Traveling Hat!

Skip the Hotel California.

Sat, 06 Oct 2012 12:06:05 -0700

December 26th, 2011

Today we made the 2-hour trip across the peninsula to Todos los Santos, the folk art hub of the Baja and the location of the Hotel California (made famous by The Eagles). On the drive you gain quite a bit of altitude and the temperature is cooler, but the vegetation is much lusher. The mountainsides are covered in skinny trees that look a bit like eucalyptus and there are a lot fewer cacti. The cacti that you do see are still in flower, their tops ringed with bright white blooms that kind of look like those fluffy Halloween angel halos from a distance. The scenery is an pretty decent consolation prize for the carsickness you will inevitably feel driving the serpentine curves of a Mexican mountain road. Take a Gravol before you attempt it, and maybe a shot of tequila to calm you down since there are points where the road turns to one lane on a blind corner. There also may be cows everywhere.

On the way up, you will drive through San Antonio and El Triunfo, both old colonial towns with warped cobblestone streets and brightly-painted plaster houses. El Triunfo seems to be the more popular of the two, because as we were enjoying the echoing silence of the colonial church a busload of tourists came in with a shouty guide who urged them to go next door and buy stuff from the folkart shop. Even so, it is apparent that El Triunfo has seen far better days: Gold and silver were discovered there in 1862 and a mining operation began but was cut short when a hurricane flooded the area. One of the remnants of its heyday is a 35-meter smokestack designed by Gustav Eiffel. At its high point El Triunfo was home to over 10,000 miners, now it is home to about 320 people. There are a lot of ruined brick buildings and vacant lots overrun by chickens. Nevertheless, its location nestled in the crook of a mountain is really lovely and it is certainly worth stopping at.

We passed a military checkpoint before entering the outskirts of Todos los Santos. They give those guys some very serious artillery—my guess is that they don’t want any incidents in such a tourist-heavy area. Bad PR.

We had lunch at a place called Fonda el ZaguAn, which was more expensive than what we had gotten used to in La Ventana, but served possibly the most delicious fruit smoothies ever. They had to have made it in some kind of wizard blender because smoothies are so rarely this good. Delicious fish tacos, too.

If you plan on buying folkart in the Baja, then Todos los Santos is absolutely the place to do it. Every block has five or six stores packed with traditional pottery, metalwork, woven stuff, and carvings. However, because there are so many stores, you can often find the same piece or similar in several places and, if you hunt, at a better price. So if you fall in love with a tin nicho or a fabulous silver pendant, DEFINITELY have a look around first and come back to it. Walking out of a store happy with your ‘one of a kind’ purchase only to find one you like more at a lower price next door is nothing short of a bummer.

That being said, talking to shopkeepers is an excellent way to practice your Spanish. Because Todos los Santos is so touristy, the majority of them will be very patient with grammatical fumblings or switch into English if you’re really having a hard time. Mom and I spoke to the young owner of a pottery shop for almost an hour. He brought us up to speed on Mexican current affairs as well as world news while rocking his tiny new baby in a stroller.

The beach is around a 15 minute drive from the center of town and is weirdly difficult to find. Max and dad drove what felt like all over the southern Baja trying to find the damn thing due to poor directions. To my understanding you have to actually leave town, drive around the little mountain and take the big road down. The Pacific here is cold enough that you would have to wear a wetsuit, and not really swimmer-friendly. The waves are around six and a half feet high with a wicked undertow.

Close-ish to the beach you will find the The Hotel California. It’s the main artery in an out of Todos los Santos, but isn’t anything terribly interesting. Unless you are a huge Eagles fan or are interested in their extremely overpriced ‘Hotel California’ tequila, don’t waste your time. It’s a hotel. What is interesting about it is that the hotel was built in 1947 by a Chinese immigrant who changed his name from Mr. Wong to Don Antonio Tabasco (hilarious) in an effort to trick the locals into thinking he was Mexican. You can find the rest of the hotel’s piecemeal history on their website.

Spanish Vocab of the Day

Grifo—Faucet

Mexican-specific vocab of the day

Nopal—Prickly pear cactus

Tiny gecko! Watch where you step in the morning, these guys like to hide in the grooves between tiles.

Interior of an old colonial church in El Triunfo.

The exterior of the same church.

Crosses on the wall of Cafe El Triunfo.

Bougainvillea grows everywhere in Baja. For some reason it is far more vibrant in colour here than anywhere in the northern hemisphere.

Outside an artisan shop. Wares are commonly displayed in this way.

Masks made by the indigenous people of the southern provinces. Apparently they are carved of palm wood and all the paints are handmade.

Holy masks, Batman!

ESPAÑA CAMPEONES!!!!

Sun, 01 Jul 2012 16:27:36 -0700

It’s like Italy wasn’t even there. 4 to 0 and San Iker ascends again!

Felicidades, niños! You pushed through again!

Feliz Navidad

Sat, 14 Apr 2012 17:53:11 -0700

December 24^th, 2011

Not much to say about today. El Norte was still blowing as strong as ever so we spent most of the day taking shelter in the house.

We went to Coya for that Christmas buffet thing with John, a city planner from Chilliwack that my parents had met on the beach. He is a super interesting guy and a great storyteller, and all through dinner he regaled us with funny anecdotes from all the places he has traveled.

This was the first non-homemade Christmas dinner that Max and I had ever had and honestly we both felt a little wistful about it. The food was awesome though, especially the turkey. We couldn’t figure out why it was so good until the chef came by and Mom asked what his secret was. Apparently he not only deep-fried the turkey to make it magically delicious, but frequently uses the oil from the deep fryer to power his biodiesel car. The man drives a Turkeymobile.

December 25^th, 2011

Merry Christmas to my Christian readers, Happy 5^th day of Hanukkah to my Jewish readers, and Happy Sunday to everyone else. Once again, little to report. It was less windy today and warmer, I think El Norte is moving on. A quick advisory: Do not go walking in the bush here. Everything is prickly. Low-lying aloe plants can inflict small but itchy wounds on the ankles. Speaking from experience, here.

Spanish Vocab of the Day

Cebolla—Onion

Mexican-specific vocab of the day

Huitlacoche—Corn smut fungus. This fungus is considered a delicacy in Mexico and is more valuable than the corn it grows on!

La Paz and goat bones.

