The Art of Awkward

My posts are completely out of order at this point. Here are the places I’ve visited in order: Reykjavik, Oslo, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Istanbul, Athens, Barcelona, Vienna, Salzburg, Munich, Interlaken, Bern, Milan, Venice, Florence, Siena, Rome, Privas, Paris, London, Edinburgh, Amsterdam, Dublin, Killarney, Galway, London and back to Reykjavik.

Ireland was getting lonely. At my first hostel in Dublin, I was thrilled that they didn’t put anyone else in my room. After three months of living in the equivalent of a college dormitory with complete strangers literally sleeping on top of you in a bunk bed, getting a room to yourself is the equivalent of winning the hostel lottery. Don’t mind me why I spread my stuff from corner to corner, play my music loudly, take long showers and have dance parties.

Then they put me in a room to myself in Killarney.

And then they put me in a room to myself in Galway.

It’s like when your college sibling moves to college, and you actually start missing them. I’m even nostalgic for the five men I lived with in Amsterdam who in between getting stoned, crunching on chips and watching episodes of South Park decided that rather than using a key would just bang on the door through out the night hoping that their stoned friend would rise from his drug-induced stupor to get the door. (He never did. But I did. On multiple occassions.)

Never to fear for anyone worrying that I haven’t made new friends in Ireland as I have perfected a certain art – being a third wheel. This skill comes in handy as the main way I am seeing Ireland is on bus tours with the fanny-pack brigade. This is the absolute worst way to see Ireland. People who really want to see Ireland should rent a car and drive along the coast and avoid bus tours as they would visiting their mother-in-law or the bubonic plague.

However, I can’t drive since not only are my driving skills lacking, but there also is the fact that someone in Firenze is now in possession of my driver’s license. A hundred thousand curses on you, purse thief!

Once I’ve narrowed it down to which couple I’d like to spend the day with, I usually strike with a line. “Here, let me take a picture of the two of you together!” The art to becoming someone’s third wheel is to seem helpful. Now I would normally seek out fellow backpackers to hang out with, but there are none to be found. I suspect they’re hitch hiking or getting drunk with the locals in traditional pubs. Or in Paris on a pub crawl. But they’re certainly not on bus tours in Ireland.

To be a third wheel, it’s also important for you to keep certain thoughts to yourself. Like perhaps, if you think someone from Minnesota is wearing the bus driver’s hat, you shouldn’t ask him why he is wearing the bus driver’s hat. Perhaps, it might actually be that he likes wearing chauffer-style hats and just happens to be sitting behind the bus driver. And he might be insulted that you’re insituating he is dressing as a bus driver would.

But most likely, before you’ll know it, it will seem like you’ve always been their third wheel. You’ll be teasing Claire about her photo montage. Or lamenting with Steve on why Americans only get two weeks of vacation a year. And before you know it, you won’t just be taking the photos, you’ll be in the photos. “Honey, go and take a picture with our new friend from Colorado!”

Fast forward a month from now, I suspect I’ll have a starring role in their slideshow on Facebook as “Ellen” or perhaps “Emily.”

It’s a special kind of friendship. The kind that lasts exactly between the tour times of 9 am to 5 pm. No more, no less.

Oh, and happy birthday to my new friend Christoper. Or Kevin. Or whatever it was. I hope you and what’s-her-face really make a good day of it!

In high school, I was depressed. No further details are needed. I mean, I was in high school for four whole years. Of course, I was depressed. So when I was an angst-ridden teenager, I read The Catcher in the Rye. And it meant the world to me. While angst-ridden and teenager should be synonyms for each other, no other book captures that sentiment quite like The Catcher in the Rye. So thank you, J.D Salinger. For making me feel like someone got it. May you rest in peace.

The New York Times asked several experts and writers if “The Catcher in the Rye” is still relevant to today’s teenagers. They asked, “Does the Holden Caulfield version of alienation speak to a generation of Facebook?” As if, Facebook can prevent alienation. Facebook is mighty, but it’s no match against alienation.

