WORLDROMPER

"Life is either a daring adventure or nothing." Helen Keller

Category Archives: Favorite Destinations

Destinations that I just can’t stop writing about and places where I have lived


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Sightsounding: New Music Adventures

Adventure is new music.

When you travel around the globe you come across all kinds of music; people tend to associate vacation with the visual sense, sightseeing, but sightsounding is just as enriching if not more so. Fresh music exposes your ears to new aural vistas just as your eyes take in the new mountain scene or rolling landscape. Whether you stumble upon a local jam band ragin’ it in a tiny French village or beat drums on the Masai Mara in Africa, musical adventures will ring in your ears long after your return flight.

Golden Bay, South Island

Golden Bay, South Island

When I arrived in New Zealand I had absolutely no idea what an insane reggae scene is going off on those islands. It makes perfect sense though; reggae is island music for chillin’ out and New Zealand is made up of two beautiful islands scattered with the very laid back Kiwi people. The heart of the reggae world in New Zealand is the Waikato region and the city of Wellington, the cultural capital of the nation. An awesome reggae industry means a killer dub and dubstep scene as well, and all over New Zealand people are dancing and jamming to amazing music that 99.9% of most Americans have not heard of. I am about to induct you into the .01%. Get ready to bounce.

Rangitoto from Waitemata Harbor in Auckland

Rangitoto from Waitemata Harbor in Auckland

Fat Freddy’s Drop is the most well-known of all New Zealand music artists and skanks it right with a totally unique reggae and dub sound. They lay down thick swervy bass beats with an easy, ambulatory nature that creeps along purposefully under the smooth vocals of lead singer Dallas. His voice is like a bell, open and with an all-encompassing tone that pulls you in, and they have one of the best female rappers around. This Wellington band dropped big time in 2005 with stellar album “Based On A True Story.” Fat Freddy’s song Cay’s Crays is named after a crayfish (NZ lobster) stand on the South Island that you will most certainly drive by if you are road tripping around the country (such is the beauty of New Zealand’s many one-road towns).

Lake Matheson, South Island

Lake Matheson, South Island

Katchafire is a smokey-sweet reggae band named in tribute to a Bob Marley song with a leader singer whose voice will make you swear you are listening to Legend. On Revival they exhort you to bounce, skank, giddy up and get away. Katchafire’s edition of Redemption Song is a hopeful, uplifting recording and their song Collie Herb Man has been mixed and remixed by just about every DJ in New Zealand, and you can find a version of the song under whatever electronic music style you like, from house to drum and bass to dubstep.

Punakaiki "Pancake Rocks," South Island

Punakaiki "Pancake Rocks," South Island

Salmonella Dub throws dance beats down from Cape Reinga to Bluff. A sassy mix of electronica, jazz influences, and shaky reggae stomps combines with uplifting lyrics to post Samonella Dub at the top of the list for Kiwi music. Dancehall Girl is an ode to the shakers on the islands and Slide just makes you want to sit back down, breath deep and savor the kickin’ mountain scenery of New Zealand for another hour or two.

Moeraki Boulders aka NEW ZEALAND ROCKS

Moeraki Boulders aka: NEW ZEALAND ROCKS

Other New Zealand reggae and dub bands to check out include Kora, Pitch Black, The Black Seeds, Trinity Roots, Shapeshifter, Herbs, and Cornerstone Roots. Go on a new music adventure and experience the inspirational qualities of New Zealand’s finest artists. I will see you on the dance floor.


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Thailand Revisited: There is a Party called Khao San Road

…and I am writing you from it!

I arrived in Bangkok about three hours ago and jumped a cab to my hotel which is just one street removed from Khao San Road, one of the most popular backpacker streets in the world. I am in Thailand but the whole area around feels like backpacker country- it is a seething, simmering, boiling broth of young people from all over the world, mixing and dancing and sweating and loving Southeast Asia.

