Going West


I’m in New York right now, in a brief lag between my summer trips. When I was hiking in the Adirondacks or biking through Berlin, it was easy to forget that all this fun was made possible by The Great Unknown. I have no idea what my life will look like in six months, but who can worry about that while swimming in the Black Sea? In my parents’ house, packing and unpacking, watching reality TV and eating fresh fruit from Costco, all I can think about is the West. 

And tomorrow I head there with my friend Cody, the Truman Capote to my Harper Lee. Our first stop is Jordan’s parents’ house in Shaker Heights, Ohio. Her dad was the first person to sell waterbeds east of the Mississippi; he was also the last. And back in the day, he was fierce ultramarathoner. On Friday morning, he and I are going for a run. And then Truman and I will drive to Chicago. 

Practical and Good.

Along with tap water and free toilets, before this trip, I didn’t appreciate how in America, you can pay to eat any fruit you want any time of year. But in Sofia, Istanbul and Berlin, there is only seasonal fruit. In Bulgaria, my friend was canning cherries before I came, and in Germany, white asparagus season, which I missed, is a big deal because when it’s over, there’s no more white asparagus.

Out of season fruit and vegetables don’t add much to my life. Generally, people in Sofia, Istanbul and Berlin seem to enjoy the same conveniences, save for nectarines in the winter, that Americans have, like indoor plumbing, the internet and fashion scarves. And since individuals have less money in those places, there are less private cars, and more public infrastructure. There was no need for a car in any of the places I visited, which to me is the ultimate amenity of living in New York.

In the case of Berlin, there is some pride that basic luxuries come cheap. The city’s unofficial slogan is “poor, but sexy.” And Berlin, which was sexy to me, is kind of broke. It’s possible to live very well on a bad job in Berlin, but there are few good jobs to be had. This is especially true for people without EU passports. I met a few ex-ex-pats whose hearts belong to Berlin, but whose wallets demand they work elsewhere. But still, it wasn’t like people in Berlin had bad teeth, which was sometimes the case in Sofia and Istanbul. (Also, isn’t it funny how if you have good teeth, no one thinks you’re rich, but having bad teeth means you’re poor?)

Back to the title of this post, which is a play on the “Square. Practical. Good.“ slogan of Ritter Sport, a German chocolate bar which can be found out of season at many New York bodegas. An ex-pat friend said that slogan is so German: direct, not exactly wrong, and without the same kind of consumer wish fulfillment that is so common in American ads. She also says Germans identify themselves less with the products they own. And like buying fruit only when it’s in season, that seems practical and good.

Just Some Things I've Been Thinking As I Approach Hour 70 in Berlin

  • Berlin seems like a city that was built for more people than it contains. There is no crowding on the sidewalks, bike lanes, streets, trams, buses or subways.
  • Which is an odd feeling. Berlin is evenly distributed, and never dense. Even the ceilings are high.
  • An American Berlin friend I have said it’s a city built for about five million people with only 3.5 million inhabitants, which is maybe why it’s so cheap. Another friend said there’s stringent rent control at work as well.
  • And its cheapness seems to be a trap for some people. It’s affordable and lovely here, but there aren’t a lot of jobs, which could be why there aren’t more people around.
  • One thing that is particularly lovely are the parks. There are a ton of them!
  • None is as well tended as New York’s grass museum, Central Park, but it doesn’t matter. Public space can still work with uneven hedges.
  • The smaller parks are about the size of Fort Greene Park, but level with the street, so they are more integrated with the city.
  • And seeing people interact with these spaces, Jane Jacobs may have been wrong about parks always being dangerous.
  • Of course, it gets dark here around 10 pm in the summer.   
  • So it’s easy to stay up late, and wake up with the feeling of not being tired exactly, but feeling poorly rested.
  • Good thing, like many Berliners, I don’t have anywhere to be.

Mehr Von Einer Amerikanischen Auslanderin

One thing I didn’t appreciate about America until this trip: that tap water is always free, as are bathrooms. It makes my whole “Stay Hydrated” lifestyle much more affordable.

I’m in Berlin now, which is the first place I’ve been where I’ve been mistaken as a local. Seems like everyone here shares my not-quite blond hair and light eyes. (Tasteless joke: I guess that was the point.)