Sat, 14 Apr 2012 17:51:24 -0700

December 23rd, 2011

Took another walk in the desert today, it gets hot pretty quick when you’re out of the wind here so it was nice to take off our hoodies and sweat a little. Suspicious vulture activity led us to a field of dessicated goat carcasses—Dad speculated that it was where the local farmers dumped the remnants of animals butchered for food as there were too many of them to have just wandered into the desert and died. My family pressed on but I stayed to photograph the carcasses. They lay half-buried in the dust, hollow eyes gaping, curled up on themselves like Inca mummies. The sand began to blow pretty hard so I collected some clean jawbones and walked back. The sand is light in colour so the sun glares right off it and makes you squint; it’s a good idea wear sunglasses and tie a scarf around your face to keep the dust out.

Upon returning to the house we saddled up to go restock. Driving into La Paz is a dusty affair. If the windows are left down, dust will collect in the corners of your eyes, your hair, between your teeth, between the pages of books. A good way to keep entertained on the drive is to listen to Mexican radio. The radio hosts always speak in the most dramatic voices, as if ‘traffic and weather together’ is the most exciting part of their day.

We wanted to look around the La Paz harbor but the wind was freezing cold. We then went to look for a panaderia that had been recommended to us, and stumbled across a covered market. I love markets, they’re always a combination of fascinating, beautiful and gross. This one contained the usual fare: sickly fluorescent lights humming over dark cuts of beef tongue and slippery piles of bloody meat laid out for Christmas. Fish on ice with eyes that glitter like dimes underwater. Walls and walls of cheap acoustic guitars, snakeskin cowboy boots, and Looney Tunes knockoff stuffies, all the corridors jammed with vendor carts piled with fireworks and sweets. It can be overwhelming at times, especially with Christmas rush at full swing, but if you want to experience how people really live and move around in Baja California, you have to check out this market. From street along the harbor it’s about eight or nine blocks up the hill on a busy street, right next to a courtyard with a big shrine to the Virgin.

Driving back from La Paz at night is a less dusty but far more harrowing escapade. Besides the occasional drunk and swerving driver, people’s livestock just wander into the road because there are no fences to contain them. Cows are terrible pedestrians and we had a few near misses involving us screeching to a halt and trying to slow our heart rates while the oblivious bovine stared sweetly at us with its big dark golfball eyes.

Spanish Vocab of the Day

Fugaz—Fleeting

Mexican-specific vocab of the day

Hablame—Call me (In most of Latin America you would say ‘llamame’)

This is what wind blowing at 30mph looks like.

Vulture activity leading to goat bones.

Eeeewwww…

New thorns on a cactus.

Blankets and baja jackets for sale in La Paz.

Colourful buildings in La Paz.

“Mariguana”

Outside the covered market.

Fruit vendors.

A couple out for a walk.

Sunset on the way out of La Paz.

Rockin' around the...something something...

Wed, 11 Apr 2012 03:09:00 -0700

December 22nd, 2011

I saw a roadrunner this morning and said “meep meep” to it. I think I might have offended it.

Mom and I went on a jog down the desert road that parallels the beach. We met a nice Californian snowbird named Jo who gave us some tips on what to do on Christmas. According to her, most of the inns around town hold a fiesta of some variety so the best bet is to go party-hopping. There were also several events that happen in the days before the 24^th, including a ‘Christmas Concert”. Early as it was, it soon became too hot to jog, since we were out of the wind. Around here it’s a good idea to rise early to beat the heat if you are going to be out in the desert, or beat the wind if you’re planning a little water time.

Later, we went to check out a small local market that a local trinket-seller had told us about when we were exploring the campground the day before. He had made it out to be a very sizable market that sold wonderful fruit and fresh fish, a place where all the locals went to shop. Upon arriving we were sorely disappointed—it was three tables littered with the usual tourist trinkets. The same man was there with his wife and three children who looked as if they might disintegrate of boredom. After picking through the trinkets we returned to the house for a rest and a snack of the ubiquitous sweet Mexican bread. Mom laid herself out on the sand in the yard in an attempt to stay lower than the wind. I was listening to woodpeckers and quails fussing in the bush when Max came walking into the kitchen singing the Space Odyssey theme and carrying a coconut that he had managed to husk all by himself without cracking the inner shell.

We went for a walk through town in the evening and stopped by what was said to be the fanciest restaurant in town, a place called Coya, to check it out. We spoke to the chef, a really nice guy from Hood River who sort of stumbled into the job after the former chef (an allegedly difficult man) left. He told us about a buffet dinner and performance thing that was happening on Christmas Eve and we said that we’d be there.

Following Jo-From-California’s recommendation, we then headed to Flying High to check out the Christmas Concert. I ordered my second margarita of the trip from the bartender, a heavily pierced, purple-haired girl from Idaho sporting a Santa hat and a Tank Girl tattoo on her arm. She seemed rather out of place, though it could have been her outfit—wearing six-inch strappy bondage heels in a place where the terrain consists predominately of soft sand seems kind of counter-intuitive. As Dad waiting for his drink and I was trying to get Max to finish mine, a gringo wearing a poncho emblazoned with the colours of the Mexican flag came shambling up to the bar. He slapped his hand down, said “Barmaid, get me a whiskey” and, after looking her up and down, remarked “you’re looking very conservative this evening.” This earned a laugh from her. “Yeah,” she said, “I dressed down for tonight.” A ragtag group of people, both white and Mexican, moved onto the stage and the show began. The Mexicans looked a bit like they had been press-ganged into the affair by the cheery emcee, a voice teacher from the states. She led the group into “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” and promptly forgot the lyrics. She might have been plastered, but it was hard to tell in the poorly-lit palapa. After that disaster, a European woman got onstage to play some ragtime carols on a little Casio and had to restart each song about 4 times. Dad started looking like he might suffer a seizure if he was made to bear the ‘show’ any longer and so we left. On my way out I took a photo of Tank Girl, who had picked up a lugubrious-looking hound puppy and was going around telling everyone how soft it was. As we fled we caught the sounds of what may have been the only good performance of the night, a guy in all denim who sounded like Willie Nelson.

We came back to discover that our cat friend had gained a rival/paramour, a leonine tomcat with sharp ice blue eyes. I will say this: there is no animal that embodies rejection more completely than a female cat skittering away sideways from an advancing courtier, a look of terror plastered on her dainty little face. The tom, unfazed by this, consumed all the food and milk we had laid out for her and proceeded to follow her all around the house, much to her chagrin. She finally managed to lose him by running around to one side of the guest house, where she waited for a while before cautiously coming back. However as soon as she rounded the corner he was there and she slammed on the brakes, gave a sad little meow and skittered away in terror again.

Spanish Vocab of the Day:

Mano—Hand

Mexican Slang of the Day:

Órale—“Wow!” or “Okay!”

