When I was in the third grade, I wrote a letter to a school pen pal in Rhode Island. She never wrote back. Rhode Island and I have been on the rocks ever since.
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The winding mountain roads were stripped of electricity as Tio Ada barreled through the darkness. We climbed higher, Ada drove faster, and merengue music escaped into the night as I lowered my window to feel the rain.
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One of the things I love about travel is the unexpected. The abrupt. The random. The sudden realization that your connecting flight just left the mainland U.S.A. and you weren't on it.
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I kind of love taking local buses; traveling routes that wind through real countryside and small towns at a fractioned price. Sometimes you get where you need to go, sometimes you don't. We stepped off the bus at the wrong stop and into a chaotic collision of color, people and overly enthusiastic street vendors.
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Film footage of my one week traveling through Bangkok, Thailand (minus the 2 days spent in bed while dying of food poisoning)
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Living and working as a General Manager in Naples, Italy with this amazing crew <3
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The next morning, I was the first to wake. Sleeping with six other girls in a room the size of a closet is an experience all on its own. The floor space and bed-tops are in a constant state of chaos, piled high with clothing, backpacks, souvenirs, and complete sets of fly-fishing gear. I tiptoed through our floor collection of plastic bags and clothing piles to the button-sized bathroom.
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Beneath the streets, my hair melted to my face and everything stuck. The air felt like 100 degrees and despite a growing, restless crowd of Argentinians, my eyes surrendered shut in the extreme heat. I was one hot mess; but it was a mutual state; so that the chaos of it all was almost comfortable.
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Film footage of my random one day stopover in L.A. with Rumi Neely.
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Our cab driver, Hani, looked like George Clooney. He lit a cigarette, asked for 25JD up front, and came to a stop on the side of the road before ushering us into an unmarked car. There was a lot of hand waving and what seemed like friendly arabic, some money changing and then he left us. Damn him, he left us.
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The intricate design and high vaulted corridors of twisted rock had me convinced Petra was some sort of elaborate modern hoax. A fantasy world brought to fruition. It wasn’t until I had wandered the city streets myself that I began to process Petra as a reality; plainly panorama before me.
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Few places compare to the Canyonlands of Southeastern Utah. The sheer size and gravity of nature at its best. The innate sense of freedom; the euphoria of standing still amid a waste of wild air. Wadi Rum is one of those places.
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It was cool enough to wear a sweater, and the sun was setting when we found a hilltop spot to sit and stare out at the Sea of Galilee, the Golan Heights and Yarmuk Gorge. The ruins of Umm Qais (Gadara) were at our back, Israel to the left and Syria to the right.
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I woke up on the seventeenth floor, suspended above a city beneath an overcast sky; misty roads winding through stacks on stacks of white stone structures. When you live for months at a time in a place void of rain, mist, and cloud; moody mornings are more like million dollar moments.
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In Bahrain you drive on sidewalks and park where you like. You hear English so often you forget you're in the Middle East; you hire tailors to craft the designer stuff you see while sipping mango juice and paging though fashion magazines.
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Away from the ongoing project that is Manama, the landscape of the Middle Eastern land unraveled into ribbons of oil pipes and oceans of sand.
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I lived in the Middle East for just over six months, and still I only caught small glimpses of a world and culture I never imagined myself visiting, much less living.
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After three nights at the Grand Hyatt Muscat, we traded our suite for an SUV and drove from Muscat into the nether, sans GPS. The road was straight and went on forever, dotted with feral donkeys and curiously constrained camels.
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The idea was not to linger in any one place, but to stay on the move, to drink in the never-ending panorama of the Muttrah Souq. Like most things, ideas are almost always good in theory; but they tend to wane in the most crucial of moments.
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