Stories along the way
Stories of travel and experience while making my way
around the world
Me and the grizzly
I took a long deep breath as I sank into the sofa of my living room. I faced the floor to ceiling windows looking out into the quiet morning. Black coffee was in hand and a plate of buttered toast was resting on my lap. The coffee and toast made me feel like it was any quiet Sunday back in my tiny Brooklyn apartment. This wasn't Brooklyn though. That was made quite clear as I slowly lifted my gaze from the coffee mug to see what was now standing tall and proud just beside me. It was a 1,000 pound grizzly bear. Its mouth opened, about to let out a long growl and one paw reached into the air, poised to grab whatever veered into its path. I had no fear though. The bear’s presence was actually comforting. Like he was simply there to breathe in the morning with me. That morning I had awoken in a cottage I was renting in Seward, a fishing village in Alaska. I had arrived at the cottage just the night before. The bear had been standing proud in that living room, stuffed, since 2000. He was clearly the home owner’s prize possession. He was, after all, the center of attention and the largest object, or creature, in the room. Facing out from the sofa, the bear and I gazed through the windows across the land that faded right up into snow capped Alaskan mountains.
The feeling that morning in Seward was fresh and reflective. The sun was up for 20 hours a day which cut through the chill of the Alaskan morning. I looked over at the bear, meeting his eyes. I felt sad he was stuck inside with me and not roaming outside. Learning more about his land and his abilities. He was reminding me how fierce and majestic it can be outside the glass. Realizing there was so much I still had to experience out there beyond the windows. For the moment, we were together, breathing in the peace you only get with the silence of a secluded Alaskan morning and those immovable mountains.
After breakfast, I laced up my boots, finally to be used for work and not fashion. I began the 4 mile hike from the cottage to a local farm for horseback riding. My Google maps implied a fork existed along the winding road I was walking. It looked like it would take me to the main highway where the farm was located. My phone and I were however outwitted by the Alaskan back roads. I paced back and forth for a while trying to find anything that resembled a path. Eventually a jeep drove towards me and stopped. With slight hesitation the stranger asked through the passenger window if I was looking for something. I ran numerous scenarios through my head at lightning speed, all ended badly for a woman who was approached on the side of an abandoned Alaskan road. But I answered, "Um Bardy’s Horse Farm? I thought there was a path that goes out to the interstate from here." He turned to look straight ahead down the road for a second before responding. "There is, but it's been grown over for a few years. You could still take it, you just need to fight through the trees for a bit. Or…I can drop you off, I'm on my way to town." I peered inside the jeep to see fishing poles, scattered old books, and tackle boxes. Then I noticed his full white beard looking back at me and waiting for an answer. "Oh really? Are you sure? You really wouldn’t mind?" Maybe this is what you do in Alaska I thought? You take a chance on the kindness of strangers because there aren’t a lot of options. Before finishing my thought, I found myself climbing in the jeep and closing the door. It was only a 12 minute drive to the horse farm but I learned all about the kind man. He told me all about how he and his wife took a chance on Alaska decades ago and never looked back. They told themselves they would stay for just 6 months, that was 25 years ago. He had a few grandchildren and was retired from an engineering job in the lower 48. He also knew the owner of the house I was renting. "We all know each other out here. You need to."
The kind man pulled off the highway and dropped me in front of the farm. He wished me luck. I smiled and thanked him again. He turned the jeep around and was off further into town for his weekly errands. His friendly chat and hearing about the chances he took, gave me a whole new sense of confidence in the things I was trying for the first time. Who was this woman going horseback riding through the last frontier on a whim? I don't know, but I was starting to realize I liked her a lot more than I thought.
I believe one of the greatest luxuries in life is the indulgence of dining out alone. At first it’s uncomfortable. Are others looking at me and judging me? Does this mean I’m lonely? The answer is no and no. And then, suddenly, you become addicted to it. Addicted to no food judgment. Addicted to every bite being yours. Addicted to new books that you always bring along. Addicted to learning something silly from the bartender who loves to chat. Addicted to meeting strangers who each have a story to tell. Often, you can stay as long as you want, taking up just one cozy bar stool.
