Trips

Tomorrow we will return to the city in which I’m supposed to do the sifting, but we here’s one more day of our Berkshires vacation, sitting-style:

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Recap: Summer Vacay

In the vein of Twitter’s #traveltuesday, today we escape D.C. and head to Western Massachusetts, where Patten and I (and both sets of parents) spent a lovely week exploring. Highlights were The Mount (pictured above), Mass MoCA, and the Newfane Cafe in Southern Vermont.

You can view my Ruba list here (or click on image below), and our pics here. Enjoy!

In honor of Canada Day (and P’s birthday—love ya, Mister), I’m re-posting a blog entry I wrote last September. Oh, Vancouver makes me happy, especially that salmon at Rain City Grill. Enjoy the re-run!

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Our Sunny Three Days in Rain City

Crossing the Canadian border is far less exciting than expected. “What are you doing here?” is the only question the border officer asks. The words “we’re here for vacation” hardly pass Dad’s lips and the guy shoes us along. (It’s no surprise that it’s a more laborious process on the return.)

Vancouver isn’t anything like I expected. It’s huge, for one thing. And really green here—much less industrial-looking than Seattle. There are lots of international people and 20-somethings. Our hotel, Sunset Inn and Suites, is in the west part of downtown and a good value: the large studio apartment, with a small kitchen, is only $160 CAD per night. We’re a six-block walk away from a great meal at Rain City Grill, what we’ve read is one of the best restaurants in the city. And it doesn’t disappoint. We all order off the $30 prix-fixe menu, available before 6 p.m.: the favorites are the grilled Caesar salad and the seared Wild Alaskan salmon. (pictured above) Two hours and bottles of wine later, we leave the place $250 poorer, but pleased. Money can buy happiness.

We are professional tourists. Seriously. What we packed in during our 2.5-day stay was amazing. The JPG of our itinerary, followed rather closely, shows you just how much we accomplished. (And how organized—some may say anal—my father is when traveling.) But I’ll sum up the highlights:

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Biking around Stanley Park: Ten percent larger than New York’s Central Park, the 1000-acre Stanley Park is one of the most impressive urban parks I’ve seen. We rented bikes at Spokes (a “slick operation” Dad would later observe—the four of us were fitted to bikes and helmets in a matter of minutes), then made our way around the 5.5-mile biking path that encompasses the park. The two-level path gives walkers and bikers their own lanes, with the pedestrians designated to the path that’s a foot lower and on the edge of the seawall. This is a good thing, we immediately note, as we won’t have to worry (too much) about Mom pedaling into the ocean. Harbor and mountain views, a cool bay breeze, West Coast foliage—This is the life.

Vancouver’s Public Tranportation: A tight parking spot in the hotel lot and miserable traffic coming into the city encouraged Dad to ditch the car and buy us all-day transportation tickets, which TransLink calls DayPasses. In a chock-full day of sightseeing, we spent the better part of two hours on some form of public transport—and under ten minutes waiting, combined, for said transportation. At $9 per ticket, the pass gives you access to the Sky Train, all the city’s buses, and the Sea Bus—the massive enclosed speedboat that carries commuters across the bay to North Vancouver. We tried all forms and were pleased with all.

Granville Island Public Market: We are among a handful of shoppers that arrive before the place opens at 9 a.m., which is my favorite time to visit a city market. I love watching workers prepare for a day of commercial chaos—that calm-before-the storm appeal. That said, a few stalls are open: We buy two donuts from Lee’s (Patten spends the rest of the trip talking about these—pictured right), apple walnut oatmeal from Stock Market (best name ever for a soup seller!), and Italian, Gyspy, and Parmesan-crusted salami—which we snack on later at the Spanish Banks.

