omwblog

[omwblog]

TOURISM IN TUNISIA | Industry Fears Slump Post - #BardoAttack

April 09, 2015

It’s been less than a month since gunmen raided Tunisia’s National Bardo Museum, killing 22 people - most of them, foreigners.  Almost three weeks later, the museum has reopened, and Tunisia’s tourism industry is hoping for a boost in visitors despite the recent violence.  

I was in Tunisia last summer in the midst of the month-long Ramadan holiday ---> READ MORE

[omwblog]

Dhaka, Bangladesh | BROKEN ACCORD (wip)

By now, the TV news photographers had unclasped their cameras from their tripods and began toting them around the room, one-handed.  There were at least a dozen of them waltzing about the front of the stage as if their movements were choreographed.  Every few seconds, they stopped, perched their equipment on one shoulder for balance, and froze to record their latest scene. They focused on the panelists sitting before a bright red political banner written in Ojhopath ora script of the Pahari. They panned across the front row of spectators where elder men and women sat in traditional skirts and colorful robes.  A man seated behind them was dozing off.  Each time his head dropped too far to the left or the right, he snapped from his sleep, upright. His eyes opened wide.

MORE

[omwblog]

Escape to Lebanon

Hands down one of my favorite things about travel is that first hour -- those first sixty seconds when everything is new and the senses are alive.  So when I finally landed in Beirut, here's how it went:

I first encountered the typical swarm of sweaty cabbies outside the arrival hall at the Beirut airport, smoking their cigarettes, and preying on travelers like vultures.  I Ubered a car instead and tried to look as much like a local as possible, admiring the handsomely chiseled Lebanese athletes – a team of some sort, but who cares – adorably dressed in their matching black and orange uniforms.  When the car finally arrived, I turned to my smartphone to break through any language barriers with the driver who spoke only Arabic and French. As we drove away, I kinda loved the fact that technology essentially killed the translation dance, which is always a hassle. It meant all I had to do was sit back, relax, and take in my first sights of Beirut. 

It’s dusk and everything looks old and tired, and it reminds of the city’s recent war-torn history.  I arrive at what I think is my destination – an apartment building with a courtyard where cars are parked inside It’s situated next to a furniture store and across the street from a bank.  All match my friend Leila’s description, except the number of the address.  It’s 17, not 16, but I never tell Leila when I finally see her 90 minutes later.  Unsure of my exact location, I go inside anyway, take the old-school elevator to the third floor apartment on the left and look under the mat.  There’s a key and I take that as confirmation that I’ve arrived in the right place.  I turn the lock, multiple times.  The door opens and it’s a white woman, maybe in her late 20’s or early 30’s with choppy bangs and a warm smile.  She greets me but doesn’t tell me her name until like 20 minutes later.  I tell her I’m Leila’s friend, traveling from Doha. She tells me she lived with Leila once while also living in Doha and has just returned from 50 days of travel across multiple countries.  She owns her own production company, she tells me.   Then, I meet her boyfriend, although I don’t figure out their connection until minutes later – that's after I meet an almost deaf ballet instructor who speaks French and has a mop-like top of brown curly hair. I also meet another guy, more hairier than all the others, with a wild black mane, a thick stubble across his face, and intense black eyes capped with thick eyebrows.  I think there’s one other man I meet, but I can’t be sure. There are so many new faces, all of them in their late-20's / early-30's, who remind me of the kids climbing out of the Bedford Avenue stop in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Oh, and there was also this dog – a mini pitbull breed - who greeted me by ramming his nose up my skirt and directly in my crotch. I’m not quite sure if anyone saw, but I was embarrassed and still find the whole thing slightly amusing.

After fast introductions, I do my best to get out of the way and blend into the space that Leila described as an AirBnB  – or as I expressed to my friend Sarah -  a hipster commune in the diplomatic enclave.  I wouldn’t learn until the next morning that the multi-bedroom flat sits down the street from beautifully tailored lawns attached to mansions maybe? Or perhaps some other diplomatic residencies?  Leila said it’s where many delegates live, like ambassadors of foreign countries meeting over coffee and tea at nearby cafe’s, all looking very important, she says.

