Picking fruit off the farms in Fillmore, CA

But I digress.  2011 was probably the year I traveled least in the past decade.  I only got on a plane TWICE all year.  And that was to mingle with my fellow travelers at TBEX Vancouver.  I hit up Vegas, Joshua Tree and a weekend yoga retreat in Malibu, and had a weekend away now and then.  I saw The Price is Right live, which fulfilled my dream of seeing the Plinko board in-person (seriously, it was so cool). But my passport languished in the closet for most of the year, and I had to make peace with reading my fellow bloggers’ accounts of their worldwide jaunts from my little desk in LA.

Vancouver, BC

And you know what I realized? I like being home.  A year off of travel has made me seek adventure in my own backyard, reflect on the direction of my writing, dream of experiences I’d like to have…and save for a ::new camera:: which will accompany me in my travels ahead :)  I was tempted to feel failure at not getting out more this year – because what kind of travel blogger blogs from home?!

Joshua Tree, CA

But as I told the students at the Lessons From Abroad Conference back in October, sometimes we forget that the place we live, the place we are from, is a destination to someone else.  We are told to write what we know – what do we know better than home?  This has convinced me that a primary goal for 2012 should stretch beyond writing about my global journeys but also indeed about the beauty and fascination that is sweet home California.

TBEX 2011: Men of TBEX Calendar Party

I also told those students that writing about experiences you’ve had – no matter when they happened – is vital to understanding why you travel, why it drives you, what you can learn about yourself and about other people by doing it.  I have thought many hours about these things while enjoying time at home…and realized it is the memories of travel that drive us to go back and make more.  They are rich and sweet and unattainable again, so we crave the feeling of creating them over again.  It is a glorious cycle!

2012 will have travel – to a new country (New Zealand!) on a new continent where the Jet-Setters and I will find adventure in our 4th trip as a travel team.  To Keystone, Colorado for TBEX 2012, where once again I will join my fellow bloggers and travel enthusiasts to talk breathlessly about our craft – over a whole lotta drinks.  To the Windy City (Chicago!) to see family, the Bears, and Lou Malnati’s. And hopefully somewhere new and exciting with my parents, who are pretty hip travelers themselves and with whom I am long overdue for a vacay with.

Wine Cruising in Long Beach, CA

So cheers to my intrepid readers, fellow bloggers and dear friends.  I cannot wait to share 2012′s travels, read about yours and learn a little bit more about why the journey is so much a part of us all.  Here’s to peace, safe travels, health and joy for us all in the New Year!

The Annual Whopping Life Travel Total Round-up as of Dec., 2011:

courtesy of The Shore Hotel, Santa Monica

Allow me to remind you of some common, anger-inducing California tourism experiences, for those who may have vacationed here:

• Brick wall/sketchy alley/apartment parking lot/freeway out your hotel room window
• Driving everywhere. Valeting everywhere. Spending cocktail money on gasoline.
• Key card slots you have to time just right otherwise you’re locked out forever.
• Traffic noise when you’re trying to sleep.
• Convention attendees swarming the lobby, the fitness center and the pool, and causing backups at the front desk

Sound familiar?  Are you annoyed all over again?  Breathe a sigh of relief then, because the newly-opened, ultra eco-friendly Shore Hotel in Santa Monica’s got you covered on all those fronts and more.  For those looking for a truly leisure-filled California getaway that won’t break the bank and will leave you with the beach-filled visions of the Left Coast you came for, your search has ended.

Main Lobby - Shore Hotel Santa Monica

The  local family-owned hotel opened back in October as the first new build the city of Santa Monica has seen in 10 years.  With only 164 rooms and a modest 800 square feet of meeting space, this beachfront beauty whispers relaxation as soon as you walk into the glass-enased lobby.  In fact there’s hardly a spot in the building that doesn’t give you a sprawling view of the ocean – every room is angled for a view of the Pacific and to maximize natural daylight, and for the windows you’re not looking out of, they’re angled to reflect the shoreline back to you.  Clever, huh?

image credit: Skott Snider

The glass-encased lobby is sprinkled with minimalist furniture, sleek tile and sandstone walls with a waving pattern that mimics – you guessed it – the ocean.  When I visited one afternoon around sunset, it was a pretty stunning sight.  Hotel amenities include a solar-heated pool, 24-hour business and fitness centers and covered self or valet parking.  In-room you can find iPod connectors, silence-inducing sliding glass doors and, since there’s no room service available just yet, a takeout service from local restaurants with one call downstairs (menus are on your desk).  A little jarring is the not-so-private glass shower set between the bed and the bathroom, but one click of a button and an opaque shade lowers…you know, in case you’re not ready to share that much with your roommate. 

image credit: Skott Snider

Another nifty feature?  Doorbells that also serve as service lights (green for housekeeping service, red for “do not disturb”) and helpful warnings to the staff that someone has recently used their key and is in the room (no more awkward run-ins for towel delivery).  How does it know!?

