#and they definitely used a sound from that particular airport and again i was transported back to a very unpleasant period of my life

[mlobsters]

the big short (2015)

bro, you can go to versailles in the airport. good cuban food, right there. it's literally everywhere. you can't go more than a few miles in miami without stumbling into cuban food.

this a small part of why i got so incredibly riled up watching this the other day

[tnvisalawinlosangeles]

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[tavi-hayes]

practice challenge ~ journey to the palace

((whoopwhoop, idk how i managed to write this (given it’s quite long and i usually never ever write stuff this long) also please excuse me again for any spelling/grammar errors i try. alsoooo thanks to these wonderful girls: Bethia @h-hart​, Kat @clara-choii​ and Pia @brookelynnsanders​!))

It was silent at work today. The only sounds were the flipping of pages and the ticking on keys of a computer, followed by a frustrated sigh occasionally.

“Maybe we should get some more flutes?” I said, “they’re not that expensive and they won’t take up a lot of space here.”

Lola, being distracted by her laptop, showed no sign that she had heard what I just said.

“Helllooo, Lo are you there?”

“Huh, what?” she ran her hands through her hair as she looked my way.

I lifted the catalogue to show her the flute page.

“No Tavi,” Lo leaned her head on the back of the chair, doing the accounts must have tired her. “We already have flutes, and no one is ever interested in them. They have been here for decades.”

I rolled my eyes, “maybe that is why no one is interested. They look grim.”

Lo refocused on her laptop, and I flipped another page of the catalogue.

Oeh, the bass guitars. My favourite part.

I ran my finger over the page, paying a lot of attention to each one.

There were electronic bass guitars, but also the semi-acoustic ones. Some were very modern-looking with the brightest of colours, while others go for more of a vintage look.

I don’t know if I would ever be able to part with my own baby. The bass guitar, that I now owned, had been eyeing me every day since it had arrived in the store. It had been love at first sight.

But it was such a big investment and I just didn’t have that kind of money.

A part of my earnings was needed for us to make a living, pay the rent and do the groceries for example. And the other part that wasn’t needed for that, entered our savings jar.

We had been saving money since the day my dad was put behind bars. For whatever reason those bars had been in St. George. Freaking St. George.

The province didn’t even have direct borders with Denbeigh, Ottaro was right in between.

That made a simple, but still long, car ride impossible. Not taken the problems that come with the snowy climate into account.

That same climate also caused issues for our only transportation option.

Denbeigh’s climate was hard to predict at times. It could be a beautiful day with sunshine and a clear sky, but then you wake up the next morning to a thick layer of snow.

And because those snowfalls could happen in at least 8 out of 12 months, a lot of planes got cancelled in those months. The only airport anywhere near Winnipeg was privately owned. So the owners could literally ask the prices they wanted for the plane tickets. And boy, they were only focussed on making a profit.

For a simple family of Fives, those prices were unpayable. Hence why we had been saving money for 6 years now, still nowhere near able to pay for tickets. My mom would need a ticket, Daniel and I would too, and we just can’t leave little Aria and Arlan. My dad should be allowed to see them as well. That’s means we already need the money for 5 tickets. But if we include Daniel’s family, with his wife and little Melody, then that would equal 7 tickets.

So yeah, I would never have been able to buy that bass guitar.

Until Lo had a brilliant idea. They would give it to me as my birthday present for the upcoming 10 years. At first, I couldn’t accept that kind of gift, knowing it would have been a huge investment for the Wood family as well. But they insisted, hinting that they would get an employee discount anyway since you know Mr Wood owns the place. So, the price dropped, and they ignored me, so I had to give in and accept. It was the best gift I had ever gotten.

The stores door busted open, “GIRLS!” Gina’s voice took me back to earth. “they’re about to do the draw!”

“What draw?” apparently Lo shared my confusion.

Gina rolled her eyes and grabbed Lo’s laptop from the table. “Wait, I was working! Save it, save it!”

The laptop was put right on top of the catalogue I had just been looking through. Lo ushered over as well.

“Let me just,” Gina had opened an internet page and started typing in the website address of Winnipeg’s number one news channel, WTV. Such an original name.

The news anchor, some middle-aged woman with very fake looking blond hair, appeared on screen. “What is she wearing?” Lo asked, disgust and confusion both showing on her face.

“A track suit, it’s part of her image,” Gina unmuted the laptop, the crow-like voice of the woman filling the room, “now shush, I wanna hear this.”

“… Cameron Porter has been selected for the Illéan national ice hockey team. The star of Winnipeg’s very own ice hockey team, the Winnipeg Belugas, will accompany the national team to the world cup, taking place later this year in Saint Petersburg, Russia. Last week’s draw concluded that Illéa will have to face the German Federation and New Asia in the group stage. The national team’s training will start next week.”

Lo and I shared a look, “this is what you wanted to see Gina?”

“Since when do you care about ice hockey?” I asked, this was something new.

“Urgh, you guys are intolerable,” she silenced us with her finger.

“… and now we will switch to the royal palace in Angeles, to watch the live draw for Prince Arin’s Selection.”

The draw, of course that was what had sparked Gina’s interest. For some unknown reason, the entire Selection had slipped from my mind.

Nevertheless, I felt a little flutter in my stomach. Nerves. Looking over to my friends, I noticed the tense looks on both of their faces. Lo’s hands were clasped together, while Gina’s had disappeared in the pockets of her cardigan.

“Welcome,” some weird voice-over called.

With that the camera focussed on the prince.

“Urgh,” I rolled my eyes.

Lo poked me in the side, laughing, “oh Tavi your distaste is showing.”

“I don’t understand how you can hate someone who is that good looking. I mean have you seen that jawline? Perfection.” Gina had had a crush on the prince for as long as I had known her.

I rolled my eyes again, “I don’t hate him.” The drawing began before I had time to explain myself further.

“From Allens … Idalia Moretti.”

“He doesn’t look very happy,” I couldn’t help but comment, “or comfortable.”

Gina sighed probably annoyed that she couldn’t listen to the show properly, “his engagement was called off not that long ago. That is a pretty hard thing to deal with.”

“Yeah, I see, it’s so hard that he’s having a Selection. Shouldn’t he like get over the other girl first?”

My friends ignored me.

“From Angeles … Emily Rose White.”

This thing was going to take forever. I just wanted to look at the catalogue again, not at that prince, “he’s making me feel uncomfortable, just by watching him.”

Again, no response from either of my friends.

I took that as a sign to remain silent, knowing very well my friends wouldn’t reply anyway now that their eyes were locked on the prince.

“From Dakota … Brooke Lynn Sanders.”

Gina let out a breath she was holding, “okay now is Denbeigh,” she took our hands in hers, “fingers crossed it’s one of us.”

Her hand palms were sweaty, she must really want this.

“From Denbeigh … Octavia Hayes.”

We were all silent for a minute. Then Lo started screaming, Gina joining her. “Oh my GOODNESS!”

“Tavi! You’re going to the palace! You’re going to meet the prince!”

“Yeah,” I was absolutely lost for words. Meeting the prince hadn’t been the first thing that came to my mind, hell it hadn’t even been the second or third thing.

The first thing I thought was: I’m one step closer to getting my dad out of prison. I will be in that freaking library day and night looking for the book that is going to help me. There must be something somewhere about a second opinion on a court order, or something else to annul the judge’s decision.

“Ohhh, I’m sooo jealous of you right now. You are going to meet the prince! And there’s a chance he will fall in love with you and you’ll have beautiful babies.” Gina pulled on one of my curls, it bounced up and down as she let go of it.

“Uhm, I think that particular chance can be redeemed to zero.” I bit my lip, not even in my biggest dreams had I imagined my name would be drawn.

“Tavi, listen. I know you only applied for those laws books, but you need to be friendly to the prince if you want to stay,” Lo insisted, “or else you will be eliminated.”

“And I have to interact with him?”

“There are girls who would kill for a chance of even being in one room with him,” Gina took over, she sounded very serious suddenly. “You’ll meet him that’s for sure, and if you actually try you might make it far enough to earn a date. Just at least try to be nice, okay?”

“Just don’t insult him,” Lo added, “or his family, or the country. Okay, don’t insult anyone.”

The way my best friends were looking at me brought me right back to the good old school days. That was exactly the way teachers had looked whenever I had done something naughty. Which had basically been at least once every day.

“Do you promise?” Lo asked when I didn’t respond.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll try not to insult anyone.” I sighed, this is going to be so much harder than I thought.

All of a sudden a lot robot-like voice yelled “BREAKING NEWS”.

It just scared the living shit out of me. We turned as one towards the laptop again.

On the screen was that fake blond woman in her tracksuit again.

“Prince Arin just completed the draw for his very own Selection. Some famous girls will be joining him at the palace. Our very own province will be represented by Octavia Hayes. You might have heard of her, given that she is some meekly Five. But her father’s name will ring a bell. Octavia’s father is Caspar H., a dangerous convict in prison for murdering Winnipeg’s beloved mayor Wilfred Wallis. He might have very well passed the criminal gene onto his daughter. Not only is she definitely not a good representative for Denbeigh, but the lives of the royal family might all be in danger.”

“Damn it!” Stupid news anchor. Why couldn’t they just stay out of my family’s business. Now the entire country will be aware of this. My dad’s arrest did make the headlines of some newspapers when all that had gone down. But that had been 6 years ago and I had hoped no one would remember that.

But now it was out in the open. Again.

It didn’t even matter that my dad was innocent. He had already been suffering for it by being locked up far away from our family.

“Tavi,” Lo put her arms around me, “that’s just bullshit, no such thing as a criminal gene exists.”

Gina joined our hug, “you can’t take anyone seriously who wears a tracksuit on live TV.”

*** Couple of days later ***

Dear dad,

My name got drawn for the Selection, I’m going to the palace and meet the prince. Some palace person is coming to pick me up anytime now so I can’t write a lot. Plus, if the mail has already arrived then you will have to wait another month before you get this anyway.

I asked Daniel if he could start writing a monthly letter as well, maybe he can even add a little picture of Melody so you can see her for the first time. He said he will take care of mom, Aria and Arlan as well. Molly will just cook dinner for more people, which she doesn’t really mind doing. At least that’s what she said.

Anyhow I will write to you from the palace.

Lots of love, 

Octavia

Zohl wzw, R’n hxzivw. Tlrmt gl gsv kzozxv, z dslov mvd vmerilmnvmg dsviv R wlm’g pmld zmblmv. Ovzermt nln, vhkvxrzoob mld gszg rg urmzoob hvvnh orpv hsv’h gibrmt gl orev ztzrm. Zmw dszg droo gsv xlfmgib gsrmp lu nv. Droo R gfim rmgl zm lfgxzhg? Zxxliwrmt gl DGE R’n tlrmt gl hozftsgvi veviblmv rm gsv kzozxv, yvxzfhv lu blfi ‘xirnrmzo tvmvh’. Yfg gsv kvlkov dsl olev blf droo zodzbh yvorvev blfi rmmlxvmxv, vevm ru gsv dslov xlfmgib hvvnh gl gsrmp lgsvidrhv. Qfhg pmld gszg dv nrhh blf wvziob. Zmw R droo gib vevibgsrmt R xzm gl tvg blf ivovzhvw. Qfhgrxv zodzbh kivezroh.

*** At the airport ***

The car journey all the way from Winnipeg to somewhere in Sota had lasted for ages. Even though I hadn’t really been aware of that, since I fell asleep as soon as they closed the doors behind me.  

A frustrated voice had woken me up, “can you please stop drooling all over the leather upholstery?”

My eyes flew open, saliva was indeed smeared on the seat. I quickly wiped it off my face, where it had been present as well. “Sorry,” I mumbled, I then realized we had arrived at the airport, I quickly opened the car door and jumped out.

What I immediately noticed was the rain puddle I had landed in. My shoes and socks were soaking wet. Great.

“Maybe you should try to act more lady-like?” the driver said with a very disapproving tone, looking me up and down. He had already taken my guitar case out of the car and was about to put it right onto the wet street. I quickly grabbed the case out of his hands, clutching it close to my body.

The driver sighed, “there’s the entrance to the airport. Inside it will be clear which directions to follow.”

I made my way towards the entrance he had pointed at when I heard him mumble to himself, “why did I had to drive a barbarian?”

As I turned around, the car’s engine had been running again. I wasn’t sure if he could see me, nor I did I really care. I showed my middle finger to the car anyway. Asshole.

Never had I seen an airport before. It was freaking massive, people walking in all possible directions. Some carrying luggage with them, others with balloons that read “we missed you” or “welcome home”.

One day, my fam and I will be waiting at the airport, carrying one of those dumb balloons around. Coming to pick up dad.

I snapped out of my daydream by someone tapping me on my shoulder. “Miss Hayes, please come with me.”

Nodding, I followed the person not really having another choice since I had no clue which way I had to go. Maybe this is some insane kidnapper.

My heartbeat increased; did I just make a stupid mistake?

“Only one girl has arrived so far. You are to wait for the others before you can board the plane.”

Okay, no insane kidnapper then.

Unless.

This is a complete setup created by his crazy brain.

Panic filled my body, damnit how will I get out of this situation.

Okay, if I just push the person onto the floor, that will give me a chance to run for my life.

One. 

Two.

Three.

I took a deep breath in, ready to make the push. But at the last minute the person side stepped which caused me to lose my balance. He looked at me in a very funny way, “please take a seat, the flight attendant will come get you in a few minutes.”

My cheeks turned very very warm, the redness might very well have equalled the red colour of a traffic light.

Trying to calm myself down, I slumped down into a chair. Yikes, only now became I aware of it again. My socks were still wet and cold. Sigh.

After taking a few deep breaths in and out, I noticed the other girl.

“Oh hey, you’re also a Selected?” I started, realizing it wouldn’t be a bad thing to talk to someone.

She turned towards me, “I am Brooke Lynn Sanders, but just call me Brooke please!”

Not knowing what else to do, I waved at her a little awkwardly. “hi Brooke, nice to meet you. My name is Octavia, but please call me Tavi.”

“Nice to meet you Octavia. Did you have a good journey?” I could already tell she did have the lady-like manners I had been lacking.

Oh god, I couldn’t possibly tell her about the drooling situation, so I decided to stick to a vague answer. “Yeah, it was alright thanks. What about your own journey? Which province are you from?”

“My send off from Dakota was a bit bumpy but I am here now. I wish they would have let me take the train though...”

Another girl arrived, also looking very much like someone the prince could end up with. Compared to these two, I was more of a rag doll.

Pushing my feelings behind that wall deep inside me, I waved her over, “oh yeah hi, please join us.”

We chatted some more for a bit, until Haven arrived.

The way she was walking, the only person I had seen walking like that was Long-Beard Logan, the homeless guy who could often be found near New Wave Records. He walked the same way, but he had one wooden leg.

Then Haven opened her mouth, a weird voice coming out, “hi.”

I noticed Brooke shared my confusion, “uhm hello?”

She took out her phone and typed something, it read ‘I’m Haven’.

My confusion hadn’t ebbed away, “are you alright?”

She typed some more, ‘yup:)) just got a bad cold! what are your names?’.

As a response to that we all introduced ourselves again. These girls didn’t seem to be that bad, hopefully the other Selected at the palace were the same. But the chance of that being true was small. Also, why did I care what the other girls were like? I wasn’t there to make friends, with them or with the prince. I had applied for the thing I needed most. Access to the royal library.

“Have you guys ever been on a plane before? This is all very new to me.” I admitted, trying to ease the nerves that had been building up inside me ever since my name had been picked in that draw.

Brooke had a very strong opinion on planes. Private planes more specifically.

Which came as a shock to me. The private plane part. I didn’t know what I was thinking but taking a private plane had never crossed my mind.

In the meantime, Brooke started talking about the CO2 emissions.