Elizabeth Wurtzel, writer of “Prozac Nation,” essentially claims that today’s teenagers aren’t really teenagers. That they’re either complete trainwrecks or goody-two shoes, and there is nothing in between that would glean something from “The Catcher in the Rye.” She also refers to them as “Twitter Tribes.” Since teenagers don’t use Twitter, I’m guessing she understands teenagers as well as she did when she wrote “Prozac Nation.” Which is to say, not at all.

But, if today’s teenagers can’t find commonality with Holden Caufield when it comes to angst, I hope they can find it with Angela Chase, the Holden Caufield of my generation.

My posts are completely out of order at this point. Here are the places I’ve visited in order: Reykjavik, Oslo, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Istanbul, Athens, Barcelona, Vienna, Salzburg, Munich, Interlaken, Bern, Milan, Venice, Florence, Siena, Rome, Privas, Paris, London, Edinburgh, Amsterdam and Dublin.

I wasn’t even going to go to Amsterdam. On the hostel circuit, you mainly hear about Amsterdam for one activity, and it’s not the bike riding. It’s just not my thing. But I met enough people who convince me that Amsterdam is beautiful, and you don’t have to smoke to enjoy it.

When hostel living, breakfast is a clutch time to make new friends and find people to hang out with. Breakfast always has a similar conversation consisting of several standard questions:

• Where are you from?
• How long have you been here?
• What have you seen so far?
• What are you going to do today?

In Amsterdam, the questions remain the same. But the answers are a wee bit different.

“So what are you going to do today?,” the adorable-but-scruffy Australian asks.

“I’m going to the Van Gogh museum, the Anne Frank house and maybe for a bike ride if there is time!” I respond in my excited “Let’s Go Elaine” tourist voice. “What are you doing?”

“Well we’re thinking of hitting up the Marijuana Museum today. I hear you can take a hit off a giant bong!”

“ummm…Oh, well…UMMMM…that sounds lovely!”

“Have you been to the Sex Museum yet?”

“Ummmm…no, not yet! But it’s on the list!” (It wasn’t, but I had no idea how to hold my end of this conversation.)

“It was awful. We paid 7 Euros, and there was nothing to see! Total rip-off.”

“That’s because the Erotica Museum is the better museum, and it’s only 3 Euros,” an English girl jumps in.

Yes, that really was the exact conversation. They debate the merits of the Sex Museum versus the Erotica Museum while I finish my toast quietly. Frankly, I bet the Marijuana Museum would be hilarious with friends. But at this point at the trip, I just didn’t want to try and pretend to muster the enthusiasm up for a museum I didn’t have any aching desire to see. I wrote Amsterdam off for meeting new people.

Which is why meeting Sid made the Heineken “experience” actually worth experiencing. One of the highlights of backpacking is that you can meet people in happenstance situations and then choose to spend the rest of the day with them. Sid, short for Sidhartha, is an expat from Amsterdam currently working out of the Hague. Traveling brings the most fascinating people into your life. Back home, I’m fairly introverted. Meeting so many new people in 2009 pushed me so far out of my comfort zone it was exhausting. By the end of the year, I wasn’t open to meeting to new people. Traveling by yourself, you make the effort to meet new people or perish from loneliness. And thank God for that, because I’ve met people from countless countries and all walks of life. One of my biggest desires from traveling is to work hard in 2010 at meeting new people, especially people who don’t live/work in the social media bubble.

Sid and I finished the Heineken brewery tour (which was lame-o) and went for steaks, frites and beer at a nearby restaurant. When you walk into a restaurant, you aim to see more natives and less of the fannypack brigade. This restaurant was spot on. My super bloody steak and frites  coupled with great conversation was a much better experience than Heineken.

I wrapped up my stay in Amsterdam with a bike ride, which is the best way to see the canals of Amsterdam. On my earlier Amsterdam tour, the guide cited a fact were there was approximately two bikes for every citizen of Amsterdam. Yet, for every citizen of Amsterdam that owns 1.72 bikes, I didn’t see a single one wearing a helmet. Not one. Despite my map and several of the sites I read declaring how dangerous and crazy bike riding in Amsterdam is, the Amsterdamians haven’t gotten the memo. Is Amsterdamians a word? It is now. Go with it. It’s a cross between a dalmatian and someone who lives in Amsterdam. Pronounce it Am-ster-dame-e-an, and file it away in the Elainguage dictionary.

