Contemplating what comes next

Text & Photo:
Julie Schwietert Collazo
**

Sitting by the river in Paramaribo, Suriname

Sitting by the river in Paramaribo, Suriname

He was quiet, alone, and–seemingly, at least–contemplative, sitting by the river in Paramaribo, Suriname. I stood at a distance so as not to intrude on his thoughts, and depressed the button to take a picture. Though I didn’t know what he was thinking, of course, I identified with the need to just sit down and be quiet and still and stare out at the river’s swift current for a little bit.

Last Tuesday was my final day at Matador, where I’d worked for about five and a half years. It’s a transition that’s been on my mind for a while, and one that, finally, I decided to make, even though I wasn’t entirely sure what was next for me, apart from continued freelance work. I debated with myself for a couple months- Should I? Shouldn’t I? I have a child; jumping out of a job without a Plan B seemed far more irresponsible and impulsive than it was eight or nine years ago when I did it the first time.

Eventually, though, I ran out of excuses. I sent in my resignation, took a deep breath, and stepped out into nothing. And the net appeared- immediately.

There are lots of projects and possibilities I’ve been offered, some of which take me in completely unexpected and exciting directions that will provide new, interesting challenges. And they’re coming together faster than I could have hoped, proof–once again–that when we trust ourselves to know that it’s time to take a risk and welcome the unknown, everything we need appears. As I consider my options and wait for some details to get sorted, I’ve been enjoying spending some much-needed and long-overdue quality time with my family.

I hope you’ll keep following along and stay in touch to keep me up to date about your own projects.
**

See more Suriname photos here.

Categories: Latin America | Tags: , , | 11 Comments

Mariachi music in Mexico

Text & Video:
Julie Schwietert Collazo
**
Last week, I was in Puerto Vallarta and Riviera Nayarit, Mexico, for the country’s annual travel and trade show, Tianguis Turistico. The opening night event featured acrobats, aerialists, and Cirque du Soleil style performers… and, of course, mariachis.

I’m currently organizing video for Francisco to edit into a coherent whole; in the meantime, I hope you enjoy witnessing the passion of the harpist as much as I did. I think there’s nothing quite so beautiful in the world to watch than a musician in love with his instrument and his song.

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Til gear do us part

Text: Julie Schwietert Collazo
Photos: Courtesy of Hummingbird and Klean Kanteen
**

The back pillow.

The back pillow.

I chalk it up to him having come to the US from Cuba on a boat that was overcrowded with passengers, none of whom had bags.

Now he’s overcompensating for the past. Francisco loves gear.

Whether we’re headed out of town for a two week trip or a 24-hour one, the trunk will always be loaded with bags and doodads, gear and gadgets that we “absolutely need” for our journey.
*
It was the back pillow that I thought would drive us to divorce.

I exaggerate… a bit.

Francisco and I disagree on very little, but the one thing that we can never quite see eye to eye on is what, exactly, is needed for a trip.

I’m of the mind that it’s not necessary to travel heavy. These days, you can find almost anything you need when you’re on the road. And traveling, at its best (in my mind, at least), shows you just how little you actually need.

Francisco, on the other hand, thinks one should be prepared for every possible contingency: hunger, boredom, and a worldwide shortage of batteries, to name a few. And if there’s a pillow that will make your back feel better on a journey (and of course, there is), why not use it?

Between the extremes we each cling to, there’s got to be a happy medium.

We just haven’t found it.
**
So yes, the back pillow.

The trunk is loaded. The back seat is stacked with more bags: a bag of CDs, a cooler with meals (meals, not snacks), another sack of snacks, and camera gear.

It doesn’t help that we’ve been sent a pile of gear to review: bags–suitcases, backpacks, and dry bags for camera bodies and lenses; several pairs of shoes each; a jacket each; some clothing; and a pair of expensive sunglasses. “Are you sure you want to give those to me?” I asked the gear rep when she said she was mailing me a pair. I’m the kind of person who doesn’t buy expensive sunglasses because I sit on them or lose them. $10 is my limit.

She sent them anyway.

Now, they’re nestled carefully inside the little compartment above the rearview mirror, the one that is in cars these days, intended for this express purpose: to hold expensive sunglasses with polarized lenses.* By the end of the trip, I will make the begrudging admission (spoiler alert: one of many such admissions) that you get what you pay for; in other words, if you buy $189 sunglasses, you get a $189 experience, rather than the headache that the $10 pair of sunglasses inevitably causes.^

He shuts the trunk, puts Mariel in the car seat, hands me a canteen of coffee, and stands outside the car, taking mental inventory. “Be right back,” he says, disappearing to look for one more thing we just have to have to make the journey bearable.