I have traveled solo many times. I have no plans to give up the indulgence. Inevitably though, it means occasionally dining alone on a Saturday night. Depending on where I am, it can feel awkward when solo on a traditional date night. But when I choose to travel alone, Saturday night will approach. Hotel bars have been my favorite way to tackle the anxiety. They cater to out of town visitors already - many in similar solo sailboats.
On my first solo holiday in London I wandered into The Rosewood Hotel which housed the Holborn Restaurant. Creatively named for the neighborhood. Whether you are a fan of hotel bars or not, the Rosewood is one of the most gorgeous 5 star hotels in or outside of London. Plus an awe inspiring lobby to enjoy as a bonus.
I noticed the stunning brasserie interior right away with striking red leather booths and a bar along the right side of the restaurant. The bar had similar red leather stools and a wide copper top that openly invited you to stay for dinner and slowly sip a martini.
A young hostess greeted me, genuine and sweet. I explained it was just me and I’d love to sit at the bar. She smiled boldly and confided that she wished she could take herself out solo. I encouraged her to take herself out on a solo date immediately. It is the best I assured her. She excitedly offered me a newspaper from the hotel’s collection and was proud she thought of the accompaniment. I raised my little satchel to show her my books. She was impressed that I came prepared with not one, but two books. She walked me over to the bar and offered me my choice of a few open seats. She wished me a lovely solo date night and paused to smile again before running back to her post. I was happy to start the evening with that brief encounter with my temporary new friend.
Small individual gold lamps adorned the copper bar to provide some forced but welcome romance. I started with a vodka martini before moving to wine, both delicious. The meal was nice but not as memorable. The reliability of a hotel restaurant, even a 5 star one. Looking back, I should have also stopped in Scarfes Bar, also within the hotel, and a favorite for martinis.
I leisurely moved through my date and thumbed through the books I packed. Breaking stride to chat about London with the bartender. He was mostly dealing with wine orders, which meant I could steal away some of his time. I paid my bill without additional note. I asked where I’d find the restroom and he warned me it would be a maze, but directed me confidently.
​
It started with another swing through the hotel lobby, and true to his word, I found myself in a maze of halls and stairs that somehow led both up and down. Finally leading to an opulent restroom where I took advantage of the free beauty products and perfume. As I primped in the mirror for no reason, the door swung open with vigor. I jolted up and stood straight at the sudden entry of a beautiful older woman, nearly 6 feet, adorned in a black tiered dress and topped with a feather boa. Her energy immediately filled the space. She was suddenly in mid-conversation with me, no beginning. She applied deep maroon lipstick without slowing her speech. She complimented my perfume. She told me her party was driving her crazy. That the restroom was too small and that the night had just started. I liked that she complimented me. So I complimented her vibrant energy which sent her into giggles. She leaned her head back and flung her boa back around her neck as if exiting stage right following a standing ovation. With her lips stained red again, she tapped my shoulder and left just as she had entered. With a wild swing of the giant white door. It closed and I was alone in the mirror again. The whole encounter was so fast I’m not sure it even really happened. But happy for the laugh to wrap up my solo date night.
It was only 9pm, so I figured I’d walk off the wine and the meal back to my tiny Hyde Park hotel. London is similar to New York at night. The tourist areas become quieter and look less impressive without the foot traffic. However the surrounding streets show their character, their charm, and their quirks. Unique to London, the pubs entice and overflow with people chattering, swearing, or laughing. The patrons squeeze in and out of the entrance, piling onto the pavement to smoke and finish pints. They force you to dodge them as you attempt to zag your way to the next corner.
I’ve built up the courage to venture away from relying on hotel bars and instead indulge in the restaurants that I bookmark as ‘best of’, ‘must try’, or just come recommended by locals. Assuming of course, there is room for one. But I always appreciate the hotel bar memories, 5 star or not, and the 30 second friends who make it an easy way to take in one of the greatest luxuries in life.
