Prologue:

I’ve thought about Kilimanjaro everyday since I left it’s slopes, but haven’t been able to find my voice in telling its stories.

It’s hard to put into words something so big and profound, especially when you feel paralyzed in the wake of it.

Coming back from the mountain was almost as challenging as the climb itself – nothing in my daily life felt as important or relevant or exciting. It was like now that I knew this intense feeling of being alive, everything else was inconsequential.

I’d try to explain THIS THING, THIS MOUNTAIN as best I could, but too much had happened; the details became suffocating and I could never find the words to properly articulate the experience.

So I let it sit week and week, trying to figure out how to put it into words – then I wrote thousands upon thousands of words that somehow just didn’t feel right. (As a writer, this was disappointing, surprising and stirred up an awful lot of self doubt. I mean, really? This is what I do and I just can’t get it right).

And the words still don’t feel quite right honestly. But this is my best attempt, at long last, to put the experience into words. To capture the insanely rewarding week I spent on Africa’s highest peak.

I’ve decided to focus on the summit push – the hardest day of the climb, the day that tested me in every way possible.

To say it pushed my limits is somehow hyperbolic and simultaneously a woeful understatement. Have I been through shit that was more challenging than this? Yes. But was it the single most mentally, physically, and emotionally demanding day I’ve ever had? Yes.

And it was also the day that drinking mango juice made me cry. No joke.

____________________

It only took about an hour for my Camelback hose to freeze solid. And it took me awhile to realize it. I would decide to take a drink, steady my feet and mentally prepare to suck the hose’s mouthpiece as hard as I could.

But no water came out, and I was left gasping for breath. It was just after 1am and every movement took an excruciating amount of focus and mental capacity.

Each tiny step forward was calculated. By that point, I could scarcely feel my feet – they became a completely unreliable source for confirming that I was actually touching the ground. I had to look down, to see my legs moving, to will each step.

My world became the two feet radius around me, cast by the glow of my headlamp.

There was nothing beyond this halo of light for me – this was my world. And it was hell.

A literal hell on earth.

I had to keep telling myself to push forward, to draw breath (shallow and labored though it may be), to focus, and to remember that I chose this. I was on a vacation of my choice. I wanted to do this.

But in the moment, I wanted to be anywhere else. Wanted it to be over. Wanted to be warm. Wanted a full breath. I questioned why I had wanted to do this thing at all.

____________________

After four days of hiking 6-10 hours per day, we were bearing down on the summit push; the night we’d been working towards.

We arrived at summit basecamp (15,000 feet) in the late afternoon, ate dinner, had a briefing with our guides and went through a health check. The long days on the trail, coupled with the altitude, left us exhausted as we collapsed into bed at 7pm.

Sleep was elusive though. Maybe it was nerves or excitement. Or maybe it was the thin air that robbed us of sleep. I wanted to pop an Ambien, but I knew I had far fewer than the recommended eight hours to sleep.

In fact, I knew I had only about four hours to potentially get some shut eye. The summit day wake up call was coming at 11pm.

I dozed off and slept restlessly, wrapped in layers of clothing; a cocoon of down sleeping bag with only my nose peeking out into the cold air inside my tent.

And then I heard it, the porter’s light tapping on the side of my tent.

“Dada’s (sisters) time to wake up. Get ready!”

Had I slept at all?

We’d slept (?) in our hiking gear so that all we had to do was groggily grab our packs and head to the mess tent for breakfast – porridge, cookies and tea.

I wore my glasses for the first time on the trek after having been told that it was impossible to wear my contacts to the summit – it was too cold and they would freeze to my eyes.

What. The. Fuck. I didn’t even know such a thing was possible. It was then that I started to really get nervous.

It was midnight when we received a few final words from our guides, stepped out in the bitterly cold night and began a slow march into the darkness.

All we knew was that we had to keep putting one foot in front of the other, no matter how difficult a task that became.

I should mention that there are only three rules on Kilimanjaro, and they had been drilled into our heads the entire climb:

1. Listen to your guides
2. Pole Pole (slowly slowly)
3. Sippy Sippy (drink all your water everyday)

We dutifully followed our guides. It didn’t take long for it to feel like a death march; we had no concept of where we were going or what was around us, we just followed unquestioningly with our heads down.

How our guides knew where they were going is just one of the mysteries of the mountain I have yet to understand. There was no trail or path, no signs, no cairns, they just knew the way in the pitch black.

Within an hour, everyone fell silent and everything felt frozen; limbs, face, body – but especially hands and feet. They were bricks that constantly needed to be checked on.

Hands still holding my trekking poles? Check. Feet still moving forward? Check.

Aside from the freezing cold, the black, the lack of oxygen, and the headache caused by the altitude, it was the wind that was the most cruel element. Gale-force gusts swept across the side of the mountain with relentless ferocity.

Vicious billows knocked us around, often dismantling our single-file line. We had to watch out for each other and help one another back into line when the wind blew one of us aside. All the while, we had no idea if we were next to a sheer cliff-face or an outcropping of rocks.

It was the blind leading the blind through a cyclone. (We found out later that the winds that night were the strongest the mountain had seen in years – lucky us?)

Even though I was wearing multiple pairs of pants and more top layers than I ever had at one time in my life (long johns, a long-sleeves shirt, an Oregon Ducks tee shirt, a down coat, a down vest, a windbreaker and a ski shell), I was still chilled to the bone.

Time became an afterthought somehow, an analogous concept really. And something I simply didn’t allow myself to think about. It was too awful and depressing to dwell on – 6 more hours until sunrise, 5 more hours, 4 more hours.

Instead of thinking about time, I thought about what the beach in Zanzibar would feel like; sand underfoot, the tide lapping my ankles, hair sweeping across my face from a gentle breeze.

I thought of nights curled up on the couch cuddling – how warm and cozy and simple those moments were. All I could feel now were the hurricane-force winds lashing my cheeks, stinging my eyes. Tears froze to my cheeks as they fell.

And I thought about Annie and Bobbi Jo, my friends on this god-awful ascent. They very well could hate me for this – this was my idea, this moment indirectly my doing. I might lose friends over this and I wouldn’t blame them one bit.

When the wind paused a moment, I would look up to the skies, so full of brilliantly bright stars. More stars than I had seen since nights spent in the remote isolation of Mongolia’s Gobi Desert.

I’d never been so close to the stars with my feet still on the ground (literally).

Some stars were so bright I felt as though I could reach out and touch them; hold the infinite in my hands. And then it donned on me…these weren’t stars at all. These lights, in horrific fact, were the headlamps of the other climbers ahead of us.

They weren’t stars and I had to go to there – I actually had to go that high up. It seemed impossible and I hated myself for that moment of clarity. Ignorance had been a cosmically romantic bliss.

I felt desperate for an alternative truth, but the only truth was that I was freezing on the side of a mountain and I had to keep moving forward.

Even with all of these thoughts racing through my head, there was nothing; time disappeared.

Minutes felt like hours, yet hours just slip away. It was an instant, a forever eternity.

There was a constant flux between being in total awe of what I was doing and where I was, and wanting to lay down and cry and be anywhere else besides the side of this brutal mountain.

Then, just when I was really starting to hate everything, I looked up and saw color in the sky. Color! Not black! The sun was about to break the horizon. My happiness and exuberance were unfathomable.

Minutes later came a moment of pure joy; the sun hit my face, the wind stalled for a moment and I looked out on to an alien landscape of black earth for the first time.

It was another hour of hiking before we reached Stella Point (18,885ft) to take a much needed rest.

Our guides were all smiles and jokes – we were beaten down monsters. But one of our summit porters pulled a thermos of tea out of his pack and by some small miracle its contents were still hot!

We each savored a half a cup of heaven as we caught our breaths.

How the tea managed to still be warm after seven hours in those conditions was truly miraculous. I mean serious mountain magic.

For reference – I pulled my Nalgene bottle out of my pack and it was nearly frozen through. The Snickers bar that I’d foolishly been longing to eat for hours, was also frozen; so hard and dense it could have been used as a weapon.

That tea was pure joy.

After our break, there was another hour of mountain ahead of us. But this section was easier for many reasons; we caught a burst of energy, there was daylight, it was a bit warmer, the incline was less severe, we could see where we were going, and we had the knowledge that this ordeal was nearly over…or so we thought.

Annie, Bobbi and I set off with a guide ahead of some others in our group and pushed on. For the first time in hours, we spoke. Or rather we coughed up words at one another, our faint voices trying to be heard over the howl of the wind that continued to blow us around like tattered prayer flags.

This last bit to reach Uhuru Peak took us along the rugged rim of the mountain’s volcanic crater, a vast expanse of black rock.

My skull was pounding from an altitude-induced headache and I tried to remember what it felt like to take a full breath.

My attention was fully focused on the ground and the crater to my right. That was until I dared to look left. I stopped cold and stood staring with mouth agape. A massive glacier seemed to be suspended in the air – it was black pumice earth, bright glacier and sky.

I can honestly say that I have never seen anything quite like it. It didn’t seem real that such a thing could exist. My wind-chapped lips couldn’t help but curl into a painful smile.

Our feet carried us still higher until we caught our first glimpse of the iconic summit sign of Uhuru Peak. The sign that we’d longed to see for days on the mountain, months of anticipation and really, years of dreaming.

Now here’s the thing, it wasn’t the euphoric moment I had anticipated. I mean, it was incredible, but it wasn’t the moment of catharsis that I had imagined. Or at least not in the way I imagined.

Instead, I saw it, gawked for a minute and then a gloriously unexpected realization came to my fuzzy brain – it’s over! We get to go down now!

I felt relaxed in that moment, satisfied with what I had accomplished, in the pride that the three of us had done it together. And I felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

I thought of how glorious that first shower back at the lodge would feel. But that’s where my brain got ahead of reality.

First, we had to take pictures of this amazing place and snap a gals photo with the sign and our Ducks shirts – those tee shirts that were buried under so many layers of jackets. Instantly though, we knew we had a problem. Our hands were so cold that we couldn’t move our fingers, like at all.

I mean, I could only focus my iPhone photos by using my nose to hit the screen (I kid you not. I looked insane, tapping my nose to a phone over and over); there was no way I could grasp my jacket zippers. All dexterity was gone.

Thankfully, yet again our super-human guides came to our rescue. Props to Frank for dutifully unzipping 3-4 jackets (each), snapping some photos (dude wasn’t even wearing gloves during the climb. Seriously?!) and then zipping us all back up.

We smiled the best we could through our monstrous condition. (Bobbi’s face to the far right sums up how we felt – fighting for happiness through pain, discomfort and exhaustion.)

We were on the summit less than 10 minutes, before we began bounding down the mountain thanks to another inexplicable burst of energy. It was 9:30am.

On the way back down to Stella Point we passed another group of climbers in our team – they looked beat. One guy in particular could barely hold his head up, his feet dragged in an unnatural way. But we were all battered to varying degrees and he had several guides with him, so we thought nothing of it really.

My sudden burst of energy was short-lived as the reality of descending quickly came into focus. In the night, as we climbed ever higher, the ground beneath us was frozen, providing surprisingly solid footing even if we couldn’t feel our feet.

Now I could feel my feet, but the sun had thawed the ground; no longer solid it was a 4,000-foot wall of dirt and loose rocks. It was slippery, treacherous, and steep as fuck.

Every step turned into a slide and soon we were half-skiing down this damn mountain. That may sound potentially fun, but not when you’re physically and mentally fatigued. And not when the dirt sends clouds of dust into the air for you to choke on; to dry out your eyes. And not when this form of pseudo-skiing was wreaking havoc on your knees and smashing your toes into the front of your boots.

These were probably the most dangerous hours of our entire time on the mountain.

I had long ago handed my pack over for a guide to carry (everyone had) so I could focus on not dying. Problem was, that guide was much further down the dirt slope than I was and so too was my water.

As the hours stretched on and the distance between hikers grew wider, my throat became sand paper; raw from the dust and lack of moisture.

I hadn’t had water or liquid of any kind since the summit and I was desperate for it. I would love to say that that was the only thing I could think about, my sole focus (crushing as it was) but I had bigger problems.

My feet were in a loosing battle with the mountain. Every time they made contact with the steep angle of the slide, a dagger of pain shot into my toes, up my legs and caused my face to contort in what I’m sure were the most unattractive grimaces ever made. I honestly didn’t think I could take another step, and then I would take another step and the pain would spike all over again.

Annie and Bobbi were getting farther and farther ahead, each of us in our own personal hell. I simply gave up trying to catch up to them; I was just trying not to fall over, to make sure my toes didn’t fall off. Because that’s exactly what it felt like was happening.

Between the pain, the dust, the exhaustion and the now the very evident dehydration, I felt delirious. When the path finally began to level out, my walk was slow, labored and ugly. In fact, everything was ugly at this point. Every damn thing about me.

I hobbled into camp and was met by an exuberantly cheery porter, wide smile on his face. He congratulated me on making it and handed me a plastic cup full of mango juice, “drink dada (sister)!”

“Water?” I croaked desperately. I had never been so single-mindedly focused on anything.

“No dada, drink juice!” he replied in a sing-songy tone.

I burst into tears. Like full on toddler-tantrum-style tears. I would have thrown myself into a pile on the ground and screamed, but I simply didn’t have the energy for that.

Now, I know that the porter had my best interests at heart and that the mango juice would give me much needed sugars since my body had been physically punished for 13+ hours, but I couldn’t help it. The lump in my throat was too big and I had no control over my reaction.

My little standoff lasted maybe :30 seconds before I just chugged the mango juice. It was better than nothing, right? And like magic, water was then given to me.

I had behaved like a child and was treated like one. I was reminded of my mother forcing me to eat my vegetables before allowing me to have dessert, the eternal parent/child negotiation.

I cannot tell you how silly and awful I felt about the tears – but I was a broken person in the moment. A broken person with no control over anything anymore.

Annie and Bobbi watched the whole fiasco. I couldn’t tell if they were more concerned or horrified or entertained. But that’s the great thing about traveling with your best friends; these women have already seen me at my absolute worst, a complete breakdown on a mountain is nothing compared to what they’ve seen.

And speaking of being at your worst, here we finally got a good look at each other. We were mountain monsters. Battered, wind burned, sunburned, wrecked monsters.

I crumpled to the ground in front of my tent and dragged myself inside before slowly and excruciatingly taking my boots off. To my utter surprise, my toes were still intact and weren’t even bloody. They were however, bright red, swollen and brought new tears to my eyes when I touched them.

I lay down and thought about what I had just done. Thought about what was still to come – an hour-long nap and then five more hours of hiking to get to our camp for the night. I started to panic about how the fuck I would possibly put my boots back on and hike another minute, let alone another five hours!

But before my mind could get to the brutal logistics of what lay ahead, I drifted off into the involuntary unconsciousness of sleep.

(Some photos courtesy of Annie Brandjord, Bobbi Jo Coyle, Nora Houlahan and Elaine Freedell)

Packing. Ugh. For as much as I love to travel, I do not love to pack.

And I have a confession to make, I’m a recovering over-packer. For ages I over-packed for every trip, a flaw that I blame on my years in Girls Scouts where the motto was, “Always Prepared.”

My ass. “Always Prepared” means having absolutely everything you might need. It means over-packing.

But I’m in recovery. I’m working a program to implement innumerable rounds of packing edits. Now I hem and haw over whether I really need that extra sweater or scarf. That forth pair of shoes. (The answer is almost always a big fat N.O.)

So the thought of packing for this little week-long hike up Mount Kilimanjaro made me nervous. Over-packing was simply not an option.

