair to depict what they would have looked like, encrusted in coral and other marine life. Some of the pieces actually include water to show them submerged. The reason for the controversy is that some peeps are a little judgy about these ancient artifacts being used this way and altered from their original form. Personally, I really enjoyed seeing the exhibit and thought it more interesting than a bunch of unrecognizable statue blobs. But that’s just me.

After a lunch and gelato respite (never too much gelato!) we embarked on a guided tour of the city, including the stunning St. Mark’s temple, with an inside that is covered in REAL gold. Literally covered. No pictures are allowed inside but I took one before I knew this (swear!)

We had a final Venetian meal of pasta and pizza, and I can honestly say it was the best pasta I’ve had in my entire life. Italy would not do well on the Atkins diet.

We’re currently in a car driving from Venice to Zagreb, Croatia where we’re meeting up with a Flashpack tour group for adventure travels throughout the country. It appears to be raining (okay, it IS raining) but we’re trying to be positive this will clear up as soon as we arrive. Nothing like wishful thinking!

P.S. this was actually written yesterday so I’m a day behind. Stay tuned for a Croatia post…

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Tiny shopping cart, check. Thanks Roma!

You may not remember my first post ever on this blog, where I named finding a tiny shopping cart as one of the goals of my travels (it may have been the only goal I mentioned). If you read the blog this makes perfect sense. If not, you may want to give that post a quick looksy. Anywho…guess what I found in Rome!?!

No joke. I found this gem at one my favorite European chatkzy shop that my sister turned me onto when she lived in Holland- it’s called Tiger. So, I walked in and there it was on display, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to be selling. Neither Kristina or I can figure out what it’s supposed to be used for exactly and have tried a few potential options but haven’t had much luck (it doesn’t hold a phone…it doesn’t really hold much/anything that you might need, but this does not detract from it’s awesomeness). Regardless, I can’t tell you how happy my tiny shopping cart makes me! And several people noted how awesome it is the day I carried it around. Tiger, expect a huge boom in tiny shopping cart sales. You’re welcome.

I had a spectacular three days in Rome and took in every bit of the city that I possibly could. I also took in quite a bit of food. All you people who told me what foods I must consume large quantities of while in Rome did not lead my astray. The gelato is to die for, the paninis blow Corner Bakery out of the water, the pizza is “molto delizioso,” and the pasta is OMG. I can’t wait to eat myself through the rest of the country! It was a special treat to have some FABULOUS restaurant recommendations and hook-ups from my friend, Julie Briski, who just moved back to the States after living in Rome for two years. It was a shame we just missed each other (by a week) but we were glad she told us about her first and second favorite restaurants, writing “truly anything on both menus is out of this world.” True statement. We tried her second favorite first, Meridionale, and the manager, Luigi, lit up at the mention of Julie’s name and immediately brought us prosecco and bruschetta.

Then last night for our final Roman feast we went to Julie’s fave, Osteria la Botticella, run by “the MOST amazing” Signora Giula. It’s an intimate setting (so cute with white and red checkered tablecloths) and was packed when we got there. But, as soon as I mentioned Julie’s name, Signora Giula embraced me in a hug and a table became available for us. Per Julie’s recommendation we feasted on the triple pasta sampler that consisted of cacao e pepe, truffle ravioli and some other delish pasta that I can’t remember the name of. The seating is tight in the restaurant, and I wasn’t sure how that would go but we were next to a lovely couple who had just arrived in Rome for a month’s stay and we chatted away the entire meal and exchanged emails at the end (remember Kristina is ‘west coast me,’ so we both love meeting new people). Here’s a pic Julie sent me of her with Signora G and the selfie we sent back to her last night (no selfie stick used).

The highlight of yesterday (yes we did more than eat) was touring the Vatican! Selfie stick used:

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Our tour included the amazing Sistine Chapel (“No photos!” was reiterated a million times in both Italian and English as apparently the company Fugi has exclusive photo rights- go figure). It was hard to picture ONE guy, Michelangelo, painting the entire thing, and while laying on scaffolding ON HIS BACK! Apparently he went blind three times during the process from paint dripping in his eyes (I wonder if he got hazard pay?). The most spectacular part of the Vatican tour (in my opinion) was the St. Peter’s Basilica which is the most grande basilica I have ever seen. And I feel like I’ve seen quite a few over the last two months. I’m not sure my pics do it justice.

