United States travel

Reloving America Summer 2013: On the Hudson River

This is my summer of re-love. I have returned to the United States for a mere two months, as I have done each summer since I relocated to Bologna, Italy three years ago. And I have been gifted a unique opportunity to be a tourist in my own country in the places that I once took for granted – places that I visited often for my whole life, and places that I lived. New York, Pittsburgh, Washington DC, and Southern California to be exact.


My father always told me that if I wanted to understand my relationship with a place I lived or a place I loved, I need to leave that place for some time before I can really have a good perspective on that place. Boy, was he right.
Every year that I have returned to America I have had a new perspective on it. But this summer is different. This summer is the summer that I have finally understood and accepted these places into my heart and how my connection to these places is forever embedded into my hard-wiring. And I am returning and truly appreciating everything, even the bad.


My first stop since arriving in America this summer is New York. My father’s side of the family immigrated to New York in the early 1900’s and lived in Brooklyn. My godmother and godfather moved out of the city decades ago to a tiny city along the Hudson River called Ossining.


The snapshot above is my favorite on my trip this far. Taken on the bank of the Hudson river, I am at left with my godmother Suzanne on the right, who is a second mother to me. In the picture below, thirty-three years ago, my godmother is holding me in almost the exact same spot where we are standing above on the bank of the Hudson River.

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Me and my godmother enjoying the Hudson sunset in 1980.

To think of everything that has happened in the 33 years since this picture was taken is pretty overwhelming. But this beautiful place is the same as it has always been, to me at least. Just an hour’s train ride from Grand Central Terminal, this other world of rolling hills and majestic lake views is sometimes easier to get to than Brooklyn. I realize I am lucky to have this beautifulness in my life, a place my dad has gone back to for decades, and a place my godmother still calls home. But I think we all have these beautiful places in our memories and in our hearts that are part of what makes us who we are. Sometimes it just takes some time to re-love them again.

Rediscovering America: An Italian in New York

Italy has taught me how to love my home again.  After thirty years in Southern California, and many summers and holidays in New York, I felt like I didn’t know how to have fun in my own country anymore.  Nothing seemed new and exciting.  I came to Italy in search of that warm fuzzy feeling again, and I found it.  But of course, as Murphy’s Law would have it, now that I am in Italy I miss the United States terribly.  A complex combination of “the grass is always greener,” legitimate cravings for food, friends, and family (not necessarily in that order), and a renewed thirst for traveling, my longing to explore America runs deep these days.

I share this new-found enthusiasm with the people who fill my life here in Italy.  From the bus to my English classes to my roommates and my favorite café, my days are spent meeting countless curious Italians, trying desperately to understand why I would leave such a beautiful place as San Diego to come to Bologna.  Their opinions of America are those rose-colored glasses I needed to begin a new love affair with America.  Stories of their impressions of and adventures in the United States always whet my appetite (again) for a trip home.

One of my favorite stories about Italians adventuring in America has come from one of my best English students, a very established Bolognese marketing professional, who knows more about American politics than I do.  He wrote this story about his first trip to the United States, when he went alone several decades ago before he was even twenty years old.  The first time he read it to me, I died laughing.  Hope you enjoy it nearly as much as I did.

My impressions about my journey in the United States.

By Paolo, October 2012

I was in Mexico at the end of February during a journey that I had begun two months before, and as you are probably aware, it was warm over there.  Suddenly I decided to go to New York, but in New York it was winter.  I left Bologna, Italy only with summer clothes because I had planned to go to the USA on another trip late in spring.  Well just a few days later I left Mexico and I touched down at J.F. Kennedy airport when I was under twenty years-old, without knowing English, without a hotel reservation and during the winter  dressed in  summer clothes.  It didn’t seem too bad!

I remember that at the gate of the airport I wore an alpaca overcoat that I had bought in Peru… but only as a present for a friend of mine.  But my friend was a  skinny girl! So imagine, I arrived at  customs, dressed like a hippy, with long hair and wearing this weird overcoat, Jimi Hendrix style.  They frisked me!

