Auckland is the largest Polynesian city in the world, a swirling international metropolis where people from all over Asia and the South Pacific meet and mix with the native Maori traditions, British influence, and a bit of shoulder rubbing (and ribbing) with the Aussies. Combine the unique culture that results with the laid back, inclusive vibe of the New Zealanders, and you get a pulsing heart in the middle of a country of rugged isolation and incredible natural beauty. Continue reading
Bastille Day in France is often compared to the 4th of July in America; both summer-fun outdoor holidays littered with explosions and patriotic fervor. It is the party of a revolution, and we love to root for the underdog. Continue reading
1. Versailles: Magnificent Chateau and Royal Garden Grandeur
Built by the Sun King Louis XIV from 1662 to 1690 as a monument to harmony, symmetry, power, grandeur, and… himself, Versailles is the world’s grandest palace. The lavish Baroque chateau and extensive garden grounds convey a sense of magnitude, style, and grace. It was here that power politics met artful splendor, here that Louis XIV transformed his father’s hunting grounds into the center of the Western world and the perfect symbol of absolute monarchy. Stroll through the Hall of Mirrors and visit the luxurious apartments of the king and queen in the immense palace, then explore the classical gardens, fountains, gazebos and statues on the chateau grounds by foot and by horse-drawn carriage. Versailles was the setting for the treaties that ended World War I and the American Revolution, the canvas where the mastermind landscaper Andre Le Notre displayed his full imaginative talent, and the place where King Louis XVI and his queen Marie Antoinette heard the news in 1789 that the Parisian crowds were coming to take them to the guillotine. The grounds are huge and there are several different areas to visit (with many different entry fees). Entry to the palace itself is around 8 euro, guided tours extra, and the gardens are another 3 euro (more in high season) but are well worth it; this gives you access to the fountains, statues, basin, and far-reaching views that the nobles of France once enjoyed. For lunch take a picnic, dine in the gardens next to the Grand Canal at La Flotille, a late 19th century pavilion with a nice terrace and spectacular view, or wander into the town of Versailles for your choice of cafes and restaurants.
HOW TO GET THERE: Take the RER C from any RER C stop in Paris westward until you get to the end of the line, “Versailles R.G.”. Be sure you get on a train whose name starts with ‘V’ like Victor, as not all trains go all the way to Versailles. The round-trip ride costs about 6 euro and takes about half and hour to get there.
2. Chartres: Grand Gothic Cathedral and Medieval Village
Join centuries of pilgrims as you travel to Chartres to gaze in wonder at the intricate stories in the brilliant blue stained glass windows and follow the labyrinth in the nave floor. Notre-Dame de Chartres was built in an almost pure Gothic style in only sixty-six years (extremely quick by cathedral standards!) to house the veil of the Virgin Mary which was miraculously unharmed when the previous church burned to the ground in 1194. Chartres soon became one of the major pilgrimage sites of the Middle Ages and continues to be a draw for devotees of Our Lady and architecture alike. To get the most out of your visit, book a tour with Malcolm Miller, the renowned guide who has devoted his life to the cathedral and who can elucidate the stories of the Bible and the saints in the recently restored stained glass windows. After admiring the workmanship in the statuary and over 170 windows, climb the north tower (around 5 euro) for a great view of medieval Chartres and the farmland beyond. When you’ve had your fill of the cathedral, stroll down to the river, where you can wander around the medieval garden of the monastery and see washerwomen’s platforms (in use until the 1960’s). Don’t forget the upper village either, there is a nice market square, plenty of shops, and streets with names like ‘rue de la Poissonnerie’ (Fish Road) and ‘rue de la Petite Cordonnerie’ (Shoemaker’s Road) which bring to mind the medieval market life of the village. The cathedral, like most churches in France, is free to visit but donations are always appreciated.
HOW TO GET THERE: Take the 1 hour train from Paris’ Gare Montparnasse which runs about 10 times per day and costs about 40 euro round trip
3. Giverny, Normandy: Monet’s Garden and Inspiration
Just a short train ride from Paris you can wander through the flowers, wonder at the waterlillies, and cross the Japanese footbridge which inspired one of France’s greatest art innovators. Claude Monet made Giverny his home for the last 43 years of his life during which time he produced numerous masterpieces of light and color. The gardens today are still arranged the way the Impressionist laid them out and the result of his artistic genius is one of the most beautiful gardens in the world. Also visit Monet’s house with his collection of Japanese prints that complement the cottage perfectly, which, like the gardens, is a work of art as well: a cozy pink stucco home with green shutters, blue-tiled kitchen, and sunny yellow dining room. Though Giverny is open from April through October, the gardens are at their best in late spring, when flaming red poppies, bright pink roses, and perky tulips combine in an overflowing symphony of color. Try to avoid visiting on weekends in July and August when the crowds are considerable. Whichever season you choose, try to arrive early or late in the day for the most insightful experience. Admission to the house and gardens is about 6 euro.
