New Apartment in Poughkeepsie [Po-kip-see]

Sitting on the floor of a bare studio apartment in Poughkeepsie, NY, I sit with the windows open to let the recently painted walls dry and fumes escape.  It feels nice to sit on a recently purchased, K-Mart bath mat, especially after driving a car packed with only the bare essentials from Fort Lauderdale to Poughkeepsie.   

So many of you may be wondering why am I writing about moving into an apartment?? Well as any traveler knows, when on the road you live out of your backpack or your suitcase.  In the case of moving, you do the same until you get to your new home and then you camp for a few days. 

The unpacking begins today.  The futon assembly also awaits.  For those of you that enjoy putting things together, I envy you.  I certainly do not enjoy such things. Directions and attention to details of nuts and bolts is not my strength.  It should be fun!!!

Moving is similar to traveling. Things don't always turn out perfectly.  So, I thought it would be a great way to reintroduce my quote to live by, "Every occasion in life may be classified as either a good time or a great story."

As many of my travels over the next few years will be arriving in New York, I wanted to show you the "pad."

Spring Roadtrip Part 3

We awoke for Day 3 in New Brunswick, New Jersey at the Howard Johnson.  It was an interesting evening at the HoJo.  As you never know what is wrong or right about a hotel, this was definitely just a place to stay and not a hospitable experience.  We arrived very tired on Day 2 and entered the room, which appeared clean to immediately refuel with some apps and beer.

Little did we know last evening that the cable didn't work and that the air conditioning was difficult.  As in difficult I mean, that it would work in cycles.  Each 5 minutes, it would turn on and then turn off with a loud grown as if it was about to breathe it's last air conditioner breath.  

This morning after one of the best slept night's in the last week (despite the cable and air conditioning noise), I awoke to a hotel coffee maker that didn't work.  Can you believe it? Yes, the caffeine addict didn't have her juice. So after two very long 10 hour driving days, no coffee. It definitely was not a good morning for groggy Ms. Traveling Pants.

Now, as a lesson to all that have worked in the hospitality industry, I told the management at the HoJo upon leaving, "I am here to check out as well as let you know of some issues with the room.  First, the cable is not working nor the air conditioner.  And to top it all off, the coffee maker doesn't work."  I was then told by the management, "We will put it on the list. Thank you Mam.  You are all set." Wasn't that great customer service?  I just didn't have the energy or care to protest (lucky HoJo).

So it was off to the New Jersey Turnpike for a quick two hour journey through Jersey to New York and over to the Hudson Valley.  Interestingly enough, we saw no Cracker Barrels from the hotel in New Jersey through New York that was until our exit getting off of Highway 84.  It was the Poughkeepsie exit 13 and ironically our last exit.  The last and final Cracker Barrel #41 was there.  It was a sign.  It was closure.

I only saw one memorable bummer sticker from NJ to NY:

"Just say Show Me the Carfax."  I guess the marketer was a fan of Jerry Maquire. You know, "Show Me the Money!!!"

However, I just wanted to chime in that most bummer stickers this year are political support stickers from the previous election.  I guess I don't know why Republican supporters keep those stickers on the car.  Come on, get over it and take them off!

After arriving in town, we checked into the same hotel as in March when we did a visit.  We then previewed the studio apartment that my husband will be renting while attending the Culinary Institute of America.  To celebrate and only a couple blocks walk from the new apartment, we had lunch overlooking the Hudson River Valley.

We walked along the river with the bright sun and a brisk breeze to digest. Afterwards, we did errands including buying a futon and supplies for the apartment.  You know the type: the 32 piece dinner set, the 10 piece cooking set, bathroom supplies, alarm clocks, wastepaper baskets and the like.  It was like getting ready for the dorms all over again, except that I was not having my father build a wooden bunk bed for my roommate and I.  

We had a wonderful day despite rather stressful news back home regarding a restructuring of my current employer.  We had a great lunch, got errands done including getting the apartment finalized, saw the movie "The Soloist", and then had yet another "last supper." 

Tomorrow is claimed as, "The Day of the Resume."  We plan to appear in person and drop off 40+ resumes to restaurants throughout the area.  It should be fun.  We will certainly get to know the area.

Keep you posted on the rest of the trip.

Spring Roadtrip Part 2

Left the Motel 6 in Fayetteville, North Carolina at 9:15 AM after a short run and getting gas at $2.03 a gallon. We started on the road after passing 24 Cracker Barrels. Within miles, we spotted another.

We have passed another 5 in North Carolina before crossing to Virginia and seeing 6 others, 2 in Maryland, none in Delaware, and so far 3 in New Jersey. We are at a total of 40 Cracker Barrels.

Couple of insights or random thoughts:

1) Did you know that in North Carolina they still have smoking sections in restaurants? Unbelievable huh?