Hungry? Deep fried insects

Hungry? Deep fried insects

All down the street restaurants, bars, and dance clubs compete with each other to boom their bass in your face, from Eminem to Guns and Roses to JT. Cocktails are sold in bucket form, and a vodka red bull bucket will set you back a whole $4. Food vendors line the street, hawking phud thai, eggrolls, deep-fried insects, fresh pineapple juices, hot falafels, popsicles- all super cheap. The only thing less expensive than the food are the clothes- realizing I might like an extra sleeved shirt, I bought two sweet printed shirts for $6. MC Hammer pants are big here as well as gaudy bead-covered tank tops, and you can buy shiny gold bangle bracelets to go up your entire arm.

Riding in a tuk-tuk

Riding in a tuk-tuk

Tuk-tuks (3 wheeled car/truck things) cruise around like taxis, there are tons of motorcycles screaming everywhere and people just sit down in the road to eat their midnight snack. It is around 12:30AM here and I have no idea what time it is in the US though I do believe it is yesterday. Well, I am in tomorrow- and it ROCKS, yall.

I wish I could transport a big group of you here to experience this with me: life, carnival-style.

Street Vendor

Street Vendor

Swirling madness to be lapped up, bright colors to breath in, laughing strangers to meet eyes with and walk away, spare policemen chuckling at fat chicks, Burger King, the Ooze bar, wandering stray dogs, cats, elephants- this place is pure madness and you all would LOVE it!

I am only in Bangkok overnight; my train leaves at 7:30 in the morning to Sukhothai, the ancient capitol of the country. I return in about a week though and am already looking forward to it. I enjoy the crazy bustle of cities. and yes, the shopping. Good night my friends. Buy a plane ticket. Travel. This is your world, and you should really check it out, because it is beautiful and it is calling your name. There are six billion strangers waiting to be your friend. There are hot peppers that will make you cry, random yogurt drinks to cool you off, and a blond girl who skips along with a song in her heart.

MUCH LOVE SEATTLE!

df5k, alive and well on the other side of the planet


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Thailand Revisited: A Soul in Seoul says HELLO

Written in October 2008

Hello my friends from Seoul, South Korea! I am only here one day and taking advantage of the swanky hotel with heated toilet seat and free internet access where the airline put me up.

Before I wrote up events and artists for the electronic music community, I wrote travel- and geez yall might lose me soon to the world because I absolutely love it. I love to travel wherever, whenever.

I love twelve hour flights– does this make me the biggest freak in the world? Seriously- twelve hours to be alone with myself and my thoughts, shit movies like Get Smart and Speed Racer on TV, I read 4 magazines and 2 newspapers plus half of Lonely Planet Thailand. I love to travel and I don’t just mean getting places- I like waiting in airports, being lost in train stations, wondering around streets I don’t know sticking out like a sore sore thumb with my blondiness. I love being a fool, not knowing anything, sounding stupid trying to learn the right way to say “good morning.” GOD I LOVE IT.

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So I am here in Seoul because the airline changed my flight to Bangkok, giving me a forced overnight here in South Korea complete with sweet hotel stay, breakfast/lunch/dinner and airport transfers. The ride into Seoul from Incheon, the airport, was about an hour right around sunset time, and the pink/orange haze that fell over everything pulled my eyes in all directions as I tried to make things out of shapes in the distance over the water: cargo ships, giant bridges seemingly suspended in the mist, industrial ports, fishing boats, and tiny farms dotted alongside the interstate.

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Seoul itself is what you imagine of a big Asian city- huge clusters of impossibly tall buildings that must house thousands of homes and families way up in the sky, big fountains shooting waterjets at happy kids, narrow shopping corridors as bright as noon at 10PM because of all the neon, shoppers looking and buying everything from makeup to a million plaid skirts to deep fried SOMETHING to ballet shoes to SpongeBob socks. It is loud and bustling; lots of karaoke bars (GOD HELP ME), an abnormal level of shitty house music, and in general a joyous, busy, city atmosphere. I have also discovered what it feels like to be of normal height in the world- here I am not a shorty but rather of standard height or even tall-ish: effing sweet for a girl who has been made fun of for being short her whole life.

