The Down-Side of Travel

Travel and wanderlust are weird things; they can consume you completely, fill you up while also leaving you feeling a bit empty. That being said, I love traveling. It’s one of my favorite things in the world to do. And I've found it really makes you realize just how important it is to embrace the present. Cliché, I know, but let me explain.

When you travel, you meet awesome people. Sure there, are some jerks, but the vast majority of adventurers out there are pretty great. And the people willing to interact and spend time with travelers are [by and large] fantastic as well. There are some reasons for this. As a traveler especially, first of all, you have to willing to engage with people. But that goes without saying. You’re obviously going to have a miserable time if you go halfway around the world and then don’t talk to anyone once you get there.

On the road, you have a very finite amount of time to spend with the people you meet, and you really have to make it count. So, stay up late talking. If you get invited to do something, do it. Try a few words in the local tongue, however unsuccessful they may be. Forget the word “no” is in your vocabulary. (Except in obvious situations where safety and the like are involved.) Doing this, you’ll meet some real characters and have some unforgettable experiences. You’ll return home with stories your friends and family won’t believe. You’ll make friends that you want to keep forever. And that’s where the depressing part of travel comes in.

Even in the world today, with all our technology, and networking, and social media, staying touch and maintaining a relationship forged while traveling is very difficult, oftentimes impossible. Exchanging contact information nowadays has all sorts of social rules and stipulations. And communicating online or over the phone just can't come close to interacting in person. Especially if there's a language barrier. And for every person you do manage to keep in touch with, there are the many others- the ones who got away.

I've parted company with an enormous amount of really great people knowing no more practical information about them than a first name and maybe an occupation. But I know them as people, which makes it all the harder to say goodbye, knowing I'll likely never speak to, let alone see them again. Unfortunately, it seems we are fated to end all our trips with a bunch of what Fight Club so eloquently described as 'single-serving friends'.

And now, a completely non-depressing sunset. Happy thoughts.

Irish Adventures: Part III - The Gardens of Blarney

As promised yesterday, I'm back, with pictures from the grounds around the castle. They were both diverse and beautiful. And the glorious Irish sunshine, which I realize I've been harping on for a while, only enhanced them.

The fern garden It looks prehistoric. Apparently those things that look like palm trees are 'common tree ferns'.

Some sort of totem or spirit post in the fern garden.

Some glass faces in the poison garden. Yes, there was a garden dedicated fully to the growing of poisonous plants.

A daffodil. Looking cheery.

The grounds.

In the fairy garden. The thing that looks a little like a chimney is just that. Below it is a cave that  the local witch supposedly hangs out in at night, burning bundles of sticks to keep warm.

A pretty crazy root system.

Streams, and an arbor.

A bridge. There were ducks in the vicinity.

Badger's Cave. As the story goes, when the castle was under siege, the occupants could escape through this cave.

Three yew trees, known as the Three Wise Men. They're the oldest trees on the grounds. Arborists say they're between 500 and 600 years old.

A waterfall. The Wishing Stairs are behind it.  If you're able to walk up and down the stairs backwards, with your eyes closed, while thinking only of your wish, it will come true in the next year. We'll see if that's true.

That's about it for the pictures I managed to take. But rest assured, St. Patrick's Day in Ireland is an event not to be missed. The Irish are always a friendly lot- actually probably the friendliest group of people I've ever met- but on this day they're especially jocular. What they say is true, 'Everyone's Irish on St. Patrick's Day'. Or at the very least, everyone's friends.

And now, the two other pictures I managed to squeeze out of my temperamental camera batteries.

A country church. Very picturesque.

I hear Bram Stoker lived here at one point, and that it was a major inspiration for Dracula's Castle . Who knew Cork was so full of history?

Irish Adventures: Part II

Having done approximately no research before my arrival in Cork, I had very little idea what to expect. The bus dropped us off on St. Patrick's Quay, a street right on the edge of the sound running into the city. The city itself is very attractive- lots of small winding roads and alleyways. Unfortunately I don't have any pictures to back up these claims, since my camera spent the entire weekend running out of batteries. Rude. 
One thing I did not expect was that Blarney Castle is roughly 20 minutes outside of Cork. Yes, the Blarney Castle of Blarney Stone fame. Apparently kissing the Blarney Stone is on some list somewhere of '99 Things to do Before You Die'. Looks like I'm now 1/99 closer to being able to die experienced, worldly and fulfilled. Unfortunately I don't have any photo evidence of this either, since I was not about to pay 10€ to get a picture of me kissing a rock. Sorry everyone. But here are some pictures of other things at and around the castle to make up for it.

The walk to the castle begins.

A wall. And some trees.

A picturesque tree in a field.

The castle ice cellar. It contains a surprisingly deep pit.

Looking off the battlements. 

A surprisingly detailed molding around an interior window. Probably the fanciest piece of stonework in the whole place. 

