red hook winery might be brooklyn's best kept secret

When I was six, I begged my mom to take me to church. We'd just moved to Newnan, Georgia, and all the new friends I'd made went to church. All of them. But we didn't. My mom didn't seem too keen on the idea. My brother joined the begging, too. We didn't beg like normal kids, though - with "please, please, please" pleading. We were calculated. We listed reasons it would serve our emotional growth and help us adjust to life in a brand new city. We made moral arguments. We went as far as to convince Mom that she, too, needed friends and what better place to make them than in God's House? 

We tried out a Catholic church, and it was the actual worst. My Mom was raised Catholic, so it was a natural first attempt for her. We were forced to dress up, and there wasn't a kid's oriented class so we suffered through what I suppose was a Mass? I don't know - ever since I nearly died of boredom that day, I've subconsciously blocked out Catholicism entirely. 

The second try was a charm. My brother's buddy Joseph said we had to try Crossroads, a laid back place of worship that was fun. (Our friends really had us convinced that church was practically a dance club it was so cool. Peer pressure is very weird in Southern Baptist Georgia.)

The next Sunday, we drove less than a mile from our house and turned left down a quarter mile dirt and gravel road. As we wound through a lane of trees, a concrete warehouse came into view. Surely we were lost. We looked for an address or a sign on the gray building. It wasn't until we hit a makeshift parking lot and saw smiling faces on dressed down in jeans church-goers that we knew we were right at home. 

Fast forward 22 years later (holy shit when did I age that fast?), and I experienced the same wholly happy and perfectly-at-home feeling when Zan's, Andy's, and my cab turned down a street that started off Brooklyn chic and dead-ended into warehouses, small urban gardens, a grungy pier, and makeshift signs with giant arrows pointing to various small businesses.We'd found our way - a no easy feat - to Red Hook, Brooklyn, home of Red Hook Winery, my new religion in this very strange church-winery comparison. 

Zan has been an urban winery enthusiast for some time now. He's such a big city guy - down to his very core - and sees the genius in bringing grapes and wine-making to concrete patches and small garden swaths. After taking in Red Hook Winery - located on a pier in an old warehouse, I fully agree. While the winery grows its grapes in Long Island, wine-making happens on the premise. The open space feels like a loft with urban chic influences, tons of cork, and a barrel room in plain sight. The wines are reminiscent of the Finger Lakes and even the ones we tasted in Niagara - regions where cold-weather grapes do well. 

Red Hook opened in 2008 and has cultivated a loyal following. Two Napa wine makers run the show - Abe Schoener and Robert Foley, both really interested in eclectic, unique wines. But they don't run it in tandem... instead, each makes his own wines with separate labels. It's like two wineries in one. It'd be so rad to be trained and experienced enough to do a blind tasting and be able to pick their wines apart - is that just me? 

I thoroughly enjoyed the Reserve Tasting of 6 wines. It was laid back - just the three of us with the general manager and one of the wine-makers coming in and out telling us tidbits about one wine or another. After, we wanted to continue to enjoy the view and the day on their comfortable pillows and couches with a full glass, but they aren't allowed to serve full pours, only tasting. It's interesting - and a bit strange. But they are generous about allowing you to re-taste wines until you figure out just the ones you might want to purchase.

The entire Red Hook neighborhood experienced significant damage from Hurricane Sandy over a year ago. Impressively, the entire place felt rejuvenated, nearly completely rebuilt, and ready to keep growing. We wandered into a handmade chocolate shop and distillery, where tours are offered, and tastings are up for grabs. After, we grabbed sandwiches at Defontes, one of Brooklyn's best. 

Industrial neighborhoods with character and style get me every time- from a warehouse church when I was 6 to Red Hook - Brooklyn's best kept secret. 

if you go...

red hook winery

regular tasting: $5 (3 wines)

reserve tasting: $12 (6 wines)

my pick: 2010 seneca reisling (dry, fruity nose, complex)

get there: ikea ferry from manhattan

cab, bike, or bus B61 from brooklyn heights/downtown brooklyn

friday photo | golden hour on the national mall

I had to give it everything I had. If I failed, I could accept that. But I knew that if i did things halfheartedly and they didn't work out, I'd always have regrets. -Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

Since I've lived in DC, I've wanted to be a great many things: a journalist working at overseas bureaus, a public relations problem solver, a diplomat, a student, a bartender, a writer, and even an actress. All my childhood dreams collided the moment I stepped foot in this city. It's a cerebral city that feels like a small town; it fosters ambition and makes you want more.

DC drives aspirations because so many talented, smart, well-connected people live here. But ultimately, DC isn't a city for dreamers; even its most iconic monument is on the straight and narrow, structured, designed to aesthetically please without breaking any rules. It endlessly appeals to the intellectual and realist and very soul in me. I think I learned to be a dreamer and a romantic, but I was born with my nose in a book and my sights set on somewhere and something that was more.

I have such big goals for the next few years: expanding my freelance writing career, taking the GRE, graduate school, and joining the Foreign Service. And for the first time ever, I see how all the seemingly arbitrary choices I've made along the way - studying in South Africa, teaching English in Japan, starting this blog - have led me to this moment right now.

bylines...