Calm it down - out by the pool

Which “LEED”s us into hugging the environment for a moment – from a gym floor made of recycled tires (it’s delightfully squishy underfoot) and paper-saving aforementioned doorbells (really called an INNCOM occupy sensor system) to water efficiency systems (low-flow showerheads and on-property water runoff treatment and recycling) and reused textiles in carpet, upholstery and furniture, among many other features you can read about here.

image credit: Skott Snider

And who would I be without discussing location, location, location.  Unlike so many SoCal hotels that require you to rent a car unless you want to be trapped in hotel-land all day and night, The Shore Hotel sits about a block from the Santa Monica pier (in fact you can see it out the window, ferris wheel and all), and across the street in the other direction from Santa Monica Place, an open-air mall that leads out to the 3rd Street Promenade. Dining, nightlife, shopping and the beach are effortlessly at your doorstep. Not bad.

There’s lots more coming for the Shore Hotel – springtime will see the opening of Blue Plate Taco at the hotel right on Ocean Ave., a food and beverage concept that will enable the hotel to provide other amenities like room service and a bar for hotel guests (scheduled for a March opening).

Some exciting new packages include a seriously full-blown New Year’s Resolutions offer that includes accommodations, a one-day cleanse by Pressed Juicery (delivered to you at the hotel), ASICS sports accessories, a personal one-hour training session and a 60-minute massage from Tikkun Spa (based on single-occupancy, rates start at $435).  And since “IRIS” is getting kicked out of the Kodak Theatre during the month of February (thanks, Academy Awards), the Shore Hotel is giving visitors a chance to get their thrills in with an inclusive Cirque du Soleil Package that inclues accommodations, 2 tickets to Cirque’s thrilling “Ovo” show (staged literally across the street at the Santa Monica Pier) and trapeze lessons for 2 at the Pier given by Trapeze School New York (package available Jan. 20-March 25, 2012; rates available upon request).

image credit: Skott Snider

Regular rooms start at $250, but I checked online at the time of this writing and found them as low as $219.

You know, so you can save your money for that ferris wheel.

Mary Cassatt - "A Cup of Tea"

Americans are known for our pioneering spirit, right? We tend to tackle tough stuff – we invented jazz (if you think it’s easy to play, try following the written music) and we make some mean BBQ (YOU try entering a chili cookoff!)  We are blessed in that we can travel almost anywhere in the world freely.  And when a well-traveled woman has a dream, she’ll take on the world.

Such was the case of American painter Mary Cassatt (1844-1926), whose Pennsylvania childhood was peppered with visits to Europe and, despite her parents’ disinclination to support it, painting lessons at the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts.  At the World Fair in Paris in 1855 she was exposed to the works of Delacroix, Corot, Courbet and Ingres, solidifying her desire to make painting her career rather than a social skill, as was the acceptable interest for females of the time.  She found however that the opportunities for women to immerse themselves in training were few and far between – so she took matters into her own hands.

Like a true wanderluster would, Cassatt packed up and moved to Paris, applying to study privately with masters of the École des Beaux Arts, since they did not admit women.  While she copied at the Louvre and practiced her pastoral imagery on trips to the countryside, soon returning, frustrated, to the U.S. when the Salon wouldn’t regularly accept her subject-appropriate work, a group of artists were not-so-quietly gathering who, like her, rejected the stiff and unrelenting world of “acceptable” art.  Returning to Europe only to find further frustration and little progress, Cassatt joined Berthe Morisot, Degas (her most inspiring colleague) and the other Impressionists in their cause, depicting those now-recognizable sketched glimpses of everyday life.  Vivid pastel work, bright colors and soft scenes of mothers and children or women bathing (among others) are Cassatt’s hallmarks; she spent the final 30+ years of her life immersed in the art world, even taking up women’s suffrage causes and patronizing her own Impressionist colleagues by purchasing their works.  She found critical and financial success no only in Paris but Italy and America as well.  At the time of her death, Cassatt – though she had spent the majority of her life and career in Paris – was considered an American treasure.

Feminist? Maybe a little bit. Stereotypical female? Sometimes.  It cannot be denied though, that Cassatt’s zeal for the world abroad and her forward-thinking, unstoppable attitude toward her art and career reflect the essences of the American travel spirit in all their forms.  She truly embodied the inherent nature of what it is to be an American – to go above and beyond, and to cross borders to realize dreams.  Today there are stunning reminders of Cassatt’s legacy in homes and museums all over the world.  We can only hope our own travels leave those we meet with even a small memory of the same sense of possibility.

Other November ArtSmart Feature Articles:

Why Abstract Expressionism Matters by Ashley at No Onions Extra Pickles

An Unusual Dinner Party in Brooklyn by Jenna at This Is My Happiness

Warhol’s Art & Today by Erin at A Sense of Place

Five American Artists Worth of a Second Look by Kelly at Travellious

I’m pleased and honored to post my first article for the ArtSmart Roundtable, a group of art-history-loving travel bloggers who post a related article the last Monday of each month.  This month’s topic is Outdoor Sculpture; for more related posts, check out the links at the end, or find us on Facebook here!

So you may notice I write about Venice a lot.  (Understatement?)  I’ve explained why countless times, but I’ve never told one of my favorite art-related Venetian stories.  Now finally with this month’s topic, “Outdoor Sculpture,” the time has come to relate the exciting tale of an oft-overlooked corner of the Piazza San Marco - of the 4 small statues that rest subtely and quietly amid the throngs of people who pass them by without a glance, unawares of their fascinating history.  They also throw into sharp relief something I have always mischeviously loved about Venice – the unabashed, centuries-long record of yoinking art treasures, pieces of buildings and related items from other kingdoms only to deposit it in Venice, never to be returned from whence it came.

