Each city on my trip has fulfilled something different. Oregon was nature. Aruba was the beach. California was food and wine (…and San Francisco beckoned me to move there). And the theme for Houston was laughing. Lots and lots of laughing. Which is good, because I like to laugh.
The reason for the stop in Houston was to see my friend Sammi, who I’ve known since kindergarten. We grew up two blocks away from each other, had safety patrol at the same time in sixth grade (afternoon, to help kindergartners come in), played on the same soccer team (only for a couple seasons, because I was too busy picking weeds and making necklaces to care about flying balls and goalie hands and defense. Also, I honest to God wore jeans to games. Who the hell knows why, because that’s just stupid), and spent countless hours together in the journalism room in high school and on journalism trips across the country. She’s been in Houston since she graduated from Indiana University, but this was my first visit.
The trip started out with Sammi picking me up at the wrong airport and ended with the filming of this video. We had a lot of fun making it (and doing the things mentioned in it. Whatever we were doing, we were laughing). Head over to Sammi’s blog to see some outtakes and to read her recap, “Cheap, yet classy, with plenty of free kisses.” They’re pretty entertaining, so you’re missing out on your daily recommended dose of laughter if you don’t.
Once I was picked up at the correct airport (not that I minded sitting in a rocking chair, waving down strangers who looked like her in the mean time) we went to lunch because I was wasting away and in need of food upon my arrival. Sammi took me for crepes in her neighborhood. And because I loved her raspberry nutella crepe with whip cream concoction SO. MUCH. I made her take me there again after dinner, even though I wasn’t even really hungry. Because once I start eating nutella, I lose all sense of control (it’s why all the girls gained at least 10 pounds when we studied abroad in Italy. Behold, the power of nutella).
On Saturday, we were up bright and early because Sammi had to teach at Saturday school. I just sort of lurked in the corner, looking like a predator, not quite sure what to do (the bugs certainly knew what to do, and immediately attacked me as we waited outside for the buses). Sammi was looking for materials in the back of the library for her class to do on Monday (because she took the day off — to be with me) and I slightly geeked out at seeing all the classroom copies of books for the whole school. Books I read and loved when I was in school. Loved seeing that they’ve stood the test of time.
After school, we went to Target at my request so I could restock on toiletries (and get an exfoliator, because my calves are STILL PEELING from the burn I got kayaking in San Diego more than two weeks ago. SPF is your friend. Seriously.) It was almost a religious experience because of how much stuff they had that made me happy. And by stuff I mean crazy things like body wash, shampoo and make up. They had so many options, and most of the stuff was nearly half the price I would pay in New York; I just wanted to buy it all, but I didn’t. Because even though I can’t exercise restraint with nutella, I’ve learned how to at Target.
After an afternoon nap/internet binge, we went to dinner, which ended up being my favorite meal. We went with some of Sam’s teacher friends to Chuey’s for Tex Mex, which is famous for its creamy jalepeno dip. My God, America. The rest of us are really missing out on Tex Mex and Chuey’s. My stomach almost exploded because I could. not. stop. eating. it. I’d already consumed a meal’s worth of chips and dips before my entree even arrived. It was glorious.
Another highlight of my trip was when Sammi introduced me to the most incredible stationery store. As in I kept telling her I wanted to live there and never leave. They sold cards and paper products in front and ran a design studio in the back. Which would be my dream job/company right now. I touched lots of cards and notebooks, admiring the designs, illustrations and detail and ended up buying the coolest planner. 2010 can’t get here fast enough.
As you can see, we have a lot of fun together. The kind of fun and understanding that come from knowing someone so long — through bad haircuts, weird outfits, high school freak outs and life plan overhauls. Even though this was my first time in Houston and we haven’t spent this much time together for two years, everything fell right back into place. There’s something extra comforting about the friendship of someone who has grown up with you and loves you just the same, even if you constantly push her dog away because she won’t stop licking you.
Going into the Dominican Republic, I admitted that I had no idea what I was going to do there. Or why I was going, really. I wanted to visit some places outside the U.S., and the flights fit my schedule, and that’s all that mattered. Part of me thinks maybe this logic was a bad idea. At least for someone whose Spanish is, oh, laughable. And for someone who is pale and non-Hispanic looking, relying on a fake wedding ring to fend off cat calls (this attempt was also laughable, and the ring left a classy green band around my finger).
The entire flight to Santo Domingo, the rest of the passengers spoke as though they were long lost friends — friends who couldn’t stop talking because of everything they had to catch up on. And it was all said passionately. With hand gestures and body movements. This didn’t so much aid in taking a nap to supplement my five hours of sleep when my seatmate kept knocking into me and talking louder than my iPod.