On the mountain there are porters that carry most of the gear – tents, food, cooking and medical supplies and up to 35lbs of my shit. Anything over 35lbs goes on my back and I have to carry it the entire 20,000-ish feet up and back.

What?

And this mountain is particularly tricky to pack for because you pass through so many different climates along the way. Base camp at Moshi is a hot 80 degrees while the summit can hit -20 degrees. In between you pass through rain forests, alpine deserts and bushlands.

I’m told that you’re constantly taking layers on and off as the terrain and climate changes. So, you need clothing for just about every temperature and environment on earth.

This is not good for an over-packer. But, I edited and re-edited the shit out of what I’m bringing and landed with an amount of stuff that I’m pretty comfortable and confident with; my duffle bag (for the porters) is 30lbs and my day pack is 14lbs, plus water.

So here is just what is in my bag – in super speedy video form and detail below. (I should note that I’ll be spending several days before the climb in Dubai and several days after in Zanzibar – awesome, but an added element to packing puzzle.)

In My Cross-Body

Notebook

Copies Vital Docs & Itineraries

Sunglasses

ATM Card, Credit Card, Cash

Book

Passport

Immunization Records

Pens and a Pencil (do pens write at altitude?)

Gadgets and Tech

Canon Rebel T3

Battery Charger and Extra Batteries

Extra SD Cards

Lens Cloth

Multi-outlet Splitter

Multi-USB Splitter

Universal Adaptor

Headlamp & a million Extra Batteries

iPhone & Charger

Headphones

Solio Solar Charger

Canon PowerShot S100 & Charger

Mophie powerstation

What to Wear

Long Sleeve Shirt x2

Short Sleeve Shirt x1

Tank Tops x3

Athletic Pants x4

Underwear x9

Sports Bars x3

PJ’s x1

Shorts x1

Fleece lined Pants x1

*Not pictured but supremely important: Oregon Ducks Tee. Duh.

Outerwear

North Face Shell with Down Lining

North Face Fleece Jacket

Down Vest

Hurricane Rain Pants

Running Zip-ups x2

For the Extremities

Tennis Shoes

Hiking Boots

Bucketfeet Flip Flops

Hiking Socks x4

Warm Socks for Camp x2

Ducks Hat

Snow Gloves

Nike Dry Fit Gloves

Cold Weather Beanie

Buff 

Scarf

Trail Essentials

Sleeping Bag and Compression Sack

Quick Dry Towels

Sea to Summit Bag Liner

Deuter Daypack

Nalgene Water-bottle

Duffle Bag

Stuff Sacks (assorted sizes)

Stuff Sack Pillow

First Aid and Health

Ben’s Bug Spray

Sunscreen Spray

Anti-Malarial Meds

Anti-Altitude Sickness Meds

Cipro

Ambien

Tylenol

Pepto Tablets

Safety Pins

Emergency Light

Tweezers

Extra Boot Laces

Bandaids

Carabiners

Whistle

Hand Warmers

After Bite Gel

Toiletries

Deodorant

Dry Shampoo

Extra Bobbi Oins & Hair Ties

Eye Shadow, Concealer, Pocket Mirror

Comb

Toothbrush & Toothpaste

Face Lotion

Shampoo & Conditioner

Face Wash

Chapstick

Wilderness Wash

Wilderness Wipes (who needs a shower?)

Face Wipes

Tissue

Aroamas in Dream

Perfume in a Travalo

Eye Drops

Nail Polish

Glasses, Contacts & Extra Contacts

Snacks and Gifts

(Apparently at high altitude you lose your appetite & it’s suggested to bring junk food so you’ll actually eat something. Also candy is great to bring as a present to porters and kids you meet in villages early on in the trek)

Hershey’s Bars

Snickers Bars

Sport Beans

Swedish Fish

Haribo Gummy Bear

Goldfish

Cliff Bars

Kind Bars

Fun Sized Candy

Clothes for Dubai and Zanzibar

Swimsuit & Cover Up

Maxi Dress

Light Cardigan

Jean Shorts

Not Sports Bra

Tank Top x2

So there you have it, every damn thing that’s in my bag!

It was April 11, 2014, a Friday morning. I sent an email at 11:30a to a few friends and by 11:43a we had committed to a momentous and somewhat ridiculous undertaking together.

It’s something I’ve wanted to do for years and was one of first items on my Life List. But it always seemed like too much; too big to actually put together. Until now…

Holy shit guys, I’m climbing Mount Kilimanjaro next week!

This tallest freestanding mountain in the world. The highest point in Africa. That Kilimanjaro.

This trip is quite different than any other I’ve taken before – yes I’ve planned big adventures before and have climbed big shit before, but this time around the planning started nearly nine months in advance. That’s unheard of for me.

I’m a 2-3 months ahead of time planner, tops. Until now. This trip.

_______________________

Early last year I had a compulsion to plan something EPIC for my 30^th birthday in October. It was so very strange because I’m not a big birthday person in general and I don’t think I’ve ever contemplated a birthday that far in advance. But I started looking into what it would take to summit Kili; started researching routes and tour groups, guides and logistics.

In a stroke of pure cosmic bad-assery, one of the guide companies that I was looking at suddenly popped up on Living Social Escapes. The very same company, BUT for over half off!! What the what?? The excited expletives that came flying out of my mouth…I tell ya, I freaked the fuck out.

This glorious gem was basically placed in my lap by the travel gods. Who was I to refuse?

That’s when I sent the email to my best gal pals (who would also be turning 30 in the next year) and pitched them on this EPIC “girlfriends-take-on-a-mother-fucking-mountain-at-30” idea.

It’s like the ultimate (yet antithesis of a) girls getaway – fuck you glamping and resort weekends.

13 minutes. That’s all it took for everyone jump on board. And it’s precisely why we’ve remained best friends for over a decade.

By nightfall the next day, the thing was purchased and our dates booked; January 2015. We’d made a $2,000 commitment (each!) to do this thing together.

Over the following months flights were booked, more research done, giddy G+ Hangouts had, gear lists created.

This whole past year we’ve been trying to contain our excitement about this far-off grand trip. And now, all of sudden, it’s next week! Gah. I cannot believe the damn thing is actually happening!

I should give you an intro to these nut jobs who agreed to do this with me:

Annie (AB) – Seattleite by birth, runner by choice, baked-goods enthusiast by nature. She was one of my first friends in the dorms at the University of Oregon freshman year, aka 2003. AB is a planner, she gets shit buttoned up and sometimes gets antsy about things running smoothly.

She can be anxious at times, but it’s part of her charm – and damn if she isn’t charming as all get out. I’ve never met anyone who is more thoughtful. Not ever. This gal is so amazing that sometimes I don’t think she’s real.

Bobbi Jo (Bojo, Bobs, BJ) – Canadian born, California raised. We met in 2005 at UofO and now she’s married to one of my best friends from high school. Their first child shall be named Kelly. Just kidding. But no, really.

She’s also something of good advice robot (like how are you right all. the. time?) and is more loyal than those few pounds you gained over the holiday season; she sticks with you man. For all time.

I’ve lived, traveled, cried, and nearly peed myself from laughing so hard with these ladies. We’ve helped each other through weddings, divorces, deaths, moves, unfortunate hair cuts. Hell, we’ve stalked Jared from Subway together.

We’ve been in the trenches of life together.

And now we’re climbing fucking Kilimanjaro next week!

This crazy trip is made even more hilarious by a rather odd (but awesome) coincidence…

Before I sent that email – literally THE DAY BEFORE – AB and Bojo had taken to Gchat to discuss my 30^th birthday. Weird. And this is part of the conversation that ensued:

CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT SHIT!?!

I’m certain that this was all meant to be and that somewhere along the way we banked enough karma points to have this piece of perfection come our way.

So coming up next I’ll be sharing some of the prep we’ve been doing for this monster undertaking. From vaccinations, to training regimens to packing lists and gear purchases.

Have you ever thought of climbing Mount Kilimanjaro?

Is there anything you want to know about the prep process?

I shouldn’t have had such an obscenely large breakfast. The toast and eggs and yogurt and sliced cheese and cucumbers bounced around in my stomach until the mere act of sitting still was uncomfortable.

But then again, I wasn’t sitting still at all. Like the morning’s breakfast in my gut, I too was being bounced around, violently at times.

My driver (re: vehicular sadist) really had no business being a driver. He clearly had neither a sense of self-preservation nor any sense of duty to protect the lives of those he drove.

I was in a marshrutka, a Georgian minibus, bounding up the Caucasus Mountains towards the town of Kazbegi and it’s mountain namesake, with labored yet exuberant speed; jerking forward and back as the windows rattled noisily.

This particular marshrutka didn’t seem fit for the road at all – the side door was held shut with a bungee chord and the vehicle’s rickety wobble seemed to indicate that something was very wrong with the alignment.

And then there was the road. The Georgian Military Highway. Both the word “road” and “highway” should be taken very lightly here. It was more a vague dirt track punctuated by scrambled re-bar than an actual road. (But, I would come to find that this was actually one of the better “maintained” mountain roads in the whole country.)

We, inconsequential passengers, received the full effect of the combination of this road, this driver and this marshrutka. We were tossed about the cabin left to right, front to back, frequently smacking our heads against the inside roof – helpless to stop the unnatural thrashing we were enduring.

Yet even through the relentless thwaking, the views and scenery screamed to be ogled at. Lush vegetation, impossibly steep cliff-faces and jagged mountain peaks jumped out from every turn.

Oh, and sheep. Everywhere sheep! Hundreds of them blocking the road, running next to the road, frolicking through deep green valleys and trudging through snow the higher we climbed. I’ve never seen so many sheep in a single day.

_____________

I should mention, I’ve never been one to mind an arduous journey – often the more challenging the path, the more impressive the destination. Kazbegi definitely falls into this category.

So even though it was a more turbulent minibus ride than I had anticipated, I was amped to see the mountain and Gergeti Trintiy Church, which resides in the peak’s shadow.

This isolated 14^th century church is practically the symbol of the region and is one of the most recognizable landmarks in all of Georgia. It’s been a place of worship, a storage facility for ancient relics and a safe haven for the religiously persecuted.

Even today, Gergeti adheres to strict Orthodox traditions – not only must women cover their heads with a scarf, but both men and women must don (super sexy) floor-length black wrap skirts simply to enter the church.

Inside is a dimly lit hallow that smells strongly of incense and wax. Icons dot the stone walls and a small alter can been seen through the smoky haze of ever-burning candles.

The fact that Gergeti Church is still standing is something of an anomaly. Kazbegi sits just fifteen kilometers from the Russian border and is sandwiched in between the oft-contested autonomous regions of North Ossetia, South Ossetia, Ingushetia and Chechnya.

This area of the world has seen centuries of volatility and violence, strife and calls for sovereignty. Yet standing next to the church, peering down at the town below, it’s hard to imagine the place embroiled in conflict.

__________

I traveled to Kazbegi to see a church and instead ended up basking in an unexpectedly enchanting mountain town with views that would creep into my thoughts for months to come.

Maybe it was something to do with the hundreds of sheep I’d seen along the way (I do love sheep) or standing in a centuries-old church in a deeply pious region or finally visiting an area I’d long been curious about, but something about Kazbegi has remained at the forefront of my mind.

And it’s not so much the sweeping views that pop into my head, but rather the feeling of standing on that mountain – how exuberant and unbridled and carefree and small I felt.

No, I did not feel like I could take on the world! Or that I was invincible! Ha, hardly. But I did feel presently content, a feeling that tends to be somewhat elusive for me.

I wasn’t thinking of all the things I had to do or wanted to do next. I wasn’t thinking about how I would write about the place, a habit I often and unfortunately fall into.

I wasn’t comparing it to other places, other trips; pre-selecting what adjectives would most effectively describe it.

I wasn’t thinking about anything really. I was just consciously in the place, the moment. I was content and thankful and, yes, possibly mildly concussed, but present.

It was a rare peaceful moment of simply being. It was a moment of NOW and not NEXT.

___________

After hiking back down the mountain, I ate khinkali and sipped a Kazbegi beer while waiting for the next marshrutka back to Tbilisi.

The ride back was just as jarring as the assent and apparently the learning curve for “don’t-eat-right-before-a-jarring-bus-ride” was pretty steep because my stomach churned the entire ride down from the mountains.

As soon as I got out of the minibus in Tbilisi, I threw up in a laughably (and regrettably) dirty bathroom at the bus terminal. Then I went home to my oddly clingy and somewhat unnerving guesthouse family who force-fed me cake and wine.

As I changed for bed that night and pressed my fingers into already bruising, purple patches of skin all over my body from my minibus thrashing, I couldn’t help but think that regardless of everything, that moment of peace on the mountain had made it damn near a perfect day.

Know Before You Go:

– The town of Kazbegi (officially called Stepantsminda) is a great launch point for multi-day treks and hikes.

– Bring a head scarf ladies.

– Have some small change to buy candles inside the church – 10 GEL gets you 10 candles

– Be prepared for any weather as it shifts really quickly up there.

– Don’t plan on sleeping during the drive.

-The hike to Gergeti Trinity Church (also called Tsminda Sameba) is about 2-3 hours. You can also hire a Jeep to drive you up (but I consider that cheating!)

– Be cautious about your food intake before the drive. Just trust me on this one.

Anyone who has known me for more than say, a day, knows that I am a sucker for a good rooftop. In fact, any outdoor patio situation brings a wide, child-like grin to my face.

Thankfully, our Nation’s Capital and I are cosmically in sync when it comes to this topic; the city is littered with fabulous outdoor dining and drinking options.

Also thankfully, it looks like the Forever Winter of 2014 is finally coming to a close (maybe?). Fingers crossed. This has obviously propelled me to begin picturing warmer weather, blossom filled trees and a cool refreshing drink sweating in my hand as I bask in the sunshine on some grand roof or patio. *sigh*

Plus, a friend recently asked me for recommendations on the least douchey outdoor spaces in the city – a question that really got me thinking. Because trust me, all outdoor spaces are NOT created equal. You have to be strategic and weigh priorities; some of the best views in town come at the cost of truly dreadful co-imbibers as company.

So what makes a place worthy of being included on a “Best” list? What attributes must it have? Well in no particular order…

1. Location

2. View

3. Non-Douchey Atmosphere

4. Quality Outdoor Space

5. Killer Happy Hour

If a place has at least two of these attributes, it’s a win! And if they’ve got three or more, you can generally look the other way if there’s a serious d-bag vibe happening.

In general, try to hit outdoor spots on weekdays over weekends and get there as early as possible to stake you claim. (Otherwise you’ll be left trying to box people out for space all night – these places get PACKED.)

To make things easier and much more aesthetically pleasing, I’ve thrown together a little Pinterest board (because I am obsessed with the mapping feature!!!) to help you find the best spots in town!

Just click the map below and I’ll see ya in the sunshine!

In honor of Valentine’s Day I thought I would share a special place with you all. (Y’all if you’re fancy). It’s a place that I love, or rather, that I am in love with! Like seriously, madly in love with. I have dreams about it.

If this place were a person, I would skip the whole dating/getting to know each other/courtship thing and just marry it right on the spot. Then I would have it all to myself for ever and ever (or at least until we grow apart, start resenting each other and split. But we’d have a few good years in there, right?)

Anyway, it’s a place that is arrestingly beautiful in an eerie, quirky and mysterious way; it’s just a little bit weird and dark. And that intrigues me.

This place is the beach at Hunting Island State Park in South Carolina.

It’s such a bizarre and unexpected landscape, like Dr. Seuss teamed up the Brothers Grimm to make their personal fantasyland. And apparently mine as well.