Nitobi Memorial Garden: Don’t hesitate with the $6 admission fee at the University of British Columbia’s Nitobi Memorial Garden (pictured above)—the experience is well worth it, especially if you visit in the morning to catch the sun’s splashes of light creating every thinkable shade of green. This manicured garden is the embodiment of tranquility. Yet, it’s not quite as neurotically “groomed” as most of the other Japanese gardens I’ve seen—apropos for a city that blends a modicum of formality with that West Coast, laid-back attitude.

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Still hyped up on patriotism, the four of us rented a car this past weekend and headed to the heart of Virginia. I’ve been to Charlottesville four times now, so I had a close-to-perfect itinerary set up for my parent’s first visit. With a little Frommer’s research and insider info from Lauren (who grew up in the city), we completed the Virginia triangle (pictured right!) and set up a decent day in Richmond too. Details are posted below, should you want to recreate to the “T” our $600-for-four-people, 38-hour trip:

Saturday, January 24

7:30 a.m. Picked up car at Avis on 17th and M. If you live in Dupont Circle, this is a much speedier option than using the rental offices at Union Station or Reagan airport. The 17 & M location closes at 5 p.m. on Sunday, so we decided to keep the car through Monday morning—and it was actually $30 cheaper than returning the car to one of the other rental locations that are open late on Sunday night. From my front door, it only took 20 minutes total to walk to Avis, fill out the paperwork, and drive back to our apartment. The return was just as speedy.
Price: $82 (car) + $35 (gas) = $117.

8:00 a.m.: Drove to Charlottesville. This included a stop at Lowe’s for a space heater—yes, my parents think my apartment is too cold too. They were out of electric heaters, but we all welcomed their clean bathrooms.

10:30 a.m.: Tour of Monticello, Thomas Jefferson’s home in Charlottesville. What does the house look like? Pull a nickel out of your pocket: Monticello is etched on the backside. (On the front, you’ll see a profile of TJ.) The $15 admission ticket gets you a rushed tour of the home, and access to the grounds: We spent a few hours perusing through the vegetable gardens, admiring the privy (my family is fascinated by toilets), and examining the Jefferson graves. The visitors center/ticket office is new (opened November 2008), so if you haven’t been to Monticello in a few years, be sure to give it a look. I was particularly impressed with the gift shop, so well put together that you felt ashamed not buying anything. Go figure: I bought a giant nickel for $3.50.
Price: $15 x 4 = $60.

1:30 p.m.: Lunched at Hamilton’s restaurant. I’d eaten here a few years back with Patten’s parents, and was really impressed with the experience. So we tried it again, this time with my folks. They loved it. My carnivorous father was jumping for joy over the vegetarian blue plate special—who knew black-eyed peas would make him so happy? I had a delicious order of pappardelle pasta with sausage, butternut squash, and spinach. Patten had the jumbo crabcake and mom, the scallops in pork glaze. With tip and tax, we all ate for $80. (Key here is to go for lunch—you’ll spend twice that for dinner.) Price: $80.

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New York City, Ogden, and Gifts

Apologies for Citysifting’s unannounced vacation. Its author had to make a quick trip to New York to visit college friends, followed by a flight to her home town on Christmas Eve. Between all the present buying, opening, and processing, she found little time to blog. So here comes New Year’s resolution #1, made public here to stick me to this. Blog regularly. Okay, now I’ve committed and we can move on with things. For those of you who want more Argentina, I’ve made two photo galleries on Facebook: Buenos Aires and Mendoza. For those who want me to actually blog about what this blog’s supposed to be about, rest assured that I have no trips on my calendar in the foreseeable future. Citysifting will be, as its skillfully sketched banner suggests, all D.C., all the time. At least until P and I buy tickets to Iceland.

Before closing this out, let me offer a few photos to highlight the past two weeks of my delinquency. The Canon was with me after all…

#1: My first visit to MoMA. I was in heaven as I stood before one of my favorite paintings for the first time. A framed print of Les Demoiselles d’ Avignon hangs in my bedroom in Ogden, but to see these women in their original form—10 times larger than the print I used to look at daily—was quite overwhelming.

