Americana 101

Hello everyone,

The United States of America is a vast country with almost every type of geography. Great mountains soar into the clouds towards the West. Vast plains spread along every direction covering several States that border Canada, lush marshlands litter the South, and endless deserts cover the South West. The image of America is made up of all of these. But pure Americana in the eyes of foreigners is arguably the landscape of the South. Think Easy Rider and the romance of the open road and absolute freedom. This imagery is what keeps a warm spot in everyone’s heart, if ever so small, for the USA.

It is this world that we attempted to discover in a four day road-trip that is a recommended must-do for anyone wishing to truly understand the essence of America. The journey will seem pleasantly endless and the memories will be etched into your soul tagged with countless smiles and stunning pictures.

Phoenix was where it all started. The plan was simple: Drive to Sedona, go to Flagstaff, hit the Grand Canyon, venture on Route 66, gaze at the Hoover Dam, and finally be seduced by the glitz of Las Vegas. If we leave you with this, a MapQuest will most certainly lead you in a false direction where so much visual richness will remain an interpretation in a dusted Hollywood DVD shelved in your playroom. We may have fallen into a similar trap if it wasn’t for the friendly advice of locals combined with a touch of adventure. The result was some of the most surprising and random discoveries, unbelievable topographic changes, and humbling cultural immersions.

The goal was to head straight from Phoenix to Sedona. However, a local friend suggested that we explore the fringes of the city on our way to Sedona to get a flavor of posh Phoenix living. Off we drove to Scottsdale and the outlying area of Carefree. Nestled into the red rock mountainside were stunning 8 plus bedroom houses equipped with helicopter pads and all. The colorful desert fauna and towering cacti masked the sheer scale of these houses. Not one “for sale” sign could be seen. Clearly the real estate bust that hit brutally hard in this town did not affect these residents. Even store mega-chains seemed arrogantly chic in this neighborhood. A commonly big-box architecture of our beloved Target was replaced by a low-profile Cali-style clay building blending harmoniously into the native surface rock. After we got a taste of the wishful-life, we blazed into the desert.

Nearing Sedona, sand and stone was replaced with green brush. A sign along the roadside lured us to Montezuma’s Castle, a historic Indian site a few minutes to the side of Highway 89. The name is misleading as it suggests towers and moats. Instead you are treated to much more. The “castle” is an entire ancient village built into a cliff several hundred feet above solid ground. The engineering genius is inspiring. The fact that these structures exist today is a testament to their building prowess. However, the beauty of these homes could not contain the local tribe. They apparently suddenly moved on to the lands of the North seeking better fortune, as did we. So off we drove to Sedona.

Upon entering Sedona city limits, the jaw-dropping landscape humbled. The foot came off the accelerator and a gentle cruise-mode kicked-in. It is not surprising that this is the New Age capital of the world. The beauty and might of nature is mesmerizing. Several hundred Western movies were filmed here. The grand mesa structures and striking red cliffs that you will remember from films your dad used to watch will come rushing into your head. You desperately want to get close to this unique landscape. Our SUV suddenly became very handy. The best trail to get close and personal with the mountains is called Schnebly Trail. The unpaved and extremely bumpy dirt road is breathtaking. The red cliffs soar into the rich blue sky to the one side of you and sharp granite mountains peer into your car to the other side. It almost feels like you are being watched. Perhaps for protection, perhaps for an opportunity to strike, the landscape leaves you guessing but increasingly enchanted. You can’t help think of what it must have been like on horseback back before civilization, where every step forward posed danger, be it from the wild, nature, or Indians. Yet ever step forward made you increasingly fall in love with your surroundings. It is simply that magical a place.

After a day of awe, nothing pleases more than a place to reflect and stay content. The Oak Creek Brewery is the perfect place. This local brewery is a bit off the beaten track in Sedona but it is worth seeking out. The patio is wonderful, the décor is authentic, the live music is surprisingly good, and beer is incredibly tasty. It is not surprising that this is a place where locals meet. I’d suggest the wheat beer.

Early morning in these parts is so peaceful. It is not surprising that the Indians that you interact with are generally so calm and soothing. We stumbled on a bunch of them at Coconino Oak Creek Viewpoint, which is on the way to Flagstaff on Highway 89. This stop was unplanned. It was once again the power of the landscape that brought on this discovery. From a sparse and Savanna-type landscape in Sedona you are quickly engulfed by thick pine as you drive away from this quaint town. The dense forest reminds you of Canadian mountain landscapes. We felt compelled to stop and take it all in. Fortunately, we did so because we were treated not only to another breathtaking view but also to a native Indian “flea market”. Hand crafted goods were on display at remarkably good prices. We bought an authentically carved arrow, with traditional paint, feathering, and all. The meaning of certain carvings and colors, the sources of the wood and stone, was shared by the Indians. The crash course in local native Indian history was fascinating. A gorgeous morning became all that more radiant.

We peeled through Flagstaff to avoid the July 4th preparations. Our goal was to hit the desert prior to landing at the Grand Canyon. Yes, we decided to go the long way, entering the Canyon from the South Rim. A local had advised us to do so because we would be introduced to the heart of Arizona, a land full of Indian reservations, vast ranches, and desolate rest stops. The recommendation was priceless. Imagine the scene in “The Terminator” where Sarah Connor is driving her Jeep through the desert and stops at a gas station to record on her portable tape recorder. This is where we were, and her isolation and freedom is what we felt. In addition, we were treated to spectacular views of feeder canyons to the Grand Canyon lined with beaten Indian farming shacks, and bare trading posts. Just being there was both exciting and a bit haunting. Images from “The Terminator” were replaced by those from “No Country For Old Men”. The overload of imagery was intense. It is so powerful because the mere thought of driving through these parts at night would have you screaming like a teething infant.

If this onslaught of emotions wasn’t enough high for one day, the first view of the Grand Canyon nearly swept us off our feet. The sheer size of this formation is beyond words. The fear that consumes the body as you peer down into the depths of the countless valleys is indescribable. It is mind-blowing to think that Indians actually lived along these cliffs. It is equally mind-blowing to see Chinese tourists venture beyond the viewpoint barriers to stand proudly on overhanging rocks as their family members snap furiously away at their cameras. The silliness of some of these tourists is remarkable. Anyways, I digress. You simply cannot be physically and emotionally unfazed by this natural wonder. Your significance is humbled, life’s daily troubles are erased, and your disrespect for the earth that you stand is brought to the fore. Mother Nature is truly great.

With every new viewpoint, more detail of the Grand Canyon becomes evident. One of the stops is where the first Inn stood and where the first trail for tourists was laid down at the early part of the 20th Century. The Inn stands no longer but the trail remains. We ventured down for about 40 minutes (which turned out to be an hour back up). However, the trail seemed to go on for miles more. A hiker was returning as we started our walk and told us that the trail goes for about 2 hours down (or 4 hours back up). At parts it is so narrow that you are almost paralyzed with fear. A strong grip of the mountainside and that “funny feeling down there” slowly subsides. What replaces this feeling is absolute joy. To be able to get so close to something so great is simply awesome. Moreover, some of the most spectacular photos can be taken from this trail.

Now here is the important lesson: Do not enter the Grand Canyon from the North Rim. This is where most tourists commonly enter. The mob is insane and some of the beauty is lost in the yelling and screaming of kids, wives, and grand-parents (yes they scream too). To truly appreciate the Grand Canyon, you need some space to reflect, gaze, and take it all in. You almost want it all to yourself. You want to feel like those early Spaniards and trappers that discovered the Canyon. At most, you want to be able to share your exhilaration with a select few. The North Rim will not give you this. Instead, you will feel as though you are wandering through the Zoo on a weekend during Summer Holidays just as they’ve started “Exotic Animals Month”. No joke, it’s that bad.

