Tag: San Diego

Traveling from Home

Our current homebound way of life is undeniably tainted with mystery.  I find myself questioning the end of quarantine as I wonder about reaching the end of a rainbow.  Above all, in these uncertain times, I can’t help but send my heart out to those that don’t have a home to retreat to, or those who have a home that poses a threat to them in some way.

Rainbow in North Park, San Diego
A rainbow after a recent rainstorm from a window in our condo complex in North Park, San Diego

I am grateful to be healthy, safe, and comfortable at home, as I hope all of you reading this are, as well.  And as many of you can probably also relate to, one of the biggest dampers on my spirit is not being able to travel, and even worse, not even being able to confidently plan future travels.
Italian pizza flag San Diego Siamo Napoli
Friends who run a local Italian restaurant, Siamo Napoli, made a pizza honoring Italy’s COVID-19 battle on the last night they were open to the public.

Each passing day seems to bring contradictory information from government officials and scientists alike, rumors, and worst of all, the turning over and over of my own mind, lost in the lack of distraction.  The “COVID-19 scare,” as my favorite morning radio host has been calling it lately, makes it uber-challenging to stay positive about the prospect of international travel in the foreseeable future.
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A nearby vintage shop in North Park with a sense of humor.

Instead, like many of my loved ones and probably many of you, I’m loving the delicate joys on my daily neighborhood walks,
Wildlife in North Park, San Diego
Wildlife around every corner.

including the bird that pooped on me mid-flight – I’ve heard it is good luck – and observing the subtle and not-so-subtle transformations of the neighborhood, North Park, San Diego, where I’m currently perched.
A North Park church offering drive-thru confessions.
A nearby church is offering drive-thru confessions.

I’ve dedicated myself to cooking my way through my new Indian cookbook, Fresh India by Meera Sodha, cleaning and organizing, daily meditating with my Insight Timer app,
Spring in North Park
Welcoming spring on my daily walks has been a great joy.

and tending to my new indoor plant friends, who are my only living company if you don’t count the occasional fly that makes it through the screen or the little worms that occasionally make a cameo in the fresh herbs from the market.
I often catch the bunnies sunbathing when I walk in our Old Town, once saturated with tourists and now empty.

I have to admit, guiltily, that with acknowledging the gravity of the deaths, sickness, sadness, isolation, despair, anxiety, fear, frustration, and boredom that have come with this pandemic, I am also grateful for this “pause” on life to catch my breath and check-in with myself.  I’ve pursued a double life for many years: two continents, Europe and North America, and two professions, travel and theatre.  Isn’t it easy to get caught in the current of life until you finally make it out and ask yourself, “Why did I get out?” or “Why did I stay in for so long?” and “By the way, where am I?” (A little existentialism never hurt on a Thursday morning in quarantine, right? Ha!)
San Diego Repertory Theatre COVID-19 closing
The theatre I worked at for many years ended performances and shut its doors.

Meanwhile, I’m taking the opportunity to dust off a myriad of memories and photos of adventures that were tucked away for safekeeping.  Some long ago, like magical Berlin, and others recent, like boisterous Puerto Vallarta.  I was caught in the current for a long time, moving too quickly to download these adventures, but I’m sitting on the shore now, enjoying the pause, and putting them back together.  Because, in actuality, we all really can travel now. With our imaginations. Anywhere we’d like to go.  No one can stop us from that – we are bound only by the limits of our own creativity.
Chalk painting in North Park
A family diligently and creatively paints a North Park sidewalk with optimistic chalk designs.

I hope a few anecdotes and intriguing snaps from my travels will inspire your traveling daydreams from the comfort of your own homes.  New adventures coming soon.  Hope to see you then.
In the meantime, if you have some extra time on your hands, start traveling now with a few of my most beloved travel adventures:

And a personal favorite of mine, especially for artists and lovers of art:

A Halloween walking tour through a San Diego historic neighborhood


San Diego’s North Park neighborhood piqued my interest many years ago when a tiny street called Ray Street dotted with artist studios started welcoming the public to their studios every month.  Prior, I had only thought of North Park as a fairly crime-stricken region of San Diego that was best to avoid.  Fast-forward a decade, and the neighborhood is booming with businesses and new residents, but most artists can’t afford to be there anymore.  A downside of neighborhood redevelopment.  Fortunately, the upsides are numerous, including the creation of the North Park Historical Society in 2007, which is the local group behind the official designation of the North Park Dryden Historic District, which boasts several blocks of California bungalows and Spanish colonial revival homes.  I watch the changing of the seasons jogging the streets of this gorgeous neighborhood as homeowners enthusiastically decorate their already eye-catching homes.