5 things you probably didn't know about kyoto 

scenic drives in the dc area 

trius winery's market brunch | niagara on the lake, ca

I grew up on fried bologna sandwiches, and Zander grew up on soft shell crabs. I'm overjoyed every time I tweak my recipe and taste my homemade red sauce, and Zander feels the same way as a first course is set before him at a new restaurant from an esteemed chef. When it comes to food, he and I come from different worlds. We're both "foodies" in our own right - he's more adventurous than me and loves anything straight from the sea, and I appreciate classics and southern comforts upped to the next level with fresh, local ingredients. We got the best of both words - well-known favorites with a twist and cultured offerings - with an added bonus of exquisite preparation - at the renowned Trius Winery brunch.

Niagara on the Lake is a short 20-30 minute drive from Niagara Falls, Canada. It's a gorgeous old town with a main street lined with boutiques and gathering places. From the town center it's an easy walk to the lake, where baby blue water stretches into the horizon. I wandered into a boutique clothing store and left with two dresses. I get more compliments on those dresses than just about anything else I own. It's a nice reminder to shop local and not to solely rely on my staple of J Crew.

I read a few places before our trip to Niagara Falls that Niagara on the Lake has been voted Canada's most beautiful town. It attracts retirees with enough money to buy old houses and keep them functioning like new. It's also known for its wineries. With more than 30 within and on the periphery of the town, it's one of Canada's premiere wine destinations.

When I started mapping out a wine-tasting route for Zan and me, I stumbled upon Trius Winery's farmer's market brunch. Not the wine tasting. The brunch. Everywhere I looked, I saw reviews and comments and blog posts and articles about the quality of this spectacular brunch with a wine pairing. Zan took one look at the prix fixe menu, with several options available for each of the three courses, and just like that, we had a reservation.

We were seated outside on a covered patio overlooking a fountain and endless rows of grape vines. Our server greeted us warmly and poured us welcome, complimentary glasses of Trius's sparkling rose. We could have ended the experience right there, and I would have left happy. I've never had a drier, crisper, more refreshing sparkling wine - and a rose at that! I left with two bottles and wish I had purchased even more.

As we, okay I, gushed over the wine, a food runner set a basket of homemade breads and red wine-infused butter in front of us. She quickly but calmly and thoroughly explained each of the varieties of bread and the butter. Her explanations were one of my favorite parts of the experience.

For our first course, Zander chose salmon and crab rillette served with Niagara cherries and house made Focaccia bread. It was paired with a late harvest Vidal wine. I chose the crisp romaine hearts with smoked bacon with a creamy parmesan dressin wrapped in prosciutto and served over lentil du puy with a hen's egg. I was served an off-dry Gewurztraminer with the salad. Can I just say that I'm writing this at 10:15pm, and I'm salivating thinking of this salad. It is, hands down, one of the most delectable courses - and by far the best salad - I have ever had in my life. A later blog post will be my attempt to recreate it.

Our second and main courses blew us away, as well. Zander opted for the Bradford Bay capon with fresh Ontario mozzarella served alongside an Ontario mushroom and sweet pea quiche with smoked bacon and apple and raisin dressing. I'd never tried capon, and I thoroughly enjoyed it - it was light but filling, tender, and tasted like the end of summer. His dish paired perfectly with a Sauvignon Blanc. Knowing that we'd be wine tasting after all the wine we were already drinking, I went for the heartiest option - a ribeye burger slider and Icewine pulled pork slider, both with maple peameal bacon, blue haze cheese, and spring cabbage slaw. It came with hand cut truffle fries and house ketchup, and those fries were gone faster than it took me to type this sentence. They are that incredible. Trius's medium-bodied, dry Cabernet Sauvignon complemented the rich red meat perfectly.

For dessert, I went with a homemade ice cream bar served with local fruits and a Reisling Icewine. I have never developed a taste for Port or other dessert wines... but I enjoyed the Icewine. The bitterness of the dark chocolate cut through some of the sweetness of the wine. It was delicious and indulgent. Zander devoured a peach and caramel laced dessert paired with a Cabernot Sauvignon Icewine. I found the Cab Sauv Icewine infinitely sweeter than the Reisling variety.

After brunch, we strolled stuffed to the gills into the tasting room to try the wines we hadn't already. The winery is one of the larger ones in the area, with multiple buildings, an ample tasting room, and vines that extend for ages.

The Chef at Trius Winery knows what he's doing. He has created a brunch with local flavor, stylized touches, and food so versatile it'll make a couple who comes from different food worlds wonder if maybe they didn't, after all. 

 if you go...

trius winery

farmer's market brunch menu (changes seasonally)

cost: $50/$75 with wine pairing

the time it cost $100 to go to coney island... from brooklyn

I did some quick mental calculations. It was going to cost us over $100 to cycle from Brooklyn to Coney Island, New York using Citi Bike NYC, New York's new bike sharing program. Zander and I looked at each other and shrugged. "We're too close to turn back now." 

Zan and I spent the weekend in New York with friends to celebrate Mel's and my birthdays. We drove up on Thursday night and planned a grand Brooklyn takeover for Friday. We woke early and cemented our plan to find bagels (most important) and then rent bicycles.