So what more must one visit to graduate from Americana 101? One hint: Easy Rider. Yup, the road to Las Vegas can be travelled via Route 66. You can get on this historic road at Seligman, about 70 miles away from the Grand Canyon. You will be tempted to race through this desolate little town. However, we recommend that you drive slowly to take in the kitch that laces the city streets. Many buildings have some of the most ridiculous decorations all to take advantage of the mystique around Route 66. Some of these hilarious constructs are definitely worth capturing on camera. Once outside of the town, the aura of this magical road consumes you. Bikers regularly pass on your opposing lane. Abandoned motels and gas stations litter the roadside, victims to the blazing heat. Old car carcasses are occasionally spotted raped by the desert brush. The visuals are unbelievable because you think that the movies that pay homage to this enchanted road exaggerate. Yet honestly, they do not. Everything that you would imagine that Route 66 is about is true. The rawness of America is discovered, the openness of America is felt, the extravagance of America is seen, and the simplicity of America is revealed.

A few stops are a must. First are the Grand Canyon Caverns: huge limestone caves that are over 200 feet beneath ground. The US military planned to use them as fall-out bunkers during the Cuban Missile Crisis. The canned reserves planned for the 2000 plus people to be housed in this underground layer can still be seen to this date. The grandeur of these caves is ill represented by the buildings that greet visitors. Think of old saloons where tumbleweeds dance across the entrance and you will get a sense of what the real estate resembles. The dated 50s rock and wood paneling makes you feel as though you’ve entered a different era, and the greasy tour guide makes you question whether the Adams Family is real. Fortunately, the tasty and homemade apple pie reminds you why getting stuck in a past decade has its benefits.

The second must stop is a tiny General Store in Hackberry, a tiny settlement hanging on for dear life on the curb of Route 66. The store has arguably the most complete and authentic collection of Route 66 paraphanelia. Old cars surround the garage. Countless old signs fill every vacant wall space inside and outside of the building. Coke bottles from the early 50s lie dusted on the floors. The gas pumps haven’t been used for over 20 years. To cap it all off, the men’s washroom is plastered with pin-up posters from every year since before I was born. All that is needed here is Tom Cruise to roll in on his motorcycle and Top Gun outfit. Seriously, this authentic general store offers an incredibly unique peek into American history. It is absolutely stunning.

For all intents and purposes, once we’d left Route 66 intact, graduation from Americana 101 was complete. However, the greedy travelers that we were, Las Vegas still awaited us. A quick gander at the Hoover Dam (to say that we did it) and the bright lights of Vegas were upon us.

Las Vegas is a great way to finish off a brilliant trip into Americana. The horrific cheesy décor and annoyingly basic patrons that hang desperately onto every last sound at the slots help you realize how low you should never go. These city highlights also help remind you that absolute entertainment is important, that creativity pushed too far has its place, and that college kids aren’t learning much these days. Just kidding, they do know how to drink uncanny amounts of alcohol in the most grueling heat without passing out, a feat worth praise (I suppose). In all honesty, the artificiality of Las Vegas feels almost like a culmination of the trip from Phoenix with all its sights, as it truly is Americana on steroids.

So, if you are curious about what makes America still admired the world round, if you want to understand what is the backbone of the great Superpower if you want to see what has inspired generations of hit movies, then a road trip from Phoenix to Las Vegas is a must. The South continues to truly define the United States of America. Few places on earth can provide as much cultural richness, geographic diversity, and historic significance. You will have a greater appreciation for the Stars and Stripes. If you don’t believe me, give it a go.

Until next time.

The appeal of the football ritual

Which game can unite a country, can consume an entire community, and fuel a person’s identity? Baseball? Perhaps. Basketball? Not likely. Golf? Now that’s just silly. Let me add context to this question. Which game is the most popular in the world and is a way of life for people in Santiago all the way to Seoul? The answer is Football, or Soccer.

Few countries in the world do not have leagues that cater to it, but few leagues cater to the very best from countries worldwide. Out of these few global leagues, which one would you expect to be at the tip of most youngsters’ tongues in Shanghai? Which league would be top of mind for rising stars in Brazil? Which league intrigues oil tycoons from the Middle East? Yes, it’s the Premiership League in England.

What is so magical about this league? Well, I recently went to my first match at the Emerites stadium in London to watch Arsenal and the experience gave me a hint of what the answer could be: ritual. Granted, the familial aspect of the clubs is important, as is the heritage of each team. However, neither would have their power without the ritual. Allow me to explain.

So what is this ritual? Well, to boil it down to its most primitive definition, it is the dress-pub-match-pub routine, which is lived by most, if not all, the spectators. This routine consumes the day. Given the size of these stadiums that are tucked into dense urban residential neighborhoods, the community is automatically engulfed by the day’s match. Every pub is filled with team colors, every restaurant is packed with men getting in a last bite, every fast food chain is boiling over with fans looking for “lager-absorbing snacks”, every corner store is stuffed with patrons looking for “match fillers”, and the list goes on. The bottom line is that every business values each home game, and thus every local businessman can’t help but become a devoted fan. As a result, I am not remotely surprised that the community would put up with a great deal of “less-than-favorable” fan behavior. In essence, they are protecting their kids!

Beyond the magical summoning of the neighborhood collective spirit, this ritual also creates the stage for the week’s “meaningful conversations”.

English Football has a rich history and has been vital to life in England for ages. Unfortunately, this wonderful past and positive societal role is undermined by the more sensational reputation of “the birthplace of hooliganism”. Honestly, I think that this aspect of the English Football culture has its role in the allure of the clubs in Britain. After all, the passion that corresponds to hooliganism adds energy to the collective dynamism of the spectator crowd, which makes the fan experience electric, even for players. However, I don’t want to make this a key point. Let’s focus instead on the energy that this ritual brings to each match.

The rumbling that echoed throughout the stadium as I entered Arsenal’s home was so utterly unique, so incredibly powerful. It was simply impossible not to be consumed by the spirit of the game, and the dominating personalities of the Gods of Football. Few sports environments can rival this. Not even the religious followers of the New York Yankees could elevate their supporting voices to the level that was in the Emerites Stadium. Now try to put yourself in the boots of the professional players waiting in the dressing rooms below. They must hear the noise above. I don’t care how new the building is. This must only increase as they make their way to the pitch. I can only guess how overwhelming the electric power must be. Ultimately, these players are today’s version of the stadium rockers of the 70s. With this context, it starts to make more sense why the allure of Premiership Football is unmatched.

Imagine all this energy momentum culminating when the staring 11 run onto the pitch. How can these players not feel the vibe, get addicted on the vibe, tell their pals across oceans to feel the vibe?

Back in the stands the start of the match neared. As the noise escalated, I tried to take a step back and take it all in. A quick glance around the crowd brought a noteworthy observation: there were very few women. Now, I wasn’t expecting legions of passionate “Footie Females”, but the sheer lack of any feminine presence was something that I have seen in no other live sporting event. On judgment, this reinforces the power of the ritual. It is the pinnacle of “boy’s night out”, male-bonding at its grandest. As I would later find out, some seats have been owned by local families for decades. Dads take their sons to the match every weekend. Generations follow this ritual. Consequently, the impersonal influence of corporate seat ownership is minimized (which certainly has tamed some traditionally passionate and rowdy sports crowds such as those in Hockey). In addition, family ownership of seating assures high attendance and knowledge of players. Both of these realities influence the potency of a Gameday’s energy.

Up to this point, the ritual has brought together a community, alcoholically fueled the neighborhoods men, influenced the vocal power of the supporters, and energized the players. As both teams each strategically place eleven on the pitch, and the referee places his lips on the whistle, the fevered crowd can’t restrain itself. The result? Song, the next detail in the ritual. Only war songs of the past can rival these chants. They certainly beat the pathetic North American choruses such as “Go Leafs Go”. I’ve been mesmerized by these chants which have been used to great effect in historic songs by Pink Floyd. Live, their hypnotic allure becomes obvious. The Stadium graduates from sports venue to religious temple. Some become over-consumed. The already high energy becomes super-charged, which, at times, lights select fans’ short fuse. However, this reality only ensures a unique experience and, subsequently, the attraction of the ritual.

As the game progressed, another part of the ritual emerged: banter. Arsenal wasn’t playing to its full potential. Meanwhile, many of the gents to either side of me seemed to really need a dose of optimism so that they could face the upcoming workweek. Since it wasn’t happening, harsh words were slung at the pitch. This was like public therapy for many of these local folks. I don’t suppose the players realize all the roles that they play in their supporters’ lives. If they knew, the pressure would likely cripple their game. But, I digress. The public display of displeasure further electrifies the environment sparking great discussion among some and friction among others. Again, the experience is only enhanced by this dynamic.

