Results tagged "Travel and Tourism"

I want to… Be understood…
Go to Reykjavik. Get my MFA. Drive a Mini like a NASCAR racer and then set it on fire. Talk the talk and walk the walk. Open a gallery. Win some money. Let it all go. Stop the hating. Know why he’s crying. Cure things. Start it all over again. Dance. Know how to sit still. Go to the spa. Make it work. Wear flip flops. Have someone take care of it. Broaden our horizons. Go to Block Island. Be friends with Madonna. Cancel the Today Show. Plant tomatoes. Build the perfect playground. Be carefree. Host my own galleried show. Stop trying so hard. Bounce. Find the patience. Love all the sister wives. Take it all back. Move. Finish the house. Publish. Clean up the clutter. Find old friends. Quit Facebook. Bury the keys. Go kayaking. Bake wheat bread. Get the lawn furniture out. Speak. Build a following. Be the guy behind the guy. Hide. Just know. Filter. Damn the man. Buy new clothes. Wait it out. Sit in the sun. Make use of all 24 hours. Stop annoying myself.  

Last week I was out walking with my son and parents in my hometown. It wasn’t too cold and it was before the storm of the century — which just turned out to be a snow storm anyway… We walked over a familiar bridge that crosses over the local train line to Manhattan, and when we came to the top of the stairs to descend… it happened again. Dizzy, ears ringing… pull it together… you’ve stood in this same spot hundreds of times in your life… pull it in.. vision focused. Whew, panic attack averted… but for what?

A few years ago… wait, no – many years ago.. because, right? who am I kidding… We went to Bermuda in the off season. It was Marchish and the island was empty… with the exception of the locals–WHO HATED US. But being full of ourselves we were immune to noticing the discerning “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE NOW” glances. Blame it on ignorance – we were on vacation and dammit, that island was OURS.

One night we were strolling along looking for a nice restaurant when we found the perfect establishment… through the windows we could feel the vibe pulling us in… a tiny little hole in the wall bistro.. people were laughing, the food looked awesome… it was as if there was a vacuum sucking us off the street–we read the menu outside… FIVE STARS — And, open in March(ish). We entered… We entered only to be met by a woman that quickly escorted us out… “I couldn’t possibly seat you without a reservation”, as we eyed the many open tables.

Now. Mr. Sal did not care…  I, however, felt that if we didn’t eat at this restaurant before leaving the island that the island would have defeated us… and please bare with me because I swear this post is going somewhere…  Clearly, we were not from there. Clearly, we were Yankees stomping the English land. But clearly we were not traipsing about in matching “BERMUDA!” tee shirts. Several calls were made – no answer. Time was desperate as we were flying out in a day or two. I felt severely NOT at ease. Finally, a man answered… “They don’t take reservations because they are only open on a limited basis.” WHAT? Firstly, what is with the word “THEY” as I quickly reeled back with dominate rapport — the exact words the woman had tossed at us while showing us the curb. “What did she look like?” Oh — and my tone softened as I described her as if she were standing in front of me. “Okay, I will make an exception – how about dinner at 9pm”. SUCCESS.

That night, after a few cocktails, we floated down the cobbled street to what had been built up in my mind to be the most amazing eatery in the entire world… We entered… only to be greeted by the same woman glaring at us… “oh YOU“. “THE GUESTS of HONOR“. “We Saved our BEST Table for you!“… the sarcasm froze the room. Literally. The other diners stared… the wait staff froze mid-spoonage. Platisicized, we were lifted onto one of those music video conveyor belts and unwillingly displaced from the doorway to our table. “What CAN I GET YOU“… “Anything for YOU.”  We wanted to get up and run out of what had now become Mrs. Lovett’s pie shop on Fleet Street. But then… sigh… but then the chef appeared and explained that we had walked into a private party the evening before and that in her excitement, the owner — that was leasing the space from another proprietor, had breached an agreement by uttering the word “reservation”. That, in fact — the restaurant was opened just for us — hoping to fill the rest of the tables in the off-season month. DEFEAT.