There was peace in the chaos, stillness in the violence that caused it to exist.

There were few other people on the beach, but as I made way north along the shore, I ran into a couple that had frequented Hunting Island State Park for over 20 years.

I asked them about the skeleton trees, had they always been there or had the mega-storms of the past several years washed them all ashore?

Turns out, the beach has looked pretty much the same for at least the past 20 years. Some trees are washed up from elsewhere due to a unique tidal pull in the area, but most are simply left stranded as the ocean continues to erode the shore out from under them.

I honestly cannot remember the last time I was so excited about a place – to be in, to explore, to photograph. It was everything.

When I begrudgingly left at the end of the day, I had a love-struck grin on my face that just wouldn’t quit. I felt lightheaded and maybe just a little ill at the thought of having to part ways.

Thing is, I wasn’t even planning on visiting Hunting Island State Park – didn’t know it even existed until I spotted a sign for it on the side of the highway.

 “I just do things and hope for the best. Say yes, take a chance and sometimes it’s terrific and sometimes it’s not.”  -Christopher Walken

This time it was terrific!

About two minutes into the hike I realized that I was ill prepared and horribly inadequately dressed for what lay ahead.

The wind mercilessly whipped against my coat (a light “wind-breaker”, ha) and brought uncontrollable tears to my eyes. I couldn’t hear a thing besides thunderous billows of air stirring about me.

I could barley see ahead, so I opted instead to look steadily at the ground – at my taupe flats (ridiculous footwear!) and the steep incline beneath them.

When the hell would this hill end!? I didn’t even know this required a hike!

Visiting Davit Gareja had topped my list of “Things To Do” while in the Republic of Georgia. I was fascinated by the mystique of the place – the forgotten 6^th century cave monastery/city that was once a hub of religion, culture and commerce for those traveling the Silk Road.

Nothing in my research (as I recall) indicated that hiking a mountain would be a major part of the experience.

But now as I climbed ever higher and the wind continued to pick up (how was that even possible?!), I didn’t see anything resembling a “cave city.” All I saw was incline, low-lying shrubs and mist.

I began to think that I might be in the wrong place? Or going the wrong direction?

Where am I??

Luckily I’ve got a stubborn streak, so even though I was skeptical about my trajectory, I pressed on.

“I’ll at least get to the top of this beast and then decide what to do,” I thought to myself.

By the time I reached the summit, I was sweating and literally had tears streaming down my face from the ferocity of the wind – so attractive. And I felt as though I might actually be blown right off the mountaintop.

And then very abruptly, I dropped down to the other side of the ridge and everything was silent.

The contrast was startling; I looked around to see if anyone else noticed the absurd silence, but there was no one. Just me. Alone on this mountain.

What lay before me was a seemingly endless vista – the Azerbaijani high desert shrouded in wispy fog. It looked nothing like a desert really, more like an expansive plain or steppe or grassland. Regardless, I was transfixed.

Rivers etched their way to the horizon and the mountain range I was standing on cut a path to the west.

It was then that I heard shifting gravel behind me and spun around to face two Georgian soldiers holding M16 riffles.  Pretty sure my jaw hit the floor. Real smooth.

They didn’t smile or say a word, but simply pointed to a narrow dirt path cut into the mountain and obscured by the low fog.

I guess I go this way?…it felt like walking into in an abyss.

The “simple” act of walking the path got my adrenaline going. It was SO comically close to the cliff-face and my flats were SO absurdly pitiful for the task.

With the Azerbaijani desert to my right and the meager path crawling in front of me, I stole a glace to my left and stopped dead in my tracks.

Davit Gareja!

Arches, doorways and rooms chiseled into the face of the cliff revealed themselves one by one through the fog. I climbed to them, bursting with eager excitement.

Ancient fresco paintings depicting religious rituals, animals, the stars and space covered hand-smoothed rock surfaces.

It felt like the wind had been taken out of me (in a good way), like I had to breath heavier simply to absorb what I was seeing. It was that fucking cool!

I wandered from room to room and on more than one occasion had to slow myself down; stop myself from running to the next section.

“Cliff-face. Instant death. They would never find your body. Slow your roll.”

Davit Gareja has long been at the center of a fierce border dispute between Georgia and Azerbaijan – both claiming that following decades of Soviet occupation, arbitrary border drawings misappropriated the ancient dwellings.

Today, it’s unclear, at any moment walking the ruins, what country you’re standing in. Regardless, it’s hard to fathom that people actually lived here and that Monks still do – in this remote, harsh, forgotten place.

By the time I reached the last carved chapel I was grinning like an idiot. I was actually glad there was no one around to see me  – in a state of wind-swept, teary-eyed bliss.

On the decent down the mountain, the fog and mist had cleared and I faced yet another alien landscape. The valley to the north was nearly as impressive as it’s Azerbaijani counterpart to the south.

I also noticed a low-lying railing…designating a trail. Umm Hmm. I knew that this existed, but I hadn’t been able to find it through the wind and fog on the way up. Man it would have been helpful though!

At the base of the mountain, I wandered through another section of cave dwellings in which Monks still live today, an area called Lavra (the dwellings on the other side of the mountain are called Udabno).

The entire bumpy drive back to Tbilisi, I tried to process what I had just seen. I’m always amazed that such ancient places manage to survive centuries of occupation and disputes and change.

Davit Gareja truly felt like a place lost in time.

And to this place, I sacrificed my flats. They were destroyed and went straight in the trash. Worth it!

Know Before You Go:

– Find the metal railing. Use the railing. Thank me later.

– Wear proper footwear! Sneakers at least.

– Bring water. You can only buy wine out here and hydration is key (especially in the summer heat).

– It’s free to visit Davit Gareja, but stockpile some karma points and leave a donation.

– There is no public transportation to the site. It’s best to hire a cab from Tbilisi which should run about 80-100 GEL…$50ish US bucks.

Ahhh, Philadelphia. The city loved me back alright!

When I told people that I would be spending Christmas in Philly (a city in which I knew not a soul), they looked at me like I had just asked them to explain string theory.

Confusion and slight uneasiness followed by the inevitable question, “why?”

Anyone who knows me knows that this is a pretty ridiculous question. The answer to “why?” is nearly always, “why not?” Which is not a real answer, I know, but often there is either no reason at all or far too many reasons to explain why I decide to do some of the things I do. But I’ll take a crack at it…

Truth is, I’ve been a big fan of Philly for a long time. My first visit was as an awkward 10-year-old on vacay with my Grandmother, sporting braces, over-sized glasses and seriously tragic bangs. (Yes, there are pictures, but no, I will not share them.)

19 years later, I’m smitten with the city. Every time I visit, I like it more and more.

But why visit at Christmas?

Welp, during this time of year DC basically turns into a ghost town. Very few people are actually from DC, so there’s a mass exodus during the holidays with everyone returning to their home cities.

I preferred the proposition of traveling to the alternative of staying local and watching holiday movies with a glass bottle of wine alone on my couch. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that scenario!)

From DC it’s a quick, cheap and easy trip to the City of Brotherly Love and I’ve visited enough times to know that there are still things I want to do/see/try in the city, but not so many times to have grown apathetic about it.

But mostly I went just because I wanted to. I felt like it. So I did.

And Philly did not disappoint. It dazzled. It pulled me in, gave me a big hug and whispered in my ear “we’re in this together…let’s make this a kick-ass Christmas!” And so we did.

It gave me everything I wanted: art, culture, atmosphere, snow, great food, craft cocktails and excellent company.

It snowed! Twice. Not a lot, not for long, not enough to stick, but just enough to claim a White Christmas. Score!

The city embraces the holidays with vigor and there is no shortage of festive activities – from the Holiday Village in Love Park and the holiday show at the Comcast Center to fabulous lights on Boathouse Row and along Smedley Street and Miracle on 13^th Street.

It’s no secret that I have a slight obsession with sky-high and rooftop watering holes, so I went on a bit of high-altitude-bar-crawl and had some deliciously spirited cocktails.

But honestly, even if the drinks had been crap, it still would have been worth it for the views at R2L, XIX and Level 33.

Philly’s Chinatown is fabulous! In DC we slap Chinese characters on an Urban Outfitters and a Starbucks and call it Chinatown. Philly’s on the other hand is legit.

And that’s important because Christmas Day, Chinatown is where it’s at if you want to eat out but don’t want to pay for some overpriced buffet or prix fixe meal in a fancy hotel restaurant.  Succulent dim sum for Christmas lunch is hard to beat!

I finally got to the Barnes Foundation – a museum I’ve wanted to hit up for years, but never could find the time to visit when it was at it’s old location in Merion, PA. For better or worse it’s in the city now and I was stoked to have the chance to ogle at the impressive collection.

I’m a huge proponent of seeing a place on foot, so I spent the better part of my time just walking around. On Christmas Day, there was nobody outside and the city was eerily quiet in a way that I’ve never seen it before.

Philly is home to an immense number of murals and street art projects. Having the city virtually to myself meant I got to scout out and appreciate these urban works even more than I normally might have been able to.

Above everything else though, it’s the people that make a place. I was fortunate enough to meet some folks who basically adopted me for the holiday.

So we hung out and laughed ourselves silly and merrily drank dark cocktails and learned about each other’s lives, marveling at our unexpected similarities and sharing our unique perspectives. Its one of the joys of traveling (and I guess maybe just life in general) – the people you meet and the moments you share.

And so it was that I spent Christmas in a city I’m loving more and more with some fabulous, hilarious, kind and inspiring strangers.

Cheers!

You may not immediately think of Washington, DC as a holiday destination, but the Nation’s Capitol actually has quite a lot to offer in the way of holiday merriment.

Here’s a primer on what you should Do, See, Hear, Watch, Drink and Buy during your time in the District. Happy Holidays!

Do It!

Take to the Ice:

Parktake in a DC tradition and go ice skating on the rink in the National Gallery’s Sculpture Garden on the National Mall. You’ll be skating in the shadow of the National Archives and the Capitol Building.

Or pop over to Georgetown and skate the Washington Harbor Rink overlooking the Potomac River and the Kennedy Center.

Visit the Luckiest Turkey in America:

Head south of the city and spend a day exploring Mount Vernon, George Washington’s former home. The Visitor’s Center has nearly a dozen decorated trees in various George Washingtonesque themes, there are special access holiday tours AND you can see the Turkey that the President pardoned on Thanksgiving plus a camel (apparently good old Georgie liked to have exotic animals on the property during the holidays).

Get Spiritual:

The National Cathedral takes the holidays seriously and offers a multitude of programming (including candlelight caroling!) throughout December to celebrate the season. Not to mention the building is stunningly decorated for Christmas.

Wander Obama’s Abode:

Taking a tour of the East Wing of the White House all gussied up for Christmas is a must if you can score tickets! While the 54 decorated trees that adorn the Wing are impressive, the giant models of the First Dogs, the display of previous Presidential Christmas cards and the 300-pound gingerbread and white chocolate replica of the White House are the true show stealers.

Can’t snag tickets? You can still get a behind the scenes look inside online.

Das Christmas:

Venture into the Brewmaster’s Castle – the former home of German immigrant, turned DC beer kingpin, Christian Heurich. The house is the best-preserved late-Victorian home in the District and is filled with intricate woodwork, crazy technological features (for the time anyways) and luxurious furnishings. Tours in December showcase the home prepped for Christmas guests.

See It!

The Most Famous Tree in all the Land:

South of the White House, on the Ellipse, you can walk around the National Tree. It’s surrounded by an elaborate set of electric trains and is ringed by smaller tress representing all US states and territories. From 5-8:30pm every day until December 22^nd there’s live music and Santa is on hand as well. The National Menorah is just a stone’s throw away and is worth a visit too!

The Second Most Famous Tree in all the Land:

The Capitol Tree, situated in front of the US Capitol Building, is a bit more impressive than the National Tree at the White House (IMHO). It’s a much taller spruce and is covered with handmade ornaments from its state of origin.

Beat the Cold in the National Botanical Gardens:

Not only is it nice and toasty inside, it’s also decked out for the season. There’s a train ride, but unless you’re visiting with kids I would suggest avoiding the madness and lengthy line that accompanies it. Instead, ogle at the entry atrium, which is filled with lights, poinsettias and sculptures of some of the most notable building on the National Mall – made out of over 70 types of plant material!

Be Humbled by Arlington National Cemetery:

Every year hordes of volunteers lay wreaths on over 100,000 gravestones throughout the cemetery. It’s a beautiful sight and sentiment honoring our fallen soldiers. While you’re there be sure to watch the hourly Changing of the Guard ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Holiday wreaths stay put mid-Dec through mid-Jan.

ZooLights!

From 5-9pm daily, the National Zoo (which is always free to visit) keeps its gates open and invites the public to view its winter light display. There’s music, food, games and performances spread throughout the Zoo, plus the Visitor’s Center showcases gingerbread houses, train sets and a model of the Smithsonian Castle in Legos.

Ogle at the Mayflower Hotel:

The Mayflower hotel may have a somewhat scandalous reputation, but they sure do love their holiday decor. From the gleaming marble hall lined with trees to a giant gingerbread replica of the hotel to massive greenery garlands, there’s no shortage of things to look at. Even better, you can pop into the lovely one-year old EDGAR restaurant for dinner or craft cocktails.

Hear/Watch It!

See A Christmas Carol at Ford’s Theatre:

You can’t get more holiday than this Christmas classic and you can’t get more DC than the site of President Lincoln’s fatal shooting, Ford’s Theater.

Get Your Song on at the National Gallery of Art:

Twice a day on weekends, local children’s choirs perform carols in the West Building’s Rotunda. Spectators are given a program with lyrics and everyone is encouraged to belt out holiday favs.

Take in Some Culture at the Kennedy Center:

Get dolled up, grab an early dinner and spend your night at the Kennedy Center for Preforming Arts. With nightly holiday performances ranging from opera to orchestral music to ballet and plays, you’ve got plenty of options. On a budget? Check out a performance on Millennium Stage. There’s a new show everyday starting at 6pm and it’s FREE!

Get in Touch with Old World DC:

The Willard Hotel is one of the fanciest and most famed hotels in DC (it’s where the term “lobbyist” comes from!). And they do Christmas time right. Their gorgeous lobby tree features the official White House ornaments from this and past years and there are daily caroling performances from 5:30-7:30pm. If you feel like getting fancy, try their afternoon tea service.

Drink It!

 Round Robin:

If you’ve popped into the Willard Hotel for an evening caroling sesh, be sure to continue you’re night at the Round Robin bar. You never know who you might see at this old school DC watering hole while sipping an exquisitely prepared cocktail.

A Drink with a View:

Take the elevator to the top floor of the W Hotel on 15^th Street NW and grab a drink overlooking the White House at the POV Lounge. From here you get one of the best views of the National Mall and also get a bird’s eye view of the National Tree. Go at dusk on a weekday if possible to avoid the crowds.

Cozy up at the Tabbard Inn:

With ample decorations and fireplaces blazing, the Tabard Inn is a must on cold nights. Grab a hand crafted cocktail and a seat on one the couches scattered throughout the homey, multi-level bar and warm up with friends or a book.

A Good Kind of Grinch:

Venture away from Downtown and check out Union Market in NE. There are tons of food options, a Christmas tree lot, holiday inspired drinks, and Happy Hour Tuesday through Friday 4-7pm.

Buy It!

Official Merch:

Normally I would never suggest setting foot in a gift shop, but around the holidays I’m willing to make an exception and vouch for the White House gift shop on 14^th and F Streets NW. Why? Because you can pick up the official White House ornament. You can also score it online.