I was staying in the Colonial Zone, so my hotel was just two blocks from Conde Street, which is pedestrian-only traffic and filled with shops, food and lots of culture. Once I was settled in (after first being told they didn’t have my reservation, then being escorted to an ATM by an employee because I got lost finding it on my own), I explored the area.
(More photos from Santo Domingo are here.)
Even though I had a map (from a tourist magazine at the hotel) with recommendations of things to do, I just wandered down the streets, admiring the buildings, colors and history (I also sweat more than I have in my entire life. I honestly think 98 percent of the liquids in my body became sweat that soaked my clothes). I explored the area on foot because transportation, of any kind, nearly gave me a heart attack. After riding in a taxi from the airport, I learned that lanes aren’t so much solid guides as suggestions that you shouldn’t feel restrained by. Want to drive in the middle of two lanes? Well, go right ahead!Don’t feel like stopping at an intersection and would just rather honk your horn a couple times? OK, brilliant! Want to speed up, then slow down and then swerve in front of another car? What’s stopping you?! It was like a Consumer Reports crash test experiment, minus all the safety precautions and test dummies inside.
And there was NO. WAY. I was going to be the passenger on a motorcycle. It appeared as though the highway had a special side lane for motorcycles, which was nice, but the vehicles didn’t look at all sturdy or safe. Helmets weren’t included with your fare, either (and the helmets that some drivers wore didn’t look all that protective either). I can’t even order ice cream, so there’s no way I’d chance doing something that could leave me in a hospital, mumbling about “Los Estados Unidos” and “el aeropuerto,” occasionally bursting out “HAY CARAMBA!” or “Para el amor de Jesucristo.” (“OH NO!” and “For the love of Jesus Christ.” Phrases I likely picked up in high school Spanish watching soap operas.)
After seeing the buses go by — more like minivans, some without doors — with people squished inside or flailing off the side, I knew it’d be better to rely on my Birkenstocks (which, sadly, have cracked just a month after I bought them). Not to mention there wasn’t a bus route map — there was an end destination and you just shout out when you want to get off. I knew I’d probably have a panic attack if I ventured onto one, never able to correctly shout where or when I wanted to get off, never sure where I was or how to get back where I started.
Transportation in general was just chaotic. Pedestrians didn’t have so much the right of way as the right to run — across streets and highways whenever there was a break in traffic (or whenever they felt tired of waiting). People darted across the highway to an unmarked spot, where I can only assume a bus or something was going to stop. I’m sure there was a method to it all, but it was certainly way beyond my comprehension.
On my way back to the airport, I thought I was going to die multiple times. My driver didn’t speak English, but if I translated correctly, he said they all drive very fast there (right as a motorbike swerved to avoid hitting my side as he ran through an intersection). I’m not sure he stopped at all during the drive, except to drop me off (and we went through residential areas with stops signs and traffic). The windows of his Honda (circa 1986) were rolled down to the point that my hair whipped across my face. My seatbelt didn’t work.
My favorite part of the visit was when I walked down Conde Street in the evening, after everyone was off work. People congregate on the benches, and as you walked down the strip you could hear people playing music. Groups of men were clustered every few blocks, beating drums and shaking maracas, singing words I couldn’t understand. One woman stood outside her shop, shaking her booty to the music as two men, quite blatantly, stared at her round ass. This scene seemed to capture the essence of the city — noisy, interactive, colorful. From my hotel room I could hear dogs down the block barking, people gathering on the back patio for dinner and conversations on the stairway. For some reason, none of it bothered me like it normally would in the US. Maybe it’s because I couldn’t understand what they were saying.
Where Aruba felt too much like a tourist-only destination with no real feel for the country, Santo Domingo was the opposite. Most of the places I walked, I was the only tourist around. Few people spoke English. I was able to really see and experience the city, how people actually live instead of a fantasy bubble (I’m not knocking Aruba — I’m just realizing the types of places I like to visit). I often felt confused and worried about my safety in Santo Domingo, but I wouldn’t trade this trip for another location. I needed to be somewhere where people wouldn’t cater to me in English. Where the hotel was basic, if run down. Where I had to use bottled water to brush my teeth. Where I had to leave my key in a special slot in order to have electricity (therefore preventing the electricity from being on while you’re out of the room). Then were the three times when the electricity actually WENT OUT — one of those times I was already at the airport. A man at Hudson News got out a flashlight to grab a bottled water from the fridge. I immediately wondered if mass chaos would ensue. A few minutes later, everything was back to normal, my imagination back in check.