The banter and resulting interactions lay the ground for the post game ritual. Essentially, it mirrors the pre-game mixture of food, alcohol, and tiny over-packed establishments. The level of celebration clearly depends on the outcome of the game. In my case, the outcome was positive. The pub, therefore, was equally pleasurable. The wind-down moment was at hand.

The frigid temperature outside was forgotten, the upcoming workweek was not considered, the horrid state of the economy a locked-away concern. All that mattered, all that was discussed, was the game. Those final hours of male bonding, of dancing with lady-lager, were meticulously enjoyed. After this, I too yearned for another chance to be taken away by the ritual. My next trip to the UK is already booked.

Until next time.

 

Want to fall in love with Mexico? Head to the Mayan

Hello everyone,

 

Mexico is without doubt the premiere holiday destination of the North Americans. I have only ventured to this country for work. My decision to avoid it for pleasure was motivated by the many horror stories that I have heard about safety. Granted, this naïve and cowardly disposition was prior to my stay in Asia where many vacation destinations were adventurous. Now back in this side of the world with a thicker skin than before, Mexico was a must. I took it easy, choosing to head to Playa del Carmen, a quaint but popular vacation town in the Yucatan Peninsula.

 

My arrival at Cancun Airport almost solidified the sketchy reputation of Mexico that was etched in my mind. Karin and I were picking up our bags and heading to our bus when we were guided to a sea of uniformed men helping us identify our tour bus. This felt legitimate enough. Thirty minutes later and after a hard sell to visit another resort to “simply be motivated to choose it next time” legitimacy turned to rudeness then to scam. The man offered to undercut tour costs for our desired tours as long as we visited his “hotel”. He made bizarre requests such as showing your ID with credit card underneath. Apparently this was to show that you have money. Now why on earth would he want to send me to his hotel if he thought that I was living on food stamps? He also wanted a deposit. Again, why would he want me to put down cash when it is him trying to sell me? Admittedly he was a good con. He found my weak point and laid into it. I am a man of my word and he quickly played the angle of, “ok I’ll cover all costs but you just have to promise that you’ll just come to my hotel. It is the only way that I’ll make a commission. I have your word, right?” I nodded and bid him farewell. Once on the bus, I googled “Cancun airport hussle” and quickly found answers to my suspicions. These are guys who try to get tourists to invest in property. They may very well offer discounted tours as a form of compensation for their pitch, but this is not certain. Another interesting fact that my Google search found was that credit card and bank card fraud is rampant in Playa Del Carmen. Fake bank machines, hidden cameras pointed at legitimate ones, etc. are common. Now remember, this guy was telling me to show up to his “hotel” and show my driver’s license with credit card underneath. Geez, I would have been the biggest sucker and most pained vacationer of all times if I’d fallen for this! Thank god, I wanted to make sure I really understood what I was being pitched and that it wasn’t some local custom that I needed to consider.

 

Communication among locals and visitors has apparently been strained for centuries. When the Spaniards first arrived to this lavish part of the world, they asked the native Mayans where they were. The locals responded, “Ou Ou Ka Ten” (not sure about the spelling but the phonetics are right). The Spaniards replied with gratitude – before they destroyed everything else, but that is another story for another time – “Ahhh, Yucatan”. Unfortunately they didn’t realize that Ou Ou Ka Ten in Mayan means, “I can’t understand you”. So this area is actually the Peninsula of people who don’t understand one another.

 

When we arrived at our resort, this comprehension issue was reinforced. It was late and we were looking forward to relax in our Junior Suite, taking a bubble bath in our Jacuzzi. Instead we opened our door to find a room with 5 beds (one was the couch which had been pulled out into a bed). Unless Karin went Branjolina on me without my knowledge, I saw no reason for all these beds. Moreover, I saw no possibility in cleaning all these “family members” with one shower. Where was the damn Jacuzzi? We quickly dashed back to the reception to tell them that there was a mix up. On arrival at the front lobby, we found two other couples complaining about the same topic. Apparently, the hotel moves people to other rooms whenever there is a complaint. This is a great gesture. When they do so and don’t bother checking their logs on upcoming check-ins, this kind gesture turns into a royal screw-up and pain in the butt. Fortunately, we kept our cool and were put into our paid room. The other guests weren’t so lucky. What I found hilarious is that our incident was not an isolated case. Every time we went to the front lobby to ask for the time or change money there was at least one couple there arguing about an incorrect room-booking. In retrospect, this is pretty funny. Everything else at the Sandos Playacar is excellent. They just have to sort out their ridiculous computer system.

 

Silliness also seems to be a common trait of visitors to these parts. Countless people venture into town feeling that utilizing local currency is just an option. Would they feel comfortable if they went to their corner hot dog stand in New York City and expect the guy to accept Indian Rupees or English Pounds? Of course not. However, they are shocked when they pay for a taco with US Dollars and get back half of what they expected… and in Pesos to boot.

 

Speaking of boots, what on earth is going through many tourists minds when they put on their clothes in a vacation town? First off, someone has to put into law a sandal policy. Unless you have a letter from your pediatrician that multi-strap sandals are imperative for your foot to heal after that horrific fungal surgery that you went through a few weeks back, you should not be allowed to wear those things. They are an eye-sore and scream pervert or child molester. Joking aside (well somewhat joking), I am utterly amused with the fashions that vacationers here feel totally comfortable to sport. During one wonderfully romantic dinner at our resort, Karin and I were visually assaulted by this American tourist who came prancing into our picturesque poolside, candle-lit dinner setting, with a pair of jacked-up three-quarter length cut acid-wash jean shorts, wearing no belt, a tucked-in golf shirt, and long white socks with clunky New Balance shoes. To top off this runway-worthy ensemble, our hero groomed himself with a plush Tom Selleck mustache coupled with a vibrant Patrick Swayze mullet, circa his Youngblood movie days.

 

However, we all have a bit of redneck in us. The desire to do crazy wilderness adventures, the hunger for a bit of motorsports, and so on. Luckily, Playa Del Carmen is loaded with this stuff. I was only able to participate in a few of them: ATVing and Zip-lining. The Yucatan is actually made of a thick jungle bordered by pristine white sand beaches and cut-up by dirt paths. This terrain is ideal for an ATV. There is one major caveat that you need to consider and then act on when taking such a tour. Do you want to go fast? If the answer to this is yes, then be sure to get the last ATV in the tour line. If not, you will be stuck between aunt Sofia who is experiencing her first ride an a motorcycle and uncle Jack who abides by every rule to the tee and is livid when others don’t do the same. Net net, you putter along at a snails’ pace and cause the Honda motor to sink further into depression as it asks only for someone to use it to its full potential. By taking the last vehicle, you can allow the slow pokes in front of you to putter ahead while you wait idle for half a minute or so. Then, gun it. Repeated, this action ensures that you truly have an adventure tour. On the stretch where you hit the beach sand, this tactic guarantees that the ride is what you paid for. Another hair-raising tour is the military-style zip-line rides over the jungle canopy. I wasn’t expecting this to be anything special, but the Tulum Extreme tour was awesome. First off, the towers from which you travel over the jungle are gigantic. The sheer size gets your heart pumping. Once on the ride, nervousness quickly turns to exhilaration. On top of this thrill, you are treated to a repel down a 20 meter drop and a 40 minute snorkel in an underground fresh-water cave. Our tour guide was especially funny. A classic moment was when he picked-up some locals on the road to the zip-line site. As they entered the van, he shouted in English, “be careful of your wallets”. Quickly several tourists scrambled for their bags. As it would turn out, these were hired hands at the zip-line site. Sergio, as he was called, laughed at the paranoid tourists. Karin and I also keeled over laughing, almost choking on our gum.

 

As a matter of fact, gum as we know it today owes its existence to the Mayan Peninsula. Mr. Adams, founder of the company known today for powerhouse brands such as Dentyne, Clorets, and so on, came to this Mexican region many moons ago and was mesmerized by this chewy stuff that local Mayans extracted from trees. They put it into their mouth and chewed on it to clean their teeth. When he asked its name, he was told it was “Chickleta” (again my spelling is off but the sound is right). This literally means clean mouth in Mayan. He took the tree sap from which the chewy wonder was made back to America and the famous Chicklets brand was born. Of course, he added flavors and sugars to turn this originally healthy sap into a chewy candy. Hey, we’ve been good at goofing up nature’s wonders haven’t we?