A Town Named George:

Tackle your holiday shopping in Georgetown as a boatload of stores are offering seasonal specials. If at all possible, try and avoid weekends – the Town gets stupid busy.

Do as the Locals Do:

The Downtown Holiday Market is a staple destination for all DC residents. It hosts more than 180 vendors stretching from 7^th to 8^th Street on F Street in Chinatown. There’s food (empanadas anyone?) jewelry, art, ornaments, clothing, housewares and more, making it the perfect spot to knock out some gift shopping. There’s even a booth completely dedicated to vintage maps – swoon.

Newsflash! Last Thursday was kind-of a big deal in America. It was Thanksgiving, that oh-so-loved day in celebration of gluttony and gratitude A day when food is the centerpiece, we all proclaim what we’re thankful for and millions feel the need to shop at ridiculous hours of the day and night.

It’s a holiday steeped in tradition. And while I dig traditions in general and I adore my family – I called BS this year.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti-Thanksgiving. I just decided to celebrate the inverse of Thanksgiving, or rather, the antithesis of it(?); an experiment I dubbed, UnThanksgiving.

I spent the whole holiday doing the opposite of what Thanksgiving is traditionally about – and all while still being thankful (who knew that was possible?).

Travel

Thanksgiving and the days surrounding it are notorious for being horrible travel days. They are some of the busiest of year to begin with, add to that unpredictable late-November weather and it can be a literal nightmare to travel for the holiday.

Usually, I suck it up and join the masses at the airport to fly west, across the country to California to be with my lovely family.

This year I headed east, grabbing a Zipcar and hitting the road. I left early in the day hoping to avoid the rush, but after sitting in DC traffic for 20 minutes and only moving 6 blocks (I kid you not), I started to think that maybe my plan was an awful one.

Luckily after getting out of the city, things opened up and by the time I hit the Delaware border, I was nearly the lone car on the road.

My destination? The seaside community of Rehoboth Beach, Delaware.

Family

Thanksgiving is usually filled with family and considering mine is Irish-Catholic, there are a lot of us. It’s always a packed house.

Rehoboth Beach on the other hand is a town of fewer than 1,400 people and on this holiday, it was empty. It was devoid of tourists or anything resembling a crowd.

Rather than being surround by people, I had near solitude.

Turkey Trot

In recent years, participating in a Thanksgiving morning Turkey Trot run has become wildly popular (at least among my family and friends).

They’re a lot of fun, I love that they encourage people to be active (before gorging on endless holiday grub) and usually part of registration fee goes to feeding those in need. All great things.

But they often require fighting early morning traffic to run 5 or 10k with about 20,000 other people. You end up stuck in a pack and have little room to maneuver among the crowd.

This year, I hit the beach. In six miles I saw exactly four other people. It was about 35 degrees with a biting wind, so while I might have been freezing, the coast was mine.

Dinner Prep

Most people celebrating the holiday spend hour after hour in the kitchen preparing enough food to feed a small army. The whole day is dedicating to cooking.

I didn’t cook a thing.

So what did I do with all that free time? I wandered around the almost abandoned Rehoboth boardwalk. Nearly every business was closed and I actually struggled to find a restaurant that was open for lunch.

And I read a book – as in, cover-to-cover, in a day. It was so nice to read in bed for a few hours and then at a bakery, on a bench in the sun, on the beach. I honestly can’t remember the last time I had the time to actually do that.

Thanksgiving Dinner

Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie. All staples of a traditional Thanksgiving meal.

I had avocado, eggplant and sweet potato tempura sushi and mushroom dumplings. It was all delicious.

Shopping

I’ve never really understood the whole concept or reasoning behind the Black Friday trend. It’s the day after Thanksgiving, so let’s all go out before the sun rises, stand in long lines and fight crowds to get a deal on who knows what piece of crap retail item?

I don’t get it. (And what the eff is Brown Thursday? America has lost its mind.)

I avoided retail outlets like the plague Friday-Sunday. Well, aside from Goodwill where I dropped a few things off.

_____________

So what did I think of UnThanksgiving? I pretty much loved everything about it! Of course I missed my family, but knowing that they were all together was enough to make me smile.

I’ve always loved solo travel and this little trip was no exception. Thanks to Thanksgiving, I had probably the most relaxing few days of the past several years.

At the end of the day, I’ve got so much to be thankful for.  I just don’t need a specific day or holiday to know or be reminded of that.

So however you celebrated the day or if you didn’t celebrate at all, I wish you all a very Merry UnThanksgiving!

All photos taken with iPhone 4s.

[One little caveat: almost all of this list is vegetarian. Don’t freak out. Georgia’s vegetarian fare is stellar and you, yes even YOU MEAT EATERS, will devour and love it. It’s good stuff.] 

He stared down at the one plate on the table that I hadn’t touched at breakfast…a plate laden with sliced ham.

“I’m sorry, I don’t eat meat,” I said sheepishly, looking down at my hands to avoid eye contact.

I knew all too well the look he was giving me; I’d seen I many, many times before. Like a confused puppy – head cocked to one side, eyes searching.

“No meat?” he perplexedly asked.

“No. No meat for me.”

“Hmmm.”

This happens both at home and abroad nearly every time that I reveal that I’m a vegetarian – particularly in places that are known for their love of meat. It can be like wearing a scarlet V, vegetarian; an almost dirty word to some.

Luckily Tito (the owner of my Guesthouse) didn’t ridicule or ask the most frequent question I get …”Why?” He simply shook his head and removed the plate from the table.

The following morning, the plate of ham was noticeably absent from my breakfast spread. In it’s place? A dish of bright orange caviar.

Tito was beaming, “Not meat!”

Ha. No, technically I guess not. Gah. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that seafood and caviar still fall under the category of “meat” for me (I’ve actually just never liked seafood).

So there the vegetarian sat eating caviar for breakfast in the Caucuses. But I couldn’t help grinning about how unexpected and yet quintessentially lovely it was (aside from, ya know, the thought of what I was putting in my mouth).

But how did I eat it?

Luckily time spent in Russia had prepared me for this encounter. Personally, I couldn’t stomach the thought of eating it naked (the caviar, not me), in petite, controlled spoonfuls. Purists insist that this is the only way to truly enjoy the taste and complexity of the caviar.

But, yeah, that wasn’t my concern – the taste was exactly what I didn’t want to “enjoy.” So I opted for the other socially acceptable consumption route, grabbing a few plain crackers and daintily sprinkling the caviar atop.

Tito watched with pride and satisfaction.

_________

Often, how we eat plays a role in the way that we’re perceived by those around us. Every culture has social norms and a “right” way to eat certain foods – ever judged someone for eating their pizza with a fork? Umhmm.

In Georgia, things are no different. How you eat particular foods will immediately distinguish you as a foreigner, or as someone who knows their shit. I prefer to be in the latter group and minimize the gawking and laughter that often follows when you eat something the “wrong” way.

So let’s start with something close to home…

Khachapuri

This is probably the most common food in all of Georgia – it’s served with nearly every meal. Think of it like a daily slice of pizza, but with a thicker crust, no sauce and Sulguni, a pickled cheese. There are a ton of variations of this dish and some types even include an egg on top (if you’re fancy).

Khachapuri has been a staple for centuries and was so important in Georgian society that the cost to make it was once used to calculate changes in inflation.

You have two options when eating khachapuri: 1) Pick it up like a slice of pizza and eat it BUT, no folding the thing in half! Sorry New Yorkers. 2) You can cut it up, but into large, almost-won’t-fit-in-your-mouth pieces and then eat it with a fork. (This is much more acceptable with aforementioned egg topped variety).

Khinkali

Basically Georgia’s version of a dumpling (and really, who doesn’t love dumplings?!). While khinkali are often filled with spiced meat and herbs, there are several vegetarian versions that incorporate mushroom, veggies and cheese.

There is a distinct art to eating khinkali and much like Chinese Xiaolongbao, it’s essential to know the trick before digging in.

Step 1: Grab the Khinkali by its handle and flip the dumpling upside-down.

Step 2: Bite a hole in the side and suck out any juice the might be inside.

Step 3: Continue eating dumpling.

Step 4: Eat dumpling down to the handle and then discard the stub. This step will make or break you – no Georgian eats the handle. It’s part of the dumpling purely for utilitarian purposes. If you eat it, you’ll automatically be outed a silly foreigner!

Churchkhela

I’ll admit, for several days I saw churchkhela in market stalls, but I had no idea what it was. It looked like sausage? Or handmade candles?

But then I found out that these long red and purple sticks, hanging in bunches, were actually walnuts and hazelnuts strung on twine and then dipping in Tatara – a concentrated grape juice thickened with flour. Just try and get your head around that for a minute.

It’s got a chewy consistency, but rich flavors due to the Tatara, which lends a unique color and taste based on which grapes were used to make it.

Meaning, every region of Georgia has unique looking and tasting churchkhela. Both logical and awesome.

There is really only one way to eat this stuff – bite into it like a Slim Jim! Yup, really. For centuries it was the preferred snack of travelers and migratory populations because it’s non-perishable and easy to eat on the go.

Badrijani

Oh man, this is my absolute favorite Georgian dish! Imagine grilled slices of eggplant smothered in a walnut and garlic sauce and then folded over on itself, creating little layers of creamy, garlicky, herby deliciousness.

The mixture of textures and flavors is perfection and bodrigiani might be one of my favorite things that I’ve eaten. Ever.

It’s often served as an appetizer or a side dish and while it looks like you should be able to just pick up the glorious little eggplant pockets, don’t! Badrijani is to be cut into pieces and eaten with a fork.

Lobio

This fragrant bean stew is laced with spices, garlic and herbs and then served in a ceramic ramekin. It’s not a super thick stew on its own, but it’s usually accompanied by a kind-of dense, cornbread-like bagel.

Break off pieces of the bagel, toss them into the ramekin and then eat the stew with a spoon. Not only does this add more texture and thickness, but the bagel is super filling.

BONUS:

Black Wine  

Georgians love them some wine. A whole lt. The country is actually known as the cradle of wine, being home to the oldest known traces of wine production in the world.

Black wine is a national specialty. It’s aged in giant ceramic vats that are buried in the ground and is made of Saperavi grapes which give it its characteristic deep color.

Wine here is brought to the table in intimidating large pitchers. You then pour into small (by Western standards) glasses and then take long, large sips. Leaving wine in the pitcher at the end of a meal is considered poor taste, so bottoms up!

All I could do was laugh. The day had been, um, perplexing?

It was 10pm in Tbilisi, Georgia. I was sitting on a couch in the former living room of the famed Georgian filmmaker Tengiz Abuladze, talking on the phone (in broken English) to a Georgian man in Belgium, as his non-English speaking parents watched my every move. It was clear that they were trying to set us up. I was uncomfortable.

The man on the phone chatted about Tbilisi, about Georgian food, about the weather in Belgium and then he asked me if I was married.

“I knew it!” was all I could think as I replied that I was not married, but was taken; had a boyfriend.

There was a mammoth sigh of disappointment from the opposing couch; heads shaking with eyes downcast. Apparently his parents (my Guesthouse hosts Gurami and Gedia) knew the word “boyfriend.”

I wrapped up the call and tried to retire to my room, but that was not to be. Even though Gurami and Gedia (both in their late 60’s) were clearly disappointed by the night’s turn of events, they took me by the arm and led me onto the balcony for cake and wine.

Now on a normal day a cake and wine nightcap would sound pretty rad, but I was mentally and physically exhausted, confused and ready for some time and space to myself. Yet, that would have to wait – Georgians can be hospitable to a fault.

As strange as the phone call was, it paled in comparison to the rest of the day.

____________________

19 hours earlier:

“I’m sorry, we are full all rooms. I don’t see your reservation. I don’t know how to help you.” These are not the words you want to hear from a Guesthouse at 4am.

I had landed in Georgia’s capitol city an hour earlier. It took my cab driver 30 minutes of speeding around the hillside south of the city – a tight, twisted network of cobblestone alleyways – to find the Formula 1 Guesthouse. He had to stop and ask for directions six times.

So as I sat in the dimly-lit Guesthouse with hours left until sunrise and the verdict came down that I had no place to stay, I began to imagine how sleeping on my suitcase on the front porch might go over. I’d slept in worse places.

“Wait here,” Tito (the Guesthouse owner) said before disappearing into the night and leaving me to weigh my options as his half asleep wife wandered in and out of the room in her floral nightgown and slippers.

I was at that point of being so tired that my ears had a dull hum happening and though my eyes struggled to stay open, my mind raced. How is this happening right now?!

Twenty minutes later, Tito returned. He had asked a neighbor to take me in and thankfully they had a spare room.

The family was also hosting three Russians from Saint Petersburg and while I could feel the guilt rising for what I was sure would be a massive imposition at nearly 4:30am, I entered the house to find everyone awake – eating cake and drinking wine. What the hell? Why are these people not asleep?

The Russians spoke wonderful English and filled me in that considering it was Orthodox Easter, everyone had been celebrating since noon. And here I thought it was just Saturday.

After chatting for a bit, I finally fell into bed at 6am. It wasn’t the start I had been hoping for in Georgia, but little did I know that it would set the tone for the rest of the trip – “roll with the punches” became creed.

____________________

Breakfast at 11am was a feast to behold, but the amount of food I was expected to eat was unfathomable.

I would finish my plate and fight vehemently to show that I was full and couldn’t possibly eat one more thing, only to be handed another plate.

I can think of worse things, but given that 90% of the time I follow a vegan diet and thus don’t eat dairy or eggs (yet cheese, yogurt and hard boiled eggs were being stuffed in my face), I was actually getting concerned that I might toss my cookies.

The hard-boiled eggs in fact were beautiful. They had been died a deep purple for Easter by being boiled in water with red onions. And to eat one of these pretty little eggs required a special  game in which two people hold one egg each in their hand and then bash them into one another.

Whomever’s egg cracks is the “winner” and gets to eat the egg. I was forced to play this game and held my breath each time, praying that my shell would stay in tact; I hadn’t eaten an egg in about a year. But as my luck would have it, I “won” 3 of 4 matches. Apparently I should become a professional egg-breaker.

When a second bowl of homemade goats yogurt (mixed with a sugared honey) was placed before me, I refused to touch it. After some back and forth pantomiming (and much disapproval from my hosts) I won the battle and was excused from the table; uncomfortably full.

Battle won, but not the war. Every meal became a fight, my hosts certain that I hadn’t eaten enough and me certain that I’d eaten enough for four people.

____________________

After breakfast I grabbed my bag and rolled myself to the door, eager to head out and explore Tbilisi. But, Gurami would have none of it. Gedia (who knew a handful of English words) got the gist across that it was not okay for me to go out by myself, Gurami would escort me. Say what?

Now, I’m always appreciative of hospitality, but I’m not really the type that likes to be lead around; I like to wander and get lost and explore at my own pace.

But try as I might to decline and slip out the door, I was denied. In the end, Gurami came with me.

He spoke perhaps six words of English and I knew exactly three phrases and four words of Georgian and maybe a few dozen of Russian. This was going to be an interesting day.

As we began to walk down the cobbled roadway towards the city center, Gurami talked and talked, gestured at buildings, asked me questions. All I could do was smile and nod and throw in a few “ohhs” and “ahhs.”

There were moments when I thought I truly understood what he was saying, and I would respond or try to ask my own questions – such attempts were met with a blank stare and the shrug of a shoulder.

I won’t lie, it was frustrating as hell! My head was spinning, trying to decipher each gesture and word, listening intently for some snippet I might recognize. Gurmai was clearly frustrated as well and would often throw his hands up in the air and mumble things under his breath. This was not going so well.