This morning I took a final spin through the city on foot (exploring new places via early morning runs will always be my favorite thing). I very much enjoyed the beautiful morning light and nearly empty streets.

Then we had our final breakfast before heading to the train station. Interesting note on breaky btw, Sunday must be a big breakfast day in Rome as all the restaurants are serving it. BUT they are all serving exactly two options and the EXACT same two options. And they all have a little table out front displaying the two breakfast options (so basically the same food on every little table). The options are the Italian breakfast, which is a croissant (guess those Italians aren’t big breakfast people) and the English breakfast, which is a plain omelet, bread, bacon and salad. I quite enjoyed the English version.

I’m currently on the train to Florence enjoying some spectacular views and gearing up for what I hear is another spectatucular Italian city. Ciao for now!

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Go Big or Go Home!

Even in a world without many boundaries, there are still some crossroads. And my first came when nailing down my travel plans (one would think the party responsible for a blog called "Teha's Travels" would have done a smidge more planning in that regard? Not so much). Somehow the bigger decisions around quitting my job and DOING THIS were easier than thinking about where THIS would take me, for how long, etc. It was surprisingly difficult to make those decisions and I found myself gravitating towards thoughts telling me I couldn't be gone for that long…almost like my former job was a phantom limb.

I negotiated with myself (and anyone else who would listen) and eventually gave myself permission to do what my gut had intended the day I gave my notice at work. I decided to see as much as I can, do as much as I can, and (most importantly) learn as much as I can, both about the world I'm exploring and myself. Basically, I decided to "Go Big or Go Home!" and I'm sticking with that, as my current life motto. Go me! It was both a relieving and scary decision.

I write this from Rome…the first stop on a two-month journey that will take me to three continents. I will then return to DC for a few days before embarking on a journey to continent #5 of this sojourn (cue my new motto). It will be a wild ride, I have a feeling!

Here I am at Dulles last night…so proud of my packing.

I know I haven't seen all that much of Europe so far, but I have definitely have not seen a city that compares to Rome in it's grandeur. So far this city has blown my mind! Everywhere I turn is absolutely stunning and breathtaking. I'm talking churches, fountains, statues, squares, and random buildings with ornate design features and the classic shutters in all colors. I think it may actually be impossible to find a bad view in Rome. Even the graffiti here is photo-worthy!

I arrived in Rome last night, following a looong (and not-so-direct) flight and met up with my friend Kristina, who I'd met on my Flashback vespa tour in Madrid last month. Kristina and I are truly kindred spirits and, despite not knowing each other for very long, we finish each others sentences (she's basically a way cooler, west-coast version of myself…she knows so much more about pop culture and emojis, for starters). It's also amazing that we can look at a row of 15 restaurants and both gravitate towards the same one (good or bad, at least we concur?) I really couldn't ask for a more awesome Italy travel partner! Today we hit the ground running and explored Piazza Navona, the Pantheon, and the Trevi Fountain, as well as many other surrounding Roman wonders. We also purchased our first selfie sticks, and I have a feeling that a few tourists might have snapped photos of us trying to figure out how to use use them…it was quite the process (the first is our test pic at the shop).

Another big day tomorrow as we have both the Coliseum and Vatican City on the docket, although our dockets are always pretty flexible (hence why we're such a perfect travel-duo). When in Rome…who know what's next, really!

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The Best Week of the Year

About a year ago I was perusing my company’s staff volunteer webpage and saw a listing for an opportunity with the Experience Camps, described as one-week camps for boys and girls who have experienced the death of a parent, sibling or primary caregiver- a place where those kids can feel “normal,” because everyone there has been through something similar.

I immediately applied to be a volunteer counselor for the following summer, even though it was a year away (so pretty much FOREVER away in my myopic world) and I was placed as a boys camp counselor in the California location, CalEx. August of 2017 seemed so far away at the time but before I knew it I was packing my bags to head to the west coast…I couldn’t resist tossing in this hat, not realizing it was a premonition of things to come:

On the plane I watched a mandatory training webinar called “Bereavement 101,” focused on children’s grieving process. It was heavy stuff. I realized it could be a heavy and emotional week. And, for a moment I wondered why I’d signed up for this…

I think I was initially drawn to the camp because of my own death-stuff. A handful of people I was close with died when I was little, most notably my Aunt Katie who passed away at age 17 from Cystic Fibrosis. I was an inquisitive little kiddo and had a LOT of questions about what death was, where my Aunt Katie had gone, when she would be back, etc. I had also seen her fighting the disease and was terrified that myself and other loved ones had “caught” it. It got to the point that I was afraid to go to sleep at night and would lay awake for hours. My parents took me to a child psychologist (his name was Jeff) who diagnosed me with PTSD and I started regular therapy sessions. I remember those sessions and expressing my fears through lots of talking, writing stories, coloring pictures… and especially that time we walked to get ice cream. Gradually things improved and then I was back to being a kid, and sleeping like one too.