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I am a city girl and I do love getting lost in strange cities- not hard to do at all in Seoul. There are Starbucks everywhere- I have seen at least 8 or 9 in the small shopping area around my hotel, The Royal, which is uber nice- heated toilet seat with multi-function bidet- yeah just ponder that one for a minute! My bed was as hard as a ROCK but I slept like a baby- a delirious, jetlagged baby. Actually I have little jet lag- my very bizarre sleeping schedule during Decibel actually really prepared me quite well for this trip.

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The food here has been fantastic- fresh and dried seafood that I don’t even know what it is (even after I put it in my mouth), lots of fruits and salad, tons of pickled vegetables, rice, and for breakfast a giant bowl of roasted garlic. MMMMM. I love to eat and am so glad I got the gene where I try food fearlessly- so what if every once in a while you eat the eyeball of a random creature? It is SO worth it.

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Of course there is a big military presence here in South Korea, but overall not tons of English speakers walking around, which is nice. All I know how to say in Korean is hello, goodbye, thank you, and please- but you would be surprised how far this will get you, wherever you are in the world.

I have until 4PM today to wonder around the city and plan on checking out a market and a couple of Buddhist temples. South Korea is not as cheap as Thailand will be so I am trying not to spend much money. I am very excited to get to Bangkok and sort through the madness there; I arrive about 10PM and will probably hop a cab into the city: Friday night, baby!

pa020049Much love to everyone. I am carrying Seattle postcards to give to friends I make along the way so they can see the beautiful city that I call home right now.

I will leave you now with some feedback I got from an artist who performed at Decibel:

“I feel very much inspired by the enthusiasm in seattle – i feel its contagious and spreading fast as well. cant wait to see it grow”

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HELL YEAH. Catch you on the flip-flop.


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Thailand Revisited

Last October I spent three weeks in Thailand and the trip to Southeast Asia opened my brain up and thrilled me to the soul as never before!

I kept a blog on Myspace but have since created Worldrompr, my travel blog, and I am going to be reposting my pieces there, adding photos and doing a bit of editing as well- after all, when I was writing them to you originally, I was probably covered in sweat with a Chang or two in me, racing the clock at the internet cafe.

If you read my blog the first time, please excuse the double post, or you can always click through to see the photos!

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King Louis XIV in Paris: The Short Tale of a Long Dog

Cafe near the Centre Pompidou

Cafe near the Centre Pompidou

One by one the Parisians slowly come to a stop, pausing on their way to home to tiny apartments to watch as a slinky black wiener dog leans into the splashing fountain at Place Monge and rescues a floating leaf from the swirling jets of water. After a furious shake of the wide yellow leaf, he gently lays it down on the surrounding pavement and returns to the fountain’s ledge to save its brothers. Applause. The women smile, the children squeal in laughter, and the men chuckle to themselves. The citizens of Paris love King Louis XIV- not the illustrious Sun King, le Roi Soleil, who ascended the throne at age five, built the magnificent chateau Versailles, and ruled as France’s greatest king ever. No, this is le Chien Soleil, a powerfully cute miniature dachshund with silky black fur and soft tan markings, whose prancing spirit captivated the hearts of the French as no king ever could.

Louis at the Jardins des Plantes, before getting kicked out

Louis at the Jardins des Plantes, before getting kicked out

I knew the Parisians had a love affair with those of the canine persuasion from previous visits to the city where I had witnessed dogs of every shape and size dining tableside at sidewalk cafes and poking their heads out of designer handbags on the Metro. When I transplanted my life to Paris, however, I found that I had greatly underestimated the puissance of a small sausage-shaped dog to help me acculturate to life in the City of Lights. After a few short weeks King Louis XIV became something of a celebrity in my Left Bank neighborhood. Greek sandwich craftsmen would hand him long strips of gyro meat, and in return the King would gladly tidy up the shop floor of any stray frites. Restauranteurs handed him whole meatballs to gobble up, and my Turkish friend Vulcan would set out a heaping plate of raw steak meat every time I passed by his brother’s store. On a tight budget and a diet of fried eggs and tuna fish, I glared in envy at my wiener dog as he chowed down the chunks of grade-A beef, then once again drew applause as he ripped apart a paper table napkin in delight for dessert. I went home to my omelet, wistfully awaiting “meat Sunday”.