In edition to being an escort that I couldn’t communicate with, Gurami also insisted on being very close to me at all times.

As soon as we hit Rusavalli Ave (the main thoroughfare in Tbilisi), Gurami grabbed my arm and linked it with his so we were walking arm-in-arm.

My first instinct was to pull away and I’m sure my eyes were wild with confusion. He simply shook his head, smiled and patted my hand.

So this is how its going to be apparently? We can’t talk to each other, but we’re BFF’s?

The last thing I wanted to do was be rude or disrespectful to my very religious and traditional host, but man was it awkward.

My American upbringing had trained me to instinctively feel uncomfortable with this sort of closeness with a relative stranger, but I’ve been around enough to know that a woman traveling by herself is often (but unfortunately) perceived as odd and even alarming in some cultures.

It was a protective sort of gesture, so even though it was far from my comfort zone, I just went with it. Like I said, “roll with the punches.”

____________________

We walked all over the city, through the Old Town and parks, historical neighborhoods and markets.

We crossed the Bridge of Peace into Rike Park, which had recently been renovated in anticipation of the opening of the new (and very modern) Performing Arts Center.

We took a gondola ride from Rike Park to the ruins of the 4^th century Narikala Fortress (the oldest structure in town) that sits atop a hill overlooking the city and visited the gargantuan Mother Georgia statue that stands guard over all Tbilisi.

We cabbed by the Presidential Palace and wandered Tsminda Sameba Church. Gurami’s eyes lit up when I pulled a headscarf out of my purse; he talked to about a dozen people inside the church, gesturing to my covered head. Clearly, I had impressed him. So there’s that.

We went to Mtatsminda Amusement Park, a entertainment favorite during Soviet times and rode the Farris wheel and roller coaster (to which I sadly sacrificed my favorite sunglasses).

We bought ice cream cones from the most ghetto ice cream man I’ve ever seen and ate them in a shady park while watching kids and dogs play in a fountain.

Gurami suggested going to a bathhouse in the afternoon, a notion that I didn’t even consider given I’d already far exceeded my threshold for being uncomfortable for one day.

Everywhere we went was arm-in-arm and every half hour or so we would sit on a bench so Gurami could rest his aging knees and smoke a cigarette.

While I got relatively used to the strange foreignness of literally being led around by the hand, I couldn’t help but feel like Gurami’s little American show pony.

It was hard to tell if he was truly being protective/hospitable or simply showing off a bit. Not that it really mattered in the end, but generally I like to keep a low profile while traveling and here I was being paraded around town.

What came to surprise me though was that as the hours wore on we started to understand one another. The words weren’t there, but through pantomime and gesturing we were able to communicate. It’s one of the remarkable things about traveling to unfamiliar places where you don’t know the language; even without words, you can find ways to speak.

But we did learn new words from each other; I pointed to a dog and said, “dog.” Gurami repeated and then said, “dzaghli” which I repeated. So that was dog. Small steps, but steps non-the-less.

As the sun began to set we found ourselves hiking a dirt trail up into the hills for a panoramic view of the city. Honestly, by that point I didn’t really care about the view. I was exhausted, it was getting dark and walking arm-in-arm on a narrow trail overlooking a ravine seemed like a really dumb idea. But Gurami pressed on, determined to provide a view worthy of the risk.

After a few near slips and having to stop every few minutes for Gurami to rest, I finally convinced him to turn around and for the first time all day successfully freed myself from the arm link.

I wanted to sprint down the hill. I’m a pretty independent traveler, a rapid hiker and am not someone who stops for rests often; the day had been completely contrary to how I travel.

An hour later we finally made it back to the house and to a glorious spread of food that Gedia had prepared. I filled up on Khinkali, veggies and honey-bread, but again had to fight to prove that I was truly full before being allowed to leave the table.

We were sitting in the living room watching The Notebook (dubbed in Georgian) when I was handed a ringing phone and was suddenly talking to Gurami and Gedia’s son in Belgium. Cake and wine on the balcony followed.

When I finally shut the door to my room, all I could do was laugh.

It had been such an uncomfortably strange, but somehow great day.

I had been thrown outside my comfort zone into a rhealm of discomfort that I rarely experience; I still felt uneasy about the constant violation of my personal space during the day.

Yet, I also felt accomplished, satisfied and empowered – I had seen the city through Gurami’s eyes and learned how to communicate with him in the process. And I didn’t fall to my death in the ravine, which is nice.

What’s the most uncomfortable experience you’ve had while traveling?

…………..

Side Note: upon departing Tbilisi, I was given a bill for $50USD for a “City Tour.” Whaaa? There had been absolutely no mention of financial compensation for the forced escort around the city.

They say that the best things in life are free – I believe that to be true – but apparently one incredibly uncomfortable and frustrating day in Georgia will cost you 50 bucks.

When I told people that I was going to visit Georgia, most thought I meant the South, “oh, like Atlanta?”

Um, nope.

Like, “the Republic of Georgia, in the Caucuses. The Georgia who has neighbors like Russia, Chechnya, Azerbaijan, Armenia and Turkey.”

That description elicited a few nods of recognition that there was such a place, but most cocked their heads to the side in confusion…”there’s a country called Georgia?”

YES!

And it’s an amazing country at that! A country that I’ll admit I knew little about a few months ago, but that I can’t stop thinking and talking about now!

It’s ancient, but modern. Traditional, but uncommon. Strange, but awesome.

Having been under Soviet control for much of the last century, there are still remnants of a stark, stifled society, but Georgians are fiercely proud of their country, their history and their culture.

So here are some things that you should know about this little-known gem of a nation:

1. It’s the Cradle of Wine! The oldest known record of wine production in THE ENTIRE WORLD was found in Georgia – dating back over 8,000 years! Yes, really.

2. Georgia is a young republic, having only gained independence from Russia in 1991! However, they relied heavily on Russian energy and infrastructure until just nine years ago when they booted out Russian interests and truly became an independent nation.

3. That being said, tensions remain high between the two countries. Russia has officially recognized the contested regions of Abkhazia and South Ossetia (which are within Georgia’s borders); regions that claim autonomy. Given their instability, these areas are pretty much off-limits to travelers.

4. As one of the first regions in the world to embrace Christianity, nearly 85% of the population is Eastern Orthodox. The entire country (about the size of West Virginia) is dotted with churches and monasteries and religious holidays often stretch for daaaays.

5. It’s an incredibly safe country! In 2008, under the leadership of President Mikheil Saakashvili, nearly the entire police force (notorious for it’s corruption) was kicked to the curb. The system was completely overhauled, making current crime rates a mere shadow of what they once were.  And (BONUS) crimes against tourists carry heavy penalties – stealing an iPod can result in prison time!

6. The Georgian language is one of only 30 proto-languages in the world, meaning it doesn’t take its root from any other language; its characters and sound are wholly unique. For the linguistically inclined, that’s really exciting, but for your average bear it means that communicating and getting around can be quite challenging! (Russian is also widely spoken in major cities while English remains rare country-wide).

7. Tourism is on the rise having grown three-fold in the past five years. Many cities and national parks were favored vacation spots during Soviet times and still today, the vast majority of tourists are Russian and Eastern European.

8. The Georgian Table (known as a Supra) is a fabulous and dangerous thing. While Georgian food is diverse and delicious, there is no such thing as portion control. If you sit at a Supra, you will be expected to eat your weight in food – saying that you’re full is no excuse to stop eating!

9. The country is freaking gorgeous! Centered on the same parallel as Italy and Northern California (hence the great wine) it’s landscape varies from rolling green hills to dramatic, snow-capped mountains to rocky, palm tree-lined beaches.

10. The over 2000 natural mineral springs found within its borders are a major source of pride for Georgians. Water from each spring has a distinct taste and can be consumed straight from the source. These springs also fuel traditional bathhouses – can you say thermal mineral sauna?!

11. Georgia was a main thoroughfare of the Silk Road, providing access to the Black Sea. Ancient cave cities and monasteries, that used to be major hubs of society, can still be found throughout the southern regions of the country. These are seriously impressive and magical places!

Before deciding to visit this lovely little nation, I knew jack about its tumultuous history. Its sheer location has made it strategically appealing centuries and it has been occupied (at some point) by every major power in the region, from the Huns to Turks to Soviets.

What’s left today is a people determined as all hell to retain their independence and build their nation, in their own way.

As the fastest growing economy in Eastern Europe, with the lowest crime rates, things finally seem to be falling into place for Georgia.

I’m a massive fan and I think you should be you too!

Of all the things that I thought I would do in 2013, tweeting from the White House was not one of them. But last Tuesday night I got to do just that. And for the State of the Union Address no less!

“What? How!?!” were the first words from most people.

“How!?!” is a fair question seeing as I don’t work on the Hill or for the government and my day job and general activities really have nothing to do with politics. Riiight.

My answer, “I applied? And they picked me?”

What I was selected for was a White House Social (#WHSocial), an event that allows people to watch the State of the Union (#SOTU) from inside the White House while chatting about it on various social media platforms.

To be honest, I didn’t even know that such a thing existed until a few weeks ago. And when I heard about it (via Twitter), whelp, I just thought it sounded too awesome NOT to apply. So on a whim, I did.

I never actually thought they’d pick me though. Turns out 2,000 people applied for 100 spots, so when I got the email confirming my participation, I was shocked and pretty confident that there was some mistake.  “Really? Me? Well, okay. Let’s do this!”

So I was in, but I still didn’t know what that really meant. What I did know was that I was ridiculously excited and could sense a reciprocal giddiness from the others selected – it took all of about five seconds for us to find each other on Twitter.

A House of White

Tuesday morning of the big day came and about 35 of the #WHSocial team gathered for a tour of the White House. In my mind, we would have a guide lead us through the East Wing and take us beyond the public rooms seen by everyone who tours the Executive Mansion.

That was not to be. Instead, we walked the general East Wing route on our own.

I’d done this same “tour” at Christmas-time (with much more to look at, re: decorations) and at that time photography was encouraged. This time around, it was strictly prohibited. Ummm, what? This amateur photog was crestfallen.

However, IT WAS STILL A TOUR OF THE EFFING WHITE HOUSE. So really, I can’t complain.

After our jaunt through the President’s Casa, everyone was on their own for the rest of the day. For those of us that lived locally, that meant going back to work – whomp whomp.

“It is my task to report the State of the Union” – John F. Kennedy

Fast forward to 7:30pm when we all reconvened outside the south entrance to the Eisenhower Executive Office Building. (For those not familiar, when people say they work at the White House, more often than not, they work here; it’s the building directly adjacent to the WH).

I wouldn’t say check-in went perfectly; the sheer number of people meant that it was a slow process, but eventually everyone was verified and properly badged.

Inside the gates and into the South Court Auditorium we went. While I connected to wifi, seemingly every other attendee queued up to take a picture of themselves with the White House logo.

Don’t get me wrong, it was cool. WE WERE IN THE WHITE HOUSE! (well, the Exec Building, but basically). I just couldn’t see standing in line to take a photo with an empty stage. But I digress….

Soon everyone was seated, the lights dimmed and the screen at the front of the room transported us to the House of Representatives in the Capitol Building, just as the First Family was making their way into the chamber.

As #WHSocial was social media shindig and everyone had at least one device going, the room had a subtle digital glow that would have warmed Steve Jobs’ heart.

And, all I could hear was the feverish tapping of screens and keyboards coming for every direction. We were a people obsessed.

One of the reasons for organizing the #WHSocial was to highlight the enhanced version of the State of the Union – which provided graphics and data to back up the President’s words – available by watching the speech on whitehouse.gov.

To be honest, between trying to see the screen, listening intently to the speech, tweeting and playing #SOTU Bingo (you heard right), I barely saw the enhancements.

Aside from a flash of #notimpressed with McKayla Maroney during the equal pay for equal work segment, not much stuck with me. AND I only looked up at that time because the room erupted into giggles.

Going back and re-watching the speech after the fact, I can say that the enhancements were a welcome edition that helped give the President’s words resonance – maybe just not ideal for a large group/small screen set-up.

WH.gov also rolled out an awesome interactive way to respond to the speech – scroll down for the full text, click a sentence of interest and respond directly. (No, they didn’t ask me to say that, I just really genuinely think it’s inspired.)

How to Make a Speech Epic

Having been in DC for a few years, I’ve watched debates, speeches, addresses, etc in various environments and have determined that two things (okay, three if you include booze) make them more enjoyable and impactful.

1. Watching with a group. There’s nothing like being in a room full of people engaged in a speech and simultaneously breaking out into thunderous applause or laughter. It’s magical. Really.

2. Games. Yeah, I know. How pedestrian of me. But this is America; we like games. And for those of us not engrossed in politics as a career, games during speeches is like cat videos on the internet – they just makes it better. So I threw together a #SOTU Bingo game that over 50 people (via twitter, Facebook, email and other #WHSocial participants in person) played with me.

So #WHSocial had both these elements going for it. And what’s more, the group in question was keenly interested and invested in the content; they all applied to be there! They were an active group versus a passive audience that you might have found at any number of bars around the District that night.

They Got Me

Immediately after the speech, a distinguished panel of White House policy makers filed onto the stage for a live-stream #WHChat that over 60,000 people watched!

The panel fielded questions for those of us in the audience as well as from various social media channels. This meant, unfortunately, that we didn’t get watch Marco Rubio’s Opposition Response (re: epic quenching of thirst).

But #WHChat was worth it. I was so impressed with panelists’ knowledge (and the fact that there were seven of them!) as they answered questions on everything from Cyber Security to Immigration to LGBT rights.

And man, was the audience into the panel! Each time they asked for a new question, dozens of hands shot into the air, each vying to demonstrate their eagerness to be selected. (As I said, it was an active group!)

For me, that enthusiasm (which was present all day long) was hands-down the best part of #WHSocial.

Being around passionate, involved people makes you want to be equally passionate and involved. And I think that was the point.

Sneaky White House…you got me.

*My participation in #WHScoial was voluntary. All opinions are my own. It was truly an honor to have been invited to take part.

Happy Holidays from flipflopcaravan!

Last year on Christmas I was gawking at the magnificence of Niagara Falls with my dog Dixon. It was a quiet holiday away that I had all to myself.

This year I spent Christmas surrounded by 20(ish) of my nearest and dearest paternal family members – the O’Brien clan!

Like most people, the holidays are synonymous with family for me. But Christmas also always reminds of jet setting! As luck would have it, my family is one that digs traveling, so often times the two fuse together quite nicely.

When I travel, I rarely bring home anything large. Instead, I tend to snag small little trinkets that inevitably end up as ornaments on my baby tabletop Christmas tree in DC. So each year, when I pull out my little box of holiday decorations, it’s like a saunter down Travel Memory Lane.

Here are some of my favorites:

My Great Grandparents picked this up in Hong Kong in the 1970’s.

One of several inch-long idols I brought home from Puno, Peru.

A wee Kiwi from New Zealand.

 Signs of the Zodiac from Taiwan

While in Slovakia, I was taken with this delicate handmade bell.

A wooded tree adorned with kangaroos, koalas and wombats could only be from visiting the Aussie fam in Melbourne!

After riding an elephant in Thailand, my parents gave me this little guy.

Teeny tiny rhino from a market in Perm, Russia (as if they have rhino’s in Russia?).

My sister gave me this dude 10 years ago after a trip to the Witch Markets in La Paz, Bolivia…5 years later, I got there myself.

