Monhegan, Part 2

July 30, 2007

I would be remiss without mentioning a few more things about Monhegan:

First, we stayed at a lovely place named Tribler Cottage. A little removed from the village's main drag, we had a wonderful little efficiency apartment, with our own bathroom, 2-person dining table, microwave, fridge, toaster and teapot. It reminded us of an old English bed & breakfast, which is strange since neither of us have been to an English bed & breakfast. Candies and a wide selection of teas in the little common room, and the main entrance hidden through a charming garden put us in that mindset, I suppose. If you want to go to Monhegan, I can definitely recommend Tribler Cottage.

Second, my fiancee ate what she described as one of the best lobster rolls ever. She got it from the fish shack, right on the beach looking towards Manana Rock. I had excellent clam chowder from the Monhegan House- don't forget to BYOB to that place, though.

Thirdly, it's well worth a stroll down the Cathedral Pines trail to see the fairy houses. I'll attach a picture or two to give you the idea.

Monhegan, Part 1

July 29, 2007

For a quiet birthday weekend, we decided to go to Monhegan Island, off the Maine coast. Located a pleasant 1-hour ferry ride from the mainland, Monhegan is a little island community adrift out in the Atlantic. A few dozen houses cling to the island on the leeward side, between a large meadow and Manana Rock. There seem to be three major industries on Monhegan:

1. Fishing (Lobstering, mostly)
2. Being an artist
3. Tourism (see #1 and #2)

Interestingly, I've been told that the lobstermen on Monhegan have a special arrangement with the agency that controls fishing in Maine. These Monhegan lobstermen get to determine their own season, and apparently have been doing a good job, as the lobster population appears healthy. This is very different, however, from most fishermen, who can only fish during very specific times. Perhaps this flexibility allows Monhegan natives to haul in the tourist dollars, since they close their own fishing season during the summer.

This alternate fishing season also symbiotically means there are scores of picturesque piles of traps, ropes, and buoys all over the village of Monhegan, prime sources of inspiration for painters looking to capture that spirit of the Maine coast. I don't know how artists can afford to live on the island, except for those who maintain galleries where tourists flock. We didn't visit a single gallery the entire time, so I can't really speak to the art community very much. We did take one funny picture of half a dozen people all painting the same scene.

And finally, there are the tourists themselves. These folks can be broken into two groups: day-trippers and overnighters. We were the latter, as we stayed for two nights, and so we quickly developed a condescending attitude toward the day-trippers. Perhaps we were unconsciously trying to think like locals. In any case, every morning the two ferry boats drop off up to a couple hundred tourists, who then proceed to wander small art galleries, hike the island's numerous trails, or....or I don't know what, because that's about all there is to do on the island.

Don't get me wrong, it was a very relaxing and enjoyable trip, but both of us finished the lengthy books we brought with us, a rare feat indeed. We hiked almost every trail on the island, past sea cliffs and through cathedral pine forests. We lounged in a beautiful garden with our books and cold beers. We ate seafood and stared at the ocean every evening. It was a wonderful weekend, but by the end we felt like we had seen all we needed to see, and were ready to steam back to the mainland. Perhaps Matinicus Rock would be interesting next time?

Santa Fe is for the Tourists (only!)

I recently went to Santa Fe, New Mexico, for a conference. February was really the ideal time to go there, since the heat and I don't get along very well, and a week in the Southwest in any time but winter has about as much appeal to me as slamming my hand in a car door. A few years ago I spent a week driving around Arizona in July, starting and ending in Phoenix, with a trip to the Grand Canyon. The heat was just awful, especially for three guys camping out at night and driving in a small pickup with no air conditioning. We ended up driving forever to get to the Sangre de Cristo mountians north of Santa Fe, just to get some elevation and get out of the desert. The mountains were a revelation, an oasis of green and cool breezes and running streams that almost made me forget the misery and oppressive nature of the desert. Maybe sometime I'll dig through my journals and post my actual entries from that trip.