2) The Cracker Barrel count is getting high, but I think that return trip in a couple of years will need to be Waffle Houses. I swear they are like a bad penny.

3) I am actually starting to wonder how many fast food restaurants with the Southern theme of chicken and biscuits can service through the Carolinas, Virginia, Maryland, etc. There is Cracker Barrel, Chick-fil-a, BoJangles, Popeye's and countless others.

Favorite billboards on this stage of the trip:

1)  A Snickers billboard stating, "Pledge Sigma Nougat" instead of Cum Laude or something like that. I guess in my punch drunk state, it was rather funny.

2)  A Jim Beam billboard outside of Baltimore, "Columbus didn't ask for directions." In little type, it mentioned, "Guys never change." After now 20 hours in car with my husband, I was needing a little humor to hit my female funny bone.

We stopped at a wonderful, Mediterranean "Hole in the Wall" restaurant outside of Alexandria and ate Chicken Shawarma with Tahini (see picture above)  It certainly beat the other options on the typical roadtrip.  So far it has been the highlight of the culinary trip, as I was recently on a business trip, which means I had buffet after buffet after continental breakfast, which all under perform one's appetite.

Well, just moments ago, we stopped in New Brunswick, NJ for the evening.  We were hoping to make it to Poughkeepsie today, but 4 traffic hiccups in the D.C. and Baltimore area made things interesting. However, I would like to note that 511 is a helpful little tool.

Stay tuned for the final leg of the driving trip in Spring Roadtrip Part 3

Spring Roadtrip Up I-95-Part 1

Most of my posts thus far have been of memories of past trips.  This week, I wanted to give you a story in “real time” of a journey from Fort Lauderdale, Fl up I-95 1,800 miles to Poughkeepsie, NY. Stay tuned for play by play pit-stops, unique insights, and more.

Day one: Start from Plantation, Fl in a packed to the brim Honda. Gas tank full (paying $2.15 per gallon), radio station a mixture of 97.3, 97.9, and 104.3. I-95 heading North after a good night’s sleep. Left at 9:30 AM to drive through at least 4 states including Florida, Georgia (gas at $1.86), South Carolina, and North Carolina.

Things to note:

There are a tremendous amount of Cracker Barrels.  We counted 14 from Fort Lauderdale to Jacksonville, another 4 in Georgia, 3 in South Carolina, and so far 2 in North Carolina.  After seeing so many signs, in Brunswick, Georgia (Exit 36A) we stopped for a taste of Cracker Barrel. (See picture in the rocking chair.)

Additionally a couple funny things of interest, in Georgia we saw a billboard for Chick-fil-a that read, “Stop in the Name of Chikin.” This was being painted on the billboard by two Holstein cows, one sitting on top of the other (Get it, cows trying to get people to eat chicken?).  Also, we saw a motorhome pulling an SUV (see picture) that stated, “Be Patient I am Pushing this Big Motorhome.” Upon passing the SUV being pulled, we noticed that there was a female dummy in the driver’s seat.  Honestly, people have too much time on there hands.

As far as interesting bummer stickers, here are my two favorites, both we saw on the same car:

Swamp life (on a Florida Gator student’s car)

Got ink? (referring if you have any tattoos)

Day one is about to finish with a couple of hours in North Carolina.  Follow me on Twitter. My name is MsTravelingPant (yes they have a limit of characters).

Until Part 2....

Taking the Red Eye from San Diego

Exhausted from a three-day conference of schmoozing (see Art of Schmoozing post from March 20th), I am currently recharging in the Atlanta airport for the 2^nd leg of my nearly 9 hour cross-country trek.  This week, I had the opportunity to see San Diego for my second time.  Staying in the Pacific Beach area, it was beautiful.  However, it was unseasonably cold at 60 degrees and wind.  It certainly did not meet my expectations for Sunny California.

Each morning, I took a great run on the Pacific Beach boardwalk (see picture below).  Used to the Caribbean waters in Florida, the Pacific certainly reminded me of my vacations to Cape Cod and my years in Beantown.  It was quite evident, as a reaction of most when then travel to California, that everyone is very active.  Whether it was 6 AM or 5 PM, people were biking, running, roller blading, surfing, or kayaking.

The conference I was attending certainly used my bi-lingual skills, not Spanish and English, but technology speak instead of travel industry speak.  The days were filled with networking, speakers, seminars, and more.  The evenings were packed with social functions that proved to be much more productive for business that the actual meetings.  

So after a three-day marathon of networking and seminars, I wanted to just sleep through the trip home.  Taking the Red Eye was the most logical to get home by Sunday AM to have what remains of the weekend (as if my body even knows what day or time it is now). However, prior to boarding at 10:30 PM PST, the gate attendant stated something that I have yet to experience, another true first.  “Attention those boarding the 10:40 flight to Atlanta, please be advised that the San Diego airport has a curfew of 11:00 PM.  If we are not boarded with the door shut prior to 11:00, they will cancel the flight.”