It seems visitors to the castle used to carve their names and initials into the castle walls.

A crow in mid-flight. Or maybe a raven. Either way, a really lucky shot.

A view off the top of the castle. I told you it was sunny the whole time.

A (slightly crooked) tower.

Blarney Mansion. Not currently open to the public as the family is apparently living there at the moment.

M

The famous stone. Unfortunately it's now been made so safe that kissing it carries no chance of grievous injury. There's even an old man who assists you in the process. A little weird, and slightly disappointing.

Pictures of the gardens will follow tomorrow. They were cool enough that they deserve their own little write-up.

Irish Adventures: Part I

I have a habit when traveling of not adhering to a plan. This doesn't bother me at all; rather I very much prefer it to having a set game plan. But for some people this can be irritating, deplorable, or simply baffling. Think what you will, freedom to maneuver is a very important thing for me to have.

Sitting in the terminal in the Copenhagen airport, and even more so after boarding my flight, I was particularly glad not to have locked myself into my initial idea of spending the weekend and holiday in Dublin. The plane was probably close to 1/3 full of my students. So I decided on the spot to take a brief sprint around the city in the morning and then hie me down to Cork. From all reports it is a significantly less touristy place, at least on St. Patrick's Day. So here's what I saw of Dublin, or at least what I took pictures of.

I would absolutely eat here. 

That's right, I saw Temple Bar. On my next trip I'll actually make it inside!

I may be wrong, but I think this is Trinity College. Either way, it's very pretty.

After my very rapid jaunt, it was onto a bus and of to Cork. I'd had an invitation from an acquaintance to head down there for the festivities, and to explore the countryside a bit. And I must say, it was a fantastic decision.

I got to ride past this.

And hang out in this adorable town.

Not to mention, ride this majestic creature.

More on the adventure soon. Unfortunately I'm going to have to drag out the first day of my visit for a few posts, since I stupidly neglected to bring enough batteries for my camera and it died relatively early on. Most annoying. But you're going to have to trust me when I say it was sunny the entire time I was there- not a drop of rain. For spring in Ireland, I hear that's almost unheard of.

Après-Ski, Done Right

I've always heard Europe is the capitol of après-ski festivities. Living and skiing in Vermont for four years, I've never experienced a true après-ski. Sure, there are bars near any self-respecting ski area, and of course you can get a criminally overpriced beer in any base lodge, but that's not an après-ski by European standards. 
No, in order to qualify here you need to have a ski-in-ski-out, full-on rager. With live entertainment. And champagne being sprayed right and left into the crowd. And people dancing on tables. In their boots. That's very important; under no circumstances during the duration of the party may your boots come off. Just another reason I was overjoyed that I had opted to bring my touring boots instead of my race boots.

Welcome to Crazytown.

Notice that there are both a singer and a sax player. On a roof. 

This particular fiesta (or fête if you want to be French about it) is only accessible if you're on skis/snowboard. Or are prepared to hike many vertical meters just to go to a party. Just be sure to leave on time, as the lift you need to take to get back to the resort closes at 17:00. And the only other way back is a 40€ cab ride from Val d'Isére. Nej tak.

Friends from the hotel.

Blending right in with the locals.

Pictured: Carnage.

Nothing to see here. Just a horse getting funky.

Off-Piste in les French Alps

Many people are quite skeptical about whether or not I have a 'real' job. And I have to admit, when trips like this are a part of my job description, it's easy to see why. This past weekend, I was sent to France, leading a group of students skiing in the Alps. I honestly never in my wildest dreams thought I would get paid to do my favorite thing in the world. It's things like this that make me realize just how good I've got it.

We arrived in Chambery Saturday evening, flying into a minuscule airport, and bused to our hotel in Tignes, a town nestled in the heart of the Rhône Alpes. As this was a trip run by a Danish company, we were on chartered flights and in a private hotel. Essentially what this means is that we were with the same group of crazy Danes from the time we left Copenhagen Airport to the time we got back. Or in the case of two guys, our paths were joined from the time I got on the Metro.

On Sunday, on of the students and I joined three guys from our hotel on an off-piste adventure with a French mountain guide. Quite the way to ease into the European ski scene. But good Lord was it amazing. We got to see parts of the mountains that would be inaccessible without avalanche equipment. And it's a good thing we went with a pro, since we did manage to set off a minor slide. After having taken my AVI course, it was really cool to see an avalanche actually happen, and to look around and be able to spot danger zones and terrain traps. 

And now without further ado, pictures.

Morning in the mountains. Moon's still in the sky.

Heading up the gondola from the village of Tignes.

On the left, Frank, on the right, our guide, Fred.

Behold, Alps.

Traversing a ridge to lay some fresh tracks.

Yup. Freshies.

Phillipe, popping his skis back on for a descent.

More Alps.

Heading down a back bowl.

Looking back up.

Lindsay trying to translate a warning sign.

Jakob, in the bowl.