I found a taxi who drove me to  Manhattan.  I got out of the taxi, right in front of a hotel.  I took my suitcases which were very heavy because I had bought some stone objects,  and I went into the hotel.  It was fully booked! I found myself in the middle of a street  not knowing exactly where I was, without an idea of where I could go.  In addition it was getting dark and mean characters were coming towards me.   I was getting scared about the situation.  I tried  three or four other hotels and eventually I found a room.  The receptionist understood my position and smiled at me.  I went in the room and I had a warm bath.  After my bath I stopped me in front of a window and I looked at the roofs covered by the snow and …I was in Manhattan!

San Diego Uncovered: Enjoying some of the best beer the United States has to offer

As promised in my last blog entry, here’s the first entry on my list of favorite experiences as a San Diego local.

1. Enjoying some of the best beer the United States has to offer
As a pseudo San Diegan, I’ve taken on San Diego’s reputation for creating craft beer as one of my personal bragging rights.  Unfortunately and obviously, I have had absolutely nothing to do with contributing to the amazing infrastructure of San Diego’s craft brewing industry which has spurred not only a thriving cultural scene related to beer, but has also significantly influenced the national craft brewing industry.   But I am certainly doing my part in the PR department.  Not because I feel obligated.  I truly believe that a trip to San Diego would be wholly incomplete without scheduling ample time for sampling the local brews (unless you don’t like beer, in which case, you can stop reading now).

Whether you trek to a brewery or do the tasting in the comfort of one of San Diego’s many restaurants and bars offering rich selections of local brew, is entirely up to you.  Or both!  There is an endless assortment of innovative breweries which often claim local and sometimes national and even international fame including Stone, AleSmith (my favorite!!), Ballast Point, Lost Abbey, Mission, Pizza Port, Coronado, Firehouse, etc (here’s a clearer list).  A trip to any of these breweries is a sneak peek into the super trendy world of craft brew, which is giving wine a run for its money.  Your added benefit is you will learn more about hops than you ever cared to know.

Due to the thriving beer scene (as defined by this New York Times article), there are many tour services popping up making it even easier for you to enjoy a worry free tour of several breweries without driving or having to worry about hours and scheduling.  The driving point is important, as craft beer tends to be higher in alcohol content than typical domestic beer.  Otherwise, if you decide to go solo, make sure to call in advance to ensure the brewery is open and offers tours.

Nick, my favorite bartender from the Ritual, explaining a beer to me.

If you feel like taking it easy and you can live without an in-depth perspective on the importance of hops and an insider’s glimpse into the mind of a beer brewer, than skip the brewery tour and go straight to one of San Diego’s many restaurants and bars rich in local and national craft brew selection.  Depending on how much you love beer, I suggest approaching this in one of two ways.

Your first option is to have a casual yet elongated, tasty and relaxed lunch at one of my two favorite Pizza Port locations in Solana Beach and Ocean Beach, or the Coronado Brewery.  Pizza Port obviously specializes in pizza, where the Coronado Brewery offers a tasty American-style menu.  And each of these restaurants are about five minutes from the ocean, so you can enjoy a stroll along the ocean after you’ve indulged.  This is a great option if you aren’t a beer fanatic but want to enjoy some quality local beer.

Your other option is just to go straight to where all the brewers go to drink beer, which I’d say, is a safe bet.  The destination?  30th St.  This is, hands down, my favorite destination in San Diego.  I even bought a condo on 30th St so I wouldn’t have to go far to enjoy all the beer this street has to offer.

30th street connects three neighborhoods in San Diego rich in history and character – University Heights, North Park, and South Park.  Along 30th St you will find bars and restaurants with some of the best beer selections you can find – anywhere.  Seriously, I found myself longing for an evening in Toronado as I perched on a bar stool at the Délirium Café in Brussels, Belgium.  But, after all, I am a California girl.

The owners of the Ritual Tavern in North Park, Mike and Stacey.

