I saw this poster online the other day, and it grabbed my interest. I love the design. More so, I love the message.
this isn’t happiness™ (Foreign lands), Peteski.
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Cities, Experiences and Social Innovation
travel
Foreign Lands
Send to KindleChatting with KiKi
During the conference I attended, I got offered a chance to talk with social media expert KiKi L’Italien. It was a casual chat about the event and a great bar in Vancouver. Check it out below.
Send to KindleThe Business of Pleasure Reading on a Plane
I immediately take out something to read as soon as I’m in my seat on an airplane. Knowing I have a few hours of quiet reading time makes me very happy, and because of this, I rarely talk to the people sitting next to me. For the most part, when they see me pull out a book, they don’t bother chit-chatting with me.
Today, though, on a flight to Las Vegas, a gentleman started to talk to me as I was reading. He was pleasant, and asked an easy intro question: business or pleasure? If you’re going to Vegas, that’s a reasonable question. I told him business, he followed up with other questions about what kind of business I was in, where I was staying, etc. I didn’t want to be rude, so I asked him the same type of questions. The conversation came to its natural conclusion, and I went back to reading.
During the entire trip, however, I could see him out of the corner of my eye acting very antsy, looking around the airplane’s cabin, trying to catch anyone’s eye that would talk with him. I felt bad that I wanted to read instead of conversing with this man. Then I began to wonder why I don’t like to chit-chat like that. Why do I become shy or hesitant to meet new people? Or was it the situation? Would I had been more apt to speak at length with him if we were at a party? Probably so. I think it was the location.
Getting on a plane for a trip to me is like those times when you have the toilet to yourself. It’s your alone time. You have your assigned seat with your assigned overhead light and air nozzle. Sometimes you even get your own window. I know you’re not really alone and that there will be times you have to (or want to) talk to the other passengers. But for me, it’s a time to create an imaginary bubble where I’m all alone, enjoying a good book, and the lull of an engine roaring across the sky.
(Image via Flickr: Phillip Kalantzis-Cope / Creative Commons)
Send to KindleReykjavík and København
The plus one and I recently visited Reykjavík and København. We had a great time, and I thought I’d post some of my favorite photos I took during the trip. No context or explanation, just photos. (Actually, all these photos are from Reykjavík. I guess I didn’t take as many København photos as I thought I did.)
Send to KindleLive Aqua
My naked feet rarely feel the sun. I have nothing against going barefoot; I just rather wear shoes or socks whenever possible. Because of this, my feet are two extra pale parts on an already pale body. So when I’m out in the sun for an extended time, and I’m wearing very little, I make sure to wear sunscreen. A lot of sunscreen.
In Cancun, Mexico, though, I forgot to put protection on the tops of my feet. There I was on the beach, relaxing in a chair, under a wide umbrella, taking slow drinks from a mimosa, and reading Jitney. I stretched my legs, letting my feet linger in the sun just outside the umbrella’s protective shade. By mid-afternoon, my feet felt like fire ants were under the skin biting through to escape.
This happened the first full day of my vacation and visit to Live Aqua, an adults-only all-inclusive on the northern end of Cancun’s hotel zone. Live (pronounced with a short “i”) Aqua is very contemporary, almost Vegas in aesthetics, that prides itself on appealing to the senses. When I walked in to the lobby, peppermint scents overwhelmed me. At the registration desk, I was offered some tea, which is some of the best tea I’ve ever had in my life. After check in, I was offered a hand massage. If you don’t want to hear about the resort’s time-share program, I suggest you leave for your room after your hands are properly rubbed and relaxed.
The hotel offers 371 guest rooms, and it’s worth the extra money to get an ocean-view room. It was comforting going to sleep with the sound of waves and nice waking up and seeing the ocean from my bed every morning.
For those that enjoy laying by the pool or beach, Live Aqua is your place, because there’s not much more to do than that. The resort features three restaurants, three bars and little much in nightlife entertainment. One night, I took part in a turtle release activity. Another night, I had dinner on the beach. The other nights, well, there was TV in the room.
The three restaurants were all good, with Azur offering the biggest portions and MB offering the best presentations. Siete is the largest restaurant and the only one that offers a daily breakfast. Every meal I had was well prepared (well, except for my steak at MB that I almost needed a hacksaw to cut through) and fresh. It felt like I was eating healthy while there.
You can definitely tell that Live Aqua is going for an upscale feel in everything they offer. Whether it’s their pristine pools or soft sand beach, the place exudes extraordinary. But much like the scents that greet you upon arrival, the extraordinary evaporates with a lack of nightlife entertainment.
Maybe I’m being too hard about that point. I’m sure there are people who just want to do nothing but sunbathe, eat, and drink. For them, this place is perfect. For others seeking a little more, the resort could up its game.
It’s just that one element, the lack of nightlight activity, that Live Aqua suffers from the most. Kind of like how I only got sunburned on only one area; the rest of my body perfectly fine.
Send to KindleHandcrafted With Heart: Barking Rocks Vineyard and Winery
I wrote this piece for a magazine that decided not to publish it. Rather than let it linger away on my hard drive, I decided to publish it on here. Thank you.
Handcrafted With Heart: Barking Rocks Vineyard and Winery
A black lab wearing an Elizabethan collar greets you as the door opens. After a quick sniff, he turns away, flopping down next to a counter where two people taste their way through wine.
