travel tuesday | cliff jumping in north shore, oahu, hawaii

"Welcome to the United States," the pilot on my flight from Japan boomed as we landed at Oahu International Airport. I welled up with emotion. I'd been gone 365 days, a full year, and I was back in my home country. Without a beat, he continued: "And welcome to Hawaii!" The plane cheered, and I broke into a giant smile that didn't leave my face for days.

After my year in Japan, I came back to the US via Oahu, home of the tanned, laid-back and beautiful Tiffany, one of my closest girlfriends in the JET program. She and her family welcomed me into their home in Waikiki.

Tiff asked me what all I wanted to do while I visited, and I said wanted to experience Hawaii how she does - as a local. So we spent lazy afternoons surfing at her favorite tucked away beach, sang karaoke with her friends, ate mangoes every day from the tree in her front yard, and spent an entire day on the North Shore. My mind is still blown, even typing that.

My favorite part of my visit was undoubtedly seeing North Shore. Legendary for insane surfing in the winter and beautiful beaches, North Shore is breathtaking, relaxing and has a great spot for cliff jumping.

Hi, my name is Cyndi, and I'm a cliff jumping addict. I started in South Africa, where it's called "kloofing." If I know I'm going anywhere near a beach, I research if there are any jumping spots. I'm a total novice.

Tiff took me to "Da big rock" in Waiemea Bay. It's a 30-40 feet jump, and that was the perfect level of gotta-psych-myself-up to do it + thrilling fear. Any more than that, and terror would probably paralyze me. The rock itself is incredibly slippery so it makes for a thrilling climb.

Waiemea Bay is better than any of the Waikiki beaches for relaxing. The crowds look thick on the rock, but we had most of the sand and sunshine to ourselves.

Before I left Japan, I attended lectures and workshops on reverse culture shock. We were reminded of how different it would be to be in our home country after so long away. We were counseled to visualize walking through a grocery store, a bank, and through an average daily routine.

I cheated and went to Hawaii instead. It was the perfect neither here nor there re-entry into the US. Japanese culture is prevalent on the island, so I got my fix of the language, customs and food, while at the same time reintegrating myself into American diet and culture.

The drive out to North Shore stole my heart away, too. I'd go back to Hawaii in a heartbeat. In fact, I think I'd move there. Anyone in Hawaii want to hire me? Special skills: mango devouring, surfboard sitting, sunglasses wearing.

travel further

tofo, mozambique

rehoboth beach, delaware

melvin hazen trail | rock creek park

The last few weeks have been some of the most stressful of my life. I don't say that lightly. In bold, open truth and probably too much disclosure, the only things I've ever faced that have left me as emotionally distraught, stressed out and overwhelmed are when my stepfather passed away last year, and fighting to afford to stay in college my freshman year (another story for another time?).

In fact, I hesitate to talk about it at all. I haven't been blogging much lately because I don't exactly know what to say. On Thursday, I wrote about trying ScratchDC, and within that, I talked a little bit about my housing situation - namely, that my roommate Matt and I haven't had heat. That barely scratches the surface of the whole story. Where to even begin?

Matt and I moved into our apartment in September. The rent and the space were both incredible, and we were in the very neighborhood we'd wanted to move. In the first 24 hours after moving in, we knew it was a mistake. The place was a mess. There is a pigeon nest outside of my bedroom window. There's no windowsill on that window ledge. A piece of cardboard was wedged between the AC unit and the remainder of the window to keep it stabilized. Pigeon poop, dirt and leaves covered my floor. Water leaked from the AC unit.

In every room, electrical wiring is exposed and windows hang loosely in their frames. There are cracks in the walls, and the bathroom floor is rotted beneath the tiles. The shower drips constantly, so mildew builds no matter how often we clean it.

We made a list of every problem we found that first weekend. We read through the DC tenant-landlord laws and DC housing code. We highlighted half a dozen housing code violations. We sat down with our landlord for a meeting. We ran through the list wit him, and he laughed at us, physically laughed. "You get what you pay for," he said. He continued to bully us - saying if we "worked" with him, he'd "take care" of us - like, maybe if we played nice, he'd replace the refrigerator that leaks and has two broken shelves.