I vividly recall the day Jeff asked if I wanted to come back and see him again or “see how it goes,” and I felt a little bad when I chose the latter option. While I liked hanging out with Jeff, I was late for Brownies on those days and I remember asking my mom what to tell my friends as an explanation for my tardiness (I followed her advice, yet saying “I had a meeting” seemed to only evoke more questions from my 8-year-old peers). I hugged Jeff before leaving his office for the last time. Less than a month later my parents were saddened and horrified when they received a call from Jeff’s office telling them that Jeff had died from a massive heart attack. He was in his 40s. Yes, it is true. My death therapist died. This really happened. I’m sure my parents were freaking out that my death fears would re-emerge and intensify. Thankfully, that did not happen. While I was very sad to hear the news about Jeff, I felt pretty at peace with it. I suspect this is because I had spent so much time talking with Jeff about this very subject- I knew his thoughts on death and knew that he was genuinely at peace.

When I first heard about the Experience Camps, I reflected on my past and how fortunate I was that my parents had given me the tools (mostly Jeff) to process my fears and confusion around the d-word. I now know that many children go through much more and do not have this type of support. My obligation to pay it forward seemed obvious and has only been validated by the amazing kid-courage I observed this week.

All of the campers at the Experience Camps have experienced the death of sibling(s) or parent(s) and sometimes, unconscionably, both. The losses they have endured in their short lives and the grief they have struggled to process exceeds what most adults will have to deal with over the course of their lifetimes. Many campers come to camp every summer and say they look forward to it for 51 weeks a year (I can’t even tell you how many times I heard CalEx referred to as “The Best Week of the Year,” by campers and counselors alike). Many counselors are also veterans (some were even former campers!) who happily “give up” a week of their summer every year. Now I see why it’s not so much of a sacrifice.

I was responsible for bunk number three (the best bunk) that included seven amazing little guys who came to camp with open hearts and minds.

The campers arrived in buses and were greeted by a mass of cheering counselors with crazy costume props. It was easy to tell which campers had been before and which were newbies. The veterans bounded off the bus, smiling and waving, excitedly greeting the staff and friends they knew from previous summers. The new campers emerged from the buses slowly, clutching their pillows and looking like a combination of stunned, intrigued, and shell-shocked. Like they’d been dropped into an alternate universe. Now I’m certain they will be the ones bounding off the bus next year.

The week was one of the most physically and emotionally exhausting ones I’ve had in my lifetime. And it was hands-down the most rewarding. I sit here now, having been home for over 24 hours, and I still struggle with how to put it into words. The thing is, the Experience Camps are mostly just a camp. A place where kids can be kids. A place where they run (lots of running), jump, laugh, yell, sing at the top of their lungs, dance like no one is watching (but loving it if they are), climb trees, throw balls, throw sticks, throw rocks (not allowed but we’re talking about little boys here), and wreak havoc in the mess hall. Sometimes just wreak havoc in general. Like normal kids, right? That’s the thing  I learned this week- while this is what most kids their age would be doing during the summer months, many of these kids are not. They don’t feel like “normal kids” in their daily lives. They feel different than their peers, and like nobody understands. At CalEx, they say, it’s different. At camp they can let themselves be themselves, their whole selves, with no fear of being judged or pitied (their worst fear is to be pitied).  At CalEx, how they feel and what they’ve been through is the norm. It’s a safe place where they can openly talk about their loss when they want to, or not when they don’t want to. Most importantly, at camp they can just be a kid. Some for the first time in their lives.

My week included 6 am hikes up a nearby mountain with a reward of stunning Malibu ocean views during sunrise. At first it was just a crew of counselors but gradually campers got wind and the last day we had a crew of 30+ campers making the early morning trek (mostly leaving the counselors in the dust). These kids need capes as there’s really nothing they can’t do.