Tiberia, one name only, explains each wine sample: sweet or dry, full-bodied or light, earthy or airy. Even if you’re not a fan of red wine, his passion about it convinces you to try a sip.
The wines at Barking Rocks Vineyard and Winery in Granbury, Texas, are grown further west, closer to Lubbock than Dallas, and it produces 800 to 1,000 cases a year, a small number compared to larger operations.
“Robert Mondavi produces that amount in a weekend,” Tiberia says. “We’re more a boutique winery, which we’re perfectly happy with.”
As you drive to the winery, located a few miles north of the historic town square, you pass houses with huge green lawns adjacent to tawny wheat fields. Take a curving right past horses shading under an awning, and you’re here. Mesquite trees stand in full sun, while clusters of prickly pear cacti frame the entrance gate. A few rows of grapevines hang in the distance. Beyond is the forever-flat-top of Comanche Peak, an old Native American hideout that watches over Granbury.
The tasting and event room is a former horse and cattle barn made of rock and wood accented by a slanting tin roof rusted in spots. The unmarked entrance door is opposite wild watermelon vines showing first signs of fruit.
“Do I know you?” Tiberia asks, as you walk through the door. “No? Maybe? Let’s find out.”
Tiberia is a toned, tan man who looks like he’d be just as comfortable running a survival camp as he is serving wine. Despite all the awards his wine has won over the past 10 years, he’s humble, only opening up about them when prodded.
“Yeah, we’ve entered a few competitions, and when we do we usually medal,” he says. “But they’re so subjective, we don’t take too much stock in the awards.”
Tiberia’s trade is making sure your wine experience is good. The room houses two wooden tables, and stacks of folding chairs lean against the walls, ready to be used for monthly events. Several abstract and Western paintings hang on the walls, making the place more like an art gallery than a tasting room.
The atmosphere of high-brow and low-brow makes Barking Rocks an interesting place to visit in Granbury, a town that strives to keep one foot in the country while reaching for high-dollar tourism stars.
Money, though, doesn’t matter to Tiberia.
“Sure, if some restaurant wanted to buy a ton of cases from us, I’d do it in a heartbeat,” he says. “But, really, this is what we like, selling wine to walk-in customers, meeting people, making the experience more personal.”
He signs every bottle you buy, and before you leave, you hear him say to visitors, “Our sole goal is to make wines that taste good.”
It may not be Napa Valley, but Barking Rocks and its vintner has heart. And that’s the first essential ingredient to any great wine.
Send to KindleMontreal
A few weeks ago, I visited Montreal for work. I did some things. I saw some things. I took pictures of things.
Send to KindleJourneys: The Midwives of Thought
Lately, I’ve been reading all of the introductory essays in the Best American Travel Writing series, and I’ve noticed a recurring theme: storytelling. That seems like a “well duh” theme, but series editor Jason Wilson and the guest editors hit home the same point year after year—specifically, great travel stories are just that, stories. Sure, one can read articles full of facts and figures, and that’s great if you’re memorizing them for a test, but in reality, how many of those facts and figures will you remember a year from now? I’d place a bet that you’d remember a story that ignites your senses more than one that rattles off trivia like counting sheep.
So, how do we get to a place in our lives where a travel experience becomes more than a trip and one in which it becomes so much a part of us that we feel the need to share it with others?
In The Art of Travel, philosopher Alain de Botton may have the answer. De Botton—best know for his book How Proust Can Change Your Life—ruminates on why we travel and how we can make our travels more satisfying and memorable. The key, to him, is in the details, taking time to ask the questions of why and how about destinations. Instead of following a guidebook, for example, and letting it tell you what is important in a city and why it’s important, de Botton suggests that you step away from the common tourist flow and follow your own path.
“What, then, is a travelling mind-set?” de Botton asks. “Receptivity might be said to be its chief characteristic. Receptive, we approach new places with humility. We carry with us no rigid ideas about what is or is not interesting.”
To de Botton, “journeys are the midwives of thought.” Introspective time spent on a plane (or in a car or train) can open up the mind to new ideas that otherwise would have been blunted in everyday, working life. This reflection gives us time to formulate why we enjoyed our trip, or why we’re even taking one.
De Botton’s fascinating, philosophical book has caused me not only to be more mindful of my travels, but to explore why I enjoy travel stories and what I enjoy about them.
Upon contemplation, the travel articles that I enjoy are the ones that, as Wilson says, “transcend their chosen destinations.” I enjoy writers who “understand that a trip’s context is as important as the trip itself.”
In the 2002 Best American Travel Writing introduction, guest editor Frances Mayes wrote, “I found that what I remembered, what seemed to transcend topic and what affected me were not only essays with a grounded sense of place, but ones written in a highly personal voice.”
This personal voice, though, can only be found with introspection, contemplation of what is going on around you, breaking down what your senses are registering and figuring out what they mean to you.
A good way of doing so is through writing and telling stories. Sharing with others your experience not only entertains, but makes you more aware of what you’re sharing. You may self-censor a story, because you don’t think others will find it interesting. That is when you should stop and ask, “Why don’t I find this interesting?” Only then can you begin to enjoy the art of traveling (and the art of storytelling) for what it really is—a journey of self discovery.
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