HOW TO GET THERE: The best option if you are not renting a car is to take the train (about 40 euro roundtrip) headed to Rouen from Paris Gare St-Lazare (Monet painted this train station as well; the steam from the locomotives created an artful blur which the painter took advantage of). Get off the train at Vernon; from here you can either catch the bus, take a taxi, rent a bike or walk the 4 miles to the gardens.
4. Reims, Champagne: “Brother, come quickly, I’m drinking stars!”
That is what the now-famous monk Dom Perignon exclaimed when he realized that he had just discovered how to make sparking wine, or champagne, from the grapes of his monastery; truly a glorious day in the history of Catholicism! His laudable feat is celebrated and retold in the stained glass of Reims’ Notre Dame Cathedral which has been refurbished since a hard hit in World War II (restoration works still in progress). The most beautiful windows in this cathedral, however, are the three in the farthest chapel, straight back, which were designed by the Russian Jewish modern artist, Marc Chagall. This high-Gothic cathedral is also renowned for its royal history, as twenty-four French kings were crowned here, from Louis VIII in 1223 to Charles X in 1825. It was the site where the early Frankish King Clovis was baptized in 496 and where a young Joan of Arc lead the obdurate Dauphin to the throne to be crowned King Charles VII. As interesting as French history can be for some of us, most travelers journey to Champagne not to immerse themselves in royal lore, but to imbibe the region’s namesake libation, champagne. Just the name conjures up ideas of celebration and good times, and a tour and tasting at a local cellar is an essential experience. Don’t like the bubbly? Don’t worry, you will once you learn how the chalky soil of the Champagne-Ardennes region is unique in the world, walk through the underground pits left by the Romans who needed the stone, gaze at the thousands of green bottles, all still turned by hand, and finally taste the best champagne, in Champagne. You won’t be disappointed. There are many cellars in Reims open for tours, Taittinger is my favorite but Mumm, and Maxim’s are good visits as well, and if you are really into it you can travel to Epernay, where Dom made his discovery and Moet et Chandon make their version today. Cellar tours with tasting cost about 13 euro per person.
HOW TO GET THERE: Take the train from Paris Gare de l’Est, there are about 12 trains per day which run the 90 minute trip and cost about 75 euro round trip. Almost all of the tourist sites are within walking distance from the train station and cathedral.
5. The Loire Valley and the Chateaux Chenonceau and Amboise
Even though an ambling journey through the Loire Valley could be a vacation all its own, a day trip to two of the region’s most beautiful chateaux will give you a good feeling for the lavish lifestyles of France’s royalty and nobility from the Renaissance onward. The word chateau doesn’t exactly translate into English; certainly not a medieval castle, a chateau is a very French combination of mansion, fortress, palatial estate and party house. During the Hundred Year’s war with England, Paris was just a little too far north for comfort, so the French nobles relocated to the gentle, fertile Loire Valley where they could indulge their extravagant tastes far from English soldiers (or Parisian hoards, for that matter).
The Chateau d’Amboise was most famously the residence of Francois I, the French King who brought the Italian Renaissance (and Leonardo da Vinci) to France and who procured the Mona Lisa which began a small art collection that has grown just a bit and now resides in the Louvre. Overlooking the river Loire and the narrow streets of the modern village, the chateau in part was designed by da Vinci who now rests eternally in the small Gothic chapel beside it. Though the furnishings inside the palace leave something to be desired, the views of the peaceful Loire river and the surrounding town and countryside certainly merit the entry fee, as does a glimpse at the humble plaque marking the final resting place of one of the world’s greatest geniuses. Entry is about 8 euro per person.
Chenonceau is the most beautiful and romantic chateau in France. Built across the river Cher, this graceful 16th century estate beckons the traveler to explore its many facets, from the living labyrinth to the wine cellar to the plush bedrooms to the once-working kitchen to the farm, complete with donkeys who just love a good scratching. The two large flower gardens which herald the chateau belonged to two women, the wife and the mistress of King Henri II, who had given the mansion to the latter (Diane de Poitiers). When Henri died, however, the wife (Catherine de’Medici) gave Diane the boot, took up residence herself and built a much larger flower garden. The smell of fresh flower bouquets permeate the elegant rooms of the chateau which do not disappoint in their consummate representation of chateau lifestyle. The bridge portion of the palace is a grand ballroom where you can easily imagine yourself gliding across the smooth dance floor, and where fighters of the French Resistance crossed the river in World War II when all other bridges had been destroyed. Chenonceau is popular, so try to avoid the high season, weekends, and mid-day if at all possible for a more intimate experience. Entry is about 8 euro per person.