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I was especially impressed with the support the campers gave each other- it seemed to be part of an unspoken contract that goes along with understanding each others unique and tragic circumstances. Strong bonds were formed almost instantly- the kind of bonds “normal kids” probably won’t experience for years. Yes, there were also some tears. As well as sadness, anger, frustration…and some emotions that are kind of indescribable, and they were letting themselves feel for the first time. There were also a lot of hugs, high fives, fist bumps, chest bumps, and numerous other ways little guys exhibit camaraderie.

Each bunk has a series of “circle discussions” focused on the deaths the campers’ have experienced, as well as grief activities, led by a social worker assigned to our bunk. During these sessions, I was SO impressed with the boys’ abilities to open up and tell their stories. Most of them had never talked openly about their losses and one camper hadn’t even told his friends at school that his father had died the year before. Despite this, they bravely followed the lead of the veteran campers and opened themselves up to a group of people who had been strangers just a day before. These little boys might be the bravest people I know.

Of course, every camp needs a healthy dose of competition and ours was through the “College League” (Experience Camps’ version of Color Wars) and our college teams were Clemson and the University of Pittsburgh, each led by a “Dean.” The events tested the brawn and brains of the campers (okay, the counselors got a little into it too) and included tug-o-war, a scavenger hunt, a talent show, etc.  I was a part of Team Clemson and having attended a rival ACC school, cheering for the Tigers took some getting used to. The neck-in-neck competition culminated in a dodgeball tourney to decide the winner. Things looked bleak for the purple and orange at first and soon one of my campers and his 9-year old brother were the only ones left, two of the smallest campers. I wasn’t that surprised when CalEx “magic” kicked in and the two scrappy brothers singlehandedly took down 13 members of the Pitt team to lead us to victory! I’m told it was “THE GREATEST DODGEBALL COMEBACK OF ALL-TIME,” and both teams seemed equally excited to witness it.

Now I’m experiencing what I’m told is an unavoidable reentry process, back into the real world, following a surprisingly emotional “see you later” to my new camper and counselor friends alike. I can’t believe CalEx is over!  Only 51 weeks to go….

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A trip to Memory Lane…

After my family Cape Escape, I embarked on a four-day trip down Memory Lane. So, after 37 years my parents had the nerve to sell my childhood home in Massachusetts so they can  ‘live free or die’ in New Hampshire. This is mildly traumatic for me, as (despite going wherever I want) I prefer that the people around me stay put. Especially my parents! However, there are grandkids in NH (which makes it totally a losing battle) so I finally had to acknowledge that it actually didn’t make all that much sense for them to stay in MA so I have a place to crash when visiting my high school friends for five days a year. My Dad unsympathetically suggested that in the future I stay at the one motel downtown, The Clipper. Thanks Dad.

This past week my parents (mostly my Mom) guilted me into going “home” to help go through things in prep for their move. It turns out that the “things” they speak of are actually treasures. My treasures!!! I was pleasantly surprised to learn that when I went to college (and it took my parents about 48 hours to transform my bedroom into a den) they had preserved my bedroom!!! Albeit, in boxes. Many boxes. I quickly understood that my parent’s (aka my Mom’s) goal for my visit to my soon-to-be-former home was to get rid of my stuff (that I didn’t even know they still had). So, I embarked on the journey…

It seems that I chronicled my entire childhood, in detail. This was in the form of many diaries/journals (starting at age 8) and scrapbooks to preserve everything. Literally EVERYTHING. I have every award certificate (including one especially embarrassing year when I got the Perfect Attendance Award AND Gym Student of the Year. I would not have wanted to be friends with me), many letters from my many pen-pals  (including post cards…so many post cards), and clippings from anytime my name or picture was in the local newspapers (this seemed to have required some scissor-skills to cut out the honor roll listing, cropping to my name only). One would think as I got older and more mature I’d lay off the scrapbooks a bit. NOPE. It got worse. Apparently in about 10th grade I discovered the art of a travel journal, and proceeded to document every trip I went on. In GREAT detail. For example, when I was in my early teens I went to Seattle with my Dad and brother to visit my super-cool-mountaineer-geomorphalogist Uncle Paul and climb Mt. Baker (originally it was supposed to be Mt. Rainier but he smartly assessed that was a lofty goal for his 13 year-old nephew and 14 year-old niece who had zero combined experience with an ice ax. Rainier would come years later).  The pictures and accounts of the Baker climb are amazing and definitely work keeping. However, also included in the huge album I compiled is the coaster from the Red Robin restaurant where we got burgers after landing in Seattle (as well as MANY other relics). Let’s just say it was a long four days going through those boxes…

My biggest take-away from the Memory Lane excursion is the transformative change that has taken place in the way we communicate. It’s huuuge! In college I wrote letters. And mailed them. In the mail. I wrote full accounts of my goings-on and received commensurate scrolls from my friends and family. There was no shooting off a quick text about a date (or a class I found interesting? probably more like it).