I pass this house every day but just noticed its incredible tree because of all the jolly pumpkins hanging from the branches.

And my favorite season of all to enjoy this neighborhood is – you guessed it – Halloween.  These homeowners are so creative and artistically inclined with their spooky decor.

One of my favorite bungalows in North Park’s historic district dressed up for Halloween.

If you are visiting San Diego or live here, pay a visit and take a nice long stroll at dusk along 28th and Pershing Streets, bordered to the north by Landis Street and to the south by Upas Street, and everything around and between.

Skeletons dancing on doors…

Enjoy a trip back in time, a lesson in California architecture, and a good laugh at these Halloween decorations with a sense of humor.

This home alone is worth the trip. This is just a portion of their extensive decorations.

And the best part is no costume is required.


Although, if you are so inclined, your costume will be admired by the neighborhood joggers, like me, and, no doubt, the homeowners too!

Not so easy to see the black crows in the dark, but they are surrounding this mannequin in this homeowner’s take on Hitchcock’s Birds.
More crows make a theme of scary bird decorations!
A typical North Park streetscape with a pumpkin peeking out from the bushes. 
I didn’t notice this guy climbing out of his grave until I peeked through the fence to take a pic of this darling home.
Black flamingo = genius.
Another great bungalow joining in on the Halloween spirit.

If you’re interested in seeing some fascinating historical photos of the neighborhood and learning more about its history, this PDF by the Save Our Heritage Organisation is a great read.

Speak Out: How I Am Helping Make My Country Great, and How My Country is Making Me Greater

When I started this blog, Gracefully Global, I meant it as an evolving study on how to be a traveler, gracefully.  That is, to cherish and respect the cultures that we come upon as we learn about and interact with the world through our traveling ways.  Somehow, the political turmoil of this month has felt like a big slap in the face for many of us who value other cultures and exploration, no matter what our political identity.  In the face of the daily barrage of political news and the persistently changing landscape of our government, I almost feel like I should be cutting up my passport and never leaving my house again.
Luckily my passport is still intact, as, surprisingly, I’ve experienced some major positives as an outcome of the events over the last few weeks that I never would have seen coming.  Two positives, in particular, are keeping me motivated and steadfast in my beliefs and in working to maintain my optimism for whats to come.  So I’d like to share them with you.

I feel connected.

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Marching together and writing postcards together! The fight continues. 🙂

The fact that I am writing this post now is a testament to the higher engagement I’ve experienced online and in person over the last few weeks, connecting with friends, acquaintances, and strangers alike.  Not to say all of the connections have been positive, but they have all certainly been illuminating.  Life somehow feels more interesting when you delve down a bit deeper to what makes each other tick, doesn’t it?  And with connection, and a deeper understanding, it seems the sky is the limit on what could happen next.

The standout occasion for this connectedness was, of course, the women’s march, an incredible wash of positive energy, and a unique, historical moment of togetherness.  Peaceful and optimistic, women of all shapes, sizes, ages, religions, politics, you name it.  We were all there, and even better, we all seem to agree on the quality of this experience.  I made a video about our experience at the San Diego march.

And the connectedness continues.  I read a Vogue article about advocacy that I immediately trivialized as being too “beginner” in its advice.  But really, it was perfect.  It suggested that we organize groups of friends, colleagues, and acquaintances to work together on political advocacy goals.  I don’t know why I originally thought of the article as overly simplistic.  A few hours saturated with of frustrating political news later was all it took to change that thought, as I was fired up and the Vogue article suddenly seemed genius.  I reached out to some friends, and we’ve already had our first meeting!

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My college roomie holding up her stack of postcards.