#2: Sledding in Mount Ogden Park. We had a few good snowstorms while P and I were at home in Ogden. While snow means shoveling, it also allows for great sledding in the park just behind our house. The family went without me one day, but I joined them on the second. How would you like to have this in your backyard?

#3: (One of) the best gift(s) of Christmas.We were spoiled with gifts this year, so much so that we had to check an additional suitcase filled with our loot. We received lots of worthy treats, but a favorite, that’s already improving our daily life, is Apple’s Airport Extreme. Our wireless is super speedy now. Thanks Dad! But a photo of a small white box is hardly interesting, so instead, I give you a video of the “collective” favorite gift of Christmas: the Wii Fit, and more specifically, Sean White’s Snowboarding game. A video to close out the year:

[wpvideo xixG27pD]

Entry #9
Time for Ice Cream?

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There’s nothing better than having an excuse to eat ice cream daily—which was a regimen we followed throughout our two-week trip. BA is known for its helados (ice cream), and you’ll find a heladeria on every other block. Every local we asked had a favorite brand. In fact, while paying for our double scoop at Dylan (my favorite heladeria in San Telmo), we told the worker that we liked his ice cream best. “No, no,” he said, “Persicco is the best.”

We tried all the big names—Freddo, Volta, and Persicco—and the smaller independent stores. And the honest truth is that it all tastes amazing. The ice cream has this creamy, yet sticky consistency—like it’s infused with marshmallow puff. Each store offers about 50 flavors, each in their own fancy silver canisters—a very high class way to store ice cream, we decide, compared to the ice-crusted glass freezers and 3-gallon paper buckets common in U.S. ice cream shops. The most popular flavor is dulce de leche—and each shop has its own version. Whether filled with almonds or chocolate or just plain, this rich caramel flavor is so sweet and creamy, you swear you’ll never consume it again. But… yes, I consistently ordered it.

Entry #8
Sleeping Arrangements

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While nearly everything in Buenos Aires is a bargain to Americans due to the exchange rate, hotels are not. Tourism has seen a huge jump since the country’s economic crisis of 2002—for the very reason that everything’s so affordable—and hotels have responded. One night at the city’s poshest digs, The Alvear Palace, will set you back about $800 US dollars, and that’s for the smallest room. Even the Hilton and Marriott are pricey, starting at around $230 and $250, respectively. For a two-week trip, Patten and I couldn’t begin to think about paying that nightly. So, we rented an apartment in San Telmo through ByT Argentina (their website looks a little shoddy, but they were very professional), with the help of my on-ground expert who assured us that the location was in a safe and charming location. Price: $345 for the week. The apartment agent was waiting for us when we arrived from the airport, and as their policy requests, you have to pay twice the cost of the room upfront as collateral. (On your last day, the agent comes back and returns your deposit). The apartment looked just like the photos (shown here), however, what we couldn’t “see” or “hear” in the photos was the pervasive smell of mothballs and the paper thin walls: we could hear just about everything our neighbors were doing. But overall, we were in a great location with a comfortable bed at a ridiculously affordable rate. Oh yes, and a computer with fast internet access.

After our first week in Buenos Aires, we went to Mendoza for four days, then returned to Buenos Aires for two nights. This time we wanted to stay in an opposite location: If San Telmo is the New Orleans of BA, then Palermo is Miami Beach—gritty history and traditional cafes vs. trendy boutiques and fusion cuisine. Each neighborhood had it’s appeal, and while Patten and I preferred San Telmo for its uniqueness, Palermo certainly had its charms, and we loved the place we stayed. Gorriti 4290 is no Ritz, but it was charming, impeccably clean, and inexpensive: $75 for the one room with a private bathroom (which is where we stayed), and $45-55 for the rooms with shared baths. The owner Hernan became our lifeline: booking us shuttle tickets to the Pampas (more on that later) and opening his doors for our bags much earlier and later than check-in and check-out times. Housed in an old four story home, the bathroom fixtures and shower head were ancient—and functioned like they were ancient—but the room was gigantic compared to the other hotel rooms we’d seen in the city. The TV was about the size of Patten’s head, but the bed was very comfortable. And lastly: While I probably shouldn’t review a place by its guests, Gorriti’s guests added to the charming experience: a couple from Atlanta that decided to leave their jobs/home for one year to learn Spanish and “just live” in Argentina (they were staying at Gorrit while looking for an apartment to rent), and a loquacious hearing-aid project manager from Switzerland who was prepping to bicycle through Patagonia. Your night’s stay comes with breakfast, which included the ubiquitous medialunas and other pastries, as well as coffee and fresh squeezed orange juice.