In that spirit, I came across this relic from my freshman year of college. It was mailed to me, to my college mailbox (I’m pretty sure I had no idea who he was and didn’t seek him out in the food hall that evening to find out):

All in all (minus this date-request) with the old-fashioned communication method it seemed there were real stories conveyed. And, while definitely time-delayed, it somehow seemed to be more a meaningful way to communicate. It took time and thought. We went into details (at least I did..no lack of details on my end). Just so it’s clear I’m not coming from the Dark Ages, I also did chronicle the first time I learned of this new-fangled thing that I later learned was called email. I was 12 and visiting my tech-savvy IBM-engineer-grandfather in New York and journaled that “Tonight Pop-pop showed Seth and I a new disk where you can write to people in other states. It’s so cool!” Clearly I did not inherit the tech gene from Popster (a disk??) and I credit him with making me an early adopter, via a prodigy.net account. He was successful as I emailed him every week for approximately 20 years, and he printed out the emails (with the kind of printer paper where you have to rip off the sides) and saved them in huge binders. Hmmm…I guess I know which gene I did inherit.

Here’s a sampling of my favorite relics from my most recent trip…

My amazing grandmother rocking it in her 70’s. She also has a pink tankini (not pictured, sadly):

 

My best pic of my beautiful baby sis, Tobi (the product of a high school photography class… I might be part of the last generation to know what a dark room is):

 

A sampling of my childhood (dance recital, dolled up for a Camp Sloane square-dance, and college…cutting edge with a cordless phone)

Phew…that last trip was a huge emotional toll but was well worth it to recall some of the best times that had somehow slipped out of my memory bank. The last night I was ‘home’ my very best friends from growing up came over- Nichole, Maegan, and Amy. They have collectively spent months in my childhood home and it seemed full circle for them to be there as I said good-bye.

Next stop…headed to the west coast for some volunteering at the Experience Camp in California.

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The Original Cape Codder

Cape Cod is hands-down my Happy Place. I was born on the Cape and maybe that’s why I feel so connected to it (funny, I can’t think of another place one could be born “on,” minus a boat or rocket-ship). My grandmother always says I’m an “Original Cape Codder.” I don’t know what that means exactly but I’m guessing I’m either part of an exclusive club or an endangered species. Or it could be in reference to the cocktail? Regardless-  I’ll take it!

This week I was vacationing with the fam in Eastham, MA, located at the elbow of Cape Cod (the island is shaped like a flexed arm, yet is the polar opposite of the “gym, tan, laundry” scene). My family’s squad consists of 7 adults and 5.5 kiddos (my sister’s third is currently in-progress). It was a lot of kids and a lot of laughs. And, also a LOT of negotiations involving snacks, drinks, sand toys, turns to shower, turns to eat, turns to breath, etc. (btw, I learned that gum and marshmallows are hot commodities in the little kid/toddler world and will come better prepared for the next family getaway). As a teaser, here’s Charlotte organizing her snack on her beach chair- a huge victory:

My top three family vacation highlights are as follows (in no particular order):

1- The OCEAN! This requires some background explanation. So, in my family’s Cape world there are three bodies of water:

  • The Pond– specifically “Great Pond,” which is located just down the street and has been the site of much swimming, floating, Marco Polo-ing, and, more recently, paddle-boarding and kayaking. Great spot. Love it.
  • The Bay– First Encounter Beach, which, as lore would have it, is the first place Native Americans were invaded by/had an encounter with the Pilgrims prior to Plymouth. Currently this is where I zen-out during morning beach yoga.
  • The Ocean- Coast Guard Beach, named one of the ten most beautiful beaches in the world (according to my dad…and maybe it was just in the country now that I think about it). Anyways, it’s an expansive beach at the base of a lighthouse and consists of huge waves, beautiful dunes, and freezing cold water. It was also the only ocean beach I’d seen growing up and I was surprised to find beaches with boardwalks and stores where you could buy things. It just seemed wrong!

