In today’s digital age, online dating is almost commonplace. Match.com even purports that one in five relationships now begin online.
But what about meeting someone in the airport? Sure, we’ve seen “Up In The Air” and know that some trashy women and men avid travel enthusiasts will even give travel dating websites like MissTravel a try, but would we actually plan to meet a date at the airport?
Dating website MeetAtTheAirport.com seems to think that they have a market and, judging by the 80,000 people signed up for the site, apparently many people agree.
Rachel Greenwald, dating strategist and author of the book “Have Him at Hello,” agrees. She told CNN that niche dating sites have “become increasingly specialized in the last five years or so” and “airport dating could be very efficient.”
With airport furloughs kicking in this week, we suspect that many travelers will be quite delayed and might have some time for a little layover loving.
Members on the website are from countries including the United States, the United Kingdom, Mexico and Germany, so you can even take your conquests international.
What do you think? Would you test this for yourself? Let us know if you would – or already have – in the comments below.
I’m addicted to “House Hunters International,” the HGTV reality show that profiles people who are moving to another country or buying a vacation home outside the U.S. Aside from the fact that the program whets my appetite to visit the places that are profiled, I love the way it plants seditious seeds in my head about places that were never previously on my radar.
If you watch enough HHI – and the show is on about 14 times per day – the idea of picking up and moving to Buenos Aires, Bruges or Kathmandu on a whim seems downright normal. As someone who has moved to and from three foreign countries and several U.S. states since college, I find it comforting to learn about people who are even crazier and more transient than I am.
The show is what the network likes to call “scripted reality.” It’s essentially based on a true story stuff where they take a real situation and jazz it up to make a more cohesive story. Travel writer Matt Gibson, whose move to Taiwan was featured on the show in 2012, wrote an amusing take on his HHI episode entitled, “House Hunters International is Fake, So What?” in which he catalogued all of the details of his story that were changed.
I watched the episode, then Googled him and saw the post. I probably should have felt cheated, but I didn’t. The fact is that I got a chance to see what $200 a month buys in Taiwan and I don’t really care about the details that were scripted – when he left Canada, who his real estate agent was, when the decision was made to rent the apartment and so on.
For those who haven’t seen the show, the outline is as follows. First, a narrator shows the couple in their native habitat and explains why they are moving, against the backdrop of some annoying but very catchy music. Then they meet with a real estate agent – who may or may not be an actual real estate agent – to outline what they want and how much they have to spend. Then they see three properties and take a walk, usually somewhere scenic, where they hold hands, weigh the merits of each place, rule out one property, make the decision and then share a kiss.
The show concludes with a tour of the new home some months later, after they’ve had time to pretty the place up. Here are some observations from someone who has spent way too much time watching this show. (They apply mostly to expatriates, not people who are buying vacation homes, as I tend to skip those episodes.)
You’re Moving Where?
Many of the expatriates featured on the show fell in love with a place while on a vacation but some move to a place solely based on Internet research. And most who are moving to a place more or less for the hell of it, rather than for a specific career move, are going from some place cold to some place warm.
Slow Down and Simplify
It’s remarkable how often couples and families say that they’re moving to country x to “slow down” and “simplify” their “hectic” lives. But is this their actual motivation or do the producers of the show ascribe this narrative in order to appeal to the legions of “busy” Americans who have time to watch six hours of TV per day but claim to be too busy to do much else?
You Need What?
There are some people who want to completely go native and find a place abroad that isn’t at all like what they have in the U.S., but others have a list of amenities they “need” that can be somewhat hilarious. I’m always amazed by people who are adventurous enough to move from say, Kansas City to Antigua, Guatemala, but insist that they need an in-ground pool, four bathrooms, stainless steel appliances and 4,000 square feet of living space, all for $100,000 or less.
But our Dog Needs His Own Swimming Pool
I’m a dog lover myself but people who seem to have no criteria for house hunting aside from what their cocker spaniel, Fritz, might prefer crack me up.
Cheapskates of the World Unite
One of the appealing aspects of HHI is how it gives viewers an idea of what it costs to live in a variety of places around the world. And when you watch an episode where Americans move to a dirt-cheap country it’s hard not to feel the temptation to leave the country. For example, I remember watching an episode where a couple found a not-too-bad looking apartment in Potosi, Bolivia, for $200 per month, and thinking, “I can’t afford NOT to move to Bolivia!” despite the fact that I had previously never given a moment’s consideration to moving to this landlocked Andean nation of 10 million.