The friends that agreed to participate in these meetings are the women from each of my life’s major adventures that have stood out as the no-nonsense, powerful, empathetic, energetic, intelligent people that made life feel better.  We met in a cozy, neighborhood café in San Diego.  There were a few new faces, friends of friends, who I was thrilled to welcome.  We enjoyed our food, and rolled up our sleeves and started writing Women’s March postcards to our political representatives.  We cracked jokes and strategised.  Laughed and shouted (the café staff were really patient with us, thankfully).  It was exactly what we needed, after starting the evening feeling rather helpless and overwhelmed, politically, and each leaving that evening with a stack of postcards covered in the ink of our thoughts and concerns, and addressed to each of our political representatives. If meeting together these ten times for the 10 Actions/100 Days movement serves only to give me a bellyache from a good laugh and some updates from my favorite people, then so be it.  That would still be a win in my book.  And, ironically, the action for the current 10 Days is forming huddles, just as we have done, which we realized on the night of our meeting.

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Writing postcards to our political reps!


The other equally significant outcome of this rollercoaster of a month is something that I never saw coming:
I feel comfortable calling myself a feminist again.  

As much as I’ve changed as a person over the last few decades, I’m realizing that I really haven’t changed that much.  I’m still that gal that took gender studies my freshman year of college, and started making my own t-shirts in the first versions of Photoshop with whatever deep feminist theory was on my mind at the time.  Which I wore to the annual feminist theatre production I produced at UCSD.  As I’ve increased in age, I’ve learned to “tone in down.”

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My beloved godmother. Let’s just say, this wasn’t even close to being her first march.

I can’t put my finger on exactly what caused my current change of heart. I surmise that Hillary, Pantsuit Nation, and our participation in the largest protest on American soil – a women’s march – has something to do with it.  I hope that feminism can now achieve for politics what it once was criticized for not achieving for itself: bringing together women of every background, united in our quest for ethically minded government leadership.

That’s the lemonade I’ve managed to squeeze so far, and I’m expecting a lot more of it to come.  So I hope to have many other positives to share, soon, as well as more reports from our meetings!  In the meantime, I’d love to hear from you.  Have you felt more connected, more feminist, or anything else that is personally positive?  Thanks in advance for your thoughts!

I wrote this piece to join others in the WordPress hosted conversation, Speak Out.

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My wonderful friend Lindsay, who made the trip to Washington.

Anniversaries 

 

The center of Bologna’s historic center

It snuck up on me…exactly one year ago today I left Bologna to return to family, friends, and career in the US. It hasn’t been an easy year, but I don’t regret it, especially the moments spent with loved ones.
First selfie stateside with my host and wonderful friend Janet at her work in New York, MOMA, last May 19
 
I really had no idea of the level of challenge that would accompany returning to my own country after 3.5 years abroad.  I just remember sitting in my ex-boyfriend’s car as we sped to Malpensa airport near Milan, looking out the window at the bright Italian sunlight and the green countryside, wondering what would lie ahead. One year ago to the hour. 
Celebrating the beautiful climate on a beach adventure near my home in San Diego with visiting Swedish friends
  
In retrospect, my naïveté supported me, as if I had known in advance, I don’t think I would have had the guts to do it.  But I am still trying to understand why returning “home” can be such a challenge! 
The support from both sides of the pond, including the blogging community, has been a blessing…extending a big, heartfelt thanks.
 
Some graffiti of my name a mysterious admirer wrote on the side of the building where I lived in Bologna is still there, just faded.
   

The sound of vacation.

What is it about the sound of the beach…the breeze, the drone of the ocean and the occasional squawk of a seagull that is powerful enough to make (almost) all of your worries melt away?  And certainly powerful enough to motivate you to look slightly absurd holding a seashell to your ear once in a while, searching for that sound that can teleport you back to that beach where you can relax worry-less once again…at least for a few seconds.

Venice, Italy
Venice, Italy (photo by me)

I mean, certainly we don’t choose our vacations based on sound.  But these sounds  are rather powerful.  Or a least more powerful than I had ever given them credit for.

Cinque Terre. Italy
Cinque Terre, Italy (photo by me)


It was an on an afternoon stroll on a quiet winter day in Venice’s Dorsoduro district on the last day of the Biennale, with not a soul in sight, that the unmistakable sound of small waves lapping against the sides of the canal and the repetitive thud of the boats shifting with the water that it finally hit me: I’m in Venice.


You would think this obvious fact would have hit me when I was walking through Piazza San Marco, watching the pigeons and the tourists (or more precisely, the pigeons playfully attacking the tourists), and perhaps some pretty notable architecture.  Or at the very least when I was schlepping across the Grand Canal with motorboats whizzing by and gondolas drifting peacefully along.


