Take a romantic vacation–alone

by Jamie Rhein on

If you don’t have a person to cuddle up to for Valentine’s Day–that sweet, special someone to whisper endearments in your ear–the type of person you wrote about in your middle school diary who you envisioned going with to a romantic destination once you grew old enough–to heck with it. Go alone.

I’m a firm believer that, although going somewhere with someone else can be superb–awfully romantic, one doesn’t need to wait for the right person to come along for the best time.

One Valentine’s weekend, I headed off to the Enchanted Forest in northern New Mexico for an overnight cross-country skiing vacation by myself. After a particularly difficult break-up with a boyfriend that had left me deflated, I thought the best thing for puffing wind back into my sails was a solo adventure. I picked Red River, New Mexico because of a few of points:

  • it didn’t take a lot of planning–being broken hearted, I didn’t have a lot of umph for complicated decisions.
  • It wasn’t that far from Albuquerque where I lived, so it felt adventurous enough, but close enough to return home if I couldn’t handle it.
  • I always wanted to go to the Enchanted Forest and figured that a cross-country ski area where others would be would be safe.

Here’s what I found out:

  • When going alone, it helps to know where you want to stop. When I swung into town, I didn’t know what hotel I should check into. I drove through town from end to end twice before I became so disgusted with my indecision, that I finally pulled into the parking lot of one of them.
  • After checking into a hotel room with two double beds, it does feel good to throw oneself down on each of them a few times while feeling sorry for oneself, but after wards, it’s much better to go out for dinner and get over oneself.
  • When going out for dinner, a writing pad and pen works wonders for keeping people at bay, particularly a guy named Randy who wants one to go two-stepping at a country-western bar until dawn.

Most importantly, cross-country skiing alone on trails called names like Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee is cathartic, fun and a wonderful Valentine’s Day weekend activity. I couldn’t have asked for better company.

The following year, I returned with a male friend, and the year after that, I returned with two women friends. Of the three visits to Red River, the one by myself resonates the most. The other two times, however were also superb in their own way.

If you are going to be on your own tomorrow, here are suggestions for enjoying your own company.

  • Pick a place you haven’t been before that’s close by and go there. While there, think about all the things you like about it and why it was such a grand decision to pick this place above all others. Take notes. Note-taking looks important. You can write about the experience later. If you don’t like to write, draw sketches.
  • When you go to this place, take your favorite snack. Eating your favorite snack creates a sense of celebration, particularly if you eat slowly.
  • While you’re traveling to this place, listen to your favorite music. That also adds to a sense of adventure and celebration.
  • Tell yourself what wonderful company you are.
  • Thank yourself afterwards for taking you somewhere you’ve always wanted to go.

Weird things in the woods

by Jamie Rhein on

The website for hunters www.ifish.net has a page devoted to weird things hunters have found in the woods. Browsing the comments where people describe what they’ve found on their outings reminded me of the cow bone in our freezer.

I think it’s a cow bone. My son saw it on the side of the road in Montana between Anaconda and Philipsburg. He popped out of the car to get it while we were waiting at a road construction site road block for our turn to pass. It’s in a plastic bag in our freezer until we do something with it. Bleach it?

Once I found a cow skull in New Mexico when I was hiking with a friend who said he knew where to find cow skulls. I was looking for a skull for my brother, although, I can’t recall exactly why.

Bones aren’t all that can be found in the woods or elsewhere in the middle of nowhere. One person wrote on the weird things page that he found a bathtub filled with dirt nailed to a tree. He suspected it was for growing “wacky tobacky.”

Another person found $100 tucked in a pair of women’s underwear. That’s something. Someone else found remains of a moonshine still.

One of my great uncles once told me to be careful when I was visiting him in Knott County in southeastern Kentucky where he lived. I was heading out on a walk in the woods so he warned me about not coming upon a place where people are growing pot. According to him, pot was growing everywhere in those Kentucky hills. My uncle was a bit of an alarmist so I’m not sure about the accuracy of his statement, but it stuck with me.