“How else would we get to the palace without having an endless journey? It’s not like there’s a teleportation device, right?” I said a little more vicious than I intended. The higher castes used planes all the time, if anyone had a cause in the destruction of our planet it was definitely them.

Brooke definitely had thought of it all, as she mentioned the outstanding quality of the Illéan train system. Clara chimed in to agree with her.

I decided to not mention my exact thoughts about the higher castes, given the fact that I had promised my friends back home not to insult anyone. So I just nodded my head, “yeah okay I understand your point.”

We were able to board the plane shortly after that. Brooke sat down in a window-seat and Clara nestled herself in the seat next to Brooke’s.

I took a chair on the opposite side of the plane, trying to create some sort of privacy for myself without being rude.

Haven sat down in the seat next to me and smiled at me.

The entry door closed; I could no longer contain my nerves. “Here we go I guess.” I tried to calm my breathing, but it didn’t really help. I tried to think of my family back home in Denbeigh, didn’t help either. I heard my dad’s voice in my head, it was like he was actually talking to me, “You are a strong girl, the flight will be over before you know it. Octavia, you can do this.”

A weird sound whisked my dad’s voice away, I looked over towards the source of the sound. It was Brooke choking on her drink. “Please don’t die,” I said. Her dying here would be a shitty start to this whole adventure. Besides, Brooke actually seemed like a nice person.

She coughed, “I am – I am trying.”

Haven mentioned her sibling, how they were close and stuff. She then asked if we had any siblings ourselves.

This provided me with the perfect distraction. I turned towards her, “yeah, I have three siblings. One older brother, a younger sister and a younger brother as well.”

Normally I would never share such personal information with someone I had just met but talking about them was the distraction I so desperately needed from this whole plane situation.

The others talked some more, but I just realized the one and only thing that would get me through this.

Music.

“If you guys don’t mind, I’m gonna listen to some music.” I said as I took my earphones out of my bag. “Haven would you like to join?” I asked her politely, given that she was sitting right next to me and it would have been quite rude otherwise.

She smiled at me and nodded, so I handed her one of the earphones. “I do have a very mixed taste in music so you’re in for a treat.” Maybe I could even make her listen to our own music, you know casually extending Five Whispers’ audience.

As a reply, Haven winked at me, “I love a girl with mixed music taste.”

Oh who would have thought, I had something in common with another Selected. I too liked people with a diverse music preference, since music says so much about a person. The quote ‘You are what you listen to’ was on one of the walls of New Wave Records music store. It was also my own personal life motto.

Clara and Brooke continued chatting, but I didn’t listen anymore. The music had taken a hold on me and it had only released me from its grip when the plane hit the ground in Angeles.

[thecooksjournal]

For the Love of Food

So where does my love of food come from? I firmly believe that my passion for all things food related and my willingness to try almost anything stems from my childhood and my family upbringing. My much loved Nan and Grandad must take most of the credit as from a very early age I was introduced to a wide variety of home-grown and home-cooked foods. My Grandad was an avid gardener growing a whole manner of fruit and vegetables in his garden. He showed me the delights of growing runner beans, cabbage and cauliflower along with a whole range of soft fruit ranging from English plums to gooseberries. My Nan like my Grandad was old school so everything in the kitchen was made from scratch using what was grown in the garden. I can still remember watching her cook and learning how to make pastry and cakes from basic ingredients.

Some of my fondest memories as a child are of the big family meals we had at their house at 218, London Road Waterlooville (sadly now demolished). At various times during the school holidays my cousins, uncles and aunties would all come to stay. This would be a big event for me as we would have fantastic traditional roast dinners with all the trimmings and yes if you didn’t eat your vegetables you most definitely wouldn’t get any dessert! To be honest I wasn’t a fussy eater even as a kid. As I recall it was only Brussels sprouts and Stilton cheese that I could have quite happily avoided throughout those formative years. The only real problem I had at these family meals was whether I could finish my meal and get to that last roast potato before my cousin Glen, who despite being younger than me could always match me for appetite.  My much missed Mum carried on the tradition set by her parents and although home-cooking has changed a lot over the years she has always instilled the same values in me to experiment and try everything at least once.

My Mum worked as a waitress in a local café called The Black Cat Café. I can remember going to work with her on one occasion and being allowed to watch what went on in the kitchen. My clearest memory here is one of the veg prep guys giving me a raw carrot to try. I had always eaten carrots from my Grandad’s garden but cannot recall eating them raw so this was a new experience. Even now I can still taste that distinct flavour which was somewhat of an epiphany moment for me. Like eating your first oyster or you first taste of true caviar this was a profound moment for me.

Another early food memory is also somewhat unusual. My Nan and Grandad lived in a big house next to a petrol station. The station had one of the first vending machines I can remember on the forecourt next to where the air and water could be found. This particular vending machine dispensed milk shake. My particular favourite was a raspberry milk shake which became a firm favourite with me so much so that if ever I had any money this would be my first purchase. The petrol station is still there but the machine has long gone but the taste of this milk shake still lingers in my senses. Every so often if I taste very fresh raspberries I get transported back in time to this very happy period in my life.

Food always seems to give me happy memories so it is probably no surprise that I followed my nose 9and stomach) into the industry. I began my adventure by training  as a Chef at Highbury College in Cosham. At the time I started there I was a fresh faced sixteen year old. The catering facility at Highbury was only a year old and at the time regarded as one of the best places to learn the trade in the UK. I studied there for three years from 1981 to 1984 and was as proud as anything to emerge with my Diploma in Professional Cookery. If my family gave me my love of food then the lecturers and college definitely fed my addiction. It was one of the happiest times of my life and I am forever grateful to all my lecturers and fellow students who taught me so much that stood me in good stead for later life. I would heartily recommend to anyone thinking of studying catering to go ahead and do it. Even if you never cook professionally after you leave, the skills you learn there will be with you for life.

I can still remember my first day at college as one of the new influx of PCD (Professional Cookery Diploma) students. We were all resplendent in a blizzard of spotless white jackets and blue checked trousers, wearing our new uniforms with pride for the very first time. Our aprons were trailing down to the floor and our starched hats were pointing proudly to the ceiling, we really must have been quite a sight. Over the years our aprons shortened until eventually they were folded into nothing more than miniskirts that just about covered our crutches; while the starched Mohawk-like hats were replaced by neat uniform disposable paper ones. We had finally come of age and were ready to launch our talents onto an unsuspecting world. Looking back it was hard work and frightening at times but honestly worth every second and an experience I would do all over again if I had the chance. It was the days before politically correctness had reared its head so it was a harsh environment for a young teenager.

Saying that the harshness was nothing to what I found when working in a professional kitchen. For a short while I was able to work as a Commis in The Café Royal, Claridge's, Langans Brasserie and Simpson's in the Strand. Working as a Chef in London was fresh, exciting and frightening. Working as a Commis you were on of the lowest ranked employees only one up from the pot wash. You were treated with disdain and generally verbally and sometimes physically abused. Nowadays this sounds horrific but it was pretty standard at the time in the industry. London tended to amplify this somewhat but wherever you worked in the UK it was pretty much the same. This harsh treatment either broke you or made you stronger. The restaurant trade has always been pretty transient so to survive you had to be strong. As a Commis you had to prove yourself before you were let anywhere near a stove. Although I was a qualified chef I spent 6 months peeling and turning potatoes, turning mushrooms and preparing the mise en place ready for service. I can remember many occasions when my julienne of carrot or my bruinoise of vegetables was unceremoniously thrown in the bin because it was not perfect. Through sheer persistence I managed to survive and once I gained the trust of the brigade I was able to watch and learn from the more senior Chefs. As time went on I was allowed to do more and more in the kitchen until I was welcomed as one of the team. I still have very fond memories of the loud punk music played prior to service and the sense of belonging I felt as part of the team. Outside of work we played hard and in London this could be very hard but I had a lot of fun and learnt a great deal.

My experience in London was for a relatively short time but it is an experience that has left its mark on me both personally and professionally. To this day I have a strange affinity with London and simply love the old school restaurants there. My career took me back down to the South Coast and away to sea working front of house for a change before ending up as a Food Buyer procuring high end products for the cruise industry. I have never forgotten my roots and although my time in the front line was brief I still regard it as one of the best experiences of my life. I am indebted to my college lecturers who got me the placements and hopefully I have paid my dues to the industry.

At home I still cook every day and still get that same sense of enjoyment I felt at 16. I genuinely love food and will try just about anything if I feel it is something that I might enjoy. I am frequently asked what is the best meal I have ever eaten. I have been lucky enough after nearly 40 years in the industry to have eaten in a lot of top restaurants and to have had the opportunity to try a myriad of dishes across the world. I have tried many unusual dishes and as a Food Buyer had the opportunity to taste many new and innovative ingredients before they reach the trade.

It therefore can come of something of a surprise when I reveal my favourite meal is not only very simple but from a most unusual food outlet. The location was Hong Kong International Airport around 2005 in restaurant which if my memory serves me correct was situated upstairs on Level 8 of the main concourse above the various check in desks. The restaurant itself is very simple, quite large but very unassuming. It was early morning and I was catching a flight back to the UK. I was not particularly hungry so I was just looking for something light before my flight was ready to board.

I opted to go for a simple Prawn Foo Yung. The picture above is exactly what was presented to me. You cannot see it on the picture as the colours are pretty subdued but the scrambled egg was almost orange in colour. To this day it is the freshest egg I have ever eaten. For such a simple dish the flavours were exceptional and taught me that to have a great dish sometimes simplicity is really the best. As long as you use good quality ingredients less really is more. Sometimes the most complex recipes containing multiple ingredients are no better than a single ingredient prepared well.

Life can quite easily be compared to food Choose your friends and your ingredients carefully and you will find that good friends and good ingredients can give you much happiness. As a Chef I can give you no better advice than love your life and love your food.

[calvarineharrod]

The adventures of Calvarine and Hayley’s “GIRLS TRIPPPPP!!!!!"

Johannesburg: affectionately known as the “City of Gold”, a place where risk-takers and money-makers come to witness their dreams grow into fruition. I love this city: the rush, the adrenaline, the swiftness and feisty attitudes of people. There’s just so much hustle in the air, or maybe in the water? Regardless, living in this place requires thick skin, a thicker bank account, a full tank of petrol - cos’ traffic…

My extremely close friend, Hayley, momentarily come up with an idea to visit Johannesburg for a quick weekend Girls Trip. After watching Girls Trip together, it kinda accelerated the thought of us having a super chilled weekend plus we have never travelled together, anywhere!!

History: Hayley and I have been friends since grade 8. 12 years down; we are still the closest of friends and surprisingly still have the same goofy conversations that we did at 13. This friend of mine is a High flyer, sports science Honours graduate, has traveled overseas, has her own medical practice, rocks a 6 pack of abs and still maintains relationships with friends, family and her boyfriend. She’s one of those girls who can do anything. I look like a complete blob next to her #Lol.

Hayley, being the Type-A smarty pants, arranged our travel itinerary for the weekend including Flights and Accommodation. I was so excited and grateful for her effort in the entire process. We set flight on 3rd November 2017, a parching hot summers day, from Durban to Johannesburg. Throughout the entire buildup, I would constantly quote phrases for Girls Trip especially the lines from Tiffany Haddish (my new favorite actress) especially because I found it hilarious.

We arrived at OR Tambo Airport around 9h30. Hayley’s cousin, who also happened to graciously be our chauffeur for the weekend, was punctually awaiting our arrival at the pick up zone. Our intentions from the outset was to have fun and create spontaneous memories. Nothing pedantically over planned, no deadlines, just fun. I personally have never done something so daring. Being 25 and having experienced so little in life, I grabbed upon the opportunity to just live, even if it just meant for one weekend.

We drove straight to the Mall of Africa, a place I’ve been wanting to see. After scoffing down a brunchy meal, we proceeded to look around. I was totally in my element looking at all the designer stores with fashion I’ll probably never afford. Besides, I’m not a girl who is obsessed with a label. I also happened to have my first “Starbucks Experience”, a chocochinni frappachino covered in whipped cream. However, I was unimpressed with the waiter who asked me to SPELL MY NAME?! Do they realize they work for Starbucks. Have they noticed that people come there for the fun of guessing if their names get spelt properly?! Side note: urgent HR intervention and staff training is needed at this branch.

We also visited my 2nd favourite shop, TYPO, which is a cute, artsy vibey shop. Time flew and soon, messages from family members started to trickle in asking about our whereabouts. We headed straight to The Barron which looked like a relaxed, white-collared, Friday afternoon location where people sat with their loosened ties and drank Castle Lager. It was cool. Sundowners after a hectic week sounds tempting. We decided to drive to our accommodation only to realize it is peak traffic at 13:00. I’m assuming a lot of people leave work at this time. Traffic was ridiculous. We were entangled with taxis, school transport and working class people, all rushing to the excitement of the weekend.

We arrived at our accommodation (47 on Preston) precisely at 14:00 and checked into our neatly prepared, air conditioned, wifi-zoned room with a stunning pool and views to match. The area was called Highlands North and the houses were impressive. Security was priority for us hence, the 24hr access controlled body guard, secure features and boom gates gave us peace of mind.

Our sweet ‘chaperone’ (Hayley’s Cousin) ensured we had snacks and liquor at our disposal. Skyy Vodka, Savannah and Amstel were on the menu. After chilling and catching up, we had to plan the night. I am unfamiliar with the night life of Johannesburg. We started getting ready and in the midst of it all, another cousin decided to visit us and show us around after all It’s an Indian thing to stick together. This particular cousin was weird. He was soft spoken, very proud, a straight A student, forensic scientist and quite an opinionated person. I am certainly not accustomed to this type of behavior. We didn’t get off to a great start. I’m all for successful people but not the proud ones. I’d like to think that I’m a cool, chilled and open-minded person. I’m always telling people “Don’t Judge” and this was an appropriate time to take my own advice!!

He brought through a bottle of caramel vodka and sipped. Funny thing is, this guy continued to drop hints the entire night of how intelligent, successful and opulent he is. The car he drives, the area he stays, the alumni he belongs to and his career, which is prospering at an exponential rate. Luckily Hayley informed me about this dude. Nothing serious, she just told me don’t worry, he is different from the average guy.

This dude was slightly tipsy at the arrival of our uber cab. I was controlling the Aux cord playing my “fresher than” music. They were not impressed. Seems like these freaking people don’t like Nas and Vic Mensa! Are you even my friends? Ha ha. We arrive at monte casino, a nightlife spot in Johannesburg, suggested by this cousin. I was actually warming up to him and started to laugh at his jokes. Please don’t any ideas. He has a spouse and over-saturated metrosexual tendencies. Definitely not my type.

The night got funnier. We ate and thereafter entered a place called “3sixty liquid lounge” which has a brilliant live band and serves cocktails, cute baby pink and blue candy floss shooters, bubblegum flavored liqueurs served in test tubes and other unconventional drinks. I loved it. Vibe was cool, we were probably the youngest group of people there, nevertheless, I am a huge fan of Earth Wind Fire and Bruno Mars. We took a quick walk around the casino to my disappointing bewilderment, people were gambling and it was almost 1 am. I hate gambling so I wasn’t pleased to witness people losing their entire salaries on a table. The ride home was hilarious. We got to bond with the weirdo. It was banter the entire night. I wasn’t holding back, neither was he. Safely reached home, thankfully to uber (that driver was relived to drop us). Liquor usually fuels deep thinking so the conversation of religion came up. Uh-oh!

We sat for over 2 hours conversing about religion and there is no decent, happy way to end this conversation without someone getting offended. Throughout the discussion, I was quite level minded and reminded that my Faith is for me, it works for me and I don’t have to justify it. I was also reminded that the essence of a religion is to have faith in God, that’s the basis of Christianity. So when someone wants hardcore facts, times, places and dates - especially when they have a debilitating hatred for Christianity, I will not be intimidated and cross questioned by someone who is out to make a point rather than seeking to understand. Here we are in a very familiar scenario: Christians vs Hindus. The answers were flying back and forth. Eventually we all agreed to disagree and by this time, the dried sweat started to irritate my skin. They gang was getting ready for bed and the proud cousin who earlier asked why we are staying in this place eventually ended up sleeping in one of the beds.