And HHI episodes can also reveal cheap places to live in relatively expensive countries, like Italy, for example. Recently there was an episode that featured an American travel writer named Valerie who bought a $40,000 apartment in Trivigno, in Italy’s Basilicata region. The place looked like a dive, but after the couple put $25,000 into a renovation, it looked pretty darn nice.
Your Kids Aren’t the Reason You Are Moving to Belize
HHI tends to gloss over the logistical aspects of an international move, but as the father of two young children, I always wonder where families who move to off-the-beaten track countries will send their kids to school. I don’t think the U.S. has a monopoly on good schools, far from it, but on several occasions I’ve seen parents justify their moves to obscure places based upon a supposed desire to “do what’s best for their kids.”
One episode in particular stands out. A family was moving to a remote area of Belize and I remember the dad saying that they were doing it because it was somehow better for little so-and-so, their son, who, as I recall was about 10 years old. Maybe so, but I found myself shouting at the TV screen: “No! You’re moving to Belize because YOU want to live in Belize. Be honest and quit trying to claim you’re doing it for your child!”
Nothing But Happy Endings
I love the show but my biggest gripe about it, other than the fact that they leave out important details (visa status, where will your kids go to school, etc.), is that they offer nothing but happy endings. In the final shot of each episode, where the expatriates show off their new homes, they almost always rave about how great the place is and claim that their decision to move to Puerto Banana or wherever was the wisest one they’ve ever made.
The truth is that moving to a place you fall in love with on a trip doesn’t always work out. Any place seems nice while you’re on vacation and have no responsibilities or work to do. It’s always nice to hear about people who moved abroad and love it, but I think it would be even more interesting to feature people who moved somewhere and hated it, or bought a house that turned out to be a complete disaster. Let’s face it; Americans like a happy ending but schadenfreude can be just as sweet.
Beyond travel, we’re also big music fans here at Gadling, largely because music is a great way to get to know a place. This month happens to be Public Radio Music Month and we’re teaming up with NPR to bring you exclusive interviews from NPR music specialists around the country. We’ll be learning about local music culture and up and coming new regional artists, so be sure to follow along all month.
Portland, Oregon might be known for its indie scene, but as Matt Fleeger shows us, it’s also home to a burgeoning jazz scene. As Fleeger points out, when most people think of jazz, they think of a scene that ended in the late 60s. On the contrary, it’s a genre that’s alive and well, full of fusion acts and creative ensembles. Check out Fleeger’s playlist for a good feel of what this city has to offer.
Regular Show/Contribution Beat: Program Director/Host of “New Jazz For Lunch” M-Thurs 12 (noon) to 1 PM, M-Thurs.
When people think of music in Portland, what do they think of?
A DIY, underground approach to music, independent music. In terms of Jazz, highly creative ensembles and players – people who aren’t afraid to think outside the box a bit.
How do you help curate that musical scene?
At KMHD, we try to “hold up” the really creative, interesting, different sounds that are coming out of our city. We partner with the Portland Jazz Composers Ensemble, which is an organization is concerned with fostering new Jazz compositions and releases a different CD featuring a Portland band each month. We bring local musicians into the studio every Friday afternoon for live performances direct to air, and we film local bands playing in various spaces throughout the city. My show in particular features all new releases in an attempt to expose our audience to new sounds. Often times, the Jazz audience gets caught up in the thinking that Jazz ended in 1969, but there are many very interesting sounds and directions happening within the scene today.
How has the Portland jazz scene evolved over the last few decades?
Portland has always had a certain forward-thinking aesthetic when it comes to music, but on the other hand there’s a very laid-back sensibility at work here, too. The Jazz scene has changed a lot over the past few decades, but it’s always been inventive. In the 70’s – Portland (and Eugene, to the south) gave birth to a sort of world-jazz fusion through bands like Oregon, or saxophonist Jim Pepper. Music education factors heavily into the equation as well, whether it’s from Thara Memory (Esperanza Spalding’s mentor) or Portland State University’s Darrell Grant, who is a world-renowned Jazz musician in his own right.
What would you say is the most unique thing about your music scene?
Really it’s the people. And by people, I mean the audience, the people who consume the music. Portland is very (VERY) supportive of its homegrown talent. For example, during the Portland Jazz Festival at least two of the 12 headlining shows are always local acts, and these shows always sell out before the national or international acts that are visiting. That’s something you don’t find in most cities.