Every time I go abroad, it takes me a while to remember that not everyone speaks English. I guess this an obvious thing, but one that is easy to forget in the States, a place where it’s ok that I nearly failed Spanish for three years in high school and then again for three semesters in college. With my linguistic limits and hypocrisy acknowledged, it always surprises me to hear children talking to their parents in another language. Like, don’t those parents know that to talk to me, their kids are going to need to speak English?

Still in Germany, or from my one day of walking around Berlin, most people speak a bit of English and haven’t minded helping me out with maps or taking my food order. The only exception was the guy at the TV Tower, who sounded like he was being called on in English class and just wanted to go home and die, which is something I can relate to. This is all to say that for the past two weeks, any time a local has answered my question in English, I want to thank them for paying attention in high school.

Young and Old Abroad

‘It makes you feel young,’ my best friend said when we arrived in Sozopol after a bus from Burgas and an overnight train from Sofia. Young, that at 28, we were still up for losing a night of sleep to save some lev on a hotel, young that we still had the sense of adventure about us to go on an improtu beach vacation with her landlord, and young, that after meeting as 7-year-olds and becoming friends in eighth grade, we were still the same pair who got kinishes from the hot dog truck when we were supposed to be walking around the lakes of our high school for gym, the same two who, when bored of Prague after a few days, hopped on a bus to Paris, and now the same friends who were sleep-deprived and had no place to stay in a beach town on the Black Sea.

I have been thinking a lot about her comment on this trip. 'It makes you feel young’ implies that our age isn’t enough, which frankly, it isn’t.  We do not have kids or mortgages, but we could, and while there is still time for life changing decisions, there has also been enough time to acquire moles on our backs and wrinkles around our eyes.

On this trip, I find myself both young and old. Young because I will stay at hostel and share a bathroom, but old because I will pay for a private room. Young because I am proud of the tan I have acquired on this trip, but old because I am a little worried about the sun spots that will follow. Young because I sought free samples of Turkish delight while walking through a bazaar, but old because I am enjoying a 8 TL frappe in an air-conditioned cafe right now.    

But there are some things that I enjoy about getting older. For one, I know the routines that make me happy. While I’ve been travelling alone, I’ve managed to read, write and run, the most fulfilling verbs I know. My hotel room is ground level, and every night, I can hear the American pop music which plays for tourists like me late into the night. One evening, while brushing my teeth, I was reminded of my sophomore year in college, when I would wait until 4 am to walk home from the bar with my friends, unaware that I could leave on my own. I am glad I know that now.

But one thing that doesn’t change with age is how hard it is to remember how big this world is, and how many people are living right alongside me.  This morning, I went to the archaeology museum, and saw the artifacts of Empires I hadn’t thought about since 9th grade world history. Maybe as an American, or just as a person, I can’t comprehend how many lives have come before my own, but it was nice to see their coins and remember that they were here once, too.  

So back to my old friend. She’s an anthropology student, studying trash collection, specifically of the Roma community, in Bulgaria. She started coming to Sofia in 2003, before international phones were ubiquitous and before she knew how to read Cyrillic. On my second to last night in Bulgaria, we went to a Roma wedding, which had some of the garish charms of an American one, but also had kids rollerblading with one skate and propelling themselves with their sneakered foot and cotton candy sellers hanging out on the fringes of the reception. And while I love my friend, I do not always share her propensity to dance with strangers who don’t speak English. So we decided I should go home early, before it got dark, and hail a cab when I left the Roma neighborhood and reached the outskirts of Sofia. She wrote down her address in Cyrillic and told me many times how to find a taxi and also not to look at men directly in the eye. It was a shorter journey than the one she took eight years ago during her first summer in Bulgaria, and one that was also completed without incident. And yet when she returned to her apartment, she told me that she had spent the rest of the wedding worrying about me and wishing she had lent me her phone so I could have texted another wedding guest with news of my safe arrival.

And so we are not as young as we once were. But that’s ok, too.                                                                                                                                 

As I Travel, Some Thoughts on Travel

Well, I found the comma key but not the apostrophe one, so I wıll have to make do.

On a recent season of The Bachelorette (thıs ıs a no judgment web zone when ıt comes to TV watchıng habıts) a contestant, who was ın Turkey no less, says somethıng about how travel ıs such a good way to get to know someone. Lıke so much about The Bachelorette, thıs sentıment struck me as false. I would hope ıf you are on a realıty TV romance show, the person you meet could get down wıth an ABC sponsored vacatıon. If I were produce a realıty romance TV show, I would call ıt Tedıous and Mundane and gıve the hopeful romantıcs a budget and 20 mınutes ın a supermarket to shop for the week. That ıs a real way to get to know someone.