Piazza San Marco - straight ahead: the tetrarchs!

Along the canal-facing side of the façade of St. Mark’s Basilica, at or just above eye level, sits one of my favorite pieces in all of Venice.  The Portrait of the Four Tetrarchs, as it is officially known, is a sculpture of – you got it – four figures, who at first glance appear to be a group of dwarf kings hugging each other.  In fact, the sculpture is a respectful depiction of the four rulers of ancient Rome, or tetrarchs, a type of governance instituted by the Emperor Diocletian in 293 A.D.  At the time, the Roman Empire was divided into halves, each with a “senior” (Augusti) and “junior” (Caesars) ruler; the statue symbolizes not specific people of the time, but rather the ideals of the tetrarchy – rule and authority in harmony with each other.  That the pairs are each embracing solidifies this ideal.  When combined with the material (porphyry, an extremely hard and rare purple marble from Egypt) the entire sculpture is a symbol of solidarity, strength and perserverance.  Unfortunately this was not so true to history – quarrels among the tetrarchs led to the entire system breaking down by only 313 A.D.

Though ancient Roman sculpture is largely known for it’s realistic depictions of people – pockmarks, wrinkles, facial features, etc. – the tetrarchs by contrast are generic, expressionless and rather trance-like.  It is thought this was meant to reinforce the order and strength the rulers were to bring to a chaotic empire.

porphyry tetrach statues in the Piazza San Marco

But where are they from?  Here’s my favorite part of the story!  The statues themselves likely originated from the Philadelphion in Constantinople, a Byzantine palace where they were assumed to be part of the porch columns lining the front section of the building.  When the Venetians invaded during the Fourth Crusade (around the year 1200), they pirated the tetrarchs and hauled them back to Venice, where they’ve been attached to St. Mark’s ever since.  Now here’s the funny part: one quick glance at the tetrarchs and you’ll notice one of them is clearly missing a foot (a foot which has been cheaply refashioned in cement or the like).  In the 1960′s a piece of the foot (the heel, to be precise) was unearthed in an excavation near the Bodrum Mosque in Istanbul, where it remains at a nearby museum.

the missing foot!

As Ron White would say, “I told you that story to tell you this story.”  As an art history major in college, I had a very cranky professor who taught all the ancient Greek and Roman classes.  He quickly became my favorite teacher thanks to his oddball stories, told in a crotchedy manner and always peppering otherwise very serious lectures.  He told us when he was a grad student in the ’60s, he had recently been learning about the statues around the time he traveled to Istanbul as a student to visit his professor, who was excavating ancient sites near the city.  While they were there, movement around the site caused the discovery of what would indeed turn out to be the missing foot from the tetrarchs.  How cool, I thought, to be at the real-time discovery of a piece that had been separated from its whole for so many centuries!

I had some doubts in my mind about the veracity of the story, but I never forgot it, and the first time I traveled to Venice I marched straight to the southwest corner of the Basilica di San Marco and saw the still-missing foot for myself.  The approachable, inscrutable and mysterious quartet was like seeing an old friend as I watched a story from the classroom come to life.  Now each time I’m in Venice I stop and pay a visit to my tetrarch pals, stone-faced and unnoticed on the side of the basilica, a memory of a long ago time and a far away place.

Other October ArtSmart Feature Articles:

The Muiredach Cross as Public Art in Medieval Ireland, by Erin at A Sense of Place

Jaume Plensas Outdoor Sculpture by Kelly at Travellius

Paris’ Haunted Père Lachaise Cemetery by Jeff at EuroTravelogue

Has Public Sculture Lost Its Edge? by Ashley at No Onions Extra Pickles

Outdoor sculpture in Florence by Jenna at This Is My Happiness

…and don’t forget to check out the group on Facebook for more!

Truth be told I knew very little about Belfast.  Other than that it is the birthplace of Van Morrison (whom I loooooooove) and the city where the Titanic was built, my historic knowledge of the area was poor at best.  Great job with the pre-trip research.  As I pulled my wool jacket over my shoulders and left the musty warmth of the hotel with my friend Bob to face the bleak fall day, I imagined we’d do what we usually do while traveling – walk until we found something interesting.  I had heard about the Peace Walls in conjunction with some curious too-fast reading about the “Troubles” period of the late 1960s, but I didn’t understand what they were or anything about the safety (or lack thereof) of the neighborhood in which they can be found.  I mentally bookmarked them as something to see, but that drizzly day we didn’t set out to find them – they found us.

on Northumberland Rd: walking, thinking

Or rather, we got lost.  Fantastic. Not surprising, but fantastic. Quickly tiring of central Belfast, which I’m not excited to say is largely under construction and peppered with chain stores (Boots Pharmacy, Tesco, Debenham’s, et al) we wandered across a highway and immediately found ourselves in a quiet suburban section of town — lined with graffiti-covered walls.  Falls Road is located in a primarily Catholic neighborhood in West Belfast (with a lovely cathedral, by the way), one where we saw few cars but much barbed wire.  Along it we walked, and as we walked, up Falls Road, across Northumberland (which, as it is a connector road between the two neighborhoods, may be closed off during times of heightened tension) and down the Shankill Road side, we were soon engulfed by colorful murals, wire fences and cement barriers stretching toward the sky.