There’s even a beer bus that runs between the neighborhoods every third Wednesday.  But if you happen to be in the neighborhood on a night when the bus isn’t running, your biggest dilemma is choosing between the neighborhoods and all the awesome places in each of the neighborhoods.  My recommendation is to begin in the center, which is the community of North Park, at the intersection of 30th St and University Ave, and go from there.  From this intersection, you have no more than a two block walk to three of my favorites – Toronado, The Ritual Tavern, and The Linkery.  The Ritual’s beautiful interior and intimate bar paired with service that treats you like family and a small but impeccable beer selection match the spirit of the 30th St culture.  And before you know it you will be enjoying a deep conversation with several home brewers, maybe a brewer from Stone and possibly even dining on one of their special beer tasting dinners.  After the Ritual, head down to the Linkery before they close for an after dinner drink to sample their fabulous cask selection in affordable half pints and watch the city go by from their fabulous urban location.  Then stumble back up to Toronado to finish the night off with a bang in the stark, yet holy (for beer lovers) environment.

Other favorites include the family friendly picnic tables and outside bar surrounded by sand at the Station Tavern, to traditional, down & dirty, and legit at Hamiltons (both in South Park), and the higher art of bar food and beer at Blind Lady Ale House in University Heights.

Only after an evening exploring 30th St will you fully understand what warranted one of my favorite beers to derive its name from this special place – the 30th St Pale Ale by Green Flash.

Stay tuned for my next favorite San Diego experience,  More than just pasta and olive oil in Little Italy, to be published within the week!

San Diego Uncovered: My favorite experiences

They say you can take the girl out of San Diego, but you can’t take the San Diego out of the girl.  I am no exception to that rule.  As I write this blog entry from exactly 6,201 miles away from San Diego – according to Google maps – in my current home of Bologna, Italy, I should feel far away.  But I can still feel that unmistakable cool ocean breeze, I can tase my favorite burrito at Rubio’s, I can still see my friends smiling.  San Diego and my nearby hometown of El Centro, CA still feel like they are right around the corner.

But, logic prevails, and I must admit that 6,201 miles are a lot.  Chances are, you’ll be heading to San Diego before I do.  So I thought I’d give you my personal rundown of my fave experiences in San Diego, the moments that I pursue when I want to forge out of the predictability of my routine and forget that I’m a local, forget stress and responsibilities and just be a tourist in my own fabulous city for a day.  These are also my go-to’s for showing out-of-town-guests the best San Diego has to offer.

San Diego is not a place that can simply be taken at face value, and quantifying and explaining all it has to offer is no easy task.  While it is famous for surf, sun, and the zoo, if you give it a chance and just dig a little deeper, San Diego will show you a side that you never expected.  Not only can you get a tan, but you can also find exactly what your heart desires.

Here’s my list of favorite experiences, in no specific order.  Each experience will be a separate blog post that I will be publishing over the next few weeks.

1. Enjoying some of the best beer the United States has to offer
2. More than just pasta and olive oil in Little Italy
3. A day on an island
4. Beach bums at their best in Northern San Diego County
5. Two for one – Culture and nature in Balboa Park
6. Baseball and Hipsters in the East Village
7. A day at the mall
8. Lavish elegance in downtown San Diego
9. Taco Tuesday in Old Town – A little bit of local, a little bit of tourist
10. Downtown La Jolla – Tradition happens for a reason
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So, without further adieu, I present experience number one: Enjoying some of the best beer the United States has to offer.

Happy exploring!!!!

Museums and Traveling and What You Could be Missing.

I’ve finally realized that I am addicted to traveling.  Perhaps because I embrace the opportunity to be a fleeting resident in a new place where I am willingly sucked into someone else’s world.  A world where – for the time being – there is no laundry waiting, no dishes to be done, and no bills to be paid.


I want to pretend that this new and exotic world is mine, if only for a few days.  I want it all, actually, because somehow I also want to figure out how to transform my visit from something fleeting and touristy into a long-term, measurable connection.  But how?  Because honestly, as much as we strive to know about these places we visit, how much do we really know?


