The Big Easy Part 2

Day three of New Orleans I was on my own so I headed back to the French Quarter and had beignets at Café Du Monde, a fried dough pastry hidden by a mound of powdered sugar. I then checked out the inside of the cathedral, which had a gorgeous interior. The stained glass windows were so impressive, and the Stations of the Cross were in French. The cathedral also paid a deal of homage to St. Anthony, so I took a good long while to show my deepest appreciation. I had lost my cell phone during the wild night on Bourbon Street, and it was miraculously returned to me by a cab driver. I had no one but St. Anthony to thank for that one.

I then strolled for hours along every possible side street, popping in and out of collectable shops and art galleries. A poor curator actually thought I had $3,000 to buy a painting - I really am not sure why. Maybe the pearls I had just bought at the French Market suggested a bigger bank account? At the French Market I went to the various venders, trying on Mardi Gras masks colored in blues, purples, golds and silvers, glitter, pearls and feathers. Alligator heads greet you at every turn, beads dangle from every surface. Local art and pieces of jewelry line the tables. It was pretty neat – and cheap!

The amount of stores I could enter was endless, but I had to head back to Esplanade, another street lined with live oaks, banana trees, bright flowers, and balconies.

Day four, my last day, I headed back to the French Market and was determined to eat Jambalaya. Ever since I had studied New Orleans in French class, I’d wanted to try that sticky, spicy rice dish. So I plopped down at a café, ordered up a bowl and a daiquiri, and let the jazz band play. It hit the spot. I then sampled some local pralines on my way out of the neighborhood, and as I returned to S’ house, I was dreading the fact that I was going to board a plane in a few short hours. On the walk, I literally stopped and smelled the roses growing on a stranger’s lawn, and they were delightful.

What amazed me about NOLA was how there was so much music playing, yet none of the sounds interfered with each other. I expected a cacophony, but somehow either they just worked in sync, or you couldn’t hear one band before you hit the next. At one end of a little road island there was a jazz band, at the other was a brass band, only separated by a praline shop. But - it wasn't a musical disaster, it was just a natural flow as you moved down the sidewalk. The people were just as friendly as I expected, and the food was exceptionally good – gumbo is on my list for the next trip I make there.

New Orelans is a city that just wants to have fun, and wants to make sure you have fun, otherwise it hasn’t done its job right. I didn’t have a Springbreak-esque vacation of debauchery. Instead it was just fun, and refreshing, and while extremely hot, it was enlightening in so many ways. I’ll be back in the bayou, that’s a promise.

Laissez les Bon Temps Rouler!

Ah New Orleans. Living it up Southern style in the Big Easy. I can’t say I really knew what to expect before I arrived, aside from the wild stories about Mardi Gras and jazz. So to say the least, I was more than pleasantly surprised by all I discovered on my little weekend jaunt in October.
As the plane descended I looked below me and saw this giant body of water with a narrow bridge spanning across. The Gulf? The Mississippi? Turns out it was Lake Pontchartrain, and I was in absolute awe of the size of this lake. I must’ve looked like a little kid on their first plane trip, face practically glued to the window, smiling like a fool waiting to land and ready to explore all below me.
I arrived in the evening and decided to stroll around the airport while I waited for my friend S to pick me up. A giant Louis Armstrong statue graced the airport lobby, across from a restaurant that advertised gumbo and crawfish. The bookstore was filled with Cajun Cookin’ recipe books, shot glasses covered in alligators that don a chef’s apron and hat, and plenty of Mardi Gras masks grinning from ear to ear. Suffice to say, I was starting to get excited. When I stepped outside – the south smacked me right in the face. Humid is an understatement - the ends of my hair began instantly curling. Then a teenage boy drove by me in a dusty red pickup truck, his arm stretched along the back of the seat inside the cab – just like in a country music video. The sun was only just beginning to go down, so a golden hue took over the entire area. Suddenly the cappuccino I’d just bought felt completely out of place, because baby, we were not in New York anymore.
When S pulled up I could’ve skipped all the way to town in excitement for all that lay ahead. As we drove along he started explaining our surroundings, describing the different sections of the city, assuring me the endless strip malls had nothing to do with the New Orleans I was going to experience. We passed the Superdome, and I tried to actually imagine the Hurricane Katrina victims piling inside the structure, and as enormous as it looked with the sun reflecting off the gold paint, I struggled to picture the surrounding city packed inside its walls.