Total strangers began to tell us that we messed up moving into one of our landlord's buildings. No less than three people said, "Take your rent and go. Get out if you can."

We persevered. 

We were scared. Professional bullies, and slumlords, in our case, are good at it - they're intimidating. And also, Matt and I are used to adversity. That's the only way to say it. I grew up with a single mom. She worked three jobs, and there were brief times where electricity was turned off or we waited a few months until we could afford to have the leak in the living room repaired. "It's life," I kept shrugging. We do what we can with what we have and move on.

Then winter arrived, and the heating source promised to us since we moved in never came. Men arrived at random hours of the day and evening without prior notice to install gas heaters. They ran a gas line from another unit in the building. We didn't feel safe. It was 50 degrees. We finally called in DCRA - the city's housing authority.

We've now had two DCRA inspections, and they want to schedule a third. The second inspector came from the illegal construction unit. He deemed all of the electrical wiring and gas connections illegal. There's even a sewer pipe behind our stove --- ew. He told me off the record that on the path the inspections are on, the building very well may be condemned.

It sounds like a happy ending, kinda, but working with DCRA brought a whole new set of problems with the landlord. He demanded to know why I have gone "guerrilla warfare" on him. Which, come on guys, was kind of a total compliment. But really, it's awful. I panic every time he calls, knowing it's going to be a fight. Matt and I have withheld rent since December, since we don't have adequate living conditions. We've spoken with a tenant advocate, who advises us to take him to court immediately and have the court hold the money.

court? we can't afford that. we can't afford a new apartment. we can't afford to fight him. 

We found out in the midst of all of this that our slumlord? That creep? He's a well-educated, influential lawyer at a big firm here in D.C. There are pictures of him with the president. He contributes to national publications. It just keeps getting better.

So. Last week we did find an apartment. It turns out finding a two-bedroom apartment in D.C. city limits that allows dogs in January, well, is a fairly impossible task. So we found a large one-bedroom apartment with a big enough common space to partition a second bedroom. It is what it is.

It's more than we can really afford. It'll be a stretch. And require sacrifices. But at least we'll be out of this place.

We sold our souls to the slumlord - made a deal that we owe him nothing, can keep the rent we've withheld to afford to move out, if we stop talking to DCRA. I cried. And debated. And had no clue what to do. Ultimately, we had no choice. We don't have the resources to fight him.

One of our applications for the new apartment was denied. In order to live together, we had to find a co-signer.

DCRA has called twice - bless them for following up. City government is good. I don't know what to do. I feel like this is a moment, an issue, a time that is self-defining. I'm between a rock and a hard place. I don't want anyone to ever live in that building like we have. I want to stop him.

I packed up Theo this weekend and went to Zan's. He has been my rock and forced me to realize that sometimes I need help, sometimes I have to accept help, and sometimes I even have to swallow my pride and ask for it.

There's a trail below Zan's apartment. It's the Melvin Hazen trail - part of Rock Creek Park here in the city. I took Theo for a short hike on it, tears stinging my face in the biting cold on Saturday afternoon. It's only about half a mile long. Twenty feet in, I let Theo off-leash. Traipsing through the snow-covered woods that felt much further away from the city than in reality, I let go of it all. I found some peace. And when Theo slid around in the snow and got soaking wet in the stream and ran with wild abandon up and down the hills, I couldn't stop laughing. The only thing better than being in the woods is being in snow-covered woods.

For better or worse, we move into our new apartment on Saturday.

Learn more about the Rock Creek Park trails here. Come hike them with me - they'll practically be in my backyard at the new place!

ScratchDC delivers

 
My apartment has no heat. It has some heat, limited heat. It stays warm enough to keep frost off the floors. I live in pajama pants and thick boot socks (okay, that part's not so bad). The other night, I tried to ignite a gas heater our landlord recently had rigged (totally unsafe and illegal, I'm 100% positive). It wouldn't light. I tried again. And again. And 87 more times, all while on the phone with Zander, until I broke down crying. So that's how my living situation is going these days.