The guest house.

The Thursday craft market.

The trinket vendor’s children, looking very bored.

Miss Kitty’s tormentor.

Max with the fruit of his labour in hand and the enemy husk lying defeated at his feet.

Inside of a fresh coconut.

This guy sounded like Willie Nelson.

Tank Girl and Sad Puppy.

Alfonso Sexy Dance

Wed, 11 Jan 2012 22:49:00 -0800

21^st December, 2011.

We drove into La Paz to resupply this morning. We were warned that first impressions of La Paz are often bad: It is ugly, dirty, overcrowded, and packed with huge American superstores. For the most part, this is true. It does have its redeeming qualities; for example an indoor market and cheap prices on tequila and photographic film ($2.00!) at the local Walmart but those were revealed to us on our second supply run, which I will address later.

Back in La Ventana, Max and I went down to the beach for a quick swim, and in my haste to get into the water, I stepped on a dead pufferfish. There are tons of them washed up on the beach; I believe what happens is that they get into the waves, puff up from the stress, at which point they don’t have much control over their movements, and get thrown onto the sand and are damaged. It’s a horrible thing to see them rolling and gasping on the sand, their little round eyes drying out in the sun. It doesn’t matter if you try and toss them back into the water; the waves will always bring them back to shore.

Here you must fight the temptation to walk around barefoot due to various nasties (cactus spines, scorpions, burrs, and of course, dead pufferfish) that may be lurking in the sand. The water here is clear and beautiful but not terribly warm, and a lot of people prefer to go swimming in a ‘shortie’ wetsuit. However, as long as the wind is down swimming is very pleasant.

The wind picks up very quickly here; often in a matter of an hour. As soon as it does, the kiteboarders and windsurfers begin popping up until both the water and the beach is thick with them. While Dad and Max were out on the water, Mom and I walked around town a little. Up on the hill, someone was ringing the church bell for mass. People on the street here always say hello, or at least smile in greeting; a behaviour not so prevalent in the bigger cities. The rhythms of life are slow, based around the wind and the water. Day-to-day, short glimpses and images stay with you and form into a sort of collective amoeba of memory: A wizened fisherman meticulously mends his ten-metre net by hand. A group of children go rattling down their driveway on plastic tricycles. A woman sweeps the front step of her tienda, ignoring the sound of dogs yapping at customers pulling up in road-roughed pickup trucks. As the wind dies, the kiteboarders come in and are replaced by low-flying pelicans, scanning the shallows for fish. An amateur DJ spins records atop the local kite school building, backlit by the setting sun. A kite instructor rides sidesaddle down the beach on an ATV, watchful of her charge, communicating with him via waterproof walkie-talkie. It really is a beautiful place.

In the evening, we stopped at this weird place for drinks called Villa Paraíso. Upon pulling up, it looked as if it were closed so we sent dad in to check. He was informed by the bartender that it was in fact open, and so we went in and wandered around a little. It was very surreal; the place had all the trappings of a nice all-inclusive, but was completely empty save a few startled-looking staff. On the lawn beneath the palm trees were those reindeer statues made of wire and Christmas lights and a sign proclaiming “Let it snow!”.

We found the restaurant empty of souls, with rock hits of the late seventies and early eighties blaring though the sound system. We sat down in the back, and the bartender came up to our table and introduced himself as Raul. He seemed very excited to see us. We ordered a few margaritas and chatted for about ten minutes before all of a sudden, the lights were shut off. It seemed the cleaning lady had thought the place empty and started to close up. Snatches of frantic conversation were heard as Raul realized what had happened, and the lights flickered back on. A man in a toque and a winter jacket with a missing tooth came up, grinned at us, and turned on another light— by that I mean he screwed in a naked bulb on the wall a little tighter. At first we thought he might have been a janitor, considering the lightbulb thing, but he must have been the maitre’d since he then brought us the menu; a whiteboard with the following scrawled in marker:

PASTA CON CAMARONES

PESCADO CON PASTA

SALAD CON BEEF

We asked if they had any appetizers and nervously he said yes, they could bring us ‘chicharrones de pescado’ i.e. deep fried fish with tortillas and fixings.

The margaritas were very strong and very tasty and we quizzed each other on the songs playing. After a few rounds of tipsy music trivia, we realized that the food was taking forever to arrive. Just as we were talking about leaving, Alfonso (toque guy) came with it. He admitted that they’d had to run to the restaurant next door and ask them to prepare the food since their own kitchen was already closed. It was so sweet! I have never seen a restaurant be so accommodating. The chicharrones were filling and delicious. On our way out we ran into Alfonso again, and he told us to come to the Christmas party that they were planning, if only to see his ‘sexy dance’ that he does if he’s not too busy with the kitchen. If you have time, I really do recommend stopping by Villa Paraiso. They may be disorganized, but they make up for it in heart and are a pleasure to chat with.

Spanish Vocab of the Day:

Red—Net

Mexican Slang Word of the Day:

Cohetes—Fireworks

Taking a dip!

It’s too cold to swim without a wetsuit when it’s windy, so if you want to go, go early, before the wind picks up.

Carrying a kite is a cumbersome endeavor.

A fisherman mending his net.

“Drop by drop, the water is drained.”

We found a puppy. The puppy found mom’s scarf.

Just getting settled into school, fear not, entries to come soon!

Sun, 08 Jan 2012 22:05:34 -0800

First Forays into Cardónland

Mon, 26 Dec 2011 22:39:00 -0800

19th December, 2011

Waking up at three o’clock in the morning and stumbling through the dark with minimal bags into a taxi where the driver starts the conversation with “I’m not actually supposed to be driving this van” sounds like the beginning of nefarious shenanigans. Truth is, we were taking the first steps of a fourteen-hour journey to Mexico. Wait, that makes it sound worse…

La Ventana, our destination, is situated on the eastern side of the Baja California peninsula, about two hours north of Cabo San Lucas. The name La Ventana actually refers to the bay; the village itself is called El Sargento. It is mostly populated by fishermen and tienda owners, plus the sizeable population of windchasers and ‘adventure snowbirds’; retirees that migrate here during the cold months to take advantage of the sun and the wind. At times the white people seem to outnumber the Mexicans in town, though that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t brush up on your Spanish before heading down. Many of the locals speak very little English.

The closest city is La Paz, a small city of around 250,000 people. It takes around 45 minutes to drive there, and is the best place to resupply as the only food shops in El Sargento are “mini supers” or tiendas; little convenience stores run by families that tend to only carry the essentials i.e. bread, eggs, and obscure brands of tequila with names like “Lobo Salvaje” (Wild Wolf or Savage Wolf) and “Vertigo”.