I find myself wandering tiny streets,  optimistically searching for that café or restaurant where only the locals go so I can somehow meet them and understand their spirit.  And let’s face it – this is not an easy task.  These places are not on google maps.  Or on tripadvisor.


So after many fruitless attempts at this technique, I have gladly settled for the next best thing.  Which is actually not settling at all really.  It has become my favorite activity in every city I go.


The places I go to instead of the elusive “locals only” spots are on google maps.  And they are probably in your travel books too.  I guess it sounds too good to be true.  And maybe it is, because maybe you aren’t going to like my answer.  The place that I go in every new city I visit in order to understand and connect with the city, is the local art museum.


Yes, I get it.  At face value museums can seem uptight, cold, and uninteresting.  Boring perhaps is the best word.  But I beg to differ.  Far from being a victim of bad lighting and boring docent lectures, my museum visits over the last year have often been the highlight of my travels.  Favorites range from Baltimore’s provoking American Visionary Art Museum, to Winslow Homer’s rugged New England beach landscapes at the Portland Museum of Art in Maine, to the overwhelming Monet exhibit at the Musee d’Orsay in Paris, and the passionate permanent collection at the El Museo del Barrio in East Harlem.

Sunset in front of the American Visionary Art Museum


What is most fascinating about these museums, and what subsequently prompted me to write this blog post, is each of them are about as different as you and me.  Why?  Because within their walls rest objects created by people.  These objects each have an individual story to be told.  But the true fascination comes from seeing them grouped together in permanent or temporary exhibits, as the collective story they tell reflects the personality of the city and the individuals that make up the city you are visiting.  Seriously.


On my current tour of the US, I’ve spent my evenings hanging out with friends and loved ones, and my days wandering the halls of my favorite art museums.  I know, I can’t complain.  My trip thus far has included New York, Washington DC, and Chicago.  I return to the museums here over and over again.  They are amazing. But each one is very different, and their differences are related to the cities they call home.  Understanding their differences is about getting to know what makes each of these cities tick.  Here’s why I love each of them.


The Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago
The American Spirit

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Not an inspiring picture, but an inspiring quote.


Chicago is one of my favorite cities in the world, and its museums haven’t let me down.  It is a city that embodies the resilience and graciousness of the American spirit like no other city in America, and these qualities are skillfully mirrored in the permanent collection of the Art Institute of Chicago through combinations of masterpieces like Grant Wood’s American Gothic, Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks, and Mary Cassatt’s The Child’s Bath, among many others.  

All of this amazingness on the backdrop of a beautiful building steps away from fabulous Millennium Park.  It is really no wonder why this museum is one of my favorite museums in the world.


Subsequently, it was quite àpropos that in this museum, wandering the endless maze of Roy Lichtenstein‘s work last Thursday, I had one of those light bulb moments where I finally came to understand a museum’s unique ability to poignantly capture the essence of the city it calls home.  Seeing the Lichtenstein exhibit taught me the importance of comics and comic art in the cultural heritage of Chicago in a way that I never would have understood otherwise.  Hurry up because the exhibit closes soon.


Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City
Diversity and Humanity

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My favorite museum steps – the Metropolitan Museum of Art


When I realized that Harry and Sally spent an afternoon here in a scene of one of my favorite movies of all time, When Harry Met Sally, it confirmed that I was not alone in my love for this place.   But how could I ever think I would be?  Like the Art Institute of Chicago, a trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art is an experience both in and out of the building.  There is nothing like approaching the Metropolitan Museum of Art and witnessing hundreds of people treating the steps of this magnificent building like their own front porch.  Sitting outside in the sun, dancing and painting on the sidewalk, entering and exiting the museum in a flurry of positive activity.  People of all shapes and sizes happily co-habiting and epitomizing the je ne sais quoi of New York, where constant wonder shocks you in the realization of the diversity of humanity.  All this on the backdrop of the sheer awe of the scale of the museum building and its collection representing in perfect form the grandeur of New York City.  The museum’s permanent collection of art and artifacts is just as diverse and grand as the outside.  So much so, there is little my words can do to convey the experience.  There is truly something for everybody here – from fashion to Egyptian architecture.  Just like New York City, you can literally find the world in this museum.  You just have to go.