What are three new up and coming bands on the Portland scene right now and what makes them distinct?
Nowadays, it’s bands like the Blue Cranes or Grammies that are fusing the improvisational ideas of this music with other bands or genres that influenced them (think Fugazi or tUnE yArDs).
For a Gadling playlist, what are your favorite tracks?
“Everything is Going to Be Okay” – Blue Cranes
“Echolalia” – Kin Trio
“Strong Fire” – Andrew Oliver Sextet
“XSABCESS” – Grammies
“Give Thanks” – Darren Klein
“Rainy Day, Sunny Heart” – Gunga Galunga
“Blossom Bell” – 1939 Ensemble
I was at a laundromat in Santa Cruz, California, reading the New York Times travel section. It was the spring semester of my senior year of college, a period of complete uncertainty for me. I was about to graduate. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I only knew what I didn’t want: to stay in Santa Cruz or move to San Francisco and get an office job of some sort. I needed a purpose. I needed a direction.
And that’s when a life-changing thing happened to me at the laundromat. When the guy next to me, who was reading the main news section of the Times heard the buzzer to his dryer go off, he dismissively tossed the paper over his shoulder. It hit me in the face. Well, okay, it skimmed my face. Alright, it almost hit me in the face.The point is … I picked up the newspaper and the first article I saw was about how bird poop and pollution (poop-lution?) were combining to rot the statues on Prague’s Charles Bridge.
I’d been to Prague three years earlier. I was only there for three days but I was almost paralyzed by its beauty. It had a down-on-its-heels feel to it, having just come up for air from 41 years of Soviet negligence. I met a young American couple that told me there were thousands more like them there. Young yanks just hanging out. They had planned to open a pizza-by-the-slice placed and call it Brooklyn Pizza. I moved on to Berlin a few days later but I couldn’t stop thinking about Prague.
And then here I was reading the article about the city and its eroding statues. What was in the article was unimportant to me. I was having an epiphany, a realization that was so simple I never thought it was possible. I thought my life needed direction and I was going to take that literally. I needed change and it almost hit me right in the face. I would move to the capital of poop-lution: Prague.
So that’s what I did. I spent my days teaching English and my nights drinking beer with drunk old men in smoky pubs. I wandered the city’s narrow streets, gawking at the Baroque palaces. I took classes on the art history of the city. I stood around Charles Bridge – yes that same bridge that was supposed to be dying from asphalt cancer, and one of the most beautiful bridges in the world – staring up at the Prague Castle with the gothic St. Vitus cathedral plopped in the middle.
OK, so I still didn’t have a purpose. In fact, in Prague I had less of a purpose in life than I had in Santa Cruz. At least there I was getting a college degree.
But, while sitting in a café in Prague on a random Tuesday afternoon, I realized, that was sort of the point. Prague let me exist there; it let me hang out and do nothing except for live a rather debauched life, and it didn’t care. It didn’t judge me.
To be fair, though, I didn’t exactly move to Prague to live like a bohemian (and I mean that with a capital “B” and a lowercase “b.” I actually wanted to go somewhere slightly out of my comfort zone. I wanted to struggle a little – to learn something about myself. Yes, I could have chosen a more challenging place (Afghanistan, anyone?). But the beer and sausages are so much better in the Czech Republic. Anyone ever had an Afghan sausage? They’re TERRIBLE.
And so for three years I lived in Prague. I traveled around the country. I made friends. I even learned Czech. How I didn’t come away from there with a gorgeous Czech wife is a miracle. It doesn’t sound very challenging but three years later, I was a profoundly different (and, I hope, a better, stronger, wiser) person. And then one day I woke up and realized my life was so great in Prague there was nothing left to do but to leave it, to find another challenge.
And so I waved goodbye to the City of a Hundred Spires and did something else. But now over a decade since then, I still go back again and again and again.
Why? Because Prague is me. I am Prague. Prague is the reason I’m a traveler and a writer and a travel writer. I go back to get that reminder of the lesson that Prague first taught me: it’s OK to not live a normal life. It’s OK if you don’t have an office job and live in the suburbs (not that there’s anything wrong with that). It’s OK that I’m not making a six-figure salary. It’s OK to go out in the world and let yourself drift. You’re not a loser for doing that! Unlike my mom and dad, Prague never said: What?! You want to be a travel writer?! But they make no money and, really, they’re just losers who can’t do real journalism.