I wanted to curl up into a ball under blankets in my bed and not move for the rest of the night. I probably would have eaten pasta with a lackluster attempt at some bottled marinara thrown on top. And then I remembered my ScratchDC bundle. And it saved my night.

ScratchDC is a new culinary concept from Ryan Hansan, a native Virginian. After graduating college in D.C., he wanted to make homemade meals, had an appreciation for good food and even considered himself a foodie, but found himself spending huge amounts of money on spices and ingredients he'd only need a teaspoon of and would never use again. He wanted to find a way to take the hassle out of making great home-cooked meals. Enter Scratch.

He and his small team of three full time staff (small and mighty!) create gourmet menus Monday-Friday. As orders come in online, they prep the locally sourced ingredients for each meal - meat/veggies, sauces, olive oils, spreads, bread crumbs, seasonings and fresh herbs, and package them with instruction cards. The bundles are hand-delivered to your home at your preferred time. And you're ready to cook! The meals take as little as 20 minutes to put together.

When I finally convinced myself to come out of hibernation the other night, I excitedly opened my thoughtfully put-together Scratch bundle. My menu for the night was red curry chicken with peppers and shiitake mushrooms over rice noodles. I loved how organized and cute the small containers of soy sauce, olive oil, fresh Thai basil, peanuts and carefully wrapped chicken were.

Ryan's team adds humor and wit to the easy-to-follow instruction cards that had me smiling at every step. Within 12 minutes, the smell of ginger, garlic and red curry filled my house and warmed me to the core. My favorite part of the experience quickly became learning a new recipe. I've made Thai red curry a million times it feels like, but I'd never added chicken broth to it - a step that Scratch included. I loved the depth the broth gave to the sauce, and I'll continue to use it when I make curry on my own.

Scratch doesn't skimp on ingredients. Mine made enough for at least three meals. Of course, Zan was at home sick, and Matt was gone for the night, so that meant it was just me eating. If the guys had been around, I'm sure there wouldn't have been a drop left.

They don't skimp on their menus, either. There are vegetarian options, as well as unique dishes and hearty steak and potatoes dinners. Ryan's favorite is Pan Seared Duck Breast with Goat Cheese Polenta and a Port Wine Reduction. I drooled typing that. 

Ryan hopes to expand Scratch out to Maryland and Virginia in the coming months as the new business continues to grow. There may also be some dessert additions to the menu... I may or may not have heard whisperings of "lava cake." (Sign. Me. Up.)

 My over-all thoughts on my first experience with Scratch...

The good

• It put me in a good mood! The little bits of personality and thoughtfulness go a long way. It makes cooking fun. 
• The meal I tried was very good and taught me a new recipe.
• Generous portions 
• They included two small balls of cookie dough as a "Thank you" that was very appreciated!  

The not-so-good: 

• My bundle included such a large portion of rice noodles that soaked up the curry, it became more of a pad-thai fusion. It was delicious fresh, but re-heated as leftovers, it's a little dry. That said, they included a bit of soy sauce and a few drops made it moist again.

As someone on a frugal budget who likes to cook, when would I use Scratch? 

• A romantic date night. It'd be nice to talk over a few glasses of wine and have the prep work done for us.
• A weekend meal. Friday's are for fun, not slaving in the kitchen. I would order one of these babes and a movie On Demand, pop open a bottle of bubbly, and feel spoiled staying in. 
• A busy week -if I don't have time hit the grocery store, this is a great substitute. 
• Supporting a local business with locally sourced ingredients.

Want to try ScratchDC? (You really should. I mean, cookie dough!) Ryan has generously offered a 15% discount to my blog readers on your order! Enter "TravelHikescratchDC" in the promo box when you checkout on ScratchDC's website. The promo code is valid through February 8th so get your orders in! Thanks Ryan, and the entire Scratch team!