The National Portrait Gallery and the American Art Museum, Washington DC
Stately and democratic

The Portrait Gallery
A cold but lively night in Chinatown in front of the Portrait Gallery


I have never met more new people in one day on vacation than during a day spent at the National Portrait Gallery.  No matter how much I love a museum, no appreciation I have can ever compare to what I feel for this place.  This is, hands down, my favorite museum.


Believe me, the first time I visited this place I was just as surprised by my reaction as you might be.  But the reason is very clear – while the connotation of the word “portrait” might call up ancient images of boring rich people who you have no interest in, this place proves that everything you expected to feel about a portrait is unfounded.  This is a museum whose purpose is understanding people through art.  A docent here once told me that the museum is half art and half history, as understanding each portrait is to enjoy the artistic quality as well as absorb the story behind each of people in the paintings and to understand our own history more succinctly.  Mirroring the role of the city it calls home, this museum truly represents not just the nation’s capital but the United States as a whole.  In a true exercise of cultural democracy, the Portrait Gallery proudly displays portraits from the most stately politicians to your next door neighbor. Here and only here is it possibly for a person like me to meet everyone from George Washington to George Bush to the founder of the Girl Scouts, and finish my visit by strolling through 180 portraits of residents from the Iowa hometown of portrait artist Rose Frantzen.


And it gets better.  The National Portrait Gallery shares space with the American Art Museum.  As you wander the halls of the Portrait Gallery you will find yourself mistakenly wandering into a hallway belonging to the American Art Museum.  Wait, did I say mistake?  I wish I made mistakes like this more often.  After seeing Norman Rockwell at his finest two years ago, I began wondering if I needed to reserve two spots on my number one favorite museums list.  Last week my delight with this museum surpassed everything I’ve ever seen here, with the best collection of photography I have enjoyed in years as part of the African American Art: Harlem Renaissance, Civil Rights Era, and Beyond exhibit.  My suspicions are officially confirmed, and I now have two number one faves.


But my favorite afternoons in Washington, DC are actually spent both inside and outside the museum on its dramatic steps in the center of Chinatown.   Coincidentally – or maybe not so coincidentally – this museum joins the ranks of the Art Institute of Chicago and the Metropolitan Museum of Art with its urban proximity to the spirit of the city.


Gee, what more could I ask for?  Hope you too can find your favorite places in the next city you visit. 

Home in Park Slope, Brooklyn

My English students in Italy often ask me to explain the difference between “home” and “house.” I usually stumble through my answer. The best I have ever managed to muster up is that a house is a building, whereas a home is your place to be.

This is by no means a textbook definition, and I could definitely do with some good input in a major way. How do you define a home?

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Our subway stop.

I am really interested to know. As I rambled about in a previous blog entry, my travels through the United States this summer have uncovered the depth of my ongoing quest to answer this very question on a personal level – what is my home?

Predictably, the answer hasn’t come easily. Welcome complications have arisen from recent life adventures that sent me from my long-time home in San Diego, CA to a new beginning in Pittsburgh, PA, followed by Bologna, Italy, where I am now. I’ve spent this August on a break from work gallivanting around the eastern United States with old friends, family, and coworkers. My most recent stop was Park Slope, Brooklyn, a sort of homecoming after being away for many years. My visit incubated a little voice that has been nagging me, and has become annoyingly loud over the last few days. Park Slope, always a “taken for granted” second home for me, might actually be home.

