You know those moments that seem to stand out more vividly than any other part of a day, trip or year? I have lots of those moments. Seeing jumping hump back whales is one of them.
My best friend and I were on an idyllic beach on the main island of Hawaii and as we're floating about in the water we see out of the corner of our eye a whale stretch out of the water, and flop back down. He had to be several miles out in the ocean, but there was no mistaking how big he was and how lucky we were to witness him in his natural habitat. Then two smaller whales jumped, one after the other.
Really cool--is what I can say in reflection. It was an unplanned moment with nature, in which we didn't pay to go whale watching and we were satisfied with the moment to begin with.
I have no pictures, no videos. Just that memory, of jumping whales.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Bing.com
My friends think it's hilarious when I say "Just Bing It". I mean, I guess it is funny. I'm usually kidding because I know how they will react--but I'm also being serious. So here I go with my absolutely shameless plug for Bing.com.....
Bing is an awesome search engine.
Yeah, I know. You're rolling your eyes and thinking "Microsoft--just stop trying to be cool." Well guess what---Microsoft IS cool. Sure, I never used Bing prior to my Microsoft days, but I do really love it. Not only does the engine always provide what I'm looking for, but I feel like there are less advertisements and my search isn't complicated by false links and distracting promotions. BUT, the home page is what really excites me. When my browser starts up with Bing.com as the homepage, a gorgeous photograph illuminates the screen.
It might be a photo of a cornfield in Honduras, the globe from space, or maybe the staircase that spirals down within the Vatican. Once it was an up close puffer fish, or overzealous fans at the World Cup. The videos and photographs are beautiful. And scattered links will transport you to Bing search results of related topics--explaining the holiday, the location, the cultural tradition, or the science. Sometimes it's a video of a waterfall, running river, or windy marshland. But what it always is, is a moment of inspiration. It's always a moment in which I pause, and get to learn something new. (And I haven't even searched anything yet!!)
Bing.com fuels my travel inspiration. It makes the world bigger and more beautiful--while simultaneously putting it in the palm of my hand.
Like I said,
"Just Bing it"
Bing is an awesome search engine.
Yeah, I know. You're rolling your eyes and thinking "Microsoft--just stop trying to be cool." Well guess what---Microsoft IS cool. Sure, I never used Bing prior to my Microsoft days, but I do really love it. Not only does the engine always provide what I'm looking for, but I feel like there are less advertisements and my search isn't complicated by false links and distracting promotions. BUT, the home page is what really excites me. When my browser starts up with Bing.com as the homepage, a gorgeous photograph illuminates the screen.
It might be a photo of a cornfield in Honduras, the globe from space, or maybe the staircase that spirals down within the Vatican. Once it was an up close puffer fish, or overzealous fans at the World Cup. The videos and photographs are beautiful. And scattered links will transport you to Bing search results of related topics--explaining the holiday, the location, the cultural tradition, or the science. Sometimes it's a video of a waterfall, running river, or windy marshland. But what it always is, is a moment of inspiration. It's always a moment in which I pause, and get to learn something new. (And I haven't even searched anything yet!!)
Bing.com fuels my travel inspiration. It makes the world bigger and more beautiful--while simultaneously putting it in the palm of my hand.
Like I said,
"Just Bing it"
The World is a Book
"The world is a book and those that do not travel read only one page."
How large is your bookshelf?
When's the last time you reread a book?
Do you read several books at a time--or focus on one?
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Watch Polar Vision; Haas MBA Alums
Haas MBA Alums breaking boundaries, per usual. Take a watch!
http://www.polar-vision.org/index.php/the-documentary/
"You just basically find a lump of snow and then you aim for that lump of snow. And you can't look down, because if you do, you'll lose that lump of snow"
GO BEARS!
http://www.polar-vision.org/index.php/the-documentary/
"You just basically find a lump of snow and then you aim for that lump of snow. And you can't look down, because if you do, you'll lose that lump of snow"
GO BEARS!
Today I'm in DC
Today, I love it. I did yesterday too. And I will tomorrow and the day after tomorrow.