The apartment is loft-like with high ceilings dressed with origami birds swimming in the air by strings.   Long planks of wood painted gray rest on steel sawhorse-like frames. The makeshift table gets dismantled as soon as I arrive, moved to an adjacent room that smells like cigarettes despite an open window inviting in a brisk February chill. The floors are light and patterned with green squares, maybe gold triangles, and black rectangles. I’m warned to keep my shoes on. Dog pee could be anywhere. As I nestle in, I text my husband that I’ve arrived at Leila’s and tell him I think I’m on the cusp of  finding living quarters like like this unlivable. I'm getting old.

Leila arrives looking beautiful.  Her hair is curlier than I remember and she’s wearing a locally crafted looking scarf knotted perfectly under her black leather jacket. She’s just finished Arabic class.  We whisper our first hello’s though because the great room, where the origami birds fly has now been converted into a dance class space.  Large black blankets have marked off the area and classical music and French instruction are all that ca describe what’s going on on the other side.  I’m cold and hungry and Leila is too.  We quietly leave and laugh about her space.  I love it, I told her.

We walk 15 minutes to Leila’s favorite Lebanese restaurant, catch up, and keep an eye out for dog poop in our path.  It’s dark and damp out.  When we arrive, we order a bottle of wine, lamb, hummus, fatoush salad and a cooked spinach dish with dried onions.  It’s nothing I haven’t had before.  And I’m pleased with our selections.  I’m starving.  We eat, we laugh, we talk about our careers.  At some point, waiters move the large plant to make room for a parade of Lebanese women.  Leila points out the prettiest one has had “work done” which sparks a conversation about the high rate of nose jobs performed in the city.  We laugh about this strange phenomenona over the last drops of wine. 

The Chateau Ksara hit all the right notes of a full-bodied Mediterranean cabernet blend: dark, ruby-red, dry and jammy, with savory notes of fruit and earth, all at a really remarkable price.  Two days later, I saw a bottle for sale at a local fast-food joint selling specializing in rotisserie chickens.  It ws down the street from Leila's. The wine was priced at 13,500 Lebanese Pounds, or roughly $9 USD.  Can't beat it.  

With our bellies are full, we left the restaurant and walked 20 minutes towards the other direction.  Traffic was light and the sidewalks, narrow.  Leila tells me about the underground Jewish community that she’s been told exists in Beirut as we walk by Christian churches and mosques.

The next morning brought cloudless blue skies and sunshine that hadn’t been seen in days.  We awoke around 9 – arranged for a cab to pick us up by 11 with plans to be skiing by one at the latest.  I couldn’t wait.  But our cab showed up late - like by almost an hour.  It didn't look like we'd get any skiing in that day and I was very disappointed.  Instead, we took in the ski chalet once we arrived - swam in the pool, sauna'd in the spa, sipped wine in the sun.  It was okay but I was still lusting for the slopes. 

The next day, we made it up on Mzaar.  And it was perfect. First ski day of the year for me.   And you know what they say ... it's a lot like riding a bike. 

A video posted by missmonet (@missmonet) on Feb 27, 2015 at 11:48am PST

The sun was shining. The weather, while slightly wild and windy, was all just fine.  But for my overall review, here's what I posted on my Trip Advisor page. 

No matter what, I happen to believe skiing is a lot like pizza - even when it's bad, it's still (almost always) good. 

[omwblog]

When the Gulf gets tough, the tough go to Rome:  A four-day escapade of food, fine wine and friends…(oh, and an off-beat, off-the-path discovery.) 

#romatherapy

[omwblog]

Hello Kuwait! 

So, I arrived the week the InterNations expatriate organization listed Kuwait as the absolute dead last worst place for foreigners to call home.  LOL.

HOW I DID: KUWAIT

[omwblog]

SRI LANKA

One perk about being based out here in the Gulf is the proximity to so many places I've always wanted to go.