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Park Slope, Brooklyn is, at face value, a lively, diverse, and wealthy community in Brooklyn, NY. Sporting every imaginable cuisine within a ten minute walk, ornate churches, overpriced boutiques (is that redundant?), and the most diverse families I’ve seen in the US, some scoff at the sky-high real estate and the gentrification of the area. But don’t judge a book by its cover. This community has an identity that most certainly is more than meets the eye. The history and complexity of Park Slope could fill a thesis or two, and there are tons of people that can explain it better than I.

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Ironically, Park Slope was my first home in the US after my family moved me from my birthplace in Lomé, Togo across the ocean to my father’s childhood home, a beautiful brownstone (although not made of brownstone), in the heart of the Slope on 4th street and 7th avenue.

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My grandma. 🙂

It is this very history, and the history of families like mine in the neighborhood, that has made this community feel like home. As even with the Starbucks and the boutiques that have crept into 7th avenue over the years, the community’s rich past is still evident in staples like Pino’s Pizzeria,

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mentioned in an earlier post as the best pizza I have eaten outside Italy. While easy to overlook, this food culture is a steadfast part of the immigrant population of the area.

My family’s home of 50 years in Park Slope, Brooklyn.

I was lucky enough to be born into US citizenship, but I am fiercely proud to share something in common with the thousands of immigrants of every imaginable origin whose parallel paths finally crossed when they found their home in this community, binding cultures that rarely overlapped outside of the US. Like many new immigrants, my great grandparents on my dad’s side, from Ireland, settled in Brooklyn. My grandparents moved my dad and my uncle to 4th street after purchasing their brownstone in 1955, which stayed in our family nearly fifty years. At that time the neighborhood was affordable – my grandpa sold subway tokens and taught my dad the ins and outs of riding the subway as if he were one of the architects of the subways, details that my dad has tried to pass on to me, but now seem insignificant as this once coveted information has been replaced by your latest iPhone app.

4th street and 7th avenue in Park Slope, Brooklyn.

It is hard to separate my dad from his roots in Park Slope, crossing 4th street every night to have his second dinner at his best friend Michael’s house, who was a second generation Italian American and the oldest of seven brothers. He later became my godfather. And although my dad has lived in California for much of his adult life, every time he says “faarest” instead of “forest,” I am reminded of stories of his days playing ball on 4th street with Michael and the other guys that are still his best friends.

My dad and his buddies, a long time ago. 🙂

Park Slope still feels like home because of its magical, enduring ability to remain constant in its dynamic identity where people from other places, and people who don’t know where their homes are, find their homes here.

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This is a place filled with people searching for – or finding – a home. People like my fabu friend, Steph, proudly representing a new generation in Park Slope, after making the big move from DC to start her new job at the NYC Department of Education last week.

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Lunch with Steph.

And just last night I crashed a wedding rehearsal dinner on the roof of a new apartment complex in Park Slope, recently purchased by a fabulous lesbian couple that are friends of my childhood neighbor.

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View from the rooftop.

All at once it feels surreal and perfectly normal to be surrounded by these people – the new pioneers in Park Slope, whose grandchildren may one day be writing a blog entry on this very topic.

For me, no matter how many deluxe baby carriages, Starbucks, and purebred dogs currently fill the streets of Park Slope, the democracy of its roots are unmistakable.

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The people who made this history and the people who are only now discovering the Slope are crossing paths, just as the immigrants of my dad’s generation dad, to add to its identity and make this place incredible.

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And maybe now I can do justice explaining the Slope to my english students the next time they ask me the difference between “house” and “home.” Not a house, but a home – this home, this place, is Park Slope, Brooklyn.
I’ve put together some of my favorite shots from my last trip to Park Slope, as most of our pics are on film and are buried in closets.  One of these days, I will dig them out.  I did include a few old pics of Park Slope taken my dad and other family members.

Gallery:

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Best of Park Slope, a set on Flickr.

Illustrious Instants: A summer storm in New York

Today I experienced that moment – that unmistakable moment – when my sunny carefree Sunday suddenly got kicked up a notch.  The sky overloaded with giant, moving grey clouds, the wind began to kick my hair around, and that hot, sticky world that normally consumes me the second I leave home or work suddenly went away and what came instead was a chill and an unmistakable sense of foreboding.