Bingo. As we’d find out later (when Bob and Katie took a black taxi tour of the political districts of Belfast and learned more details) it can be one of the most dangerous areas of Belfast to wander, even today in what is considered a relatively peaceful time.  We probably should not have been by ourselves walking those streets with no guide and no map, but we did.  And what we discovered was an emotional, telling and fascinating glimpse into the disquieting history of Belfast.

photo by R. Perkins

The peace walls (or peace lines, as they are sometimes called) are barriers built between Catholic and Protestant sections of the city to minimize violence and uprising between the two groups (nationalist and unionist, respectively).  What started as a small project (a few, built around 1969) has become an entire maze of walls, growing taller and longer around these neighborhoods. While local government has discussed removing them, they still stand – and still have purpose, and in fact most polled residents prefer it this way, fearing the tension will escalate should they be taken down.

What is sometimes scary and also very beautiful about the walls is the images and words that have been scrawled across them over the years.  Tourists and locals alike have painted, drawn and written all over – ranging from angry outbursts to expressions of hope, remembrances of those gone, and wishes for peace.  There are political statements supporting or decrying terrorist actions in other places around the world, sketches of loyalist personalities, and nationalist heroes like Bobby Sands.

photo by R. Perkins

The Dalai Lama and former President Clinton have even signed the walls, and blank spots encourage others to add their signatures as well.  We found some images very disconcerting – Sinn Fein scribbled in various places, a drawing of a small boy crouched dejectedly on the ground, paintings of masked men holding rifles and murals painted in frustration at American politics.  Others, like pictures of doves and messages for hope for a “unifed Northern Ireland” indicate a deep desire among those living in Belfast for the tensions to finally cease.  We were, by all accounts, left speechless.

Later, doing research, I stumbled across an article from the USA Today from 2008 about 2 children growing up on different sides of the walls, and read it in fascination and sadness.  Among the cheery pubs, busting Waitrose markets and (as we found) the very upbeat and warm people of Belfast, it is incredible to think these prejudices still exist and scary to imagine the heart-heavy tensions in what are otherwise very normal-looking, cozy neighborhoods.  My hope for Belfast is that the quiet times they have known in recent years continue, and that these walls serve as a reminder to those who visit that the people of Belfast do, indeed, yearn for peace.

Dublin, 2009

Talk about feeling old.

I had the honor today of speaking to over 150 college seniors from around southern California, all of whom have returned from semesters, summers or years abroad all over the world, and all of whom have been impacted so much by that experience they are seeking ways to get back out there.  It was a room full of people who love to travel, a room full of TBEX-ers waiting to happen. It was the LA-area Lessons From Abroad Conference, held at Chapman University in Orange, CA.

I was also honored to be on a panel alongside veteran LA Times photojournalist Don Bartletti, and attorney and Tanzania’s Arcadia Center Academic Director Roland Adjovi – 2 extremely accomplished, kind and fascinating people.  I’m no public speaker, but it was exhilarating to see the interest taken in the range of professional careers and learning opportunities available to young people today, and to have a chance to speak to them about the incredible experience of travel blogging.  Study abroad is a life-changing experience that challenges young people to think about the world in a different way and then come back to their home country looking for ways to apply their newfound insights to their next “peak” in life.  It was a thought-provoking and exhilarating day, and I was pleased and excited to be invited to share in it.

For those that attended interested in getting started travel writing, I promised to post a blog with a list of resources and tips, which they can find below.  And of course please feel free to e-mail me with any questions, or if you’re interested in attending an upcoming LACOT meeting or the 2012 TBEX conference next June in Keystone, CO.

RESOURCES (well, a few)

TBEX – Travel Blog Exchange, the largest organization of travel bloggers in the world (most members are from US and Europe). Annual conferences held domestically and in Europe.

LACOT – LA Consortium of Online Travel, a group of LA-area travel bloggers who meet every 2 months or so to have drinks and talk all things travel.  Founded by Jen Miner of The Vacation Gals and Melanie Waldman of Travels with Two.

TBU – Travel Bloggers Unite

Facebook Groups – Travelbloggers, PRSA Travel

Twitter – weekly online travel chats #TNI (Travelers’ Night In) at 12:30pm every Thursday or #TTOT (Travel Talk on Twitter) Tuesdays at 2:30pm.  These feature a series of questions centered on a topic, in which anyone can participate.  Most of the major players in online travel media participate weekly, and love new people who join!