I live by a big river. I live near running trails, trees, and metro transportation. There will always be a film screening, book reading, or new exhibit opening on any given day of the week. Actually, make that any given time of day. There is live music and plenty of brunch spots. There are people speaking all different languages. I've never seen so many 13.1, 26.2 or triathlon bumper stickers. And I have to admit, somehow, the monuments just don't get old.
I left California and the City by the Bay almost ten months ago. I miss it. But I'm absolutely okay with where I am right now. Moving away, something I've always found thrill in, is liberating. It's an excuse to trying new things and not have too many commitments keeping you from it. I'm almost feeling too entrenched already. But that's the fun of a new place, getting to the point where you have your group of friends, your weekly routine, your favorite spots, and become... well, somewhat entrenched. Washington DC, no matter what people from San Francisco or Manhattan or Boston may say, is pretty freaking great.
I love that there are always people working out. Running, biking, swimming, walking. They are out there, they are go getters. I also love that there are so many different types of people. It's diverse. Not just racially. But jobs, walks of life... goals, wishes, and aspirations. I love that it is close to so much. A few hours away from NYC or Charlotte, NC. I can drive to the mountains of Virginia and West Virginia. I can also drive to the beach and Chesapeake Bay. The Mid-Atlantic is driving distance from everywhere.
DC is where I learned to truly appreciate those that serve this country. It forced me to think about what it means to be of this Nation. I was born here. And never before did I truly accept how many people want to be citizens, a right I received without DESIRING it. A title I didn't CHOOSE or go out of my way to receive--unlike many who must actively seek that right. I believe there is power in that. Something I hadn't thought about much.
I love watching DC-based TV shows. Homeland, House of Cards, West Wing. I now own more blazers and collared shirts than I'd like to admit, a few too many flannels and a pair of some good ol' Sperry's. Yes, I make fun of my wardrobe constantly. When I moved here, a suitcase was either misplaced or stolen-depending on who asks. It was FULL of tie-dye camp shirts and flowy Free People tunics. Apparently the East Coast didn't approve of my previous attire.
I had plans to move to Manhattan a year after moving here. then I pushed it off to 1.5 years. Today, I've decided to push it off to 2.
I live by a big river. I live near running trails, trees, and metro transportation. There will always be a film screening, book reading, or new exhibit opening on any given day of the week. Actually, make that any given time of day. There is live music and plenty of brunch spots. There are people speaking all different languages. I've never seen so many 13.1, 26.2 or triathlon bumper stickers. And I have to admit, somehow, the monuments just don't get old.
I left California and the City by the Bay almost ten months ago. I miss it. But I'm absolutely okay with where I am right now. Moving away, something I've always found thrill in, is liberating. It's an excuse to trying new things and not have too many commitments keeping you from it. I'm almost feeling too entrenched already. But that's the fun of a new place, getting to the point where you have your group of friends, your weekly routine, your favorite spots, and become... well, somewhat entrenched. Washington DC, no matter what people from San Francisco or Manhattan or Boston may say, is pretty freaking great.
I love that there are always people working out. Running, biking, swimming, walking. They are out there, they are go getters. I also love that there are so many different types of people. It's diverse. Not just racially. But jobs, walks of life... goals, wishes, and aspirations. I love that it is close to so much. A few hours away from NYC or Charlotte, NC. I can drive to the mountains of Virginia and West Virginia. I can also drive to the beach and Chesapeake Bay. The Mid-Atlantic is driving distance from everywhere.
DC is where I learned to truly appreciate those that serve this country. It forced me to think about what it means to be of this Nation. I was born here. And never before did I truly accept how many people want to be citizens, a right I received without DESIRING it. A title I didn't CHOOSE or go out of my way to receive--unlike many who must actively seek that right. I believe there is power in that. Something I hadn't thought about much.
I love watching DC-based TV shows. Homeland, House of Cards, West Wing. I now own more blazers and collared shirts than I'd like to admit, a few too many flannels and a pair of some good ol' Sperry's. Yes, I make fun of my wardrobe constantly. When I moved here, a suitcase was either misplaced or stolen-depending on who asks. It was FULL of tie-dye camp shirts and flowy Free People tunics. Apparently the East Coast didn't approve of my previous attire.