But February was ideal weather to explore the Southwest a little bit, with warm days in the 50s or 60s and cool nights for sleeping. Santa Fe is at nearly 7000 feet, and thankfully doesn't resemble the strip-mall hell that is Phoenix. In fact, Santa Fe has a charming downtown of adobe buildings with protruding wodden beams, narrow streets and tile roofs. I can't say that I saw much of Santa Fe outside of the downtown, mostly because the conference kept me busy and centered around the hotel facilities.

Santa Fe is an unusual city for me, in that I have seen many cities all over the world, and Santa Fe seems to be the only city that has abandoned its entire downtown and historic district to tourism. In some way it seems like a savvy move- fill the whole area with hotels and art galleries and restaurants and let the out-of-town cash come rolling in. But in other ways it seems almost dishonest- are you really visiting a place if nobody lives there? I mean, I've never been to a city's downtown where there was NOTHING for locals. There are no stores, no offices for workers, no apartments, no condos, no anything for non-tourists. If you want to buy a super-expensive turquoise necklace, no problem, but if you want to buy a half gallon of milk and a loaf of bread, you're SOL. And it's just a strange feeling to walk around someplace at night and realize that every single person who you see walking around or eating in a restaurant is also from out of town. The only locals were the ones working there, and they must live outside of town, where all the real facilities and housing were.

I suppose this brings up a central question of why we travel and what it means to visit a place. Have we really experienced a place if we only go where we are supposed to go? Did I really see Santa Fe- the old buildings and churches and art- or did I miss the other side of it, how the locals lived, what they do for fun, what is life there really like? I almost felt like I was at Disneyland- you see the facades and props and costumed characters, but you know that in the bowels of the castle there's Mickey and Minnie and Goofy with their heads off, the actors smoking cigarettes on their lunch break and watching the clock. Did you really meet Cinderella, or someone dressed up like her? Did I see Santa Fe, or someplace dressed up like Santa Fe?

Hooking up, Part 4

Continuing in our Random Meet-Up theme, let’s move back to Australia.

July 22, 2003

The town of Noosa must have some sort of supernatural forces bending reality, since such strange and wonderful things have happened to me here. First of all, I’m staying at a place called the North Shore Retreat, which is located a ways out of town on a lake, and is very beautiful. There are roos, turkeys, and peacocks wandering around the grounds. When I got here the backpacker lodge was full, so me and this nice, soft-spoken British guy named Andy were put into a Unit, which is like a pimp motel suite. I have my own king-sized bed, plus kitchen, dining room, and bathroom to share with Andy. You have to catch a van back to town and the beach, but that’s OK.

So, I sign up for a surfing lesson, and am waiting in town to be picked up by the company, sitting on a bench, reading a book, when I get the feeling that someone is staring at me. I look up, and there is Douggie, with a silly grin on his face. “Of all the gin joints in the world…” he begins. I only could just laugh, seeing a friend from home standing there with a big shit-eating grin on his face, and gave him a big hug. Turns out he and his lab group from Sydney were in town for a Polymer conference.

After my lesson I met up with Doug, and we surfed all afternoon. I love surfing! When I finally caught my first wave on two feet and rode it for a few seconds I felt like I had just learned to ride a bike or drive. It's so much fun to hang out in the ocean and chase a few waves, especially on the beautiful Noosa beach under a blue sky and bright sun. I've always sort of liked going to the beach back home, but always felt like there was not quite enough to do. Now that I can surf, the beach has a whole new appeal for me.

So, Doug Holmes and I spent the next two days surfing, crashing at the sweet Swiss-style cottage his lab group had rented, and eating giant burgers off the grill. It's a great way to spend one's time, and I've kept going back to the beach and playing in the waves.

Today, another random encounter: I'm bust surfing, without my contacts so I can't really see that well, when someone calls out to me. It was Xander and Suuz, two Dutch people I had hiked the Routeburn and Greenstone tracks with in New Zealand! They had been in Noosa about as long as I had, and were loving it as much as I was.

So, two chance encounters with friends in one small beach town. Seems like a little magic to me.

Hooking Up, Part 3

About August 30, 2003

Another random meet-up, this time in Slovakia.