Now, where are some more boot socks?

tgif | highlights

I, even now, persist in believing that these black marks on white paper bear the greatest significance, that if I keep writing I might be able to catch the rainbow of consciousness in a jar. 

jeffrey eugenides, middlesex

previously on travel, hike, eat. repeat... 

you're never alone when you travel - my first solo trip was to mozambique
a recipe for chocolate chip banana bread

early next week, i have a post about a new local business in d.c., complete with a discount code. i hope you're as excited to read it as i am to post it.

have an incredible mlk/inauguration weekend. i hope it's long for you. it is for me. tgif!

chocolate chip banana bread

My mom and I have an on going, all-in-the-name-of-fun, feud over who makes the best brownies (::me). We make them from the same recipe, one that I believe her mother passed down to her, probably from her mother's mother. In truth, I have no idea where the recipe came from, but it's on a faded piece of fragile brown paper that we no longer touch. It sits in a cookbook, reverential, smeared with cocoa and butter, from all the times we've handled it mid-baking. We've never written it down anywhere else because we know it by heart. And when we hesitate on a step or an amount, we call the other, a mother-daughter ever-changing narrative of the perfect baked good.

 3 mashed bananas with 1/3 cup of butter // mix in 3/4 cup light brown sugar, one already beaten egg and a teaspoon of vanilla // be crazy and add a pinch of nutmeg and cinnamon

Although we use the same recipe, our brownies are very different. This family recipe has taught me a lot about baking. I've known it since I was about 7 years old, and I've never been afraid to experiment with it. I think I love to bake and understand my palette and what flavors work together because of this brownies recipe. You see, over the years, I've found that I like vanilla, a lot. My brownies always have a drop or two more vanilla than my mom's. Conversely, my mom likes chocolate, a lot. Her tablespoons of cocoa are always a little more heaping than mine. She also sprinkles chocolate chips in her batter. Hers are molten chocolate temptations, and mine lean towards a purist, lighter approach.

stir in one teaspoon of baking soda and a pinch of salt // 1/2 cups of flour, mixed in last // all with a wooden spoon and a single large mixing bowl

In the last five years or so, I've nearly stopped making them altogether, except for the occasional in a pinch, need a dessert that I can throw together without blinking, parties. I've stopped because gradually my palette has changed from enjoying heartier, chocolate desserts to lighter, fruit-based and less sweet options. Now I'm drawn towards recipes that call for light brown sugar instead of white and bananas and zucchini instead of cocoa. So when I came across Smitten Kitchen's Gone in 60 Seconds Banana Bread, I made it immediately and ate (a chunk of) it in 45 seconds.

stir in 1/2 cup chocolate chips (for good measure), tossed in a couple healthy pinches of flour

Desserts like this are my jam. Even as a first-timer with the recipe, I threw it together and had it in the over rising in less than 20 minutes. I made a few changes to the recipe -

• Deb (Smitten Kitchen author, extraordinaire), tosses in a tablespoon of bourbon. Swoon. I would have been on this like brown on rice if I had any. I didn't, so I skipped it. 
• next, I don't own bread pans. say what. so I utilized a smaller casserole pan and cut the baking time in half. it looks more like a banana cake. you won't find me complaining. 
• an extra drop of vanilla, always. 
• and finally, I added half a cup of chocolate chips. and, for good measure, drizzled about half a teaspoon of hot chocolate sauce over the top. my Mama would be proud.

 spread evenly in a greased bread pan, or whateva baking pan you prefer // pop in a pre-heated 350 degree oven // for a bread pan, bake for 50-60 minutes until the a toothpick comes out clean // for this kinda pan, 23-25 minutes'll do ya right

While I was baking, I thought of a few things I do without thought from all those years learning to perfect that old brownie recipe that I might share. If they're all like, "Duh!" then totally just ignore me and play today's google doodle. Here are a few of my general baking tips:

• always read the entire recipe first. i always forget something when i jump in without reading through every single step. (patience is not my best virtue.) 
• when using chocolate chips, toss them in a bowl first with a couple good pinches of flour. it'll keep them from sinking to the bottom. the only gooey mess will be in yo mouth! 
• simple, but: the deeper the dish you're baking in, the longer the baking time. if you switch up pants to a larger, flatter one, remember to cut the baking time. 
• your delicious baked good will continue to cook when you take it out of the oven, as it cools. with brownies, cookies and even this bread to some extent, take it out 2-3 minutes before it's 100% cooked. by the time it cools, it'll be extra moist. 
• if you're outta toothpicks (or never buy those, because who buys those?), the eating end of a chopstick works perfectly to check the doneness!

Smitten Kitchen's Gone in 60 Seconds Banana Bread

What are your baking tips? Do you have a family recipe you know by heart?

here's why | tofo, mozambique

I sent my brother a handwritten letter from Mozambique. He didn't find it in his mailbox. The envelope had no address, no writing, except "Chris" with a quick underline beneath the name. He got my letter one night at work, when a woman named Aly walked in. She walked right up to him - didn't need to ask for someone to point him out to her. Later, she'd tell me, I knew right away. You two look just alike. She smiled warmly, and said, Cyndi says hi from Mozambique. And he read my letter.

Aly says he welled up as he read it, and that once he finished his face broke into a giant grin and he hugged her like they were old friends. He sat her and the friend she'd come with at a table with no regard to the wait list. He was the general manager at a popular restaurant in Atlanta. Their tab was on him, for the price of learning how my letter found its way into his hands from Africa.

The first time I traveled alone was to Mozambique. I didn't intend to travel alone. My closest girlfriend in my study abroad program in South Africa and I planned the trip together. Two days before our flight would take off, she backed out. My friends balked. Assumed I wouldn't go. It's Africa. It's dangerous.

I went anyway. 

I booked a room at Fatima's, a hostel with branches in Maputo and Tofo, my next destination, with plenty of beer and staff to kept the party going. On the taxi ride to Fatima's, young kids, really young, 5-6-7 years old, beat on the windows.

I crouched down, embarrassed to be white, embarrassed to have the money to afford a taxi. Traffic was so slow the kids followed us. Some begged for money, and others offered to sell homemade goods. I chastised myself and sat up straight. I waved hello. Eventually, they waved back, their broken English, Hellos ringing in my ears for days.

I barely set my things down on my mosquito-netted bed before two backpackers - an Australian guy and a European man, invited me to dinner at a local bar. Don't get in cars with strangers. Africa is dangerous.

I went anyway.

I had pizza, at this raucous Maputo bar. I drank Savannah Dry, my favorite beer/cider in southern Africa. The three of us watched futbol, talked of our travel plans (wherever the road takes me was theirs, in summary), and of travels past. These guys had been everywhere. Two hours into the night, I asked when they'd first met and where. They looked at each other and me, Really? and laughed. They'd met right before they asked me if I wanted to join them for dinner. I told them this was my first time traveling alone.

You're never alone when you travel, they said.

The next morning, I boarded a van. I waited outside like a kid ready for the first day of school, my bags neatly packed, expecting a bus to arrive at the scheduled time. An hour later, the van showed up. A hubcap was missing, I had a chicken for a seat mate, and the smell of body odor threatened to make me ill. Locals jumped on and off the van at varying points with no seeming rhyme or reason. Half the time, the van was still moving.

I moved to the closest seat I could find to the front and stuck my head out a window.

You'll get used to it, a friendly voice said.

Aly worked for the CDC in Atlanta. She had gone to Emory. She spent an extensive amount of time in Africa as part of her job, usually in the DRC. After this last trip to the Congo, she planned to meet her English boyfriend in Tofo for a scuba diving vacation. Being from Atlanta, we jumped into familiar places and restaurants, how things have changed, and, of course, we talked of our travels. 