Funny story: earlier that day, we found banana flavored condoms in the room and wanted to prank Hayley’s 'cool’ cousin. We even dispensed some droplets of handwash in order to make it seem like it was used. Yuck! We slipped it under the covers and pretended like nothing happened.

Fast forward to later that evening, well it was early hours of the morning, proud cousin decided to sleep in the bed which had the condom. I was only just informed that he is a germaphobe. He felt the slippery substance and sprang out of bed like a cat in water! It was hilarious. Shortly after that, everyone passed out from pure exhaustion.

Saturday morning started off great. We were treated to an in-house breakfast prepared by the Muslim hostess and then proceeded to the Rosebank Mall. En route, I was speechless at the upper echelon of Johannesburg. The buildings, the infrastructure, the complex designs and luxurious apartments. For a split second you even ask yourself, is this South Africa? Are we even in a recession? Rosebank mall was super cool. From Hamleys to Krispy Kremes, we waltzed our way to almost all the stores and I was majorly impressed.

Our next stop was Melose Arch. I was levitating. I had never been to this place and always heard about it on TV/Radio. We approached the entrance of Melrose arch with Lambourguinis, Porshe, Ferrari, limousines and various other exotic cars parked inside. Funny thing, it wasn’t even a car expo. These were normal patrons who happened to be in this place. Once again, I’m thinking “is this really Johannesburg?! This feels like a foreign place.”. Melrose Arch has various luxury shops, amazing restaurants and beautiful cobble stoned pave ways decorated with Vespas to create an Italian feel.

Jamie’s Italian, founded by the talented chef Jamie Oliver, is an awesome 4/5 star restaurant. I’m a sucker for comfort food so I ordered a gigantic burger layered with different cheeses, sautéd onions, crisp lettuce and holonaise sauce with Parmesan drizzled fries and a refreshing signature Jamie Mojito. We strolled for a bit and went back to 47 on Preston to catch a breather and of course, prepare for our last night in Joburg.

We utilized the convenient services of Uber that weekend and through that, got to see the growth and splendor of our country’s golden city. There are construction sites everywhere possible. Infrastructure and renovations are booming. At the same time, we saw beggars at robots, extremely poor laborers, mostly from other African countries working for minimal wages. It was such a skewed representation. On one hand, we have bugattis and rolls royces lining the street and on the other, we have people digging in bins and hanging out of trains because of their poverty. Mind you, this was one road away of each other. I couldn’t fathom it. It was confusing. Once agin, you’re challenged to think, what are we doing wrong? Are the rich getting richer and poor getting poorer. How do we stabilize this situation. For some of us, growing up in disadvantaged communities affects in many ways. When you do well in life, you almost carry a sense of guilt for doing well and feeling sorry for people who have not achieved anything. Must you apologize for your success? Must you feel unworthy of getting a golden ticket just because your peers lacked drive to hustle?

Saturday night was about to go down. We were scheduled to meet some of their cousins on 4th Avenue in Parkhurst, cited as Joburgs version of Florida Road. We did a small pub crawl before settling into a local sports bar. We befriended 2 sisters sitting besides us. They were so sweet and shared their hookah with us. The drinks kept rolling, including my signature drink; 1 Smirnoff storm and 1 tot of Aftershock. It’s light, pink and tasty. Jäger bombs are always compulsory. Me and my greedy self got way ahead of the party and started twisping, experimenting with everyone’s flavors. Marshmallow, honey and red bull flavors mixed with alcohol and a hookah ended off in me wanting to puke. I felt bad for tainting the evening. We hopped into an uber cab and came home. With toothbrush in hand, I was determined to get sober asap, which I did! Straight to bed after a hot bath, we were ready to conquer the morning in high spirits seeing that it was also our last day of “Girls Trip”.

Sunday morning started off with a lovely breakfast. We packed up and proceeded to Rosebank mall which was my request. I needed to get my hands on some Krispy Kremes to bring back home. To kill time, we also attended this rooftop art and crafts market in the parking lot. I was so impressed with the variety and organization of this fete. It was beautiful and eccentric. Foods from every culture was sold, ethnic clothing and creative decor, eclectic jewelry and fashion - it was….. Different.

After obtaining my two dozen of Krispy Kremes, we headed out of Rosebank and straight to the Airport. We checked it with full luggage and a huge, embarrassingly box of 24 Krispy Kremes doughnuts. We thanked Hayley’s amazingly courteous and sweet cousin who gave us such a memorable time and boarded the flight.

In all, this was the best trip I’ve ever taken. No drama, no bickering, no anxiety, just pure fun. I’m was so appreciative of those 3 days and how my eyes got opened to a new way of life. It is vitally important to experience something different from your normal standard of living. Johannesburg is such a beast but contrives such beauty within its streets.

I had to share this memorable experience on my blog and even if it didn’t seem thrilling to you as you read, it meant the world to me. Here’s to more exciting experiences, spontaneous trips, everlasting friendships and ticking off the bucket list!!

[zupeters]

Arrival in Singapore

Feb.4, 2020

Arrived at 1.40 am at Singapore Airport. When I think of the movie “Terminal” with Tom Hanks, I imagine that if I have to be stuck anywhere for any length of time at an airport,  I would pick Singapore Airport. Hands down. (how do “they” come up with this expression anyway?

It gave me  a very spacious feeling as soon as I left the plane. The washrooms are in the same class category as a 4 or 5 star hotel’s washroom in this particular arrival hall of Terminal 2. Everything is super clean. Lots of well thought out details, plants, flowers, classy paintings on the wall, etc.

I found the 24 hour food court and had a “mee rebus”, one of my favourite Malay foods. Believe me, for the amount of work that goes into making a tasty Mee Rebus, it is better left to the hawkers to do it for about $ 3 to $5 a plate. The name in Malay means “boiled noodles”, something quite indescript. It tastes nothing like boiled noodles. So delicious! What a start to my day.

I did my daily 31 minute mediation in a quiet “Meditation Room” at the airport and then just walked around for a bit until I got the idea: I was going to drop my luggage at the Serangoon Road Hilton Hotel and do something I would never be able to do in Canada.. go (physical) shopping at 4 am! Not that I am an avid shopper. In fact, I dislike shopping at malls, etc. More an online shopper. It turned out to be a viable plan. A very courteous Malay woman by the name of Siti at the Hilton Hotel kept my luggage in storage till my early 8am check in, and I walked into the warm night air towards Mustafa’s (a 6 storey humongous shopping paradise (you can find anything you need at Mustafa’s). 

It feels so incredibly safe for me to be walking around in the Serangoon Road neighbourhood of the hotel in Little India, even at 4 in the morning, with hardly anyone around.  The Sri Mariaman Temple round the corner is slowly opening its doors to a few early devotees. Mustafa’s is only about 10 minutes walk away.

Yes, it is as I remembered it. Crowded with lots of things. Almost everything one can think of. Basic to no-presentation, no nonsense approach to retail. At very reasonable prices. And what a selection of everything! 

Knowing that I I will hardly ever spend  two hours shopping at at unearthly hour, makes it a very novel and enjoyable experience. I just bought stuff for the trip to Malaysia ... the Tiger Balm mosquito repellant, my 3rd tiny umbrella, (forgot mine at home). The umbrella has an aesthetic appeal. Not that it would help much in a typical thunderstorm or heavy rains in Singapore or Malaysia as I recalled it from my childhood here. A a bit of this and that. Fun stuff.  

After an early breakfast and check in at the hotel, I rested a bit and made a brave decision to resist going to sleep to wait out the time difference and avoid a very likely jet lag in favour of exploring a couple of options for my small “tour group” who are arriving on Feb. 13th, 2020 on the main Langkawi Island.

With helpful directions from strangers along the way (people are so helpful and friendly), I found my way to the Little India MRT (Mass Rapid Transit system) station and figured out, again with help, how to access this very efficient and convenient mode of transport around Singapore. It costs $20 to get a plastic ticket (the electronic ticket costs $7, when you return it before its 6 years validity, you get back $6 and the ticket now carries a value of $6 for immediate use, and I guess, the $1 is for the service).

I decided to explore Gardens By the Bay - a nature park spanning 101 hectares (250 acres) in the Central Region of Singapore, adjacent to the Marina Reservoir. It consists of 3 waterfront gardens and the incredible “Flower Dome” which is the largest greenhouse in the world. Opened and still operating as a charity 7 years ago, it already has had 50 million visitors by 2018.

It is part of the nation’s plans to transform its “Garden City” to a “City in a Garden” with the aim of raising the quality of life by enhancing greenery and flora in the city. It was intended to be Singapore’s premier urban outdoor recreation space. Based on my several hours experience there, I believe they have achieved their goals. What an admirable mix of applying creativity and ingenuity into a project that presents the natural beauty of flowers, plants and water into a well crafted and generous space. I loved it. Especially the Flower Fantasy world. It feels like it is the equivalent of the “Disney World”, in flowers and plants. What an experience. My eyes felt so well feasted and I felt incredible blessed to be able to enjoy and soak in that many colours and so much beauty of nature, in an afternoon! Well done Singapore!

Well, after the Gardens, it was too early to go to sleep. So I took the MRT to Chinatown to the Chinese Heritage Centre, which my sister visited earlier this year and highly recommended. She is right. It was very well worth the visit. A museum which is built on the very site it is portraying. Everything including the dust, probably,  in it original form and place. The venue is in the original 3 storey typical shop house in the middle of Chinatown. Kept in its original state. What a concept! Upon registering, one gets a small iPad like thingy, which describes the artifacts and activity/history occurring in every room, its inhabitants, sounds, etc. Very creative! A powerful experiential learning. I truly get a very strong sense of what it would feel like to live in those circumstances of the early days of the beginning of Singapore. A great way to educate the young of the sweat and toil of our ancestors to create the life style they can enjoy today. I am definitely included in the circle of “The grateful”, being born in 1955 post war and challenging Singapore and still being able to access the advantages of a good education that helped guide me to where I am today. The entry to the museum entitles one to a “curry puff” gift at the end of it, which I thoroughly enjoyed in my hotel room with tea when I returned for a rest.

After the short rest, I took the MRT to the Food Republic at Somerset, to meet my good friend, Ket Che. We have been friends for over 5 decades. We went to Raffles Girls Secondary School together. And nurtured our friendship inspite of living in such huge distances from each other. Interesting that on this occasion of meeting, we realize how similar we are in terms of our learning style. She is quite “orange” (as per Personality Dimension), like me. 

By the time I got to back to the hotel, at about 10.30pm, I was just happy to tuck myself in for a well deserved and well anticipated, good night sleep!

I will post this and hope I can figure out how to post photos.

[doomedandstoned]

ELDER

Rallies Russia!

-Review: Nick DiSalvo | Forward: Billy Goate-

-Photos: Mo Nemo | Film: Anton Rodionov-

"The funny thing I've noticed about Russians is how reserved they can be, but then when the music is playing they are going crazy, moshing or stage diving, and crowd surfing the whole time."

Earlier this month, Doomed & Stoned brought you a two-part feature on Acid King's first ever appearance in the Russian Federation. Now, we are pleased to present the sights and sounds of another cross-continental concert tour, that of the mighty ELDER.

You're looking at another stunner of a photoset from the young Saint Petersburg photographer Mo Nemo, snapped at Elder's MOD Club show on August 3rd, 2017. The night before, Nick DiSalvo (vocals, guitar), Jack Donovan (bass), Matt Couto (drums), and new member Michael Risberg (guitar) played at The Volta in Moscow. The Re-Stoned, a band we've long touted as a prime example of Russian heavy psychedelic rock, opened on that particular evening. Ilya Lipkin (guitar), Vladimir Kislyakov (bass), and Andrey Pristavka (drums) performed a sublime series of songs from their recent LP, 'Reptiles Return' (2016). It was, of course, time for Elder to show off fresh tracks, too, namely selections from the new album that topped the Doom Charts: 'Reflections Of A Floating World' (2017 - Stickman Records).

By all accounts, the setlist included almost all the songs from Reflections..., including "Sanctuary," "The Falling Veil," "Staving Off Truth," "Blind," and "Thousand Hands." Let me tell you, that second guitarist has sure come in handy in pulling these off! The band also played what is now a bonafide hit: "Compendium" off of 'Lore' (2015 - Armageddon Shop). That song in many ways foreshadowed the complexity of the new material. Then there was the beloved "Gemini" from 'Dead Roots Stirring' (2011 - MeteorCity Records), which no Elder performance would quite be complete without.

I reached out to frontman Nick DiSalvo this week for comment on their trip. "Well," he replied, "I can certainly share some thoughts about Russia in a stream of consciousness sort of way with you." That was just fine by me, and I invited Nick to give us all a first-hand account of his band's visit to this land rich in vodka, literature, political intrigue, and most of all music. My piano teacher, who came to the US from Russia for her doctorate degree, is a disciplinarian. From her I've gotten an idea of how seriously Russians take the art and the science of music. You'll find this quite easy to confirm both anecdotally and historically.

How, then, would heavy music fans of the Moscow and Saint Petersburg underground take to the soaring progressive stylings of these four ambitious muzykanty from the States? The next words your read will be from Nick's tablet...

We've been to Russia twice now, both times in the same cities (Moscow and St Petersburg). I can only assume that sounds as fascinating to most American readers as it was for us. I think we have a very biased view of Russia in the States and assume that the country is very "foreign." Let me tell you, that's definitely not the case in these two cities -- two of the biggest in Europe (if you want to count Russia as part of Europe). We're lucky to work with a really cool promotions team over there called Madstream. Their guys Andrey and Vadim have surprised us with their professionalism and hospitality that's truly a leg up from the rest of Europe, even. That's really saying something, since most European clubs and promoters treat bands amazingly.

We had an early flight in from Milan to Moscow and were pretty whacked out after an hour and half drive from the airport through the city to the venue. The city never ends! The sprawl of Moscow is truly awe-inspiring, not necessarily in the best way.

In Saint Petersburg (band photo)

We got in for soundcheck at the venue Volta. Big stage. The club could be suited for any kind of gig and certainly doesn't give off the dingy rock club vibes (except for the makeshift water closet backstage that really does remind you you're in Eastern Europe). Soundcheck is fine and we retire to a long forgotten luxury for a few hours, the hotel, to catch some sleep.

I sleep through my alarm and wake up to Mike jostling me, since we need to get back for bus call. This is different for us, getting shuttled around to hotels and back. Normally, we travel in a sort of converted camper van and a stationary bed and shower are truly a treat. I don't know how many fans we really have in Russia, in Moscow maybe 200-250 people come to the show. For a city of 20 million I'd say that it's not much, but the scene is really just developing here.

The fans who do come are rabid and we get a rare taste of what it must be like to play in a famous band. Leave the backstage area and everyone grabs you, wants a photo, an autograph, to tell you an anecdote, and you realize the bizarre and fantastic nature of your situation: an American band in Russia surrounded by people who are just like you, music enthusiasts stoked on a concert. The funny thing I've noticed about Russians is how reserved they can be, but then when the music is playing they are going crazy, moshing or stage diving, and crowd surfing the whole time.

Welcome Package! (band photo)

A nice photographer we met on our previous trip is backstage and gives us some gifts: a bottle of vodka, some matchboxes, lemonade, all labeled with handmade Elder labels. That's pretty damn cool. The venue feeds us well and too much on borscht (a Russian tomato soup), lasagna, chicken. It's all fantastic, too. Our show is fine, despite an amp blowing up. Matt, Mike, and I improvise a jam for what feels like 10 minutes while a stage crew struggles to replace it. After the gig, we hang for a bit with the fans and drink some beer, then head back to the hotel where Boris is checking in for their gigs in Russia the same week. We try to drunkenly convince them to hang out with us in our hotel room, but they politely refuse.