Kafka likened his home city to a mother with claws that won’t let you go. Perhaps. But to me, Prague is more like your friend’s cool mom who lets you party at her house. And after you drunkenly jump off her roof into the pool, she’s standing there waiting with a towel to wrap you in.
Indiana might not immediately pop in your mind when you think of great mountain bike destinations, but after riding Brown County State Park, it will.
Located less than an hour south of Indianapolis, Brown County is the crown jewel of Midwestern trail riding. After the International Mountain Bicycling Association bestowed Epic status on the 25-mile trail system in 2011, riders within a day’s drive of the trails began turning up in droves. On a pleasant spring day, riders will spot license plates from as far away as Wisconsin, Tennessee and Missouri.
A torrential rain earlier in the week meant the parking lot was mostly filled with locals when we pulled in Sunday afternoon; no one wants to drive six hours, only to discover the trails are too muddy to ride.
The rain did impact our riding. The trail was mostly perfect, albeit a bit greasy in several spots. Where we were used to a trickle of water at the creek crossings, we pedaled across what seemed to be a river of water. Wet socks and mud-splattered kits couldn’t take our smiles away – but the hills tried.Indiana has a reputation of being flatter than a steamrolled pancake. That’s true in the northern half of the state, where you can see miles of cornfields in every direction. But the southern part of the state is known for its rolling hills. One of the nation’s most popular road rides, the Hilly Hundred – yes, it lives up to its name – is held every October on nearby roads. Inside the park, it’s a single-track rollercoaster; during my last visit, we climbed and descended multiple times, logging more than 2,000 feet of climbing in just over two hours of riding.
Clipping in at the North Gate trailhead just inside the park entrance, we pedal up to Haynes Loop and onto the newest leg of the trail, Green Valley. Green Valley has a definite flowy vibe, almost like a pump track at times. There are more technical trails out there, but few that are more fun.
Heading farther into the park, Hesitation Point looms, with its numerous rock gardens discouraging meeker riders from climbing to the gorgeous vista at the upper trailhead. Located off Hesitation Point are the fast, wide-open Limekiln Trail and the double-black diamond Schooner Trace, which has destroyed more bike frames than rust.
Each trail and trail combination is unique, with its own personality. By altering the direction and order we ride, it’s like we’re on totally different trails. You can easily spend a long weekend at the park and not get bored.
Trailbuilders are currently constructing Hobb’s Hollow, a brand new 3-mile segment of trail that will be jam-packed with bermed turns, step-ups, rock drops and tabletop jumps, along with a 2-mile descent with 360 feet of vertical drop, more than any other trail in the state. Trail advocates hope to build another 12 miles of trail over the next few years, eventually connecting the park’s single track to the nearby Nebo Ridge and Hickory Ridge trails in the Hoosier National Forest, as well as two private trail networks. With luck, in a few years riders will have more than 100 miles of connected, rideable terrain. When that day comes, IMBA might have to come up with an even more epic trail designation.
Descending back to the trailhead, our massive group splintered into twos and threes, the front rider trying to shake the others off his or her tail. To my rear, I hear Janet Sherman – five months pregnant and apparently riding with the strength of two bikers – taunting me. “Rob, are you going to rail this or what?” The implication being that unless I sped up, I had better get out of her way. I accept the challenge and bomb down the hill, fighting every instinct to squeeze my brake levers. Picking up momentum, the bumps on the trail launched me into the air for a few exhilarating moments, before touching back down onto terra firma. As I successfully steered through each successive turn, my timidness at descending gave way to the sheer joy of speed.
As we roll into the parking lot after our all-too-brief ride, more cars are pulling into the lot. We’re all smiling, our blood filled with adrenaline, endorphins and, after a spill or two, more than a little dirt. We all want to do another lap, but we have family responsibilities – baby sitters to pay, lawns to mow, beers to drink. As our cars head north out of the park, we’re already planning our trip back.
Want to ride Brown County State Park? It’s located on Ind. 46 East, less than an hour south of Indianapolis, off the No. 68 exit of I-65. Park entry is $5 per carload for Indiana residents, $7 for cars with out of state plates. Camping is available at the camp or you can stay at the full-service lodge inside the park. Rates start at $10 for primitive camping, $77 for the lodge. You can get by with most types of mountain bikes – I ride a dual-suspension Giant 29er, and my teammates run the gamut of a rigid 650b chromoly and 26-inch aluminum bikes. Just be sure to wear a helmet.