HOW TO GET TO THE LOIRE VALLEY: Although renting a car is the best way to explore the region, it can be done from Paris by train as a day trip, if you plan carefully. From Gare Austerlitz in Paris, catch an early train to Amboise, about 65 euro roundtrip. From Amboise there is one roundtrip bus per day to Chenonceau which leaves Amboise around 10:50 and returns at 12:40, giving you about an hour and a half to explore the chateau and its grounds (cost: 3 euro roundtrip). Upon your return, have lunch and visit the chateau of Amboise before returning home to Paris. Another less-stress option: book a tour from Paris which will put you in a group but will facilitate your sightseeing. Costing about $130, a bus tour can be booked online or with your Paris hotel (ask the concierge).
Need a quick ten-step guide on getting started? Europe is waiting!
Make it happen – click the image to see tips on planning your first trip to Europe:
Passau, Austria
Some stereotypes about LA are true:
I am in love with this place. The City of Angels? More like the City of Freaks. AKA:
Sweet photo from MyArtSpace.com
I have traveled around the world before, but last week I traveled to another world.
What I experienced out there in the desert of Black Rock City has transformed me as a person and changed the course of my life. How, I don’t know yet. But I do know that my heart was touched in so many different ways by so many people in so many situations, it became impossible for me to remain as I was. I am suffering an acute case of reverse culture shock, which is what happens when you have been traveling for a while and then return home to your life and realize that although nothing there has changed, you have, and now you must figure out how to proceed. One step at a time is always the answer.
Burning Man is not a party, and it certainly isn’t just another party in the desert. The time, effort, and energy that dozens of thousands of people devote to create an arts-based culture rooted in creative self-expression in an epically hostile environment is mind-blowing on a 24/7 basis. I simply could not believe what was unfolding in front of my very eyes, as it was unfolding in front of my very eyes. I am still not too sure that I didn’t dream the whole thing up.
Thanks to the concerns and care of many outstanding human beings, I arrived at the Playa decently prepared and outfitted for the journey. My friend Tricia had typed up a four-page “Shilo’s Virgin Burner Guide” with excellent tips like bringing extra garbage bags and duct tape to cover the net windows in my tent during sandstorms, and my friend Skandar had loaned me some wicked gear from goggles to gas masks. I had read all the information on the Burning Man website as well as multiple other guides for first-timer noobs like me. I had twenty gallons of water, a cooler full of Tecate, comfy walking shoes and two mullet wigs. I was set.
I was advised to bring multiple bandannas, and found the first use for mine when I arrived at the entrance of Burning Man eleven hours after leaving LA, for I burst into tears. I had the overwhelming feeling of returning to a place I had been before, made even more profound once I got out of my car and was greeted by naked men as well as a naked woman wearing a naked man suit who told me, “Welcome Home!” And within five minutes of arriving to the Playa, I was naked myself and rolling around in the Playa dust. It was nothing less than a baptism by dirt.
Driving onto the Playa I started to realize what an insanely huge and massive metropolis I was about to dive into. I could write a thousand pages describing the size of Burning Man, and when you go, you would still be absolutely blown away by its scale. I could post a million pictures and you would still not get an inkling of what goes down on the Playa. It is absolute nonstop madness, from the people roaming the desert dressed as polar bears to the bikes decked out with everything from LED flower strands to Mackie speakers strapped to the frame. Art cars lumber around, golf cart-size to double-decker busses blasting funky house from their second-story balcony bar. I doubt my own recollections even- did this really happen, or was it all one big hallucination? Did I really ride on a hot air balloon art car? Did I chase a Ferris wheel vehicle down in the dust past a paddleboat, aided by a silver and red fish-person and a girl dressed as a kazoo?
I was planning to pitch my tent with some friends from Seattle and was looking for their camp, which was to be anchored with a school bus. I parked my car on the edge of the Playa near their supposed address, was handed a Midori and Jack snow cone and began walking. I couldn’t find them (turns out the school bus had broken down and been left on the side of the road in Portland), and the computer system set up at Center Camp to locate lost parties was down. So I walked. And walked. After wondering around for hours and hours for miles and miles with mouth agape, looking for WA license plates and REI tents, I finally realized there was only one way I was ever going to find my friends: go where the good music is. Sooner or later, they will come. Of course!