After arriving at S and his friends' yellow house I was stupefied. These 3 boys who I’d known in college had this adorable home with a blue cement porch and white columns. Inside there was a huge, cozy, open room that led into a kitchen with an island. An ISLAND.
Now laissez les bon temps rouler! S took me to a famous sandwich place for dinner, Parkway, that sits on a bayou and serves any kind of po’boy you can dream up and eat. I had barbequed beef…with pickles, on French bread. So good.

Then we headed into the French Quarter, cracking open beers – which you can drink openly on the street. As much as I tried I couldn’t stop looking over my shoulder, expecting a tap on the shoulder from a police officer, the goody two-shoes in me trying to relax. We strolled along dimly lit streets, looking up at wrought iron awnings with ivy spreading across buildings, dangling above 200-year-old porches. One house would have a hacienda feel, the next would have that Ole South look, and neither looked out of place. I could start to hear the beat of a brass band in the distance, mixed with laughter pouring outside of quaint little restaurants. We walked until we couldn’t walk any further and reached the Mississippi bank, a bridge on the horizon and lights from the riverboats dancing on the waves. We strolled toward the glowing Jax Beer sign, which I learned they no longer make, but keep the sign as a piece of its history. We walked back toward Jackson Square, and above us on a roof a swinging band played boisterous jazz. I couldn’t see them, but I could picture each musician swaying with the their horn protruding like a beak, and couples twirling each other around or clinking drinks garnished with fruit. Can’t you? The fountain we passed contained a statue of 5 iron men, each playing an instrument of their own. All I could think was, ‘Even their fountains are musicians.’ Jackson Square was full of more musicians, artists, and it sat beneath the glow of St. Louis Cathedral, a mammoth white building that could give Cinderella’s Castle a run for its money.

We then made our way along the street that is home to famous bars like Pat O’Brien’s and Preservation Hall. We turned onto another street with a saint or a French name…St. Ann or maybe Decateur. Just a block ahead was a marching band, creating a parade all their own. We decided it was a high school marching band, complete with color guard and cheerleaders. For a brief moment we joined the procession, and before we knew it we entered the Frenchman neighborhood. Ahead of this parade, was another one, with multiple brass bands made of giant tubas, trombones, tambourines, trumpets and clarinets galore. Spontaneously, a note sprung out, the instruments joined in, and the most fun version of “When The Saints Go Marching In” started playing. There wasn’t a single person who wasn’t bouncing along, including S and me. Once it ended we headed back to the rest of the French Quarter, and finally, Bourbon Street.
Oh Bourbon Street. It was a random Saturday night in October, and the street was packed shoulder to shoulder. People holding dripping plastic cups, covered in beads and feathers. The balconies were lined with patrons, holding bags of beads they showered on the passersby below – and at rapid speed. The street sparkled with plastic shades of purple, green and gold. Why anyone would go to Times Square when they could go to Bourbon Street instead is beyond me.

After getting a little overwhelmed we headed to Pat O’Brien’s for my first of quite a few Hurricanes – a drink made of rum and passion fruit. The courtyard contained a fountain that had fire at the top – it was quite an engineering feat. The deal was sealed sipping those Hurricanes and staring simultaneously at rushing water and flickering flames – I loved New Orleans.
The next day S took me on the St. Charles street car. It’s a long trip up this gorgeous street, that heads into the Uptown area. You pass gorgeous dollhouse after gorgeous dollhouse of many colors. Peach with green shutters. Yellow with black shutters. White with Grecian columns. They were just stunning. My favorite part? The Spanish Moss dangling from the trees. Between the humidity and that silver yarn hanging off the branches, I felt like a 7-year-old in Jacksonville all over again. After an hour or so, the trolley dropped us off just below the Financial District, so we checked out Bourbon Street in the daylight.