I am traveling with my parents; my father the windchaser, my mother the ever-patient windwife, and my younger brother Max; seventeen years old and turning into a bit of a windchaser himself.

After catching our six A.M. flight to San Fransisco, we transferred planes and flew into Cabo San Lucas, the booming tourist hub of the Baja California. Upon arriving at the rent-a-car, we noticed that on the rental agreement, under type of car, was written “Chevrolet Chevy”. Apparently in Mexico, such a car exists, and it gets very good gas mileage. A two-hour drive northward through the desert eventually deposited our travel-worn, stinking bodies at Rancho del Toro, a small property belonging to our friend Vince. He was allowing us to use the place as he was needed in Vancouver to man his store during the hectic Christmas season.

The property used to be an acre of hostile, prickly desert scrub before Vince cleared it and built the house, though he left the towering cardón cacti intact, as some of the specimens are well over a century old.

A bit about the cardón cactus:

The cardón is the world’s largest cactus, some specimens reaching 21 metres (70 feet) high and weighing up to 25 tons. A cardón may live to be over 300 years old and can hold up to a ton of water in the fleshy tissues of its trunk. The vertical ribs on the trunk and arms allow them to expand like an accordion to accommodate more water. As the cactus ages, the trunk and lower branches develop a woody grey ‘bark’ and no longer replace shed spines. It is easy to mistake the cardón cactus for the similar-looking saguaro cactus, which actually does not grow in Baja. (Info from Blueroadrunner.com)

20^th December, 2011

We woke up early this morning and had a small breakfast of muffins from the local panaderia whilst sitting on the roof of our kitchen. Woodpeckers hammered away at the cacti and someone who lives in the bus across the way played Christmas songs on the alto saxophone. The sun was warm and the wind had just started to rise, not quite strong enough to disturb the clear waters of the bay.

The wind here is more or less a constant, and plans for the day are at the mercy of it. Every so often a strong, cold system called El Norte will move in, blow furiously for three or four days, and then move off. Because of the wind, (and, of course, it being winter) it can be a lot cooler here than one might expect from the desert, especially at night. Most of the people wander around in windbreakers and jeans, even breaking out the toques and gloves at times.

We went for an exploratory walk down the beach and I stopped to watch some brusque and leathery old gringos gut a fish and throw the ropes of intestines to a group of silently waiting pelicans. One of the fishermen handed me a head to feed to one. I knelt down and held it out to a young pelican, who was eyeing the treat sideways. He shuffled a little closer, but was too shy to take that final step forward and snap it up. He kept flapping his great break in obvious distress and stumbling back when I moved, so I gave up and threw it to him. The fisherman who gave me the head turned out to be a construction worker from Colorado who lives and fishes in La Ventana during the winters when there isn’t work to be done at home. Whilst cleaning blood off his knives in the shallows, he told us of the tuna and marlin that can be caught further out in the bay during the hot months.

There are a lot of large-winged birds in the bay who cruise about on the updrafts in the bay looking for scraps. Along with the ubiquitous turkey vultures and pelicans are fork-tailed frigatebirds, small seagulls, and the occasional wayward hawk.

Upon returning from the beach, Max and I spent a solid half-hour trying to hack open a coconut with a rusty machete. We were eventually successful, but all the water had run out into the sand and the meat was a rather tough and dry. Nonetheless, it was a victory.

How to (properly) cut open a green coconut:

Make sure your machete is sharp.
Make deep cuts around ‘equator’ of the tapered end of the coconut.
Chop the end off. You should be able to see the tip of the brown inner shell.
Chop the other end down so it is flat, and balance the coconut on that end.
Make some cuts around where the tip of the inner shell is until you can peel back the bits and see the interior of the coconut.
Drink the coconut water, then continue chopping until you split the inner shell and can peel out the meat.

During the heat of the day, I was out like a idiot gringa on the upper terrace, getting a mild sunburn (not on purpose), watching the high arches of kitesails hover over the water. As beautiful as La Ventana is, the contrast of sun and wind can trick one into a false sense of security. Not only does it get cold here, but the sun is quite strong and its heat is masked by the wind, making it very easy to get burned.

Normally I am a person of invincible laziness, but something about the combination of heat and a constant cooling breeze seems to inject me with nervous energy so I convinced Max to cycle with me into town for a soda and snack. Coming out of the tienda we saw a group of around twenty women and children and some skinny dogs gathered around the front gate of a house. Upon seeing the residents of the house come out, they began to sing Christmas carols, and the residents began to reply in song. We watched them for a long time, then turned and coasted down the hill back home. The sun was hot on our faces, glass bottles of Coke rattling in the bottle cages of our bikes, chasing the shadows of red-throated frigatebirds gliding overhead. We pushed our bikes through the sand of the driveway and sat up on the roof to enjoy our spoils and catch up. Max and I often pass like ships in the night when I visit home so it was nice to be able to talk. I tore open the bag chips I had bought and found at the bottom a small metal disc printed with some cartoon character on one side. On the other it said in Spanish; “It’s hard to be humble when you’re the best.”

Spanish Word of the Day:

Agotamiento—Exhaustion

Mexican Slang Word of the Day:

Güey—Dude/man, can also be used to punctuate a point. Literal meaning: Ox.

Satisfying the gnarlier side of my tree-hugging urges.

Are you a peli-can or a peli-can’t?

Trying to feed one a fish head. He really wanted it, but was too shy.

“Lobo Salvaje”

Trying to chop open a coconut with a blunt, rusty machete is just as difficult as it sounds.

Eventual success.

A mourning dove sitting atop a saguaro.

Friendly local stray cat.

Due to the internet connection here not really supporting photo uploads, I'll either be uploading text-only entries and adding photos later, or waiting until I get home to post.

Wed, 21 Dec 2011 20:24:09 -0800

Sorry guys, I will keep you updated and hopefully I can have something up soon.

Traveling Hat is now on Facebook!

Sun, 18 Dec 2011 08:10:00 -0800

Traveling Hat is now on Facebook!

Twitter account is up!!

Mon, 21 Nov 2011 10:46:41 -0800

Twitter account is up!!

Banff Mountain Film Festival

Sun, 20 Nov 2011 23:06:00 -0800

Just got back from the 2011/2012 Banff Mountain Film Festival World Tour showing on campus. If you are interested in films about extreme sports and mountain culture, I STRONGLY recommend going to see it. There are some incredible people doing incredible things out there, and the films screened do a damn good job of finding the best and telling their stories. Check out this year’s trailer and be awed:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHDGv1RR2v4

Shameless self-promotion.