Cheers. I’m off to dine on my own…somewhere in the world.
The Saturday night solo date
I’m in Sydney, Australia. Though I traveled to Sydney with two friends, I had to save a bit of money and skip some of the tours and pricier plans. Therefore I will spend a few days solo. Today is my first solo day, hiking in the Blue Mountains. Everyone talks about the views and the falls and the nearby towns near the mountains. So after figuring out the train routes and the buses for transfer; I found my way down to the Round Walk trail which leads out to Katoomba Falls. Almost immediately after finding my confident stride, I sunk into mud made from the rains the day before, coating my shoes. But I continue on. Less than an hour of hiking, I arrived at the falls. I sit on a bench to listen to my surroundings. I want to feel connected to something. It had been a weird month leading up this trip with overthinking and then some under-thinking. Only now, I feel overwhelmed. I’m trying to seek calm by the waterfalls, but the bench quickly becomes a beacon for moths. The other tourists are walking the trails. I of course should have known it would be full of other hikers if everyone visiting Sydney was proclaiming their love for the Blue Mountains. The recommendation is the reason I came out here. I don’t understand why they can’t be silent like me. They fill the edges of the rushing water sounds with their talking. Talk of selfie taking, their displeasure in having to climb more steps ahead, and their observations of nothing important. I hate that I hate them for reminding me I’m alone, me thinking solace is better than their cheap talk. Each minute I sit beside the waterfall brings a new batch of photo taking talkers. A pacman like cycle of the same people over and over again. It feels better to blame their interruptions on my lack of peace. But the truth is my focus is held hostage by my own fear. The fear of failure, the possibility of always being alone, thoughts that I’m just not good enough. If only I could leave my belongings sitting on this bench and jump down the falls to wash out the self loathing. I could emerge back out and join the conversations.
Into the Australian waterfall
How to get lost on purpose
The new year had just begun and I was at the airport awaiting a flight. My nerves had been intense leading up to that day but standing at the gate, they seemed to have disappeared. I was going to the other side of the world to adventure like I had never adventured before. The gate wasn't very full, so it was looking like an undersold flight. Could I be lucky enough to have a row to myself? I got to board the plane early, thanks to riding the coattails of my diamond Delta friend. Quickly I realized that yes, with the flight undersold, my whole row was going to be mine alone. A good start to the trip. I was actually going to be able to sleep somewhat.
Eleven hours in the air and one terribly long train ride later, we had arrived. It was nearly 10PM and stimulation was everywhere. Young partiers ran past on their way to the next stop, music pumped from what seemed like the sky, go-kart riders rolled past dressed in furry animal costumes, a five point street crossing known the world over was packed, and lights flickered so bright they put Times Square to shame.​ We were in Shibuya, Tokyo.
After checking into the hotel, we crossed the street and walked into a small buy busy ramen shop. I immediately dug into maybe the best bowl of ramen my little life had experienced and a cold Japanese beer. That is after my friend showed me how to order from the smart tech ramen machine, which was beyond me. As exhausted as my body was from travel, my mind was wide awake and I wanted that warm ramen broth to last forever. I stared out the window of the shop onto the little street and couldn't believe how perfect the moment felt. In the days that followed I found that the fish, prepared as sashimi or sautéed into dishes, is next level. The ramen layered in flavor and the tempura impossibly light and delicate. Each meal challenged my senses more and more. It’s surprising I even had the energy to participate in activities when life changing food was around every corner. But we had anime to question, stunning shrines to admire, alley bars to pop into, and markets to shop. Plus, subways to learn and new people to meet. ​
Style and purpose is elevated in Japan. From posture to coffee sipping to the cardigan that pulls an outfit together. It’s all done with purpose. Everything seems done with care. The politeness is contagious. The order and cleanliness is addicting. ​Tokyo in particular is the embodiment of cool. It’s the small batch whiskey to the rest of the world’s overly sweet cocktail. It’s the first city outside New York that I felt the desire to stay forever. Be lost there forever. The sheer overwhelming size of it and the endless number of neighborhoods, you could spend a lifetime in Tokyo and still not have seen everything. ​Altogether, we spent 8 days in Japan - across Tokyo and Kyoto. The last couple days, the other women ventured to Osaka while I stayed back to wander around Tokyo for 24 hours alone. It's been a couple months now since returning home, but I’m missing it a lot today. Remembering the feeling of being on the other side of the world.
