Video of the Day – Mexican Holiday

by Stephen Greenwood on

Sometimes, choosing the right song to cut your travel videos to makes all the difference. Exhibit A – today’s Video of the Day, shot by Argentinian motion graphics designer Molokoso.

The footage was shot entirely on a pocket camera (Lumix TZ10) equipped with an underwater housing and edited to “Bombay” by Spanish musician El Guincho. The song lends it an irresistible upbeat tone which brings all of the fun & adventure that Mexico has to offer alive.

Did you capture any of your summer adventures on video? Edit them, pick a fun song, and share it with us – it could be our next Video of the Day!

Coping with a fear of flying: the secret rituals of aviophobics

by Laurel Miller on

My name is Laurel, and I have aviophobia. I, like millions of Americans, am scared shitless of flying. Aviophobia can manifest for a variety of reasons: a traumatic experience on a previous flight; claustrophobia; fear of heights; fear of loss of control (ding, ding, ding!), even a fear of motion sickness. After years of researching the subject, I’ve learned that I fit the classic profile of an aviophobic: female, with sudden onset in my early twenties.

In my situation, there was nothing to precipitate my phobia; I actually loved to fly as a kid. But over a period of 10 years, it progressed until I was not only having anxiety attacks on flights, but suffering frequent nightmares about crashes in the weeks before a trip, no matter how anticipated. The final straw came when, in December of 1999, I was about to embark on a five-week solo backpacking trip of Southeast Asia. It was days before my departure, and I was so terrified by the thought of 21 hours in the air, I was ready to bail on the entire thing.

Fortunately, I got a grip, called my doctor, and explained the situation. He immediately wrote me a prescription for Xanax and my life as a traveler has been the better for it ever since. Why it took me so long is a mystery, but Xanax quells (but not eliminates) my anxiety and enables me to fall into slumber that renders me drooling and pleasantly out of it during flight, but alert enough to awaken should it be necessary.

I know Xanax is a crutch, and that’s okay. I’m not advocating taking drugs to solve all of one’s problems, but in this instance, it’s what worked for me after other methods (including therapy) failed. I know people who no longer fly because of their phobia, and to me, that’s sad. The world becomes a smaller place–literally and figuratively–when you let fear control you.

I still don’t enjoy flying, although my phobia has lessened. There are even the rare flights where I don’t take Xanax. But there’s one thing I must always do before departure that’s far more important than popping a pharmaceutical. I must perform My Ritual.

[Photo credit: Flickr user runningclouds]

Every aviophobic I’ve talked to (for some reason, most of my friends suffer from it) has a secret mantra they utter, or small ceremony they perform before flight that, in their minds, assures them the Gods of Aviation or whoever will ensure safe passage.

Admittedly, most of my friends are depraved lushes who drink themselves senseless before they fly (another used to rely upon “bong hits,”) but that’s not what I’m referring to. And, for the record, I strongly recommend you not get hammered before departure, especially if you’re taking sleeping pills or other prescription drugs related to your flight. I also recommend you see your doctor and get a prescription, rather than take meds or sleep aids from friends or purchase them in a foreign pharmacy.

For those of you who grapple with a fear of flying, I know you have your little pre-flight ritual. Whenever I board an aircraft I have to touch the outside of the plane with my right hand, and utter a specific phrase to myself. I’m not going to say what it is, because I don’t want to doom my next flight.

I asked my fellow Gadling contributors, AOL Huffington Post Media Group editors, and flight-phobic friends what they do for solace before taking to the skies, and they were very forthcoming. Touching the outside of the plane while boarding was by far the most common response. What a bunch of freaks.

Rebecca Dolan: “I won’t fly without a St. Christopher medal.”

Laurel’s friend L: “Despite not being religious, the act of saying the words to the Hail Mary and Lord’s Prayer before take-off is just something I have to do. I also can’t step on any metal on the jetway. This means I have to take a big, stretched-out step while boarding the plane.”

Annemarie Dooling: “This is all the Catholic school that was beaten into me as a child: I pray the rosary. I recite the Hail Mary and Our Father on succession; this way if I die, I’ll go to heaven, right? Right?”

Melanie Renzulli: “When I lived in India, I got into this habit of praying to Ganesha when taking off. Now I do a quick little prayer to Buddha, Ganesha, Allah, and Jesus just to cover most of my bases. Cheesy, I know. I mentioned this to a flying enthusiast friend of mine and he said, “I pray to the gods of certification, engineering, manufacturing, and most importantly physics.”

Laurel’s friend J: “I have no rituals except vigilance. Every time I try to nod off, that’s when the Captain comes on to tell us we’ve blown a tire, or that little dip was one of the engines going out, or we’re about to encounter some strong turbulence and the attendants had better strap in….so no distractions for me, just watching and waiting.” [I should add that this particular friend–a strapping fellow–has endured two emergency landings, so I applaud him for flying at all].

Kyle Ellison: “My wife has to take Xanax, pee twice, and snap her hand with a rubber band to calm down. Why? Who knows. I always touch the side of the aircraft with my right palm when walking through the front door. Done it since I was five.”

Laurel’s friend A: Her ritual is taking the train.

[Photo credits: pills, Flickr user Keturah Stickann; rosary, Flickr user miqui]

Reflections on Labor Day from Desolation Wilderness

by Kyle Ellison on

With the weekend festivities having come to a close, looking back, Labor Day really is a curious holiday. In comparison, Independence Day celebrates the birth of a nation, Memorial Day commemorates those who fought for our freedom, and Martin Luther King Day celebrates one of the greatest civil rights activists this nation (and world) has ever seen.

How many Americans, however, can give a definitive answer as to why we celebrate Labor Day? A holiday which has questionably lost sight of its original meaning (much like chocolate bunnies being associated with Easter), Labor Day in modern terms seems to translate into BBQ, boating, and the start of college football season, which don’t get me wrong, are all great things.

Somewhere between the third bratwurst and the fourth beer, however, I doubt very many of us take that moment to pause and reflect on what we’re actually celebrating. First signed into law as a national holiday by President Cleveland in 1894, it’s a day meant to honor and reflect upon that tireless bastion of success and freedom, the everyday American worker.

So this past Labor Day, in order to properly reflect on this, I knew I was going to have to remove myself from the social atmosphere, lest my reasoning be skewed by the ambiguous merriment. No BBQ. No beers. No boats. I was going to have to go someplace I could actually hear my thoughts.

Living on the shores of California’s Lake Tahoe, the swollen lakeshore that consistently drowns under inflatable rafts and EZ-up tents was not going to be the place. I needed somewhere removed from the crowds and the usual scene; somewhere where Labor Day was still just called Monday.

Somewhere, like Desolation Wilderness.

One of the West’s truly wild places, the name alone screams of empty solitude. 64,000 acres of glacially formed lakes and craggy granite peaks, it’s one of the few remaining areas you can still find the endangered sound of silence.

Grabbing an old pair of hiking boots, three bottles of water, and a hopefully unnecessary can of bear mace, I amble off down a Desolation Wilderness trailhead ready to get back to nature and properly ruminate on the concept of work.

About a mile up the trail on a scree filled switchback overlooking Fallen Leaf Lake, my gaze to the horizon is suddenly interrupted by a golden eagle gliding on the thin morning breeze. Above the rare predator, a commercial jet paints a long set of contrails across the gaping blue sky.

I think about the first settlers who walked amongst these hills, and wonder if they could ever have comprehended the speed with which we now travel. They arrived in this wilderness by wagon, train, horse, and steamboat, all willing to work towards achieving the American dream. A trip that once took weeks we now cover in hours, all thanks to hard working laborers on a factory room floor who piece together metal eagles that now race across the sky.

Taking a long quaff of water from my blue Nalgene, my eyes wander into the dense canopy of pine wrapping its way around the mountainside. Examining the thin dirt trail below, I reflect on the fact that even this stroll through the woods which I’m taking was at one point considered part of going to work. For the original Native American tribes who relied on this land to survive, a walk through the woods was all part of a greater task. Food, water, and shelter were all derived from these hills, and this mountainside high in the Sierra was all part of their greater office.

Startled by a loud knocking from above, I peer up the rotted trunk of a tree that’s in dire need of autumn rains. High atop the branches, a lone woodpecker repeatedly drives his face into the hard wood, which I realize, strangely enough, is all part of his line of work.

I realize that this far back in the forest the only sounds I hear are those of nature working all around me. The same sun that’s searing my shoulders is also melting the high mountain snows, in turn slowly feeding the stream I hear which has worked to carve this alpine canyon. Similarly, the spiderweb I walked through half a mile ago was the proud handiwork of an animal who has just seen his hard work instantly erased.

On a trek where I intended to leave labor behind, I instead find myself completely surrounded by it. I suddenly bask in the luxury of a day free of work, because as the forest has managed to bring to my attention, though we are all still a part of nature, nature isn’t given the luxury of rest. As strange as it all may seem, there is no Labor Day for woodpecker.

Visit Yellowstone with Ken Burns this winter

by Kraig Becker on

Filmmaker Ken Burns and his longtime collaborator Dayton Duncan have partnered with travel company Tauck to create a series of classic travel itineraries based around his films. These trips, entitled Ken Burns American Journeys, offer travelers the opportunity to experience Civil War battlegrounds, jazz festivals, and, of course, national parks from the unique perspective of Burns himself.

In January of 2012, Tauck will give travelers a once in a lifetime chance to meet both Burns and Duncan, in one of the most magical environments possible – Yellowstone National Park. Highlights of the trip will include a visit to Lamar Valley, home to one of the most diverse displays of wildlife in North America, and an excursion to the Geyser Basin to explore Yellowstone’s famous geothermal activity. Visitors will also have the opportunity to visit the park’s interior via snowcoach, soak in the hot springs of Mammoth, and enjoy a keynote address from Burns himself. For more information on this itinerary, including pricing and dates, click here.

For those unable to make that trip, Tauck is offering another winter Yellowstone option as well. The nine-day Wonderland: Yellowstone in Winter itinerary has six departures spread out across January, February, and March, and features much of the same activities above, minus the famous documentarian.

Burns’ fabulous six-part series The National Parks: America’s Best Idea is a love letter to the amazing places that make up the national park system in the U.S. The filmmaker’s appreciation for the parks comes through in these itineraries from Tauck as well, with Yellowstone being right at the top of the list. Fans of the national parks and Burns won’t want to miss out on the opportunity to visit Yellowstone with the man himself.

This past January I was fortunate enough to visit Yellowstone in the winter myself, and I can tell you that it truly is an amazing experience. Even if you’ve been to the park before, if you haven’t visited in winter, you really haven’t seen what Yellowstone has to offer. The quiet solitude gives the world’s first national park a peaceful tranquility and the pristine snow makes it even more beautiful than it is in the summer. The fact that practically no-one visits during the colder months doesn’t hurt either.

Sotheby’s: the museum where you can buy the art

by Sean McLachlan on

Have you ever looked at a work of art hanging on a museum wall and thought, “That would look great in my living room”? Well, at one of the best “museums” in London you really can take it home with you.

Sotheby’s is London’s oldest auction house, and has been a London institution since 1744. They sell everything from fine art to vintage wine to antique furniture. While most items are beyond the means of the average visitor, the galleries and auctions are open to the public. There are branches in London, Paris, New York, and Hong Kong.

When I lived in London I visited the Sotheby’s galleries regularly. They host constantly changing exhibits of art and antiques. Since the items mostly end up in private hands, this is your only chance to see them. I was a bit worried the first time I went in that I’d be given some cold English upper-class attitude. It was painfully obvious I wasn’t there to buy anything. Surprisingly, I was treated with respect, which is more than I can say about a certain antique shop I visited in Islington.

On one visit a few years ago there was going to be a major auction of Russian art–some medieval icons and a lot of Neorealism. As usual the items that would be going under the gavel were put on display. As I wandered around admiring the art, I found the crowd to be equally interesting. Hordes of Russians in Armani suits were on their cell phones calling buyers in Moscow, describing art and getting instructions on maximum bids. Watching all these rich Russians and their multimillionaire bosses I realized just how much the world had changed in the past twenty years.

So check out Sotheby’s. It’s not only a lesson in art, it’s a lesson in sociology.

[Photo courtesy Claus Hoppe]