And generally, most people are lıkeable on vacatıon. I suppose people have dıfferent travel styles, but ıf you are bıkıng through Eastern Europe and you meet some other rıders along the way, chances are you can chıll together for a week or so. 

But stıll, havıng met some bıkers on a beach ın Bulgarıa (and lıkıng to bıke myself, though travelıng by bus) and then meetıng up wıth them agaın ın İstanbul, travel does seem to be ıf, not a perfect way to get know someone else, a good way to remember who I am. Lıke wıth few practıcal oblıgatıons or socıal sıgnıfıcers or any ıdea what to do ın İstanbul, thıs ıs who I am, meetıng new people, explorıng a new place. And ıt ıs good and bad, but all sort of famılıar and true.

Im Typıng on a Turkısh Keyboard So No Commas or Apostrophes In Thıs Post

So I left Sofıa and embarked on the 3rd leg of my teen tour entıtled Theres a Good Chance Ill Never Have Thıs Tıme Agaın So I Mıght As Well Explore. Wıth that ın mınd I arrıved ın İstanbul after an 8 hour bus rıde and no place to stay. Oh to be young! Except Im not as young as I once was and happıly overpaıd a cab to take to me the tourıst neıghborhood where I am now surrounded by the Uruguayans and Germans and Australıans who ın part fund the Turkısh economy. I dont exactly mınd gettıng rıpped off. All I know about Istanbul comes from the Lonely Planet guıde a frıend lent me and I mıght as well be readıng the Java Scrıpt manual ın the book trade pıle at my hostel. I have no ıdea where I am or how to speak Turkısh and these hotels and restaurants wıll accept my ıgnorance for money. Its a faır trade ın an ımperfect market. Oh to be an Amerıcan!

Speakıng of cultural ımperıalısm one of the thıngs that surprısed me about Bulgarıa ıs how lıttle anythıng but Bulgarıan was spoken. Sımılarly sızed countrıes lıke Sweden and Denmark have accepted that theır language wıll never be a global tongue and have taught generatıons Englısh. Even Chına has decıded ıts just more effecıent to teach ıts busıness leaders Englısh than to waıt for others to learn Chınese. But Bulgarıa doesnt seem to care about the tourısts whıch I suppose one has to respect.

Tomorrow ıts off to Hagıa Sofıa. Hılary Ballon I hope you know Ive taken your advıce on usıng your Intro to Archıtecture Class as a world travel guıde.


PS Almost every computer user Ive seen on thıs trıp has been on Facebook. Congratulatıons Mark Zuckerberg.

A Phone-cation

Around January of this year, I was in a bad mood at a decent party and I really wanted someone to text. I didn’t want to find a better party or even connect with someone else. I just wanted out of where I was, at least through my phone. If I had had a smartphone, I wouldn’t have even needed to text someone. I could have checked my email or played angry birds. But if I had spent that night on the phone, I wouldn’t have been at that party. A smartphone is portal out of anywhere, but it lets you out of being in one place completely.

One of my favorite things about this leg of my teen tour summer is not having a phone at all. In Europe, the only person I know is my best friend, and we’re SMS'ing IRL all the time. Incidentially, this friend has a habit of “forgetting” her phone charger whenever she goes on vacation, which is a pain unless you’re on vacation with her. But I see her point: a phone-free trip really is a break from everything.

I’m sure this Luddite sentiment comes from the fact that I have weeks of travel ahead of me without a job or an apartment to worry about in the meantime. But still, it’s a true thing that staring at a small screen never makes me feel any happier.

A Funny Thing About Drinking In Sofia

So since I was about 16, my only real political stance has been anti-bottled water. It’s not just that I’m cheap, which I am, but also that bottled water is the stupidest. It’s bad for the environment in a million different ways: the collection of it ruins stream beds, the transportation and storage of it leaves a huge carbon footprint, and the actual container stays on earth longer than we will.

Unlike most cities, Sofia is not by a major waterway. Instead, the city was founded because a river of potable mineral water flows underneath it. There are fountains in the city with water so fresh that it is still warm from the earth. Unfortunately, these fountains are kind of inconvenient and the city’s tap water is bad. People rely on bottled water here to such an extent that at restaurants, if you want flat water, you have to order a bottle of it.

As someone who tries to stay hydrated and eschews bottled water, this is all very difficult for me. Adding to the dilemma, in the Roma neighborhood I visited yesterday, using a toilet, or peeing at all, wasn’t really an option.