But somehow, I didn’t mind.  Just like all the other people at the Boat House restaurant in Ossining, NY, didn’t mind.  Why not?  What is so magical about a summer storm?  The unexpectedness of the experience?  The visual drama?  The weather?

We could barely see through the raindrops on the window to the storm just on the other side.


In my former corner of the world in the south of California, summer storms are nearly non-existent.  So my fond memories of these experiences all come from my summers spent in New York City.  To me, summer rain IS New
York City.  The drama, the smell, and the temporary urgency fleetingly catapult me back in time fifteen years to walking to acting class on the lower west side of Manhattan in July and racing for cover under the nearest overhang, only to discover four construction workers doing the exact same thing who subsequently became my new best friends.


A study in contrasts, a summer storm is all at once overbearingly dramatic, yet not in the slightest bit threatening.  The torrential wind and downpour is dramatic but warm, and somehow, not dangerous.  There is a universal understanding that this storm will be over soon, and life will go on as before.  In fact, life will even be a little more bearable with that slight breeze in the air, a cleaner city, and humidity washed away with the storm.

My aunt, Suzanne DeChillo, snapped this photo of me taking pictures just after the storm.


Today I experienced the magic of the summer storm from a perfect vantage point – front row seats at the picture window facing the Croton Bay at the Boat House restaurant in Ossining, NY.  Guests sitting just outside the window on the patio ran inside for cover in a fit of temporary hysteria – hair flying, makeup running, food drenched.
But my family and I sat inside, dry and entertained, and relished the beauty of the moment.  These moments that I cherish, that I rarely experienced in my life in the west.

The ocean is deceptively calm.


These photos are of the end and the aftermath of the storm.  And what a reward it was to discover the bay like this.  Just a short train ride from Grand Central Station, this place instead feels worlds apart from the bustle of the city.  The perfect place to relish a summer storm.

Illustrious Instants: Taking the Back Road

You know those instants when the beauty of a moment transcends your eyeballs and you are actually viscerally affected by the amazingess?


On this marvelous summer day, driving the Lincoln Highway in Pennsylvania about an hour and a half outside of Pittsburgh, I experienced one of those moments.  And I was so overtaken by the perfection of the world at this moment in time, that I pulled off the road and took a picture.


I only wanted to record the feeling that I was experiencing, somehow, and I was only shooting with my iPhone 3, so I wasn’t expecting anything special from the photos.  I was just optimistically striving to create a visual reminder to help me pull out this memory sometime in the future.


But, I guess the amazingness of the moment not only transcended my eyeballs, but it also transcended my iPhone.  By some miracle, this little butterfly entered my frame at the exact moment the shutter snapped.


I am so grateful that this instant was made immortal by this photo that lingers on in my life.  I love it dearly.  It now proudly represents my many trips up and down the Lincoln Highway, which to this day remains one of my favorite travel memories.


And a lesson learned – who needs the Turnpike?  Slow down and take the back way.  There’s probably a butterfly or two waiting for you…