Tue, 01 Nov 2011 11:25:17 -0700

SO GUYS, if you like the photos I upload with each of my journal entries, I have started a photo blog for all my best shots from my travels and homeland adventures.

Here it is:

http://www.nowpanicphotography.tumblr.com/

I’d love it if you were to check it out!

Next stop...possibly Mexico!

Tue, 13 Sep 2011 08:24:00 -0700

EDIT: Mexico is now a definite! I’ll be in a town called La Ventana, right where the blue pointer is.

See you soon!

New York Overview

Sun, 11 Sep 2011 10:46:00 -0700

New York is better when it’s not 40 degrees and humid. I would recommend visiting in October or May when you don’t constantly feel like you want to take a shower. That being said, the city has an incredible energy (it takes some getting used to, but it really is great), New Yorkers are so friendly and will chat you up or help you out at any opportunity they get, and you can find some amazing, one-of-a-kind knick-knacks to bring home.

5 reasons why I recommend the Big Apple:

The greatest museum in the world, the Metropolitan.
The people are wonderful.
Gorgeous green spaces.
Super cool districts like NoLiTa and the Lower East Side.
An urban pulse like no other, with all cultures and types living in one place.

Must-see attractions:

The MET
Highline Park
Ellis Island/Liberty Island
Central Park

Neighbourhoods to check out:

NoLiTa (NoHo on the attached map)
Lower East Side
Harlem (but watch your purse)
Chelsea

Don’t bother with Times Square (because you can’t enjoy anything when you are being jostled and squished down a narrow sidewalk, crashing into tourists who stop suddenly to take photos) and the Natural History Museum (because it’s run-down and shouldn’t be seen until it gets its shit together).

Forgetfulness, Liberty Island, and Wall Street.

Sun, 11 Sep 2011 09:55:00 -0700

Sept 8

Titi and Tito were at the US Open again today, so mom and I decided to get up early and beat the crowds to the Liberty and Ellis Islands cruise. The crowds were there anyway. I quickly I realized that I HAD FORGOTTEN THE HAT; It was back in the hotel room. So with a heavy heart, I sprinted across Battery Park for the boat.

It is impossible to not look like an idiot while sprinting with a backpack on. We arrived huffing and puffing at the waterfront screening tent while guards looked on impassively.

Once you enter the tent, you are given the “full experience” by being made to feel much like a new immigrant: You are greeted by a cranky, unwelcoming guard, go through security with more cranky guards and eyed like some kind of terrorist threat, then you are crammed in a hot, humid tent with hundreds of other people in the same situation—feeling rather pink and rather scared—and made to wait an indeterminate amount of time, while a guard shouts at us to move up and make room when there is no room to make. You approach the boat with terror as the vessel is quite literally jumping off the high waves. The canine unit stationed outside offers no comfort. Mom, who has experienced a couple of similar situations due to her Colombian citizenship, was visibly uncomfortable.

Despite the rigamarole to get on the damned boat, the cruise across is very pleasant. You get a view of the Financial District behind you and the two islands (Liberty and Ellis) in front of you, and the boat passes quite close to Lady Liberty before docking at the opposite end of the island. The best place to take photos is from the boat, as you then get a full view of Liberty and the pedestal on which she stands.

Once on the island, you realize how much of a veritable colossus Lady Liberty is. Standing at 46m (151ft) high from foot to torch, she is taller than the classically-famed Colossus at Rhodes and at the time of her construction was the tallest statue in the world. She is constructed of sheets of copper, 2 pennies thick, hammered from the inside out in an impression technique. The copper ‘skin’ is supported by an iron central column and a multitude of support bars that press outward on the copper, as well as iron bands fitted to each curve to hold her shape.

A bit of trivia: Alexandre Eiffel was the one who designed the inner structure and the sculptor (Auguste Bartholdi) modeled Liberty’s face after that of his own mother.

The museum component is housed inside the statue’s pedestal. You walk first into the lobby where the flame from 1916 (which had to be moved inside due to heavy damage from corrosion) is displayed, and it’s a gradual walk up through the conception, stages of construction, and unveiling history of New York’s famed statue. There are walking tours led by park rangers available around the park surrounding the statue, but our guide was so boring and unenthusiastic that we left to explore on our own.

After Liberty Island, we headed on to Ellis. Ellis Island’s main building is a gorgeous construction of red brick and white detailing, with large arched windows and a great hall of mirror-bright Spanish tile. The museum is very extensive, with incredible photographs of immigrant families from all corners of the world, walls covered in framed citizenship certificates and ship tickets, as well as little phone boxes where you can listen to recorded stories of actual immigrants who passed through Ellis during its heyday. They even have some of the possessions that the immigrants brought from their home countries. The exhibits are moving and fascinating, with plenty of information posted them to help you along. There are also guided tours offered, a theatre in which you can watch a documentary about the building’s history, and a computer lab specially set up so if you think you might have an ancestor who passed through there, you can look them up! I recommend spending at least 3 hours there.

I will warn you, we almost didn’t get on the ferry back to Manhattan due to the massive lineup, so if they tell you the ferry is leaving at 2pm, get there at 1:20 at the latest. While waiting in line, mom ran to the concession stand and bought an ice cream from a cheerful transvestite, which proceeded to melt in the sun and heat that had randomly appeared out of the cool, foggy morning. We got ice cream everywhere—the pair of us looked like a pair of overgrown 2 year olds with streaks of chocolate running down our arms and chins, laughing hysterically as we tried to lick up the mess.

If you’re planning on going to Liberty/Ellis Island, plan to be there for a while. The guidebook said we could do it in 4 hours, we were there for 6 and we still had to cut it short. Make a daytrip of it! Bring a lunch and just hang out on the islands for the day—they are beautifully landscaped and green and it’s nice to feel a fresh breeze coming from the water after the stagnant, often grimy-feeling air of Manhattan.

Battery Park is really close to the Financial District so we walked up there, and took a photo with the Wall Street Bull statue. Walking the first block I saw 4 pinstripe suits, 6 yarmulkes, and over 30 people talking on their cell phones. The Financial District looks exactly how you would expect it to look—clean streets, huge gray buildings, everyone in grey or black suits, many of them yammering into devices, and everyone on a mission. Also, a lot of young professionals.