Mozambique is a poor country with rich natural resources. Ruled by the Portuguese from the 1500s until 1975, the country is still finding its own independent feet. Maputo is an average African city - busy, cramped and fairly developed while still growing. Inland, the country is agricultural, rural and beautiful. It's desolate. And it's very poor. As you move towards the coast on the Indian ocean, tourism plays an increasingly bigger role. The water is pristine, and the land is coveted.

I'm so glad I got to see Mozambique now, before tourism takes hold.

In Tofo, Aly and I met Tim, a fellow American. I don't remember our meeting, where it was exactly, or when it happened. But I do know that within a blink of an eye, or it seems, the three of us were inseparable. Tim was working in Swaziland in HIV-stricken communities. He wore his work in his eyes, and we talked endlessly about the need for sustainable development, pre-natal healthcare and the power of communicating through language barriers.

The nearest town to Tofu is Inhambane, about 30 minutes inland. The small town is mostly empty streets, quickly deserted once the work day ends. Crime is high and police officers are stationed on most corners, on streets and near banks. Inhambane houses the closest ATM. It held my debit card, and Tim and I frantically called over one of those officers, trying desperately to communicate the problem. The bank was closed, they said. But they could call someone.

Crime is high in Mozambique, and the intense presence of the police make it feel criminal to walk around, but the people are friendly. The officers are people, and they can be friendly, too.

I read for days in Tofo. I bought ankle bracelets from a local boy who called himself, "Johnny Cash." I sipped Savannah Dry with Aly and Tim. We ate the local food at the only restaurant anywhere around. We walked the beach every night at sunset. Tim and I went diving with whale sharks, and we both puked our whole insides up over the side of the small boat on our way out to sea. We took deep breaths and dove in the water, anyway, once we got to where we were tortuously going, and for the few minutes we could last in the rolling waves, felt great swimming alongside the biggest sea creatures I've ever seen.

Before we all parted, I handed Aly a hand-written letter addressed to simply "Chris."

Your brother's restaurant is one of my favorites.

Tim is getting married. Aly and I had drinks in Atlanta a few years after we came back from Mozambique.

You're never alone when you travel.

Here's why you should visit Mozambique:

1. Burgeoning country - prices continue to rise by the year as tourism grows and industry spreads (and problems with inflation continue), but get there before resorts dot the pristine coastline 
2. Beaches
3. Scuba diving - It's cheaper to get certified here than many other countries. There's also incredible diving. (From hearsay & research - I don't dive.)
4. History - such a storied, complicated reign of Portuguese control has left the country in shambles, but the mixture of the Portuguese influence with native African roots, is fascinating - in architecture, culture, language and everything. 
5. TIA. This is Africa. It's complicated, and I have complicated feelings about this country. But this is Africa. And Africa asks you to grow and change and rid yourself of preconceived ideas. You'll be a better person and traveler for coming here.

san antonio | K9 puppies in training

2012 really was a great year. Even the parts that were "bad" afforded me great times. Case in point - leaving TV Asahi for another job was a true highlight, but some of the experiences I had as a producer were memorable and incredibly enjoyable. In the spring (I think it was spring, who remembers that far back?), I produced a segment in San Antonio, Texas on the K9 military dog training facility at Lackland Air Force Base (TSA's puppy program). The dogs are increasingly bred there (as opposed to being shipped from Europe), raised and trained. The pups go through rigorous nose, obedience, attention and agility aptitude tests and are weeded out starting at a young age. Fun fact - the dogs who don't quite make the cut are put up for adoption. The waiting list is years.

While on the AFB, we got the unique opportunity of meeting a brand new litter of pups. Today, I found myself watching a video I took of them. ....on repeat. It has been that kind of week, you know?

It also got me thinking about Texas. I'd love to go back sometime soon. Even if it's just a random, long weekend, and I fly solo. I'd love more time to explore the storied Alamo, more time to devour homemade chips and salsa at every hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant I can find, more time to peruse the scenic boardwalk, and more time to take in the sights, sounds and smells of Texas. There are cities and towns and places and moments that tie us to somewhere and leave us wanting more. Something about San Antonio did it for me. My guess is these pups had something to do with it. 