Jackson Hole: A well-known wonder of the western United States

The love my friend Andrew has for Jackson Hole, Wyoming, is so evident in his photography and in his stories of his adventures there.  He has spent much time throughout his life in Jackson Hole, as his family has a tradition of meeting there during the summer.  I asked him to share some of his photos and some history about Jackson Hole.  I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.
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In the northwest corner of the state of Wyoming (not China), Jackson Hole is a valley nestled in between the Teton Mountain range to the west, Yellowstone National Park to the north, Teton National Forest and the Gros Ventres Wilderness to the East, and the Bridger National Forest to the south. Surrounded by wilderness, humans did not occupy the valley year-round until the 1870’s.
A seemingly remote destination, any way you decide to set forth into Jackson Hole is an experience in itself, largely due to the amazing views and the sense of truly getting into the wild. However, when you touch down at the airport, pull into the cities of Jackson (the only incorporated town in the valley) or Teton Village (the town surrounding Jackson Hole Mountain Resort known for its steep terrain and North America’s Ski Area with the highest vertical drop), you realize there are parts of the valley that are well trodden. In the midst of the summer tourist season it is difficult to find the hidden treasures and get away from the crowds; most treasures were uncovered and marketed to the worldly tourist years ago.
The valley is popular for good reason. The splendor of the indigenous wildlife and the natural scenery is unparalleled, and even led to a conflict over the killing of elk and the use of their teeth for jewelery.  This practice was outlawed  by the state of Wyoming in the early 1890’s for fear of the Elk becoming extinct in the valley, which led to a conflict known as the Bannock war of 1895.  Unfortunately, conflicts in the region of Wyoming were not limited to the Bannock War.  The region has been a battle ground on many occasions due to the conflicting interests of ranchers, hunters and conservationists over the years.
A visit to Jackson Hole without seeing moose, deer, bison and elk is unlikely especially if you time your trip during the late summer and early fall. Bison seem ubiquitous at times; my grandmother even nicked one with her car one summer. The bison was fine. The Toyota needed a new bumper.
In addition to the splendor and largely due to the growing popularity of the area as a tourist destination, the roster of activities is large and growing. One can hike, bike, climb, fish, boat (canoe, sail, kayak, whitewater raft), paddle board, para-glide, camp, and I’ve been told the shopping is quite good if you are so inclined.
A gallery preview of Andrew’s pics of Jackson Hole:

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Jackson Hole, WY, a set on Flickr.

Crossing America – The First Time

There is nothing like a cross-country road-trip to capture the spirit of being an American. While cliché, there is truth to what they say – the freedom of nothing but you, your car, an open road, and infinite possibilities ahead of you somehow defines us as Americans in a way. Our life, our freedom, and a million ways to go. What do we choose?

In this case, I chose to drive from San Diego, CA to Pittsburgh, PA. The road-trip was a cathartic experience, as I left my life in San Diego – family, friends, loved ones – in order to make the transition to Pittsburgh for a graduate program at Carnegie Mellon. With each new day on the road, I slowly but surely lifted out of the funk that had overtaken my life, working in administration in San Diego for years before I made the big decision to plunge into graduate school on the other side of the United States.  The challenge of the logistics on the road and the surprises that seemed to come with every turn were exactly what I needed.  My dad always gently reminded me that change and new environments bring new ideas. Now I finally see what he’s talking about. I guess if you agree that we are all in a constant state of evolution, this trip definitely sped up my process just a tad.

I hope you’ll have a chance to do one of your own, soon…

To help out your planning process, here’s an interactive map of our route complete with photos mapped along the way, as well as a google map with our exact destinations plotted.

ITINERARY
I revolved many of our stops around friends and major landmarks

Day 1: Las Vegas, NV
Day 2: Zion National Park, UT
Day 3: Best Friends Animal SanctuaryKanab, UT
Day 4: Denver and Boulder, CO
Day 5: Rocky National Park – Estes Park, CO
Day 6: Mount Rushmore – Keystone, SD
Day 7: Iowa City, IA
Day 8: Chicago, IL
Day 9: Chicago, IL
Day 10: Pittsburgh, PA

Favorite Day of the Trip: Our day in Denver and Boulder, CO. Both cities were beautiful and dynamic, full of great things to see and explore, great food, great beer, and a nice vibe. I want to go back.

Most Random Experience: On the way out of South Dakota we ran into the Sturgis Festival. I don’t think I will ever see so many motorcycles in one place again.

Favorite State: Utah. Unbelievably beautiful.

Best Meal: Chicago deep dish pizza with my great friend Tracy, of course.

Biggest Surprise: Iowa! Iowa was a really dynamic state, full of universities and cool people. My friends live in Iowa City where we visited them. The city architecture was interesting, the food was great, and we loved our stroll around town with them.

This photo gallery of my fave pics from the trip can be plotted on an interactive map of our route by clicking here.

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