Less of a party, but still a party. The Saints game was on, and the atmosphere was pretty exciting. Even though they aren’t playing well, the city is so thrilled by this team. Shop windows are filled with gold, black and white and signs shouting “GEAUX SAINTS!” as you pass. We watched some of the game, then decided it was time for muffulettas. A giant, hot sandwich packed with ham, pastrami, salami, roast beef, swiss cheese and chopped olives. I was reluctant at first, but it was DELICIOUS.

To be continued...

It's a Dry Heat

No matter how many times I visit Tucson, Arizona, I can't get enough of it's beauty and well, how different it is from the East Coast. Saguaro Cacti dot the horizon in every direction and there is no sunset like a Southwest sunset. The sky turns a brilliant orange with watercolor like strokes of saffron and red, smeared with pink, blue and purple hues around a fireball of sunshine. You could get lost staring into the warm sky, basking in its glow...dreaming up romantic notions and conjuring up fantasies of walking into the distance to start a new life, or perhaps even being proposed to by a man with strong arms wrapped around your shoulders. That's the intensity of an Arizona sunset.

I went before the hoopla of the state's controversial immigration law. It's a pity so much attention is being paid to the state's crackdown on illegal immigration. There is so much beauty and many untapped treasures lying about. I went in April to visit my family and spend time with my adorable nephews who I rarely get to see and don't exactly get to watch grow up.

I flew into Tucson airport, grateful to be away from the cold wind and rain of New York for a few days. It was 80 degrees when I stepped outside waiting for my brother to pick me up. The first thing I saw in the distance were the Santa Catalina Mountains, caps dusted in snow while the brown base was a patchwork of brush and cacti. In the car we talked about the boys and even my brother couldn't stop talking about those snow-capped mountains - with a hint of pride in his voice over both topics.

At his house I waited for the boys to rush in the door - and when they did they were so excited and timid...cautiously approaching me with a bouquet of flowers. But from then on it was fun and games and getting to know two adorable little men.

The next day we went to C's final t-ball game and I babysat A during the game, while cheering on my favorite 2nd baseman. Later we took a walk around the neighborhood. By this lovely pond you can see more mountains in the distance, reflecting off the unnaturally blue water thanks to the clear sky.
On Sunday we hit the desert museum which is quite possibly my favorite part of Tucson. It's a wildlife reserve that's much better than a zoo. The animals have more space and you get pretty close to the prairie dogs (my favorite) and all the big wild cats. My only disappointment this time was the river otters were taking a nap instead of doing their water acrobatics in the pond.

A few days later we did visit the local zoo which I adore because talk about being close to the animals! The tiger leans up against the glass - which you can put your hands against should you dare. You can feed the giraffes and the elephants are so close I almost feel like you could reach out and they'd high-five you with their trunks.

A few days later we hit the spring training game for the Rockies and Padres - and of course that day dropped down to the 50s and rained. However my little 2nd baseman impressed the Padres pitcher so much he gave him a baseball! Good work!

More to come...

Blankets, how do they work?

I know I normally only post about my adventures abroad - but this is just too good to not talk about.
SNL did an amazing parody of the Insane Clowne Posse's "Miracles," which is quite possibly the most absurd song and video in existence. And that's saying a lot, especially if you've ever really watched the "Total Eclipse of the Heart" video.
Kudos to Ryan Phillipe and other dude, who I really do like.
http://www.hulu.com/watch/143249/saturday-night-live-outrageous-clown-squad-kickspit-dirt-festival#s-p2-sr-i1

For reference, here's the original, mind-blowing video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=atgtJKpHkwo&feature=related

Enjoy.