Is there a seemingly arbitrary city you'd like to visit or visit again? Why does it speak to you?

here's why | rehoboth beach, delaware

I love the drive from D.C. out to Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. It takes you through a panoply of settings - urban as you exit DC, suburban through the towns with Targets and shopping malls, scenic and awe-inspiring over the grand Chesapeake Bay, rural through cow pastures and farmhouses and property with acres that stretch endlessly, and finally, beach town.

Nine months ago, I'd never been there, though I'd heard plenty about the (in)famous summer parties at neighboring Dewey Beach. When Zander and I started dating, I knew his parents lived in Rehoboth because he often referenced summer fishing trips and weekend getaways (that I now know is a euphemism for "place to do my laundry"). In the last nine months, I've gone from a stranger to the area to familiar and comfortable with it to a Rehoboth enthusiast. 

A big reason why I love the drive out to Rehoboth is the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. The nearly 4.5 mile shore-to-shore behemoth is one of the longest of its kind in the world, shakes (like a salt shaker) when there's a modicum of wind, and generously offers up incredible views of the bay. Once, we spotted an un-submerged submarine. That has to be one of the coolest things I've ever seen, and it was a mere hour outside the District. We've crossed it on bright, sunshiny days, when the rain is coming down like pellets, when the wind has us gripping the steering wheel and door handles for dear life, and at sunset, my favorite.

Of course, the reason most people visit Rehoboth is for the beach. It's pretty gorgeous, right? This is Zan's dad, walking ahead of us Christmas Eve morning, the cold biting through our multiple layers. The dogs barely noticed it. Beach culture in Rehoboth is just like any other beach town - beer and laughter-filled during the summers and isolated in winter. Winter is my favorite. The mile long boardwalk (a great, easy, pretty run!) is empty, the ice cream and french fry stands boarded up, and the only other people you'll see are locals, who share a connected love of the forlorn boards and still amusement park rides. There's a certain, I don't know, je ne sais quoi, about a heavily touristed area that's silent, but for the rolling waves. It's beautiful.

Rehoboth has its secrets. Lordy, I love a place that holds its secrets close and tight. Most visitors eat pizza at Grotto's, when they should be having it served fresh and hot from Nicola. They shop at the Outlets on Route 1, when there are life-changing finds to be had at Hula Sue, boutique extraordinaire. The tourists grab a few groceries here and there where they find them, when a short jaunt takes you to Hickman's Meat Market, home to America's most incredible homemade chorizo, that I have to get every single visit. There's also "the farm," the best place for milk and honey and dairy galore, but I couldn't tell you where it is because it's off a side street I can never remember, and it's only open when it's open.

Beneath the sand-filled nooks and crannies exterior, Rehoboth is a foodie town, at its core. Take Shorebreak Lodge, a locals joint off the main strip, that serves some of the best wings I've ever had, has a killer wine list, and makes homemade edamame hummus that is to die for. Henlopen is one of Zan's parents' favorites for good reason. With a fresh oyster bar, and another incredible wine list, a bustling atmosphere and bartenders that remember your name from six months ago, it's the place to see and be seen. For low key nights that don't require much effort, I like Casa DiLeo, where the homemade tiramisu is the best thing on the menu.

Travel doesn't have to be costly or international. Travel can be at a new restaurant, a city you've never seen, the site of raindrops falling on a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, or a beach where the only prints in the sand are your own. Rehoboth is good travel. 

Here's why you should visit Rehoboth Beach, Delaware... 

1. crossing the Chesapeake Bay
2. fresh seafood, local markets, oenophile's dream
3. the beach, of course 
4. shopping (outlets + local boutiques)
5. you might just run into me some time! say hi ;)

sugarloaf mountain northern peaks trail (blue)

I've been thinking about the woods behind my childhood home. Newnan, Georgia is one of the biggest metro-Atlanta suburban areas now. When my family moved there, way back in 1990, it wasn't like that. It was downright rural then. My subdivision was sprawling, the nooks and crannies filled with uncharted nature that seemed endless to a kid. They were eventually filled in with houses, and the woods became short paths to visit our neighbors. But for most of my childhood, the woods were the woods, and there was a lot of them back there. 