Standing majestically amidst the crazy go-go-go rush of Wall Street is Holy Trinity Church—one of the oldest churches (if not the oldest) in the city, opened in 1698. Many gravestones from that time still remain in the cemetery, a beautiful, quiet lawn seemingly impervious to the craziness outside the fence, but those gravestones are so worn down by time and a fire that destroyed much of the church that you can’t read the dates. The oldest one I could still read was from 1733. It is tempting rest in the shade of the trees and stare at gravestones all day, but do pop into the church, if you can. We were lucky enough to walk in on a choir practicing for the 9/11 memorial the next day. According to an old nun there were going to be choirs from all over the world singing all day at different churches near the Ground Zero area. We sat and listened for a long time—it was nice to hear something like that after being bombarded by constant discordant noise on the streets. Of all the historical buildings, the religious ones always seem to be the most dutifully upkept, not matter what country you’re in, and Holy Trinity is definitely worth a few minutes.

We left the church and went to check out the Ground Zero area, where a brand new trade tower is going up near where the old ones fell. This one is going to be even taller than its predecessors, and it will be right beside the new memorial park and museum. The area is impossible to see because there’s a huge fence around the construction site, and the streets are absolutely crawling with police. Seems New York is worried about another attack on the 10th anniversary of the tragedy—every newspaper is full of interviews and speculations about the coming day, as well as memorial articles. There wasn’t much to see, so we went in search of a hot dog vendor (not that they’re hard to find).

Now, my mom normally doesn’t eat hot dogs, nor does she normally condone their eating, but she decided that we needed to have at least one street hot dog while we were in New York. I mean, you have to do it. There’s no better place to eat a tube of unidentified meat from a street vendor than New York City. I don’t care that it had been swimming in greasy water all day, it was a damn good hot dog. I ate mine with plenty of sauerkraut and mustard so my breath must have been heinous but I really didn’t give a shit. Street food is wonderful.

After wandering the Financial District a little, we jumped on the subway to the Lower East Side again. This time we walked the opposite direction down Orchard Street, finding an amazing jewelry store called Doyle & Doyle with one-of-a-kind estate pieces, a bakery specializing in macarons, and another slew of cheap leather wholesalers run by friendly Bangladeshis. We sat for a while on a stoop, enjoying the warm day and eating our macarons (which are ABSOLUTELY worth all the hype they are getting in the trendy circles—they are delicious!) and then wandered in the direction of NoLiTa to catch the subway. We found a restaurant called Macondo (after Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s fictional town) that looked great but we didn’t have time to sit down and have a drink as it was Tito’s birthday so we wanted to go out with him.

We met up with Titi and Tito (who, after being rained out yesterday had a fantastic day at the US Open and were both thoroughly sunburned) back at the hotel and we wandered around Columbus Circle checking out stores as it was Fashion’s Night Out, a yearly event to kick of New York Fashion Week where the most famous stores and boutiques serve champagne and snacks, hire DJs, or even go all out and hire circus performers and put on a full-on carnival in the store to promote themselves, encourage spending, and possibly offer discounts. We then went to a Turkish restaurant called ABA and had an amazing and thankfully inexpensive meal.

It was a fun way to wrap up a great week in New York, however, I feel like I could have used more time! I missed the MoMA (we tried twice, give us some credit), the Whitney, the Frick, and the Police Museum, as well as some markets in Brooklyn that sounded intriguing. But I’ll have to save those for next time.

Looking like a total dork in front of the Statue of Liberty, sans hat. ):

The statue’s complex inner support structure.

The statue from behind.

Ellis Island!

Inside the great hall at Ellis Island

The Wall Street Bull (and some other chick.)

Holy Trinity Cemetery.

Having a hot dog on the street!!

Macarons—so trendy that they cost $2.50 apiece, but it’s SO WORTH IT. I got a rose one and a salted caramel one. They taste amazing!

The words of the Prophets are written on the subway walls and tenement halls...

Thu, 08 Sep 2011 21:15:00 -0700

September 7th.

Today Titi and Tito went to the US Open so mom and I headed out on our own into the rain. Huddling under the small umbrella we bought at the electronics/stationery store across from our hotel, we shuffled down the blocks, quickly popping into Tiffany’s on 5th Ave. to glean some warmth and light. We could soon take no more of the rows and rows of overdone sparklies, and continued on our way to MoMa. Much to our chagrin, it seemed that most of the tourists still in the city had had the same idea; the lineup was around the block and the rain was beginning to worsen. We conceded defeat and decided to try again tomorrow, heading instead to the Tenement Museum on the Lower East Side (LES).

Now, how the Tenement museum works is that the museum can only be seen by guided tour. There are several different tours you can take, depending on your interests, family history, et cetera, though they only happen at certain times of the day. You pay the $20 admission (a little steep for what it is, but still more or less worth it) and after a small lecture and interactive talk, they take you up into the the original tenement house at 97 Orchard Street. The building was built in the mid 1800’s and was finally decomissioned in the 1930’s, and sat rotting in place until the 80’s when it was rediscovered and turned into the museum. They only restored select rooms to follow the stories of certain immigrant families who lived and worked in the building. But the stairwell, main hall, and most of the rooms are left as they were found in the 80’s with all the lovely deterioration up for show. The tour lasts around an hour and the guides are very well-informed and personable.

Upon finishing the tour, I caught a glimpse of funky clothing a little further down Orchard St. and we went to investigate. Orchard St. is a boy-girl-boy-girl arrangement of artsy local boutiques and cheap leather wholesalers. If you have the time (and the money), it is worth checking the boutiques out, as most of the wares are one-of-a-kind, beautifully made, and often unlike anything you’ve seen before.

The people of the LES are an eclectic mix of hipsters, up-and-coming designers, and immigrants from all corners of the world, predominately Puerto Rican and Dominican, with a growing population of Bangladeshis thrown in. The LES has always been highly ethnically diverse, but the group that seems to identify most strongly with the area’s history is the Jewish population. This connection has lead to the preservation of many historical buildings (especially synagogues) historically associated with the Jewish immigrant community.

Like many neighbourhoods in New York, the LES is slowly being gentrified, proof of this being the sudden surge of AA and UO-clad hipsters and the astronomical prices in the boutiques. Some of the trendiest restaurants in New York are found on nearby Clinton street.

A homeless man on the LES.

The LES is right next to Chinatown, and as a result it is an area with a high population of Chinese people and many Chinese-run businesses.

We escaped the rain with a hot latte in a tiny cafe.

Many of the buildings on the LES are the original ones from the 1800’s.

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Orchard Street is full of funky little boutique shops with awesome one-offs like this dress.

The front of the Tenement Museum on the LES.

Mangled umbrella on 56th street.

Experimenting with light…

Disappointing Museums...and then the MET again!