I thought to myself, “this is just perfect.”  I have never heard before of canceling a flight with the crew and passengers there, weather condition OK, but it was too late in the evening.  What a ridiculous idea!  I guess I can understand the logic behind a curfew for the citizens of San Diego regarding the noise of the planes, but last night I could have cared less if we would have done a fly by like the scene in Top Gun to that neighborhood.  I was less than compassionate for those San Diegans living close to the airport.  I wanted to get home.  

The rule of the curfew of the San Diego airport, in combination with a long 3 day networking event and the a la carte ambiance of flying now days, I am counting my lucky stars that I got on the plane and took off prior to 11:00PM and that Atlanta has a Dunkin’ Donuts upon at 5:00AM EST.

Do you have a Red Eye experience to share or perhaps another story regarding an airport that has a ridiculous rule such as San Diego?

Namaste in the Berkshires, now Where's the Nearest Dunkin' Donuts?

Last June for my mom’s special birthday, she and I went on our first Yoga retreat. Although I did not know at the time, I was to be spending an extended weekend at one of the most famous Yoga retreats in the U.S. It is called Kripalu, located in Western New York in the Berkshires.

As you can see by the picture, the surroundings were beautiful with the green, lush Berkshire mountains overlooking a lake. However missing from the picture is Kripalu's main building, which was a cold looking, brick structure similar to a hospital. It certainly broke my stereotype of yoga retreat architecture.  As a side note, I didn't know until later that the building was previously a Jesuit seminary.

So the irony of this peaceful story comes when you imagine the current Ms. Traveling Pants in this situation. Let me set the stage. 

Picture a commune of yoga enthusiasts, meditation rooms, labyrinths, massages, aromatherapy, and healthy food taken to the extreme.  And, then picture throwing me, the seemingly always connected to my iPhone or laptop into that atmosphere. Culture shock!!  I mean it was so healthy, caffeine was a banned substance. Just as background, I think I get a caffeine withdrawal headache at 3:00 pm if I don't have my dose. Wow!

Regardless, I adapted, like the cameleon that I am, and it was truly amazing (or should I say ooommmmmm-mazing). I am the first to admit it was very challenging…even the “gentle yoga” kicked my butt (not to mention the lack of caffeine). The full massages afterwards were a bonus, but for those of you familiar with deep tissue massages, it can be a workout as well. (If you haven't read my Turkish Baths for Dummies post, you must.)

From the two yoga classes I took a day, it was apparent that when one practices yoga daily, you can become to be a human pretzel. However, with my thirty-something tight legs from running and spinning, touching my toes is a great feat, including downwards-facing dog and other human contortionists acts they call Yoga. In fact, I think that some of the instructors were fooling us all. They must have worked for Cirque du Soleil in a past life.

Ta ta Ms. Traveling Pants followers....Namaste

The Divine Physical Feat

As most Sundays, I take the opportunity to sleep a little late and then take a morning jog for roughly 3 miles. Although used to working out quite regularly, it always surprises me how difficult it is to run (hmmm...that may be because I am not a gazelle like the Kenyan superstar marathoners). However, today I was reminded of my divine physical feat only 5 years ago in Boston for the 108th Boston Marathon in April 19, 2004.

For those of you not familiar with a marathon, it is 26.2 miles. It was first begun in ancient times by a Greek soldier, Pheidippides, a messanger from the Battle of Marathon to Athens. From experience, I must say it is a feat that takes much preparation, dedication, and an inner drive to continue through pain. Unlike many other marathons, for the Boston Marathon you must qualify in another marathon in order to qualify to run.

Somehow I was asked by a colleague of mine, if I would like to run the marathon. At first, I thought absolutely no way, but after a good night's sleep the competitive side of Ms. Traveling Pants came out in full force. Within a week, I fully investigated the possibilities of running officially or unofficially as a "bandit" as they say in Boston. Additionally, I signed up for a running group that was specifically training for the Boston Marathon. At the time, it was late October, just the right amount of time to ramp up from 10 miles a week to 15 miles to a full marathon and then scaling back right before the mid-April date, called Patriot's Day.

Mind you training for a marathon in New England from October to April is rather challenging. The winter is brutal and running outside is really the only option to get the training of the hills as well as relief from boredom. Believe me a one hour run on a treadmill is ok, but for 3-4 hours, you begin to feel like a gerbil.

After the winter grind of training, the day was approaching. I didn't have time or the running speed to qualify at another marathon. Neither did I want to raise enough money to qualify through charitable means. Honestly, to raise thousands of dollars is almost as difficult as the physical torture. So, I started to think out of the box and ask around. I thought that perhaps through my networking, I might be able to snag an official number from one of the sponsoring companies.