So I headed over to NeXus where the bass love was flowing freely, and within a few minutes of being at the stage I hear, “SHILO?!?!?” It was my good friend Dylan the Metaphysician! He led me to my camp (which we later christened Whomp Camp) and reunited me with my Seattle tribe. I was ecstatic! Our campsite was sweet and right on 930F: not only did we have booming sound, but my best friend and favorite DJ in the world, Pressha, was camping beside me and spinning the freshest tracks EVER the whole week. A large wooden deck abutted a rental truck with room for three couches as well as a crow’s nest, from which you could look out over the Playa and get a total, complete mindfuck. We had a few domes, a carport, a kitchen, an awesome hammock and many tents. In the dark I popped a tent next to my car, so happy to have found my campsite! After walking around for about seven hours and for many miles looking for my people, I had found them! We raged all night! I swear I must have walked thirty miles that day.
It was on my camp’s crow’s nest where I sat two nights later watching the sun set into the mountains beyond, a rainbow dream of an ancient city from the future, a found planet within my very own culture. With every inch the sun sank in the sky, the Playa became a few degrees cooler, and the energy level lifted a notch. By the time the Playa fell into the deep purple of night, a wild circus was rolling all around me. I came down from that crow’s nest a different person.
What else can I tell you about? I feel like I could write forever. The elaborately carved wooden Temple where you say goodbye to friends who have passed to the other side? The insanely huge conflagration as the Man burned on Saturday night to fifty thousand raised voices and a million beats? The water-spraying trucks that troll by a few times a day to keep down the dust and provide Playa showers for naked asses? The giant plumes of pyrotechnics erupting all night long into the sky? The ethos of the gift culture, which permeates every encounter and experience? How people and camps outdo themselves to see what they can best give the world and add to the crazy, trippy, psychedelic experience? Of the days soaked in ritual, set in such stark contrast to mainstream society where prudish graduation ceremonies make do as our rites of passage?
Humans lived for most of our existence as they do on the Playa, and the switch to isolated, modern life has been very quick. Not that I don’t like hot showers, but we have lost a hell of a lot in the transition from a tribe-based culture to our modern world of Twitter and mass consumerism. Burning Man is an attempt to reclaim some of the lost meaning.
I feel as though I only experienced maybe 1% of what the Playa had to offer, very similar to the feeling I had when I first returned from Europe. I had dozens and dozens of friends on the Playa I never ran into. I have no pictures save those that my friends took, as my camera quit working the minute I arrived, leaving me only with words to give you. Some of these photos you see are from my Playa Mother Booyah, who had been harassing me for months and months to go to Burning Man, as had many others. Strangers were emailing me and telling me to get another job so I could go to Burning Man and have this experience. At the time it kind of annoyed me, but now all I can say is: thank you. From the bottom of my heart to the soles of my Playa-stained feet, thank you.
Even before I left, I was excited for next year. Like foreign travel, going to Burning Man is just something that you have to do for the first time to even get an idea of what it is or what you need or how it goes down. I was prepared for the party, but not for what I experienced, which was no less than a transformative.
I finally get it. I understand why Burners spend all freaking year planning for and jabbering about and getting excited over Burning Man. I get the hostile environment and why it was chosen for the Burn. Growing up in Texas where the weather tops 100 degrees every day in the summer, I figured the heat and sun would not be a problem and indeed I probably fared better than those from a more pleasant climate, but truly the desert humbled me. It humbled me into taking care of myself. My usual MO is to go balls to the wall as much as possible, knowing I can recuperate the following few days. But on the Playa you cannot do this, or you will die. It would be impossible for any one person to survive out there for a week; we all need each other not just for hugs and companionship, but also to survive the brutal elements. Playa culture is distinct, with its own unique dress, hairstyles, food and behavior. So THAT’s why so many people wear hiking boots, bandannas and dreads to the city clubs- because their heads and hearts are on the Playa. An anthropologist would have a field day with this crazy culture, and this one is. I seriously can’t believe that this shit goes on in the desert every year. Mind = Blown.
This complete dependency on other human beings stands in giant contrast to contemporary life today, where it would be possible to go through years and maybe even your whole life without ever talking to anyone. Some human beings no doubt go through life without any profound relationships with others, and this is NOT the way we have lived for the vast majority of their existence. For hundreds of thousands of years, we lived in tribes and communal groups where being an asshole meant being ostracized from your group, and most likely dying in the wilderness. Today humans are free to be assholes, and many of them are.