 

A recent “official” wonder of the world is Chichen Itza, a gargantuan Mayan temple three hours inland from Playa Del Carmen. This is well worth the ride. A glimpse into the great Mayan past is a must while you are in this region. They were a great civilization, who created the most advanced writing in this part of the world and were advanced astrologists, among many other noteworthy talents. The guides that take you to this marvelous place provide many insights into their people’s past. However, a pre-read would be encouraged so that your visit to Chichen Itza, Tulum, or any other Mayan ruin is a richer experience.

 

However, for all its history, amazing sights, and extreme activities, Playa Del Carmen is above all a party town. It is an odd mixture of Borocay mixed with South Beach with a speckling of Venice Beach. The vibe is fantastic because the people are happy, the food is exceptional, the bars are creative and unique, and the stores (or street-side shacks) are magnetic. Right now, this great little place has not succumbed to the “Spring Break Syndrome” which has taken victim a nearby Cancun. I fear that it will eventually do so because it is just an awesome place for fun, sun, and other pleasures. Therefore, you should head here soon and do so during a time in the year where school is NOT out. When you do book a trip, be sure to stay for at least ten days. There is simply too much to do for any shorter stay. I made that mistake this time and am already trying to figure out when to return next.

 

Until next time.

 

If you like this photo, check out other nice shots from Mexico at flickr.com/frankmertens

Ground zero for beer… at least in October

Hello Everyone,

If I were to ask what place on earth epitomizes beer, what place would you mention? Would it be a pub in London? Maybe. Perhaps the Budweiser Brewery? No no, that wouldn’t be it. Would it be beautiful Ireland, the birth place of our beloved Guinness? That’s getting a bit closer but not the answer. The central nervous system of beer can be found in one city during one month of the year – Munich during Oktoberfest.

This past weekend, I visited this pristine city during its not so pristine legendary festival. I decided at the last minute to take the train from Frankfurt to Munich to spend a night and enjoy ghastly large mugs of beer, pretzels, and half chickens. Many have told me that Oktoberfest was a once in a lifetime experience. These assertions were more than correct.

The party is so infectious that it starts well before you actually arrive in Munich. After having done some work and reading on the train, I felt a bit hungry. The German railway offers some of the best snacks in the meal wagons. So, I made my way along the narrow path in the modernly designed ICE train. People were sleeping, reading or enjoying each others company. As I neared the food wagon a swell of noise increased. There was laughing and shouting. Yup, fellow “Oktoberfesters” couldn’t wait for Munich. They had to bring Munich to them. The wagon was rammed but the atmosphere was electric. Then, without any provocation, the singing started. A few folk songs warmed the crowd. Then the countrymen and women that brought us such classic rock megabands such as Scorpions dug into the depths of glam rock. A man led the charge and began singing… wait, wait… “Come on feel the noise”. The entire wagon became energized and sang at unimaginable decibels. All knew the song, all knew the lyrics. It was truly hysterical.

The electric vibe from the train paled in comparison to what awaited me on the “Wiese”, or “field” in German. But before I go into that let me account my first impression of Munich as I exited the train from Frankfurt. One always mocks Germans for sticking to their tradition of wearing Lederhosen. I now know why this subject of ridicule will never go away. Everywhere you looked men and boys of all ages and even races strolled around in these silly outfits. Fortunately this humorous site was offset by the far more appealing one of the traditional garments of the Bayerische Frauen, or women from Bayern. They too were tightly worn by a surprisingly large percentage of the population. You somehow feel compelled to grin (well at least I do).

A quick stop at the hotel and I made my way to the Wiese. I encountered numerous stumbling men in Lederhosen. There is something right but immensely funny with a hammered man in leather shorts and an obscure top. One of them approached me and asked for the direction to the Wiese. It was only a half a block away from him but clearly his sense of direction and sight was a bit shaky. He looked at me, then my pointed finger, then back at me. “Danke”, he said. As I walked away he dropped his funny pants and relieved himself in the middle of the sidewalk. I laughed.

Entering the field my jaw dropped at the sheer size of this event. Huge tents littered the entire kilometer wide (certainly what it seems) terrain. Amusement rides of all shapes and sizes separated the tents. Roller coasters, bungey drops, bumper cars, you name it, the ride was there. Now isn’t that just a bit masochistic? You fill people with unorthodox amounts of beer and then send them hurling through the air upside down. Only in Germany.

More impressive than the torturous distraction offerings were the volume of visitors. Honestly, I would have to say that hundreds of thousands of people filled the Wiese at any one time. The pathways were shoulder to shoulder full. All the tents were over capacity. There were line-ups 50 people long at each ride. It was simply insane. After trying to get into 4 different tents I was beginning to think that I had better return the next day in the morning. Apparently there are already line-ups at 11AM and if you did not reserve a table your luck may be out. I wasn’t in the mood for poor fortunes so I kept at it and eventually came across a tent that was letting people through in dribs and drabs. The waitresses would come to the people waiting and pick those who she felt would be good for her table. It reminded me of scenes outside Studio 54 in NYC (from what I’ve seen in photos and films). I encouraged one of the waitresses to pick a group of 3 so that I could tag as the 4^th person. She agreed and I was on my way to the true Oktoberfest.

We were guided to a long wooden table and were rammed between a group of younger locals and two older men at the foot of the bench. A round was quickly ordered. The beers came faster than an already prepared burger at McDonald’s. More impressive was that this little frail blond girl comfortably carried eight of these liter (or more) mugs. It was astounding and, actually, a bit sexy. We all cheered one another and in no time became befriended with our neighbors. The friendship was surprising given that you are mixing an excessive amount of men, alcohol, and lack of space. Nonetheless, the vibe was awesome.

A great atmosphere usually includes singing. Well, just as the “Come on feel the noise” crew on the train, the people around us in this tent were also chant hungry. It really all started with a bunch of Kiwis. Four rugby players from New Zealand began singing the All Blacks Maury chant. They did it with such conviction that I actually wondered whether they were members of the team. Regardless, their passion fueled the crowd. As they finished there was a roaring applause. Shortly after another group nearby started their own chant (either a local song or football cheer). This spawned a different group to also entertain the crowd with their musical expression. The Kiwis had started a “chant off”. It was hilarious because few actually had any oratory skills. Aside from the huge New Zealanders, everyone either shrieked or screamed with a raspy voice.

The night on the Wiese eventually came to a close. However, the beer filled partiers had no desire to stop celebrating (myself included). The scene was actually quite amazing. Tens of thousands of people poured out of a field into the city of Munich. From someone sitting in a café down the road it must have appeared as if a mob was approaching. I left the tent with a group of people sitting along my bench. We all wanted to hit another spot before calling it a night. However, the aimless destination and beer-slowed-pace disassembled the group block by block until eventually I was left with two others. We tried to get into one spot, then another. Everything was full or simply didn’t want us. My Oktoberfest came to a close.

The next day, I woke up feeling, well, a bit heavy-headed. The sun streamed down on the magical city. The endless gardens brightly displayed their autumn colors. The stunning city architecture carved up the blue sky. The warm air sparked laughter with kids of all ages. But all I wanted to do was sleep a bit more. However, I forced myself to get a move on. While heading back to the Wiese was out of the question, I did spend some time wandering the old-city. My beer haze seemed to give the city even more allure.

Finally, I boarded the train back to Frankfurt. I decided to park myself in the food wagon to grab a nice bite and do some reading. Apparently, many Germans figured that Munich didn’t provide enough beer to their system. Very shortly after departing the station, several groups of 30+ men and women streamed into the wagon and ordered multiple rounds of beer. The trip back to Frankfurt was highly entertaining, where two groups of men attempted vigorously to attract the attention of a group of beer guzzling women. The lines that flew back and forth would have made the most shameless womanizer cringe. The experience was complete.

So if you like beer, you owe it to yourself to visit Oktoberfest in Munich. No beer town or event can rival it. Expect the unexpected. Bring a hearty amount of headache pills, and take the train.