You leave for three months, and things change. Mainly, several of your friends pop up with new blogs that you didn’t realize they had.

My friend James Baber has a new blog, I am QuasiJames’ Mind. A brilliant thinker who unabashedly says what he thinks. Rachel Ryle has a new blog with the best title ever, Once in a Ryle. Rachel spent an entire year rhyming every single one of her Tweets, so expect good stuff from her. Cali Harris has a new blog called Caligater with posts that will dance into your heart. Which is appropriate for an award-winning dancer. My former Schenkein colleague and friend Abbey O’Neal has a blog called Days Like These about living with purpose. Her writing is striking me right at the heart as it is a lot of things I am working on right now.

And…a belated shout friend to my friend Ryan Behner. Ryan committed to doing a photo a day in 2009, which he actually followed through on. And not only did he do a photo a day, they were absolutely brilliant. Before I left for my trip, Ryan was so kind as to do a photo walk with me to give me tips on photography. He is as kind as he is talented. And every time he looks at my photos, he must reflect upon how those two hours were wasted.  Fear not Ryan, when I get back I’m going to waste more of your time as I really want to get better at this.

Ryan Behner photo. (I miss home.)

I am driving you home. Ryan Behner photo.

I interrupt my travel writing to share an article/post about fashion I think you should read. Even if you don’t like fashion or don’t care at all. The article is written by Tavi, a fourteen-year-old fashion blogger, who is an overnight sensation and gets to attend couture shows in Paris. Not that I’m jealous. Ok, I’m totally jealous. Anyway, her article does a really good job of explaining why people love fashion, and why it matters to so many of us. And really addressing the stereotypes that come along with fashion.

Soooo…speaking of fashion shows. I’ll be in NYC during Fashion Week. I’ve never been so excited about anything in my life, and will go and watch the crowds. (hi George, hope you don’t mind…) BUT, I was wondering, if any of my five readers have any contacts in the fashion world and could help me attend a show. It’s a Life List thing to attend a show rather than waiting for Style.com to load the pictures of the shows. So if you have any connection at all, would you consider dropping me an e-mail at ElaineEEllis (at) gmail.com. I’d be eternally grateful. I know it’s unlikely, but I thought I’d put it out there.

My posts are completely out of order at this point. Here are the places I’ve visited in order: Reykjavik, Oslo, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Istanbul, Athens, Barcelona, Vienna, Salzburg, Munich, Interlaken, Bern, Milan, Venice, Florence, Siena, Rome, Privas, Paris, London, Edinburgh, Amsterdam and Dublin.

My twenty-fifth birthday weekend was spent in Puerta Vallerta drowning a series of tequila shots and buckets of Corona. The aftermath was what you would expect for an evening in which sweaty men poured liquor down your mouth, shook you and then brought you another round. What? Exactly. Which is why having an all-day snorkeling trip scheduled for the first full day of being twenty-six was an even worse decision than how I spent my last day of being twenty-five.

I promised myself that I would never make the same mistake. Not of taking multiple rounds of tequila shots but scheduling those rounds before a big day of travel. Fast forward three years, and I decide to participate in a pub crawl the day before Soldes start in Paris.

What are Soldes exactly? Soldes are France’s national sales that happen exactly twice a year. That’s right, I happen to be in the world’s fashion capital one of the two times a year sales are allowed to happen.

The French are a classy crew, so it isn’t similar to the masses of people descending upon Wal-Mart  to shave an extra $100 off the flat screen TV.  But still, you want your game face on for the first day of such an epic event. You are from the land of America, after all. If you’re American, you’d probably trample your grandmother for that $20 Kitchenaid blender.

