For something quirky to do in New York, visiting the City Reliquary in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, is a great option. The museum – which is actually a not-for-profit – houses artifacts and exhibits of the city. While this may sound run-of-the-mill, the pieces on display are anything but ordinary.
On their website it states that “through permanent display of New York City artifacts, rotating exhibits of community collections, and annual cultural events, The City Reliquary connects visitors to both the past and present of New York.”
So, what kind of things can visitors expect to see? Building fragments, L train paint chips, a “very old shovel,” subway tokens, horse bones, water from the old aqueduct system, postcards, geological core samples, rotting birthday cakes, antique subway maps, old films, roller skates, rat bones, light-up statues and a lot more.
For many, it’s a unique, off-the-beaten-path way to learn about New York. Not only that, but the museum hosts fun events, like film festivals, concerts, block parties and “show and tells,” where people can bring in their own New York artifacts to showcase. Plus, the museum is free – although there is a suggested donation – and serves cheap beer.
The City Reliquary is open Thursday through Sunday, from 12:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m. It is located at 370 Metropolitan Avenue, which you can reach by taking the L train to Lorimer Street.
“All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.” – Martin Buber
What’s your travel philosophy? It’s a question that many seasoned travelers get asked. Your travel philosophy encompasses your beliefs on travel and the process of leaving home. It is like your mission statement for your trips. There are many to choose from, and depending on your travel style and what you want to get out of your trips, yours could be worlds away from the next person’s. Having a travel philosophy is not something you need to have, but more something you intrinsically have without even trying.
Most people travel without much thinking. Not that a certain amount of planning doesn’t go into the trip – booking a flight, researching hotels and looking at reviews; however, many people don’t stop to think about why they are actually traveling.When I travel, I’m usually carrying nothing more than a 20-pound backpack and a pair of sunglasses. I enjoy traveling solo to international destinations and places that give me a bit of culture shock. To me, traveling is about being taken out of your comfort zone and growing from the experience. However, if you asked my best friend what travel meant to her, she would be more likely to answer relaxing on a beach with close friends and a strong daiquiri. Additionally, I know other people who travel to learn about history, fashion, food, and medicine or to volunteer, escape, have an adventure, for inspiration, to become healed, to relax or to become closer with their partner. None of these ways of looking at travel is right or wrong, just different.
That’s one thing that’s so great about travel. Aside from doing illegal activities or being completely inconsiderate, there really is no wrong way to travel. It’s all about what you want to get out of the experience. For example, when living with a host family in Ghana, Africa, my favorite part was seeing the locals cook dinner and also attending events like church or a wedding. Of course, I visited the famous sites in the country like the slave castles, cultural centers and national parks; however, it was learning about everyday life that really made me feel like I was in Ghana.
So the big question is, why do you travel? It sounds like such a simple question, although figuring it out is not so easy.
On many past posts about my travels, I’ve gotten a lot of comments from people who just can’t relate to what I’m saying. I’ve also gotten many comments from people who think a lot like I do. There’s nothing wrong with either, as each person’s experience differs from another. This is another reason you shouldn’t listen to everything other travelers say, as their experiences are in line with their goals. For example, before going to Gimmelwald, an extremely small mountain town in Switzerland, I was asked by another backpacker, “Why would you go there? There’s nothing to do.” Thankfully I ignored her question, and followed my gut, as the destination is now one of my favorite cities in the world. While some people may find a place that doesn’t have nightclubs, restaurants and shops “boring,” I found it delightful. I went for picturesque hikes, purchased eggs, cheese and sausage from Erica, the town’s “egg and cheese lady” and bonded with new friends over red wine and games of Jenga. It opened my eyes up to a simpler way of life.
That’s why I travel. I’m not saying I had a revelation that I should leave my home city of New York and move to a small town in the mountains; however, I did discover a new way of life. For me, it’s about learning new things, exploring new landscapes and becoming more and more a citizen of the world.