While I felt out of my comfort zone the majority of my time in Santo Domingo (more because I couldn’t communicate and was unfamiliar with the area), the perspective I gained was exactly what I needed. I may not have toured all sites or explored the entire city, but I learned a lot about myself, which made getting lost and feeling out of place worth it.
I know I’m going all out of order since I posted a video from Santo Domingo before a San Francisco recap, but better late than never. Let’s rewind.
After seeing my sister in San Diego, I spent four days in San Francisco with my friends Kaitlan and Jon. They live in an adorable neighborhood, in an adorable apartment with great neighbors. I started looking at apartments on craiglist my first night there. I kid you not. After a couple hours, I already knew San Fran was my city.
(bikes found on my walk from Dolores Park to Mission Dolores Church. I’m a big fan of all these colors.)
My first full day there, my friend Becka drove in from Sacramento and we spent the afternoon together. We had delicious open face sandwiches at Tartine Bakery, then wandered around toward downtown (so I could pick up some literature at the visitor’s center). As we were sitting by a fountain so I could thumb through my pamphlets, we noticed two teenagers acting odd. We stared awhile and finally realized they were doing drugs. I kept staring, and instead of annoying them, they actually asked me if I wanted to try some. Um, let me think about that. No. After we were propositioned for drugs (which were apparently the good stuff, they said, some name involving the word “purple”) We visited the Presidio, which used to be an army post and is now a forest/cemetery/neighborhood with great views of the city.
Kaitlan and Jon appreciate good food and wine, and every place they picked was delicious. We had Chinese at Eric’s, followed by ice cream at Humphrey Slocombe — the flavors were so outrageous I wasn’t sure what to think. I settled on Tahitian Vanilla and Balsamic Caramel. Let me tell you. They were amazing. I also tasted Peanut Butter Curry, which didn’t taste as crazy as I thought; the flavors were actually pretty complimentary.
Jon has a car, so I was able to ride, not walk, down Lombard Street (America’s crookedest street). And after surviving that, he drove us down the steepest street, which felt like you were at the top of a cliff because you couldn’t see anything over it. All this was marvelously handled with a stick shift, ladies and gentleman. That takes talent. A talent I most certainly do not possess (shout out to my Oregon minivan, which I miss. Hi minivan!)
I spent a lot of time just walking around exploring neighborhoods, falling in love with the styles of houses and variety of colors. My quads felt like they were on fire after dominating all those hills. Almost forgot what that wonderful pain felt like since I haven’t run in three months because of my stress fracture). I wandered down Hayes Street, and Haight Street and walked through Golden Gate Park. I strolled through the Mission and stopped by 826 Valencia, which was the most incredible store (that all Dave Eggars fans should visit. I unhappily waited in line for 45 minutes with annoying tourists in order to ride on a cable car.
(view from my cable car, before it lost electricity)
It was delightful, when my view wasn’t blocked by an overly affectionate pre-teen couple or giant dude. The electricity actually went out on my first car, so my ride was cut short.
Aftr Happy Hour on Friday, we grabbed drinks and appetizers at Jon and Kait’s neighborhood bar. The bartender made his signature drink for me, which just won a tequila contest. I’m not much of a tequila person, but the drink was surprisingly tasty. I felt quite special to have it made even though it wasn’t on the menu.
On Saturday, we took a day trip to Napa for my first ever wine tasting. The weather was gorgeous, so the Golden Gate Bridge was actually visible on our way out of the city.
(Kaitlan and me before heading to Napa)
Jon and Kait belong to a Vineyard (which means we could drink for free! Very important people!) And the vineyard just happened to have an event that day… but even though we didn’t have tickets, Kait and Jon are such likeable customers that one of the managers gave us free tickets, which was awesome because they were expensive. And dudes. It was insane. All the (delicious) wine you could drink. Lots of tasty appetizers (I tried lamb for the very first time). An ’80s cover band. Sunshine. I was so happy (and not just because I’d been drinking all day).
(St. Supery in Napa)
Before Kait and Jon dropped me off at the airport on Sunday (oh how nice it was to have friends with a car!), we went to The Butler and the Chef French Bistro for brunch, where I had the most scrumptious french toast. The food was one of the highlights of my visit. Everything I ate was like the most delicious food I’d ever tasted. The ice cream. The cheese. The croissants. The entire visit was like a big dose of happy food cheese wine architecture heaven. A life I could get used to.