TIPS (again…just a few)

• Find your niche – solo travel, budget travel, foodie travel, eco-travel, road trips, etc. and make that the theme of the majority of your content. A region or country counts too!
• Get started on WordPress or Blogger and just. start. writing.
• Think of your website as a job in a sense.  Be professional – plan your posts, have a unique voice, market yourself as a brand.  If you are serious about growing your blog to become a viable resource or you’re interested in sponsored trips or freelancing for other sites, this is your calling card! Make it visual, provide social media links, email contact info, and what you’re all about.
• Create a Twitter account and become involved with the travel conversations happening 24/7.  I’ve found this one of the most effective ways to drive traffic to my blog, network globally and build my brand.
• Read other travel blogs – lists of the best ones can be found simply by Googling it or asking on Twitter – many bloggers and publications have created their own lists.  Read their posts, comment on them and invite them to check yours out.
• Get involved with one of the above groups, or a non-profit like Passports with Purpose or The Passport Party Project that are current and popular with the community right now.
• Start taking photos, everywhere, all the time. One day when you’re writing and you need a photo of a suitcase or an interesting doorway, you’ll have them in your library somewhere to pull from.
• Get traveling, and get writing!

Good luck, adventurers :)

Not at the cozy Ritz-Carlton Marina Del Rey.  Unlike many bay-facing hotels, it is neither nautically-themed nor entirely glass-paneled.  And also unlike others, I did not find myself nose to brick with another part of the building whence I drew back the curtains.  Instead I found a 4-star property that meshed warmth, relaxation and hospitality in a way you hope for from a Ritz Carlton but don’t particularly expect from any fancy hotel.

If I could use one word to describe this hotel, it would be reserved.  The sign outside is tucked quietly among splashes of impatiens, the wood-paneled lobby is small and understated and the high-end restaurant and bar open and welcoming, rather than tucked into a corner as if for VIPs only who were willing to hunt for the food despite the price tag.  In typical Ritz fashion, the front office was affable and efficient, upselling without pushing.  A young bellman whom I ran into in the elevator twice in a 10-minute span introduced himself by name and offered his services for whatever we might need until his 10:00pm clock-out.  And the room – oh, the room!  I opened the door to a 2nd floor corner room and immediately saw an ocean sunset through the French doors at the opposite end.

Rm 227

The spacious room was outfitted with a loveseat, chaise, 2 chairs, large desk, massive king bed with 2 nightstands and a valet, then down a hall 2 dressers, a giant closet, and massive bathroom.  Frankly the bed looked and felt so fluffy I was afraid I’d wake up with a sore lower back (definitely not the case, as it would turn out).  Along the bay-facing walls were 2 sets of sliding French doors opening to a narrow but long balcony. 

ahhh...the view

It was clean (I checked), it was comfortable (checked that too), it was Ritz-y.  The robes were plush, not the thin waffly kind you usually find at hotels that soak through the second you put them on after your shower.  I wished only for 2 things: dual sinks, and some sort of surface in the bathroom/shower area, as there was nowhere to set my towel, clothes, etc. other than atop the toilet seat (um, no thanks).

And since I like to test-drive all included amenities I hit the outdoor pool/jacuzzi area for an evening dip…the bubbling hot tub could fit at least 30 people (I measured) and there was no shortage of lounge chairs around the sparkling, palm tree-fenced pool area which spilled out almost onto the bay itself.  The romantic, dimly-lit noir bar inside restaurant jer-né was perfect for a late-night dessert cocktail after a leisurely dinner at nearby Tony P.’s Dockside Grill.  Staffed by a woman who’s effervescent enthusiasm stood in stark contrast to the candlelit darkness and moody, clandestine atmosphere, I snacked on heavenly white truffle potato chips and sipped a glass of port contentedly.

Photo courtesy Ritz-Carlton, Marina Del Rey

There was no shortness of service or luxury.  If you’re an Angeleno looking for a local staycation destination, passing through the California coast on a roadtrip or find yourself on the Left Coast for whatever reason, the Ritz-Carlton Marina Del Rey is a pleasurable spot to rest your bones and inhale the ocean breeze without the oft-tiring attitude, trendiness and beach bum lifestyle found at other southern California properties.

• 304 rooms, including Club Level and suites, all non-smoking
• Pet-friendly
• pool & Jacuzzi (open 24 hours), fitness center with steamrooms, shops
• 2 restaurants, 1 bar
• 24-hour business center
• 24-hour room service ($$$!)

Ever have a tough time relaxing?  Two weeks in Europe spent on museum scavenger hunts and pastry binges not doing it for you?  Is the most R&R you can find sandwiched between your meager Friday happy hour and Saturday nap?

Me too.

I can’t disconnect when I travel – I’m always tweeting, taking pictures or checking People.com.  And the idea of a staycation – a lazy term for a weekend getaway not far from home – was the last way I thought I would ever get my shoulders lower than my chin (in other words, chill out a bit).  Even at a yoga retreat I was determined to Facebook-away 3 days and maybe do a few downward dogs in the process. WRONG. Take away my mobile signal and access to wine and replace it with sweaty yoga sessions and chunks of unscheduled time and what did I find?  Relaxation.

living room, pool

At the Udaya Retreat Sanctuary, an eco-lover’s Barbie dream house set deep in the rolling Malibu canyon, it is possible to reconnect with yourself and thus feel the knots in your back slowly unravel.  The home itself is like a breath of fresh air.  Natural light spills through endless windows onto the acacia wood floors that are surprisingly soft under(-bare-)foot. 5 bedrooms spread around the property are furnished with comfortable beds, velvety ottomans-turned-nightstands and bright tiled bathrooms.  And the kitchen – oh, the kitchen! A touch-screen espresso machine and coffeemaker, gleaming wood cabinetry, a marble-topped island and a long L-shaped bench for buffet setups and pre-yoga chats is somehow both modern and cozy.  It is a melange of textures – knubby beanbag chairs, long soft couches, low metal and wood tables, stonework, glass stairwells and shelves topped with art books, wicker knickknacks and random figurines.  It was a sensory experience before we even got to class.  And surrounded by 8 acres of low brush, massive oaks and a few horses peeping over from neighboring ranches, Udaya indeed proved a true retreat from the trafficky din of LA.

the yurt!