Sri Lanka was crossed off the list in late-September. Finally having the time to give my whirlwind adventure the proper attention it deserves.  

THE JOURNEY STARTS HERE

[omwblog]

Slow Down. Make Awesome Memories.

Last week, Instagram introduced the world to Hyperlapse, a new iPhone app that lets users speed up time--at least when making bite-sized videos.  And a few of them are pretty good.  I’ve seen Ants on Parade, a Casey Neistat beach day, and take-off’s from tarmacs—in fact, lots and lots of tarmacs for some reason?  Even I gave Hyperlapse a spin and documented Doha’s around-the-clock construction project.

And this past week, it felt as though I had been thrown into one of those Hyperlapses.  Since my last post, I've been officially integrated into the mix at Al Jazeera English, which until this point, I’ve been enjoying the slow and steady pace of job shadowing—that beautiful grace period where not much is expected of you except to make new friends, show up on time, and help out when needed.  Sadly, that ship has sailed.   

My new reality is waking up in the middle of the day already feeling exhausted.  (Ugh, the graveyard shift!)  I go to work at 11pm, and then for ten hours straight, my colleagues and I mostly sit at our desks and write like we’re in some kind of journalism sweatshop.  Come quitting time, I feel cross-eyed and dopey.  When I talk to other humans, I’m not even sure of the words that escape my mouth.  Despite all of this—what must sound like madness—it’s not all that bad. And it’s not forever.  I’ll rotate to a new shift soon by mid-September. 

With my new work routine, it’s left little time for any major exploration around Doha.  But I did manage to squeeze in a few of the easy stops, like the day I visited the elegant Museum of Islamic Art, followed by sunset gazing, and then a night time stroll through the Souq Waqif.  Since then, my curiosity of the Qatari has taken over.

Following my last blog post, a friend sent me an email and offered to put me in touch with her Qatari connection, an offer I kindly accepted.  If it works out, it’ll be one of the rare opportunities I may have to better understand a society that appears so deeply guarded.

Despite our cultural differences, my encounter with the natives here have, so far, been lovely and warm.  That night at the souq, a young Qatari man offered to take my picture with one of the most beautiful Arabian horses I’ve ever seen.  And when I went to get my ID badge at the Al Jazeera administrative offices, a Qatari woman jokingly scolded me about not knowing my blood type only to later declare that she wasn’t sure of hers either.

As we all know, time flies when you’re having fun, and even when you’re not.  And so, I’ve resolved to pace myself and build on the meaningful moments I'll encounter during the time that I’m here. Many of my freelance colleagues are in Doha to simply eat, sleep and profit off of the tax-free wages that come our way.  Not me.  While I don’t know what lies ahead, the idea is to slow down and make awesome memories.  But I'll still probably stop to make the occasional Hyperlapse every now and then.   

[omwblog]

Doha, Qatar: First Impressions

I touched down in Doha exactly one week ago, today.  Since then, I feel as though I've paced myself in dealing with the often clumsy ebb and flow of business relations here.  Even though Qatar is considered one of the most wealthy places on planet Earth, its young and modern capital city, Doha, is still on a bit of a learning curve.  

In what little research I've done so far, I've learned that the expat community vastly outnumbers the native Qatari population here--a situation the government would like to see reversed.   In recent years they've lured western universities to open branch campuses here, including Northwestern's Medill School of Journalism.  

Most of the hired help for service jobs come from neighboring countries like the Phillipines, India, and Sir Lanka.  Professionally, the big business is oil, of course. Since I've been here, I've met mostly Brits and Aussie's and a few New Zealander's.  However, aside from a fellow colleague from Utah, I've yet to encounter another American.  

Urban development is another booming business sector here.  It's impossible to ignore the shiny skyscrapers that only began to dot the skyline in 2006.  The notion is that the Qatari's prefer the nouveau. One example is the storied Souq Waqif, an ancient marketplace that was destroyed only to be rebuilt to look and feel more 'authentic'.  Meanwhile, construction is everywhere including a handful of hotels to be built in preparation of the 2022 World Cup.