In Saint Petersburg (band photo)

The next morning we have a train to St Petersburg, 4.5 hours away with the fast train, which is super modern and clean like much of what we've seen of these cities. Jack and I laugh at English translations of items in the "on board shop" magazine, order some souvenirs, and are amazed to see our photo and some information about our gig last night in the train magazine (the equivalent of finding your photo in an in-flight magazine on an airplane). When we arrive we're again transported to a hotel in St Petersburg. This city's historical center is absolutely beautiful, full of "old" buildings (the city itself is relatively new, from the 1800s) and Czarist monuments and buildings. Instead of sleeping, we have a walk around and look for some food. We're not exactly successful.

Tickets for the big show!   Photo by Denis Kolpakov

When we arrive at the venue for soundcheck, we're surprised to find it's directly in the historical center, not a five-minute walk from the winter palace. After soundcheck, we take a tour of the area with another guy from the show. The great thing about this area is the souvenirs. You can find amazing coffee mugs and all kinds of kitsch with photos of Trump and Putin on them (in 2016 it was mostly Putin kicking Obama's ass, etc.).

The show tonight is smaller, but also a lot of fun and we play every song we have, again. Last time St Petersburg was crazier, this time Moscow wins in the energetic fan competition, but still people are dancing, moshing, and having a great time. We do the dance of autographs and fan photos after the show and then return to the hotel, more exhausted than anything else. The next morning we manage to catch some breakfast in the lobby where a large Jewish travel group is doing the same. Our trip to the airport and back to the van waiting for us in Vienna is uneventful, but the trip in Russia leaves again a lasting positive impression that we're not so different after all.

Live & Loud:

Moscow

Live & Loud:

Saint Petersburg

"The fans who do come are rabid..."

"We're not so different after all."

Follow The Band.

Get Their Music.

[dennonthemove]

Day 32

Day 32 Sunday, January 15 My last day in India! I'm sitting here in the Baker Street bakery--you know, the one that seems so out of place. But, I think it's most appropriate. India is a country of contradictions . . . and this cafe is a prime example, as I mentioned earlier. It truly is a "fast-food" bakery/confectionery. The croissants are great though the coffee is mediocre. I'm not sure where the "baking" part of this place is. Every time I'm here, I see guys carrying in huge trays of food--it must be prepared elsewhere in some huge kitchen and transported here. Maybe it's in a basement nearby because I never see a delivery truck. The place really resembles a European/big city slick modern bakery--croissants, loaves of bread, varieties of sandwiches, mini-quiches, macaroons, chocolates, and gelato. But the kitchen in the back is really small--just for making coffee, juices, milkshakes, and heating up dishes. No baking going on back there. I think I got the next to the last croissant this morning--then again, it is 11:13 in the morning. It's still good, but I don't think it was made today. And, sure enough, just as I was about to leave, a young man delivered another tray of croissants. Maybe I should've waited another twenty minutes. Before the bakery, I spent the better part of the morning finishing the packing. No, there's not one spare inch anywhere in my baggage. Everything else purchased today must be consumed, injected or thrown away. (Besides, I have to keep some cash for the 4-hour taxi ride to the airport). It was an absolutely miserable night! Some dog in the neighborhood (sounding like it was right across the narrow one-lane street) barked the entire night--almost. And, since there's not just one dog in town, every other dog in a ten block radius had to respond. I tried earplugs--only muffled the barking. Then, somewhere around 4:00, the electricity went off--which, of course, stopped the ceiling fan. I haven't been using the A/C unit very much. It's not particularly effective and it does use up lots of power. And the fan is quite comfortable--while providing sort of "white noise" to drown out the other sounds of the night--though not powerful enough to drown out the canine chorus. But, with no fan, there was no white noise, no airflow, no comfort. Around that time, the dogs stopped barking, so I thought opening the window would be my best option--but, since there are no screens on the windows, I ran the risk of offering up my body willingly to all passing mosquitoes. But, it was stifling in the room and I opted to open the shutters. Big mistake! Dogs started barking again so I put the ear plugs back in. Then I started hearing the buzzing of the mosquitoes--through the ear plugs. Figured I could live easier with no air rather than swollen and itching appendages on two 10-hour flights. I closed the shutters and fought off the remaining bloodsuckers. The dogs continued their barking for at least another hour. Then, they stopped. Then, it started to rain (the very first rain since I've been in India). Then, the dogs started barking at the rain. Somewhere in all that . . . I fell asleep again . . . I think . . . Woke again around 7 to the barking and decided to stop fighting it and just start my day. The electricity did not return until close to 9. **************** Day 32.1 Ok, now I'm sitting in a rooftop cafe having a lemon soda. It's a branch of the Gelato Factory. And, it's right next to the Indianostrum Theatre where we worked through the "sequence" the other day. I had made my way from Baker Street down to the beach--by way of an art gallery (no, I didn't purchase anything, though tempted!)--and then went inland a couple of streets. The rain last night cleared some of the dust in the air, but it didn't necessarily cool anything off. In the direct sun, it's a little sweaty out there. In the shade, it's just perfect--hence, I stopped in, under the shade, to find the right breeze and a cool drink. I'm meeting Sara for lunch in the few minutes, so no sense in eating anything at the moment. Pondi is a very "French" destination in Southern India. Most of the foreigners I've run across are either Brits or French--specifically, French ex-pats. This city used to be a French post/port--so there is a small part of town called the French Quarter--or White Town. The other portion of the city is called Black Town. Certainly "colonialism" continues to thrive here. But, this is why the inner city has a very distinctive European feel. My housemates at the Blue Mangos are from France--they're spending a month and a half here to escape the cold French winter. So, Pondicherry, or Puducherry, is definitely a contradiction to other parts of India I've seen. Met Sara at 1:00 and we sauntered off for lunch. The first place we tried was a new one for us--Rendezvous. However, today has been declared "No Booze Sunday" here in Pondi, so no place was going to have an open bar. However, we had discovered one place (thanks to Rick) who served their beer in a "coffee mug"--with good Indian food--so we thought we'd try our chances. Success!!! And, I DID have Indian food--it was actually quite good, although Sara had to order extra chilies because our taste thermostats are obviously at polar opposites. Good food, good beer, good conversation, great friend! Following, we had to make a return trip to the Indian Coffee Co. for one last superb cup of coffee. And from there, we said our goodbyes--me for the States in a few hours and she to Mumbai in the morning. I still had a few hours before my driver collected me. Let's go to the craft fair. The craft fair was still going on across from the Gandhi statue on the beach, so, of course, I had to go take a peek. The organizers had created a maze in which you entered on one side of the temporary structure and emerged on the other side. Once you entered, you couldn't move backwards--the throngs were too massive. If you saw something you wanted, you had to continue going through the entire maze of shop stalls to get OUT and then go IN, again. Either that, or you hoped someone down the path had something better in their little shop than what you just passed up. If you paused too long, you could be dragged into a sales pitch. I actually paused, ever so slightly, and looked at a particular wall tapestry just a little too long when a salesman had their hand on my shoulder. And as I moved away along with the creeping trail of gawking humanity, his hand continued down my arm until we were actually holding hands. It could have been quite romantic, I suppose. But I wasn't there to BUY anything--or get involved! I had to say, "No!" AND, as I turned the corner, my eyes flashed! My pulse quickened and my breathing became irregular. Shadow puppets!!!! Ok, so I ended up buying something, after all--it lays totally flat in my backpack, so I get to keep it--three small shadow puppets, Krishna, Ganesh and Hanuman. Bit disappointed in the fair . . . there really weren't many crafty things . . . though the selection of stuff varied from lamp shades to toy xylophones. Nothing I couldn't live without . . . except the puppets, naturally. After barely a half hour of one-lane shopping, I dropped off my scooter. My scooter guy is really quite cool--he stopped his conversation with other potential customers to ask if there were any problems and was genuinely pleased when I reported no problems whatsoever and that I'd had a great time. If you're heading to Pondi and you want to rent a scooter for the day/week/month--I have his card. Walked back to my guest house to collect my luggage before my driver comes in about an hour. Will finish this for now and post--so everyone knows I'm on the move again.

[bharatiyamedia-blog]

TSA PreCheck vs. World Entry vs. CLEAR: Value and advantages of every

http://tinyurl.com/yxnd9ov5 John Greim / Getty Pictures Standing in a protracted line on the airport is not any method to begin a trip. And it’s definitely no manner for frequent business travelers to fly. You have probably heard of varied packages that promise to get you thru airport security sooner, and you have most likely endeavored to look into them once you discovered your self making painfully sluggish progress by a TSA checkpoint. Maybe you are studying these phrases whereas standing in an airport safety line proper now! We all know your ache. Right here at CNET, we’re all the time touring to cowl breaking information, conventions or commerce exhibits. And in any case that point within the airport, we have realized a factor or two in regards to the three main choices to shorten the wait: TSA PreCheck, World Entry and CLEAR. So earlier than you’re taking off your footwear and belt and take away your laptop computer and liquids out of your carry-on bag, hold studying to be taught in regards to the prices, software course of and advantages of every.  Now taking part in: Watch this: TSA’s automated safety lanes intention to hurry up vacation… 1:08 The alternatives and opinions under are primarily based on impartial testing by our editors. Word that CNET could get a share of the income for those who purchase or subscribe to something featured on our web site. Journey companies in contrast Our suggestions Detailed examinations of the companies comply with, however here is the specific model. World Entry is the most effective general choice. One CNET author as soon as known as it “the most effective $100 I ever spent” — and the primary time you utilize it, you may agree. World Entry folds in all the benefits of TSA Pre — a lot sooner and fewer invasive TSA safety checks — and provides an specific line by customs and immigration in your manner again to the US from worldwide locations. When you have a passport, that is the one to get.  TSA Pre is the most suitable choice if you do not have a passport. If you happen to solely journey domestically, TSA Pre will make flying a far much less onerous course of. However for those who take even one worldwide journey within the subsequent 5 years, you may kick your self for those who do not pay the $15 additional for World Entry. We do not advocate CLEAR at its present worth. The bottom worth of CLEAR simply feels prohibitive. It is nearly $200 a 12 months, versus simply $20 for World Entry. And that membership charge does not purchase you the faster TSA safety examine, so that you’re most likely nonetheless going to need to put money into World Entry or TSA Pre anyway. With no worth drop or an expanded service tier, CLEAR simply does not appear to be value it. Nonetheless… CLEAR Sports activities is worth it for sports activities followers and concertgoers in sure cities. No, this does not actually have something to do with airports or touring. However the free tier of CLEAR, known as CLEAR Sports activities, provides you with expedited entry into 16 stadiums across the nation. If you happen to reside in one of many cities wherein it is provided — and also you’re OK with the company Clear having your biometric data — this free service is value trying out.  And, as you may suspect: If you happen to’re an actual stickler for privacy, you may need to skip all of these.  Need a deeper dive into every of those? Learn on. TSA PreCheck With greater than 7 million members, TSA PreCheck is the most well-liked of the expedited airport safety screening packages. It is run by the Transportation Safety Administration (TSA) and allows you to use a particular TSA PreCheck line on the airport as a substitute of combating your manner by the principle safety checkpoint with everybody else. Along with the shorter line, the screening itself is expedited since you needn’t take away your footwear or laptop computer, amongst different objects, when going by a TSA PreCheck checkpoint. Based on the TSA, 92 % of TSA PreCheck members waited lower than 5 minutes this previous Might. Who’s it for? Air vacationers inside the US. To be eligible, you might want to be a US citizen or a lawful everlasting resident. Additionally, TSA PreCheck members’ children 12 and beneath can undergo the TSA PreCheck line with their mother and father. What does it do? Not solely will the road on the TSA PreCheck probably be shorter than what you may encounter on the common airport safety checkpoint, however you may undergo faster since you will not have to take away your footwear, belt or mild jacket, or take out your laptop computer or liquids. TSA The place can I take advantage of it? At greater than 200 participating US airports and  67 participating airlines throughout the US. What’s the fee? TSA PreCheck prices $85 for 5 years. How do I apply? It is a two-step course of: 1. Fill out an online application and schedule an in-person appointment for a background examine. There are greater than 380 enrollment centers for the in-person interview. In contrast to the early years of this system, they are not all positioned in airports anymore, both. 2. Go to the appointment to get reply questions for the background examine and get fingerprinted. The TSA estimates the net software will take 5 minutes to fill out, and the in-person appointment will take 10 minutes. How does it work? As soon as you have been accepted and paid your $85, you may get a Recognized Traveler Quantity (KTN). Whenever you e book a flight, you should add your KTN to your reservation, which is able to mean you can use the TSA PreCheck lane on the airport. World Entry Global Entry is a no brainer for those who like the thought of TSA PreCheck and journey internationally. Run by the US Customs and Border Safety (CBP), this program contains TSA PreCheck and provides the flexibility to get by customs extra rapidly when coming into the US from journey overseas. Who’s it for? Worldwide vacationers going by air, land or sea. To be eligible, you might want to be a US citizen, a lawful everlasting resident or a citizen of the next international locations: Argentina, Colombia, Germany, India, Panama, Singapore, South Korea, Switzerland, Taiwan or the UK. Children will want their very own World Entry membership on the similar price as adults. What does it do? It helps you to skip the lengthy line at customs together with the paperwork and awkward interview with a customs agent when returning to the US. Instead of that disagreeable course of, World Entry members can skip by customs through the use of a self-serve kiosk. And on exit from the US, World Entry additionally contains TSA PreCheck to get you thru airport safety sooner. CBP The place can I take advantage of it? You should use World Entry at dozens of airports within the US, together with Guam, Saipan and Puerto Rico. It is also accessible in some main Canadian airports (Calgary, Edmonton, Halifax, Montreal, Ottawa, Toronto and Winnipeg), in addition to a handful of different worldwide places (Abu Dhabi, Aruba, Bermuda, Dublin, Grand Bahamas, Nassau). Once more, that is along with some great benefits of a full TSA Pre membership, which you need to use at over 200 home US airports.  What’s the fee? World Entry prices $100 for 5 years — solely $three extra per 12 months than TSA PreCheck. How do I apply? Much like TSA PreCheck, you might want to fill out an online application. Begin by making a Trusted Traveler Program account. Then, full the appliance for World Entry (which incorporates the non-refundable $100 charge). As soon as you might be conditionally accepted, schedule an in-person appointment at an enrollment center and move a background examine. To your in-person interview, you will want a sound passport and one different type of identification resembling a driver’s license or ID card. Lawful everlasting residents should current their machine readable everlasting resident card. How does it work? There isn’t any further paperwork wanted past your in any other case unchanged US passport. When you’re accepted, simply search for the devoted World Entry kiosks at customs when coming into the US at collaborating airports. The ATM-style kiosk snaps a photograph and asks you about 5 of the identical type of questions you’d get on hand-written immigration kinds (are you bringing in fruit, are you carrying $10,000 in money) that you simply reply on the touchscreen. If the solutions to these questions is not any, you may hand off the printed receipt to an immigration officer as she or he checks your passport. You might be in your method to the baggage carousels in as little as 2 minutes.  Additionally, you will get a Global Entry ID card, however that is solely wanted for land and sea port entry from Mexico or Canada. (If you happen to’re not conversant in the SENTRI and NEXUS packages associated to crossing to and from these respective international locations, you most likely needn’t fear about this.) CLEAR In contrast to TSA PreCheck and World Entry, CLEAR is run by a non-public firm and never the federal government. It helps you to leap proper to the entrance of the principle safety line or the TSA PreCheck line on the airport. As an alternative of ready in line to indicate your ID and boarding move to the TSA agent, you need to use a CLEAR kiosk to scan your eye and fingerprint after which be escorted on to the entrance of the safety line. You continue to could need to use it together with TSA PreCheck or World Entry as a result of it solely helps you to skip the road — you may nonetheless have to undergo safety by eradicating your footwear, belt, laptops and liquids except you additionally get pleasure from TSA PreCheck advantages. Who’s it for? Air vacationers with eyes and fingers who hate lengthy strains. To be eligible, you should be not less than 18 years outdated and have one in every of these kind of photograph ID: US Driver’s License, US Passport, US Passport Card, US-issued Everlasting Resident Card, State Issued ID or US Navy ID. What does it do? CLEAR helps you to skip the airport safety line, however you may nonetheless have to undergo the common safety screening. It saves you from needing to current your ID and boarding move to a TSA agent after standing within the safety line to take action. As an alternative, you need to use a CLEAR kiosk to scan your iris and fingerprints earlier than a CLEAR worker then escorts you on to the entrance of the road for safety screening. You may have to take off your footwear and belt and take away your laptop computer and liquids out of your carry-on, except you even have TSA PreCheck that expedites the screening course of. CLEAR The place can I take advantage of it? CLEAR is not as widespread as TSA PreCheck or World Entry. It is accessible in a select number of airports as well as a handful of stadiums to get you thru safety and to the sport or live performance sooner. What’s the fee? CLEAR is pricier than TSA PreCheck or World Entry. It prices $179 per 12 months, and you’ll add as much as three members of the family for $50 every per 12 months. Children beneath 18 can use the CLEAR kiosk when touring with a CLEAR member of the family.  Delta members can get a deal on CLEAR. It is free for Diamond Medallion members, $109 a 12 months for Platinum, Gold and Silver Medallion members, and $119 a 12 months for Common SkyMiles members. What’s CLEAR Sports activities? For stadium-entry solely, a CLEAR Sports activities membership is free and allows you to carry one visitor with you thru the CLEAR safety lane. How do I apply? CLEAR is the costliest however best to affix. You fill out an application online after which end the method at an airport or stadium that provides CLEAR. No want for a separate journey to an enrollment heart — you can begin utilizing CLEAR on the identical day you enroll. How does it work? Your iris and fingerprints are scanned once you enroll and linked to your account. You possibly can then use these biometrics to zip by the CLEAR lane at an airport or stadium as a substitute of the common safety line. Safety and privateness issues World Entry and TSA Pre are US authorities packages, whereas CLEAR is a non-public company. However for those who use any of the companies, you may be surrendering numerous private info, together with fingerprints — and your face. Within the case of CLEAR, the company’s website says: “We by no means promote or hire private info. Private info is barely used to supply the companies related to the CLEAR membership.” For World Entry and TSA Pre, you are surrendering that info to the federal authorities. That provides many individuals pause, particularly because the authorities has proven it is no higher than companies at retaining information secure. From the OPM breach to the Shadow Brokers, the feds already had a reasonably dismal repute. And now, US Customs and Border Safety — the very company that administers World Entry — has admitted that traveler photos have been compromised in a cyberattack.  So, sure: None of those methods will likely be comfy for folk who worth privateness. And if any of that makes you uncomfortable, none of those companies are for you. However whereas arguing for a better degree of vacationers’ rights is a worthy debate, it isn’t going to get you thru the safety line any sooner on your subsequent flight. For higher or worse, elevated comfort will imply sacrificing some extent of privateness, not less than to the airways, the governments of the nations you are touring by, and their numerous subcontractors.  Source link

