Saddle Up And Bike Under The Stars In These Cities This Summer

by Megan Fernandez on

Somewhere in Chicago there’s a personal tiki bar on wheels. I’m not talking about the rental “cycle pubs” popular in cities and hipster burgs. This is a five-top cocktail table under a thatched roof, hitched to a bicycle. It passed me around midnight on the streets of Chicago’s South Loop a few years ago. Everyone at the “bar” took a turn on the bike while the rest of the pack chilled on tall stools, nursing longnecks.

These spectacles are part of the reason I love Chicago’s L.A.T.E. Ride. The 25th annual event starts around midnight on June 30 this year from downtown’s Grant Park, and it’s not restricted to extreme thrill-seekers or serious cyclists. Around 8,000 bike riders of all levels (honestly, all levels – I’m living proof) show up to pedal through the city en masse. Most people come on a regular bike and wear everyday workout clothes, but the freaks and weirdos can’t resist the big audience and the slightly nuts wee-hours concept. Thank goodness. It wouldn’t be any fun without them.

Late-night bike rides haven’t caught on like mud runs, but that’s a good thing. Rather than corporate-branded productions with dates in 45 cities, they’re organized locally and reflect the community. Such rides tend to fall into one of two categories: the nonprofit annual fundraiser on a closed course (meaning police block traffic on most streets along the route), and the unofficial weekly or monthly group ride alongside cars, organized by the area biking community. The first type will carry an entry fee, but there’s more support and festivities, and the route appeals to out-of-towners. The second type will probably be free and might have grown into an established, well-attended ride promising safety in numbers, though the starting point and route might not be as visitor-friendly. Either way, they tend to be well organized, somewhat of a workout but not too much and very safe.

Logistically, out-of-towners only have to worry about getting a bike to a ride that starts around bedtime and finishes around closing time. Most events don’t offer bike rental. You either have to drive to the event with your own bike, fly with one or rent one on your own once you arrive (and most bike rentals are priced for an hour or half-day of sightseeing, not overnight keepage). For the trouble, you get to ride in mild after-dark temperatures, see part of a city from an unusual perspective and do something kind of nutty. Spectators sit in bars and front yards along the route and cheer you on. Riders are hyped up on Red Bull to stay awake and inexplicably wearing Halloween costumes. Plus: free glow-in-the-dark T-shirts!

Here’s where you can saddle up this summer:

London and Paris: The Nightrider isn’t for beginners. The 100-kilometer (62-mile) ride takes six to eight hours to complete, starting at 10:30 p.m. But it’s probably one of the world’s most scenic workouts, passing nearly every major landmark in the city aglow against the starry sky. The Nightrider is organized by a producer of “worldwide charity adventures” called Classic Tours, and participants can raise money to offset some of the entry fee. June 8 for London and Sept. 21 for Paris, £39 and up

Indianapolis: The N.I.T.E. Ride fundraiser for the regional biking association is nearly as established as Chicago’s and covers 20 flat miles through the heart of the city, passing monolithic war memorials bathed in golden light. It attracts about 2,000 people. Before the 11 p.m. start time (early enough for a 1 a.m. finish), you can warm up on the city’s brand-new urban bike path, the Indianapolis Cultural Trail. June 22, $31

Denver: No bike? The Moonlight Classic is the only organized ride where you can rent wheels on site. Around 4,500 riders hit the 10-mile closed course, and unlike other events, they can choose a starting time. Join the Gonzo Wave for the 11:30 p.m. departure and you’ll have some fired-up company (see video). June 27, $40

Chicago: The L.A.T.E. Ride is a 25-mile flat route from downtown’s Grant Park through Chinatown, the Greek neighborhood and northside residential areas. It links to the city’s excellent Lakeshore Trail and runs right along Lake Michigan for 7 miles back to Grant Park. Problem is, that usually happens around 2, 3 or 4 a.m., and everything’s just pitch-black. You can’t even tell you’re near water. Still, this fundraiser for Chicago’s Friends of the Park Foundation draws an insanely large and entertaining crowd. Someone always dresses like the Blues Brothers. June 30, $45

St. Louis: The Moonlight Ramble got an auspicious start 50 years ago, when only one person showed up for the inaugural event in 1964. Now thousands attend and choose from a short closed route of 10.5 miles and a longer one of 18.5 miles. The route changes every year, but the timing coordinated to August’s full moon doesn’t. Everyone is done by 3 a.m. Aug. 17, $25

Los Angeles: In 2004, a group of counter-culture bikers called the Midnight Ridazz stopped partying long enough to put together a late-night ride open to anyone. Then they started hitting the streets the second Friday of every month, joined by about 1,000 others. The organizers have stepped down and the community they created has taken over, announcing loosely coordinated rides on the website. The Ridazz aren’t as menacing as the name suggests. They follow a set of “Rulezz” to keep the rides safe and organized. Ongoing, free