So, historically my nieces and nephews spent most of their time at The Pond and The Bay (and most of that time avoiding the water due to the threat of seaweed and hermit crabs), but this trip we managed to get our entire crew to The Ocean! I’d tried and failed to motivate this trip every year as it had seemed too daunting with all the children and ALL their gear (tons o’ gear!).

This year, though….it was phenomenal! I woke up at 8am on Tuesday and thought I was still dreaming.  Sandwich-making and sunscreen application was already underway, with discussion of who would ride which bike to The Ocean! And, the best part is that all the kids LOVED it! Somehow their fear of seaweed and hermit crabs did not carry-over to concern over jelly fish and sharks- they went in the water and there was even boogie boarding! It’s now our new primary body of water- a huge victory in my book. Here’s the ocean crew (Jack nailed it with the bunny ears on Ella):

2- Birthday Parties. We had TWO birthday parties this trip, and a lot of cake and cards. The first night it was Abigail’s 5th birthday, and her “father” Jack was very eager to throw her a party (after being informed that day that your doll could have a birthday- thanks to Xavier Roberts for starting that trend). Then, of course, Ella had to have a party for her daughter, Amanda (turning 2), and we celebrated on Thursday. Like I said, there were a lot of cards (card-making for both birthday girls was mandatory), and a LOT of cake.  I’m positive the adults were duped and used as cake-dealers and I give the kids mad props for that. It was impressive. Proud Auntie here! Here are the proud parents:

3- Hog Island Brewery. Every year the first generation Kids like to give the Grandparents the precious “opportunity” to bond with all of their grandchildren at once, so we find a place to occupy ourselves off-site. I mean, look at how happy they are:

This year we’d heard wind of a new brewery and spent a lovely evening enjoying their craft brews in a super-cool venue (great courtyard with adirondack chairs and live music, and an industrial-esque inside with ping pong tables and foosball). The best part of the night, though, was when we first ordered beers. Everyone else had theirs and was outside claiming chairs when I placed my order and was asked for my ID (this in itself was exciting and I definitely did not play it cool). THEN, I was given a special wrist-band so when the other bartenders thought I was only 19, they would know I’d already been carded and was in fact 21 (at least that’s what I think it was for). It was AMAZING. The other members of my party were NOT happy about my neon wristband (that I may or may not still be wearing). Although Tobi was clear that since she’s preggers and did not actually order a drink, there was no opportunity for her to be carded and given an awesome wristband. I give her that. But who knows what would have happened, really.

All in all, it was a wonderful family vaca with my favorite cast of characters and while I’ve had some amazing travels in July, there was nowhere else I would have wanted to be this week. This domestic thing ain’t so bad sometimes.

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From Granada to the Granite State

I left you in Granada…originally I'd planned to return to Madrid via train and spend the night there before flying out (by "planned" I mean thinking about doing that maybe). My lack of planning in the traditional sense was fortunate when I decided to extend my love affair with Mallorca by a day and return to Madrid via the overnight bus instead. I did not have high hopes for the overnight bus (the sacrifices I make for Mallorca) but it ended up working out well and the airport was an easy subway ride from the bus station. Seriously, the buses in Spain are pretty incredible. Our chariot was a huge double-decker with big comfy seats, AND you had your own TV. I was recently on a flight to California without my own TV so this was a pleasant perk. And all of this for only 19 euro, plus tax!

My bus seatmate (who I later learned was a bit "eccentric") was holding a pack of cigarettes in his lap when I first sat down. I had a moment of panic (thinking that European buses are the equivalent to an airport smoking lounge on wheels) and I dug deep for my words… "Fumar en el autobus?" He didn't say anything but handed me a cigarette (which I awkwardly held for a little while before stashing in an empty water bottle).  Thankfully there was no smoking on the bus but he held the pack the entire time like a security blanket. He then tried to start a few bizarre conversations (that I will spare you the details of), so I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. I woke up from a deep slumber five hours later… with my head on cigarette guy's shoulder and him smiling at me, creepily. I was less than thrilled but at least pretty well-rested. Can't win 'em all I guess!