 I fell in love with this beautiful embroidery in Seoul, South Korea

A vintage snowman from my Grandparents collection in San Diego, California

Go Ducks! My tree wouldn’t be complete without a nod to my Alma Mater in Eugene, Oregon.

Hope you all had a fabulous holiday, wherever in the world you might be!

Almost without fail, the best experiences while traveling are the ones that are unplanned. You can plan to see the main sights and attractions, plan to eat at the trendy restaurant, plan to go to that famous museum, but often what you just stumble across ends up being far more memorable.

And so it was in Key West. While wandering down Elizabeth Street on our way to the famed Shipwreck Museum, we noticed an intriguing sign in the front yard of a white house…

Whaa..Magnificent Macaws? Key West is a strange place in general, but this seemed strange even beyond island standards. We had no idea what Magnificent Macaws entailed but were determined to find out. Obviously.

Around the back of the house, through an old wooden door, we (somewhat nervously) entered Nancy Forrester’s Secret Garden.

If that sounds weird it’s because it is. You literally walk into this lady’s backyard and are confronted with a jungle of vegetation and bird cages. Bird cages everywhere!

And there was no one else there, just us. And dozens of birds. In a strange backyard. In Key West. What could possibly go wrong?

A few minutes later, Nancy emerged from someplace deep in the house (the inside of which, by the way, had bird perches dangling from the ceiling and looked slightly like the set of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre – really) with a macaw on each arm.

Nancy herself, as it turned out, was the most unimposing and kind lady. And she clearly had a deep love for her birds – all of which she rescued.

She owns one of each of the seven species of South American macaws that still exist in the wild. She’s an artist, an orchid expert and a wedding officiant. Yup. Lady of many talents.

Nancy showed us around, introduced us to all the birds and gave us an education in all things Macaw. To say she’s passionate is a gross understatement; she lives for her birds.

We even got to hold and feed a few of the macaws! And man are they heavy! Well, okay not really, they only weigh about 3 pounds, but on your arm, they feel super heavy!

Each bird has a name card that tells of their quirks, likes, agitations and talents. One of the birds can laugh like a human! Seriously. It’s unnerving. I was not a fan.

We spent almost an hour and half with Nancy and her birds and the experience ended up being a highlight a trip! And no amount of planning could have made it possible.

Key West is a water lover’s paradise. Pretty much anything you want to do on the water, you can do here; snorkeling, paragliding, sailing, dolphin watching, jet skiing, kayaking and anything else you can imagine. Whether you grew up sailing or have never been on a boat before, Key West is the perfect place to stretch your sea legs.

I had the to opportunity to give several of the top Water Adventure companies in Key West a spin – Classic Harbor Line, Dolphin Safari Charters, Danger Charters and Fury Water Adventures. What I found is that nearly all genuinely try to make your experience special and memorable.

So how did they stack up? Let the Smackdown begin!

Classic Harbor Line

(Sails from 202 Williams Street – behind Schooner’s Wharf)

The Skinny: The Adirondack III is an impressive 80-foot vessel and unlike other “sailing” experiences on the island that really only use the motor, this thing actually, well, sails!

Their hour and half Morning Mimosa Sail runs $35/per person and while it’s called a Mimosa Sail, they also serve beer, beer wine and straight champagne (if you can’t be bothered with the orange juice) for $1 per drink. The staff was friendly, engaging and very knowledgeable about the vessel and Key West in general.

Kudos: Adirondack III is one of the larger/more impressive sailboats out there. Dollar drinks, a laid-back vibe and actual sailing round out the experience.

Thumbs Down: The 11am start time for the “morning” sail means that the sun is already high in the sky and it’s toasty. Drinks aren’t included in the ticket price like many other sails. Depending on where you’re staying in Key West, Schooner’s Wharf might be a bit out of the way.

Know Before You Go: Bring and wear sunscreen! You will bake otherwise. Don’t be afraid to move around onboard and ask questions, the crew is very accommodating. Bring cash for those dollar drinks! AND as with any sailing experience, bring cash to tip your crew!

Rating: 9 of 10 – great bang for your buck and one of the more budget friendly sailing experiences in Key West.

Dolphin Safari Charters

(Sails from Banana Bay Resort Marina at 2319 N. Roosevelt)

The Skinny: Groups of six (max) head out in speedboats for dolphin watching. Obviously the company can’t guarantee that you’ll see dolphins, but there were about a dozen swimming around during our tour. I’d never seen dolphins in the wild before! After we got our fill of the playful sea mammals, we traveled to the southeast side of Key West (near Fort Zackary Taylor State Park) for snorkeling on the reefs just before sunset.

Kudos: Small groups made it an intimate experience and our guide was extremely knowledgeable both about dolphins and other sea life we saw on the reefs. Soft drinks, water and pre-packaged snacks (think crackers and rice crispy treats) were provided. Perfect duration to fit in all activities, plus we got to see sunset on the ride back to the marina.

Thumbs Down: Banana Bay Marina is a hike away from the main part of Key West. Plan on a 40+ minute walk to get there or catch a cab. The boats only go out if they’re full, so there’s a chance that even if you have a reservation, they might cancel your trip the day of.

Know Before You Go: The “bathroom” onboard is really tiny (not kidding) so be sure to use the facilities at the marina before you go. Shoes are not allowed onboard (you leave then in a box on the dock) so be sure to wear something that’s easy to take off.

Rating: 7.5 of 10 – There was nothing wrong with this excursion; we got to see lots of dolphins plus tons of fish, lobsters and crabs on the reefs. But something felt lacking and I wasn’t blown away. Even thinking back on the experience makes me feel lethargic for some reason.

Danger Charters

(Sails from the Front Street Marina)

The Skinny: Their three hour Wind & Wine Sunset Sail gets you out on the water for the best view of Key West’s glorious sunsets over the Gulf of Mexico. The crew serves hors d’oeuvres and provides a full wine tasting – Champagnoise, 3 whites and 4 reds – describing each and suggesting a tasting order. You can follow their suggestions or jump around on your own and have as much of whatever you want. They’ve also got beer onboard.

Kudos: Personable staff, great snacks, lots of wine choices and very flexible about orders/refills. It was a perfect sunset view with a bit more of a formal vibe than other sails, but not stuffy by any means. The Captain will let you steer if you ask!

Thumbs Down: It might have been a lack of wind, but even though the sails were up, we weren’t really sailing; the motor was moving us the entire time. That said, we were in an ideal spot for sunset. The price tag is a bit steep if you’re on a budget ($89/per person), but you do get lots of hors d’oeuvres, desert and pretty much unlimited wine and beer.

Know Before You Go: Most people onboard were fairly dressed up (for Key West standards) but don’t feel out of place if you’re not. If you have any dietary restrictions, just let them know and they’ll be sure to take care of you.

Ladies, don’t wear heels. This seems like common sense, but there were several women in heels, tottering around awkwardly – don’t be one of them. Don’t be embarrassed if you spill your drink, it will happen to everyone before the night is over.

Rating: 9.5 of 10 – I honestly had trouble coming up with downsides to this sail. It was wonderful from start to finish and the three hours flew by. The staff was exceedingly pleasant and there’s really no better way to see the sunset.

Fury Water Adventures

(Sails from Front Street and Duval)

The Skinny: As the largest water sport company in North America, they offer seemingly endless options for excursions on the water.

Kudos: Anything you want to do on the water, they can accommodate. They’re located literally in the middle of everything so you’ll have no problem finding them and getting out on the water.

Thumbs Down: Full disclosure – I didn’t end up trying any of their water activities. Why? Because I was completely overwhelmed by the volume of choices! When I called to ask for suggestions on what to try, I was simply told that everything was good and then was placed on hold for over 15 minutes. In the end, trying to figure out departure times and durations of the various activities became a chore and I threw in the towel.

Know Before You Go: Take time before you get to Key West to check out their website and decide exactly what you want to do so its not as overwhelming.

Rating: Can’t rate as I didn’t actually try them out.

__________

And the Winner is…Danger Charters! (with Classic Harbor Line Schooner a close second).

Danger does everything right – they make you feel at home onboard, are helpful, knowledgable and accommodating. By the end of the sail, you kindof just want to just go grab dinner with the crew. Its an upscale experience that manages to be laid-back, homey and a lot of fun all at the same time.

**Disclosure: My participation in these water excursions was made possible by the Key West Attractions Association, but all opinions are my own.

Earlier this week I had the opportunity to take a holiday tour of the East Wing of the White House. While I’ve lived in DC for nearly 2 years, I‘d never done a tour of the President’s home and wasn’t sure what to expect.

I was blown away by the opulence: crystal chandeliers, marble floors and columns, intricate woodwork and moldings and luscious textiles. And then on top of all of that, the Christmas decorations!

In all, the Wing houses 54 decorated trees. Each year, the First Lady picks a theme for overall décor and this year’s theme was “Joy to All.”

I had imagined that the tour would be a formal, docent lead walk through the various rooms and halls, but instead (after not one, not two, but four security checkpoints!) we were handed a pamphlet and left to our own devices to explore (in very clearly designated areas of course).

Let me show you around!

East Entrance Landing:

The entrance is dedicated to the men and women in the US Armed Forces. Here you can write notes to military personnel and their families thanking them for their service.

East Garden Room:

This is one of the most popular rooms in the Wing. Why? Because it’s home to a life-sized model of Bo, the First Dog! And let me tell you, he is a BIG dog. As in, he could provide pony rides at children’s birthday parties. I had no idea he was such a large animal.

Also on display in this room are holiday cards from this and previous administrations, plus my favorite tree of the tour – I dub thee Bubble Tree.

Library:

The Library is one of most informal rooms on the State Floor, which seems appropriate given that is used to be a servant’s locker room and then a gentleman’s waiting room until the mid-1930’s.

China Room:

There’s a table set for dinner with the official White House china selected by First Lady Bess Truman in 1951, but it’s unclear if this room would have actually been used for dinners or not.

Vermeil Room:

Also known as the “Gold Room,” this old school ladies parlor contains collections of silver, though they aren’t on display. For me, the highlight of this room was the portrait of Jackie Kennedy on the back wall.

East Room:

I was surprised to find out that the East Room is the largest room in the White House. Surprised because, well, it didn’t seem to be all that big. Formal social events and dinners take place here, but the space seemed much smaller than most reception halls for a standard wedding.

Green Room:

Probably my favorite room, the Green Room pays homage to President Teddy Roosevelt, an ardent conservationist. While in office, he refused to cut down trees to decorate the White House.

Fun fact: In this room, President James Madison signed the first declaration of war by the US, sending us into the War of 1812. Two years later the White House was burned down by the Brits – opps.

Blue Room:

Here stands the official White House Christmas Tree, dedicated to members of the military and their families. When there’s not an 18-foot spruce in the middle of it, it’s an official reception room and is used for small dinner parties.

Red Room:

With heavy drapes and every inch dripping with red and gold decorations, it’s easy to see why this room is used as a receiving room for guests.

State Dining Room:

As the official room for State dinners and diplomatic receptions, again, I was surprised at how small the space seemed. How many people could you possible cram into the hall for dinner? That said, the room is gorgeous and airy and my second favorite room in the Wing.

Partially because it’s home to the famed 300 pound gingerbread replica of the White House!

Cross Hall:

Usually used to escort guests from one end of the Wing to the other, this Christmas it displays the First Lady Trees that are decorated with ornaments representing holiday themes of past First Ladies.

Grand Staircase:

Whenever the President wants to be a boss and make a grand, formal entrance, this is the go-to staircase!

Entrance Hall:

The “President’s Front Door,” is the entertainment room at Christmas time. Live music, the Presidential Seal and decorations on nearly everything leave a lasting impression before you spill out the front door onto the north driveway of the White House.

And then the tour is over. I was honestly surprised that we were allowed to take as much time as we wanted; no one was urging us along or pushing us to the next room.

Even out front, no one sheparded us to the exit gate. It was a much more relaxed experience than I had expected.

Ahhh, Key West. That beautiful island in the Gulf with a laid-back Southern California surfer vibe plus a generous helping of hippie confidence and a dash of frat-boy antics, all in the same package.

It’s white trash – in the most endearing way possible. A place that’s the life of the party and where you can just be who you are without judgement.

A place that caters to revelers, romantics and families alike. But beyond the eclectic, free-spirited, Caribbean cool, here are some things that you might not know about the lovely Key West:

10. Key West was the richest city in the United States during the 1850’s thanks to it’s lucrative shipwrecking industry.

9. It’s the birthplace of Pan American Airways. Their original office is now Kelly’s Caribbean Bar, owned by Kelly McGillis of Top Gun fame. On October 28, 1927 Pan Am flight No. 1 took off from Key West to Havana, Cuba – the first U.S. International air flight.

8. It is illegal to harass the roosters and chickens that roam the island. Doing so could land you a fine up to $500!

7. Like the Vegas Strip and Bourbon Street in New Orleans, Key West does not have open container laws. Meaning, it’s perfectly legal to walk down the street while sipping a beer, or any other alcoholic beverage for that matter.

6. Ernest Hemmingway called Key West home for nearly 20 years. You can visit his house, his favorite bar (Sloppy Joe’s) or ogle at the spectacle that is Hemmingway Days. Every July dozens of Hemmingway doppelgangers descend on the city to compete in writing and fishing competitions and vie for the honor of being crowned best look-a-like of the year!

5. Key West is home to the largest marine water sport company in the United States, Fury Water Adventures. They offer everything from sailing and snorkeling to paragliding and jet skiing.

4. Electric cars, scooters and bikes are extremely popular forms of transportation on the island. Many residents own electric cars in lieu of regular cars as they’re cheaper to own and easier to navigate through town.

3.  At only 90 miles north of Cuba, Key West is the southernmost city in the United States. During the Cuban Missile Crisis, over 15,000 military personnel descended upon the island in preparation for war. Luckily, war was averted, but Key West maintains a strong Naval base to this day.

2. Residents of Key West are called Conches (the name derives from Bahamian immigrants) and the island is often referred to as the Conch Republic.

After a skirmish with the US Border Patrol, in the 1980’s, that forced Key West residents to prove their US citizenship before entering the mainland (the first ever border checkpoint within US – not at an actual border) the then Mayor of Key West succeeded. Though the action wasn’t recognized by the US Government, many islanders still consider the Conch Republic a sovereign territory – they even issue their own passports!

1. President Harry S. Truman was a huge fan of Key West. Today you can visit the Little White House, Truman’s winter home, which he visited 11 times during his time as Commander in Chief.

5 years ago today my sister and brother-in-law were killed in a car accident. They were just 26 and 24 years old, but had already lived lives so full they rivaled a geriatric about to kick the bucket.

Their lives were a whirlwind of travel, music, fun, ambition, spontaneity, creativity and love. Bridget was an outstanding photojournalist; Hayden a rising musician in the Aussie rock band Electric Jellyfish.

While losing them was devastating to my family, 5 years later I can’t think of them without smiling; from their deaths has come so much good.

There is now a scholarship in Bridget’s name at UCLA (where she honed her talents) that allows 2 students each year to travel abroad and report on a story with global reach and local consequence.

Hayden’s family and my family have become one. Though we live on opposite sides of the world, I am closer to them than some of my “by blood” family in the States.

Above all else, Bridget and Hayden are a constant reminder to live life with passion, playfulness and wild abandon. 

Below are my remarks from their funeral/wake/celebration/party/final gig:

“I’ve been trying to find the right approach to remembering Bridget – something witty and clever that would do her proper justice.  But there isn’t really a way to do that – not for someone like Bridge.