Tue, 06 Sep 2011 21:06:00 -0700

Sept 5, 2011 and Sept 6, 2011

Today we got up early to avoid the crowds to get on the Gray Line big bus. We took the uptown loop this time with a guide that seemed very well-versed on different styles of architecture and knew a lot about the history of the landmark buildings. His tour was more worth the $54 price tag. We went through part of Harlem, and I wanted to stop to take some photos of the people, but mom and Titi and Tito said we should do the Guggenheim today and so we headed that way. The bus dropped us off at Museum Mile. If you had to stay on one street in all of New York, Museum Mile would be a good choice. Not only do you have several options in terms of museums (the foremost being the Guggenheim, the Jewish Museum, the MET, and the Cooper Hewitt Museum) but just across the road is Central Park and the mirrorlike Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir.

In the Guggenheim was an exhibition of paintings by Lee Ufan, a Chinese artist. In retrospect, we really should have checked into the exhibition before we went, because his artwork was some of the most boring shit I have ever seen, and I have a great deal of patience for modern art. His sculptures mostly consisted of a sheet of metal and a boulder on the floor, and his paintings were a single stroke on a huge canvas with a big paintbrush. Not worth the $20 admission fee, in any case, so be sure to check what’s showing before you go. After exiting the museum mom and I headed into Central Park to sit, relax, and feed the sparrows while Titi and Tito checked out the Jewish Museum.

We took the Gray Line back to the hotel and Mom and I walked to the Museum of Natural History, the front of which is under construction. The main lobby is beautiful, with the skeletons of 3 massive dinosaurs dominating the room and quotes by Theodore Roosevelt inscribed on the walls. Luckily it’s by donation, because beyond the lobby the museum is sorely disappointing. To be fair, I didn’t see all of it; apparently their collection of fossils and dinosaur skeletons is very impressive, but what I saw was sorely disappointing. Their collection of artifacts, while beautiful and quite extensive, is overshadowed by the terrible, outdated displays. The cases are so poorly lit (and some not at all—the lights are burnt out!) that the gold pieces look like cheap trinkets and the pottery looks muddy and faded. The taxidermied animals are sad-looking and dusty, and the mannequins in the dioramas look like ugly, cheap department store dolls and do no justice to the beautiful traditional costumes they display. Many of the walls are papered with hideously gaudy wallpaper in an attempt to go with the theme of each section. Some of the signs were illegible because they were so worn down. It’s pretty goddamn depressing. The museum is in serious need of a rich benefactor or some donation love because doing the bare minimum of relighting all the cases and ripping down that awful wallpaper will cost at least a few million.

Later in the evening, we headed down to a theatre near Union Square to watch a one-woman show called The Judy Show. Comedienne Judy Gold has created a comedic, autobiographical, musical show about her childhood, her break into comedy, and her many attempts to get a sitcom about her life (as a 6-foot-3 Jewish lesbian single mother of 2) picked up by a network. It was pretty funny, though many of the sitcom jokes went over my head as I didn’t grow up with those shows at all, and I preferred the subtle humor and the writing in Freud’s Last Session.

After the play, we went to Rosa Mexicano again for dinner—if you’re in New York, really do go to this place; I had another amazing meal and their sangria is wicked tasty. Across the street from this particular franchise (it was in downtown rather than uptown like the night before) was a fire station. Some firemen were hanging around outside so I asked if I could take a photo of them and they agreed, but only if I was in it.

Guggenheim exterior.

The interior of the Guggenheim. It’s a gorgeous building but the roof doesn’t really match with the rest of it.

At the Brooklyn Diner with mom.

Giant Olmec head at the Museum of Natural History. I had to use flash in this photo because the head was in almost complete darkness.

On the subway…

FDNY! (sans hat, unfortunately)

When it rains in New York in the summer, it is like the Great Lakes have decided to upend themselves over the city. Umbrellas do nothing; the backsplash just from the force of the raindrops hitting the puddles and the streets and everything else drenches you no matter what you do. And the sound woke us up this morning! It was like hundreds of marbles whizzing down a slide made of tinfoil. Needless to say, we decided to stick to indoor attractions. We tried the MoMA but it was closed, so we did a little shopping at the gallery store (which, unsurprisingly, was open). I wanted to poke around the Ancient Near Eastern section in the MET so mom and I went back there to try and alleviate some of yesterday’s disappointment. The Near Eastern section certainly helped with that—two massive lammasu guardian statues and several meters of actual relief carvings taken from the Nimrud site greet you at the exhibit’s entrance. I was nearly foaming at the mouth with excitement at everything and dragging my poor mother from display to display since I had studied almost every piece present in my Ancient Near Eastern Art class last semester. We also checked out the Byzantine and Asian sections, both of which are just as stunning as everything else. I feel like it is necessary to devote a week to only going to the MET and just absorbing everything.

It was raining far too hard to go anywhere but back to the hotel, so we had a little rest before going out to meet Titi’s cousin Beatriz at her apartment for tea.

For dinner we went to Trattoria Dell’Arte, an Italian place near our hotel. It’s owned by the same company as the Brooklyn Diner, but it’s a little fancier. They makefantastic pizza and decent pasta, though the prices are pretty steep, with each entree weighing in at around $34. But I’ve eaten pizza quite a bit this trip and so far this one was the best. Their crust is paper-thin and the toppings are generous—loth as I am to pay over $30 for restaurant food.

Byzantine chalices.

Early Syrian ‘Eye Idols’

Statue of Gudea (governor of Lagash)

Standing between 2 Lammasu guardians.

Huge wooden Bodhisattva

I had a session with Freud...

Sun, 04 Sep 2011 21:32:00 -0700

Sept 4 2011

Today was a textbook example of why New Yorkers often complain about humidity. You can feel the sweat pushing itself out of your every pore.

After having breakfast at the Brooklyn Diner (a little pricey, but they make AWESOME polenta and delicious fresh-squeezed orange juice) we headed down to the Gray Line Big Bus stop to catch the Downtown tour. I was recommended the Gray Line tour by a friend as a way to see New York in a different way, but so far I’m going to say the $54 was not worth it. It took forever for a bus with enough room for us to arrive (many full buses passed us by) and once we finally got going, the frequent stops to let people on broke up the tour commentary in an annoying way. Our tour guide was a funny guy originally from Northern Ireland who had lived in New York for many decades—In regards to the many construction sites around us he said “This’ll be a fabulous city if they ever finish it.”