I have no plans in New York this weekend. So why can’t I have no plans while getting lost in Tokyo? I think I may need a cold sake and tuna sashimi to get me through until Monday.
A tourist sighting in Cusco, Peru
The altitude never did get to me in Cusco which meant nothing stood in my way when I woke up at 6am to walk across the entire city. A long walk along streets, alleys, and abusive stone staircases before looping back to have breakfast at a spot I saw early in my walk. It's a coffee shop inside a simple open doorway along one of the alleys. As is the case most mornings at coffee shops, I was their first customer of the day. I opened with the basics, “Hola, buenos días.” The barista smiled, acknowledging I was trying my best. I ordered a flat white and avocado and eggs. I sat at a round table and pulled out my books. Something about the cafe’s quiet state and its open air courtyard, dotted by small flower pots put me in a daydream-like state. A few locals and other tourists eventually joined me. I tried to slowly sip the strong coffee to make it last longer even as it got cold, so I could stay daydreaming. The opposite of how anyone should enjoy a carefully made espresso drink.
Cusco, Peru caters to tourists who descend on the city for climbing and camping in the local mountains as well as the visits to Maccu-Pichu. We’d overwhelm the town but they have built a season out of hospitality. They entertain our silly adventures. They smile like a parent when we think we are among the first to discover how brilliant and charming the city is. We don’t notice how they are ushering us with precision through the motions of coffee and lunch and then packing us onto the trains each hour. They warmly send us out on our way to life-altering hikes. Sure there is an economy baked into tourism. But it’s also a show of kindness. They share their home and their city with the visitors. They open our palettes to pisco, local fruit, rich dishes, and of course the coffee.
My cup finally ran dry. I begrudgingly packed my books back up and shyly waved to the barista. The courtyard was still so quiet with only the sound of spoons and forks against cups and plates. I could hear my footsteps on the stone. As I listen to the sound of my footsteps tapping and crunching, I’m reminded how far away I am from home. Personally I like that feeling though.
The next stop was my little hotel on the hill to get ready before a curated tour outside the city. I had rightly assumed the other girls would be on their way to breakfast themselves by now. Leaving me the room to shower and change. Sure enough, within the hour, we were watching artisans knitting with alpaca yarn. Followed by a viewing of Christo Blanco and the Sacsayhuaman fortress, and learning more about the Inca who made Cusco the capital of their empire. Whose engineering is still astounding us centuries later. We happily played our roles as tourists that day. Grateful for the kindness of everyone in that charming city we found ourselves in.
Waiting out the rain in Bordeaux
A year ago this week I was fulfilling the dream of a trip around France. Two women who have taught me how to travel over the past few years were my companions for the week. We began in Paris, made our way to Bordeaux, drove to Provence and into Châteauneuf-du-Pape before finally returning back to Paris on the train. On our last night in Paris I turned 36. That isn’t really the story though. Back in Bordeaux earlier in the week, we had gone through a debacle where one of us lost the keys to the AirBnB in a taxi. It look multiple phone calls and a waitress to translate our anxiety to French when talking to the driver. We eventually retrieved the keys from the kind driver who turned around 20 minutes out of his way. As we awaited him to meet us it started to rain. It was mid afternoon and we were in a bustling square so we ran up to one of the cafes and sat down at a table under a large awning. We were served a round of wine and sat back to take a deep breath. The day was only half over but we had already tired ourselves. The rain was making the air cooler and pleasant so we sat quietly looking out at the square from our table. Typically when I daydream my mind drifts to the things I want and don’t have. But the rain and the wine, the plans for dinner later, and the women sitting beside me all kept my daydream focused on the present. A present that felt steady, soothing, perfect. Bordeaux wasn’t the most amazing part of the trip. That would be the 2 days in Châteauneuf-du-Pape or maybe the champagne at the Eiffel Tower or the birthday dinner in Paris those women planned. But it was Bordeaux where I realized daydreams don’t have to be longing for some future want. Sometimes they are just a reminder of what’s already happening. I turn 37 this week. The view is a bit different this year. I’m in New York. It’s unseasonably warm and sunny for October. I have to say though, I wouldn’t mind a little rain to go with my wine.