I had plans to move to Manhattan a year after moving here. then I pushed it off to 1.5 years. Today, I've decided to push it off to 2.
You're Pepper #2
My mom has always been called Pepa by her closest friends. It was her nickname. But her American host-mother Gabby, she calls her Pepper.
I always heard about Gabby. On my mom's birthday she would call to wish her well. Maybe we'd get a Christmas card too. She was my mom's "American family". I understood what that meant, but maybe not to the full extent.
When my mom was 23, she applied to work at a YMCA Summer Camp in whoknowswhere, Tennessee. She was hired to play the guitar and teach the campers. She owned a guitar... but little did anyone know she didn't actually know how to play it. "That was Pepper." She arrived one week early to the States. That is how Gabby met Pepper.
My mom arrived at the airport wearing a long, colorful dress of patterned fabrics, decorated with little mirrors sparkling the sun's rays. She looked like a flower child and clearly stuck out in mid-1970s Tennessee. Her host family was a bit shocked by her. Not Gabby though. "Later she'd show up to do laundry, or she'd bring friends by. She'd randomly call and ask if she could stay, we always said sure. She was awesome."
One day, Miguel (my father) called. He was at the bus stop with nothing, so Jones (Gabby's husband) picked him up and took him to McDonalds. Miguel didn't speak much, English. "Sometime after, Pepper picked up and went to Costa Rica. That's when the two of them lived in a tree house."
And then she went to Minnesota. "That was Pepper, saving up, and always going back to school. She's always been a go-getter." Gabby and Pepper got along very well, very quickly. They had the whole European thing going on. (Gabby was born and raised in Lugano before she met her husband Jones, a US soldier based in Frankfurt) Pepper was quite the show in good ol' Tennessee. "People knew who she was." They'd stare as she walked by. Chin-up, flowers in her hair... She loved it--she was a mini celebrity.
Gabby and Pepper also bonded over their travels. Gabby had been all over Eastern Europe and the Middle East. Pepper and a group of six had just driven the distance from Spain to India. They found an old bus, removed the interiors to add a stove and sleeping quarters, and made it the ultimate hippy trip. "Pepper made money by buying trinkets and things on that trip, and selling them when she got back to Barcelona." She never sold that long, colorful hippy dress decorated with little mirrors though. She got that in Afghanistan. I remember seeing that enchanting dress stored in the back of my closet when I was younger. Today, I guarantee it is still in the back of hers.
Pepper is now in her late 50s. Gabby and her kept in touch over the years, a visit here or there when on the same coast. Gabby was there for Pepper during a complicated and emotional divorce. Gabby heard all about Pepper's kids over the years and that is what they did... they stayed in touch.
Today, at my age of 23, I met Gabby. "You're Pepper #2." She walked up to me in the parking lot in Asheville and hugged me as if we'd known each other 40 years.
All I would ever want, is to be like Pepper.
I always heard about Gabby. On my mom's birthday she would call to wish her well. Maybe we'd get a Christmas card too. She was my mom's "American family". I understood what that meant, but maybe not to the full extent.
When my mom was 23, she applied to work at a YMCA Summer Camp in whoknowswhere, Tennessee. She was hired to play the guitar and teach the campers. She owned a guitar... but little did anyone know she didn't actually know how to play it. "That was Pepper." She arrived one week early to the States. That is how Gabby met Pepper.
My mom arrived at the airport wearing a long, colorful dress of patterned fabrics, decorated with little mirrors sparkling the sun's rays. She looked like a flower child and clearly stuck out in mid-1970s Tennessee. Her host family was a bit shocked by her. Not Gabby though. "Later she'd show up to do laundry, or she'd bring friends by. She'd randomly call and ask if she could stay, we always said sure. She was awesome."
One day, Miguel (my father) called. He was at the bus stop with nothing, so Jones (Gabby's husband) picked him up and took him to McDonalds. Miguel didn't speak much, English. "Sometime after, Pepper picked up and went to Costa Rica. That's when the two of them lived in a tree house."