Finally I left the Tatras, bound for Krakow. This trip involved a long wait in Kosice, Slovakia, which actually turned out to be really pleasant. I had a picnic lunch with a couple of Aussies next to the Musical Fountain in the very pretty city center. Then, when I was just strolling around I was yelled at from an outdoor cafe, and it turned out to be a guy I had met on the train from Poprad, who had in turn met up with a few mates and was drinking beer and hanging out. The invited me to sit down and relax with them, and I innocently did, with no clue what I was getting myself into.

Two of the guys were Aussies- one named Rhino with a shaved head, and another named Ryan or something, with a sort-of Mohawk, lip ring, pierced eyebrow, massive tattoo on one shoulder, and an unbelievable personality. He took great delight in calling and yelling at good-looking girls walking by, and often gave them the slow clap to show his approval. It was like he had no inhibitions- he wanted to eat, drink and get laid, and it was infectious. We all acted like him after a few beers, and I have to admit that it was really fun to just say whatever the hell I wanted, be a chauvinist dick for a while. However, the flip side of this came when we went out to eat. When the bill came I had to pay by credit card, so it was easy for me, but the other four ended up having a huge crisis about the bill. Rhino disappeared- I still have no idea where he went. Basically, the two Canadians ended up footing most of the bill, and the Aussies were just a mess. By the time I left them they were wandering around looking for the Blue Lagoon Club. It was sort of like getting caught up in a storm, bouncing around for a few hours, then getting spat out in the rain at night. Looking back on the afternoon and evening I have no idea what happened- it made no sense at all, I could never have predicted it, and it ended so quickly. Sometimes I've heard this called 'road magic', when seemingly random things all come together when you're on the road.

A final note to this post: I woke up the next morning feeling like death, if death could be beaten about the head with a mallet and kicked down several city blocks. I had to sprint to catch a train, and barely got on at all, with a pounding, spinning head, pouring sweat, roiling stomach, and clutching a bag of what I hoped were muffins from a vending machine in the train station. I'm pretty sure the nice Slovaks on the train were appalled- they probably wished they could bring back the USSR just to keep Americans like me out. God Bless America!

(Picture caption: Bratislava Castle, Bratislava Slovakia. And yes, it had nothing to do with this post. Wiseass.)

Hooking Up, Part 2

April 12, 2006

By this time I had moved on to a different island- Kon Tiki, AKA Nananua Lodge, on the island of Nanu-i-ra. Back to Random Encounter Theater:

More time on the beach today, with a sunburn to prove it on my chest and stomach. The day was undershot with anticipation, though, since one girl named Jody and a Dutchman named Melvin collected money from everyone and went into town, returning with food and BOOZE! I hiked the ridge of the island, which apparently the owners of the Kon Tiki also own. It’s actually quite a big piece of land, about 400 acres or so, and most of it is pasture; rolling grassland dotted with the occasional spreading tree. The batteries in my camera are dead, so I’ll have to try to preserve the scene in words instead. After a short walk you come to the ridgeline, above the lodge, where there is a small sort of observation deck and an electricity-generating windmill. From there you basically follow a cow path through the swaying grasses up and down the rolling landscape. The view of the ocean is spectacular, blue water in every direction, discolored where a reef lies below the surface, waves breaking where a shoal is. It’s a small taste of the scope of the Pacific, the sheer size of it. Down by the beach it’s easy to forget just how huge this is. The sunset from up here is amazing as well, stretching orange and yellow shades across the water.

At night some of the backpackers cooked a huge curry, and soon we all sat down at the end-to-end picnic tables to eat. It was like a small family had sprung up out of nowhere: we ate and drank rum and Cokes (made with the very potent and foul local Bounty rum). It didn’t take much to make everyone fairly tipsy, noisy, and happy. Joe and Oscar, two local employees, joined in the fun, and for a little while it was like we were all old mates, joking and palying CDs and just enjoying each other. Later there was a bonfire at the beach, but the combination of Bounty and the late hour made for a lot of people sleeping in the sand. I love how these things seem to happen, that in a very short period of time you can become so friendly with complete strangers.