I’ve found that as I’ve gotten older, my travel philosophy has changed. When I was younger, even in my teenage years, I was obsessed with amusement parks. Every trip my family planned revolved around what roller coaster looked the scariest and which theme park had the newest rides. As I got older, I started to enjoy cruises and all-inclusive resorts, because I found them relaxing and a way to let loose and have fun without having to worry about money. It wasn’t until I studied abroad in Sydney that I began to view travel as more of a growing experience. When in Australia, I barely ever sat still, but instead used every free moment to explore the country, interact with locals and learn new things. That is the trip that really cemented my backpacker style of trying to travel close to the ground and immerse myself in local cultures.
In the United States, Cinco de Mayo (“fifth of May”)is essentially yet another excuse to get hammered. In the Mexican state of Puebla, however, the holiday commemorates the Mexican Army’s victory over the French at the Battle of Puebla on May 5, 1862.
Cinco de Mayo is also celebrated in other regions of Mexico; as in the States, it’s a day of honoring Mexican pride and heritage. This year, instead of the standard chips and guacamole (and crippling hangover), try some beloved Mexican foods that are well suited to serve a crowd. They’re easily made, or purchased if you live in a community with a sizable Hispanic population. Buen provecho!
1. Flor de Calabaza(squash blossoms): Available now at your local farmers market or specialty produce shop, and a favorite of Mexican home cooks. Try sautéing them and tucking into quesadillas or dipping in batter and frying (stuff them with fresh goat cheese mixed with chopped herbs for a really special treat; click here for the recipe).
2. Elotes: Whether served as whole, grilled ears of corn or kernels-in-a-cup, these mayonnaise, lime, and chile-slathered street eats are worth every ripple of cellulite they produce. True, corn isn’t in season right now; see if your favorite local farm stand, market vendor, or specialty grocer has frozen kernels for sale.
3. Churros: Fried, sugary goodness in phallic form: what’s not to love? Uh, except maybe churros concajeta (filled with caramelized goat milk).
4.Antojitos: Traditionally found in the fondas, or beer bars of Mexico City, these small, fried or griddled masa dough “cravings (antojos)” or “little whims” are now more commonly associated with street food, and have regional adaptations. The differences in shape and fillings are often subtle: a chalupa (not to be confused with the Taco Bell concoction) is a thin, fried cup with a slight depression for holding meat and/or beans, shredded cabbage, crumbled fresh cheese or crema, and avocado or guacamole, while a huarache is like a slightly thicker tortilla in the shape of a sandal (hence the name). In Oaxaca, regional antojitos such as tlacoyos (like a skinny huarache) and memelas (think round huarache) may be topped with black beans and complex salsas indigenous to the region. In a word, addictive.
5. Michelada: Forget margaritas. This refreshing beverage has hair-of-the-dog built right in, and indeed, it’s a traditional Mexican hangover helper (as is a steaming bowl of menudo). Combine one icy cold Mexican beer (My pick: Pacifico) with fresh-squeezed lime juice, tomato juice or Clamato, a dash of hot sauce and a pinch of kosher or celery salt. The variations are many, but this recipe from Food52 is a winner.
There are few sensations more terrifying than running away from gunfire – particularly on your honeymoon.
As intermittent pops echoed against the hillsides of Quito, I found myself entrenched in a confused and chaotic mob of civilians all running in a footrace of self-preservation.
“Heather,” I thought. “My God where is Heather?”
Knowing my new bride didn’t speak Spanish and our having no cell phones to reach each other, this would really be an unfortunate time to find ourselves split up.
Instantly, however, I spotted my wife amidst a nebula of panic, with her blonde hair and tall frame fortuitously standing out above the dark-haired, somewhat shorter crowd surrounding us.
“What are we going to do?” she frantically clamored as we met in a momentary embrace.
“I’m not sure, just keep moving with everyone”.