He returns with the inflatable back pillow.

The back pillow arrived in the mail, along with the dry bags. From the get-go it seemed–to me, at least–one of those supremely superfluous items, the kind of thing that would be sold in an in-flight catalog like SkyMall. I scoffed at it, even though I have back problems. Francisco turned it over and over in his hands like a treasure. He promptly blew it up and then plopped into our office chair, sandwiching the pillow behind his back. The long, drawn-out “Ahhh” and his contented smile (a little too immediate, I thought; don’t these things take time to really test out?) assured me that it would not be easy to hit the road without yet another addition to the ever-growing gear pile.
**
We finally leave New York at 3:20 PM, the worst possible time to make a getaway through the Lincoln or Holland Tunnels. I contemplate mentioning this, but think better of it. Why start a 12-hour road trip with a snide comment to your husband intended to make him feel guilty about how long it took to pack the car… especially when he spent half the day cooking the meal that splits space between the cooler and a hot-cold bag?
**
The 12-hour road trip turns into two days, both coming and going.

The idea was to save money by driving rather than flying, and each night, as we pull into a hotel parking lot, my mental adding machine stutters, ticking up costs.

And each night, Francisco unpacks the car as carefully as he has packed it, convinced that leaving anything in the car will invite thieves.

Even the back pillow.
**
On the way home, we stop at the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial in Washington, D.C. It is a cold, wet day; I should take off my TOMS, Francisco advises, and put on my new boots. And I have choices! There are two pairs of boots in the back seat just for me! I grumble and pull on SmartWool socks and the taller boots, a pair of Ahnu Maderas. My feet stay warm and dry and when we get back into the car, Francisco looks at me and says, “Aren’t you glad I brought your boots?”

“Yes,” I mutter, barely audible. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him smiling.
**
I can not change him and don’t want to… really. Though I haven’t changed my own packing style, I let him keep his style. It makes him happy and, more often than not, we do end up using most of the gear he packs for the journey.

Even the back pillow.
**
The Schwietert-Collazo List of Essential Road Trip Gear%
-Eddie Bauer First Ascent Microtherm Down Shirt:
Though marketed as a shirt, I’ve used this as a jacket all winter, and I adore it; it rolls up super tight, taking up little space in a backpack or suitcase. It’s great for wicking wind and water it zips all the way up the neck, providing total coverage. -Julie

-Ahnu Madera boots:
As noted above, these keep feet warm but breathing, and are easy to get on and off quickly (the laces are really just for show). -Julie

-Men’s and Women’s Teva Forge Pro Winter Mid WP Boots:
These say “winter,” but we both think these are year-round boots that are sturdy for hiking and general rural outdoor use. They’re waterproof– a feature we’ve tested in the Catskills. They also clean off pretty easily. -Francisco

Klean Kanteen Insulated

Klean Kanteen Insulated

-16 oz. insulated Klean Kanteen:
We were already fans of Klean Kanteen before we received one for free, but being sent a new one meant each of us could have our own. These are super sturdy canteens that fit easily into the pockets of our Osprey Flap Jack and Flap Jill Packs, as well as into our LowePro Flipside camera backpack. I’m not the biggest fan of the sipping lid (which they call the cafe cap), as a bit of hot coffee always seems to spit out when I open the drinking spout, so I prefer the screw top version. We’ve put these to the hard test and they pass with flying colors: coffee has stayed hot for more than 12 hours. -Julie

-Hummingbird Dry Bags:
As we’ve upgraded our camera gear, we’ve come to realize how critical dry bags are, especially in the parts of the world where Julie travels- humid, tropical, wet climates. The WideMouth Carry On is huge–40 L–but great for lots of gear that needs to be protected; it also rolls up quickly and carries on the shoulder easily. Julie is not in love with the Travel Pak, which, she says, doesn’t have the same intuitive design. -Francisco

-Hummingbird Lumbar Pillow:
Even Julie has to admit that this little pillow is wonderful. -Francisco


*I don’t even know what “polarized” lenses mean, but the glasses give everything a glossy shimmer, like looking at the world through a thin, rainbow colored film.

^An observation that is an exception to my recent post about luxury not being all it’s cracked up to be. When it comes to gear, the theory does not always hold.