Sometimes one can find the remains of hunters in the woods. Not the hunters, actually, but what they’ve left behind. Near where my father lives in New York state, there are two hunters’ cabins that are in the process of decay. Each summer when we visit, my son insists that we head through the woods to access the progress of ruin.

The roof of one of the one-room structures is almost all gone, and the floor has broken through in places, but the stove is still there with a pan still on it. I always wonder who used it and why did they stop coming.

This topic of weird things in the woods is one that could bring about a spine tingling novel or a short story. When we come across a thing in the woods like a bone or two –or a shoe, or a cheap plastic comb, we wonder about the story that happened before we arrived. “What happened here?” we ask. In the above photograph, this abandoned Navy bus is rotting in the woods near Bangor, Maine. The text underneath the photo also begs the question, “What in the world is it doing in the woods?”

Gadling Take FIVE: Week of Nov. 15—Nov. 21

by Jamie Rhein on

Where I’m sitting winter has arrived. Snow flurries and windchill. Brrrr. Now that winter looks like it’s settling in, let’s see if anyone has come up with places to that are warmer.

  • Brenda’s post on the drop in tourism in Hawaii. and what there is to do in this tropical paradise this time of year, ought to be reason enough for a person to rethink the budget and see if Hawaii is doable after all.
  • Meg suggests sitting in the scariest swimming pool ever–Devil’s Pool at the top of Victoria Falls
  • Jeffery pointed out that Cuba knows how to treat its 2 millionth tourist--with an ice-cold mojito and a salsa band
  • Along with the warning that snacks in India could cost more than you counted on, Josh sounded a warning to be careful of the party scene in Mumbai–you could find yourself drug tested.
  • And, although New Mexico is not THAT warm, the great thing about traveling here to ski is that it feels warm during the day when the sun is out–kind of. The best part is that the sun almost always shines in New Mexico. Every day. All day.

Instead of Utah as a ski destination, head to New Mexico

by Jamie Rhein on

Let’s say you’re interested in boycotting Utah but you really want to ski at an affordable destination. Consider New Mexico. The mountains are steep and become packed with powder; the sky is blue; and skiing is near places worth heading to whether you ski or not.

Consider this: Santa Fe and Taos

I’m not saying that Utah isn’t a lovely state–It’s gorgeous–breathtaking even. Then there’s David Archuleta who is cute as a button. He’s from Utah. So are the Osmonds. But let’s say you want to boycott the state because it’s been suggested as an appropriate response as of late. (See Meg’s post.)

If you do think about heading to New Mexico for a ski vacation, here are details to tip your decision-making in New Mexico’s favor.

  • Lift tickets are $6 cheaper at Santa Fe’s resort than at Utah’s Alta.
  • Lift lines in New Mexico, in my experience, are not particularly long.
  • If you ski in Santa Fe, head to the Japanese onsen-like Ten Thousand Waves for a glorious soak in a private outdoor hot tub. Some tubs are located in the midst of trees that glisten in the snow and moonlight. This is a perfect stop after a day of swooshing down a mountain over and over again.
  • Santa Fe is a place to shop like no other. Friends of mine– who never shop, said they’ve never been to a place that has given them the urge to buy things more than here. Canyon Road is filled with galleries and stores that are the definition of eye candy.
  • The best folk art museum in the world is in Santa Fe. Head to the International Folk Art Museum for a visual treat and a reminder of all the markets you passed through in your world travels. You’ll possibly be reminded of that item you didn’t buy, that very thing that is in the display case in front of you–specifically an odd painted piece of pottery that is shaped like a chicken–kind of. It’s from Senegal to be exact.
  • A meal at Cafe Pasqual is fit for a weekend that’s meant to be special. This is fine dining with an organic, Old Mexican, New Mexican and Asian twist. I can’t remember what I ate specifically, but I was on a date with a guy who wanted to impress. He did. Fine dining doesn’t mean you need to get all gussied up either.

If you head to Taos, you can stop at Taos Pueblo, the oldest continuously inhabited Native American town that is both an National Historic Landmark and a UNESCO World Heritage site.