Then, in a strange twist of irony, the same bus we had ridden directly into the center of the coup had made a U-turn on the highway and was now loading fleeing civilians in an impromptu evacuation effort.”Quick, get on the bus!” was all I could blurt out. My decision-making skills were struggling to keep up with the rapidly shifting environment outside.
“But it’s going the wrong way.”
Always perceptive, my wife noticed that the bus was, in fact, driving slowly into oncoming traffic. Granted, the amount of vehicles was at a minimum due to the turn of events, yet the bus, nevertheless, was engaged in a bit of a vehicular bob and weave.
Now finding ourselves crammed into the public bus and staring down oncoming traffic, the bus driver finally did what any self-respecting bus driver in the same situation would do: He jumped the curb, drove down an embankment and emerged cleanly on the proper side of the highway.
The pedestrian crowd soon subsided after we’d driven a mile from the shooting. The bus driver opted to offload all of the escapees onto the somewhat peaceful street corner, essentially leaving us to our own devices.
Though the initial adrenaline of being amongst the coup had subsided, I still needed to deal with the reality of being lost on a Quito street corner amid a lawless local populace. With the police on strike and literally waging their own battles, rampant looting and widespread chaos were beginning to grip the city. Toppled cars had been set alight in the streets and the whir of helicopters thumped overhead. In a frightful moment of realization, it was becoming apparent that nowhere was safe.
That’s when, in recognizing the plight of two hapless tourists in a position of legitimate danger, a local man named Octavio waved me over from my spot on the street corner.
“No estás seguro aquí. Ven conmigo.” You aren’t safe here. Come with me.
Trapped in the chaos himself, Octavio had called his brother who was on his way with their personal car. He had room for two more people, and those two spots were going to us.
Stepping inside the faded green sedan I still didn’t feel safe, not because of Octavio, but because I was still on the streets of Quito, and not in my hostel with the towering barbed wire fence. Getting there was going to be a problem, however, as there were burning stacks of tires blocking the road to where I was staying.
Suddenly, it dawned on me, that when a burning stack of tires blocks your hostel and you’ve just ridden in a public bus going against traffic in an effort to escape live gunfire, you might want to consider going to the US Embassy.
I mean I’m an American citizen. I can always find refuge at the US Embassy, right?
Wrong.
Convincing Octavio to take a side route so that we could swing by the embassy my hopes were high that we could at least park ourselves there to wait out the confusion. Up until this point in life my only vision of US Embassies abroad has been Cambodians and foreign journalists seeking refuge in the Embassy in Phnom Penh as seen in “The Killing Fields.”
With my apologies (and perhaps questions) to Gadling’s resident diplomat, Dave Seminara, apparently that sort of patriotic benevolence is only seen in the movies.
Frantically approaching the Embassy gates, American passport in hand, I was immediately met by the Ecuadorian security force. Explaining that we had just been at the center of the coup they expressed remarkably little sympathy. Nevertheless, after some pleading, I managed for one of them to arrange a phone call inside.
After an awkwardly long absence during which time Octavio and ourselves languished in the driveway the guard finally returned with an answer which will forever be emblazoned in my memory.
“It is almost 5. You must go. This isn’t a hotel.”
Are you kidding me? This isn’t a hotel?
Yeah, I noticed it’s not a hotel. I have a hotel; it’s the one down there in that cloud of smoke. This is the US Embassy and I am an American in the middle of a coup where there are people shooting in the streets and looting at will, and you won’t let me inside!
Feeling wholly unpatriotic my dumbfounded wife and I crawled dejected back into the faded green sedan. Whether or not the guards actually spoke to someone inside I’ll never know, but nevertheless it was a poor introduction to Embassies while abroad.
Sensing that the exact street where our hostel was located might just be alright, Octavio took a back route which we hadn’t navigated before in an effort to skirt the violence. We passed another burning stack of tires.
Finally, after a twisting journey of one-lane side streets and high-speed glances over our shoulder we arrived in front of our hostel, safe for the time being, but the atmosphere was by no means stable. Thanking Octavio profusely and offering him $20 for his efforts my wife and I sought refuge behind the barbed wire walls of our downtown compound.