Brooklyn to Coney Island, New York is one of the nation's most iconic urban bike rides. I read it on multiple websites, and the internet only tells the truth so I know that to be fact. After having done it, I can attest to its veracity, although I'll be honest - I don't have a lot of iconic urban bike rides to which to compare it. I do know that it's stunningly beautiful with views of the Manhattan skyline, Prospect Park (Brooklyn's Central Park), tree lined streets, diverse neighborhoods, a beach, and the famous Coney Island boardwalk. It's mostly flat, around 12-14 miles roundtrip, and whole lotta fun. 

As we walked out of Bergen Bagels, home of my new favorite New York bagels, I mapped our way to the nearest bike shop. It'd be a mile walk, and after spraining my ankle on a yoga hike (I'm still embarrassed about that), and failing to properly wrap or ice it for days, Zan was trying his best to limit how much I was walking. As we crossed the street, he pointed out Citi Bikes, the sister program to DC's BikeShare. I hemmed and hawed. This wasn't the plan. 

"Do they even have gears?" 

Zan checked. "Yes, they do." 

"Yeah but they're not meant for trails."

"We're in New York. Everything is paved," he countered.

"But they're way more expensive!" I saved my best argument for last. 

He leaned in to check the pricing. "A 24-hour pass is $10." 

A bicycle rental was $35 from the bike shop. 

And just like that, I was sold. The idea sounded great. As he inserted his credit card for our $20 ride out to Coney Island - for both of us - I read the fine print. The 24-hour pass is good for unlimited 30 minute rides. Every 30 minutes, we'd need to dock the bikes or pay late fees. 

"STOP DONT DO IT!" I animatedly yelled, my arms flailing, trying to pull him away from the machine. 

"Oooops," Zan said as his receipt popped out with codes to unlock the bikes. 

We paused, staring at each other. 

"Let's do it," I said with a shrug. "We'll find stations along the way. It'll be an adventure!" 

The full ride starts on the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn Bridge, allowing cyclists to see the Statue of Liberty in the distance, Governor's Island, and Manhattan behind you. We started closer to Prospect Park, about 2 miles into the ride. We breezed through the city streets, thankful for fairly consistent bike lanes. 

When we reached Prospect Park, we watched in awe as serious cyclists zoomed past us, bent in perfect posture over the handlebars. Runners kept pace on the trail by the road or on the paved lane itself. The tree-lined lane with large, manicured acres of green curved around a small pond on one side and a lake on the other. We stopped to take in the view and take a few photos. We heard music jingling from a carousel nearby.

Out of the Park, we swerved around a traffic circle onto Ocean Parkway, which took us over the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, through a Hasidic Jewish neighborhood, down into an old part of Brooklyn with houses that looked out of place amongst the brownstones we'd seen where we started, and finally, when we could go no further, the ocean. 

But before we reached the ocean, people kept honking at us. Young men and old women and teenagers and everybody in between stopped us in their cars and on the streets to ask us, "Where'd you get those bikes?" About five blocks from Coney Island, we started to feel uneasy. More and more people were approaching us, so incredibly excited, about these bikes. I pulled out my phone and motioned Zander to stop.

We hadn't seen a station the entire way, but we figured - we're only 30 or 45 minutes over time, and the fees at that time range aren't too big, and we'll be able to re-dock them on Coney Island. I looked at the Citi Bike's website and found the station map. I scrolled... and scrolled some more. 

"It must not be loading right," I said to Zan, confused. "It's not showing any stations." 

I scrolled up all the way back to where we'd started. And there, a little dot appeared. We had rented bikes at the last station in Brooklyn. We would have to get back to where we started to dock the bikes. 

I looked at the time. We'd rented the bikes at 10:15, and it was now... 11:20. After the first 90 minutes, late fees cost $13 for every half hour. I did quick math and guessed that for both bikes would cost around $110 by the time we got back to a station. We were screwed. 

On the other hand, we were so close to Coney Island that it felt more foolish not to finish than to head straight back. So onward we went, cruising through the last five blocks until we hit the sand.

It was Zan's and my first time on Coney Island, and we enjoyed seeing it quiet, the rides closed down, out of season. Sunbathers still lined the sand and jet skis sprayed wake into the sunshine, and we shared an original Nathan's hot dog covered in chili and got it on our pants, and held hands and shared a kiss in front of the Ferris Wheel. 

And we did all that in five minutes because good God, we had to return these bikes. 

We pedaled as fast as we could, and Zander has thighs of steel from years of playing rugby and baseball and all of the sports in the world, and he lapped me 15 times in Prospect Park up a hill, and it felt like a race against the clock and like a scavenger hunt trying to find the closest station. When we docked the bikes, I breathed a giant sigh of relief and started laughing because the second Zan's bike clicked into place, he threw his fists in the air in triumph. 

It was the most expensive bike ride of our lives, but in a way that only some misadventures can be, it was totally and completely worth it. 

But please, don't rent Citi Bikes to go to Coney Island.

if you go...

check out ride brooklyn for bike rentals

distance: 12-15 miles roundtrip, depending on where you start

difficulty: 2/5 - mostly flat, going back up prospect park is the only real hill

directions! this detailed guide is great

28 is for it all

I'm 28 years old today, as of 1:16pm, as my mom just texted me, and that feels as old as it does young. I'm solidly in my late-20s now, there's no denying it. I'm ready to be at that place where dreams take the shape of a set of tangible goals, and where I know myself well enough to stop second guessing my choices and instincts. I'm young enough to still think a bottomless brunch and impromptu dance parties in my underwear are good ideas, and I'm old enough to know that vodka makes me have to pee every 10 seconds and should be avoided unless I'm at a party in a bathroom.