Cardboard Box & British Airways Blanket

Louis’ Haute-Couture Bed: Cardboard Box & British Airways Blanket

King Louis XIV went everywhere I did, in converted duffle bag with netting at one end that I dubbed the “What dog?” bag. Paris was his playground. He stared wide-eyed at the crouching lions of the Museum of Evolution, he strutted and preened down the Champs-Elysees like a teenager on Friday night, he perched on a stool at the famous Café de Flore, charming patrons and waitstaff alike. Louis loved Paris and Paris loved Louis. True, I did get kicked out of several gardens and parks (I assumed the “No Dogs Even On A Leash” sign was just a suggestion)- but the guards who gently reprimanded me always had a soft look in their eyes and a “quel joli chien” on their tongues. Nothing could stop Louis from romping Paris and winning hearts at the same time, running circles in parks and fetching tennis balls out of the cold waters of the Seine from the Ile de la Cite. His most cherished pastime, however, remained the aforementioned leaf-rescue operation which he performed in almost every splashing fountain in Paris, from Saint-Sulpice to the Gardens of the Palais-Royal, and always to a group of smiling Parisians.

During the deadly heat wave, Summer 2003

During the deadly heat wave, Summer 2003

This image of happy, laughing Parisians may come as a shock to you if you have heard and bought the stereotype that Parisians are rude, cold-hearted snobs, but my experience with King Louis XIV proves that indeed they are actually TOO nice. They would fall over themselves to stop and chat about Louis, his age, his breeding prospects, the theatre, politics, the mirabelle plums at the market, and after a few months’ time I could hardly walk down my small street in less than an hour due to the many conversations that ensued each and every day. Michel de Montaigne, the famous French philosopher, exhorted his fellow humans to live like the dog, to “break the bone, and suck out the marrow of life”- to be passionate about every new day. This celebration of the enjoyment of life is on display all over Paris, from the abundance of lingerie shops to the national pastime of strolling to the three hour lunches of haute cuisine. In this way dogs and Parisians have much more in common than anyone might think, and just maybe we can all learn something from King Louis XIV and his beloved city, and take pleasure in the simple actions of life- to shake the leaf furiously, and go back for more.

THE END

THE END


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Qu’est-ce que c’est La Belle Epoque? What is the Belle Epoque?

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On your travels in Paris you will no doubt hear the term Belle Epoque (pronounced BELL EH-POKE) used to describe various forms of art and architecture.  La Belle Epoque means ‘Beautiful Era’ in English and should bring to mind decadence, prosperity, and pleasure: imagine artists drawing can-can girls, inventors constructing grand palaces, and writers with wine in hand attempting to capture the liberal, bohemian spirit that infused Paris and captivated the world. Continue reading →


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Rouen, France: An Ode to Joan of Arc

Here, in the Old Marketplace of Rouen, Le Vieux Marche;

Today living and thriving, full of flowers and fountains,

Children laughing, dogs barking, tables stacked with regional specialties (that’s pressed duck in blood sauce and sheep’s knuckles to you),

Just a few steps from the old pagan clock, a fat medieval masterpiece,

Clicking its way through hours, weeks, moons, to the tune of purse vendors, glass hawkers, gold sellers,

Under leaning, creeping houses of sherbet colors, on a narrow street of wide cobblestones,

By the crumbling cathedral bombed by the Germans (or was it the Allies?)

It impressed old Claude anyway,

More moving for me, the Plague Cemetery,

With carvings deep in dark wood for “eternity,”

Of skulls, bones, shovels, coffins, and such,

The dance of the macabre (black cats would agree)

Yes, this was the best of Rouen for me; the Death,

For

Here in Le Vieux Marche, in 1431,

A young girl was burned and not by the sun,

But by the Church she believed in, she fought for and bled for,

She kicked out the English and united a France,

But she spoke straight to God and wore men’s pants!

So this warrior woman, just 19 years old,

Was auto-da-fe where tomatoes were sold.