[jacewilliams1]

Flying 275 miles so I could run 26.2 miles

For some pilots the idea of taking family for a weekend trip is the reason they get their license. We live in one of the best countries to fly, and I think it’s important to go out and enjoy it. Getting a $100 hamburger and boring holes in the sky on weekends is fun but we’re kidding ourselves if we say airplanes are personal transportation machines while only going to a few other airports in the local area to practice touch and goes.

Last October my parents and I flew to the 2018 Chicago Marathon. We could have driven six hours from Ohio and paid $70/night to park the car at the hotel, flown commercially, or taken the flight school’s Piper Arrow on the 275nm flight. We elected to take the Arrow. The Arrow is not particularly fast, nimble or sexy, but it’s a reliable airplane that fits my needs for trips like this as long as I don’t have a reason to take off from a runway shorter than 2500 feet.

I especially like how much fuel it can carry for trips that take me into weather. The Arrow IV at my flight school has 72 gallons of usable fuel and burns ~10 gallons per hour in cruise. Our Arrow is well equipped for instrument cross-country flights with a back-up attitude indicator, HSI, Garmin 400 GPS, 2-axis autopilot and a JPI graphic engine monitor (GEM) for more precise engine monitoring. I completed my Commercial and CFI rating in the Arrow and like to take it on trips once or twice a year.

Step one: get to Chicago.

The mission was to fly to Midway on Friday night: my parents would run the 5K Saturday, I would run the marathon Sunday, and we would all return home on Monday. I’ve found Midway to be the best way to access Chicago using a GA airplane. Taking the Orange Line into the Loop is great because it gets you anywhere downtown in about an hour after landing. The 100LL sold at MDW is expensive but purchasing the minimum waives the ramp fee and the cost of going to a full-service FBO becomes more reasonable given the location. I still wish Meigs Field was an option like Burke Lakefront is in Cleveland, but that just isn’t the case anymore.

On departure, showers covered the Akron area and threatened to douse us during the preflight so we left for the airport early to stay dry. The winds aloft forecast showed a small lapse rate, common in the fall, predicting smooth air along our route. All the PIREPs for turbulence were in the flight levels so the only challenging part of the flight would be getting into Midway with all the jet traffic. The TAFs for MDW, ORD and other airports in the Chicago area were calling for low ceilings (below 1000 feet) and visibility between 3-5 miles and decreasing overnight. The radar showed some yellow approaching the airport from the west so for good measure and to keep Momma happy I filed from my home airport Wadsworth, Ohio (3G3) to Dryer VOR and then direct to BAGEL to join the Pangg.3 arrival.

We climbed through a layer and, after passing the line of rain, found ourselves on top of an undercast at 6,000 feet. The three-hour flight gave me plenty of time to watch the weather in Chicago through the ADS-B weather on my iPad. At one point enroute, O’Hare was reporting RVR of 5500-6500 and MDW was down to 1 1/2 miles. Not ideal for getting aerial pictures of the skyline but we could still get in so we carried on.

Once we arrived in the terminal area, the weather at Midway had improved to 3 sm visibility and 500-foot overcast. ATC vectored us for the RNAV Z 22L and we broke out about 200 feet above LP minimums. The flight was early enough in the year that ice wasn’t a threat but another month or two would have probably changed that. Atlantic was happy to drive us to the Orange Line and we went downtown to check in at our hotel and see the Marathon expo. The forecast was for ceilings to drop to overcast at 300 feet overnight and the visibility dropped with the arrival of a cold front that evening.

Running the streets of Chicago is a memorable experience.

Walking around downtown Chicago and seeing the buildings stretch into the clouds was a unique experience for someone from a small town in Ohio. I’m sure I looked like a tourist. The buildings rose hundreds of feet into the sky and never stopped. The energy of the city, elevated for Marathon weekend, hyped me up for the race. I felt waves of excitement and fear wash over me in anticipation as I cheered for my parents during the 5K.

The day finally came for me to run my first marathon and it was awesome. The 44,000 runners were cheered on by people lining the streets for miles. The spectators screamed, played music, held “chaffing the dream” and “worst parade ever” signs propelling runners like me around the city. It was an experience I will certainly not soon forget.

After some celebratory deep-dish pizza (another reason to fly to Chicago) and recovery Sunday night, it was time to fly home. The weather Monday was much more agreeable than it had been when we arrived. A warm front snaked west-east along the Michigan/Indiana border towards Cleveland with short, building cumulus clouds speckling the route home.

We filed for 7,000 feet but after getting bumped around in the clouds decided it was time to hunt for some smoother air at 9,000 feet. It’s hard to out climb the weather in a non-turbocharged single-engine piston, but we were able to find a comfortable ride most of the way home, dodging a few larger build-ups that probably rose to the lower flight levels later that afternoon. Once we were within 20 miles of home and things began looking familiar again, I cancelled IFR and landed in Wadsworth.

Cloud surfing is the way to fly cross country in an Arrow.

I’m lucky that the owners of this particular flight school encourage pilots to take their airplanes on overnight trips. Not everyone owns a plane or has access to rental aircraft that are permitted to be taken overnight. If you do, I suggest you take advantage of the opportunity. I have been fortunate enough to do five trips to Oshkosh, the Chicago Marathon, visit First Flight Airport (FFA), and see my sister during family weekend at her college in Wilmington, North Carolina, all as a renter pilot because of these generous policies. If you aren’t sure if you can take the plane, ask. The worst they can do is say no. As long as you plan to put a reasonable amount of time on the plane when you have it, it may not be a big deal.

I would recommend asking to fly an airplane that isn’t heavily used for training on the weekends if you are planning a weekend trip, though. Having an instrument rating and being proficient is all but essential for completing these types of trips reliably. Without it, you may find yourself stuck somewhere and the flight school is without an airplane for some unfortunate students Sunday evening or Monday morning. An instrument rating would definitely help your case if you need to convince an owner that may be reluctant to have renters taking their plane overnight. They would be more likely to allow a long-time, instrument-current customer who flies often to take the plane than a VFR pilot who only flies a few times a month in the summer.

After putting the plane away in Wadsworth, the final tally was 5.7 hours on the Hobbs and 50 gallons of fuel for the trip. The older pilots at the airport make it sound like this was the way it used to be back in the 70s during the glory days of general aviation. I’m sure it was a great time to be a pilot then, but it doesn’t mean the future can’t be as good or even better. I know plenty of pilots at my airport who enjoy afternoon trips for ice cream and some who take their airplanes on trips regularly. The numbers may not show it directly, but I think spirit of general aviation is still alive and well. Let’s all work to keep it that way.

The post Flying 275 miles so I could run 26.2 miles appeared first on Air Facts Journal.

from Engineering Blog https://airfactsjournal.com/2019/02/flying-275-miles-so-i-could-run-26-2-miles/

[fitnesshealthyoga-blog]

New Post has been published on https://fitnesshealthyoga.com/8-minimalist-vacation-packing-tips-i-absolutely-swear-by/

8 Minimalist Vacation Packing Tips I Absolutely Swear By

I’m an under-packer by nature. I try to travel with one carry-on only (usually a backpack)—even when I’m leaving the country for a while and even when I’m traveling with my 3-year-old son. Sounds crazy, I know. And while it’s true this method has occasionally led me to seriously questionable hiking footwear (and definitely led me to 10 days in Scandinavia with only one pair of pants), for the most part, it is a truly liberating way to travel. Doing a one-backpack trip forces me to sit down and think about what I—and my son—truly need and what we can live with out. It almost turns last-minute packing an hour before the airport drive into a moving meditation on materialism and our existence as a human society… almost.

But even with the most minimalist of packing, I usually end up on a vacation with a decidedly un-minimalist schedule—and an overburdened frame of mind. There are hotels to book and tours to take and sights to see and reservations to make, not to mention inevitable souvenir shopping that completely undoes the whole one-backpack logic in the first place.

And after a week or so of that plus who knows how many flights/hours on the road? Well, I end up back home needing a vacation from my vacation. Sound familiar?

That’s why I decided it was time for me, the minimalist packer, to become and actual minimalist traveler—to plan a vacation that involved bringing, using, planning and doing as little as possible. Enter the plastic tiny house, a 170-square-foot energy-efficient home chilling (or rather, heating up) in the desert outside Phoenix, Arizona. (It was designed by Tiny House Nation host Zack Giffin, NBD). Just by the nature of choosing this as my temporary home, I was already hopping on the minimalist bandwagon. This particular 170-square-foot and super-energy-efficient tiny house made of plastic is a testimony to how little we can use if we just think creatively (and a sink that feeds gray water directly into the toilet system doesn’t hurt).

Image: Courtesy of Tony Marinella.

That’s right. I headed to the Arizona desert in August to spend my vacation in 170 square feet with the bare necessities, no other humans and certainly no restaurant reservations. And just to make my minimalist vacation extra-official, I brought: one pair of shoes, six items of clothing (including underwear) and a toothbrush/toothpaste. And that’s it. And it was the best vacation I’ve taken in a long time.

Image: apedelman/Instagram.

So if you’re the type who thinks travel has to involve endless planning, scheduling, packing multiple suitcases, booking hotels, tours and dining options, think again. This is how deciding to take that minimalist vacation to a tiny house in the desert, packing essentially nothing, changed the game for this traveling mom.

Image: Courtesy of Jennifer Verrier.

Why you should take a minimalist vacation

It’s cheaper

That part’s a given. If you’re doing less, you’re spending less. Aim to spend on the bare-bones.

Lodging: No hotels! Aim for an affordable Airbnb, or better yet, arrange a free home exchange through a site like Kid & Coe.

Transportation: Bonus if you drive or take public transport to your destination rather than flying.

Food: Groceries, not restaurant bills.

Leave the entertainment part of the budget at $0—and see where it takes you.

It requires less planning beforehand

With an entertainment budget and schedule set at zero, you can save your at-home hours before the trip and those frantic last-minute Google searches for places to stay/eat/see. Instead, let your vacation “plans” involve walking out your door in the morning and seeing where your stroll takes you.

The getting-there part is way easier

Embarking on a six-hour (or 16-hour) flight is exhausting enough already. Do you really need to add multiple pieces of luggage and a trip to baggage claim to your already (literally) burdened shoulders? No. Pack only the essentials—and then remove five things from your bag before you go. You’ll be surprised what you can do without.

It forces you to be resourceful

I stand by the statement, “You’ll be surprised what you can do without.” That said, for my tiny house trip, I wildly under-packed—on purpose, of course—and in my minimization discovered two things I hadn’t packed it turned out I sorely missed, especially in the dry Arizona summer: a hair tie and lip balm. But you’d better believe I scavenged through that house to find an old elastic tag that I used to tie my hair up for the whole trip. Oh, and I absolutely put kitchen olive oil on my lips every night. #NoRegrets

It forces you to focus on yourself (for better or worse)

Guess what. When you’re alone in a tiny house in the desert (or a cabin in the woods or a yurt on the mountain or whatever your preferred solo-minimalist vacation locale may be), you cannot just keep busy and la-la-la your way through life and ignore whatever it is you really need/need to work on/need to give up. Your shit will rise up to the surface, and you will have to confront it. But hey, the only way out is through, baby.

I do want to note here that I don’t equate a minimalist vacation to “roughing it.” Any sort of camping/backpacking/what-have-you trip that involves trekking through the woods, setting up a tent, conjuring up a fire and all your meals and hauling ass to some dark bug-infested corner of the forest in order to “go to the bathroom” is all very admirable—but it’s not quite what I mean by minimalist. Because that shit involves work. Camping/backpacking, strangely like taking a fancy multi-hotel tour of Europe, does involve a lot of planning and preparing (isn’t that literally the Boy Scout motto?) and pretty much constant effort to keep that whole staying-alive-in-the-wilderness thing afloat.

For me, in this moment, I wanted a trip that still landed solidly in the vacation category of travel: somewhere warm and habitable with pre-appointed (indoor) lodgings and an actual toilet. You know, the basics that roughing it doesn’t quite provide. And I lucked out in that my tiny house was pre-stocked with some basic food as well: milk, coffee, eggs, butter. All of this is to say that this precise midpoint between roughing it and your typical vacation got me exactly where I wanted to get: the middle of the desert with absolutely nothing to do.

Image: Courtesy of Jennifer Verrier.

So, how do you take a minimalist vacation?

Book early

This is key both for planning-stress levels as well as pricing.

Pack light (duh)

See above re: items of clothing, toothbrush, sunscreen. I promise you can do it.