The hotels are where the Middle East meets the West.  It's here where one can enjoy comforts like seaside pools, beaches, cocktails, clubs and celebrity-chef menus. Among the culinary delights is the Gordon Ramsay restaurant at the St. Regis Hotel. Another is Jean-Georges' Market at the W where Saturday I brunched on bland salmon sashimi and a slightly better cod dish, or Hamour, a signature fish of the Gulf.  

Even Doha's lovely Museum of Islamic Art has latched on to this gourmet trend offering lunches served up a'la Alain Ducasse.  The New Yorker in me finds all of this slightly amusing. But at least now I know where to go when the homesickness starts to kick in.  

There's still time to explore these places, but it will come with a bit of rule-minding.  Skirts are below-the-knee only and to enter any establishment that serves alcohol, one is required to present their passport, not just an ID.  And as I learned at the spa the other day, nudity just isn't allowed.  

Now that I'm settled into my seaside room looking across the Gulf, I'm eager to start exploring Doha and greater Qatar.  I've arrived at an interesting time.  Just two days ago, the Qatari government was instrumental in negotiating the release of American writer, Peter Theo Curtis.  With so much happening in the Middle East right now, I feel like I have a front row seat.  

[omwblog]

IT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE

July 17, 2013 - Casablanca, Morrocco - James and I arrived in Morocco the day before horrific news surfaced about Malaysia Airlines flight #MH17 .  After initial thoughts that the airliner is cursed and is sure to go out of business, both James and I instantly bantered about how and why commercial aircraft would even fly over a conflict zone in the first place?  As we watched the rolling coverage from our hotel room and unpacked the senselessness of it all over dinner that night, one irritating thought got to me.  As consumers, we put faith in these airliners to have the upmost safety in mind for its passengers.  But in the aftermath of this tragedy, one has to ask:  are we now expected to inquire about the flight path before booking?  I have a handful of trips coming up in the next month--some of them over shady territory.  I have to say, I have little faith in some carriers considering how ridiculous it was to learn just how many saw no problem flying over Ukraine until two days ago.  As James said, they're always locking the barn after the horse is stolen.  

[omwblog]

CASTELLO BANFI - IL BORGO

The music was set to begin at 9:30. An email told us to show up at the door, pay 8 Euros, and enjoy the show. And so we arrived around 9-ish expecting to mingle for a moment and take in the decadence of this historic fortress.  Except we forgot that we were living on Tuscan time where parties start late, spilling over even later, and in true Italian fashion, involving a bit of hasty disorganization. But all is forgiven because anyone who makes Brunello taste so good can get away with almost anything. 

(Featured: Fabio Mariani Gipsy Three)

[omwblog]

MAGISTO

While looking for ways to mash-up my travel photos and videos, I recently discovered Magisto.  After spending a minute to learn more about this online and mobile app, I now realize the automatic editing technology has actually been around for a few years -- since 2011 to be exact.  But it's only been recently that big brands like Zappo's and other's have begun tapping into its potential.  As I tweeted a few days ago, the bite-size movies that it makes using my own videos and pictures has taken my travel memories to a whole new level.  The Israeli-based company likes to describe their service as being one for "amateurs" who don't know how to edit.  Poor choice of words if you ask me.  I know how to edit, but who has the hours to spare when there's so much wine to drink while on Tempo Toscona? I love the app so much I upgraded to Premium.  I just wish that it meant it'd kill their branding at the end of these short and snappy clips.  

[omwblog]

THE ORIGINAL MAKERS

Today’s technorati ilke to embrace what it calls a Maker’s Society—a so-called digital "movement" latching on to trades of yesterday and transformed online--from Etsy to 3D printing.  Yet, all one has to do is step back in time to the ancient walled city of Siena where craftsmen have never stopped working on their wares, and long before wifi.  From the tailor to the shoemaker, the leatherman to the door artist, they are tradesmen that have been selling their goods to the locals for generations.  Mario Nannini (top, above) is the owner of il Stamperia, a shop where brides-to-be go to order handmade invitations and mothers purchase bespoke leather-bound photo albums and recipe books.  It’s been this way for as long as anyone can remember. But in today’s hi-tech times, Mario and others are a dying breed as few children and grandchildren are stepping in to carry on these special trades. 