San Francisco

It's where cable cars climb halfway to the stars. It's where you meet gentle people in the street...and often you leave your heart there....San Francisco. I recently visited that enchanting city on the west coast and think it about it almost every day. Rarely has a place just mesmorized me like San Francisco. It's such a unique city with it's Painted Lady-style homes, steep hills and unbeatable view of the water.
S and I took an early morning flight and slept soundly for the six hours until we landed. I had never been to the west coast before, so I was incredibly excited. We turned out to be quite the resourceful pair and managed our way on BART and headed to our hotel. S has been to San Fran before, so she was a very useful guide. We strolled down some frightening and smelly streets and realized our hotel was in a bit of a ghetto. Okay. Then we realized we arrived hours before check-in, so we left our bags with the desk and set off on our adventure. We headed straight for Fisherman's Wharf and when my eyes gazed upon Attica in the distance, I couldn't believe it. For such a gruesome history, it is a breathtaking sight. To an unknowing observer it's just an island with a massive building sitting peacefully in the bay, with sailboats gliding by - it's quite picturesque. We strolled through the adorable shops along the bordwalk and ate at a tasty Italian restaurant. As I was about to eat a forkful of salad I squeeled with glee at the sight of the sea lions lounging below. There were so many of them!! Lolling about on the docks by the boats, diving in and out of the water. They looked like fat, tan ladies lounging beside a pool in the Riviera. Mahvelous!
We then proceeded to get sunscreen for my skin and shampoo for her hair, then off to get dessert in Ghiradelli Square. Can I just tell you - their ice cream was delicious. Delicious I say! We split a sundae drizzled in chocolate and I died. Well obviously not, but you get the point. It's a good thing they have so many hills to work off those calories because next we trudged up one of the steepest hills I have ever seen and walked up. Literally at one point we stopped and turned around to see what progress we had made and just started laughing from hysteria and exhaustion. We still had so far to go. It was like going up the beginning of a roller coaster. Finally we reached the top (of that hill at least) and I couldn't believe how gorgeous the bay looked in virtually every direction. The Golden Gate bridge was so awe-inspiring from where I stood. It was peaceful. But the rest lasted only for a moment.
We weren't too far from Lombard Street...that incredibly curvy and famous street....so we trucked in that direction, all the while muttering "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can." Lombard Street is so pretty! It's covered in magenta hydrangeas and the houses are so unique. One in particular was a lovely shade of blue, with the hot pink flowers and bright green leaves sprouting all around it and climbing up its side.
At the bottom a newly married couple was taking wedding photos with the wacky street as their backdrop. S and I decided to make our way over to SF's version of Union Square to see how it compared to our beloved one in NYC. On the way I dragged her into a gorgeous church to check out their stained glass and architecture. It's tradition to make a wish inside a new church...and I got mine, but I'll never tell what it was.
We strolled through a park and after what seemed like hours, we finally arrived in Union Square. It was a fun, hip little area so we went into Saks to look at clothes I can't afford. And it was great because after all that flying and walking I felt disgusting, which wasn't all exagerrated by the fact that I was surrounded by models and perfect-looking salespeople. After trying on some adorable dresses, we checked out the artwork in the park and almost went into a Food Network wine and food tasting event. Turns out you needed to be on a list and pay more money than I was willing.
We had plans to meet my friend for dinner in Chinatown so we made the exhausting trek home to our hotel. That's when we discovered our air conditioning didn't work and our shower required a nuclear engineer to turn on. But eventually it all worked out.
We thought it'd be a good idea to walk to the restaurant but it took a ridiculously long time, so we made my friend wait a ridiculously long time. He must not have been too mad because he invited us to party at his place later that evening. First we joined up with more friends and then had a night on the town meeting locals and playing pool. One for the books. Quite possibly in my top five thanks to a surprisingly successful game, surfer boys, rooftops, and balconies.
Next day we checked out the Painted Ladies and had way too much singing the theme song from "Full House" and posing for goofy pictures. Then we made our way to Haight-Ashbury and encountered many many dirty hippes. I thought hippies were supposed to be nice, but the ones we encountered were absolutely not. In fact they were incredibly unnerving. One hippie chick had an adorable pig and threatened to charge S for petting it. But all in all it was a very cool area. Our friend E suggested we go for Dim Sum in Chinatown which sounded fun, but wasn't at all. I have no idea what I ate, but the experience made up for the because Chinese dragons paraded through and did flips and crazy stunts and it was just really exciting. That night we attended a soccer game...Mexico vs. Portugal - it was CRAZY! but so much fun. Those fans are nuts!
On our final day we headed up to Napa Valley on this prepaid tour. We drove over the Golden Gate and then reached our first winery. Deliciousness ensued. S chatted up the barkeep so we received quite a few extra tastings, and after we purchased a really delicious lunch and ate on picnic tables. Then we hit the Chandon winery for some sparkling wine - which was basically my heaven. The next three were also delightful and beautiful. At the end of the trip we all dozed on the bus ride home, and then relaxed on a ferry trip back to 'Frisco. That night we said goodbye to E, then headed to a really kitsch and cute restaurant in their Italian District. Courtesy S' mom's kindness, we enjoyed an elaborate meal with some of the best mashed potatoes/champ I've ever consumed. Oh and don't get me started on the bruschetta and gellato!!
Early the next morning we cabbed it back to SFO and I bid my west coast adventure adieu.
But I'll be back, that's a promise.