%Note: Most, but not all, of this gear was given to us for free, for review. We like all of it… a lot and have used these items on multiple road trips of varying lengths since November 2011. There’s only one item (and it’s not listed above because it’s definitely NOT essential, and it’s a bamboo water bottle, which is heavy, hard to use, and does not keep hot drinks hot. We don’t get any commission at all from the sale of items that are linked to in this post.

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24 hours in Zurich

Text & Photos:
Julie Schwietert Collazo
**
24 hours is about all many of us could afford in Zurich, which consistently ranks among the top 3 of the world’s most expensive cities. Make the most of it.

View of Zurich

View of Zurich

3:00 PM:
Arrive–finally– at Zurich International Airport after missing a flight from Amsterdam because your train from Centraal Station to Schipol got delayed by a track fire. Try not to feel annoyed you had to pay for a new ticket. Try not to feel annoyed you missed a culinary walking tour.

Notice that your route to baggage claim leads you directly through a duty-free shop– no bypass possible; you are temporarily enshrouded in clouds of perfume and cologne, walking a gantlet of chocolate and watches. Buy nothing; keep walking.

3:20 PM:
Pick up your bags and consider tweeting that European cities are more civilized than American cities simply because they don’t charge for luggage carts in the airport. At home, you always struggle with your bags because you’re too cheap to pay $5 for a cart just to make the trip from baggage claim to the taxi. You’d rather pull a muscle.

3:25 PM:
Head to the airport’s Service Center to pick up a ZurichCard, an all-in-one transportation card, museum visitor’s pass, and restaurant/shopping discount card. Since you’re only here for one day, get the 24-hour card for 20 CHF (there is also a 72-hour card for 40 CHF should you decide to stick around a couple days).

4:00 PM:
Take the train from the airport to Zurich HB, the city’s main station; haul luggage a few blocks and check in at Hotel Glockenhof. You wouldn’t stay here if you weren’t on the tourist board’s dime because, as a writer, you couldn’t afford it at 330 CHF/night (though you note it’s 100 francs cheaper on weekends). You’d Google “budget travel Zurich” or ask around to see if you have a friend of a friend who’d be happy to host you. It’s only one night.

But since you’re not footing the bill, you check in on foursquare and instantly become the Mayor of the Glockenhof before going to your room and wasting no time testing your personal Nescafe machine, spreading out brochures and maps on the bed, and making your game plan, which starts like this: “Take an aimless walk.”

5:00 PM:
Cross the river and pass church spires, climbing the cobblestone streets until you wander into the Occupy movement’s camp. Take photos of the tipi, the pig made out of sheets and wood, painted with “Too Pig To Fail” on its side, and the “UBS, I did it again” sign inked on cardboard, a dual reference, strangely, to Britney Spears and to Swiss bank, UBS, recipient of a bail-out. Think about adding the photos to your set of Occupy pictures from three countries. Post one on Facebook for your mom, who marched with a small Occupy group in the southern US, only for her to post back: “When are you going to stop taking photos and write something about it?”

6:00 PM:
Use your ZurichPass for free entry to the Design Museum (Museum Fur Gestaltung). [Note: Museum is open until 8 pm on Wedesday; it closes at 5 PM Tuesday and Thursday-Sunday]. Go through an exhibit about global high-rises quickly but with great interest; mind makes screenshot-type mental notes based on key words from curator’s text: “sustainable urbanism”; “symbolic height”; “extracts land from the sky”; “brutalist pragmatism.” Think about impossibility of fully “getting” a place when we don’t live there. Think about possibility of fully getting a place when we do live there.

7:20 PM:
Meet Elizabeth, the guide who was supposed to take you on the culinary walking tour, for dinner at Zurich’s oldest vegetarian restaurant, Hiltl. She tells you you can graze at the Indian buffet on the first floor or eat from the a la carte menu; you choose the latter, asking for a vegetable au gratin. Notice Hiltl’s advertisements: a menagerie of carnivores with rabbit teeth, and think there’s something about this that’s a little bit brilliant.

9:00 PM:
Leave Hiltl, en route to Peclard, which is the kind of place Willy Wonka would run if he was urbane and chic but still eccentric. Decide you’ll sit in the “Salon Rouge,” where an Asian woman is playing piano, an older white man is playing saxophone, and an Argentinean opera tenor is alternating turns at the mic with the very tall Swiss waiter, who swings by your table between numbers to ask which dessert you want. Wonder how they all got here. Wonder what their stories are.

11:30 PM:
Return to hotel. Write. Read. Plan for remaining hours in the city. Turn on TV; realize that every channel is in a language you don’t understand, and wonder whether that’s better or worse when you were just looking for white noise.