Until next time.

London calling, again and again

Hello everyone,

I’ve just returned from an extensive business trip that took me to Hong Kong, Helsinki, Paris, London, and Boston. Aside from collecting air miles, eating incessantly, and losing track of time, I also was able to reflect on the different city cultures. Due to several trips to London of late, I have become drawn to this magical city. This trip reaffirmed my love for London. The reasons for my attraction to this historic capital is that it has such a strong character that you can actually feel it, it breeds creativity, and it caters to any taste and any passion.

I wrote about New York City a while back and mentioned that the character of that city was so apparent that you could not help but be consumed by it. I believe that London has this as well. To be very honest, I may not have said this before but I just had not been exposed to the English capital as much as now. The energy that consumes the tiny laneways and narrow streets that give this city such charm is firmly linked to its rich history. It has been a central global city for longer than most and it certainly lets you feel it. Whether it is its strong rituals, glorified landmarks, unique architecture, or bustling capitalism, you are regularly bombarded with a sense of dynamism, speed, and progress but equally with a sense of historic preservation and slow routine. This healthy conflict gives London a flair that no other city can truly project.

The friction of old and new and of progress and tradition spawns experimentation, rebellion, and bold expression. These are wonderful ingredients to fuel creativity and innovation. I don’t think that anyone could argue that London does not excel in this domain. Whether it is in the digital space, fashion, art, design, music, or marketing, London has leading firms, individuals, or organizations. Ultimately, this wealth of talent creates a consumption economy rich with options and constantly changing, evolving. A regular visitor can share in this lifestyle by going to various multi-service or themed restaurants or bars, tiny galleries with mind-bending work, side shops or markets filled with one-of-kind fashion masterpieces, or simply surf the web or mobile web at night to discover services that you thought only existed in fiction. I’ve been to bars in former public toilets where you sms song requests to the DJ, visited clubs that are in interlocking tunnels, played video games where the set was an actual park and you used your mobile phone to guide where you had to collect points and fight demons, and the list goes on. When exploring the streets, make sure to look around and you will see innovation and creativity all around you. Once you see it, feel it, you will be hooked. I find that this environment is truly what a creative soul should experience.

Pushed creative expression certainly creates new experiences, products, services, ways of living, discussions, cultures, sub-cultures, etc. Consequently, London offers something for everyone and perhaps even has a manifestation of every type of person. Here is where I find that London differs from New York City. The proximity to Europe and the international attention driven by not only its economic might but also its determination to attract the world’s eyes, make Londoners more politically engaged in global affairs. I may get some disagreement with this point, but on the whole I find that London is more plugged into world affairs than New York since its citizens on the whole are more international in the way the live their professional lives. As a result, the types of movements, be it in art, music etc that are born in London are remarkable and rooted, even if slightly, in more existential socio-political issues than movements in other creative hubs. What this does is that the creative end product or innovation has (perhaps) stronger meaning and potentially larger appeal. Therefore, no matter what your belief or conviction, your passion or lifestyle, you will find another like-minded individual in London.

Where you meet this like-minded soul mate may be a tough task. That is because London has countless venues for any type of income bracket, social class, religious persuasion, lifestyle choice, etc. Whether you choose a lovely lunch and stroll at Harrod’s to rub shoulders with high society, or an afternoon pizza at a trendy hole-in-the-wall at Brick Lane to live it up with London’s young hip crowd, it’s all possible. You may simply want a nice pint at one of London’s thousands of pubs, or a fancy cocktail a hotel bar. Maybe you would rather connect with your soul mate through a healthy shopping excursion. Here again, the decision is tough. Perhaps you would like to stroll along the ritzy streets of Soho or slug it out in Camden. Ahh the choices! Don’t you just love it!

London is truly a place of great choice, great history, incredible lifestyle, and a hot-spot of hungry talent. As a tourist, I can only recommend to not follow the tour guides. Do a bit of research and discover the world that surrounds your likes. I am sure that London has a community that caters to exactly what you want and that that community will show you something that you haven’t seen before.

Until next time.

Want the true Asian adventure holiday? Go to Cambodia

Hello everyone,
 
My travels throughout Asia have covered the spectrum of environments: developed and less developed societies, modern and traditional cities, spotless and filthy neighborhoods, kind and aggressive communities. Cambodia contains aspects of each these extremes. The country is a truly raw place. For those of you who want to have an authentic Asian experience, one void of excess tourism, Cambodia is among the few places left that can fulfill your wish. Three places are a must.
 
The destination that defines Cambodia is the city of Siem Reap and the surrounding temples. You will need to get a visa upon entry, before you pass customs. It is important to know that Cambodians like to joke around. Unfortunately, when you couple dry humor with imperfect English, you will likely feel more threatened than amused. Let me tell you, this miscommunication at immigration will spawn a bead or two of sweat. Once away from the authorities you will be able to roll with it.
 
Siem Reap is a very small town, nestled along a river, near a large fresh water lake. The bridges that cross the water and the architecture of the buildings reflect a French colonial presence. Combine this look with the lushness of a tropical environment and the neglect of a corrupt governmental system, and the net impression of the setting resembles the American Cajun south. Buried within the maze of small roads are countless cute and comfortable inns that offer surprising amenities at rock bottom prices. The other extreme is also available – Hotel Costes type establishments with unique Khmer touches (see – www.hoteldelapaixangkor.com). Many hotels are situated around the back-packer area, known as Pub St . Here you will find great little galleries, notably of photographers, and restaurants. As far as the local cuisine is concerned, Khmer food is actually not that spectacular. I was quite surprised at this because both neighbors, Thailand and Vietnam , have an extraordinary food culture.
 
The sole reason that one visits Siem Reap is to see the plethora of temples that are speckled around the outskirts of the city. The crown jewel is Angkor Wat, whose picture is the center piece of the Cambodian flag. The site is a photographer’s dream, especially during sun rise or sun set. The former grandness of the Khmer Empire is clearly apparent, as is the richness of the Khmer culture. Beyond Angkor Wat are other famous temples such as Ta Prohm and Bayon. Ta Prohm is a magical place. The jungle has regained its ownership of the land on which the temple was built. Large trees stand firmly on top of ancient ruins, spreading their roots throughout the hallways and rooms of the temple, like a mythological squid engulfing a navy vessel (see- www.flickr.com/photos /peterstuckings/sets/72057594073027419/ ). Bayon is equally breathtaking. This temple is renowned for its Buddhist inspired head sculptures. Much like the Mona Lisa, the eyes of the various heads follow you as you view them from different angles. As a photographer, I found this subject matter incredibly powerful and eerie. Each temple is impressive in its own way. Imagine what the French discovers felt when they stumbled upon these ruins many years ago. Colossal, architecturally advanced, intricately designed, and deep in the jungle – A true Indiana Jones experience.
 
However, you can easily get “templed out”. One rock structure blends into the next. At this point, Siem Reap offers many cultural diversions. To visit them, you have a variety of travel options: bicycle, motorbike, tuk-tuk, and car. By chance, I stumbled on a driver that was cop. He was a great guy, very timid, unassuming, and a sly womanizer. He also liked to sip a beer or two while driving me around, which worried me before I realized that he was a 6 year police veteran… well, even then it worried me. He was able to find all the bizarre sites as well as off-the-beaten-track nightlife spots. There are three places that I would recommend. The first is the landmine museum. Owned by a former Khmer military officer, the museum resembles more like the wrecking yard from Sanford and Son than a display of Cambodia’s recent history. The employees are all landmine victims. You will be escorted around the grounds, explained the different types of explosives, and shown stories related to their affect on Cambodian life – very humbling. The second place is little hut, tucked away on the grounds of a local pagoda, where you can find hand made shadow puppets. The artist, an older lady, is curious and full of life. Her energy and unique personality is reflected in the pieces she creates – I had to buy a pair. The final place to see is the stretch of road that connects the city of Siem Reap with the harbor on the banks of Tonle Sap , one of the biggest lakes in South East Asia. The road follows a river. On the banks of the river are countless huts from Vietnamese immigrants. The poverty is noteworthy. However, the community feel, the homeliness of the shoddy wooden huts, the cuteness of the primitive bridges linking both sides of the river, is emotionally riveting and photographically stimulating. It really feels authentic.
 