Two of my closest girlfriends in college and I have a birthday tradition that is even better than cake. In college, on all of our birthdays we'd go to our favorite bar - The Watering Hole - where our server Molly would serve Ellie and Vanessa beer and me a vodka cranberry. We'd share wings and fries and ask the birthday woman - what was the best thing that happened this year, and what was the worst?

Tonight I'm heading to New York for the weekend. Zan and I are staying with Ellie and her boyfriend Andy tonight, and tomorrow night Mel and Mike and Matt and Ryan are all coming up to join us. I can't even believe we're all going to be together. While Ellie and I are together tonight, we'll raise a glass and carry on our birthday tradition. I thought today I'd share it with you all, as well.

The worst: 
Dealing with The Slumlord at 302. My roommate Matt and I started off the year living in a dump in DC. We didn't have heating, and the landlord rigged an illegal gas line that leaked so badly we were evacuated when we brought in the local housing authority. The landlord threatened to take us to court if we pursued action against him, and he tried to bully us into signing a nondisclosure that we'd never mention his name or what went on in that house. We called bullshit, refused to sign, and got the hell out of there.

Refusing to sign the agreement and being approved for an apartment on my credit alone (that I've worked to build for years) were huge boosts to my confidence and made me feel incredibly empowered - after dealing with that maniac, I feel positive Matt and I can do anything.

The best 

• Apple picking with Zan and his brother and sister-in-law. It's so cool how close Zan and his brother are, and I love being welcomed into that family. 
• Getting lost in a corn maze and pumpkin patch with Zan, Matt, and Whitney. I can't wait to do it again this year!
• Hiking Old Rag in Shenandoah National Park - I finally hiked SNP's most iconic trail, and it was technical and challenging with tons of rock scrambling. I loved it.
• Finishing my first race, a 10k 
• Jumping into the refreshing, cold water of a cenote in Mexico 
• Seeing Niagara Falls
• Starting my freelance writing career
• Zander meeting my family at Thanksgiving in Georgia 
• Catching up with college friends in Kansas City and Nebraska

If I have to just pick one... Getting lost in Mexico and jumping into a van on the side of the road tops the list. It was adventurous, spontaneous, involved a hidden turtle beach, and it was perfect. 27 was good.

28 is going to be even better. 

i was robbed and pooped my pants in koh phi phi

You'll notice that this story is bereft of pictures. That's because my camera was stolen. Along with my passport, cash, credit cards, and my new friend's pants. But now I'm getting ahead of myself.

I landed on the island of Patong, Thailand a few days after Christmas. I suffered 24 miserable hours in that squalid city. I had to search for Thai food amongst the tourist traps, and the best I found was in a food court in the basement of a shopping mall. I ordered pad kee mao, or drunken noodles, and a fruit smoothie. The noodles were bland, and I threw them out. I slurped down my smoothie - it was refreshing, and I was glad I'd ordered it.

I tried to find a spot on the beach to drop my blanket and then my jaw at the turquoise water, but before I had a chance to sit down, I was asked to leave: that area is for customers who want to rent a beach chair. I asked where I could go. The young Thai guy shrugged. The whole beach is for customers. 

I shopped for a while before trudging back to my dirty hostel room; I'd sprung for a single, private room, and it was as much a disappointment as the beach had been. I tried to fall asleep early - I had a 6am ferry the next morning. I fell asleep until midnight, when Patong becomes a city-wide rave and frat party and circus in one, and lay awake listening to drunk tourists dare each other to take a shot of this liquor or that. It's fortuitous I was already awake and that I had my own room because at 3am cramps gripped my insides and propelled me to the toilet with such force I hoped everything was still intact. I spent the next hours plopped on the toilet.

By 6am, I didn't care that I was exhausted and still sick. I was so excited to get off the damn island and on to Koh Phi Phi. I met a guy on the ferry; he was American and reading Cormac McCarthy's The Road. I'd finished it a few months prior and asked how he was enjoying it. We talked for the rest of the ferry ride, and he asked if I'd like to have dinner when we were settled on the island.

We meandered from one bar with Thai boxing to another with karaoke, and we drank too many cocktails and laughed especially hard at our jokes. We ignored a no-trespassing sign and hopped the adjacent fence onto a private beach that arched to the other side of the island. We took in the full moon, and ran our toes through the warm water. We had another drink at a closing bar, and I said, "Let's run into the water. Let's go for a swim." It was 4am, and he said yes, and so we shed our clothes - he stripped down to his boxer briefs, and I stripped to the bathing suit beneath my dress- and we piled our clothes, and my purse, and the contents of his pockets on the sand, and we ran screaming into the water.

We made out for a while - and he was the absolute worst kisser in the history of mankind, and all the booze in my system couldn't change that fact, and so I fibbed that I was cold, and let's head back to our hostels. We emerged from the beach, the moonlight illuminating our way to the pocket of sand where we'd stripped, but nothing was there but the indentation from what had been; we'd been robbed.