Sunday brunch in California
The title is misleading. This isn’t about the brunch, though the brunch was nice. This is about a weekend visit where a woman mixed with anxiety, pride, and excitement got to show off the life she worked so hard to build. The life she sometimes thinks others judge, but they never have. The woman and her husband have two kids at 4 and nearly 2. They are kind by nature, as loud as you’d expect them to be, and express every emotion like it’s going out of style. My only hope is that they never grow out of any of it. My visit to them in Sacramento included meals made at home and meals out in town. Mimosas and lunch in a nearby vineyard, two casual wine tastings, the aforementioned brunch, neighborhood pool time, coloring & story time, documentary watching, and one night, 4 entire pizzas.
Plus, an adults only trip to a trendy industrial chic coffee house, named ‘Identity Coffee.' While the kids got to hang out with a neighborhood babysitter. A beautiful caffeinated break from the house to talk only grown up topics together. I thought Brooklyn had hipster coffee cornered - but congrats Sacramento, you win. A giant open air concrete space with large coffee roasters and multiple pour over varieties were available while dozens of customers work on their Macs. The space was made even more interesting by massive slices of wood that looked like you peeled them straight from the tall California trees lined the wall behind the coffee roasters as they apparently awaited to be made into custom tables in an adjoining wood shop. Not just for show, it did appear real woodworking was happening in the back.
As I packed to leave that afternoon, I took a look around the house they built from the foundation up. I thought how fast things change. Not a bad thing - - just fast.
Happily the weekend wasn't completely over. It was extending into a night in San Francisco. Just the thing the woman and I needed to connect or well reconnect our friendship. Our first stop was Nopa. Mistakenly thinking we’d just slip into seats at the bar like no big deal - no one goes to Nopa on a Sunday right? Wrong. It was packed to capacity. Lucky for me, the woman has an ‘oh this is still really cool’ attitude built into her DNA. So we stood purses in hand sipping delicious pink hued cocktails. The night cascaded into dinner and into a walk across Alamo Park for photos and selfies against cold wind. Finally a dip into a dark unassuming bar for more serious talking and remembering old times. The woman and I mostly talked about what it meant to sit with a cocktail and feel the comforts of 13 years of friendship. The night wrapped up and we parted with promises of another one soon. Though likely not until next year when I'd cross the country again for a return visit. The women knew this night could sustain them for at least that long. ​
Sunday brunch was at Paragarys back in Sacramento. The avocado toast wasn’t bad, the cinnamon roll was glorious, and the garden seating was a nice touch.
Savory scone
In breaking my Sunday scone open for another bite I lost crumbs to the other end of the table, I had to reach out and clean quickly before anyone saw how graceless my nature is. I noticed the barista leaning on her elbows, her head balancing in her hands. She was listening intently to the customer who chose to sip his macchiato at the side counter, close to her station. He was a handsome, animated storyteller. Handsome in the way that you can see his kindness and warmth right there in his eyes. I was a safe enough distance away that their words were all in silence, further masked by the spitting of a cappuccino machine. ​ Their brewing friendship made me smile though and I felt a tiny bit more ready to conquer Sunday.