[omwblog]

ISA’S TABLE

James and I were invited to dinner at Alberto and Isa’s on two separate occasions.  Each time, Isa set a table with gorgeous detailed cloth, simple plates, and perfectly adorned dishes of Sienese foods.  One night she served up pasta with fresh zucchini and oranges.  Another—a dish with tuna, tomatoes, and dried sprigs of oregano.  There’s always a lovely rhythm and flow to her meals.  They come in relaxed courses of aged prosciutto, juicy cantaloupe (the way it should be served), and soft pecorino bought direct from Pienza, the town known for making this cheese.  And the dolce: so unique, never out of control, and always refeshing to taste.  The first night we arrived, we had fruit with small scoops of gelato dolloped with chocolate.  James and I of course brought the wine, followed by a nightcap at the Piazza del Campo.  Let the feast begin!

[omwblog]

SIENA

If Rome feels so natural, then Siena is like coming home.  James has been returning here for more than a decade.  When we first started seeing eachother in 2008, Siena was the first place we traveled abroad together.  Since then, we’ve returned to this tiny Tuscan town so often that we pass familiar faces on the street and say hello, we know storekeepers by name, and we have dear, dear friends who always make us feel so welcome.  This time around, our sweetest amici, Alberto and Isa, invited us to stay at their lovely home for a few days.  Their generosity always overwhelms me so, it makes me wish my Italian was far better so that I can express how grateful I am to have them in our lives. 

[omwblog]

GOING ROGUE

When we arrived in Rome, we weren’t exactly sure where we would be going from there.  Road cycling in Tuscany, maybe? Driving south through France, Spain, until we hit Gibralter and eventually Morrocco?  These were the conversations we shared in between long lunches with wine, and even longer naps in the middle of the day.  One thing was clear: we couldn’t go back to our condo in Brooklyn.  We had sublet it out.  And so…homeless, we were forced to figure something out.  Deep down, we still really wanted to be on our planned ride on a bike named Andromeda. *boo

[omwblog]

OFF THE PATH IN ROMA

I’ve lost count just how many times I’ve touched down at Fiumicino, shuttled on to Roma Termini and headed straight towards the via Venato.    It truly feels so natural getting in and around here.  And so it was no surpise that James and I decided to regroup in this delicious city, enjoying our favorite restaurant and wine, and doing our best to relax.  Germany was so stressful.  In Rome, our hotel was paid for on points with the InterContinental at the Spanish Steps (although we almost always stay at the Marriot Flora at the foot of the Villa Borghese—no points this time). And we managed to meet up with a dear friend from Australia currently spending time in the city to study Latin.  We also discovered a new sleepy district--not for tourists. Rome is always romantic, no matter what the circumstances and it was here where James and I came a few steps closer to realizing what we want to do with the rest of our time abroad.

[omwblog]

48 HOURS IN BERLIN

Despite the drama of our vacation plans, James and I managed to enjoy the beautiful city of Berlin.  We stayed at the Sofitel in Kufurstendamm, or as the locals call it, Ku-Damm.  It’s a lovely neighborhood lined with luxury stores and handsome restaurants.  With warmer climates, it was very easy to find a place to sit outside, take in a beer and watch the world go by.  Yet, it was next to impossible to escape World Cup madness.  With Germany still in the running, there was much fanfare everywhere we turned.  The city even transformed the grand street leading towards the Brandburg Gate into a giant arena for a watch party, ferris wheel included. James and I are a far cry from sports fanatics, and so, we took in Berlin’s history, admired its mixed architecture and raunchy affection for graffiti all while plotting our next big steps.  Among them, getting to some place serving up delicious red wines.  Germany…not the place for this.