We arrived Friday afternoon with just a couple of hours before our first yoga class. Stepping inside from the hot summer air was refreshing and jarring – here were 20 strange faces I was to share my weekend with.  When we were settled and yoga time came, we hiked up a wood chip path to a large yurt overlooking the entire property – it had been sealed shut all week and so become essentially a giant sauna with a very nice wood floor.  Even opening the flaps and the side doors and beginning with slow breathing exercises couldn’t help. A vigorous vinyasa flow class that coupled the unbearable heat with my lack of focus and an “off-day” for me yoga-wise was no easy task for a Friday night.  Someone brought their DOG to class.  And on top of it all, we were treated at the end to a crystal “sound bath” – something I had never experienced and would be happy not to again.  A Tibetan singing bowl this was not.  The thrumming vibrations from the large quartz bowls traveling deep into my ear were too much, and by the time we headed down the hill I was beginning to wonder if it might actually be possible to become more stressed at a place with the word “sanctuary” in the title.

pool camraderie

But soon things changed.  People took me aside to tell me I had a beautiful yoga practice and graceful movements.  No one asked me about my job, my personal life or where I came from.  Juice shots – raw fruits and vegetables crushed and poured into shot glasses, with combinations like bok choy and grapes or cucumber, apple and parsley – appeared on the kitchen counters like clockwork, refreshing and rejuvenating.  My vegetarian diet thrived on grilled portobello and zucchini tacos, raw sweet corn, avocado and cucumber soup, spinach with citrus dressing and juicy sliced black watermelon sprinkled with mint, all prepared by Udaya’s warm, friendly owner, Yariv.  I slept deeply and without effort.  I felt no need to “fit in,” make small talk or wonder if there were voicemails I should be answering.

grapes & bok choy...mmm

I spent Saturday (after a cooler and much more successful early morning yoga practice) curled up in the living room with coffee, water and a book. I napped in my room, journaled in the family room and lay in the warm breeze on a padded lounge chair by the shimmering salt water pool.  There was nowhere to be, nothing to think about.  I grazed on pasta shells, red quinoa, braised bok choy and a thousand more juice shots.  And soon a creeping soreness in my stretched, worked muscles slowly began to win the battle against the accumulated knots in my upper back.  At night under the stars, the heat of a bubbling jacuzzi eased the satisfactory aching from so much yoga.

the daily feasts

Saturday evening’s yoga class was coupled with a lecture on the “vayus,” or winds: the yoga energies that make up the life force.  These forces pull you upward, downward, inward and out from the center.  My focus during class shifted to the feeling in my body as I stretched skyward and pulled earthward.  It felt beautiful, natural, strengthening.

3 enormous gold gongs had been placed in the room, and after class was over we listened to almost an hour of ringing melody as the giant cymbals were played like drums with soft-tipped mallets.  We were transported to places beyond the yurt, beyond Udaya.  Far from spiritual, for me it was just getting lost in the space, as I had gotten lost in my day of leisure.

Sunday morning’s class was toughest.  My body was tired. But I didn’t mind…I didn’t try too hard, I let my body do what it could.  I wasn’t very hungry so I hydrated instead, and munched on fruit.  Nourishing the body as we had for almost 3 days also taught me to honor it.  I was tired.  We laid in the shade for hours, watching the dog splashing after a tennis ball and dipping our feet into the cool water of the pool.  Our time to re-enter the real world was fast approaching, and yet I was ready.

I left with no life-changing epiphanies, no new, necessarily lasting friendships and not even a vastly improved yoga practice.  What I learned instead was to let go and relax.  It is possible in a weekend.  And you don’t need yoga class or a professional raw food chef or a massive home.  You can find it anywhere if you learn to take time for yourself.  Learning to breathe – now THAT’S a vacation.

Namaste.

Udaya Retreat Sanctuary

The Udaya Retreat Sanctuary is located in the Santa Monica Mountains and is available for rent for retreats year-round. This post was not endorsed or sponsored by the owners, retreat leaders or any of the participants, BUT I highly recommend if you’re into this sort of thing :)  Thanks to Yariv for all the delicious food, and Hanna Gilan of Yoga House Pasadena & Black Dog Yoga Sherman Oaks for leading an amazing weekend.