We searched for hours. Bar owners came down with flashlights to help us look. Our things were gone. We couldn't do anything until 8am when the police station opened. We trekked back across the island, him with his hands over his goods. Since he'd lost his key, and I had held onto mine, he stayed in my room. I offered him the only shorts that would fit: a pair of yellow boxers covered in smiling faces.

As I was dozing off, he reached a hand down my pajama pants. And then he said, "We can salvage some of this night" in a voice that tried to be sexy but was repelling and disgusting, and I nearly slapped him in the face but settled for his hand, and said, "Hell no."

Less than an hour later, I crawled out of bed, trying not to wake the other three sleeping guys in the room - did I mention I was in a shared, co-ed dorm room? And as I stepped down from the stairs on the bunk bed to the floor, cramps seized my stomach, and I ran to the bathroom, the shared bathroom, with 4 sleeping men in the same room. I closed the door, turned on the faucet to cover the sounds, and I finished off the toilet paper right as another round hit. What was I going to do without toilet paper? 

I turned on the shower. 

You do what you gotta do. 

After I showered, I quietly left the room and made my way to the police station. I filed a report - of course, they didn't know anything, and I dejectedly retreated back to the hostel, mentally making a plan of what to do next: get to a US embassy, see if I can get money back from the hostel or borrow money from someone else, renew my Japanese work visa; there were a million things to consider.

As I began climbing the granite stairs to the hostel, another waive of stomach cramps flooded my body, and my stomach flooded my pants. I stood shocked, my mouth open. I was standing nearly on top of an island, with the beach below me, four men in my room, and poop in my pants.

I feigned forgetting my key and having to go really bad to use the private bathroom in the hostel lobby, and I cleaned up as best I could. As I walked out, The Road Guy was walking down the street in nothing but those yellow boxers, and I thought, well, pooping my pants and being robbed and all, that sight makes my day. 

As I was packing my bags and preparing to beg someone to borrow money, the hostel owner came into my room and said, I have your bag up front. I quizzically looked at him, confused - how in the world did he know, and could it be my things? When he handed me my purse, I fought tears and hugged him with all my might, thanking him profusely.

"You're lucky," he said. "A fisherman found it thrown in the bushes. He's the only one on the island who speaks English, and he took it to the only American who works on the island. She found your picture ID and called around to find you. It's fate."

I hiked up the hill to The Road Guy's hostel, and I knocked on his door. I handed him back his shoes; his pants had been taken for good, along with my camera and cash. I stuck out my hand, and he shook it with his.

"This night will make one hell of a story," he said. "But I hope we never see each other again." I nodded my agreement, a tinge of laughter in both of our eyes.

I took one last look at him as I walked away and yelled back, "You can keep the boxers."

hay is for horses | yoga hikes dc

For a few years in elementary school, I would get off the school bus on the opposite side of the neighborhood from my house with two of my best friends who lived next door to one another. My friend Meghan's mom babysat me every week day until my mom came to pick me up after she got off work. Every so often, Meghan, Tiffany, and I would complement our mud pie appetizers in the woods with dinner at the Smith family's table. Meghan's dad had a ritual of asking every person to talk about the best part of their day. I don't know why, but the thing I most remember about those dinners is how much Meghan's dad hated when we - the kids - used the word "hey." We'd start our stories with it - "Hey Tiffany, remember when..." or "Hey Daniel, how'd you do on your spelling test?" And every single time, Meghan's dad would calmly say, "Hay is for horses." It became such a rote response that we would try to catch each other saying "hey" and beat him to the punch line.

I thought about the Smith family dinner table this weekend when I went on my first Yoga Hike. Yoga Hikes is a small, new DC company led by Danielle, who is awesome. She's an urban hiking enthusiast, runner, and yogi who thought, "Why not combine my loves and share them with the rest of the city?" I love that about our generation - we seem to have this willingness to go after and create our own career paths. It's brave and bold, and often the result is incredibly cool - like Yoga Hikes is. 

The hikes start at a couple of different locations in DC. Sonia and I signed up for a nature hike in Rock Creek Park. We hiked for 45 minutes and did 45 minutes of yoga. 

We started off in a large field at Pierce Mill with about 15 minutes of yoga. Danielle carried small mats, but we started off with just our bodies and the cool earth. It was a perfect morning for a yoga hike - in the 60s and slowly climbing to reach the mid-70s by afternoon, sun shining, and a nice breeze. One thing I noticed right away about this yoga is that even with simple poses and sun salutations, my arms were more engaged. Keeping your stomach, chest, and thighs off the ground means really working those arms. I can feel it today. 

The hike led us on trails through RCP that I'd never experienced. We wound our way uphill to a second field, where we were delighted to see a horse grazing. It was an incredible backdrop for the second set of yoga.

Before we reached the second yoga stop, in the first, ohhhh, 5 minutes of the hike - I stepped wrong on a paved path with a small drop off to a gravel and dirt one, twisted my ankle, and fell. I distinctly remember my view from the ground - nothing but pavement and embarrassment - only me! I tried to quickly jump back up - I've rolled my ankles in the past and been able to walk it off - but this was different (except for the time when I fell the same exact way on stage performing in a beauty pageant in 11th grade, but that's an embarrassing story for another time). I was in pain, but I didn't want to quit so early. I managed to finish the hike, but there wasn't a chance in hell my ankle could support yoga poses. 