The second main destination in Cambodia is the capital Phnom Penh. To reach PP from Siem Reap, the best way to travel is by speed boat on lake Tonle Sap. However, beware of sun burn. The deck is very tempting and the breeze is deceptively cool. Half of the trip is on open water, the other half is along a river. The latter half is what makes the trip worthwhile; Cambodian coastal life with its floating villages, unique fishing boats, and inviting locals. The journey ends in the heart of Phnom Penh on the banks of the Tonle Sap River. Like many other South East Asian destinations, you are swarmed with local tuk-tuk drivers upon arrival. It’s good to read up on what is a fair fare. The Lonely Planet came in handy. Once en-route to my hotel I was able to absorb the cityscape. Much like Saigon, the colonial influence on this large city is very apparent: Ornate hotel buildings, Parisian-like walkways accessorized with intimate street lamps and benches, romantic riverside paths beautifully landscaped. The major difference between PP and Saigon is that there seems to have been little maintenance, let alone restoration, to the buildings. You truly feel transported to a past time. Here lies part of the magic of Cambodia. The history is almost alive. Garbage is everywhere, but it seems to help protect the old city from contemporary urban planning.
 
Many hotels line the river. This is where the action takes place. I naturally had to stay in one of the hotels. By chance, I stumbled on a pure gem – the Bougainvillier Hotel. I chose to stay in their best room, which was situated on the top floor. It had its own rooftop garden and an open-air bathroom. The actual sleeping area was a large open concept room with angled walls and a wooden canopy bed. I felt like a king, but paid what a mere jester could afford. I could also view the river banks from my room. At night, the boardwalk lights up, and a great night life emerges. Café after café fill the air with laughter, joyful conversation, and dated music. The seediness of the city is not hidden. Working women are plainly seen and mix with all types of crowds. While I saw tourist families, the city does not feel like it is suited for them. It’s simply too raw.
 
There are many interesting places to seek out in Phnom Penh . The expat community is NGO driven but has a predominantly bohemian feel. As such, there are many quaint arts and crafts shops, book stores, and markets. The two main tourist spots are the famous Khmer Rouge S-21 prison and the grounds where the prisoners were executed – The Killing Fields. This is worth taking a day to take in. Pol Pot’s regime ended around 1978. This was the last year that the prison was active. Therefore, it is truly recent history. The building is that of a school that the Khmer Rouge turned into a prison. It is not an old building, so it feels like a school that you may have gone to. Then you are told the facts: Over 17,000 prisoners came through this place, only 7 survived. On top of this information, you see remnants of the torture tools, shackles, beds, and blood stains. Like the closeness you feel to history when traveling through the city, you feel the closeness of the genocide when you walk through the prison. It is really harsh.
 
The final leg of my journey was to the ocean, at Sihanoukville. A bus will take you from Phnom Penh to the shore in just over 4 hours. The trip is uneventful. You arrive at a huge parking lot in the middle of the city and wonder whether there truly is water nearby or the travel books “pulled one over on you”. However, a five minute motorcycle ride brings you to a beach scene that is very Hippie inspired. This is not a beach for the neat and tidy travelers, those that frequent Thailand. This is a beach for the adventurer. The sand is fine and white but the beach is not groomed. Garbage is as apparent along the watery strip as it is along the moped filled roads of Phnom Penh. However, the back-packer lifestyle has a charm and you easily meet folks from all around the world. The location is gaining notoriety. While I was there, all the hostels and hotels were fully booked. I am guessing that within five years, the stature and popularity of the beaches in Sihanoukville will rival famous ones found in Thailand. Therefore, I suggest that you head there soon if you want to experience the “roughness”.
 
Raw, rough, that’s what makes Cambodia so authentic. I loved it.

Experience Authentic China… in Toronto

Hello everyone,

We frequently live in cities and fail to take advantage of our proximity to its treasures and unique characteristics. I have tried to do the opposite. While in New York City, I combed the boroughs on my bike. In Shanghai, I accepted every invitation to visit a different part of this great metropolis and wandered for hours each weekend through the many busy streets. However, I am now back in my native Toronto and find myself sticking to habitual behaviours, only visiting the neighbourhoods where my friends gather. Granted I am covering most of what the city has to offer simply because I have friends in different social circles. However, I haven’t bothered to look elsewhere. Thanks to my stay in Asia, I was curious about the Chinese community to the north of Toronto called Richmond Hill. More specifically, I wanted to visit the Pacific Mall – an authentic Chinese/ Hong Kong style mall. I discovered a hidden gem.

 The Chinese that live in foreign countries tend to create communities that strongly mimic the lifestyle services and environment infrastructure of their native home. Some China Towns are known the world over, such as the one in San Francisco or New York City. Visiting these districts makes you feel that you are in a completely different place. The street signs are different, the noise is constant, that smell is intense, and the roads are cluttered. Above all, the shopping is fantastic and generally very cheap. Well, that is if you can bargain! Generally, the shops are found along streets. However, the Toronto winter is long and cold and therefor not really conducive to outdoor window shopping. Therefore, the Chinese community imported their style of shopping mall: a multi-level warehouse-type building with isle after isle of tightly sandwiched vendor booths. I have seen this type of mall in Hong Kong and Shanghai. In those cities, their tight-packed construction is due to the simple fact that there is little space to build. As such, merchants need to be more efficient with real estate. Toronto clearly does not have this issue but the Chinese community has built this type of building, I suppose our of habit and comfort.

The first time that I entered the mall, I felt transported back to Asia. Beyond the fact that you will find it difficult to spot a Caucasian, the energy felt the same. The loud chatter of Cantonese (and occasionally Mandarin) filled the air as did the smell of oily delights. People walk slowly from booth to booth, frequenlty forgetting the personal space of others. The shop-keepers tried hard to hard sell you on the cheapest of goods. Above all, the variety was mind-blowing. I was in heaven.

The shopping experience, in my opinion, is far superior to that of your typical North American mall. Why? Quite simply, you are constantly visually stimulated since the product variety truly changes meter to meter. There is not time to get bored. Even the most appealing “gwai lo” (Cantonese slang for white person) malls do not have the allure of a shoe-box layout where entrepreneurialism reigns and one-off gems are the norm rather than the exception. Yes, fashion is abundant (granted more so for women than men), but so are electronics, accessories, fragrances, home furnishings, knick-knacks, software programs, and films. I frequently lose my girlfriend in this place because she gets pulled from one store to the next. The sheer volume of bags, shoes, clothes, and accessories will make a targeted trip turn into a multi-hour adventure. However, I don’t really care because I can explore the specialty shops that I love. 

One of the great discoveries in the Pacific Mall is the movie selection. While living in Asia, I became enamoured by the variety of films that were available at a few dollars a piece. Yes they were pirated. However, the huge selection and range of genres and global works allowed me to become a true film fanatic. I was able, and therefore encouraged, to be more adventurous with my viewing habits. Towards the end of my stay in Shanghai, I became so knowledgeable that I started seeking films by their production company. While this type of selection does not exist in the Pacific Mall, there are elements of this abundance. More importantly, I can explore movies with greater ease and enjoyment than at a rental place. Given that the Toronto winter naturally created a cocooning culture, the ability to have a place where you can purchase content that excessively nourishes this culture is brilliant.

A vigorous shopping session can be exhausting. Add the fact that you are rummaging through piles of product which is tightly packed together and you can understand that fatigue will naturally kick-in. Luckily there are stall after stall of noodle shops. If you are feeling classier, there is a large dim-sum restaurant. As with the shopping, the prices are fantastic. No bargaining here (at least I don’t think so!). From what I’ve noticed, the vendors all speak Cantonese and many of the booth names reflect Hong Kong origin. However, there are a few places that have dumplings from Mainland China. They taste the same as those tiny hole-in-the-wall places that I adored in Shanghai. Add some vinegar and chilli sauce and you are in for a real treat.