So, then I thought of the things that I know; I know Bridge loved Hayden, I know she died having a great time (though I think she’d be pissed that she met her end in Ohio of all places) and I know that I will never be able to eat a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup without thinking of my sister.

Never be able to get on a plane, or play monopoly, or drink cheap champaign or do a jello shot, or listen to Pearl Jam, or speak Spanish, or go skiing. There are so many things that are irreversibly associated with Bridge. So many things that she did and loved that will be so much more meaningful now that she’s gone.

Bridge wrote me an email from Australia while I was studying abroad in Denmark (something that I probably wouldn’t have done if she hadn’t studied abroad herself). It was the first time I heard the name Hayden, not knowing how important he was to her even then and certainly not knowing that he would become my brother-in-law.

Hi Kell!  Thanks for the email! That’s cool that you’re hanging out with all the international students. Even though I was living with a Chilean family and had some Chilean friends, I still spent most of my time with other foreign students.

Your Danish probably won’t get as good as you’d hoped, but who cares? You’ll still have a great time. I think its so interesting and important, to see how people from other countries view the U.S.  I wish more Americans had that experience.

I’ve been hanging out in Melbourne most of my time in Australia. I’ve been sleeping on Mike’s couch and traveling. In March I’ll get my own room in Mike’s house, which will be nice.

Everyone in Mike’s house is in a band called Electric Jellyfish. They practice a few days a week in the living room and have had two gigs since I got here. They’re actually playing right now, and since I’m in the same room I’m wearing earplugs so I don’t go deaf. Its so nice to have live music around all the time though.

One of Mike’s roommates, Hayden, works at a pub nearby and bands play there all the time. So Hayden sneaks us in, gives us cheap beer and we get to see good bands. It’s a pretty good deal.

The past few weeks I’ve been traveling. First Hayden and I took a 12-hour overnight ferry ride to Tasmania, which was cool for the first 6 hours. Then the bar closed and people who had cabins went to sleep. Cheap people, like us, who paid for seats instead of beds tried unsuccessfully to sleep sitting up. We went to a few beaches, camped at a campsite where wallabies and possums and kangaroos run rampant and ate meals in some small scary mining towns.

You should check out the Electric Jellyfish website. I took all the photos on it. Mike is the one with glasses and usually without a shirt, Hayden has longish hair and a beard, Adam has longer hair and a beard and Pat is the drummer.

I have to go make swords out of cardboard and foil for a pirate party tonight. Let me know how things are going.  Don’t let mom and dad or anyone else keep you from doing anything. I’m so happy you’re out of the U.S. and exploring. Can’t wait to be there myself. Bridge

I am so happy that Bridge found Hayden. I adored my sister, but never had the courage to tell her so. The past 23 years have been spent trying to be just like her. But her shoes are far too big for me to fill – they always have been.

I wish I had had the chance to get to know Hayden better. Though I only met him briefly, it wasn’t hard to reason why she loved him. So, the only thing to do now is to continue to get out of the U.S. and explore all of the places that she and Hayden never had the chance to see.

My beautiful sister and my wonderfully talented brother-in-law – I love you both.”

You lived your lives out loud – and we still hear you.

Given that my birthday just passed, its time to see how I did with my list of 27 things to do during my 27th year of life. Did I crush it and get everything done? Ha, nope! But I still think I had a respectable showing.

1. Finish Anna Karenina – It took me about 3 months to get through it, but its done. P.S. Tolstoy, you are one long-winded Russian!

2. Get to Canada (finally!)– Knocked this one out of the park! Spent Christmas at Niagra Falls, hit up Ottawa for a week in May and relaxed in Montreal for a long weekend in September.

3. Try Airbnb – I pretty much had a two bedroom apartment to myself in Montreal. And there were kittens!

4. Spend time with my Goddaughter– I got to see her several times through the year and am convinced that she is going to be a heartbreaker!

5. Complete a marathon – In less than 3 weeks I’ll be running the Marine Corps Marathon in DC…pray for me.

6. Go to a Washington Capitals game – Fail. Didn’t make it.

7. Tour the White House – Nope. But, I am touring the White House South Lawn gardens this weekend!

8. Join a sports team – Was going to join a Bocce Ball team, but it just didn’t happen.

9. Travel with a friend – Rocked this one all year long with trips to Miami, New Orleans and Key West with some of my favorite people.

10. Upgrade my photo equipment – Hello Rebel T3 and new iPhone 4S!

11. Learn to use said photog equipment – Still learning new things all the time…this will be a perpetual work in progress.

12. Sleep under the stars – Boo. I’m determined to go camping soon!

13. Try being gluten free for a month – I thought being vegan was hard! Being vegan and gluten free all January was ridiculously hard.

14. Max out my IRA – Locked and loaded and keeping my financial planner happy.

15. Enter Dixon in a dog competition – Not exactly a competition, but he was featured on Your After Animal Fix on Prince of Petworth.

16. Fly a plane – Took to the skies for lessons in May! And realized that I have no desire to be/business being a pilot.

17. Make a pilgrimage to Tahoe – Wasn’t in the cards this year.

18. See a show at the Kennedy Center – Everyday of the year at 6pm, there are free concerts in the main hall! Add to that the incredible rooftop view (that I am in love with) and I’m pretty much there at least once a week.

19. Project 365 – Wasn’t sure this one would happen, but I stuck with it!

20. See NYC at Christmas time – Unfortunately, this did not happen.

21. Sea Kayak – Not on a sea, but on a bay. So, not really.

22. Try acupuncture (i.e. get over my fear of needles) – So I tried it and almost had a nervous breakdown. The needles sticking out of chest and neck were a little much for me.

23. Sit in on a session of the Supreme Court – Just last week, I finally was able to do this! Even though I didn’t really understand much of what was going on it was still pretty damn cool.

24. Become more tolerant of country music– My bookclub ladies have had a major hand in getting me to enjoy some twang!

25. Watch Gone with the Wind– “Don’t bother me anymore, and don’t call me sugar!”

26. Go rock climbing – Hiking, yes. Proper rock climbing, no.

27. Smash a plate against the wall – With the help of some fellow travel bloggers, this actually happened!

Interested in years past? Check out how I did for 25 and 26

Think you’re savvy about Canada’s second-largest city? Here are some things that you might not know…

10. Vibrant rue Saint-Catherine is in the heart of Le Village – Montreal’s thriving gay scene. The street is lined with bars, restaurants, clubs and public art displays.

9. Cirque de Soleil was founded in Montreal, but the show doesn’t have a large following there. Go figure, eh?

8. BYO restaurants are extremely popular – its very common to see people walking around the city with half-drunk bottles of wine, on their way to and from dinner.

7. Montreal has the second highest number of restaurants per capita of any North American city (2nd only to NYC).

6. Lots and lots of people smoke – the city has the highest percentage of smokers in North America.

5. Jacob Schick – the dude who invented the electric razor – is buried in Montreal’s Mount Royal Cemetery.

4.  35% of all radio content aired (in all of Canada actually) must be “Canadian Content.” That’s a whole lotta Beiber and Celine Dion!

3. The city is known for: bagels, poutine (french fries smothered in cheese curds and brown gravy), smoked meats (pastrami) and maple syrup. Just not all at the same time.

2. Montreal’s name was adapted from  Mount Royal, the mountain around which the city was built. Its now the city’s largest public park and its layout was designed by the same guy who did NYC’s Central Park.

1. Trivial Pursuit (of board game fame) was founded in Montreal, by two local newspaper editors, in 1979.

A Cautionary Tale:

Never in my life did I think I would be labeled a smuggler, a bootlegger, a runner.

But there I was, standing in the US Customs Office of the Ottawa, Canada airport, being accused of smuggling illegal goods into the United States.

“Did you know that this offense carries a $250,000 fine?” a surly Customs agent asked.

“No,” I meekly replied.

“And up to 10 years in jail?”

“Um, what? NO!”

“I’m going to need you to come with me.”

And just like that I was detained by Customs and escorted to their Search and Seizure Office. 

____________

But it wasn’t just me, it was also my parents – probably two of the most honest adults on the planet.

What had I gotten them into? I could feel my heart pulsing in my chest and my palms turn clammy. Guilt rose in my throat and I tried not to speak for fear that my disappointment in myself would manifest into tears.

We were already late for our flight to California to visit my hospitalized and ever-ailing Grandmother, and now, because of me, we were being interrogated by Customs.

Guess who’s not getting the Best Daughter Award this year?

____________

How did we get into this mess in the first place? It all started with a suggestion from several friends weeks earlier…

“You’ve never been to Canada before? You have to try Havana Club rum! It’s the best rum on the planet!,” a blonde in politics raved.

“I bring a bottle back with me every time I visit Canada. It’s the best rum,” a male traveler mused.

“You’ve just got to try some – Havana Club in a perfect mojito!” a mixologist suggested.

All good, law-abiding people.

So I knew I had to check out this mythical Havana Club – a product of Cuba, considered by many to be the best rum in the world.

While in Ottawa, my folks and I went to a liquor store and there it was, row after row of Havana Club; 7 año, Especial, Maestro, 15 año, Blanco, Reserva, Maximo.

By this point I’d talked up the rum so much that my parents decided to grab a few bottles for their personal collection as well.

I picked up a Blanco and Especial – two bottles that set me back just under $90USD. But, for the best rum in the world, I thought it was a steal…

____________

Fast forward to the interrogation by three Customs agents:

“Do you have any relations in Cuba?” No.

“Are you coming from Cuba?” No.

“Have you ever traveled to Cuba?” No.

“Are you engaged in business in Cuba?” No.

And on and on.

“Is there anything else illegal you would like to tell us about now before we find it?”

My mother retorted, “If we had anything else, do you think we would have told you about the rum?”

And the woman had a point. God love her for such a snarky remark delivered in the most innocent, sweet-sounding voice from a petite, blonde, mother of three. How can you possibly get mad at that?

One by one, the agents inspected each piece of luggage and located our glorious bottles of rum.

One officer (clearly disarmed by my mother’s charm) picked up a bottle to examine it, “I’ve never actually seen this in person before, only in pictures.” He seemed genuinely delighted.

Again, my mother chimmed in, “Do you want one?” before realizing that that could be misconstrued as a bribe. How can you not love her?

And just when I thought we were all becoming friends, the officer inspecting my bag (clearly the youngest) uncovered a Ziploc bag full of white powder.

An ever so slight grin seeped across his face as he waved the bag in the air – jackpot!

____________

I almost felt bad for disappointing the rookie, but as a vegan I travel with my own non-dairy, powdered, coffee creamer – not blow.

During the inspection, my father asked permission to use his phone to book us on the next flight, knowing that our plane had already left without us.

After finding all the bottles, we were to be escorted out of the airport to dispose of them.

“Can’t we just flush the liquid down the toilet instead?” my father asked.

After a pause, the agents deemed that a reasonable request and my dad and I were escorted to the bathroom. We emptied all the bottles into the toilet under a watchful eye.

Now pouring that much rum into a toilet was not only heartbreaking, but it also produced a wall of alcohol fumes that I’m pretty sure left us all with a contact high.

It was with a heavy heart that I flushed the toilet, without getting to try even a drop.

____________

After all was said and done, the officers found no additional contraband (sorry rookie) and really, they all were rather pleasant throughout the ordeal, realizing that we truly were ignorant to the offense.

They let us on our way with a stern warning and a chuckle. I honestly think we made their day.

For us, we lost $200 worth of rum and had to buy new plane tickets, on a later flight, to an alternative destination that required more driving on the other end.

Luckily for me, blood is thicker than alcohol.

* My Mistake: I thought that purchasing Cuban goods, for personal consumption, in a country where they are legal, and bringing them to the US was, well, legal.  Apparently, as an American citizen, it is not.

I knew I couldn’t buy, sell or trade Cuban good within the US, but I wasn’t going to do any of those things. Lesson of the day – it’s still illegal to bring any Cuban goods into the US, regardless of where you buy them or what you plan to do with them.

In fact, even purchasing the goods abroad is technically illegal.

So take note travelers, lest you be detained by Customs as well.

Awhile back, I was tagged by Christina, the ever lovely gal behind My View from the Middle Seat, to participate in the Capture the Colour Contest put on by Travel Supermarket.

Yes, I am late to the party (how fashionable of me), but I am so pumped about this contest!

Sure, there are fab prizes (hello £2000 and ipads!) but I was most excited to dig through my photo archives. I’ll admit that I got really into it and spent hours revisiting some of my favorite past destinations. So regardless of winning or not, I loved having a reason to reminise a bit.

So, all that’s to say, here are my Capture the Colour Photos.

BLUE:

Everything was silent, save for the soft whistle of a calm breeze. It was a drastic difference from the fierce wind that raked across the Gobi Desert just moments before. Now, we were nestled in between two outcroppings of amber rocks, facing what remained of a Buddhist temple. Destroyed in the religious purge of Mongolia by Communist soldiers in the 1930’s, all that’s left are a few crumbling walls and tattered prayer flags.

RED:

A Beijing rickshaw driver’s guide to not getting customers:

1. Park near dozens of other rickshaws.
2. Find a fellow driver and engage in a friendly game of cards.
3. Completely ignore everyone around you. Everyone.
4. Yes, even the foreigners trying to get a ride. Ignore.
5. Yes, even that other foreigner taking photos of you. Ignore.
6. Repeat.

Seriously though, these dudes were adorable and so intensely into their card game.

GREEN:

I took this photo when I was 17, while I visited my sister in Chile as she studied abroad.  She was a gifted photographer and all I was toting around was a yellow and red, plastic disposable camera from Walgreen’s.

I felt intimidated and didn’t take many photos, realizing that none of mine could ever compare to hers. But something about this farmhouse on the island of Chiloé struck a chord with me. I felt compelled to photograph it; as though I couldn’t possibly leave the place without taking an image with me. Maybe it had something to do with walking its dim dirt hallways or feeding the resident baby cow from a bottle in the dining room (yes, it lived in the house!), but even to this day my mind will wander back to that house and to this image.

YELLOW:

I grew up in Colorado, a place teeming with pine trees, and spent my childhood climbing to their tops and making forts in their branches. I know what pines look like, smell like (delightful juniper, if you’re curious) and feel like. The needles are tough to the touch and even when they’re brown and dying, they’re brittle.

But not these golden pine needles. Oh no. These needles felt like running your hand over silk; delicate, soft, smooth, almost fluffy. Soft pine needles, WTF?  Given that these are native to Olkhon Island, situated in the middle of Lake Baikal, smack dab in the middle of freaking Siberia, I was shocked. I have no idea how or why something so delicate can survive in such a harsh place. But I do know that I spent (probably and inappropriate amount of) time petting (yes, petting) the trees. I repeat, WTF.

WHITE:

Never before in my life had I seen signs for Tank X-ings (seriously?) but in Perm, Russia they are quite common. The city was a massive military stronghold during the Cold War and tank lanes were a more common fixture than modern-day bike lanes. While the city has modernized, there are constant (and sometimes unexpected) reminders of the past.

My Nominations:

Katie of Tales of Brit Abroad

Melanie of Have Snark, Will Travel

Leslie of Downtown Traveler

Justin of The Endless Weekend

Anwar of Beyond My Front Door

This is my submission for the ‘3 Things in the City’ I Love contest by Velvet Escape, Traveldudes and Wimdu.co.uk

Envisioning Siberia, I pictured dirt roads, small towns and a complete lack of modern amenities. So color me surprised when the train pulled up in Ekaterinberg, Russia; a vibrate metropolis, home to over 1.2 million people.

Ekaterinberg is the first city in Siberia along the West to East route of the Trans-Siberian Railroad. It’s a city with a dark and bloody past that has managed to transform into a center of culture and commerce in Siberia. I love that the city is a confluence of Eastern and Western influence.