Danielle was great about it. She asked me how I was feeling and how badly it was hurt after I stood back up. She tossed me an ice pack while I sat out the next yoga session and engaged me in taking a few photos while she offered other members of my group small adjustments. I loved how laid back she was and how I knew that while she was concerned, she trusted me to know my limitations.

I'm typing this now with my ankle still propped up with ice more than 24 hours later - I probably shouldn't have continued. But I'm stubborn, and I'm glad I did. It was a stunner of a morning, it felt great to see another part of this beautiful city I call home, and I can't believe I made such a novice mistake as not paying attention to my footing. Although, hey - it's easiest to get hurt when the trail seems simplest.

But then again, hay is for horses. 

if you go...

  yoga hikes dc

$25/yoga hike (great deals on packages)

length: 1.5-2.5 miles (need to use gps next time)

hike difficulty: easy

yoga difficulty: moderate/difficult (for me with no upper body strength!)

friday photo: football season is here

I've been reluctant to see summer go. I feel that way every year. It's one of the reasons I was drawn back to LA over and over again for years. But on the east coast, summer refuses to stay longer than a single season, and every year, as temperatures steadily drop a degree here and a few there, I wistfully cling to it - refusing to put away my sundresses and sandals, shivering long into mid-September nights. This year, I basked in summer's offerings - day hikes, a camping trip, time well-spent napping and reading at the beach, slowing down time with old friends and speeding it up with new projects, long days and slow evenings with the taste of the grill in my dinner. But every year, including this one, just as I consider packing up my bags to chase summer, small reminders of what Fall brings sneak into my routine and my line of sight. The return of football, the thought of picking apples and the memory of the smell of apple cake in the oven, and the imagined taste of hot cider, and the vision of Shenandoah National Park in fall - with a brisk breeze and leaves of a thousand colors falling down over my steps, and pulling out skinny jeans that have nearly gathered dust and knee-high boots that have done the same - these are all the things that warm me when the sun's rays stop, and I think this year, Fall is going to be as filled with love as its fading predecessor.

my bylines...

best places to run in tokyo

best day hikes from dc (starring zan & me in the picture!)

guide to the saijo sake festival in hiroshima (one of my best memories of my year in japan)

 

how to visit niagara falls like a local | canada

Niagara Fall is the honeymoon capital of the world and one of the top international tourist destinations. In fact, in 2011, Travel and Leisure ranked Niagara Falls #5 on a list of the world's most visited destinations. There's no escaping the verdict: Niagara Falls is touristy. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. It's one of the world's most visited destinations because it's a magnificent natural feat - three waterfalls with over 150,000 gallons of water cascading over the cliff edge every single second. It's a marvel and worthy of a visit, even though that means battling the crowds to see it. That all said, there are ways to visit Niagara Falls and feel more like a local and less like you're lost in a sea of tourists.

Exchange money... and do it at a local bank 

Almost everywhere in Niagara Falls will accept US dollars, but most places will charge extra for doing so. I call it a "US tax." The exchange rate is nearly 1:1 (the dollar was very slightly stronger when we visited), but exchanging money will save you.

When you exchange your money, do it at a local bank instead of The Money Exchange or booths you might see in tourist-centric areas. Many of the local banks will charge a small fee of $5 with no additional commission. We exchanged money at CIBC and were not charged a fee at all.

Additional tip: try to exchange as much money as you think you'll need. Many banks will charge fees for using a credit card internationally (with the exception of some travel rewards cards designed for international use).

Eat at quality, local restaurants

Niagara Falls is overrun with chain and buffet restaurants with glaring neon signs and banners so big they practically smack you as you walk by. Pass those places by and head to a local restaurant. It might take some research, but finding solid, good, local food in Niagara Falls is possible. A few restaurants that I suggest:

Syndicate Brewery & Restaurant: Syndicate offers customers two choices for food - a bar menu and a three-course prix fixe. The prix-fixe is a downright cheap $22. Options like certain cuts of steak and seafood may tack on a few extra dollars. All of the food is locally sourced, organically grown, and the meat is hormone-free. This meal left Zan's and my stomachs and wallets full and happy.

Napoli Ristorante: This finer-dining Italian restaurant offers up homemade bread with warm olive oil to start, a wine list that boasts some local flavor, and a few memorable dishes. We particularly enjoyed the starter salads - Zander chose a roasted beet, while I had arugula with thin pear slices.

KouTouki Greek Cuisine: Our service started out spotty, but once we had the attention of a server, the meal proceeded flawlessly. This Greek restaurant uses fresh ingredients, fairly authentic recipes (I say fairly because there was lettuce in the Greek salad!), and a nice large selection. Our favorite dish: dolmadakia appetizer (grape leaves).

Sleep local 

Big-name, high-rise hotels line the major tourist strip. Granted, they offer incredible views of the Falls themselves, but you pay in price and your sanity staying in them. Experience the Falls like a local by staying at a boutique hotel, an AirBnB rental, vacation rental by owner, a friend in town, a friend of a friend in town, or a local hotel off the main strip.

Zander and I used AirBnB for the first time, and we loved our experience. For $100/night ($50/person!) on a major holiday weekend, we had an entire guesthouse to ourselves, were able to bring my dog Theodore without a problem, and our host made us a homemade breakfast every morning. Staying in her neighborhood about 1.5 miles from the Falls, we had the opportunity to see what life is like for locals of the town. We watched junior high school students play a baseball game, took nightly walks in the quiet, peaceful area, and enjoyed having a place to call our own for a few days.