In my wanderings I’ve made many a friend…there was tall, skinny Mohammed the ceramics salesman in Fes, the overly-friendly waiter Francesco at my favorite restaurant in Venice, and Greg the jolly hotel doorman who whistled for my cabs on chilly Manhattan mornings.  Now, I add Pedro, stocky, muscular and brown, and Bandit, wild-eyed pinto/mischief-maker to that list.  I guess it’s my destiny to befriend a stallion wherever I go *wink wink*

No but seriously, out here in California in those rare, beautiful instances where the West stretches before you in unconquerable wilderness or sweltering plain, there is argueably no better way to experience the varied southern California terrain than from the back of a trusty steed.

On recent jaunts to Palm Springs and Big Bear Lake, both less than 2 hours’ driving time from Los Angeles and both demonstrating the completely contrasting and varied landscapes that are one of California’s unique hallmarks, I had the opportunity to hit the dusty trail to confront desert and forest (respectively) Butch Cassidy-style.

from PalmSpringsDailyPhoto.com

At Palm Springs’ Smoke Tree Stables I was fortunate enough to wrangle a  private guided tour of the Agua Caliente Indian Reservation, which is a glowing example of exquisite desert beauty thanks to the proud upkeep of the native Cahuilla Indians.  Flat dusty reservoir gives way to deep canyons, craggy hills, chunky boulders, gaping expanses choked with wildflowers and dry brush, and the odd oasis defies the dry desert in it’s disingenuous smatherings of bright green bushes and lush palm trees.  Oft-spotted in these areas are everything from rattlesnakes to bighorn sheep.  It promised to be a beautiful ride, although the scorching Palm Springs heat is something to be avoided, and even in the humid April air it was getting a bit close to summer to face 2 shade-starved hours.

The staff at Smoke Tree will teach you everything you need to know about riding a horse, which was great for me because my ridership level is a big fat zero.  I’m going where the horse wants to go.  But their succinct 10-minute lecture will get you comfortable with everything from stirrup to rein.  Following through would prove to be a challenge, thanks to having a horse with the munchies, but their animals are well-trained and swift afoot: a vital characteristic for navigating winding desert trails.  My 2-hour ride followed a narrow trail that curled its way up rocky hills, over a shallow stream and along a mountain ridge that encloses the sultry canyons.  What’s incredible about being deep in the desert is the realization that it is not a barren wasteland of cracked, arid ground, infertile soils and mirages that look like hot dog stands.  It is a living, breathing, blooming wilderness of plant and animal life you might miss for the grueling hike it would take to experience it…but from high atop Pedro’s back, I could relax, look out and soak in the California I might never know outside of a city’s suffocating confines.

To get in and out of the reservation, you have to ride through the reservoir behind a modern suburban housing development to a gate, at which point all riders must be signed in to the native land by a guide, but from then on it’s California desert as one might always hope to picture it, where sweltering sun is mitigated by the beauty of the indigenous flora and fauna and the natural feeling of experiencing it the way it must first have been traversed hundreds of years ago – with the wind in your face and the dust in your eyes.

Quite a contrast from crisp mountain air.  Big Bear Lake, CA is a totally different kind of wilderness.  My October horseback ride took me high into the San Bernardino National Forest, where the air is thinner, the breeze cooler and the foliage thicker, but where the panorama and community with environment are just as profound.  The ranchers at Baldwin Lake Stables are rugged in a different way than their desert counterparts, weathered in a way that denotes adaptation to seasons and resilience in the face of landscape change rather than a resilience to the desert extremes.  But the horses remain just as robust and sure-footed, trained this time to the soft forest ground and it’s tricky, tree trunk-scattered trails. 

My horse Bandit, however, lacked Pedro’s calm self-assurance, and spent an hour impishly chewing on his bit, throwing his head back and nibbling dead sticks he’d pick up along the trail. 

No amount of rein-pulling or gentle kicking would dissuade him.  I think he warmed to me in the end…when we put him back in the paddock at the end of the ride, he stood there and nudged me with his nose until we took a picture of him.  The 2-hour ride was gentle, and though the landscape remained largely unchanged, being on the back of a horse allows for few goals other than to enjoy the scenery.  Bandit stepped carefully among landscape that was brambly and wild, letting pine branches rear back and hit my legs as he picked his way almost skiddishly along the narrow trail.  The deep smell of pine, the scrub jays darting overhead and the chipmunks underfoot, the rich red dust kicked up by clopping hooves – all were sensory and wonderful things I tend to miss while hiking, since I’m spending the time watching where I’m walking instead of looking up.  Here I let Bandit do all the work while I gazed around at the treetops and the sprawling valley below us.

Sadly the furtive beauty of the deep forest remains hidden from horseback riders without great equestrian skill, so one is left to meander the outskirts.  Still the experience was much richer and more carefree than from the car window or my own two feet, and as we strode back down a suburban road to the stables, dismounted and patted our horses goodbye, I gazed back from whence we’d come – barely a hilltop that rose above the flat valley, surrounded on all sides by lush greenery rising up toward the sky to sweeping views I can only guess at. 

Generally-speaking, given the choice of destination I almost always pick the mountains, but in this case I think I’ll admit the desert riding experience was 1000x better. Deserts are strange, mysterious and beautiful places that leave you with haunting memories.  To gaze around you carelessly with the gentle motion of  a quietly ambling creature beneath you is a relaxing way to experience the wildness of terrain you could never walk or drive to that I think a lot of us miss out on.   And if you felt like breaking into a run – the sprawling land is yours to do it.

photo courtesy of @corktobelfast

If you’re like me, when you return from a trip – be it 3 days or 3 weeks – those post-vacation blues hit hard while still on the route home.   Sometimes they’re beastly enough to make me think “Geez, if I had just stayed home I wouldn’t have to deal with this.”  As if it makes my real life look awful.