It was my lucky year and well one of my friend's boyfriend's unlucky year. He worked for John Hancock at the time, which was one of the major sponsors. All employees had the opportunity to get an official number and run the marathon. He applied for the number and did much of the preparation, but suffered an unfortunate injury. That is where I came in. I asked and received. I was now to be an official runner of the Boston Marathon. If you ever want to check the story, I was Mike Fleming coming in at a rather slow 5 hours.

The day of the race was not what any of us had imagined. It was not a cool April day in Boston, but a hot 85 degrees. For all of us used to the cold training, it was frightening. Yes, it may have been great for spectators, but most of the runners, myself included, were fearing dehydration and sheer exhaustion from the heat.

I started in roughly the tenth stable with hundreds of others. After hearing the shot indicating the start, it took about twenty minutes for all those ahead of me to start so that I could begin my slow run towards downtown Boston. The energy from the spectators all along the route was amazing. There are a couple of areas that are just truly unbelievable: Wellesley College for the loud, screaming women and then of course Heartbreak Hill in Newton somewhere around mile 22. Click below to experience the Wellesley College noise.

About 1 hour behind my expected time, I reached Boston and saw my friend at the bottom of Heartbreak Hill where the year previously I had been a spectator and participant in beer pong and bbq. Also, my father was waiting in Brookline. I remember that upon seeing him I didn't want to continue. My muscles were fatigued and my bones hurt with every step.

I continued. About one mile before the finish, I saw my mother. I just wanted to cry. I had nothing left. She and I continued. She was in sandals, but at that point even in sandals she could keep up as my gate wasn't more than a fast walk. I turned onto Boylston Street. The crowds went wild, yelling my name, encouraging me to make it just another 3 blocks.

I made it on only fumes of my own pride. If I hadn't told so many people that I was running, I would have pulled off much before. Upon crossing the line, I forced my arms up for the picture above to document the moment. The pain was unbelievable. After receiving my metal, the marathon workers needed to grab the microchip that was in my shoes to measure my time. As I had no strength left, the worker lifted my feet to a stool and undid the shoes to grab the chip. I remember thanking this woman repetitively as I didn't feel I could do anything but collapse. Wrapped in the typical foil blanket to keep warm, I searched for the bus with my clothing and then meet my family at the letter F for Fleming.

That evening I ate ribs, biscuits, and peanuts in the shell at a place called the Texas Roadhouse. I remember thinking that I would be very hungry, but believe it or not I was not nearly as hungry as on a typical day. Also, I was surprisingly limber that evening. However, the following morning and 2 days after was interesting. All I can say is that the toilet seat in farther down than you think and it was certainly much more challenging after 26.2 miles.

So, will I ever run a marathon again? Absolutely not, I have checked that life goal off the list.

Meeting Mr. Traveling Pants

It was in 2000.  I was teaching ESL (English as a Second Language) in Roslindale, Massachusetts at the Boston School of Modern Languages during the day and waiting tables on Newbury Street in Boston at night and on weekends.  I was then only 22.

As I had just came back from Spain, I thoroughly enjoyed that at my restaurant job, all of the line cooks were Spanish speaking, mostly from Colombia.  With my skills in Spanish as well as years of experience in the "biz", I was quickly promoted from a server to an expediter, who is the person that coordinates the communication between the kitchen and the servers and managers.  

It was in this capacity that I started to notice the shy, grill cook with the amazing green eyes. With a dark completion and stunning eyes, he got me.  We spoke in Spanish, but I was later told that he was from Minas Gerais, Brazil.  I had never met a Brazilian before so I was interested in Carnival, Samba, Bossa Nova, and the Rio.  

It turns out that he didn't like the restaurant, Charley's, and the management so he quit very shortly there after.  On his last day, I took the initiative to ask him out. I wrote on one of the manager's business cards, "Si quieres tomas unas copas, por favor llamame." (If you would like to have a couple of drinks, please call me.")

Well the phone never rang, but I was still determined.  I waited for the next check cycle to come.  And, I was working the night that he came to pick up his last check.  I cornered him and mentioned that there was no excuse not to go out that evening as I was getting off of work shortly and he had a check to cash to buy me drinks.

So as every workplace has there favorite watering hole, so did the Charlie's crew. It was a Irish Pub called the Crossroads.  It was nothing short of a dive that the BU and MIT students frequented.  It had a juke box, beer, pub food, and darts.

Admilson (pronounced Aj-meal-son), had never played darts before. So with a couple of beers and a good instructor, me, we began to get to know each other. No matter whether tennis, billards, or darts, you can make the game seductive; and, that I did (thus the picture for this post).

That night, it was April 9th, 2000.  It is now April 2009.  Admilson and I eloped on April 9th, 2006. And, this Thursday it will be 9 years and counting.

Happy Anniversary Mr. Traveling Pants!