Entry #7
Day of the Dead

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While we had a trip with few regrets, one was not arranging a guided tour of Recoleta Cemetery. This place is absolutely fascinating: 6,400 mausoleums of all sizes and shapes, holding the bodies and/or ashes of some of Buenos Aires’s wealthiest citizens. Though I can’t find an actual price tag, people say that per square foot Recoleta Cemetery contains the priciest real estate in the city. This is not the green acre cemetery we’re familiar with in the U.S., but rather a concrete and marble jungle, which makes the prospect of being here alone at night, all the more creepy. Many of the tombs are in severe disrepair: You can actually look through their broken glass doors to discover layers and layers of coffins in their depths, or at face level, as pictured above, destroyed shrines. To get you in the mood, here is a 45 second audio clip of the “sounds of the cemetery,” to be played while scrolling through our photos. (Meows are courtesy of Patten, as he tries to coax one of the cemetery’s 75 wild cats.)

[audio http://citysifting.files.wordpress.com/2008/12/recoleta1.mp3]

Entry #6
Mothers of the Disappeared

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Between 1976 and 1983, close to 30,000 young men and women “disappeared,” many of whom were tortured and killed by Argentina’s military dictatorship. Each Thursday at 3:30 p.m., the mothers of these desaparecidos march before the Casa Rosada (which houses the country’s executive branch, and serves as a background to the lovely photo of Patten below) to demand justice for their abducted children. The scarves on their heads symbolize the diapers of their lost children. Patten and I made sure to see this march on Thursday—and while these woman will always be mourning the loss of their children, the march itself seemed more like a docile social event than a protest. Yet, if time has somewhat dulled the emotions of decades past, the madres story is touching and their weekly march is certainly something worth seeing.

Entry #5
The Breakfast Routine
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As many of you know, my at-home breakfast is comprised of six egg whites plus one yolk, and 1.5 cups of oatmeal (all shared with Patten, of course). This keeps us sated for four to five hours. Argentines don’t do huevos for breakfast, nor are they fond of low-glycemic hot cereals. What they do love is a delicious espresso drink with steamed milk (cafe con leche), served with three medialunas, or sugary croissants. We were eager to adapt to their routine (when in Rome, yada yada), and kept to it throughout our trip—sometimes adding orange juice, yogurt, or a fruit cup to our order. We even got used to our low blood-sugar levels, which set in like clockwork about two hours after eating. It helped that breakfast began after 10 a.m. (you’ll have trouble finding anything open much earlier than that), and that lunch spots would generally open at 12:30 p.m. Yes, famished, we were generally the first customers to arrive. When I asked a local if this was the way she handled breakfast, she said: “I’m even worse because I don’t have milk in the morning. I just have mate and two cookies.”

Patten and I spent time pondering this society’s breakfast behavior (vacation = ample time to ponder breakfast behavior!) and came up with the following non-scientific hypothesis for their sugary meal: Because they consume so much protein during lunch and dinner, their bodies crave something that can be easily digested. And with such a sugary and small meal in the morning, they are prepared to devour more meat at lunch, so such a process may begin again. To each their own. While I do love pastries every once and a while—needless to say—this was one cultural behavior that didn’t come home with us. First day back, we resumed our routine—scrambled eggs have NEVER tasted so good.