I arrived at the Madrid airport and had some time in the lounge (Yay for the "Priority Pass" credit card perk!) where I showered, loaded up on snacks and charged my phone. I will say these international lounges are niiiice and I was kind of bummed when it was time for my flight. Sadly, my flight was taking me back to los Estados Unidos (you can take the girl out of Spain…), therefore ending my Euro-junket preview trip. As background, while "planning" my travels, I had to work around some previously planned domestic obligations (don't feel bad for me- obligations is a strong word). So, I maximized free-time in July with my tour de Spain and now have an international travel August recess (so DC of me) before taking my show over the pond again. If you don't care about what I'm doing in 'Merica (I wouldn't blame you at all) tune back into my blog around Labor Day.

First stop on the stateside tour: New Hampshire (no, I'm not planning on running in 2020…but don't they all say that?).  In the granite state I met up with my sister, sister-in-law, aunt and two cousins to celebrate my grandmother's 92nd birthday with a day at the Wentworth Spa. As background, Nan had never had a massage, and having taken to regular manicures after her first one earlier this year, we decided it was time (these Depression Era grandparents don't seem to understand the importance of splurging on life necessities like this!). Nan clearly had a hard time getting comfortable in the spa environment (timestamp is approx 5 minutes post-arrival):

The spa services and staff at the Wentworth could not have been better (thanks to cousin Megan for organizing!) and we culminated the celebration with a delicious lunch at their waterfront restaurant, Latitude.

The timing all worked out perfectly, even the full-circle rainbow we arranged to dazzle the sky upon her arrival  (yes, this is real and it stuck around for a good 30 min for photo opps):

All in all, WOO-HOO for 92!!! Nan is an incredible woman, as demonstrated by the fact she declared skydiving as her next birthday first (cousin Megan has recused herself from the planning of this non-spa-related activity but we'll figure it out among the cousins).

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Granada Finale!

Following an emotional it’s-a-see-you-later-not-goodbye to Mallorca, I boarded my flight to Granada (btw, I have several Spain travel tips/things I wish I’d known that I’ll share in a separate post). As I sat on the plane I realized I really didn’t know what to expect in Granada (you may be noticing a theme with my pre-trip research. I guess I just like being surprised…like going on a mystery tour!)

I checked into my hotel, the Room Mate Leo, which (for a whopping $62 a night) provided large and modern rooms, a quality breakfast (trust me, I know a good breakfast), and a perfect location. I explored the eclectic city streets that afternoon, taking in the unique qualities of the city. It’s a blend of winding medieval streets with pockets of elaborate graffiti, cobblestone walkways lined with high-end shops, the white-washed houses of the Arab district, and what seemed like an astounding number of churches (even by Spain standards).

I then stumbled upon the Granada Cathedral (you’d think it would be hard to miss but is kinda tucked away in the curvy streets). I’d been to several breathtaking cathedrals at this point in the trip was considering myself a bit of a cathedral snob. Well, the Granada Cathedral wasted no time putting me in my place! There really are no words to describe the richness and grandeur of this beautiful church. Hopefully this helps:

Following the cathedral, I took a respite at an outdoor cafe where I ordered a cold beverage. My drink of choice was Verdejo (my now fave Spanish wine that tastes like a cross between Vino Verde and Sauvignon blanc) and I was VERY pleasantly surprised when they also brought a little snack! So, apparently it’s a tradition in Granda to provide a complimentary mystery-tapa when you order a drink (soda and water included). You know me and my love of both snacks and mysteries…does it get any better than this?!? I was SO fascinated by this Granada perk, in both the price-per-calorie (PPC) value of the deal (around 2- 3 euros for the drink AND mystery snack) and in how the the tapas varied between establishments. All over the culinary map, really:

The next day I embarked on a tour of the Alhambra, the site Granada is most known for. Once again, I didn’t know exactly what Granada was known for when I booked the trip but this Alhambra thing seemed like the thing to do. I’m told you should book tickets in advance and the ticket purchasing system can be complex. But I got distracted Vespa-ing, etc. and then learned that my idea of “in-advance” is different from that of other peoples. (Doesn’t “in-advance” mean “before the day of??”)  Thankfully I found a tour group with great reviews that had space available in their afternoon tour. (btw, I would definitely recommend this over touring on your own and if you use this company ask for Gustovo- he’s a riot and knows the joint like the back of his hand). Teaser pics:

In summary (I’ll try to make Gustovo proud) the Alhambra is a huuuuge complex of  Moorish palaces and gardens that first broke ground on construction in the 10th century and was continually expanded. When the Christian re-conquest thing happened in 1492 (yup, same year Columbus sailed the ocean blue) it was repurposed for Ferdinand and Isabella and was actually where C. Columbus collected the coin to fund his voyage. Later another enormous palace was built for King Charles V,  the Holy Roman Emperor. Eventually the whole thing fell into disarray and was neglected until the 19th Century when restorations began. First we toured Generalife Gardens which were used as a summer palace waaay back in the 1300s and consists of stunning gardens, courtyards and fountains, etc. I’d totally vacation there. Three hours flew by as we continued the tour through a series of palaces, each with unique and equally majestic styles and enhanced by the spectacular views and warm late afternoon lighting. And, of course Gustavo had many fun facts and historical nuggets to share throughout the tour.