Instead, it was on this nondescript canal, alone, that the reality of my environment hit me.  And as I was walking along this canal in Venice, listening to these sounds of the boats and the waves, I thought of my second most unmistakable city sound.  Waking up in Brooklyn, New York, to the echo of a car driving down narrow 4th St. and the familiar bump of the manhole lid as the tire rolled over it, voices shouting in the distance, and an inevitable car alarm sounding.

New York, NY
New York, NY (photo by me)

And then I thought of Bologna, Italy, and the sound of the rolling suitcases of the students bumping along the cobblestone streets on their way to and from their family homes in villages outside Bologna every weekend.

Bologna, Italy
Bologna, Italy (photo by me)

And then Florence, and the overwhelming sound of American English speakers.

Florence, Italy
Florence, Italy (photo by me)

The indescribable and almost soundless sound of fresh snow falling in mass in the Italian Dolomites…

The echoing rolling wheels and clattering fall of a skateboard in San Diego…

San Diego, CA
San Diego, CA (photo by me)

And last but not least, in my hometown of El Centro, California, the peaceful receptive chirp of crickets follows you for months during the never-ending summers.

El Centro, CA
El Centro, CA (photo by me)

The more I think of these sounds, the more I am transported to these places.  More than my usual memories of people or moments on vacations.  The memories of these sounds have a way of attaching themselves to all the nuances of these places that you only really observe when you are alone.  What are your favorite sounds?  I’m curious…

When being a tourist is a good thing

Somehow, quite mysteriously, the word tourist has acquired a bit of a bitter aftertaste. Admittedly, I am as guilty as the next guy for striking down any notion of the idea that I might possibly enjoy being a tourist sometimes.  I’d actually probably rather stay home than get caught doing anything that could potentially be labeled as “touristy.” Far be it for anyone to catch me enjoying a nice Mexican lunch in Old Town, San Diego.  But why?  Where has this anti-tourist phenomenon come from?  How have we managed to self inflict this somewhat silly stigma upon a relatively innocent word?  I felt the need to investigate.

So when any good mystery presents itself, what is there to do?  Open up my iPad and look up the definition of the word “tourist” on my iPad dictionary, of course.  The definition is short and sweet: “A person who is traveling or visiting a place for pleasure.” A wholesome and respectable definition if I’ve ever heard one.  But this makes the negative connotations of “touristy” even more perplexing, as by this definition, rejecting going somewhere touristy is essentially the same thing as rejecting the act of going somewhere for pleasure.  Geez.  Weird.

But then I take a moment to think about touristy places, as in places bursting at the seams with tourists. Disneyland calls to mind.  Or Venice perhaps? And then my heart drops a little as I forget about the beautiful canals and bridges, and Main Street, and I am instead overwhelmed with images of hoards of people in t-shirts and sneakers. Not romantic.

So ok, I get it now. Lots of tourists – not so great. But going back to the definition again, “…visiting a place for pleasure,” is pretty great. So, why wait until you get to Disneyland to be a tourist, where you do have to join hoards of thousands of other tourists in your pursuit of pleasure, when you can just do that at home?

Once I went two years in San Diego without going to the beach a single time. Shameful, I know. My home is currently Bologna, Italy. Living abroad has bestowed on me an important gift – the opportunity (and excuse) to be a tourist in my own home, when I return to my previous homes in San Diego, Pittsburgh, and New York every summer.   In my pursuance of pleasure, I will be a tourist nearly 100% of the time when I return to America this summer. Without a set routine bogging me down anymore, I am free to pursue pleasure by seeking out those activities that not only define the city in the eyes of the world, but also those special activities that I have found that define the cities for me and me alone, like eating most of my meals at The Mission when I’m in San Diego, or having yogurt at the top of Bloomingdales in Manhattan.  And I also plan, without shame, to pursue those most stereotypical activities.  The first thing I want to do when I get to San Diego is go to the beach. In New York I’m counting the days until I get to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. And in Pittsburgh, the incline.

Which brings me to my most important point: what’s life without a little curiosity and fun? Don’t wait till you’re on vacation. But please, if you can, maybe ditch the t-shirt and sneakers just this once?

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!!!!

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.

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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