The Yoga Life

So I used to do yoga in high school and continued through college on my own with DVDs and yes - videos. But I was never disciplined with practicing, and somehow I'd like to change that. So I've decided to volunteer at a Yoga studio in NYC. Yes...I did say volunteer. Meaning I work for free, but get free yoga classes in exchange. Yesterday was my first stay and it was a startlingly jarring experience because it was nothing like I expected. It's a cute little studio in a trendy neighborhood, but I found it through a posting on Craiglist. When I responded looking for more information, I was greeted with a "Great! When can you start?" in my inbox...not quite what I was looking for but thought, oh heck let's for it, and I showed up Thursday afternoon. I thought it was going to be just a meet-and-greet, but I met a young girl named B who just threw me right in. It was only a two hour shift so I just learned how to sign people in (which I forsee being something that's going to give me major headaches in the future) and clean. Oh yea. I felt like I was back in high school working at a local ice cream shop where all I did was clean, clean, clean in between serving customers. But it's a pretty easy gig, and everyone seems delightful so far, but there inability to understand my bewilderment was confusing in and of itself. You see, I had zero information going in, so I was more or less expecting an interview, schedule discussion and job duties description. Instead I became a bonafide employee upon entering the door and within days I will be opening the store myself...after only 4 hours of training.
I arrived again today and did the exact same thing. I don't even like cleaning my own apartment for free, and now I'm doing it at a yoga studio. But I'm chalking it up to to a valued experience where I'm bound to meet characters galore...and it's something to do with my time when I'm not at my real job and it's FREE YOGA, in NYC. amazeballs. Updates to come.

Mr. Big Dog Juan

Oh Punta Cana. It's hard to write about all the laughs and memories but we really did have a great time. On one of the last nights we went to the Michael Jacson show. No that's not a typo. The MJ impersonator was dead-on, Michael might as well have been up on stage dancing himself. He mimicked all the dance moves perfectly. That night or maybe after the star show there was a pool-side fiesta and Liz competed in cocktail-making and-shaking contest- she should've won!!

The next night we met the Venezuelan boys. They were very funny. I met them while ordering my sangria. Juan fell in "love" with Kristin and from there it was mayhem. At the end of the night Andres, Juan, and Alejandro ended up in Liz and Jackie's room, and Andres snuggled himself right in with Katie and Katie. They lied about their age and girlfriends all night, but what did we care? The words Besos! Besos! were thrown around. And finally I kept telling Andres he was a big pero...which is how they say trouble. but Andres said no, Juan is the dog! "Mr. Big Dog Juan!" You had to be there but we didn't stop laughing all night. Of course I fell for the little one who spoke no English - Jon.

The next day we boarded a plane back for NYC. We landed in yucky, cold, gross, foggy weather. I only got a sunburn on my feet and parts of my legs, so for me it was a success! But I've got many more freckles - it's part of the sun deal.

So to recap....lots of sun and warm weather, a beautiful beach, a swim-up bar, lots of dancing and merengue. Mojitos, vodka limonadas, pina coladas, rum and cokes, sangria. I learned Spanish, I met cute boys, and I swam and snorkeled and drank great coffee. but now i'm back to reality! blech!