Don’t pack shoes—I mean it

This is my No. 1 packing tip for all forms of travel, but especially if you’re aiming for minimalism. You’re not going to a wedding here, nor are you climbing Everest. Whatever isolated locale you choose, plan to wear—not pack—one pair of sturdy, oh-so-comfortable footwear that will actually last you the whole week or however long you’re gone. If you’re heading to the hills, hiking boots. If you’re beaching it, Birkenstocks. As long as they’re comfy, who cares what they look like? Nobody will be looking at your feet anyway.

Get outside your comfort zone with food

Yes, sure, you have favorite meals and favorite recipes and favorite restaurants. But what’s something super-simple you can cook just for yourself literally every day for a week? Make yourself one big epic pot of soup and see how long it lasts or dive into the wondrous world of kitchari. It won’t be fancy, but you will be full. And just see how much brain space you end up with when you’re not thinking about meal planning every single day.

Move your body in new ways

This whole thing goes out the window if you sit in your tiny house like a rock for a week. You will not feel good if your minimalist vacation involves being horizontal the entire time. But no, you will not have access to SoulCycle or a hotel gym. So get creative. Take a walk, a hike, a run, a jump-around-the-lake-five-times. Try your hand at a solo at-home yoga practice even if you’ve only ever taken two classes before. Get in your body and see what feels good. Bonus points if you really see what feels good. You are on a solo vacation, after all.

Expect to go without

So, you’ve never gone a week without makeup? Or shampoo? What about deodorant? I see you cringing. But remember, this is your minimalist vacation. You are likely all alone—or as is so often my case, “alone” with a child in tow—and nobody cares about how your hair looks. Of course, this is not to say you should go a week without key prescription medication or brushing your teeth. But that hairdryer/concealer/five-step facial-moisturizing system? Leave it behind. And while you’re at it, see if you can leave your social media accounts behind too. I dare you.

Do pack one (tech-free) thing to “do”

Whether it’s that poetry book you’re reading (or writing!), a journal, a sketchbook or even your knitting, there will be times your mind needs a break from all that quiet time with itself. Give it one that will also fuel it.

For me, in my borrowed tiny house, the sheer lack of stuff to do—no tent-setting, fire-building, bear-repelling, or shit hole-scouting, but also no sightseeing, navigating, appointment-setting or museum-hopping—left me no choice but to face what I had come to face: myself. I wrote. I meditated. I walked. I cooked some eggs. I took the longest shower possible because, as opposed to my showers at home that are hastily sandwiched between dishes, laundry, lunch-packing, school drop-off and the workday (it’s a wonder working single moms shower at all, honestly), I had no schedule to rush off to, nothing to be inevitably late to and no reason to feel guilty or ashamed for happily standing under hot water for half an hour. Other than, you know, water waste and the environment. Damn it.

On my minimalist vacation, I had zero plans. I had to—I got to—face many small, strange situations and feelings that are entirely alien in my regular life: silence, solitude, boredom, ease, freedom, peace.

And guess what (this is the sixth and possibly most important reason to take a minimalist vacation)…

The effects extend way beyond the trip itself

All that solo soul-searching? You will definitely carry the aftereffects home with you. There’s nothing quite like a trip that’s based on packing/planning/paying/doing/using less to inspire you to take stock in your life and think about what you actually need going forward—you know, out of the tiny house and back into real life.

One thing’s for certain: You’ll never again forget to appreciate the value of a hair tie.

  Originally posted on SheKnows.

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[stylequeenie]

“Travel doesn’t become an adventure until you leave yourself behind!”

You may have been some of the pictures of my recent whirlwind trip, but I wanted to share with you my perspective on Norway, what we did, where we went and how we’re feeling now we’re back!

You may have heard that the trip was a gift that I surprised Brandon with for his birthday.  It wasn’t a milestone birthday, it was just something I know he had been wanting to do for a long time, he is great at planning amazing surprises for me and I felt like it was finally time for me to step up my game 🙂

He knew we were going somewhere, but had no idea where until his birthday on September 3rd.  On that morning I woke him by giving him a raincoat (yes we definitely needed that), a new Patagonia rolling backpack hand luggage, and his detailed itinerary of our trip.  Like I mentioned, it was a whirlwind, so let me take you on our journey…

Day 1 – Arrive in London (definitely jet lagged) but not too tired to do a little shopping and eat some good old fish and chips!  After a brief tour of London, we went to the airport again and departed for Bergen, Norway.

    Day 2 – Woke up in Bergen, and fell in love with the city.  This quaint little fishing town is so much more than I imagined, mainly because it isn’t as small as I was expecting.  It did have the beauty of being a small town, with the beautiful colored historical shops on the pier, but its boundaries were so much more.  We visited a castle, walked the pier, took a funicular (very slow moving train) to the top of the mountain that overlooked the whole bay and the city.  Later we had time to rent E-bikes and explore old Bergen and cycle through the hills overlooking the bay.

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Day 3 – Departed on a boat to take a Fjord cruise up the Sognefjord to our next destination, the tiny village of Leikanger.  The scenery on the cruise was amazing, and the weather wasn’t too cold to be on the back of the boat taking pictures.  Once we arrived in Leikanger, we went on a bike ride to the small village, ate lunch and explored a little. After returning to the hotel, Brandon and our friend Dan, decided to take a dip in the Fjord glacier water (just so they could say they did).

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Day 4 – A short boat ride to the amazing town of Flam (this town was definitely my favorite)…all the waterfalls, the hiking and the amazing rainbows completely made this place magical.  We hiked a mile up to a beautiful waterfall, ate at a viking themed restaurant and took and relaxing bath in a historic themed room with the claw foot tub (perfect after getting wet and cold hiking to the waterfall).  The dinner at the viking restaurant was delicious but we said no to dessert and headed back to the hotel to eat an after dinner treat at the hotel.

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Day 5 – Train from Flam via Myrdal to Oslo.  An amazing ride through the mountains, along the river, through more fjords and amongst more waterfalls.  It almost seemed like we were saying “Oh…there’s one more waterfall”.  This train ride was so much fun, sitting relaxing and enjoying the beauty of the changing seasons.  As we rode to higher elevations, we saw fall leaves on the trees, and even snow at the top of the mountain.  Riding back down the other side, onto Oslo, the scenery was a little more commonplace but still amazing.  We arrived in Oslo, immediately dropped off our bags and headed into the city.  It was a little chilly and rainy, so we took ourselves to the Viking ship museum and didn’t do a lot of walking around but ate dinner in the city center and explored a few of the shops.  Being like most big cities, a lot of stores were big chains, but it was still fun to see.

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Day 6 – After spending the night in our hotel, we woke up and headed to go take a look at the amazing opera house – definitely a landmark.  After climbing to the top, we took a trolley to check out the naked statues at Frogland park.  I’ve never seen anything like it, we may have had just a little bit too much fun taking pictures there 😉 . After that we collected our luggage and headed to the airport to take our flight to Edinburgh, Scotland.  I had the chance to brush up on my driving on the left hand side of the road in a stick shift.  😉 . We met up with some of my English friends in Edinburgh and watched the sunset over the skyline from a park on a hill in the outskirts of town.  Our view from the hotel of Edinburgh castle was amazing.

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Day 7 – We booked our tickets online for Edinburgh castle so we could get up early and head over there.  We ate at the Elephant House, there JK Rowling wrote a lot of her Harry Potter books.  I don’t remember ever going to the castle when I was younger, and it was well worth the trip.   After the tour of the castle we loaded up the car and started the drive up to the highlands via St Andrews.  I am not really a golfer, so even though my dad has played there, I had never even been to the town.  It was very quaint and definitely worth a visit, even though when we were walking through the historic old cemetery and castle ruins, the sun was shining but we got stuck in a hailstorm.  Finally after the hail let up, we loaded the car again and started the drive to Inverness (right at the top of Loch Ness).  The even there was beautiful and VERY cold, but it was a really cool little town.

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Day 8 – After spending the night in Inverness, we had breakfast in this cute little town and prepared to go see a Scottish/English battleground and then on to Loch Ness.  The little thatched roof house at the battlements was so cute and had been there for centuries.  The Castle ruins and their view of Loch Ness were beautiful and a great place to explore.  I found that driving on the country roads was a little bit of a white knuckle ride, because the roads are so narrow and there were a lot of big tour buses.  We made it without a scratch but I won’t like, it definitely made me a bit nervous.  I guess after being in the US with our wide roads over here it was a little more intimidating than I thought it would be.  We drove alongside a few Lochs back down to Edinburgh to spend the night again.

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Day 9 – Our last day in Edinburgh, Scotland was spent exploring a little more of the city – including a little scarf and kilt shopping.  Our friends found a pair of mini bagpipes that sounded more like a dying cat than musical, but it was definitely entertaining.  We walked along a park with a fabulous view of the castle, and came across and ice cream van so I had to have a 99 Ice cream cone.  Definitely worth the calories 🙂  We walked down to see the castle that the Queen comes and stays in when she visits Edinburgh, and came across a restaurant over in Stockbridge that definitely warranted us taking a picture.  After spending the day exploring, we headed back to the airport to take our flight back to London so we could depart the following day.

One thing I realized is that when I am planning things, I tend to move a little too quickly.  There were so many moving parts to this trip – all the modes of transportation and hotels in each place.  I had booked the flight to London Gatwick instead of Heathrow where our flight back to Salt Lake City was departing the following day…After beating myself up just a little for screwing that up, we hopped aboard our flight.  Everyone’s bags came off the carousel except mine (which is even more frustrating when you consider that I only ever take hand luggage, but had decided on this flight to let my bag be checked! 😦 ) .

The airport told me that British Airways who we flew with actually doesn’t track their luggage UNLESS they lose it and then they start looking for it.  We did hang around the airport for about an hour thinking they may find it, but decided to take an Uber back to the hotel around 10pm.  Right when we were almost at our Hotel near Heathrow airport they called and told me that they had located the bag but that they couldn’t get it to me in time for our flight but would send it back to Salt Lake for me.  Moral of this story – always carry some spare underwear in your hand luggage just in case they lose your bag….

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  All in all, I have to say, this trip is going to be hard to top.  Norway and Flam in particular were definitely a highlight, and we would love to spend more time up in the small Fjord villages.  I did love Edinburgh though, especially all the nostalgia from my childhood and the quaint buildings, all the history and castles.

If you are ever looking for an amazing trip to take, there is a tour called “Norway in a Nutshell” that covers a lot of the ground that we covered, and they plan it all for you.

Now comes the hard part – how do I plan a trip for next year that will surpass this one?  😉

Trip of a Lifetime "Travel doesn't become an adventure until you leave yourself behind!" You may have been some of the pictures of my recent whirlwind trip, but I wanted to share with you my perspective on Norway, what we did, where we went and how we're feeling now we're back!

[ponderingthenoonlight]

Adventures In the Land of the Vikings – Part 1

I just had to turn almost all the way back to the beginning of my stuffed journal to re-read this adventure.

In March 2017 I went on my first real solo trip, to Norway and the Faroe Islands. I’ll start with Oslo. Here is a little excerpt from my journal:

“I am well into my third month studying abroad, and our long awaited ‘winter’ break has arrived.

There is a screeching sound combined with a noise like metal springs being murdered, as the subway (above ground) pulls up to the Holmenkollen station where I am sitting. Of course, it’s going in the opposite direction from where my plans will take me. My subway should be getting here in about 15 minutes, but I don’t mind the waiting. I’ve gotten used to being okay with missing trains and subways in my time commuting from Täby to Stockholm and back in Sweden. After all, the wait now is giving me time to write this.

As the subway pulls away from me, it leaves me sitting across the tracks, a little less than 350 meters above the city of Oslo. Behind me are the sloping roads and drops offs leading down into the fjord which has a strange sunny mist playing over the whole thing. Birds are prattling on in the trees up here, and though there’s still some snow on the ground, I’ve already had to stuff my sweater in my camera bag/backpack. Spring is really coming.

…

I’m on my train now. It’s clean, un-crowded, and filled with sunlight. Nothing like the subways of New York underground. In my opinion, Scandinavia just keeps wining at the public transport game.

Man, it’s so sunny. To get the view of the fjord includes getting slightly roasted. Coat off.

Yesterday was the beginning of my truly solo Nordic adventure. One day in Oslo then a train-bus-boat journey of 2 days over to Bergen. Then 2 days in Bergen, and then flying off to the Faroes. …

Today, museums. Heck yeah archaeology.”

Peek at my journal

I’d flown from Stockholm’s Arlanda Airport to Oslo and taken the airport train to the Oslo train system. From there I got to my hotel. I’ll be open about the finances of this trip. Norway is ridiculously expensive, and I was ridiculously lucky to have financial help from my parents. They treated me to the stay in the gorgeous hotel at the top of the hill looking out of the fjord, and the wonderful meal I had there. For the rest of the time in Norway, I tried to eat at not so nice places, and didn’t do much souvenir shopping… much. But it’s still definitely a trip to save up for or to put on a Christmas list. It was certainly more affordable as I was just hopping over from Sweden. I also bought the Oslo Pass which give you deals on museum tickets, transportation, and more! I found it worth it to get a day pass for my day there.

It was just magnificent

I mean… Look at this gorgeous nordic castle of a hotel! I arrived the night before in the evening, and rose in the morning to see this place shine. I felt like possibly the luckiest college student in the world.

It was a daydream I was hesitant to leave, but there I was, as you read in my journal, at the subway station ready for a day of exploring Norwegian history.

My view, waiting for the train.

From the subway I walked to the harbor-side and hopped on a ferryboat which brought me to the “museum island” Bygdøy across the Oslo Fjord. The main highlights of the island are: The Viking Ship Museum, Norsk Folkemuseum, Kon-Tiki Museum, Polar Ship Fram, Norwegian Maritime Museum, and the Holocaust Center. I made it to four of the six before I returned to the mainland.

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The Fram Museum

The Fram museum holds two of the world’s strongest polar vessels and a rich collection of polar exploration artifacts and stories. The Fram was the strongest wooden ship ever built in it’s day, and you can walk across its beautifully preserved decks. Around the outside of the huge room, one that reminded me of my dear Vasa Museum back in Sweden, was a huge timeline of the explorers that called this ship their home over the years. I highly recommend this place. Learn about the Northern and Southern expeditions, Nansen, Roald Amundsen, being trapped in the ice, and more. The Gjøa is the first ship that made it through the Northwest Passage, and sits in another building, also part of the museum. I could have spent hours in both. It was humbling and fascinating.

The Fram

I was a pretty happy camper as I left one maritime exploration museum for the two more…

The Norwegian Maritime Museum and The Kon-Tiki Museum

I have always loved boats. Especially wooden ones. Especially sailing ones. But I can still never imagine being on the open, I mean really open, sea. These two museums taught me a thing or two about being humble when faced with the ocean. The Norwegian Maritime Museum walks you through hundreds of years of history and the people who really make Norway, from sailors to pirates to the women who traveled with them, and much much more (see the last circle photo below).

The Ra

And the Kon-Tiki Museum… well it mostly taught me what a crazy bastard Thor Heyerdahl was. I kid, I kid. It gave me the upmost respect for Thor, who crossed the Pacific Ocean on the balsa raft called Kon-Tiki, in 1947. What a feat… He didn’t stop there, either, and built two more rafts (including the Ra). The museum itself is brilliantly set up, especially giving you a real feel for adventure concerning archaeology, as Heyerdahl also explored Easter Island and several other sites. Really fascinating stuff. I couldn’t recommend them more. Plus, these two are right across from each other!