Directly behind my house, the woods went back and back and back for as far as I could imagine. I explored them by day, and tip-toed a step or two into them at night, before running back to my house scared. My brother and I, and my friends and I, bushwhacked through them, creating our own trails we remembered by the broken limbs and eventually well worn paths. I learned to suck on honeysuckle and spot poison ivy, and we built forts out of tree covers and played hide-and-seek and foxes and hounds in the bush.

When we first moved to Newnan, we lived with my uncle down the street for a few months, while my mom closed on what would be our home. My Uncle Mike lived only 7 houses down from where we would live for the next 15 years, but the woods behind his house were a whole other world. His woods were even vaster. There were rolling hills and large rocks that seemed like boulders to my little eyes. There was a stream that ran who knows how far. My brother trekked the length of it more than once. I thought he was the strongest and bravest. I was maybe six or seven years old.

I jumped from rock to rock, and in the creek played leap frog on the pebbles, trying to never let my toes get wet, else I lose the game. I balanced with my arms outstretched on fallen trees, walking on my tip-toes the entire length of them, pretending I was an Olympic gymnast like Shannon Miller. 

In 1993, Atlanta had a blizzard - the "storm of the century!" Really, they called it that. Even wikipedia remembers. I'd never seen snow, and my mom woke my brother and me up early, so so early, as the wet, white stuff came down in sheets. It covered our lawn, probably only inches at most, but I swear it went up to our waists. 

Of course, all of metro Atlanta shut down, and that meant no school. We bundled up as best we could - there's a shortage of winter coats when you live way down south, and we convinced our black lab puppy, Shadow, to come play with us. We threw the first snowballs of our lives, wrestled in it, sledded down the sloping hills of our neighborhood streets, and tried to find the trails we'd blazed in the in the snow-covered woods. 

All of these childhood memories came flooding back to me this weekend when Zander, Theo and I went hiking at Sugarloaf Mountain in Dickerson, Maryland. It was a quiet day, cold and icy. The first quarter mile of the Northern Peaks blue-blazed trail we attempted was iced over and treacherous. Fortunately the trail cleared up after that, the snow provided a beautiful back drop, and we were able to finish the 5.5 mile loop. 

After passing the White Rock Overlook, about 2.5 miles in, we descended until we passed a unique tree formation. One tree arched over like the top of a swing set, and another intersected it like a jungle gym. I had to stop (for the millionth time) to take a picture. Growing up in the woods hit me so hard, and I had this thought that if I were ever a playground contractor, visionary - this is what would inspire me. Then I thought I wouldn't have a job for very long, because I'd tell kids to come play in the woods. They're the real playgrounds. 

Don't you want to swing from that arch, and climb and jump off and hang upside down? 

At White Rock Overlook, the view itself didn't take my breath away - it was the little red farmhouse, so proud and distinct in the distance, that did it. What is it about that iconic image that takes me somewhere I've never been, every single time I see it?

 

Hiking makes me feel young again, like we can all stop time for those miles we're breathing hard and sweating in the woods, convincing ourselves we can make it to the top. The peaks I summit and the trails I meander are longer and higher and tougher than the woods behind my childhood house, but my love for them started at 365 Freestone Drive, in the subdivision without a sign. You can spot it by the three giant boulders on the right-hand side of the road. 

Want to hike Sugarloaf? I recommend the blue-blazed Northern Peaks Trail. It's a less-traversed trail on the busy mountain. You'll be stunned by the green-moss covered rocks, giant oaks that shade your way, and views that include a certain little red farmhouse. Read more about it on LocalHikes.

oh hey, PS - I ran about a mile of this trail, too, just like I did after Old Rag. This is becoming a habit. I'm thinking of trying out trail running. Do you have any suggestions on routes, running trails, shoes, etc? Want to run with me? I'd love to hear from you!