Hike to see the sights instead of taking expensive tours

Some of the attractions in Niagara Falls are worth the cost - in particular, the Maid of the Mist is a can't-miss tour. Other attractions and tours quickly add up, and you can see many of the sights for free by waking or hiking to them (if possible). My favorite experience of our entire trip was hiking to the Niagara River Whirlpool from the Niagara Glen Nature Reserve. You can read more about that experience here. At the Falls themselves, while you'll never be able to get out of the crowds entirely, consider walking the length of the sidewalk - it offers unique, different views, and many people congregate in the center, most accessible viewing areas.

Get out 

Taking a day trip from Niagara Falls to Niagara on the Lake (20 minutes) or Toronto (1.5 hours) is a great way to experience local culture outside of the main attraction. Zander and I spent a full day in Niagara on the Lake, a quaint town that has been voted Canada's most attractive. I can see why, with its old-fashioned town center brimming over with boutique shops, old homes, and gorgeous lakeside views. Within and on the periphery of the town are 30+ wineries, the major draw of the area. Zander and I visited six wineries enjoyed our experience getting to know the winemakers, tasting grapes unique to the region, and bringing home enough wine to nearly fill a cellar (okay, not quite, but a lot!). Our favorite wineries are below (another post on this to come).

Trius Winery -- from a bone dry, sparkling rose to an approachable reisling ice wine, Trius's wines were among our favorites. But what really won us over is Trius's incredible brunch with wine pairings. It's one of the best meals I've ever eaten in my life.

Konzelmann - I liked that Konzelmann is smaller than Trius but still has a robust flight of wines. We enjoyed their dry red blends, especially "Canada Red." The staff are incredibly knowledgeable and passionate about the wines.

Marynissen Estates Winery - Our favorite of the six we experienced, Marynissen is a small, boutique winery that has built a name for itself with hard work and wonderful wines. They specialize in Cabernet  Sauvignon (the oldest of those grapes in Canada), Syrah, and Merlot. I loved the small operation, the homey feel of the tasting room, and how inviting and welcoming the staff are. I wish we were closer to make repeat visits.

hike to the niagara river whirlpool | niagara falls, ca

Not all hikes are created equal. Some have been too long or too strenuous when I haven't had enough sleep (looking at you, White Oak Canyon!), and others just aren't that much fun. I've been trying in the past year or so to figure out exactly what separates an okay hike from a good hike from a spectacular one, to me. I've tried picking hikes for beautiful scenery (Overall Run Falls), distance, and difficulty, but none of those characteristics alone made me fall head over heels for a trail. When Zander and I took Theo to hike to the Niagara River Whirlpool in Niagara Glen Nature Reserve in Niagara Falls, Canada last weekend, I figured it out: the more technical a hike is, the more I enjoy it (by the way, could I say Niagara one more time?). This was my dream hike.

By technical, I mean that a hike includes tricky footholds, rock climbing, bouldering, ledges, narrow crevices, etc. On these hikes, my mind and body work in tandem, and as I duck under fallen trees, lift myself up on craggy peaks, and crawl through rock passageways, I think no human could ever make a playground that's nearly as exciting.

The hike starts near the visitor's center of the Niagara Glen Nature Reserve. Don't bother asking inside for guidance - even the trail maps will cost you! That was our only reminder the entire afternoon that we were near a major tourist attraction. Facing the visitor's center, walk to your left down into the grassy picnic area and near the Niagara Gorge overlook. One-hundred yards or so to the left there is a color-coded trail map. The Whirlpool Path, as its dubbed, isn't noted on the map or on the trails, but you'll follow the blue trail to reach the unmarked path. The hike feels more remote and untouched without distinctive trail markers. Take the metal stairs 100 feet or so down until you reach the base of the cliff. Theo is terrified of metal stairs (I think because he can see through them). He was shaking, but the little dude was a brave trooper and made it down without us carrying him. 

Follow the blue trail through moss, fern, rocky terrain, and a heavily wooded trail until you reach the edge of the river. Without trail markings, we though we came across the Whirlpool twice before we actually did. This is one of those times when, "You'll know when you know," is accurate. You can't miss the real deal. At several points, we wandered down the rock and dirt trail to the edge of the water and splashed ourselves and each other. We couldn't help but be excited that we had our feet and hands in water that came straight from the Falls (or was headed to the Falls?? which direction?!).

^^yep, i'm rocking a canada, eh?! hat and a canada fanny pack. gotta embrace the cheesy tourist in yourself sometimes!

The Whirlpool Path is a 5km trail, almost exactly. We knew we'd arrived when the trail that had been steep at points and incredibly rocky flattened out (be prepared to use your hands, as well as your feet!). We stepped out onto a huge expanse of giant, flat rock where names of lovers had been inscribed over the years. Reeds and wild growth sprouted in the shallow annals of water in the deep cracks in the rocks, and it felt more like a scene out of swampland in Florida than Niagara Falls. That is, until we stepped to the rock's edge and looked out over to America, directly across the Niagara River, and the vast, swirling whirlpool. It's one of those times in hiking where the destination is just as good, if not better, than the journey. We shared some water and snacks, and enjoyed the view, the sunshine, the quiet, and the joy of having found a place so spectacular that for a few moments, it was all ours. We had so much fun rock climbing up to higher points on tiny ledges to get better views. There is a whirlpool jet boat tour that costs something like $50/person that sped past us and into the rapids time and again. We talked about riding it, but we got the view for free. It felt good to work for it.