The bus dropped us off in Greenwich, just a block down from Washington Square. We wandered through there until we reached SoHo and I spotted the Lomography store. For those of you who are unaware of the plastic camera craze that is sweeping the artistic/indie/adventurous photographer communities, Lomography was started in the 90’s by a few Austrian students who wanted to revive the lo-fi, unpredictable effects of early Soviet cameras, specifically, the Belarussian “Lomo LC-A”, so after importing and selling the original Lomos with great success they created their own line of cameras and film. You can read more about it on their website:

I bought a Holga camera and some film. We continued onwards, poking around stores and freeloading off their air-conditioning, until we came across Broadway. Titi and Tito decided they’d had enough so they went home, while mom and I pressed on into NoLIta. Now, people are saying that NoLIta (which stands for North of Little Italy; it literally lies only a block north) is the new SoHo—it’s where all the street vendors, street artists and cheaper funky boutiques are, and from what we saw, this seemed to be true. As soon as we crossed into the area we came across a young designers street fair. I picked up some neat photoprinted lockets, and there was so much fun and funky jewelry that I would have liked to stay longer but it was just too hot outside and we were too exhausted. There were also quite a few vintage shops dotting the streets that looked interesting, but I would recommend scouring NoLIta on a cooler day, when you have the energy, because it apparently is very much worth the time and effort. We debated taking the Gray Line bus home but decided it would take too long so we jumped on the subway. Thankfully they had turned the A/C on in the trains themselves, but the stations were sweltering!

In the evening, we reconvened with Titi and Tito and headed down to the Theater District to see a play called Freud’s Last Session, based on a hypothetical meeting of Sigmund Feud and C.S. Lewis mentioned in a book that I can’t remember the title of. Anyone in New York right now MUST SEE THIS PLAY. It is absolutely wonderful. The writing is sharp and lively, the set is gorgeous and the acting is some of the best I have ever seen. It won Best Play this year from the Off-Broadway Alliance. It is only 2 actors, one set, and the theatre is tiny and intimate, all of which lends to the thought-provoking, funny, and touching story of the meeting between a staunch old atheist (Freud) and a young Christian convert (Lewis) set during the London bombings of WWII. Both actors stood in the lobby afterwards to autograph programmes, sell copies of the script (I picked one up and plan to read it again) and shake hands. You just don’t get that kind of thing in Vancouver—not only fantastic plays like that but the actors actually coming out to mingle.

For dinner we went to a place called Rosa Mexicano, a cool restaurant across from the Lincoln Center that makes great upmarket Mexican food. If you go, try the ice cream. They let you pick 3 flavors out of a wide and creative variety. I picked strawberry and juniper, sweet avocado, and Mexican chocolate, all of which were phenomenal, especially the chocolate. They also do a Tres Leches cake that looks amazing, with blackberries and toasted marshmallow on top. We walked home through Columbus Circle which was beautifully lit up.

Flatiron building.

View from the Gray Line bus

AW YISS.

Greenwich

SoHo

Artsy silliness in SoHo

Mom giving water to a thirsty dog in NoLIta.

Musicians in NoLIta

Meatpacking some Highline Greenwich with Chelsea

Sun, 04 Sep 2011 21:15:00 -0700

Sept 3 2011

Today we all woke up nice and late and got breakfast from the grocery store down the street. We then jumped on the subway and rode to Chelsea to check out the market. It’s a good idea in New York to buy a 7-day unlimited Metrocard. Taking a taxi everywhere will not only deplete your wallet but will waste valuable time by sitting in the wall-to-wall traffic that plagues the main roads. A 7-day pass will run you only about $30 and you can take any line anywhere you want. The only downside to taking the subway is that all the hot air from the street gets trapped down there, so the temperature is downright tropical. It was 28 degrees on the street, and easily 34 or 35 in the trains. Pack water and deodorant in your day bad, because guaranteed you will feel disgusting when you emerge back onto the street.

Perhaps the best part of Chelsea/Meatpacking District is the Highline park, a recently created greenspace built on an old freight railway line that stretches above several streets. The industrial fittings of the original bridge and track are balanced beautifully with gorgeous landscaping and a healthy variety of plants. Food stalls selling gelato, t-shirts, artwork and shaved ice are set up in the cool shadows cast by neighbouring buildings. A shallow, modern-looking fountain both provides irrigation to the plants and lets children and adults splash around and cool their feet. There’s also a little amphitheatre set up in front of a row of windows where you can sit and watch traffic go by (only in New York…). All in all it is a wonderful green space and a great place for locals to come and escape the rush of the streets below. I saw people sunbathing or reading and children running amongst the trees, artists working and grown-ups playing in the fountain. We walked almost from end to end, then descended the stairs into the Meatpacking District.

For lunch we went to Revel, a place I definitely recommend if you’re down in the area; their brunch special includes a good-size meal and TWO cocktails for $25, which is unheard of as most cocktails I’ve seen in the city are priced at around $12. The Meatpacking District is peppered with little boutique stores, all of which are very overpriced. If you want to shop, go through nearby Chelsea. The shopping is funky and more moderately priced. I found a pair of comfy mary-jane heels today for just under $50 from a store called Shoegasm and definitely would have liked to look in more of the little gift and book stores if I’d had time. The nice thing about Chelsea is that each traffic island has a small community garden on it, where residents or someone lovely plants sunflowers and pansies to break up the grey of the city a bit. Altogether it’s a very cheerful street. The Chelsea Market itself is predominately a food market with artisan cheeses and butchers and other nice things.

For dinner we met with some of Titi and Tito’s friends to have dinner at the MET Trustee’s Dining Room, where it used to be exclusive to people who donated exorbitant sums to the museum, but has recently has been opened to members. According to Titi’s friend, many of the trustees are none too happy about the hoi polloi being allowed into their secret dining room. The dinner was all right, though pretty standard country club sort of food. Walking back through the empty museum to the front exit was pretty weird—I’m not sure I could be a night watchman there considering all the unnerving shit (see former entry) there is hanging around.

Before dinner we went up to the roof of the MET, a popular hangout for the young and hip as there are 2 small cocktail bars set up at each end of a courtyard displaying modern art. The roof provides great views of 5^thavenue’s buildings and Central Park.

After dinner, Mom and I went for a little walk around the block near our hotel to help our digestion and I bought a few cliché souvenirs.

Highline Park! Spot the Traveling Hat.

Shaved ice vendor on the Highline.

MOAR Highline and shaved ice.

Meat Packing District. It’s trendier-looking than this, for the most part, and somewhat uninteresting for it.

The subway. It was WAY too hot down there.

A saxophonist leaps outside the MET.

Visit #2 to the MET.