3 Things You Must do In Ekaterinburg

Europe/Asia Border

10 years ago, after a series of travelers were found wandering the forest in search of the exact border coordinates, Ekaterinburg’s local authorities erected the monument that stands today.

Set atop stones from the farthest reaches of each continent, sits a structure representing an A and E intertwined.

You’ll get chills and rush of excitement as you stand with one foot in each continent.

Church of the Spilled Blood

Throughout history Russian leaders had a habit of exiling political opponents to the depths of Siberia. Such was the case of the former Russian imperial family, the Romanovs. Following the Russian Revolution in the early 1900’s, Lenin and the Bolsheviks exiled the Romanovs to Ekaterinburg and later executed the entire family.

The church was built as a memorial on the exact site of the mass murder. Its rumored to be the most expensive church ever commissioned by the Russian government.

It’s a towering structure surrounded by smaller monuments and photos of the Romanov family, that stands as a reminder of Ekaterinburg’s dark history.

ZooPark

Ekaterinburg’s ZooPark is the largest in all of Russia. Compared to western zoos, it definitely feels a bit old, but is home to an impressive and quirky array of animals.

From bears and monkeys to tigers and elephants, all the basics are there. But so are some unexpected animals like hamsters, mice, common turtles and sea gulls. I found it incredibly interesting to see these creatures housed in a zoo – its all a matter of perspective on what’s exotic!

“We are so going to get stabbed,” my friend quipped as we got out of a cab at the west end of Calle Ocho in Little Havana.

I rolled my eyes and began walking east.

For those who think that Little Havana is a typical tourist destination, pristine and tailored to consumerism, its not. Not really.

The neighborhood is home to over 50,000 residents – 85% of them are Hispanic. Real people live here. Its not an amusement park or a resort.

There is crime and poverty. The median household income here is about 1/3 the national average; its not a swanky place.

But it is a place with history and charm and grit. (American grit that is, we’re not talking about the slums of Calcutta here.) I assume the ‘grit’ is what my friend was focusing on as she tugged her Coach purse a little closer to her body.

For me, Little Havana was really the only place I wanted to visit in Miami; everything else was secondary.

While the majority of neighborhood residents are still Cuban, the population is down significantly since the 1970’s when the concentration topped out at 84%. But, there’s no mistaking the distinctive Cuban vibe.

Strolling down Calle Ocho (Little Havana’s main drag) you notice restaurants, cigar shops, cafes, parks and innumerable nods to the mother country.

Old men play dominoes in the famed Domino Park (I assume these are the hooligans that were meant to stab us?), while young couples down Cafecito on nearby benches.

Cafecito? Its a wickedly strong beverage that literally translates to ‘black coffee’ and is sipped from a plastic cup smaller than a shot glass – its that strong!

Calle Ocho is also home to the Cuban Walkway of the Stars, featuring the likes of Gloria Estefan and Julio Iglesias.

While national chains are starting to creep in on the neighborhood (think H&R Block and Walgreens), it remains a sea of mom-and-pop shops; family businesses started by parents and grandparents decades ago.

Miami is a city with international flare to be sure, but Little Havana gives a taste of authentic Cuban culture and daily life in a community striving to maintain the traditions of its roots.

And in case you were wondering, no, we did not get stabbed.

Know Before You Go:

– Its pretty much obligatory that you eat a Cuban sandwich on Calle Ocho. Check out El Cristo or Ayestaran for the real deal.

– Cafecito 101: When ordering – even if there are 3 or 4 people – only order ONE! It will come in a styrofoam cup with small sipping cups on top. Pour from the big cup into the sipping cups and sip casually. This is not a shot! Take your time and enjoy. No-name, hole in the wall cafes are your best bet.

– Even if you don’t smoke, its worth popping into one of the many cigar shops to see the art of traditional Cuban hand rolling. Little Havana Cigar Factory has an impressive assortment (grab one as a gift?) and they sell beautiful old cigar boxes for $5!

*For more glorious Photo Friday, pop over to Delicious Baby!

As Canada’s Capital City, you might think that Ottawa is a buttoned-up hub of government, lacking in the way character. You’d be wrong. This city has some quirk!

10. The only free museum in the city is the Currency Museum. Go figure.

9. A large statue of French explorer Samuel de Champlain sits atop Nepean Point, overlooking the city. He’s holding a navigational instrument called an Astrolabe. Unfortunately, the sculptor had no idea what it was and thus Champlain holds it out-streched before him, upside down. Le sigh.

8. After the annual Tulip Festival, all 3 million bulbs are dug up and kept in cold storage until the next year.

7. Many people believe that Château Laurier (the most posh hotel in town) is haunted. The man who commissioned the hotel’s construction, Charles Melville Hays, died aboard the Titanic on his way to the grand opening. His ghost is said to haunt the Château to this day.

6. There is a glaring lack of security around the locks of Rideau Canal – something you’d never see in the US.

5. In the winter, Rideau Canal freezes over and becomes a new commute route as professionals skate from the suburbs to downtown. Its also becomes the world’s longest skating rink.

4. Restaurants, by Canadian law, can’t serve alcohol before 11am. That means no mimosas with your early brunch folks!

3. In Rockcliffe Park, Ottawa’s most exclusive neighborhood, there is a house made of copper and glass. It belongs to British entrepreneur and founder of Corel software, Michael Cowpland. He’s a modest guy.

2. “Obama” cookies are sold at the Moulin de Provence bakery in Byward Market. Named because he bought a few for the First Family, the cookies are actually in the shape of a maple leaf and say ‘Canada’ on them.

1. Parliament Hill is home to a colony of ferrel cats. Really. A committee of employees makes sure they’re fed daily.

Last month I had the opportunity to take part in a ‘Road Rally’ in advance of the TBEX travel blogging conference. Not sure what a ‘Road Rally’ is? Think a mini The Amazing Race, but with much less stress and challenges that are more fun than frustrating.

It consisted of nine vans full of people zigzagging their way from Denver up to the mountain resort of Keystone, making stops and completing tasks.

Unlike The Amazing Race, the winner of the Rally wasn’t the first team to cross the finish line, but rather, the one that produced and tweeted the most original content throughout the day.

The Rally had three different topics, History, Beer and Adrenaline (3 vans/teams competing in each). I opted for door #3, Adrenaline.

Little did I know that my day would consist of being flipped upside down (repeatedly), flying through the trees and taking a shot from a piece of sporting equipment.

My team – Team Pink! – included the likes of Ava from Be My Travel Muse, Victoria of Pommie Travels, Dan and Aubrey of Uncornered Market and Katie from Visit Denver, our delightfully excitable leader.

Leaving the Denver Convention Center at 8am on B-Cycle (bike share) bikes, we made our way through downtown, having no idea that this Rally would last for the next 8 hours.

Our first stop was Elitch Gardens amusement park.

Fun Fact: the first roller coaster I ever rode in my life was at Elitch’s, back when I was in elementary school in Denver!

To be back at Elitch’s was elating in itself. But to be allowed in, before opening hours and taken on a personal tour by the park’s Marketing Team and given access its best rides, was surreal.

I recall standing in line for hours as a kid, waiting to ride the coasters. But this day, we just got to walk right on! I was on cloud nine and was subconsciously scoffing at my childhood self, “this is how you go to an amusement park, child”.

After being flipped, spun, whirled and twisted in every direction we hopped back in the van (which had onboard wifi, by the way!) and headed 20 minutes up the road to the quaint town of Idaho Springs.

And what, pray tell, does one do at Idaho Springs? Well, we were there to zip line (!), although rafting is also a popular draw.

Colorado Adventure Center opened over 3,000 feet of zip lines on Memorial Day this year and has already seen thousands of visitors. The lines run between five towers and are situated to send zippers flying through pine groves and over streams.

Having never been zip lining before, I was amped and a little nervous. I mean, is the tower supposed to shake when someone leaves the platform? It was raining when we arrived and lightning was threatening on the horizon – was being attached to elevated metal cables really the best place to be?

Never one to dwell on such practical negative things, I jumped into the experience. Literally. By the end, we were running and hurling ourselves off each platform and zip-racing the lines.

Even though it took over two hours to get everyone through and we were already exhausted from our morning of adventures, it was crazy fun.

Climbing higher in elevation, we made a pit-stop at Red Rocks Amphitheater.

Given that we were running behind schedule and the fact that there was a sound check in progress for an evening concert, we were only given 15 minutes to run down the theater steps, have a look around and sprint back up again.

Sounds easy, but at over a mile above sea level, the thin air barely filled our lungs before it was ripped away again.

Though our time there was brief, it was easy to see why Red Rocks is one of the most legendary concert venues in the country – towering burnt rock formations providing impeccable natural acoustics and a view to be envied.

Further up the mountains, we stopped yet again (but wait, there’s more). This time at the Continental Divide, the point in the Americas that determines whether water drains to the Pacific or Atlantic Ocean.

After running across the freeway and darting up a hill, we were presented with ski shots of beer.

You heard right – shots of beer from boot-shaped shot glasses attached to a ski by way of their own baby-bindings.

Four boots a ski meant that this was a team sport and we queued up into heats.

Even though Team Pink didn’t win the Rally (lame! I mean check out our Music Video!), I cannot think of a better group of people to spend a day with nor a better way to kick-off a conference.

A huge thanks to Visit Denver and TBEX for organizing the Road Rally!

The Year: 1912

The Date: April 14

The Woman: Molly Brown

Still not sure who this Molly Brown character is? Let your mind wander back to James Cameron’s floating melodrama, Titanic. Yes, the one with Leo and Kate – don’t pretend, you know you saw it (at least once).  Now think about Kathy Bates’ character, that big, bossy, boisterous woman who lent Mr. DiCaprio a suit and was his only ally in the upper class.

That’s our girl, Molly Brown. Well, actually Margaret Brown. Strangely enough, she was never called Molly during her life and was somehow given the nickname posthumously.

I say strange, because she was a woman who liked control and organization. Sure she was a feisty broad who bent the rules a time or two, but something tells me that her proud nature wouldn’t have liked being assigned a new name after death.

Unbeknownst to me, Mrs. Brown and her husband, James Joseph, lived in Denver, Colorado for years before the sinking of the Titanic; he the superintendent of a mine, she a social butterfly and visionary philanthropist.

When I stumbled upon their downtown home, it took me a few minutes to place the name, ‘Molly Brown? Why do I know that?’ It wasn’t until I entered the ticket office behind the manor and saw posters advertising the 100^th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, that I placed the name. ‘Of course, the Unsinkable Molly Brown!’

I didn’t hesitate to buy a ticket and jump into the next available tour.

The Brown’s moved into the house in 1895 and quickly became a fixture in Denver’s aristocratic elite. Molly was known for throwing lavish parties and on one occasion, entertained 800 people at the house (the house is quite large, but I still can’t fathom cramming 800 people into it!)

Upon entering the house, I was struck by its dim lighting, highly decorated walls and heavily curtained windows. Though a musty smell filled the air and the place certainly felt old, it was dripping with opulence.

The entryway (a space called a Turkish Corner) was filled with treasures from all over the world- its sole purpose to immediately impress upon guests how wealthy and well traveled the Brown’s were.

Intricate statues, crystal vases, fur rugs, and rich furniture filled every room.

I was particularly impressed with the library, a room that Molly designed herself.

She was a renaissance woman; spoke 6 languages, played piano, sang, painted and had a hand in nearly a dozen charitable organizations – chairing many of them.

The house was outfitted with electricity, a phone line, indoor plumbing and steam heat. Servants lived in a separate carriage-house behind the manor.

Her wealth was certainly unquestionable but so was her power of persuasion and kind nature.  On the night the Titanic sank, she tried to coordinate efforts to put more people into each lifeboat, before she herself was thrown into one against her will by a crewmember who thought she was being a nuisance. Her lifeboat, built to hold 60 people, only seated 27.

In the water, she doled out her extra clothing to others and demanded that the lifeboat turn back to search for survivors – a demand that was ignored.

Once aboard the Carpathia, it took her less than three days (before the ship even reached New York) to found the Titanic Survivors Committee and raise $10,000 from fellow First Class survivors.

In a stroke of genius, she did this by publishing a list of who had donated and how much, to encourage shame those who hadn’t donated yet.

At 5’7” with auburn red hair, she was a woman who always stood out in a crowd. Though she was born on the East Coast, her Western roots set the tone for her relatively laid-back and progressive attitude.

Know Before You Go:

– In honor of the 100^th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, the House will offer special Titanic themed tours through the end of 2012.

– The House is located at 1340 Pennsylvania Street in Downtown Denver, just a short walk from the State Capitol Building and the Arts District.

– The only way to see the inside of the House is with a guided tour. Both regular and the special Titanic themed tours last about an hour.

– Photography is not allowed inside the House.

– There is a special interactive Titanic exhibit that is great for kids and adults alike!

Hello, my name is Kelly and I am in love with an art museum.

That museum would be the whimsical Denver Art Museum.

Spotting it from blocks away (and even from my hotel room window) I knew that I was going to enjoy the place.

The sharp, soaring, angular lines of glass and titanium that jut in every direction and the nonsensical geometric lines, were impossible to ignore. It was like a beacon, calling my name and daring me to come and see what was inside.

Dare: accepted.

The colossal structure is only half of the Denver Art Museum – the other (more demure) half is across a pedestrian walkway – and houses the modern and contemporary art collections.

I initially went to the museum for a tour of a special Yves Saint Laurent exhibit, courtesy of Visit Denver, as a pre-TBEX treat. Lucky me, I mixed up the time of the tour and arrived early.

This allowed me to wander through the YSL exhibit at my own pace and still have time to see more of the museum.

With dim lighting, spot lit pieces and a re-creation of the designer’s Paris studio, the exhibit transported me into YSL’s world.

As a long-time fan of YSL’s more irreverent and bold collections, I was thrilled to see many of them on display.

There was also and impressive room dedicated to YSL’s internationally influenced collections, based on traditional clothing from Morocco, Russia, Japan, Spain and India.

While the exhibit was wonderfully curated and much larger than I had expected, the rest of the museum was waiting.

Every floor, every corner, revealed something new. Sharp angles, sloping planes and unexpected dead ends turned the normal museum experience on its head.

People often say that you ‘can get lost in art,’ but here you actually can!

What’s more, the stark, erratic, sweeping white walls and superb lighting provided a perfect backdrop for the collection on display.

In that environment, I really did feel like I was a part of the art; that I was in the art.  It was one of the most exciting and enjoyable experiences I’ve ever had in a museum.

And then (just as I was about reach Nirvana) I was approached by a security guard.  “We’re closing in five minutes miss, time to make your way downstairs,” he cooed.

Tears may have formed in my eyes. I felt like I had only just arrived – there was so much more to see!

I begrudgingly made my way down the stairs, but got distracted, by the stairs! (I mean, what place has stairs that can stop you in your tracks!?)

I stood there, gawking and snapping photos until yet another security guy prodded me to the door.

Outside, I sat on a bench and just stared at the museum’s façade. I was beyond impressed and regretted not arriving earlier in the day.

I already thought I’d like to come back to Denver at some point, but after running out of time in the museum, I know that I will; if only to get lost in the art.

*For more Photo Friday goodness, hop over to Delicious Baby!

**After participating in Photo Friday for ages, I finally got to meet the woman behind the movement, Deb Dubrow at TBEX. She was just as kind and lovely as I had imagined!

***My visit to the Denver Art Museum was made possible by Visit Denver. Thanks!