Joan of Arc, you have my heart;

Your voices were your truth,

Coming from deep inside of you,

Your actions were true, and your death was a lie,

You’re a hero to France, and for you,

Rouen sighs.

                                   Rouen

Rouen is one of the best preserved medieval towns in Normandy, sitting on the banks of the Seine river just a couple of hours north of Paris by rail or car. The half-timber buildings overhanging the narrow streets create a village feel straight from the Middle Ages, and you find yourself looking around for peasants pulling carts and yelling “Bring out yer dead!” The Plague Cemetery is a thrilling example of a medieval ossuary, and the Astronomical Clock on the main street in Rouen has not stopped moving since 1389. The Cathedral of Rouen was studied by Claude Monet who painted the church at different times of day in order to capture the effect of light on perspective, long before the building was bombed out in the Allied invasion of Normandy during World War II. Joan of Arc, along with many other innocent human beings, was burned alive at the stake (auto-da-fe) in the middle of the Old Marketplace.

You can still see the remains of the rock wall which sheltered the market stall from the flames.


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A Sailor’s Life: Penobscot Bay

“READY ABOUT!”

When you are a deckhand working on a schooner that is sailing off the mid-coast of Maine and you hear your captain give this command, you jump up and run/climb/pirate down to the deck as fast as possible without a moment of hesitation.

It doesn’t matter if you are eating corned beef hash, polishing a brass cannon, in the galley washing dishes, asleep in your little hole of a bunk, meditating, or taking care of business in the head. When you hear “ready about,” you run.

You do not pass go; you do not collect $200. You are a lowly deckhand, and your hands must be on deck, ready to tack, jibe, crawl up the topmast, or haul the lines with every ounce of strength in your body and then some. You are barefoot; your ratty, dirty clothes are always damp, and your hands are callused and leathery from the lines. You are always the last in line for the shower and for meals, and you are always the first in line for anchor-hauling and dish washing. You wake up before dawn to scrub the deck and stay up late into the night, closing the hatches and blowing out the oil lamps. You must be ready to entertain the passengers on the command of your captain with stories, songs, antics, or puppet shows. Your work is your life; you live on the boat and have only sixteen hours off a week. Despite the immensity of what you are earning in experience, your salary is approximately one dollar an hour.

And people pay hundreds and hundreds of dollars to live a week in your life. They sign up to sail Penobscot Bay on a real ship, with a real crew, and be a real sailor. Most will say it is the best vacation of their lives.

Tall ships sail up and down the coast of Maine from May to October, carrying captains, crew, and customers to spotty islands, rock-cropped lighthouses, and ridiculously quaint New England villages. These schooners are no luxury cruise ships; there are no sequined dancers, eat-all-you-can chocolate buffets or bingo games. This is not a shopping-mall travel experience; there is absolutely nothing to buy. These are not smooth, sleek fiberglass wenched-out showboats but decades-old windjammers with wooden hulls, hemp lines, whiskey barrels for water storage and wood-fired stoves. There are no traditional showers, the cabins are tiny, and privacy is an absolute illusion if anything. Dinner is a lobster and clam bake on the beach, bare-handed and messy with crustacean goo dripping down your elbows (all Mainers know that a wash in the salty Atlantic beats a lame lobster bib any day).

From Boothbay to Bar Harbor the schooners ride the Atlantic with itineraries set only by the wind and tide, and travelers sign up to sail on the Timberwind and the Stephen Taber to live the life of a sailor for a week. Penobscot Bay is regarded by the world-cruising community as one of the top three places to sail in the Atlantic-triangle loop along with the Mediterranean and the Caribbean; sailors treasure the sure waves of the icy north ocean more than a cold PBR or a hot shower. For one week, you are a sailor, you are as free as a leaf on the wind, as a dolphin at the bow. You look out onto the glassy ocean and know that the whole world is laid out before you, and the sunset will pull you forward to your next horizon. You are a sailor.

READY ABOUT.