  The Viking Ship Museum

Nothing really compares to walking into a museum and seeing the real-life artifacts that you’ve been learning about in class for months. Well, at least for an archaeologist. I’d spent three months already learning about viking archaeology at Stockholm Universitet, including ships, burials, art styles, and more. The Viking Ship museum (in Oslo- I’ll write about the danish one later) has it all. Well, specifically it features grave goods and ships from four main ship burials in Norway. Oseberg, Gokstad, Tune, and Borre. All these ships were used as “ocean-going vessels” before being used in burials. The ships, large and small, from these burials are magnificently preserved, as are the masterpieces of burial goods found inside them. After looking at them only in books, it was emotional and incredible to see them in person. (Actually, I had been here before, as well as the Fram museum, as a wee bitty child. It was interesting to see that I had combined aspects of each with each other in my vague memories. Nice to sort that all out again as an adult, and sad to see how much I had lost or gotten wrong in those childhood memories.)

It was almost impossible to get the complete ship in one shot. There are special balconies in the museum made for getting all the ship in one photo.

I won’t bore you by going into details of each burial, or the artifacts I took photos of, but one amazing fact I will share is that the largest boat, the Oseberg Ship, appears to the the burial of two powerful viking women. Their burial goods include not only the massive and gorgeously decorated ship, but also three sledges, a wagon, beautiful animal shaped headposts (incredible examples of the viking art style that actually got its name from this find), five beds, six dogs, fifteen horses, two cows, and more.

Gods do I love Viking Ships…

Hello, beautiful

Akershus Fortress

The last stop of the day before I headed back to the hotel – I had an early start on the next leg of my adventure the next day – was wandering along the harbor and exploring, and playing really, around the Akershus Fortress. I love a good castle-park-fort exploration and had far too much fun by myself; taking photos, posing with the statues that were part of an art exhibition at the time, and generally feeling like I was in another world. I’ll show the rest of the day with photos, because it was too gorgeous a place for me to describe.

Oh also, it’s free entry! – I never went inside any buildings, so not sure if those require entry fees or are even open to the public… there was so much to do outside and it felt like springtime for the first time! (You’ll see me without a sweater in a couple photos!)

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I had a fantastic time. I think I’ll have to write a post about taking photos of oneself while solo-traveling, because this was the first step of that learning curve. It was a fun first step though, and I have some great memories captured now to show for it.

I remember one moment in particular. I was taking the photo (the first in this blog post) and there was that long beautiful avenue of trees on a hill above the main cobbled walking path below, and I thought the light was just perfect. So, I set up my tripod, set off the timer, and sprinted down the avenue of trees, away from the camera, to spin around and pose in that ridiculous but joyful moment you see above. Panting and grinning, I ran back to the camera to see how it had turned out, and heard a voice call out from below.

“That was so nice!”

A young man, maybe tourist maybe local, but with a Scandinavian accent for sure, was beaming up at me, having seen my skipping gullumfing moment. Apparently it had made his day. I shouted a thanks and he gave me a thumbs up before continuing on away with his friends. That one little comment made me feel a lot better and less silly for all the other photos I had taken before that moment.

I went back to the hotel exhausted, only to go out again as I was invited to the art-opening of a popular bar in the city. But that’s a whole other story. I finally got to bed exhausted, delighted, and feeling seriously empowered, excited to continue my solo journey across Norway.

A very happy Petra in the Fram Museum’s bathroom #noshameformirrorselfies

  A Day (of Museums and Castles) in Oslo - The first stage of my solo adventures in the land of vikings... Adventures In the Land of the Vikings - Part 1 I just had to turn almost all the way back to the beginning of my stuffed journal to re-read this adventure.

[the-four-islands]

I found an old journal on my computer today. Enjoy?

LAST NIGHT 20TH 8TH 2015

This was probably before the island. I was with my family a new house- two houses, actually, on a isolated and cold grassy hill. I wanted so badly to be able to sleep but my parents were screaming at each other. It was a great crime to sneak out like I did but I remember slowly making my way down the steep hill under a bush to call Izaac on Skype. I found a narrow balcony that was only big enough for my body, so somehow the house had changed into an apartment while I was outside. It shifted back and forth as I spoke to him and he calmed me down, from cool grey to dark blue over and over again. My dad found me and pulled at my hair, yelling in my face. He was absolutely furious. I called Isaac again in another room and after demanding that gravity be just weak enough for me to get away with it without hurting myself, jumped out a window. I tried to aim for a black trash bin behind the chicken-wire fence but missed.

When I finally called him again I had to run into a tree and was losing balance, so all he saw was a bunch of blurred images and me trying to say something but losing myself to laughing because I was holding onto ropes and vines to stay up in as it shifted backwards underneath my weight. It was behind a glass barrier- maybe an exhibition? Actually! This is what lead to the event at the island! I decided to run away and keep exploring. The island was in Nowhere but seemed to link to the boat that goes to Discovery Bay.

My memory starts inside a tiny wooden house in the centre of a small island, where we had to clear out the shelves of a storage cupboard. Most things had expired a while ago and the people next door were always.. so tall. They were white and so tall. Now, this leads into a deal with an old black necklace, and something to do with circular dislocated flames. They would kill us whenever they could. I tried to sneak in one night and was surprised when they told me something about crashing into a green giant on the way to the DB ferry- it was staged, they said, through wild grassy rocks.

The island itself was probably in that region where everything is sandy and dry. There was some kind of event and I couldn’t decide what to wear, but I ended up going barefoot. It was a warm and humid night. There were more circular flames floating in the air with bugs flickering around them, their sounds mixing in with small shells being crushed underneath people’s feet. I think it was a procession of some kind? It was somewhat tribal, or similar to a resort trying to act tribal in an effort to seem interesting to tourists.

The shelves were full of things like rice, popcorn and an unreasonable amount of chips. We found some hidden lollies too. Which was great. It was always night when the people seemed to change- I had figured out a girl next door was a sprite? Or changeling when I caught her colouring her necklace in with black, so I changed it around so she would colour in the wrong areas when she wasn’t paying attention She was in the corner and the ceiling and her kind wanted to kill us, to take us away somewhere. She was not human. Between my small room with the shelves there was a door to the left and one to the right. I had made friends with someone on the left but decided to go right, which was where I found the sprite. She was tall and angelic, beautifully so but she was malicious. She pretended to be innocent but why? What did her kind want? These are the things I can’t remember and it is very frustrating.

SHE WAS ZOE. Why is it that every time I see her she’s some kind of angelic being?

I realised somewhere that I could turn back time and catch her before she hurt us. I told the others in my room and they went along with it, so I re-did everything that had happened in the dream before coming to this island. Including going to the shifting house, calling Isaac and running away.

On the way to the ferry pier I had to sigh “oh my god, I’m stressed, what am I going to do,” and bumped into a tall and muscular man i’m somehow remembering as the lion from the wizard of oz. My apologising would make him ask what I was worried about, and somehow this conversation becomes important to triggering other events later. Maybe he was supposed to tell me something. Once I was back, I tried to take the necklace from the sprite. The proof was that if I found a flame I could concentrate and make it move to somewhere else in this hotel room- white and sparse, minimal, clean. It would be suspended in the air. Another word would make it from into a large circle so that the ceiling would burn black. The loop happened quite a few times.

I’m not sure where in the story this happened. There was a dream machine on a beach where you can chose an emotion or plot, similar to the entrance to a train station where you put in coins and a metal bar turns to allow you through. I was worried about my brothers and wanted to go back to the dream with the tall people and the black necklace. The machine said this dream had expired and transported me, some strangers and the guide from before (that I think I had fallen in love with by this point) into a clear pale blue room in another island. We were floating and we had to make these creatures whose heads to were connected to their tales- they weren’t allowed to breathe, which made me feel sad. Kayla was showing us how to do this but I have no idea what for. There were more hills…they were everywhere. Somehow that ended when I took a creature and ran out.

Later on in the same night, this happened.

I was standing on the DB beach which leads to Hong Kong. I felt fear, and then I was running through that airport that has been linked before, with a boy I think I knew (no idea who he is now though). Gravity was weak when I ran through the Townsville airport, but also Central all at once.There was a cafe that we had to go past and I KNOW I have been there before in another dream. It’s an impossibly large mall area but I recognised different landmarks and knew how to get to the front. The large subways and grey tiles with palm trees sprouting everywhere are definitely from another time. I know they are.

We jumped into an elevator shaft that spat us out into the middle of a waste dump. I think it was behind those buildings in Tung Chung, but we were utterly lost. My only source of reference was the IFC tower so I decided we had to set out to find it. The dump was full of sharp edges and rusted corrugated iron that slowly flaked apart as we passed by. We found two other people huddled in a small pit there and said we would help them find their way, but they refused to leave. They were happy there. Hong Kong, for the first time in my memory, had completely transformed into FULL impoverished mode. We wanted to cross to the IFC but were blocked by a an absolutely disgusting river slowly moving through a concrete path.

Thankfully, a solution was found soon enough- there was an old man leaning out of his window and singing into the air, and as he did these enormous, bulbous fish as big as my arms would jump across the water and furiously try to flap their way up the cement slope like salmon moving against a waterfall. He must have been singing about food because as I looked at them I got the inexplicable sense that they were hungry. There was a large black alligator and two eels that were so big the water wasn’t deep enough to comfortably hold their bodies, so they had to slither and thrash along instead of swim. The boy I was with said we might be hungry on our trip so I called to them too, copying the melody of the man in the window. As I did he pointed to a thin rope bridge and signalled to be quiet. My companion said that we had to stop calling to them, otherwise they’d hit the bridge and we’d fall. Getting across was excruciatingly difficult. We got across eventually, but the fish had lost heart and didn’t want to move so we left them.

The next part of the dream is mostly a blur of back alleys and roads where everything was brown and covered in slime and flies, and one particular moment where we had to step across the carcass of a giant squid draped over decaying tyres, picked apart by rail-thin brown dogs. The height and complexity of the buildings was staggering. Bright, cramped, infested, greys and browns and greens, filthy and fishy with pipes and air-conditioning units jutting out every which way, ropes swinging and ladders dangling from bamboo towers so high the pollution stopped me from seeing the tops.

Along the way I remember we had given up and decided to just make a home there for the night. He had found some rope and made a hammock which attached to the side of a woman’s balcony made from bamboo, only reached after climbing up a small tower of dumpsters. She was a sadist and was happy that someone had come to her. There was a weird thing with pain scales, slicing tongues and force-feeding him chemicals but they both seemed to be into it. I decided to leave him behind and climbed to the top of the highest apartments. Now, everything had been built out of bamboo and tarp- rooms just big enough to house one person but that was enough for the people there. They had made marketplaces of beautiful, richly coloured and giant vegetables so far above the ground it was as if an entirely different city existed up there.

This was the moment where my perspective shifted and I wasn’t myself anymore. I was losing control of the dream. Fighting this is…a pretty difficult thing to explain.

I was a young cantonese boy and was with an old man, we were flying to get back to a bus station but a very beaten-up helicopter was trailing us. I sat on top of a large sign and saw the brown ocean and the rivers trailing out underneath me and cried so much, because all the weight and stress of what was happening in the real world just crashed down on me despite being irrelevant to the dream. He had a silver beard and a crooked back and was very, very old, a fast runner but a slow walker in tattered clothing. I didn’t want him to die. The officers in the helicopter thought we were these escaped robbers (as did everyone else) but we were innocent. I remember so desperately wanting to jump off the building and end the dream but the old man lifted me up and urged me forwards to hide in the roof of a small restaurant. It didn’t work. We walked through the front door and at once every head in the room turned and started whispering. When the helicopter men came in I held onto the old man as we were shot in the chest, over and over. I drifted out of my body and saw them taking us away to dump our corpses behind the building with all the other rotting carcasses to be eaten by the dogs. Because we were already up so high, we were thrown over and out of a window. We were covered in our own blood, we fell in slow motion and it was peaceful. As we landed we gently lay side by side, our arms spread across the ground stained with slime and chewing gum and cigarette buts. Paper fell all around us. A girl walked up to us and told us that soon our DNA would be identified and we would be found to be innocent, but the officers would leave our bodies there to for people to look at and pass by.

After I died (?!) I fell back into my own body, still up in the markets. Seems like my head didn’t want me to wake up just yet. I was mourning the death of those two strangers and couldn’t stop shaking and crying. But, I kept walking and when I found the bus they were looking for it was in a completely different location than before. I think I’ve seen this area in other dreams where it’s close to Tung Chung. The line was fairly long and I sat next to someone I knew in real life. We started talking about what we had dreamed about that night. She knew about the machine on the beach that coordinated dreams and told me about the places she had been. I felt that she was very important to me, but now for the life of me I can’t remember who she was. The bus was very crowded in the end. That’s where it ended, sitting in my cramped seat and looking out the window.

NOTES: - I’m beginning to the think this was the same old man as my dream about the hidden utopia, and the marketplace full of mangoes where I learned to be invisible. He’s always showing up as some kind of guide/mentor. Next time I’m lucid I’m going to try and find him again.

[topmixtrends]

ECLECTIC MAY BE the best word to capture Wayne Koestenbaum, an acclaimed poet, distinguished professor, and cultural critic who has written on subjects ranging from Jackie O to Harpo Marx, and from Andy Warhol to humiliation. Koestenbaum’s current project is a trance trilogy, the second volume of which, Camp Marmalade, will be out this month. Koestenbaum and I met virtually, via Zoom, in late January, where, from our respective living spaces on either coast, we discussed the linguistic unconscious, Susan Sontag, and the poetic descent into the underworld. There’s a largesse about Koestenbaum, in the way he speaks and the way he writes, exuding an almost childlike excitement and enthusiasm. Throughout our one-and-a-half-hour conversation, and the several email exchanges that followed, he was totally present, completely invested in the dialogue and in talking about this stuff as if it really matters. Perhaps that’s because for Koestenbaum, it really does.

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SHOSHANA OLIDORT: We first met when I enrolled in a class you were teaching at the CUNY Graduate Center called “Trance.” This was around the same time you were writing what would become the first volume in your trilogy of trance poems, The Pink Trance Notebooks. What does the word “trance” mean to you?

WAYNE KOESTENBAUM: Trance, for my purposes, is this state of self-forgetfulness, absence, flight. It’s a state of not knowing who or where I am. Call it dissociation, combined with intense physical groundedness, and absorption in the minutiae of physical sensation. Transport. My “trance” isn’t necessarily different from the state of rapture or tumbling-into-language that many poets and writers feel, in the heat of composition. It’s a state of letting my mind be filled to the brim with words and phrases — and, at the same time, letting my consciousness float away from itself, fall away, keep rolling down the hill like a tumbleweed or a round object with tremendous momentum and will to fall. But the object — the mind — itself doesn’t have this “will.” The mind surrenders to language’s will. And language isn’t a unified thing, either. So language itself doesn’t have a unitary will. But the language-body inside my neurological-cognitive system has characteristic properties, and, by lessening my willed control over this language-body, I can experience the transport and turbulence of feeling language descend/ascend into new vocabularies, a new syntax. I can feel my language start to sound more like itself, and also less, no longer recognizable as mine. A paradox, given how seemingly autobiographical Camp Marmalade is! But, as Maggie Nelson says in her generous blurb for the book, it’s a “fun house of fractal interiorities.” The fractal quality comes from trance. Trance makes fractal the self that falls into trance, the selves that turn to language as an exit strategy and as a technique for widening the aperture of what we can say and know.

Can you walk me through the process of writing Camp Marmalade? Were you taking notes daily, or weekly, or whenever you were so inspired? Was there a set amount of time that you spent each day/week on these notebooks? A particular time of day when you would write? Were you responding to prompts?

I wrote the notebooks that became Camp Marmalade throughout 2014. On trains. In airports. In the waiting rooms of the doctor, the dentist, the periodontist, the eye doctor. On airplanes. In cafes. In bars. At lectures, performances. At night, sitting on my couch. After breakfast, or during breakfast, sitting at the kitchen table. I’d use fragments of time that become suddenly available — moments in transit. Writing on a long train ride was a favored ritual — the two-hour ride from New York City to Hudson. I didn’t give myself “prompts.” I allowed myself to respond to nearby stimuli, mental noise, memories, associations, ambient sounds. I’d try to write quickly enough — and for a long enough interval of time — that I’d lose self-consciousness, and the language itself would take over. My aim was self-forgetfulness. Hugging language as a body, diving into it, letting myself be surrounded by it. Sometimes I’d sit more quietly and wait for the words to appear in my head. But usually I’d rely on the headlong velocity of the physical process, writing longhand in a notebook, to establish a tempo and to permit absorption into a somatic-semantic field.