Alhambra is unbelievably beautiful and fascinating at the same time- a truly incredible place! If you do the bucket list thing, add it. (I admit I later looked up “wonders of the world” and I still can’t believe Alhambra isn’t on the list. Wtf.)

I basked in the glow of my Alhambra tour with my final meal in Granada. I returned to  El Pescaito de Carmela, where I’d enjoyed gazpacho and a mystery-snack the day before and had vowed to return. This time I feasted on grilled scallops (just as tasty as they are beautiful) and the best mussels I’ve ever had:

It was really a cherry on top of my quick trip to another magical Spanish city! Wait for my next post to hear what’s next…

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Más Mallorca por favor!

Apologies that I lapsed a bit with the blog, but I was distracted soaking in the magical city of Mallorca! I really did try, though. Last night, with the best of blogger intentions, I sat in the beautiful open-air Courtyard in my hotel (apparently a 16th century former palace) and then, Mallorca-style, this happened…

Scene: Girl sits alone in the palace-hotel Courtyard, typing on her laptop. Enter Boy (a dashing British currency trader). Boy strikes up a conversation with Girl and asks if he may sit at her table. Girl smiles and nods. Boy sits. Boy and Girl converse. Enter Hotel Butler. Hotel Butler informs Boy and Girl that it is not permissible to speak in the palace-hotel Courtyard after 10pm. Hotel Butler assures Boy and Girl that they may remain in the Courtyard, with the requirement that they must not speak. Exit Hotel Butler. Pause… Boy inquires if Girl would be interested in putting her laptop away and joining him for a drink. Girl slams laptop shut. End Scene.

THIS REALLY HAPPENED! And I wasn’t even surprised it happened. It’s is just the kind of stuff that happens in this magical place called Mallorca!

Mallorca is the only stop in my tour de Spain that I chose without any recommendations from friends. While planning the trip I came across a USA Today article naming Mallorca as one of nine places that should be on your bucket list to visit. Even though I don’t have a bucket list, it caught my attention as I hadn’t been to any of the nine places, minus a layover in Houston (um, in hindsight, interesting that Houston made this illustrious list?) Anyways, I took the article to heart….how could I be in the same country, and just a hop, skip, and a jump away, and not visit a BUCKET LIST PLACE? So, without knowing much more than the short paragraph in the article, I added Mallorca to my itinerary. Done and done. Here’s another glimpse of that Mallorca magic:

I arrived thinking I’d have a relaxing few days at the beach. I did NOT arrive thinking I would become absolutely enamored with the city and would later change my travel plans to stay an extra day! I spent most of my time in Palma, the capital and largest city (no skyscrapers but plenty of castles, cathedrals, coastline, and mountains).

The most obvious feature of Palma is the awe-inspiring Gothic Cathedral, with a stunning blue back-drop of the Mediterranean coastline that includes stunning beaches and ports packed with sailboats and yachts, as well as green mountain ranges to complete the panoramic view. While walking around I felt like I was in an open-air castle…it truly feels magical.

The first full day I took a free walking tour of Palma and then toured myself through the gorgeous beaches. I enjoyed a delicious dinner at Restaurante Pesquero (overlooking the port) and tried a white fish that was new to me. How have I not heard of the John Dory fish before?! I think I’m now president of the John Dory fan club.

Yesterday I took an old-fashioned wooden train to a coastal village, the Port of Soller. I enjoyed an out-of-this-world lunch at Kingfisher (one of the benefits of being a party of one) and spent the afternoon beaching-it and exploring the streets before the scenic trip back to Palma.

All in all, I think of Mallorca as Barcelona’s younger, smaller, and more laid-back cousin. M looks up to bigger city cousin B but doesn’t feel at all inferior, and while I love them both equally (and it wouldn’t be fair to pick favorites) I will always have a special place in my heart for lil’ Mallorca!

Next up….Granada!