With the last dumpling eaten, your tongue caresses your lips for those last beads of noodle goodness. The noise of all the patrons to either side of you is acute but consistent. A hefty dose of chilli sauce has put you in a daze. You find yourself sitting back and appreciating the experience that you have just enjoyed over the past few hours. As you gaze on your table, you see an empty plate, a bag filled with films and other pleasures for your home. Under the table may lye a few bags with clothes and such. For a brief moment, you panic. “Why did I just spend so much money!” You quickly relax when you notice your wallet still occupied with the occasional cash bill. Then, with a content disposition you slowly walk to the door, bundle up to face the cold, and walk to your car. A wonderful day at the Pacific Mall is done. As you pull out of the parking lot, your mind begins to think, “I forgot to pick up that new George Clooney film. I guess I’ll be back again next week.” A smile curls gently on your face. You’re hooked.

Lady Liberty’s magical surroundings: New York City

Hello everyone,

The world has many exceptional cities that have strong and unique personalities, great cityscapes, unique citizens, and marvelous distractions. However, there is one city that, in my opinion, reigns supreme over all others – New York City. I was lucky enough to have lived in this amazing place for seven years. A recent trip to ”the city” reminded me that the Big Apple is indeed my home. The reason is that New York City is not just a city, it is a way of life, it is a culture, it is its own world.

The main difference between New York City and its global city rivals such as London, Paris, and Tokyo is that the Big Apple has little to no associations with its mother, the United States of America. London is till British no matter how many foreigners settle in the English capital. Paris will alway be French, even if Parisians are known to be a bit different than their siblings in other parts of the country. However, New Yorkers are not American, they are ONLY New Yorkers. The residents of this city have not adopted an American way of life, they have carved out their own way of life and have thrown it into New York City’s bag of identities. This is how the magic of the city is created.

There are a myriad of ways that this magic manifests itself but I will only talk about a few: the food culture, the lifestyle choices, the compact geography, the loud-and-proud cultural diversity, and the natural co-existence and integration of very different social classes.

No city in the world can boast the food choice that is available in New York City. You can find any cuisine that you desire. More importantly, you can find a truly authentic version. The reason for this fantastic offering is that New York City has countless nationalities that have decided to settle in this great metropolis. Each foreign settler has made a strong effort to manifest his national culture, a huge part of which is food. Some nationalities do this more regularly than others, notably the Asian and East Asian countries. Others, such as the European settlers, tend to disappear into the society, becoming completely integrated into their environment. In the Big Apple, each country still has its selection of “like at home” dining establishments. The Germans have several Kneipe-type venues such as Zum Schneider, the French have countless Bistrots like Pere Pinard, the Greeks have an entire area of amazing restaurants in Queens, the Italians have a whole area just north of Canal Street and hundreds of other hidden away dining gems such as Supper. If you want great Korean food, hit 32nd street, Brazilian food can be found a couple of streets higher, Indian food is down in the East Village, Swedish food will be a little deeper in the Lower East Side, and I can go on. What is even more wonderful is that you don’t have to spend a fair buck or sit in a restaurant to get mouth-watering authentic foreign dishes. Just wander into Spanish Harlem, around 117th and 3rd and you will encounter cart after cart cooking up some the best tacos you will ever enjoy. A little bit further North near the Cloisters you can pick up some fantastic Dominican chicken at quick-serve delis. The options are endless. New York City is truly the place to go to pamper your taste buds and give a rest to your diet.

The lifestyle choices of New Yorkers are as broad as the culinary options. My girlfriend made a comparison between Torontonians and New Yorkers that defines the New York lifestyle reality perfectly. She said, “In Toronto people try to be, but in New York people just are”. There are a few cities where this attitude is also true such as London, but I bet that they are not more than a hand full. More importantly, you see this individuality in almost all boroughs. Granted some neighborhoods have a higher concentration of these “individualists”, but New York seems to breed this type of person. A few rides in the subway and you will experience the full effect of individual expression. Yes, I am referring primarily to fashion but the visual is the window to a person’s broader world. From ghetto to ultra chic, passing by punk, metro, tribal, and jock, it’s all there. New blends and strains of the different “segments” are evident everywhere. Stores cater to this variety. Hit 5th Avenue to explore upper-end chain stores, Broadway south of Houston for more irreverent clothing lines, interior Soho for flagship fashion retail locations, independent urban culture designers in Brooklyn, etc. It really is true when people say, “if there is anything that you want, you will find it in New York”.

The tight New York geography also has a profound effect on the spirit of this city. Manhattan is not that big a place. Meanwhile, close to 2 million people live there. Now add the commuters. In any given day, millions of people stream in and out of the outer boroughs and nearby States such as New Jersey and Connecticut. This concentration of people creates a unique energy. Not all people will like this vibe. Tempers do flair and the pace of life is fast and furious. However, this tension somehow creates a vibrancy in the air that is held down by the towering buildings that surround a person at all times. You cannot escape New York. Once you are in the city, you will feel its heartbeat whether you want to or not. Many people find this intimacy suffocating, some even become consumed by the pressure and snap. The most unlikely people go nuts. I’ve heard of a well-groomed businessman standing in the middle of the intersection at 42nd and 6th directing traffic. You need to be able to harness the city’s energy. To do so, enjoy the few refuge areas such as the many parks, the wonderful restaurants, the coffee shops, the galleries, etc. More importantly, walk. The tight geography allows you to explore a great deal of the city on foot. I frequently walked from my office at 51st street all the way down to World Trade Center. The real beauty about walking in NYC is that you will see such variety every few blocks. Districts are small and change from one avenue to the next. The curious walker will be treated to a flurry of visuals triggering key moments in history, scenes from movies, passages from great books, etc. If you really want to get the full brunt of this energy and experience overload, fuel up with a few coffees to heighten your senses!

Another product of this tight geography is the strong desire to be heard while uniting with your tribe. The strong food culture is a result of this dynamic. However, the many nationalities find other ways to manifest their backgrounds. Just pay attention to the languages being spoken around you as you walk in any given neighborhood. The hallways of the United Nations seem to extend into the streets of Manhattan. French, Spanish, German, Russian, Italian, Greek, Mandarin, Cantonese, Korean, Japanese – all and so many others echo around you. In select areas you may not even hear that much English being spoken. Newcomers to the Big Apple somehow find their brethren immediately and bond. This collective soul spawns the desire for root seeding. As a result, many foreigners start up small specialty shops with products or services that reflect their country of origin. This entrepreneurialism fuels the elaborate shopping offerings of the city. Beyond consumerism, the various cultures voice their heritage through parades and festivals that seem to consume all weekends throughout the summer. When you think about all the activity, you quickly realize that the city energy that I just spoke about in the previous paragraph is also driving this cultural expression. Isn’t it interesting how all the characteristics of this city play off one another to form a unique aura!

The immigrant history, tight geography, and business sector diversity have created a unique mixture of classes that live side by side in forced harmony. I just spoke about the visual extremes that an alert walker could experience in New York. History plays a great part in this creation but so does class integration. Some middle-class residents have been living in select locations for generations while their neighborhoods have blossomed around them. The Lower East Side is a case in point. You would think that this meeting of worlds would cause friction that could lead to violence. This may well have been the case in the past. It is no longer. Why? Honestly, I am not sure. I can hypothesize, suggesting the Giuliani era and additional wealth. All that I can say for sure is that the friction does not manifest itself too frequently, but merely keeps the city on its toes. Take the blackout of a few years back as an example. There were fears that looting would prevail as it did during the blackout of the 70s. Nothing happened. Granted, 911 had happened only a few years prior. Nonetheless, I believe that Lady Liberty’s city has evolved so that its children are more used to one another.

Overall, New York City is simply a city unlike any on the planet. I encourage everyone to spend a part of their life in the Big Apple. The experiences will mark you for a lifetime. If travel is all that you can offer Gotham, then follow these simple instructions: explore all corners and alleys, look at the world above your head, savour the smells from dim or bright establishments, be mesmerized by the alluring lights from tiny to multi-story stores, wander the grungy and high-brow galleries, take cabs and subways, sip coffees and cosmopolitans, and see the landmarks and landfills. The reason is that the true New York City will not be found through a guide. The true New York City is different for each one of us. Therefore, be curious, have fun, and create your memory. Don’t let it pass away in a New York minute!