Breathing a sigh of relief to finally be back inside of the hostel our optimism was short lived by the pessimistic ramblings of a fellow hostel guest named Donny.
An ex-U.S. military veteran who bounces around the globe on his social security pension, Donny had been staying at the hostel for what he claimed was just over a year.
“I’ve seen this before,” he mused in an unimpressed, monotone utterance as all of us hostel guests were glued to the TV in the common area.
“This is going to last for days. We’ll be alright with food, but our biggest problem is going to be running out of water. The supply will last for four days I’d say. After that we’ll have to fend for ourselves.” With a limp cigarette dangling from his morbid lips, Donny was really starting to freak everyone out.
“Well at least I feel safer behind these barbed wire enforced walls,” I countered, attempting to look on the uncomfortable bright side.
With the type of single-breath chuckle that rates closer to a scoff, Donny, in a voice reminiscent of trying to not be eaten by velociraptors in the kitchen of “Jurassic Park,” countered with one of the creepiest things I’ve heard to date:
“Oh, that won’t stop them. Trust me. I know.”
With a long pull on his cigarette, his eyes glazed over into a flashback I had no desire to be a part of.
As it turns out, we would only be hostage in the hostel for a single night as Correa was eventually freed from the hospital in a daring raid by the military. In a raucous speech to a chanting crowd, Correa vowed to bring justice for those responsible for the atrocities. By the morning, everyday life had returned to normal in Quito, and merchants opened their doors on the streets, which just 15 hours prior had seen unbridled chaos and violence.
In the end, after all the dust had settled, the violence had left eight people dead and more than 270 wounded. The airport had been re-opened, the borders were unsealed and life seemed to return to normal in the briefly ravaged capital city of Ecuador.
Though September 30, 2010, will always hold a somber significance for those who lost loved ones in the violence, for this vagabond it will remain as an extreme honeymoon reminder of being thankful for every day we are alive and able to spend with those we love.
Got an extra $20 burning a hole in your pocket and want to make a difference in the lives of others? Buy a flock of ducks. Eighty-five dollars will get you a camel share, while a mere $48 purchases a share in a “Knitter’s Gift Basket (a llama, alpaca, sheep and angora rabbit).”
Since 1944, Heifer International has provided livestock, and animal husbandry, agricultural and community development training to over 125 countries, including the U.S. The goal: to help end world hunger and poverty by improving breeding stock, providing valuable dietary supplements such as milk and eggs, and creating viable business enterprises for commodity products such as cheese, wool, honey, or crops cultivated by draft animals like horses and water buffalo.
The livestock species used to support disenfranchised communities are diverse, but traditional to their respective regions. They include goats, sheep, honeybees, beef and dairy cattle, water buffalo, yaks, horses, donkeys, llamas, alpacas, camels, rabbits, guinea pigs and poultry.
When I was a kid growing up on a small ranch in Southern California, we used to donate our male dairy goat kids (which, if sold here, would most likely be relegated to dinner) to Heifer. Although the program no longer ships live animals overseas (it’s easier and safer/more humane to ship frozen semen), the concept remains the same: using top bloodlines to improve the quality and enhance the genetic diversity of herds or flocks in impoverished regions.
Heifer teaches the concept of the “Seven M’s: Milk, Manure, Meat, Material, Money, Motivation and Muscle.” These are the benefits livestock animals provide to people in developing nations. With the training provided by Heifer employees and volunteers, the cycle of poverty can be broken, and families and villages can thrive. During the holidays or for birthdays, I like to make animal gift donations in the name of the recipient, an especially valuable lesson for children (who, let’s face it, really don’t need another electronic piece of crap to foster their ADD and lack of global awareness).
Never doubt the power of a furry friend to change the world. To make a donation, click here.
Check out this Heifer International gallery of animals and their proud owners from around the world: