A. Do your research: I can’t believe the trouble people get themselves into because they don’t read enough and don’t bother asking the right questions. Ask the right people, read all your travel books and travel sites and blog posts. Google is your friend… And so is Lonely Planet. Gather the materials you need to make it happen. This includes learning as much of the language you can fit into your head and the bits of local culture to ease you into the fray. Not doing your research is the number one mistake and the most avoidable.

B. Always have a Plan B: Things happen. Places shut down, rules get reworked, new timetables are coming out all the time. Weather happens. Always have something else to do in case Plan A doesn’t work out. Don’t stress out about it, just do it. Always have something else to slide into place in case you weren’t able to do what you wanted. Don’t live with regrets, life is too short.

C. Always have cab fare: To anyone living in a big city, this one should be obvious. Yokels, learn from your city brethren. This could go under having a Plan B, but it needs its own note, I think.

D. Don’t overpack: Repeat after me “All problems can be solved with money.” Have several credit cards and be prepared to use them in case it’s colder than the usual or whatever. Don’t pack every goddamn thing in case of every conceivable problem. You will end up hoofing it all over airports, bus terminals, and rail stations. It sucks. Leave the crap home. That being said, do take the essentials of what your research has shown will be foreseeable ie. Rain coat in Britain. And here’s news, they have launderettes in other countries, too. You don’t just wear clothes once at home and then throw them away, right? The washing thing can be done on the road or you pay to have someone do it for you.

E. Do what makes you happy: This is why we leave home, to see what you want to see and pursue the sites that are important for you. To me, it’s history, preferably ancient and neolithic. Others like golf or good views or great food. Just do it. The only thing we can be sure of is that you’ll get old one day. Do you really want to regret what you could have done?

And a bonus… Fear nothing.

The new Race Street Pier

It’s been so long since I posted here. I don’t know if it’s inertia, boredom, busyness, or Facebook. Things have happened that are postworthy, I just haven’t done it.

The dog days of summer are here and the extreme heat turns the city into a smelly, soupy mess wherein cockroaches rule the sidewalks and drains, the ice cream vendors cash in as if it were Christmas, and the population leaves town each weekend for the shore, abandoning the city to the the tourists or those too weary to drag themselves away. Or the unfortunates who have to work. I’ve been one of those unfortunates. I usually wait out the summer by working very long hours and cashing in on the overtime and waiting for the first cool of the fall. I plan that autumn getaway like a prisoner plans his escape, never knowing if it really will happen, but ready the moment there’s an opportunity.

I tried out the new park today, the new Race Street Pier. It’s a pleasant place right over the water, blessed with the breezes of property near to bodies of water (in this case the Delaware River). It’s a little strip of pristine cleanliness (maybe because it’s new… give it time) right against the huge pylons of the Ben Franklin Bridge. It has a little of everything, plants, grass, and benches and a lot of sun. The new trees aren’t old enough yet to provide much shade and I got a fierce burn in spite of my 55 SPF. But I suspect most people were there for the sun and breeze. It was quiet, no dogs and few kids. It’s a little strip of silence, the only sounds being the inoffensive white noise of the the 95 and the rumble of the NJ Transit train on the way to or from Camden. There’s a little market at the condo development about a block away in case of some badly needed cold drinks, but otherwise it’s kind of a food desert and that makes it hard to cope with in this city of Iron Chefs and a new restaurant every week. Rittenhouse has the enviable chain of eateries right on its doorstep and the Washington West has some nice fast food/ drinks places nearby and great stretches of lawn. But Rittenhouse is always packed and Washington West has had its every inch peed on by the neighborhood’s vast army of pets. The Race Street pier doesn’t have those crowds yet. Maybe it just hasn’t been discovered. It’s a non picturesque walk down Race and across the busy Columbus Avenue to get there and maybe that’s saving it from the crowds for now. The locals go somewhere else and the tourists don’t know it’s here… those not on the obnoxious duck tours that is. But if you bring your own food and drink and have slathered on the SPF, it’s a great place to sit and relax in the breezes of the river. I felt I owned a little part of it when I saw one of the trees had a plaque thanking the OCCA.