The exchange rate is a drop kick to the stomach when it comes to shopping, but Soldes cut 50 percent off the price. And instead of getting my game face on and planning out my epic quests, I spend the evening doing rounds of tequila shots. And some rounds of beer. And perhaps some black Russians. Oh youth, have you taught me nothing at all?

The morning arrives, and I do not have my game face on. Perhaps my poor decision face, but definitely not  my game face. It is the equivalent of training for a marathon only to wake up hungover, but I was damned if I would let a lifetime of training go to waste.

The highlight of my shopping experience was finding an adorable boutique in the Marais. Even with the soldes, most of the prices were out of reach for my unemployed wallet. But this boutique had heaps of chic women sifting out some really stylish pieces, and I picked up this gorgeous Navy sweater at a good price.

I was so proud of my find, I Google it so I can tell Jacs about the boutique. Guess what? The boutique, Cos, is a new upscale offshoot of H&M!

Globalization, you win this round.

Map Reading in Rome

Everyday I am amazed at the kindness of total strangers in helping me along my way. In Bern, a father and teenage daughter spot me reading directions and walking around aimlessly with my pack on my back. They approach me in English, walk me half way to my destination and wish me safe travels.
A women from Norway seeks me out after sitting next to me on a canal tour in Copenhagen to bear hug me and tell me, “May God bless you and your travels.” As I pace nervously outside a hotel (not my own) at 4:45 am in Reykjavik, Iceland, the hotel manager comes to check on me and informs me that the shuttle has already left. She calls a cab for me, tells me not to worry and makes me coffee with biscuits as I wait.

As me and three men are examining a map in Munich attempting to find a good local watering hole, a women stops us to ask us what we are looking for. When we tell her a local bar, she tells us the name of where she’s come from and that she’s pretty “sauced”, so we will have a good time there.

As I said in my Iceland post, pulling out and staring at a map is a universal sign to either mug me or help me find my way. Repeatedly Europeans have graciously offered a stranger help in finding her way, purchasing tickets and making sure she gets off on the right train stop. In America, we frequently hear of Southern hospitality, but European hospitality would give Southerners a run for their money.

Yes, I had my wallet stolen in Florence. Yes, some man decided to whip it out of his pants to flash me in Rome. But you can’t let a couple of bad moments color the daily acts of kindness I’ve seen from Europeans.

It has me contemplating my own kindness towards others. When people are on street corners looking at maps, literally or figuratively, am I extending basic kindness that can be so meaningful?

My posts are completely out of order at this point. Here are the places I’ve visited in order: Reykjavik, Oslo, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Istanbul, Athens, Barcelona, Vienna, Salzburg, Munich, Interlaken, Bern, Milann, Venice, Florence, Siena, Rome, Privas, Paris, London, Edinburgh and Amsterdam.

I decided to head for Berlin for the weekend. Striking air traffic controllers struck that option for me as I arrived to the airport to find a solid row of cancelled flights. So rather than catch a nine-hour train ride to Berlin, I opted for a two-hour train ride to London showing up unannounced at the doorstep of my gracious college friend, Lauren O’Brien.

England was the first place I ever visited in Europe. My parents took my sister and I when we were in elementary school. Knowing that children our age were unlikely to appreciate the history and culture of Europe, my parents designed a creative way for us to learn about England. For every original fact we could recite at the dinner table, we earned three cents. My parents were thrifty, weren’t they? I racked up about $100 in spending money and was full of English history and useless trivia by the time my feet touched foreign soil.

To this day, I have never met anyone who could travel like my father. If you’ll recall the scene from National Lampoon’s European Vacation in which Clark Griswold gets so upset because the honeymooners in Paris hadn’t seen anything. That scene sums up my father’s philosophy exactly, which is to cram in as much sightseeing into every day as possible. He would tell us, “Kids in six months, we’ll be at Parliament and Big Ben.”

He wasn’t kidding. In six months precisely, we would be at Parliament and Big Ben. Traveling with my parents was exactly like traveling with the Griswolds. Full of lots of sights, crazy moments and good memories. My parents were awesome, weren’t they? In college, I spent another week in London, in which Blonde Jackie,* and we hit the city hard. So by the time I roll up unannounced to Lauren’s doorstep, I just want to see Lauren and vintage shop.

In 2008 Lauren decided she wanted to live in London. So she obtained a Visa, quit her stable job as an accountant in Chicago and moved to London. In the midst of a financial crisis. And she made it work, found a flat, found a job at a bank, got promoted and has carved out a life that I’m rather envious of. It doesn’t mean it was easy, but I’m inspired by the risks she took to achieve her dreams. She didn’t take the easy road but the risks she took made it the more rewarding road. A road that involves forks in the roads that involve weekend trips to Paris.

Burrough Food Market

Similar to Privas, there is a very relaxing element to being with those you know. Even better, one of Lauren’s New Year Resolution’s is to cook more. And who am I to argue with nightly gourmet meals after two months of being on the road? The other culinary highlight is the Burroughs Market that Lauren pointed me in the direction of, which is the best of the food markets I’ve seen so far. It’s always fun to hit up the markets whether in Munich, Barcelona or London and to meet artisinal chefs. I ended up spending more time in Burroughs Market than the Tate Modern. Organic, fresh apple cider is trumping modern art at this point for me.

The other highlight for me besides Lauren was vintage shopping. Currently, the pound is a drop kick in the stomach when it comes to shopping. Even Top Shop was at prices that were unjustifiable. But London has incredible vintage shopping, and I spent a whole day at the Pettycoat market (blah), Spitafelds (amazing) and Absolute Vintage (also amazing). Spitafelds was 2/5 great vintage, 2/5 Etsy and 1/5 Regretsy. If I lived in London, I would go every month.

Excited to be back in early February to spend more time with Lauren and meet more of her friends.

*In college, two of our friends were named Jackie. Rather than clarify which one we are referring to by last name, we refer to them by hair color. Which is easier to explain when referring to Blonde Jackie but a more awkward conversation when mentioning your friend Brown Jackie.

My posts are completely out of order at this point. Here are the places I’ve visited in order: Reykjavik, Oslo, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Istanbul, Athens, Barcelona, Vienna, Salzburg, Munich, Interlaken, Bern, Milan, Venice, Florence, Siena, Rome, Privas, Paris, London, Edinburgh and Amsterdam.

Kristy and Patrick

Hands down, Privas (don’t pronounce the S) was one of the biggest highlights of my 90 days. Privas, France, is the home of my college roommate’s finance, and they were visiting family over the holidays. Patrick and Kristy went out of their way to extend their hospitality and show me around.

Traveling by yourself has more ups than downs, but one of the biggest downsides is that you are always on alert and are always wary at some level. Getting to spend time with Kristy and Patrick was the first time I felt I was relaxed to the core, and it was needed after the fun time that was Italy.

Even more remarkable than Kristy and Patrick’s hospitality was the hospitality of Patrick’s mother. It takes a certain kind of woman to open her home to an Awkward American but her hospitality was extraordinary. She actually did my laundry for me, which if you’ve ever backpacked, you’ll understand why it was one of the most wonderful things to happen to me on the trip.

Resolution #1 – Do more kind acts for others.

French Food!

One of the things I mentioned in my Greece blog post is my realization is that I’m not seeing an authentic Europe. Privas is authentic. I lived with a French family, ate incredible French food and shopped at the French markets in a town devoid of tourists excluding one Awkward American. I will always be grateful beyond words for Patrick’ and his family’s hospitality and for giving me a glimpse into Europe that goes beyond the postcard.

Another highlight of my stay is attending a French dinner party hosted by Patrick’s childhood friend, Luddo. At one point Luddo asked me what my hobbies and passions are. Now Luddo is learning Occident, the ancient language of the French, which is his fourth or fifth language. He is also restoring his home, which is at least 100 years old to be authentic and using eco-responsible materials. Patrick participates in Ironmans in his spare time. Patrick’s mother is an incredible folk dancer and even attends folk dancing camp. My hobbies and passions? I try to explain I write a blog called The Art of Awkward, and Kristy explains I’m her friend with really random facts. Which brings us to New Year’s Resolution’s #2.