Not to say that deters me from ever TAKING a vacation.

The truth is that it’s hard to come down from that high.   It’s obnoxious to face reality again (bills, work, eating healthy and other such odious “responsibilities”) after an extended period of “I can do whatever I want!”  But as someone who suffers from severe post-holiday depression (every morning I stare in the mirror dejectedly brushing my teeth thinking “A day/week/month ago I was ____”), I have had to devise ways to get myself mentally back on track so that I don’t spoil the glorious experience of taking a vacation with weeks of painful recovery afterward.  And in so doing, I have realized that taking trips not only make you appreciate real life more (a wake-up call we all need) but also make you look forward even more to the next one.  If vacations weren’t special, they wouldn’t be worth taking, would they?

Here are 6 of the best ways I have found to relive those post-vacation blues and get back on track to enjoying each non-holiday day as it comes :)

1). Remind yourself what sucks about being on vacation

photo courtesy of @corktobelfast

Harsh, but true.  Far be it from me to fixate on the negatives of travel, but they do exist and sometimes remembering them makes you so relieved to be home you could weep.  Creeping annoyances you conveniently forget about between trips always rear their ugly heads like a bad allergy when you’re back on the road.  There’s the obvious ones: living out of a suitcase, sleeping in strange beds, showering in strange showers, time zone-induced sleep disruption, etc.  Then there’s the less obvious, but soon apparent: an alarmingly depleted cash stash from dining out 24/7, the oft-grueling task of deciding what to do all day every day (you’ve spent money on this trip, you can’t sit in the hotel the whole time!),  blisters from wearing the same 2 pairs of shoes constantly…

Need more?

• frustration with language barriers
• all your toiletries in those friggin’ tiny containers that run out way faster than you expected
• staring at the same 4 outfits and trying to rearrange them so your photos don’t look like you took them all on the same day
• expensive internet/mobile service
• worrying about what you’re missing at work
• slowly failing each of your carefully self-imposed diet/fitness rules
• grudgingly having to tip everyone in sight
• not being able to wear your old baseball cap, college sweatshirt or comfy boat shoes because you don’t want to look glaringly like a tourist
• the impending doom of having to face reality again

2).  Plan a vacation-style reunion

One of my favorite things The Jet-Setters and I do after we get back from a trip is plan a post-adventure meet-up where we crack open a few bottles of wine and make dinner or watch a movie or go somewhere that reminds us of where we’ve just returned from.  Examples?  Depressed after 2 weeks in Italy, we had a huge pasta night, complete with Chianti, and laughingly reminisced about the trip.  Disoriented after 10 days in Moroccan medinas, we went to an outdoor screening of Casablanca at Malibu winery.  Get the idea?  There’s just something comforting about spending time with the people who’ve shared your recent, fond experience and knowing they are missing it too.

3).  Start planning your next trip

Sounds counterintuitive, right?  There are few times I feel as broke as I do when I’ve returned from a journey.  But getting ideas, information and books about your next destination – even if its 2 years away – forces you to look forward instead of back.  Whenever I travel with friends we spend the last evening of the trip selecting our next destination so that by the time I’m winging my way home, I’ve already started picturing myself on a New Zealand vineyard or walking along the Thames.

4).  Savor the little things

The internal struggle between relief at being back home and sadness about missing your R&R time will eternally exist.  Sure it’s great to be home but you start to forget why REAL fast.  So I focus on the little things – like the familiar softness of the sheets on my own bed, being able to stumble into the bathroom early in the morning and have everything right where its supposed to be instead of rummaging through a travel kit and fumbling with miniature versions of everything, having a whole closet of clothes to choose from, not paying for my coffee in the morning because it comes out of that nifty machine in my kitchen, being able to make a phone call without wondering if you’ll have to take out a loan…I swear if you go through one whole day remembering how nice it is to be back in your own life again, you’ll feel that twinge of sadness just a little bit less.

home sweet home! my front yard

5).  Post-vacation projects!

Remember those 500+ photos you took?  The video captures on your iPhone?  How you haven’t written to Grandma in forever?  Maybe not everyone wants to hear your incessant babbling about your trip for hours on end, but you can have a good time reliving it by staying busy, taking snippets of your journey and incorporating them into your real life again. 

Print or download all those photos and make slideshows, albums, framed collages or postcards out of ‘em.  Write articles about your trip (this keeps me going for months….) or journal about travel in general – what you learned, what you ate, people you met (it amazes me what I forget just days after it happened that make remembering the trip so much richer when I read about it again).  Staying occupied is truly one of the best solutions I can find.

And if all else fails….6). Watch Lost

credit: ABC.com/People.com

Reminder: you CAN have too much beach/sand/water/boredom/lack of privacy.

Anyway, before you know it, you’ll be winging your way to your next destination, savoring all the more the fact that for the next ___ days, time – and the globe – are all yours.