8:15 AM:
Realize you missed Seun Kuti and Egypt 80 playing right around the corner last night. You were told that the venue, Kaufleuten, is a restaurant, bar, and “culture club” for Zurich’s creative class. “Madonna likes to visit,” a guide told you, and you realized you were supposed to be impressed.

9:00 AM:
Eat muesli and a luxemburgerli at Sprungli. Feel dreadfully underdressed as you watch Swiss matriarchs glide into the upper floor’s restaurant in furs, with little dogs tucked under their arms. Wonder how the Colombian immigrant seated at the table next to you, interviewing for a waiter job, feels when he sees the women, how he feels when the manager tells him the average salary is 3500 CHF a month, more if he makes good tips.

Coffee at Sprungli

Coffee at Sprungli

10:00 AM:
Head to Zurich West and walk through Viadukt, a market and series of shops built under an old viaduct. Visit Freitag’s shop, inside a series of containers from transfer trucks, and climb to the top container for a view of the city. Walk to Spheres, a cafe/bookstore. Buy a postcard for your two year old daughter and a book of Ai Wei Wei’s blog entries… in English. Snap two iPhone photos of friends’ books and send them across the twitterverse. See jazz club, Moods, and the whole arts complex and feel regret you won’t be here longer.

1:00 PM:
Buy a bag of hot, roasted chestnuts, the first you’ve ever eaten. Decide these are your new favorite snack. Later, you’ll try them at home in New York and they won’t taste remotely the same and you’ll feel annoyed and nostalgic and, at the same time, strangely pleased that you can’t replicate the experience.

1:12 PM:
Buy your husband a watch–the official timepiece of the Swiss Railway–and think he will be sufficiently impressed. When he puts it on for the first time, it will catch on his coat, breaking a part called the “stem and crown.” You will send it off for repairs, which will cost half the price of the watch itself. When it comes back, the stem and crown will be different and you’ll mention this to the shopkeeper, who will tell you “It doesn’t matter; it’s the same manufacturer.”

2:00 PM:
Spend your last hour in Zurich at the Kunsthaus Museum and feel dizzied by the number of works you want to see before you have to leave. Skip “Monet, Miro, Matisse” and go for artists who are more obscure to you. Feel wonder and thanks for pieces you’ve never seen, for seeing new themes in works from eras you thought were fairly staid. Take photos using instagram.

Plan to come back.

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The myth of five-star luxury

Text & Photos:
Julie Schwietert Collazo
**
“So, what is the average room rate for high season and low season?” I ask the general manager. “Well, your room–doesn’t it have an incredible view?–is $900 a night, and the suite we’re going to see now runs around $1,800.”

$1,800. That’s more than the monthly rent for my apartment in New York City.

Though it’s true, the view from my apartment isn’t quite as good as this:

A $900-a-night view.

A $900-a-night view.


*
So yes, the view is nice; there’s no disputing it, and during my two-night stay I manage to find about 10 minutes to swing back and forth in the hammock (not the most comfortable one I’ve ever swung in, by the way), doing nothing other than listening to waves hit rocks. My stay has been comped, so I probably shouldn’t complain. Had I paid $900 for the experience, however, I would have raised hell.
*
There is no hot water.

I let the tap run for five minutes, seven, and then I give up. “Maybe it’s solar,” I think to myself, looking for any excuse that will let me forgive this five-star hotel that has the cajones to charge up to $1,800 per night. I jump under the cold, needling stream of water and shower as quickly as I can. When I get out, I realize there are no slippers.
*
There are other things. When I wake up in the middle of the night, I can’t read the clock; its display is not lit. Also, its radio doesn’t work. When I take to twitter and christen an admittedly acerbic hashtag– “#luxeisntalwaysbetter”– the hotel chain’s resident tweeter responds with an overly polite “What can we do to improve your stay?” When I refrain from saying “Get me a personal butler who’ll heat some water and pour it over me” and say instead, “Just explain why there’s no hot water,” there’s no response. I lick my pencil and make another black mark.
*
I can stay in almost any type of lodging.

In the past six months alone, I’ve slept on two buses, in mid-level chain hotels, bed and breakfasts, boutique hotels, hotels in nearly every star category, and a tent. I can be comfortable in any of them and I don’t compare them against one another; each is evaluated only against its own description: what it holds out as a promise to its guests.

The-five star places always fail.

What are guests paying for when they pay $900-$1,800 a night for a room?

The idea that somehow, they are more valuable. The idea, quite simply, that they can.
*

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