We got sage advice from a couple that hiked past us at the Whirlpool lookout, "Follow the distinctive trail to the wooden stairs. From there, you'll exit onto the main road and can walk the path back to your car, but be careful, the remainder of the trail is slippery." We thought we had reached the pinnacle of the hike at the Whirlpool and expected a short walk through the woods to the stairs. In honesty, I thought it was almost a hiking cop-out to take the stairs and the sidewalk back to the car. 

I. was. wrong. 

The best part of the hike is after the Whirlpool. After a short but gotta-catch-your-breath ascent, we came to a very slippery rock climbing area. We had to use our arms to lift us up through an especially narrow path through two giant boulders. We shimmied under a ledge that felt like a rock cave, and then we emerged to a 90 degree rock wall with a slow waterfall trickling down. We took turns basking in the coolness and freshness of the waterfall. I wanted to dance in it and jump in it and run around in it, but the rocks are so slippery it was all I could do to stay still in it. We saw two, two! snakes - little slippery guys that slithered right away when they heard us, and I still freaked out but stared at them in awe, because I'm fascinated by and terrified of those creatures. 

After the rock waterfall, the trail becomes forested and wooded again. Theo led the way entirely with his nose. He guided us through the moss-covered stone and tree-lined trail to new, steep, angling, wooden stairs, to a sidewalk that runs parallel to the main road in Niagara Glen Nature Reserve. We followed it back around to the car. We rummaged for towels in the trunk and wiped mud off our faces, hands, and Theo's paws. It didn't make a dent - our clothes were mud-stained and soaking wet. It was, hands down, one of my favorite and one of the most technical hikes, I've ever done.

if you go...

niagara glen nature reserve hikes

even on a holiday weekend (labor day), there were no crowds on the trails

cost: free to park, free to hike

distance: 3.2-3.5 miles

time: 1.5-3 hours

difficulty: 3.5/5 - technical, steep in parts, rocky (wear good hiking boots)

scenery: 5 (whirlpool, forest, niagara river, rock waterfall, beach on the river)

friday photo | an elephant hluhluwe-iMfolozi park, sa

I've been thinking lately that the standard advice encouraging people to travel when they're young misses something. I've been thinking that with a little bit of age and life experience, traveling means something deeper to me. I've honed some of my passions and talents - writing, and what I look for and seek out when I travel - that were only just budding when I lived abroad as a student and was still pink with fresh-out-of-college newness. Photography has become a hobby, and I see photos I took then that are out of focus and lacked an eye for composition, and I wistfully think, "If only I could do that again now, a little older, a little less green." But then I read my photo captions on those blurry ones, and they're bursting with uninhibited joy and fervor for life, without a trace of self-doubt, and I feel the happiness on the face of that girl then fall onto the lips 27-year-old me now. And I wouldn't trade having traveled then without what I know now for anything. I should be so lucky to be 21 again, my first time in the world - eyes wide with wonderment and a camera memory card packed to capacity with a shot of every elephant I see.

bylines...

10 best spots for photos in washington, dc 

kyoto's best museums

a lesson in listening on maid of the mist

As you're herded down an elevator and through a tunnel where you pause while a staff member snaps a quick shot of you and yours against a green screen and before you exit into the open air again and race to join the winding, cramped lined for your Maid of the Mist boat ride into Niagara Falls, you're handed a rain poncho and someone yells, "Don't put on the poncho until you're on the boat!" Nobody listens because nobody really hears the instructions because everyone's eyes are feasting on the next boat pulling up and unloading and then boarding so many people you wonder how it doesn't sink from the weight of the people and their anticipation. There's always that one person, though, that tunes into the instruction shouted in the wind, and Zander was that man. I counted three people, total, in the line of masses that had listened and heeded the warning. I hadn't. I unfolded my bright blue poncho the second the worker handed it to me, and I fiddled with it until I found the holes for my head and my arms, and within two minutes in that line, I was sweating and it was so humid under there, so I took it off and held it in my arms, and by the time I put it back on when I was supposed to, it was torn in three places - how did that happen? And so I got soaked, through and through - my clothes, my hair - the mist dripped off my chin and down my dress. And I was giddy the whole time because we were a sea of blue ponchos in a sea of mist and so close to the Falls the rushing water rang through my ears long after our boat docked again. Maid of the Mist was an attraction that exceeded the hype, and I can still feel my fingers weaving through the cloud of mist and the shiver that ran through me when Horsehoe Falls drowned out our collective noise and all was silent and just water and rocks and waterfall, and I loved every bit of those 20 minutes. Just make sure to put on your poncho once you're on the boat.

if you go...

maid of the mist operates on the Canadian & US sides

cost: $19.95 canada; $15.50 us

get tickets and board the boat at the bottom of clifton hill (canada) & prospect point (us)

tip: security will not let you dawdle to get on the next boat for better seats. if the top is full, you'll still have a great view - choose the center of the front for the most mist & best views of both falls