Here’s something else from the Roma neighborhood I went to yesterday: I don’t appreciate my dentist enough.  

Dateline: Sofia

Hey Team Internet,

So I’m in Bulgaria right now, visiting my BFF since middle school, exploring the city and drinking lots of fresh mineral water. This European interlude comes after a ten-day vacation in the Adirondacks, where I did a lot of hiking and eating of cheese.

There's a thing in the Adirondacks about doing all 46 peaks over 4000 feet. Last summer, I stayed at Johns Brook Lodge, a full service cabin 3.5 miles into the woods, to better approach the Saddleback and Basin peaks. There was this teenager who was also staying at the lodge and also doing Saddleback and Basin. Every time he reached the top, he would scream out the number of peaks he had done. So when he got to Saddleback, he yelled out  “37!" triumphantly only to get to Basin and do the same thing with the number 38. I did four High Peaks on this trip, and when I got to the top of each one, I yelled out my number ironically. I have a feeling this is the kind of joke which will get less ironic and more obnoxious over time. Other highlights of the trip included taking a nap on Hough and going trail running on my friend’s property with two unleashed dogs and then swimming in a pond with my running clothes on.

Coming back to New Rochelle, I had a brief bout of anxiety over all the travel (and I suppose glamour) my summer includes, but once I was on my way to Heathrow, I gave into the momentum of the plane and all of my summer plans. I slept the whole way on the second flight from London to Sofia, while the couple next to me was having a romantic meet cute. Now I’m a towel and about to go to a Roma neighborhood with my friend.

PS This computer doesn’t have a spell check, so no judgment.

To Quote Jhumpa Lahiri, Quoting Nathaniel Hawthrone:

Human nature will not flourish, any more than a potato, if it be planted and replanted, for too long a series of generations, in the same worn-out soil. My children have had other birthplaces, and, so far as their fortunes may be within my control, shall strike their roots into unaccustomed earth.

This school year, while tutoring, I learned again about the founding of America and our expansion west. It was interesting revisit the basics about the Continental Congress and the Louisiana Purchase as an adult, with some understanding of how real America works. Basically, the “don’t tread on me” approach was there from the beginning. It’s also easy to forget that America was founded by and expanded on by risk takers, people willing and unafraid to make a go of it in a new place.

Until very recently, I wasn’t part of that American tradition. For a while, living in New York was enough. Every summer, I’d discover a new neighborhood, new people, or a new way of living that made my hometown feel unaccustomed.

But of course, there’s the cost of living in New York, the rats, the roommates, the wait for the subway, the men who cut you in line at Best Buy, the endless plan making, and then this: a feature in New York Magazine about the toast revolution going on this city. After growing up in the suburbs of New York, going to college on the Upper West Side, and living in Brooklyn for five years, I can’t get excited about having access to the best toast in the world. Even the only in New York moments, like happening upon a firework show on a friend’s rooftop, don’t move me anymore. I started to feel like I didn’t even know America. And by not settling in a new place, I felt like I was missing out on the quintessential American experience.

So for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is my American destiny, I’m leaving New York and settling out West. More about my American odyssey to come.

Jasper Johns, Three Flags

It's All Downhill From Here

Tonight is the summer solstice, which means starting tomorrow, there will be less light in the evening. It’s too bad that the retreat from sunlight occurs so early in the summer, but whoever is in charge of weather and daylight isn’t taking suggestions. 

Incidentally, the days of the summer solstice and the winter equinox are the only two facts my father remembers from high school Earth Science. This day, and this weather, reminds me of him. When I was little, my family used to ride our bikes around the neighborhood after dinner on summer nights. My dad had a red road bike, and he was able to cruise across the quiet streets of New Rochelle without any hands. 

But you don’t need to be sentimental to enjoy the feeling of riding with open arms down a sunlit street on a cool summer night. That’s just a pleasant feeling. And a feeling, starting tomorrow, there will be less time for.  

Sound Memory

I have about as many memories with Beirut as I do with Paul Simon. From walking around Prospect Heights listening to “Scenic World” to seeing them play an impromptu show at Coco 66, Beirut has been a regular part of my New York soundtrack.  

It’s hard to leave a city with so many memories, and a place where impromptu shows and overhearing live music while playing league soccer is even possible. And yet, like Zach Condon, who grew up in New Mexico, I need to seek Unaccustomed Earth.