Cuba: Canada’s tropical secret

Hello everyone,

I have been back in Toronto for just over 6 months which has allowed me to reacclimatize myself to true “Canadianisms”. For starters we have the “cuisine”, such as hearty Poutine or greasy breakfasts with Peameal beacon. As soon as the winter hit, I was reminded that these types of heavy foods are a necessity to stay warm in this disturbingly cold environment. Then we have the flag-bearing travelers. During the summer I met several back-packers who proudly spoke of their journeys throughout Europe and the warm welcome that they received due, according to them, in great part to them being identified as Canadians. They probably didn’t realize that their ghostly complexion was also a bit of a giveaway. Finally, I have been reintroduced to hockey fanaticism. The love for the game is so severe above the 49 th Parallel that droves of people will religiously pour into a packed arena to watch a losing and overpaid team. Why Torontonians continue to support the Leafs is beyond me. However, the purpose of this write-up is not to talk about Canadian secrets found in the Great White North. I want to talk about Canada’s tropical secret – Cuba .

Cuba is one of Canadians’ favored sun destinations. Flights from multiple airlines leave daily from big city airports. Ads on billboards for Cuban resorts and package deals pepper Canadian city skylines. Many of my friends have visited this wonderful country and therefore when the menacing Canadian Winter appeared in October, I decided that I would see what this “Cuban craze” was all about. According to travel tours, Canadians make up the largest percentage of visitors to Cuba. I quickly realized why: heat, compassion, culture, variety, and above all, it’s a place that the Canadians call truly call theirs.

We landed in Varadero in the early evening and were greeted by a wall of comforting heat. The winter shivers were quickly soothed by an all-encompassing warm blanket of tropical air. Crazy tourists immediately shed most of their clothes to reveal pasty shades of white skin tones that only Canadians, and perhaps the occasional Brit, can somehow create. The sight was comedic. If any of the tour buses should burn out their headlights, they need only stick two shirtless Canadians on the front of the bus and the road would be easily lit up. But I don’t want to talk about the biological benefits of the Canuck complexion, I want to talk about the Cuban heat. The sun seemed to have a liking for this large island. She brightly sprayed the beach with her rays, bronzing our skin, warming our hearts, and lightening our moods. The environment was equally in harmony with the sun. The ocean sparkled in a light, somewhat turquoise, blue and the trees and bushes proudly displayed a vibrant green. As you navigate through this wonderful warmth you cannot help but appreciate your environment and those around you. I believe that that Cubans have long recognized the positive energy that their cherished sun offers. They seem to show their appreciation to the bright lady in the sky by extending personal warmth to their fellow man (and woman) in a way that few nationalities do.

A kinder people than the Cubans you will rarely find. You are confronted with their genuine warmth almost from the point you walk off the plane. I recall being greeted with a tray of Crystal beer as we got on to the bus that would take us to our resort… Wait a minute. I think I’ve figured something out! Perhaps the laid back attitude of visitors to the island is a result of a carefully executed plan of partial sedation caused by a regular infusion of alcohol. Those tricky &^%# !!! Joking aside, I was taken back by how lovely the people were. For a people who are generally quite poor, their attitude to the world around them was inspiring. You may think that this is due to the fact that they want our money. Sure, the service industry is important and therefore highly developed. Nonetheless, I have visited many countries with equally vital tourist industries and the people did not have the Cuban disposition. A case in point was a server at our resort. His name was Sergio. His job was to walk along the beach and bring guests drinks. As we were in an all-inclusive resort, he was not selling drinks which meant that tips were not to be expected. Regardless, he was always covering the entire beach at a healthy pace and never once failed to greet you without an ear-to-ear smile and jovial conversation. We could not help but feel upbeat after seeing Sergio. However, Cuba has many Sergios. Whether it was our tour guide to Havana, our maid at the hotel, the bartender at our local watering hole, our cab drivers, or the like, a sweet authenticity prevailed. Where were all the Tony Montanas? I guess the Sergios asked them to move to Miami!

It is actually quite interesting that a poor and somewhat isolated Caribbean island has the depth of history and global political attention that Cuba has. The cultural richness found in Cuba is noteworthy. Unfortunately, we were not able to see much because Cuba is quite a large island, larger (I think) than Florida. Therefore, we only visited Varadero and its surrounding towns, and Havana . I would have loved to visit Vinales with its spectacular limestone cliffs, lush green tobacco fields, and expansive network of caves. However, the ride from Varadero would have been around 5 hours. A bit much for a day trip! Oh well, next time. And yes, Cuba definitely deserves more than a week. A country that almost brought the world to nuclear war certainly has something to say. But well before The Cuban Missile Crisis, this island has been at the center of much international attention. Just a look at the faces of the Cubans and one immediately notices the influence of the Spanish, Dutch, English, Africans (slaves), and Chinese. Yes, all these nationalities have settled in Cuba at some point, diversifying the makeup of the Cuban people. Add the criminal (and financial) element of the mafia, the exploitative Spanish empire, the isolating partnership with Cold War Russia, the destructive US military occupation, and the literary influences of Ernest Hemingway and Graham Greene, and you can quickly understand why little Cuba has a big personality the world round. At the heart of this proud land is Havana, the capital city. I could go on for quite a while describing this city but I’ll stick to one word, breathtaking. Your senses are bombarded. Lavish colonial architecture blends with 1930s casino structures and crumbling basic residences. Beautiful music lifts the air while the chitter-chatter from crowds fill in the quiet gaps. My camera was constantly clicking away. I could have explored the alleys and streets for days. Each turn brought a new visual experience. I really hope that the character of this city is preserved. It is so powerful and should be left alone by money hungry corporations. The variety offered is so authentic and this purity is what makes visitors vividly sense the city’s character.

Cuba, in general, offers incredible variety. This is also a huge reason why this country is a tourist haven. You may not think that Cuba has great variety given that all you see across the country is the face of “Che” Guevara, suggesting monotony. However, do not let the omnipresence of the star-embroidered beret wearing revolutionary fool you. Whether geographic diversity, a wealth of activities, extensive shopping, or endless culture, Cuba has it all. If you want a beach vacation, Cuba has it. If you want an adventure holiday, Cuba has it. If you want a romantic trip into the past, Cuba has it. Moreover, the trips are all real. This is very different from the cosmetic and highly contrived vacation options found in Jamaica or parts of Mexico . I believe that this authenticity is what is appealing about Fidel’s home. Somehow “MTV’s Havana Spring Break” doesn’t feel right in so many ways. Let’s hope that it never gets to that, never. Che would likely turn over in his grave should this type of Western sin and commercialism infect Cuban society. I am certain that the absence of the rowdy college crowd is what keeps the Canadian public infatuated with Cuba.

As a result of the political friction between Cuba and the United States, Cuba attracts its visitors from Canada and Europe . However, as I mentioned above, the lion’s share of tourism comes from Canada . Proximity is a key driver of this reality. However, attitude and relative quietness is probably another motivator. This is not to say that Cuba is a Prozac-like country. Not in the slightest. The nightlife is fantastic. Be it the famous Tropicana show or the many local nightclubs, Cuban people have a vibrant love of life. How could the heart of Salsa and the like not be a land that loves its nightlife! However, there is a slight difference between a room packed with well-dressed locals and (generally) polite visitors enjoying festive music and engaging in beautiful dance, with an over-sized club vibrating with progressive house music and 19 year olds puking in the corner. The rich Cuban social scene has been able to fend off the less admirable Western bar and club scenes. This unique nightlife experience further adds to Cuba’s appeal. This is not the winter version of Muskoka (cottage country slightly to the North of Toronto and a favored weekend destination in the summer). This is a real break from the environment in which Canadians live. This is likely why there is a true interest and true respect for this get-away tropical destination.

Returning back to Toronto , we were greeted with a record-breaking snow storm that left us buried in the apartment. Luckily we now were trained in the fine art of Mojito-making and had a few cigars and Salsa CD compilations. Old man Winter may have been raging outside, but the Cuban warmth still accompanied us in our little room. We danced, drank and chatted with healthy tans and huge smiles. In spirit, we were still with Sergio. We got hooked on Cuba and we’ll be back for our fix.

If you are interested in seeing my photos of Cuba, please visit – www.flickr.com/photos/frankmertens