And then she went to Minnesota. "That was Pepper, saving up, and always going back to school. She's always been a go-getter." Gabby and Pepper got along very well, very quickly. They had the whole European thing going on. (Gabby was born and raised in Lugano before she met her husband Jones, a US soldier based in Frankfurt) Pepper was quite the show in good ol' Tennessee. "People knew who she was." They'd stare as she walked by. Chin-up, flowers in her hair... She loved it--she was a mini celebrity.
Gabby and Pepper also bonded over their travels. Gabby had been all over Eastern Europe and the Middle East. Pepper and a group of six had just driven the distance from Spain to India. They found an old bus, removed the interiors to add a stove and sleeping quarters, and made it the ultimate hippy trip. "Pepper made money by buying trinkets and things on that trip, and selling them when she got back to Barcelona." She never sold that long, colorful hippy dress decorated with little mirrors though. She got that in Afghanistan. I remember seeing that enchanting dress stored in the back of my closet when I was younger. Today, I guarantee it is still in the back of hers.
Pepper is now in her late 50s. Gabby and her kept in touch over the years, a visit here or there when on the same coast. Gabby was there for Pepper during a complicated and emotional divorce. Gabby heard all about Pepper's kids over the years and that is what they did... they stayed in touch.
Today, at my age of 23, I met Gabby. "You're Pepper #2." She walked up to me in the parking lot in Asheville and hugged me as if we'd known each other 40 years.
All I would ever want, is to be like Pepper.
Travel is the ALIVE state
When I'm on the road, with my limited belongings and possibilities abounding, I'm in my happy place. But I'm happy when I'm not travelling too...it's my alive place.... Yes, That's it. It's the state in which I truly feel the most ALIVE.
Why travel?--a constantly changing, evolving, lengthened then shortened poem.
For the hours in the bus station, waiting.
For the few phrases you pick up and thereafter forget.
For the chickens that ride in the back of the truck with you.
For the meat dish you eat, not actually knowing what it is.
For the cameras that you lose, the pictures you take and never see again.
For the hostels with bedbugs and 24 people dorms.
For the spontaneity of jumping off a bridge or climbing an active volcano
For the sweat that permanently stains the shirts you wear days at a time
For the hand washing that never actually cleans anything.
For the smiles that cross cultural and language barriers.
For the train rides, hours and hours long.
For the joy of a Skype session home or long email update from close friends
For the loneliness of travelling alone that few can understand
For the friends you meet, love, and never see again.
For the day(s) you get sick--horribly, uncomfortably--just awfully sick.
For the change in how you might judge things--nudity, drugs, sexuality,
For the books you finally get to read, the books you wish you had with you to read
For the loss of routine--and the gain in freedom.
For the loss of awareness as to what is occurring back home.
For the moments you may actually miss the order and justice system in your own country.
For the reminder that home can be anywhere.
For the reminder that friends can be anyone.
For the reminder that today can be whatever I want today to be.
For my love of travel, I travel.
Why travel?--a constantly changing, evolving, lengthened then shortened poem.
For the hours in the bus station, waiting.
For the few phrases you pick up and thereafter forget.
For the chickens that ride in the back of the truck with you.
For the meat dish you eat, not actually knowing what it is.
For the cameras that you lose, the pictures you take and never see again.
For the hostels with bedbugs and 24 people dorms.
For the spontaneity of jumping off a bridge or climbing an active volcano
For the sweat that permanently stains the shirts you wear days at a time
For the hand washing that never actually cleans anything.
For the smiles that cross cultural and language barriers.
For the train rides, hours and hours long.
For the joy of a Skype session home or long email update from close friends
For the loneliness of travelling alone that few can understand
For the friends you meet, love, and never see again.
For the day(s) you get sick--horribly, uncomfortably--just awfully sick.
For the change in how you might judge things--nudity, drugs, sexuality,
For the books you finally get to read, the books you wish you had with you to read
For the loss of routine--and the gain in freedom.
For the loss of awareness as to what is occurring back home.
For the moments you may actually miss the order and justice system in your own country.
For the reminder that home can be anywhere.
For the reminder that friends can be anyone.
For the reminder that today can be whatever I want today to be.
For my love of travel, I travel.
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