Resolution #2 – Find a hobby acceptable for French dinner parties.

The language barrier is definitely there as Patrick’s mother speaks no English, and as we know, I barely speak English and no French. By the end, I can say very limited phrases. Tres bien, se bien and tres jolie are the ones I incorporated most frequently into my quasi-French jargon. Angela, the hostess of the French dinner party, is from Spain, which does give me the opportunity to use my limited Spanish from high school.

“Matilda tienes Angela’s muy gordita eyes.”

Which roughly translates into Matilda, her daughter, has Angela’s pretty eyes. I think. I suspect it didn’t translate at all.

Even French words I thought I knew are undecipherable to the actual French. I tell Luddo that I am really excited for my first French eclair with the pastry box tucked under my arm. Luddo confusedly turns to Patrick for translation, and Patrick pronounces it, “ehh-clear.”

Luddo nods in comprehension. “But that’s what I said!,” I cry out.

Which brings us to New Year’s Resolution’s #3.

Resolution #3 – Work on learning a foreign language and to actually be understood by native speakers.

Privas was so peaceful. We took walks among nature, and I saw hounds chasing down a fox. I got to have long conversations with one of my closest friends. We had two-hour meals without worrying about everything that had to be done or where we had to be next. There was no Internet and life was better without it.

Resolution #4 – To be present in the moment.

While these aren’t quite my New Year’s Resolutions, having 90 days off from the day-to-day grind has given me invaluable time to reflect. Privas was invaluable to that. A huge thanks to Kristy and Patrick for their hospitality and more importantly, their friendship.

It’s kind of depressing to see the exact same brands in every country you visit,” one of the Australians I met noted in Munich.

WaWa Treats. Photo courtesy of Foodzie.

While Europe isn’t as Americanized as I expected, globalization is alive and well in every city. Even Privas just received its first McDonalds. Nearly every city has an H&M, Starbucks and McDonalds. Rinse and repeat. Let’s be honest, it’s not that I don’t love the first two. Yet despite the wildly disparate cultures of the countries I visit, I can buy a grande latte on the way to my affordable Swedish design almost anywhere. It is tiring to see the same brands in every country.

That’s why I love what Foodzie is doing. For all my friends who don’t spend as much time on the Internet as I do, Foodzie is similar to an online farmer’s market. Meaning they help artisinal food producers build a web presence and help discerning foodies find some of the best damn food out there. Each producer is more of a regional Mom & Pop type producer with a compelling story.

What’s more is that Foodzie makes the best presents out there. I’ve been giving Foodzie as presents for more than a year, and they usually elicit a wow. The packaging is stellar, the food is incredible, the selection is unique and the prices are affordable. Typically, for this level of quality, you’d pay Godiva prices.

I met the founders of Foodzie through TechStars, which was a pro-bono client of my last agency. TechStars is a three-month program that helps tech startups accelerate their growth providing mentorship from some incredible leaders in tech. The three founders of Foodzie are in their early- to mid-twenties and took a big shift from their traditional career paths to start a company. They uprooted themselves from stable jobs and a house in North Carolina to Boulder for TechStars and then to San Francisco to host their company. I love that when I shop Foodzie, I’m not only supporting the entrepreneurship of their many producers, but twenty-somethings who took big risks rather than a traditional path.

Kika's Treats. Caramelized graham crackers with pure milk chocolate. Photo courtesty of Foodzie

And if you’re looking for some suggestions for what to order, these are some of the producers I’ve given gifts from: Coco-luxe, Taza Chocolates, BonBonBars, p.o.p candy, Liz Lovely, Seth Ellis chocolates and little laura’s sweets. I’ve had dreams about Kika’s Treats previously. You can even turn them into s’mores. You’ll notice I don’t deviate from the chocolate section, so you’ll have to get non-sweet recommendations elsewhere. This Valentine’s and Easter, forgo the Schaffers and Cadbury. Your loved ones will thank you for it.