Hooking Up, Part 1

Traveling solo is a little like moving to a strange city- you know there will be people there, but you don’t know how you will meet them. In a new city you may hook up with new people through work or a club, or they may be someone living in your building. For solo travelers, though, it’s a little more random- you meet up with people constantly, and you might spend a day or two with them, all the while knowing that you’ll most likely never see them again in your life. With this in mind, I’m going to do a couple RTW entries where this seems to have happened.

April 5, 2006

I’m finishing my second full day here at Wayalailai, sitting on the deck outside the kitchen. There’s a good firm breeze blowing, and the temperature is warm but comfortable. My legs, back and forehead are burned bright pink from about four or five hours of snorkeling yesterday, and I spent virtually all the daylight hours today sleeping. I don’t know why, perhaps it is the jetlag catching up to my excitement to be on the road. I felt like my head was packed with cotton or something, and at breakfast and lunch I couldn’t even make conversation.

On the good side, I’ve made a good friend during my stay here. She’s a Brit named Ann who I met on the skiff, which carried us from the catamaran to the resort. The cat was cool, except for the fact that it missed my stop and a one-and-a-half hour trip turned into a 6 or 7 hour tour of all the Yasawa islands. style=""> And honestly, the weather was rainy and lousy, and I essentially got a free tour out of it. (Note that this was very early in my trip. If this had happened near the end when I was completely burned out, I would have flipped my shit. Back to happy travel time).

It’s funny how easily you can fall in with a person sometimes. This girl Ann is staying in the same dorm, and we take meals together and hang out on the beach sometimes. The other funny part is how you have to get past the standard questions before you can have a real conversation with someone on the road:

-Where ya from?

-How long ya been here?

-Where else ya been?

-Where ya going next?

I think everyone who is on the road like me is very happy to make a friend out of a stranger, and to get past these initial, obligatory first questions and really find out what someone is like. I doubt Ann and I will run into each other again- she heads to LA in a few days- but it has been nice having a friend for a little while, and it has also been nice to find out that I can actually make a real friend on the road, even if it is only for a little while.

Thoughts from the Sea

Oceanus A-frame Sunset
Originally uploaded by brownhousechris.

I've just returned after a 13-day sampling trip aboard the RV (Research Vessel) Oceanus. We started from Woods Hole MA, and steamed back and forth across the continental shelf, all the way up to the Bay of Fundy in Canadian waters. My job was to run a flow-through system, which takes continuous measurements of different seawater properties. I also took some regular water samples as well.

I'd always just done day trips at sea, so this was a big change for me. The thought has a lot of adventure and excitement to it, doesn't it? Out on the ocean, away from the regular world, surrounded by a natural setting...these feeling go away after about a day. What it starts to feel like is waking up in your office, eating in your office, working in your office, then going to back to sleep in your office. Tedium is a good word. By the time we docked again it was a very sweet sensation to feel the land under my feet again.

Not bad for a bunkhouse

bure-bau-interior
Originally uploaded by brownhousechris.

The eco-resort on the island of Wayalailai was pretty sweet, living up to the good expectations while avoiding the easy sterotypes. First of all, the resort was owned and run by the residents of the island, who were all native Fijians- much nicer than giving your travel cash to some conglomerate. I went to a church service on Sunday in the neighboring village, and the beautiful music mixing with the sound of waves washing breaking outside the small church was a pleasant change from the services I'd attended in a somber, stone New England church.

I think I paid something like $10 US a day to stay at the Waya Lailai, and that included all meals. The amenities are basic but more than adequate, and besides, who wants a marble bathroom and air conditioning when you are smack in the middle of a tropical paradise? If you want to be pampered and spoiled, this might not be the place for you, but if you're looking for an amazing setting, attractive facilities, great beaches and snorkeling and diving, and affordable rates, then check Waya Lailai out!

This place, like the entire nation of Fiji, has an extremely laid-back nature- an afternoon beach volleyball game is almost too much excitement. When they tell you that you're on Fiji Time, they mean it; trade your watch for a shot of kava, because you won't need it. If you're considering some island-hopping in Fiji, I'd strongly recommend stopping here for at least a few days.