The next day, having barely touched the food that we were sure had been laced with meth, we decided to do a bit of sight seeing… the air was crisp–sky bluer than blue. We climbed the lighthouse stairs to the small opening–Mr. Sal went straight out while I froze at the door. All I could see was the thinnest of thin wrought iron railing at about knees height… I envisioned myself falling… I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I pulled myself back inside and sat on the floor. Frozen. What was happening? I was not afraid of heights.

From that day forward I have had panic attacks at ranging heights… from the top of the stairs at the train station.. to cathedral ceilings… to mall escalators… to dunes. It had been only a few years before this experience that I enjoyed climbing numerous cathedral domes and leaned daringly over ledges while traveling in Europe… As I kid I freely leaped off cliffs into miniscule bodies of water… “Bowls” if you will. So, after evaluating and talking to the experts that seem to think that “vertigo” is a made up word that only pertains to the planet Mars… I have decided that I need to go back to Bermuda to apologize. Come full circle. Find the woman that I know is still damning me to this day… and explain the confusion. Lift her curse… This is the only way. 

Only a few weeks shy of his birthday, I think it is safe to declare that we have a 2 year old on our hands. And, although I remain in stance that none of it is really the 2yrold’s fault, I have to admit that the bar has been raised on the tolerance scale. He’s independent. Scary independent. So independent that I am beginning to think that he’s actually turning 19 – not two. He’s stubborn…. like his parents AND he’s determined. This morning as we were walking at “the park” he took it upon himself to start RUNNING AWAY FROM ME. Fast. Running AWAY FAST. My legs are longer, so I have an advantage, but swooping to catch the 38-40″ 30something pounder  – running like he has wheels for legs sure made me look like the Wiley Coyote. Before I blow myself up with dynamite. But I refuse to lament. I will not be those people… “It’s only going to get worse”, “Just you wait” or “You didn’t sign on for this”… Because I did. We did. We signed on for all of it. And although my lower back aches from spontaneous movements of swooping, catching and trapping — oh and that cracking sound — those are my knees… We’ll take it all. Bring it on 2yrold. Bring it ON!

In other news, I’m proud to announce that Amanda, our sharp-tongued San Franciscan Guest Bird – aka Brilliant Sulk, finally came up with the city I am in – MUNICH, 1997, Girl in Black – thanks to all that played!

Throwback posts:
Yum
Where am I?
America’s Sweetheart

Yeah I hear ya. Big WHATEVS on Pumpkintown, been there – done that. What is with this blog and Pumpkintown? Well – I don’t quite have it figured out either, but I can say that I think we’ve seen it all. Mother Nature is going to have to bring out the big guns — 70+°, breezy, puffy non-threatening clouds, HUGE smiling sun, vodka, french fries from the streets of Amsterdam (sans mayo), and a four-horse drawn chariot to pull me among the wooden playthings to get us back through Hank’s gates this year… even though it is for FREE. What do you think too much for the MOTHER? MA, MAAAmmm!

Thanks Hank of Water Mill fame!

….. Ooooo went the wind. And out went the lights. And the five little pumpkins rolled out of site!

Throwback posts:
Hank’s Pumpkintown – The first visit.
Hey Kids–Here’some corn, go get lost…

The holidays are here.

I know – next week is the official kick-off, but we want to get things going early. It’s time to stop wishing ill, whining about … everything and everyone. Heads up– this season will be over before we know it. Is it too early for a tree (a good friend asked)? I think not… bust it out… cut it down… no one is spending a fortune this year (at least not on socks) so just sit back and enjoy.

A repeat of Sarah Rich’s 2007 Birding in Dubai… read more here

Alaska is in it’s limelight. For real– when was the last time that Alaska was mentioned so many times in a given day let alone a half hour. We [try to] refrain from political stance on this bloggedy-blog, but given unavoidable current events and the Newbie-Infamous Running Mate,  think…. how many times a day did you wonder/read about/hear/smell/take an interest in Alaska before 2 weeks ago?