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Paradise Found, Shoes Lost: French Polynesia

Written in October of 2006

I write from the one internet café on the island of Moorea, Tahiti’s sister island. I am in paradise- don’t hate me! However you probably wouldn’t even recognize me as I morphed 2006-french-polynesia-tahiti-and-moorea-094into island Shilo (like island Barbie but much smarter) about twenty minutes after I got here: no makeup, no jewelry, and no shoes; time and schedules mean nothing, I haven’t brushed my hair since I arrived, I shower only to wash off the salty South Pacific, and wear just a swimsuit and a sarong. I have been camping on the western beaches and spending my days exploring every inch of the volcanic isle by means of le truck, the local transportation. It is a flatbed pick-up truck which functionsas a bus but with no real stops; you just flag it down when you want to hop on and yell when you are ready to get off.

I thought Tahiti was the most beautiful place I had ever been until I got here. The water is fluorescent turquoise, the color of a blueberry slurpee or the blue stripe of a neon tetra 2006-french-polynesia-tahiti-and-moorea-135fish. Moorea is composed of jagged black volcanic peaks, like a shark got punched in the mouth, jutting up between two bays, one being Cook’s Bay where the Captain landed. The whole island is covered with dripping green vegetation, coconut and mango trees, and giant flowers in every color of the rainbow and then some. The soft beaches are whiter than my blindingly pale Anglo skin, streams undoubtedly lead to jungle-hidden waterfalls, and I hike through clouds to reach insane vistas of an 2006-french-polynesia-tahiti-and-moorea-113exotic world. It is surreal; a place this beautiful can’t really exist, right? I would think I had slipped into some sort of alternate universe if it wasn’t for Eminem blasting out of the speakers in this café, jolting me back to “the real world”. Ha!

Despite the Metallica hats in gift shops and the ubiquitous McDo, French Polynesia is thoroughly that- FRENCH. Outside of the sheltered five-star resorts very few people 2006-french-polynesia-tahiti-and-moorea-001speak English and I have rarely heard the native dialect spoken, just a twice in the marketplace. The street signs, gendarmes, post boxes, radio stations (N-R-J!), cars, and grocery store brands (Leaderprice) are exactly the same as the ones in France. Along the waterfront in Papeete are sidewalk cafes with names like Les Trois Brasseurs with dark green plastic wicker chairs and tiny round tables that Paris would be proud to boast, serving a wide selection of French wines and excellent espresso.The result is a perfect little slice of French culture set in a background of sunny skies, bizarre tropical flowers, and seashell-covered beaches. I think I’m in love!

I am catching the last ferry tonight back to Papeete on Tahiti, THE nightlife hot spot of French Polynesia, to go dancing with my new friend Anika from Stuttgart who I met at a hostel and who has invited me to stay with her for next year’s Oktoberfest. Traveling alone you always talk to tons of interesting people; just today I have met a Tahitian mother of five whose brother works at a bar in Pioneer Square in downtown Seattle, the inventor of the over-water bungalow, and a friend of Marlon Brando named Muk. As a young American traveling solo, I feel a bit like the popular girl in junior high, instantly a bit hated and a bit cool at the same time. As a female traveling 2006-french-polynesia-tahiti-and-moorea-140alone I find almost everyone here to be helpful; the men sometimes too much so. The women however offer me plenty of genuine advice and comfort with an interesting mixture of pity and envy. I am getting along just fine, staying safe, and relishing every moment.

Tahiti itself is awesome, the beaches are black sand and the waters as clear as the skies, the air heavy with the perfume of tropical flora and whichever island I am on I just can’t seem to wipe the smile off my face. Paradise of course is not perfect, a small order of fries at McDo is $4, it is about 100 degrees 2006-french-polynesia-tahiti-and-moorea-082Fahrenheit with 100 percent humidity, I have dozens and dozens of mosquito bites on my legs, and there are families of wild chickens and gangs of scratch-happy dogs EVERYWHERE which sounds really cool until they simultaneously start going berserk at 2 AM. But if I ever drop off the face of the earth and can’t be found- you know where to look!

 

 

2006-french-polynesia-tahiti-and-moorea-1551Keep traveling and slay those dragons,

Shilo