Burning Man made me realize how very dependent I am on other people, in particular stronger people who can build big shade structures that I could never accomplish on my own. I have realized how very weird it is, in terms of human existence, for a young single female to be living on her own. Not that it is bad, and in fact it represents a big step forward for women out of the property-status that they existed in for much of history, but it is no doubt different. Much of the pain suffered in our society today is due to this breakdown of the human community. I am not talking nuclear families here either but rather communities, a group of people that you care about and who care about you. Communities were once defined by family, tradition, religion, and geographical location; today they are more likely to be defined by common interests and sadly for many Americans those common interests are not art and music but Lindsay Lohan’s hairdo and Big Macs. For many people, the only culture and community they know is the one that has been fed to them by corporations, one of mass consumerism. Burning Man is the antithesis of this. It is an antidote.
And I finally understand down in my soul what ‘conscious living’ means- it means that every action you ever take affects other human beings as well as the environment, directly or indirectly. You can ignore the fact that eating at Jack in the Box hurts your environment and your fellow human beings, or you can be conscious of it and adapt your behavior accordingly. What do you want your effect on this world to be?
I know without doubt that I am descended from people of the desert. I know that Bedouin blood runs in my veins, from my gypsy ancestors from Bohemia to those much further beyond, whose names are lost in the dust of history. I have always been a wanderer whose only true home is in her heart; I am a restless soul whose idea of hell is a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence. I have lived in 18 homes since I left my parents’ house at age 18, not counting time spent traveling abroad or couch surfing at uncles’ houses and the like. The only way I can keep myself from completely freaking out when I move into a new place is to sit down, shut my eyes, and visualize the day I will move out. I am a nomad.
I realize I sound like a complete fucking hippie here, but I have never been so overwhelmed by a sense of returning to a lost home before. Maybe it is in part due to growing up on Bible stories, spending hours and hours every week learning about the people of the Old and New Testaments- the desert people- who I was taught were my people too. Though I am an atheist now with no belief in a jealous Judeo-Christian god who tells women they should submit to their husbands, those stories contributed to my identity and are part of who I am. While you travel you sometimes get this feeling, a feeling of returning home to a place you have never been, and you should always take note. This feeling stands in direct contrast to a sensation I also frequently experience, when I am driving in CA or just chilling at home and all of a sudden, I have no idea where the hell I am. At all. I guess a more eloquent way of describing it would be as a geolocational brainfart. When this happens, I have to look at my environment and slowly start to deduce: No pine trees, so I am not up north. No snow. Yes palm trees. Am I in the tropics? No. There is asphalt. Cars. Warm, clear skies. Then after a minute or two I figure it out…okay….I am here, right now, in my home of LA. It always fucks with my head to completely not know where in the world I am, as you can imagine.
This post is less a review, and more of me sorting through my mind and trying to trap into words the sensations of the past week. I just realized I have barely mentioned the music at all! See how mindfucked I am? I swam in an ocean of music, with waves and waves of a billion varieties, from camps playing acoustic Britney Spears songs to an-ten-nae rocking the dome with perfection (my favorite performance of the week!) to the fat sounds booming from my own camp out of the skilled hands of Pressha and Mike Check. DAMN IT I love all you guys!
Now my gear is unpacked and laundered, the Playa dust is mostly gone although when I find it, it is with a warm spot in my heart. The Playa! I want to rub it on my face, and deeper into my soul! My super white skin is a liability in the sun and demands constant reapplication of sunscreen, but on the flip side the white Playa dust blends in and I don’t look so dirty as my suntanned sisters. Since I have been home I have been spending time drawing, painting, sewing, hot gluing shells to mirrors and singing. I am inspired anew, and my faith in humanity has been restored. I am so stoked to return in 2010, excited about doing things a little better and be more prepared. I will be the one harassing my friends to go next year; I felt so lucky and grateful to have been part of this unique culture and event in the desert. It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
***All of these sweet photos ganked from my friends and fellow space travelers Dylan aka The Metaphysician and Booyah***
Here are a few tips to help you make the cultural transition as easy as crème brulée: Continue reading
On the bottom of the earth in New Zealand, they keep creating crazy new sports for thrills: jet boating, bungy and now… ZORBING.
Click the image to learn HOW TO ZORB:
Hostels are different than hotels because of that extra “S” – which stands for SOCIAL.
Click the image to find the top ten reasons to stay in a hostel in Europe:
Check out these sweet digs!
[La Defense]
Just as French rulers of the past wanted to leave their mark on Paris with various monuments, churches, squares, and gardens, so too did Francois Mitterand, who was president from 1981-1995, during the bicentennial of the French Revolution. Many things he was not, but Mitterand was a big dreamer, and he wanted his building projects (dubbed les grand projets) and his legacy to have a big presence in Paris. Though some were controversial, most you can’t miss: Continue reading
WORLDROMPER 