San Jose: The grassroots San Jose Bike Party covers between 15 and 30 miles the third Friday of every month, from around 8 p.m. to midnight. Though the course is not closed and the event doesn’t offer the live music and support vans like larger ones do, it’s still attended by 2,000 to 4,000 people and led by experienced volunteers. Ongoing, free

Paris: Several tour companies offer a nighttime excursion, taking in the big sights. To cruise with a pack of locals instead, rent one of the Velib bikes stationed around the city and join Rando Velo. Just show up at City Hall a little before 10 p.m. any Friday night. The leisurely route goes through the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 11th and 12th arrondissements, ending just after midnight. Ongoing, free

My (Failed) Attempt At Conquering The Bend Ale Trail

by Dave Seminara on

There must be someone in Bend, Oregon, who drinks Coors or Bud Light. But I imagine that this mythical, mass produced beer loving android keeps a very low profile so as not to be shunned, like an alcoholic Amish swinger, in what must be America’s best craft beer town. Bend is blessed with an abundance of natural beauty and some 250 days of sunshine a year. There are so many opportunities to hike, kayak, go trail running, white water rafting, skiing or snowboarding that one doesn’t have to feel too guilty about throwing back a few craft beers at one of Bend’s 13 breweries.

With a population of just under 80,000, Bend apparently has the most per capita breweries in the nation. Inside the city limits, there are 10 brewpubs and three breweries (Boneyard has a tasting room open to the public, Below Grade Brewing isn’t open to the public and the Ale Apothecary is by appointment only). There are two more brewpubs in the neighboring towns of Sunriver and Sisters, and I’m told there is one more brewpub set to open later this summer called Riverside and another brewery called Rathole about to open any time now. Bend also has a Cycle Pub that gives drinkers and bike enthusiasts to combine their two favorite pastimes.

But it’s not just the quantity of microbrew offerings in Bend – locals know good beer and in a place with this many breweries, brewers know that their product had better be good. And it is.

On a four-day visit to Bend, my plan was to visit each of Bend’s brewpubs, plus another brewpub, Three Creeks Brewing Company, in nearby Sisters. Tourism officials have established an official Bend Ale Trail detailing where the brewpubs are and what they specialize in. Drinkers can download an app or pick up a passport; those who get stamps from every brewery are entitled to a free mug. The mug is worth no more than about $5, but securing it seemed like a worthy quest.

I started at Bend’s oldest brewpub, founded in 1988, the Deschutes Brewery, which is named after the river that runs through town. I ordered Bachelor Bitter, named after the towering, snowcapped, 9,000-foot peak that’s just outside town, and my wife ordered a Trees of Doom Dunkel as we listened in on a couple who told our waitress they wanted to move to Bend. In the days to come, we’d realize that nearly every visitor in town seemed to be pondering a move to Bend. And by the time I started guzzling my second pint, a malty, sweet little number called a Free Ride Cream Ale, I was ready to move to Bend myself.

In the days that followed, I hit six more brewpubs in the area; below you’ll find some observations about each place.

Three Creeks Brewery– Three Creeks is located about 20 minutes northwest of Bend in Sisters, an interesting little town with a cool, Old West flavor to it. (There’s also a great independent bookstore in town called Paulina Springs Books.) It was a hot day, so we sat outside, facing a parking lot backed by some towering evergreens, and I ordered their lightest beer, a Knotty Blonde, which they advertised as being “as light as the hair of our pistol carrying honey.” It was good but not particularly memorable, though I liked the fact that they advertise all the beer’s stats – including its original gravity (OG) of 1.039, its final gravity (FG) of 1.008, its alcohol content (4.0%) and its International bittering units (IBU) total. (I had to Google these terms to find out that the OG and FG have to do with the beer’s sugar content and the IBU has to do with how hoppy the beer is.)

10 Barrel Brewing Company– As soon as I walked into this Westside brewpub, I wanted to buy the place, or, at the very least, become a regular. There’s an inviting fire pit with benches and tables built around it and half the bar stools are outside. I ordered a “Mike Saw a Sasquatch” Session Ale, a golden Summer Ale, made with Cascade and Sterling hops and honey and 2-row pale malts. It tasted a little hoppier than its low (26) IBU rating suggested but, once again, I loved how much information was provided about the beer.

Bend Brewing Company– This brewpub is right downtown with an obstructed view of the Deschutes River. I sat on the outdoor patio with my 5-year-old son, who made friends with a 4-year-old-girl at the table next to us while I enjoyed a Maibock on a warm spring day. It was a solid choice – clean, with a nice malty finish.

McMenamins Old St. Francis School Brewery– This place was converted from a school to a hotel and brewpub in 2004. It was Central Oregon’s first parochial school, opened in 1936, and it has an incredibly ornate 102 degree Fahrenheit soaking pool that looks like one of the fancy bathhouses in Budapest, not to mention a cinema, three cozy pubs and an outdoor fire pit to drink by.

This was my favorite brewpub in Bend, both in terms of atmosphere and quality of beer. I had a seasonal English Brown Ale that was nutty, a little smoky and deliciously creamy and smooth. Something like a beer milkshake, it was the best beer I’ve had in a very long time. Next time I return to Bend, I plan to stay in the hotel.

Old Mill Brew Werks– This is a neighborhood brewpub in the Old Mill District that serves good food and has some tasty beers. We sat outside and I had another English Brown Ale that was outstanding, though perhaps a notch below the version I drank at McMenamins and a bit pricey at $4 for a small 10 ounce glass. But our waitress was friendly and her story – she has a masters degree in Science but doesn’t mind working in a brewpub because she wants to live in Bend – reinforced my impression that this is a place worth rearranging one’s life for.

Crux Fermentation Project– Located in an industrial area adjacent to downtown Bend, this place is Bend’s newest brewpub, at just a year old. It was full of happy drinkers, many of them parents with their kids in tow, like us, on a warm, sunny, Tuesday afternoon. I sampled the Marzen and an On the Fence NW Pale Ale, and couldn’t decide which one I like more. They were both outstanding.

There was a large group gathered for a birthday party, and the birthday girl gave my sons her leftover cupcakes. Another couple, who were watching a game of horseshoes on the patio, told my wife that they moved to Bend from San Francisco eight years ago and haven’t regretted it for a moment since.

I asked our waiter why the place was called a project, rather than a brewpub, and I thought his answer was a perfect metaphor for the city itself.

“We call it a project because it is like a project,” he said. “We’re constantly tinkering, trying to make it better. The place will always be changing.”

Conclusion– I’m a little ashamed to say that I didn’t make it to several breweries that were on my to-do list, namely Cascade Lakes Brewing Company, GoodLife, Boneyard, Worthy Brewing Company, and Silver Moon, but I think that subconsciously I wanted to miss a few, so that I have a good excuse to come back to Bend.

International Budget Guide 2013: Asuncion, Paraguay

by Laurel Miller on


Why is 2013 the year to get to Asunción, Paraguay’s, lovely, riverfront capital? Because this landlocked tropical nation sandwiched between Boliva, Brazil and Argentina is modernizing at warp speed. Tourism is still a rarity (expect curious looks, especially if you venture into the countryside – and you most definitely should), but the city offers enough inexpensive, low-key pleasures to make spending a few days more than worthwhile.

While not as cheap as, say, La Paz, Asunción is still ridiculously affordable, especially if you’re not looking for luxury accommodations (lodging and cabs are pricey, compared to everything else). Spend your days in the laid-back downtown, or centro, visiting the shops, market stalls and restaurants; stroll La Costanera, the two-mile riverfront walkway in the centro; take a small boat to the nearby island of Chaco’i to check out the bird life; hit the town (Asuncion has quite the nightlife, because that’s when things finally “cool off”); or just do as Asuncenos do: kick back in the Plaza with a refreshing tereré (cold mate tea, often spiked with fresh medicinal herbs called yuyos) and watch the world go by (empanada in hand).

Although Paraguay is reputed to be South America‘s second poorest country, Asunción’s centro has the feel of prosperity. The country is rich in cattle ranching, soy exports and other agricultural food crops and is the continent’s only officially bilingual nation, thanks to the prevalent indigenous Guarani culture. (In most places, including Asuncion, Spanish is the dominant language over Guarani; you won’t, however, find English widely spoken, so bring your phrasebook.) Paraguayans are also legendarily hospitable, so don’t be surprised if you find yourself getting invitations to dinner or making friends at the drop of a hat.

Asunción calls to mind a smaller, saner, safer Rio de Janeiro, except that it’s located on the Rio Paraguay, instead of the Atlantic. Multi-colored, colonial and gothic-style buildings from the 19th and early 20th centuries (both beautifully restored and in varying stages of glorious decay) make up the majority of the centro – although modern, upscale shopping malls and hotels are popping up, as well.
It’s a city of flowering trees (lapacho, palo borrachos, jacaranda, chivatos…) and gardens. There are street vendors, markets and stalls of handicrafts, as well as parks, plazas and historical buildings and other cultural sights, mostly around the centro. Many of the outer neighborhoods, such as the area by the main bus terminal (Terminal de Omnibus, 30 minutes from the centro) are more what you’d expect from a major South American city: buses belching exhaust, ramshackle street stalls hawking everything from T-shirts and newspapers to termos, guampas and bombillas (equipment for drinking Paraguay’s ubiquitous yerba mate, and its cousin tereré) and generic restaurants and shops.

Don’t forget you’ll need a tourist visa if you’re visiting from North America; details are provided in the Getting Around section. For the purposes of this guide, all accommodations and dining, as well as most of the shopping activities, are limited to the centro, for the sake of both convenience and interest.

Budget Activities

Shop the mercados
Paraguay is renowned for its exquisite handicrafts (artesanias), and at the current market prices, you’ll most definitely want to bring a spare duffel (or purchase a hand-woven cotton bag) to tote home the goods. Delicate, web-like nanduti lace and finely woven ao po’i lace inset with encaje ju (a different form of lace often used as trimming) are turned into everything from tablecloths to clothing ($7 will get you a pretty table runner). Paraguayan cotton is also turned into beautiful, hand-woven hammocks, rugs and blankets.

There are hand-tooled leather belts, bracelets and purses, and leather-lined termos and guampas; all are high quality and super-affordable (just $1.25 for a cute little change purse). Silver filigree jewelry is another great souvenir, as are indigenous crafts from the local Maka Indians, such as woven bracelets and purses. The best place to find these goods is at the Plaza de la Libertad artesanias stands (closed Sunday), as well as the stalls along the main business drag of Calle Palma around the corner. Do note that siesta is from noon to 3, and most businesses shut down during those hours; the aretsanias stalls are about the only thing that stay open, besides department stores and some restaurants.

You’ll also find some permanent artesanias stores in the historic La Recova region, about five minutes of a walk away, across the street from the Port. The prices may be a bit higher, but the quality can also be better, especially for lace goods. If you’re looking for historical Paraguayan artifacts, don’t miss the Sunday antiques market, held in front of the Nueva America (“na”) department store on Calle Palma and Independencia National. It runs from around 8 a.m. until mid-afternoon, and while prices aren’t exactly budget, you’ll still find deals on everything from antique, silver-plated horse bridles and rusty, vintage license plates to swords and other military artifacts from the Chaco War.

For food (mainly produce, cheese and fresh and cured meats, but also some street food) and cheap clothes, electronics and other goods, the warren-like Mercado Cuatro is a must. It’s a half-hour walk from the Plaza de los Heroes, which, along with Plaza de la Libertad across the street, is the social heart of the centro. Go early, as the mercado gets hellaciously hot and crowded, and bring a camera (always ask before snapping photos of vendors or other people, por favor). The good stuff is in the permanent stalls in the heart of the market: there’s cheese, butter, lard, all different shapes of fideos (noodles), herbs and mate. Food lovers will also want to check out Agroshopping, which is held Tuedsays in the Shopping Mariscal López parking lot in the Villa Mora neighborhood, just outside of the centro. Here, you’ll find all the many types of produce grown in Paraguay (including organic and tropical fruit crops, in season), as well as prepared foods, cured meat, baked goods and fresh fruit juices.

Your best friend while planning your trip and traveling in Paraguay will be local author Romy Natalia Goldberg’s “Other Places Travel Guide: Paraguay” (2012). Her website is equally helpful for hours and locations on the above, or anything else you might want to know about the country, or Asunción, from where to get the best chipas, to the etiquette of joining a tereré or mate circle. discoveringparaguay

Visit Museo del Barro
Paraguay’s finest museum is absolutely worth the cab or bus ride (it’s about 10-15 minutes from the centro by taxi; about $6). The contemporary building is in a largely residential area, and houses a remarkable collection of folk art and indigenous handcrafts, ceremonial costumes and ceramics from across Latin America, as well as excellent contemporary Paraguayan art. There’s also a museum shop where you can purchase reproductions of ceramic figurines and other works. Note that most of the museums in Asunción are free or charge a symbolic entrance fee (approximately 10,000 Guaranis or $2.50). The Museo del Barro is $2, although it’s free on certain days (the website has details). Closed Sunday; hours vary so check the website. Grabadores del Cabichuí 2716 e/ Emeterio Miranda y Cañada, museodelbarro.org

Other museums worth checking out for a dose of Paraguayan history or culture include the Museo de la Memoria, located in the centro and dedicated to those who suffered under the Stroessner dictatorship in the latter part of the 20th century; it’s also a human rights center. The Museo Etnográfica Andres Barbero also has an outstanding collection of Paraguayan indigenous artifacts.

Walking, tereré sipping and snacking
Most of Asunción comes to a screeching halt on Sundays; the streets of the centro are nearly deserted. While a handful of restaurants, bars and shops remain open, you should leave the day open for walking tours because Asunción was made for sipping, strolling and snacking.

Take a cab or bus to the Jardin Botánico, which has over 165 acres of parkland and gardens. There’s a small (admittedly, not great) zoo, two museums and over 300 plant species, more than half of which are indigenous. It’s a great place to get a taste of Asunceno life. Join in a soccer game or tereré circle or enjoy lolling on the grass. Don’t forget a hat!

Other great places for walking are the majestic Cementerio de la Recoleta, and the newly designated (as of April 1, 2013) tourist destination of Barrio San Jerónimo. This tiny, historically relevant 19th-century neighborhood is located at the edge of the centro, just north of the Costanera. It’s part of the state tourism agency’s plan to create a destination neighborhood similar to La Boca in Buenos Aires, or Valparaiso’s Cerro Algre. The vibe is bohemian, and brightly painted, flower-bedecked houses (most of which have belonged to the same families for generations) and narrow, cobbled alleyways (where residents hid during the Chaco War) make for intriguing exploration. Right now, it’s still strictly residential, but the plan is to build restaurants, cafes and bars, and more of a cultural arts scene. Even without the retail aspect, it’s one of the most alluring spots in a city full of them. For directions, go to facebook.com/lomasanjeronimo or email lomasanjeronimo@gmail.com. The main street through the barrio is Calle Piraveve.

Hotels

Black Cat Hostel: Paraguay’s first hostel opened in late 2009, and while a handful of others have come and (mostly) gone, the Cat remains one of Asunción’s most popular accommodations for adventurers of all ages. This is due partly to the owners – Paraguayan mother-daughter team Lilia Valdez and Violeta Colman. You’ll go far to find two more genuine, kind, helpful people, and their love of Paraguay is apparent. The rest of the staff are equally wonderful and the hostel will happily provide domestic travel info and assist you with ongoing arrangements, because they understand what a challenge it can be.

The other reasons the Cat rocks? Its location, literally minutes from everything you might want to do in the centro, as well as the property itself. A former, 100-year-old private home, the hostel has large, high-ceiling dorm and private rooms with fans (AC costs extra). There’s a rooftop patio surrounded by lush greenery and historic buildings, a tiny pool, kitschy painted walls and a relaxed vibe. Bathrooms are shared, but kept spotless, as is the rest of the hostel, and breakfast, coffee and bottled water are included. If you’re not a cat person, be forewarned: resident cat Mathias rules the roost. From $11/dorm, $27/single. Eligio Ayala 129, blackcathostel.com

Hotel Palmas del Sol: If you feel like springing for something other than a hostel or dreary budget room, this modern, white, immaculate little hotel on the edge of the centro near the river will set you back $55 for a private double with bath. Rooms are small but cheerful and relatively bright with no frills. Breakfast is included and there’s also a swimming pool. Bonus: it’s on a quiet side street, yet within walking distance to everything. Avenida Espana 202, tripadvisor.com/Hotel_Review-g294080-d543605-Reviews-Hotel_Palmas_Del_Sol-Asuncion.html

Hotel La Espanola: This brick hotel has a grittier, urban feel due to the busy street it’s on, but it’s just a five-minutes walk from the Plaza(s). There’s a front garden with an amusingly phallic fountain statue, but once you get inside, the airy lobby and soothing, pistachio-colored walls of the dining room seem a world away from the heat and humidity. Rooms are small and a bit dark, and consist of little more than a bed, but are clean and comfortable. Breakfast and Wi-Fi included. From $24/single with bath and AC. Luis Alberto de Herrera N° 142, hotellaespanola.com.py

Eating & Drinking

Lido Bar: Asunción’s most beloved spot for Paraguayan cheap eats is essentially a diner with a snaking, horseshoe-counter (there’s patio seating as well, should you not wish to take advantage of the arctic chill of combined AC and ceiling fans). Old school waitresses bustle about, preparing fresh juice and slinging plates of plump, addictive empanadas and excellent chipa guazu (a cheesy, soufflé-like cornbread). The caldo de pescado (Paraguay’s famous fish soup) is reputedly the best in the city but whatever you order, it’s going to be good-and inexpensive. It’s also open late and on Sundays. Empanadas nearly the size of a softball are just $2.50. The corner of Calles Palma y Chile, facebook.com/pages/Lido-Bar/136901396379100

El Bolsi: While Bolsi could be considered Lido Bar’s competition when it comes to Paraguayan food, it’s closer to a North American coffee shop. The affordable, extensive menu also includes items like sandwiches, burgers, pasta and salads, but the real draw here are the fresh juices made to order (passion fruit? mango?) and desserts. You haven’t lived until you’ve had their dulce de leche mousse or tres leches cake. Open 24 hours; patio seating also available. Estrella 399, facebook.com/elbolsi

Street food: Asunción’s street vendors offer some of the best tastes of Paraguay. Whether they’re hawking fruit, mate cocido (hot, sweetened tea made with milk), chipas (baked corn flour-and-cheese biscuits – you’ll see vendors carrying baskets on their heads, calling out “Chiiiiiipas!”), empanadas, or any number of grilled meaty treats – lomito (steak), sandwiches, costillas (ribs), lomito arabe (schwarma) and even hot dogs. Delicious and so cheap, you can go out for a beer, afterwards. The Brittania Pub or 904 Bar (located kitty-corner from one another on Cerro Corá, in the centro) are fun spots that draw locals and tourists.

Getting Around

One advantage of having a country without almost no tourism infrastructure: Asuncion’s small, modern Silvio Petirossi International Airport is a breeze as far as arrivals and departures go. Just be sure you have your visa ready, or be prepared to purchase one at Immigration upon arrival for $160 in U.S. dollars. (Very important: make sure those bills are crisp, clean and without any visible flaws, including creases.) Buses are quite pleasant for a developing nation and the main form of transit for Asuncenos. They cost next to nothing (say, a dollar, if that). If you’re on a time constraint, however, cabs are everywhere, and you’re unlikely to need one if you stay in the centro. A trip to the Museo del Barro, by way of example, will run you about $12-$14 round trip. You can also change money or use the ATM outside of the sterile zone of the airport.

Allow roughly 20 minutes during regular hours for the cab ride to/from the airport; it will run you approximately 100 Guaranis ($24). You won’t have any trouble scoring a metered taxi in front of arrivals, or you can take the bus for $5. Look for the Linea 30 (Aeropuerto), which makes hourly stops from 5 a.m. to 9 p.m. and will drop you either mid-way between the airport and downtown, (near the Sheraton Hotel/Shopping del Sol center) or about 10 minutes away in the centro proper, along the main drag of Presidente Franco to Calle Colon (which will put you within walking distance of all downtown lodging, if you’re backpacking; you don’t want to lug suitcases over cracked and potholed sidewalks, even if they are surprisingly clean).

Safety

Paraguay is relatively politically stable; most rabble-rousing is internal, and comes in the forms of demonstrations. As far as large South American cities go, Asunción may well be the safest. This isn’t to say that you can throw caution to the wind, but, especially in the centro, it’s remarkable how relaxing it is to be a tourist. Compared to Lima or Rio, it’s safe to walk the streets during the day, or while returning from dinner or a club, even if you’re a solo female (depending upon your location, obviously). That said, this is still a machismo culture, and women need to remain aware at night, and in dodgy neighborhoods. Petty crime is the most common problem, so just use good judgment, and keep hotel doors locked and valuables out of sight (and locked up, as well), and don’t flaunt wads of cash or expensive jewelry. You’ll find Asunción is no more threatening – and, if anything, safer – than many major cities in the United States.

Don’t be concerned about the uniformed armed guards (both police and private security) that you’ll see around Asunción or elsewhere in the country, and do note that uniforms are required, unlike in some developing nations (it’s far more unnerving seeing apparent civilians with machine guns). While it’s difficult for Norte Americanos to feel casual about semi-automatics on busy city streets, the guards are a common sight in front of banks, change houses and upscale shopping malls. They’re there as a deterrent (as previously mentioned, much of Paraguay’s economic prosperity comes from cattle ranching and soy exports). Also, due to economic disparities, there’s a need to protect establishments (and patrons) where large amounts of cash are present, just like in the States. Tranquilo pa, you’ll find the guards are actually very friendly.

Seasonality

Being a tropical nation, Paraguay has a “warm” climate year-round. Fall and winter (theirs, not ours, so April-October) is the best time to visit, because things cool down a bit, although you’ll still have to contend with monsoonal rains if you’re venturing beyond Asunción, and this can mean flooding and road closures – often for days at a time. Asunción itself doesn’t get a lot of rain, and the evenings can even get a slight chill, so bring a light sweater and pants or leggings.

November through March is only for masochists, or those who enjoy vacationing in a sauna. Air-conditioning is widespread throughout the city in malls, theaters and museums but if you’re on a budget, don’t assume your accommodation (or restaurants, bars or taxis, for that matter) will have AC. Usually, it costs a bit more for a room with an air-conditioning unit, but bear in mind that this is a city made for walking, so if you tend to get wilty in any kind of heat or humidity, visit another time.

[Photo credits: Laurel Miller]

Festival Of Colors: New York City

by Elizabeth Seward on

It’s the weekend of one of New York City’s Holi Festival of Colors and spring is just beginning to appear in the cloudless and bright blue sky. This particular event is being held outdoors in an elusive location in East Flatbush, Brooklyn. The address was only released a few days ago and it seems attractively random. The nearest subway train is a mile from the fenced parking lot that will set the stage for the night. I know little of what to expect because although Holi is traditionally a Hindu celebration held for the sake of spring and oneness, this isn’t an exclusively Hindu event and I suspect a lot of people will probably be on drugs, and with that in mind, I don’t think I’ve ever been to a religious event like this one before – even if only tangentially religious.

A crowded lineup of bands, rappers and DJs was announced on the event’s Facebook page this week. Since the festival is being held in a parking lot in a neighborhood relatively deep into Brooklyn, I assume that at least part of the motivation behind the location is to do with the sonic roster and sound ordinances. Each ticket comes with a bag of colored powder and the biggest ice breaker of the night is that people get to throw the powder on strangers without making any sort of prior acquaintance. This bend on common courtesy appeals to me. Attendees have been instructed to wear clothing that could be, but probably won’t be, ruined. With temperatures hovering around 50 degrees tonight, I’m not sure I have a coat I am willing to even possibly destroy so I layer up old sweatshirts and leggings instead.

%Gallery-186285%I’m in line for the security check when I realize I might run into trouble. The search is one of the most thorough I have experienced only to be compared with the Colombian airport where I was pulled aside and asked to open factory-sealed bags of coffee. I have prescription medication with me, but I don’t have the prescription itself in hand. This has never been a problem for me before – not even at the Colombian airport. But it’s a problem tonight. Security wanted to throw my medication away. I pleaded with two of the workers, explaining that since I don’t have health insurance, the medicine would be expensive to replace. One of the women working security fortunately offers to hold my medicine until I leave. I’m frustrated and trembling from the confrontation, but I understand it all the same. They don’t know that it’s not an illegal drug I have in my possession. If there’s any sort of scalability for which kinds of events are better-suited for recreational drug users than others, this kind of event would surely fall low in the rankings from a security standpoint. No one is spending the night in this parking lot tonight – everyone must find their own way home, whether they walk to the distant train, try to find a taxi, or drive themselves. It’s best to be vigilant, I suppose.

I finally make it through the security checkpoint and into the festival itself. The area is enclosed and seems small, but there’s more than enough room for the hundreds of people already present. A couple of food trucks and a bar are to my right. A handful of portable toilets crowning the head of a winding snake of a line are straight ahead. A makeshift stage hosting a dynamic punk band are to the left. I wish I didn’t have to, but I immediately head toward the harrowing bathroom line with urgency and wait.

I’m a lousy chameleon in this colorful landscape. The powders have been thrown; the colors have blended. Everyone else is a rainbow and I am a sore thumb until my husband surprises me with a hefty splash of red color to my face. My mouth is unluckily open and I spend the next 10 minutes spitting up red that looks like blood although it isn’t but maybe might as well be for the scene I’m causing. I repay him when he’s least expecting it later in the night. But that’s how the Festival of Colors is.

“I think you could use a little more purple,” says a girl within a swarm of girls behind me. She punts her purple powder my way.

“And more green!” adds her friend, wiping hers along my leg.

It’s difficult not to begin a conversation after an interaction like this. One of the girls calls me pretty and makes me blush, but luckily she can’t see the flush of my embarrassment beneath my splattered face. She asks to take a photo of me and I feel flattered and suddenly young. This is how it pans out the rest of the night. Strangers find clever ways to paint the innocent passerby and usually a smile is exchanged and sometimes a familiarity with one another is forged. I don’t normally find it easy to introduce myself to people I don’t know at events like this, so I like this. Beneath the masks of Holi powder, we are all ourselves, weighted with whatever we might be carrying. With the color unifying us all in appearance, our barriers have broken. These barriers are superficial and remarkably easy to eliminate. They are cemented into the changeable – like the logo of a brand, the smoothness of skin, or the shine of hair. We might not even notice them until they’re gone. Once our surveillance cameras have been covered, what happens next is lovely: we all just get along.

When the punk band exits the stage, a DJ begins. He throws us all back a decade or so with songs from Blackstreet and Destiny’s Child. We dance. The party is still going when I leave and attempt to find the security officer who told me she would hold my medicine. She said she would be here, but I can’t find her and I almost give up hope. She probably just threw my medicine away. But before I become too convinced, I’m pointed in her direction. She empties her pockets and gives me my medicine back, which is folded into my paper ticket for the event. I thank her and walk to my car. With the visible invisible, it’s fascinating how quickly we all become equals.

Vagabond Tales: Fear And Loathing In San Felipe

by Kyle Ellison on

The strip clubs in San Felipe, Mexico, aren’t open on Tuesdays.

For most travelers to Baja, this isn’t overly concerning. After all, with all of the surfing, fishing, diving and fish taco eating that can easily consumer your entire day, the fact that strip clubs are closed for one day of the week shouldn’t be a point of concern.

If, however, you’ve descended upon San Felipe after three days of camping in the desert with a reclusive, one-legged hermit (a story for a different time), and it happens to be a bachelor party, the fact that it’s a Tuesday suddenly becomes an issue.

This, however, is not a tale about strip clubs or hermits. It’s a tale about safety, and how the road to bad decisions can be a very gradual slope.

As I’ve mentioned before in the “2013 International Adventure Guide to Baja” and articles such as “I Traveled to Mexico and Came Back Alive“, the only way you’re going to get in trouble as a visitor to Baja is if you do something stupid like engage in drug deals in a back alley of a border town with unsavory characters in the middle of the night.

This isn’t a Mexico thing, mind you; this is an everywhere thing. Whether you’re in Mexico or Chicago, back alleys at 2 a.m. are potential staging areas for the next morning’s headlines. When you hear a report that two tourists were stabbed or robbed, and then find out that it was in a back alley of a border town at 2 a.m., a small part of you thinks they had it coming.

Just like no one plans on an accident, however, you don’t always plan on ending up in a back alley of a border town-sometimes it just happens. While you would never jump from Point A (land of good decisions) directly to Point D (land of horrendous decisions), sometimes the smaller jumps from A to B and B to C put you in striking range of Point D, the slippery slope of how you got there blurred by the casual descent.

Throw in a Mexican army general and a moonlighting prostitute, and you’ve created a mezcal-flavored cocktail for disaster.With regards to the San Felipe situation, one thing you should never do in a border town is publicly complain. (For the record, San Felipe is not officially classified as a border town. It’s actually two and half hours south of the border on the Sea of Cortez, but as a popular weekend destination it can come with its share of tourist town perils).

The problem with complaining in a budget international tourist town is there is a buck to be made in “solving the problem”. If you’re piecing the breadcrumbs together, when someone offers to “solve the problem” of a closed strip club it can only lead to bad places.

Which, as it turns out, is exactly how we met Emilio.

Casually seated on a motorcycle whose best miles were clearly behind it, Emilio told us he could help with our apparent dilemma.

“You need girls?” he asked, the words rolling off his mustachioed upper lip with the class of a human trafficker.

Despite the fact that half of our troupe soberly recoiled at the offer, two of our them, presumably spurred on by breakfast beers which are a staple of Mexican bachelor parties, decided to run with the offer to see how it would play out.

After a cryptic conversation which contained far too much dirty laughter, it was determined we would meet Emilio at 8 p.m. that evening at a bar that tourists don’t normally frequent. He asked for a deposit. We declined. Shockingly, he never showed.

Having been stood up by Emilio, I slid some crumpled pesos across a bar of even worse shape and ordered a round of Tecate’s for the table. In the dingy atmosphere of the poorly-lit cantina there was an aura of two parts disappointment and three parts relief. We never had any real plans about what we would actually do with Emilio and whoever walked through the door with him, and his failure to appear at the agreed upon destination was probably for the best.

The problem, however, is that seven American men in a seedy local establishment can draw a fair bit of attention. In our case, that attention happened to manifest itself in the form of a 250 lb. Mexican army general named Miguel who was in town on leave before returning back to active service. Or so he said.

Miguel joined our table, and by the time the sticky plastic square on legs could fit no more empty cans, shot glasses, or broken dreams, three things had become hazily apparent: Miguel “had our back”, he was taking us to another bar, and he’d made a call about some “girls”.

Following Miguel into the dark recesses of San Felipe, three wrong turns and numerous back alleyways led to a place no visitor should ever go. This place had no music. This place had no windows. This place was not the place to be. Ever. Luckily, we were cruising with a Mexican army general, so we would be fine. Right?

Settling uncomfortably into the den of sorrows, matters only became compounded when a shy and husky twenty-something female entered the den and sat at our table. This was curious, of course, because no one knew this woman, nor did she seem to have any plans of engaging in conversation.

Apparently the only one who knew what was happening was Miguel, and he couldn’t have been more pleased at the situation he had arranged.

It was then that we realized that there in that cartel-controlled (not a fact), disease-infested (potentially a fact), parlor of illicit underworld, a Mexican army general had made some phone calls and actually ordered us a prostitute (unfortunately, fact).

This, it should go without saying, is not where you want to find yourself.

With the next round of beers also came the terms: There was a motel across the street. The room would be $20. The remaining price was to be negotiable upon services. After an awkward and tequila-induced back and forth of potential costs, it was collectively determined that we had to get the hell out of Dodge.

One by one we made our escape, the fear of letting down Miguel blending with the fear of being shanked with a rusty fork the moment we stepped outside. The last we saw of our female companion she was sitting at a bus stop with a forlorn sense of failure. She had left when she realized the night was going nowhere, and my heart goes out to that girl at the bus stop wherever she might be today.

Thankfully, all seven of us would wake up in the tent-less, sandy campground we had opted to call home for the night. In an evening that could have gone any number of disastrous directions, the only direction we wanted to go was home.

Five hours and two taco shops later, we would cross the border into San Diego definitively worse for the wear but happy we weren’t a headline.

Besides, we had other problems to worry about now, like how to pay for the $8,000 in damages we had caused to the rental cars.

Want more travel stories? Read the rest of the “Vagabond Tales” over here.

[Photo Credits: Kyle Ellison]