Sounds of Travel 4: King of the Road

by Jamie Rhein on

Here at Gadling we’ll be highlighting some of our favorite sounds from the road and giving you a sample of each — maybe you’ll find the same inspiration that we did, but at the very least, hopefully you’ll think that they’re good songs.

Got a favorite of your own? Leave it in the Comments and we’ll post it at the end of the series.

WEEK 4: “King of the Road” sung by Roger Miller

When my brother and I were young, our parents gave us Hummel figurine music boxes. His figurine was a small boy sitting on a fence with a bundle tied on a stick that rested on his shoulder. When the key was wound, the melody “King of the Road” played while the boy turned.

My figurine was a girl feeding chickens. Although, I dearly loved my music box– the girl looked like Heidi, that independent lass who lived in the Alps with her grandfather, I was drawn to my brother’s more. There it sat on his chest of drawers in a spot within reach.

Even before I knew the lyrics, the title of the song was enough. King of the Road. What could sound more grand?

The lyrics, though, said it all. Hitting the road without cares or worries–the thrill of being in control with each step towards the horizon. A life spent enjoying simple pleasures as long as a person can keep moving and make connections with folks along the way.

Never mind that I happened to be female–and at the time, one of the only known female travelers who got much press was Amelia Earhart–and we know how that turned out. I come from a line of women who have wandered.

Those women carried the aura of far away places, particularly Aunt Clarissa. It wasn’t the stories my great aunt told me of her time in Japan as an Army major after World War II that captured my interest–I don’t specifically remember any– it was the feeling I surmised that traveling gave her. The zippidy do dah.

When Roger Miller wrote King of the Road in 1965, he was telling the tale of a carefree traveler at the same time Miller was on the road seeking out his dreams as a singer-songwriter. After he sings in the video, Miller recalls that the song was inspired somewhere between Dayton, Des Moines or Chicago when he saw a road sign that said, “Trailers for Sale or Rent.”

What caught my attention about this version is Miller’s utter exuberance, both in his voice and his body, particularly when he belts out the third chorus and throws that fast crook in his elbow–and how the song stuck with me all day once I listened to it again.

When I think of my King of the Road experiences, the ones where this song played in my head, I am:

  • by myself on a bus heading to Maine from New Paltz, New York to work at a summer camp after my senior year in high school, the possibilities endless. This summer was late nights doing laundry so I could head out every weekend to places like Boothbay Harbor, Camden and Ogunquit, eating lobster and clams dripped in butter and skinny dipping in a lake with the moon shimmering across the water;
  • I’m walking down the streets of Arhus, Denmark, my arms swinging in stride with my legs as I head to the Viking ship museum, my entire body feeling in sync with the sidewalk beneath my feet and the breeze through my hair. I’d come alone–or if I was with someone, I can’t recall because the memory of being so in touch with my body on that day and the sense of adventure has eclipsed a companion;
  • I am walking away from my village into the Gambian bush to hang out under a tree for a few hours drinking tea, writing and listening to music, soaking up a bit of R&R from being the village Peace Corps volunteer. As cows grazed nearby and finch flitted and darted between the scrub brush, I regained balance;
  • and I am taking a friend of mine on a road trip through New Mexico so he can see how the landscape changes. As the hues of reds and browns change with each turn past Jemez as we get closer to Bandelier National Monument, we marvel at the wonder of us and our good fortune to have a car and all the time we need.

Whenever I hear that song, my feet start tappin’ and I want to head out–see new places, make new friends, visit old ones and know that the world is my oyster. What better feeling is there than being a king of the road?

Despite the lyrics, I’ve never smoked a pack of cigarettes in my life. I do, however, look at trailers with great affection.

Here’s a bit of King of the Road trivia: It’s been used in the movies: Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, Swingers, Into the Wild, Im Lauf der Zeit (In Due Time), and if you saw Brokeback Mountain, who can forget the scene where Jake Gyllenhaal as Jack, confident and full of energy, is heading in his truck to see Ennis? King of the Road was playing on the radio. Of course, that was before Jack’s hopes were dashed.

Still, the song for me is an optimistic all will work out.

Click here for previous Sounds of Travel.