What about the editing process, how do you even go about editing a work of this kind?

When I revise the raw transcript, I feel a bit posthumous. I’m less like the writer going over her own work and more like the survivor looking for what can be saved. If I start trying just to cross out parts that aren’t good, I will drown. Instead, I look at the transcript page almost from a distance and I say, “What on this page am I going to save, what leaps out at me?” I use a Palomino Blackwing 602 pencil — very soft. I stand up, usually at the kitchen counter, and I lightly mark the pages. I print a reduced transcript, just the stuff that I’ve marked, and then I get to work editing a massive, unpunctuated, disorderly utterance.

The revision of Camp Marmalade was focused on making fragments syntactically clear. I keep to English syntax, grammar is obeyed, but I mess around the fringes. I have graphomania or logorrhea, of a very mild variety — a kind I think we should encourage in people. It’s not pathological, this love of writing for writing’s sake or speaking for speaking’s sake. It’s a way of wanting to be in the presence of language, to keep producing language because it’s comforting to do so. In both The Pink Trance Notebooks and Camp Marmalade I was satisfying the urge to be terse, definitive, localized, and concrete, but also to enjoy momentum.

The lyric shaping happens in the editing process. When I’m revising, I’m hearing beats. I’m not counting syllables precisely, but I can dwell in the couple of inches before the line break, an interim space of maybe two or three beats. I move slowly toward the line break, and then I turn. I’m always aware of an urgent or languid ballet or choreography of the movement forward, left to right, within a line. And I’m aware of what a cluster of three to four lines look like next to each other, with indentations and enjambment: a tidy organism, boundaried and curving. So I’m aware of a visual/spatial poetics, but also a sonic poetics, concerning feet. It’s basically William Carlos Williams territory.

How does the reader figure in your writing and editing process?

First, on the level of the molecular utterance, call it the sentence itself, where I’m thinking of the reader because I want to be clear. I attempt clarity on a moment-by-moment level — clarity of diction, even if the subject is strange. When I write, I’m thinking of readers, like me, who love weird books, and who love them for selfish reasons. For example, one of my favorite books is a so-called novel, blessedly idiosyncratic, by Austrian writer Friederike Mayröcker: brütt, or The Sighing Gardens. It inspired me to write Pink Trance Notebooks because her novel is an autobiography of the act of writing itself, and because, she is, like Gertrude Stein, so adamant about staying within the physical experience of writing. Reading Mayröcker made me want to write. That’s the selfish reason. Last month I read the second and third volumes of Beckett’s Trilogy. I read them for selfish reasons. I wanted to dip deep into the language cesspool.

You keep referring to reading things selfishly, or for selfish reasons. What’s an altruistic reading?

They say nobody reads poetry except poets. By “selfish,” I mean that there’s a distinct, practical use I wish to make of Beckett — I want not to write about him but to write from him. So when I wrote Camp Marmalade, I was thinking of readers out there who want to write books as strange as Camp Marmalade.

Who are these people?

People from my past. I was thinking of friends, colleagues, students, fellow travelers in the world of literature. People who I’ve loved talking about literature with. I taught the Trance class while I was writing The Pink Trance Notebooks, and again while writing Camp Marmalade, distinctly to encourage myself, selfishly, to give me a sense that there were other people interested in these kinds of experiments. The book involves a wish for sociality, sociability. I love the obscene, particularly the “gay” obscene in literature, and I’m certainly thinking of readers who enjoy that tradition. I’m one such reader. Genet, Dennis Cooper — thank God their works exist. I want to be part of the obscene canon. Gently obscene. Not the real thing. Trump is obscene. Trump has changed everything — even the notion that it’s laudable to speak your mind. Maybe it’s not so good to say what’s on your mind. Maybe you should think first.

One of the hallmarks of your work — both poetic and academic — has been the sheer range of subject matter, from Jackie O to Adrienne Rich. How do you manage that?

I’ve spent many years dwelling within the star-gazer’s subject position: the fan. This stance, for me, has expired. Of course, I try to cultivate my ardors, and I care deeply about performance. But I don’t see myself looking outward toward stardom as something that I want to imbibe and use as encouragement for my muse. I guess I’m answering your question indirectly by saying that if in my earlier work on Jackie O, Andy Warhol, I rely on a core text of classic Hollywood, of a certain shlocky Americana from my childhood, in Camp Marmalade, the references veer toward the not popular, the queerly recherché. Earlier in my career I was haunted by the high/low binary, but I don’t feel so transgressive in my attention to formerly verboten figures. I have always felt more transgressive in style than in content. Many people talk about mass culture in very academic ways, and I don’t. I don’t talk about anything in very academic ways.

On the subject of academic work and poetry — can you speak a bit about how you navigate and move between these different worlds you are a part of, as an academic, a cultural critic, a poet, and an artist.

In my teaching and my writing, I’m trying to expand the field of what is possible. That’s my message, and it’s the altruistic motive of this trilogy, to spread the gospel of a certain improvisatory spaciousness of association. Not that I’m such a relaxed person at all, I’m actually pretty uptight. But in my pedagogic play, I’m trying to seem like a combination of Ram Dass and Allen Ginsberg.

Do you see your poetry as being in conversation with your scholarship?

Yes. Camp Marmalade is an unalphabetical and unsystematic encyclopedia of cultural junk. It sounds grandiose to say it is influenced by Benjamin’s Arcades Project, but I modestly aspire toward an aesthetic stance and a way of being an intellectual that Benjamin pioneered. The glamour, pathos, and intellectual dignity in the heap of fragments that he left us viscerally excites a lot of poets, I among them. I also have a very disorganized mind; I’m a syncopater and an interrupter. I find myself quickly derailed by association. Letting myself be derailed and finding ways to be productively derailed has been my writing strategy for a long time. I figure, if I’m going to be derailed, let’s go for that ride; and I try to keep paying attention while I’m being derailed and try to keep a memory of where I was before I got sidetracked.

That sounds very Talmudic.

A Talmudic element I achieved through cultural absorption rather than assiduous study. I was culturally and intellectually raised within a culture that vividly remembers the Talmud.

The title, Camp Marmalade, makes me think immediately of Susan Sontag, and her groundbreaking “Notes on ‘Camp.’” Sontag is a looming figure in your work, and she comes up in this book too. How has she influenced your work?

I am very happy that Sontag appears on the first page of my book. You need, in whatever art you practice, to have some gods, some people you idealize, whose example you take to heart. Sontag has always been one of mine. She invented her authority. Nobody handed it to her — people were willing to give it to her when she asserted it through the excellence of her work and bravado of her manner. She seized that authority through a kind of sentence that she didn’t pioneer. She got it from Benjamin and Emerson, among others, who try not to dilate but to condense. Marmalade is a procedure of distillation.

In that first reference to Sontag, you cite her talk of jam. Let me quote it: “Sontag noted / ‘jam’ means straight / in queer bar argot
/ (a ‘jam’ life)—.” Are you riffing on that jam?

Maybe marmalade is queer, and jam is straight. This book gives you a curriculum of weird and obscure practices, but boils it down to the things that remain, the rinds at the bottom of the pot.

But this is not exactly a slim volume. Is there a tension here between minimalism and expansiveness?

Yes, there is a tension between minimalist and maximalist gestures — a tropism toward terseness locally, but globally a spaciousness and sprawl that reflects two parts of my temperament. This schism also reflects two parts of the temperament in American poetry: toward the long poem, and toward the fragment. I’m wordy, and I’m also concise. What I’m not doing is what lyric poems do, which is to return. I do circle back but more in a novelistic, Wagnerian-leitmotif way, a sewing together of obsessions. The book’s travel is not the motion of a lyric poem in which you head somewhere and then you return. I don’t perform a roundtrip, except in the coda.

One of the things I feel pretty apprehensive about when talking to artists is asking them to explain their work — I feel like you’ve put the work out there and it’s not your job to tell me what it means. In fact, it seems like that would kill the mystery somehow. But with that caveat in mind, I still do want to ask about a line in the book that really struck me. The line is from poem #17 (diaper the diagram): “aimed language / is destroyed language.” I love it, and I have a sense of what it means, but can you unpack it for me?

When I was writing the original notebooks that went into Camp Marmalade, I was not aiming. Rather, I was aiming toward things that I had not yet said. Permitting trance, I blurred my mental eyes and listened to language and to the things that I hadn’t yet said, like pretending it was night and I wasn’t wearing glasses. Literally, not looking where I was going, and stumbling, but feeling the urgency of something like aim, directionless aim. Of course, once I’m revising, I am aiming. Near the beginning of Camp Marmalade I say that I’m tired of “pretending to be an / intellectual rather than / an assembler”: an ars poetica moment. I’m very fastidious about arrangements of things, and I’m less clear to myself about aims. Maybe it’s better if language doesn’t aim but only tends. The statement “aimed language / is destroyed language” is trying to argue for less bellicosity of aim, and for tentativeness, a practical politics of willed tentativeness, of moderation.

I noticed certain recurrent themes in the book, particularly around ethnic/cultural/linguistic identification. Scanning the PDF, I found that iterations of the word Jew or Jewish appear more than 20 times in this book, while German comes in as a close second, appearing 16 times, and French running just behind, at 14 or so. What’s driving these preoccupations?

From the very beginning of my writing life, there’s been a promiscuous, illegitimate, infatuated dose of French. French literature has influenced me the most. When I’m playing across linguistic thresholds, French is the only language I can actually gambol in — however tentatively and yearningly. French is available to me as a desire-laden space of linguistic transport.

I was aware, while revising the book, that it’s heavily Jewish-German, especially the first three to four sections. I noticed the resonance of this preoccupation, so I made use of it as a leitmotif without trying to rationalize its hold over me. When I saw the Jewish references in the rough draft, they leapt off the page as important and not to be cut. The poems are rather didactically concerned with the German-Jewish question, and that’s because my father is a German Jew.

I am interested in what Marianne Hirsch calls “postmemory.” My father’s experiences in Nazi Germany, without ever necessarily being described, form my linguistic unconscious. Also, my mother’s childhood experiences, which, though she grew up in Flatbush, were rooted in the exigencies for which the shorthand might be the Lower East Side, and the territories, far away, that came before Ellis Island. The residue of my parent’s experiences is one basis of my linguistic unconscious. The linguistic unconscious, for everyone, is a messy residue, a bed of potentialities, including memories, phrases, and every scrap and syllable and overtone and homonym and sonic/semantic slippage that forms the language mulch pile in one’s head. In this book, I decided to foreground my ancestral memory and the way I’m haunted by it in my own linguistic play. The materials I play with, when left to my own devices, include those dark undercurrents. When you’re diving into the linguistic unconscious, it’s largely populated by dead people.

Why dead people?

I think of these books as a trilogy, so the traditional concerns of trilogies are on my mind. Trilogies, like Beckett’s, like Dante’s, cover a certain turf, which includes the underworld. I was more aware of this necropolis while writing Camp Marmalade, when it became more real to me that I’m going to do three volumes of trance notebooks. The trajectory of a trilogy involves progression downward, as well as progression upward. Progression — but also a procession, as in processional. I shaped the book around dialogue with the dead — around the speaking graveyard. I am influenced by Ezra Pound, whose Cantos famously include a descent into the underworld. In my poetic memory, a long poem’s terrain is the descent to the underworld. When I write, I am thinking of teachers, predecessors — everyone from Susan Sontag, to piano teachers I had in my youth, to people who gave me a sense of aesthetic fastidiousness, refinement, and care. I’m thinking concretely, as I craft my language, of what I learned from these instructors and guides. Many artists are familiar with this variety of backward bequest, where you try to make and shape something with the fastidiousness you were once taught to revere. I end the book thinking about the sieve and the sifter, and I identify myself as the sifter who doesn’t know whether his labor is worthless, whether it’s a futile gesture to try to sift the worthless from the worthwhile particles. The sifter is a kind of reader, a future, idealized or hoped-for reader who will sift — or rummage — through this pile of rubbish. But the sifter is also me as rag-picker — back to Benjamin, who illuminated the figure of the rag-picker, reader, storyteller.

Descending into the underworld makes me think of Adrienne Rich’s “Diving into the Wreck,” and Alice Notley’s The Descent of Alette, both of which involve a descent into some nether/underworld — how, if at all, have these works shaped your own poetic descent into the underworld?

My life as a poet begins with Adrienne Rich’s “Diving into the Wreck.” Today, it’s not my personal favorite of her poems, though it remains indelible because of its allegorical watertightness. She dives down into the wreck because of an optimism about finding unexplored riches. Rich conveys a sense of plasticity, play, reinvention — of pleasure taken in the athleticism of the dive. The poem crosses genders: “I am she: I am he.” She says she’s not like Jacques Cousteau, but she is like Jacques Cousteau, a wonder-woman and a superhero as well as a visionary poet laureate, a representative, Cassandra/Cousteau. Rich is at that crux in her career when she leapt into greatness, so the poem contains, also, exaltation — she feels her own power as an explorer and a re-animator. As for Alice Notley’s astonishing epic, The Descent of Alette, which avowedly derives from trance: I don’t know if I’m influenced by Alice Notley directly, but I love her work. I revere her willingness to immerse herself in her own linguistic process. I revere her commitment to speaking it all.

I want to close with a line from My 1980s & Other Essays. It’s from an essay about Hart Crane, in which you say, “When I write, I’m always not yet a poet; I’m a striver, a yearner, hoping to crash the House of Poetry.” Do you still feel that way?

More than ever! Camp Marmalade and The Pink Trance Notebooks are sometimes unpoetic. There are many lines that I find musical, and I took great care with my line breaks, but I’m not writing a kind of poetry that strives for the muscular beauty of Hart Crane’s Shelleyan lines, or even the sonorousness of Adrienne Rich’s incantatory lines. Mine is a much more elliptical and notational poetry, with connections to Lorine Niedecker, Robert Creeley, Joe Brainard, John Wieners. Many contemporary poets make use of a “notebook” mode, which is a recognized poetic procedure. By publishing these two volumes of my trance trilogy, I’ve made a confession that I call my work poetry because that is the most spacious and embracing category, and because I work in very short lines and because I work through condensation, juxtaposition, and sound-play — but I don’t perform certain poet-like tasks. Camp Marmalade is a book-length improvisatory adventure that takes place in poetic lines and stanzas and that presupposes a reader who is used to modernist and post-postmodernist discontinuities and jump cuts and aleatory juxtapositions. But it doesn’t stop to measure, along the way, whether or not it needs to call itself a poem to earn the right to breathe.

My hope is that I am experimenting with the edges of what critical inquiry can look like, how it can behave. I’m asking, what if we think of this book’s surfeit of cultural references not as a kind of poetic tic or mannerism, but as an intellectual procedure, a deliberate amassing of cultural history? Perhaps that’s grandiose, but it’s also modest because it involves bowing out of the poetry arena. For all of my gestures of farewell, however, I enjoyed, while writing Camp Marmalade, the privacy that a poet, by temperament, has often the wish to claim — the privacy of telling myself that nobody will read this line, this phrase, this stanza, this explosion — that therefore I can stop trying to limit what I can say or yearn toward saying. Alone in Camp Marmalade, I was just living with my memories and my language, that speaking graveyard, a play-space of ghostly counselors and haunted bunk-mates.

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Shoshana Olidort is a PhD candidate in Comparative Literature at Stanford University. Her research focuses on poetry as a mode of performing identity through a consideration of five 20th-century Jewish women poets.

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