I finished the last of my mystery book and thought about September. I think I may be bound once again for England. I don’t know why. I could go anywhere. I could go to Croatia or Peru but I think that with the death of Greece as an option, I’m for England again with its gorse and rain and chilly politeness. I haven’t been back in years, not really, and my excuse is I need more pictures, this time in digital.

In other news:

• The Flavia de Luce novels are a riot. Thank you, Alan Bradley!
• Here’s to being done with two huge, anxiety-provoking work projects.
• I am making ratatouille this weekend for the first time this summer. And here’s to sweet Lancaster corn.

A place I never thought I would see and there I was stumbling around Gamla Stan in Stockholm in the morning. Thanks to all who made it possible. That was an expensive week (spent Easter Sunday cleaning the house and balancing budgets) but worth it.

Just yesterday, I finished the Steig Larsson Millenium triology. I read some of it on the train to Stockholm, where most of the action takes place. Sometimes it had its moments and I still have a soft spot for journalism but the books, all three, suffered from the worst crime of fiction… they’re boring and no, I didn’t like them. Yawn.

Next!

The Mevlana Mosque and Museum in Konya, Turkey

It took me a while to post, thanks to being busy, shellacked, and decompressing. This was the weirdest yet most rewarding trip I’ve ever taken. It was with a tour group but the country was so fascinating, so different from anywhere I’ve ever been that the two, the complacency inherent in being in a tour group and the daring in being in Turkey, balanced each other out. Beautiful, cosmopolitan Istanbul is easy to be in for someone who lives on the Eastern seaboard and has a list of her favorite cities. The hinterlands of Turkey, on the other hand, were another thing altogether. It was the first time I felt that I am no longer at home. Headscarves were actually very common, the language is bewildering, and after dark the streets make it clear it’s a man’s world.

History has been written here, though, by those with the guts to write it. Alexander and Julius Caesar, the sultans, Asia minor, Anatolia, the Crusades, Hector and Priam, all words written into legend, words that are legend. They’ve been through here. The hills and mountains and olive groves in places look like they must have looked thousands of years ago. History speaks and lives and breathes here, against a backdrop of small farmers, minarets, and open markets. Tourism is a large part of the economy but Turkey hasn’t sold its soul. I had the feeling we were catching it just before the old world vanishes. I can recall that in a short list of missed photographic opportunities: the hills on the way to Konya with a little village in the plains at the bottom complete with red roofs on the stone houses, Hieropolis perched at the top of the calcium deposits at Pamukkale and the modern village at the bottom, our tour bus crossing the tracks behind a train with a shepherd and his flock of sheep walking along the one-lane road. Oh, baby. If this is Asia, then I want more of it, though there is still a time and place for the warm and familiar places like the Piazza del Popolo in Rome.

That’s where my fictional characters are talking right now, and I must return to them. CIao, a piu tardi.

I’ve been wanting to go to that city since I read a history of it and as I read the passage concerning the sacking of Constantinople by the Turks and came to the realization that that was fear, I’ve been wanting to go. Once Byzantium under the Greeks, then Constantinople under the Romans the capital of the Eastern Empire, and then finally, Istanbul. Hagia Sophia. The Bosphorus. The Golden Horn. Caesar tearing through its plains in hot pursuit of Pompey. Alexander slashing the Gordion Knot as he brought the East under his heel. The sultans in their palaces. Scimitars and horsemen. Bazaars and baklava. The Call to Prayer. Minarets. A stone’s throw away from the Cradle of Civilization that I can only hope will simmer down in my lifetime so I can see that, too. This is my first foray into the exotic, mysterious lands of the East.

I will be buying a handy guide to Turkish. I have two months to get up to speed, but in a way, I’ve been preparing for this trip my entire life.

My day off that week was Friday so I struggled through four days before stumbling into Friday exhausted but unable to rest. The following Saturday was a plastic surgery conference and I had to speak. I spent the bulk of the day working on the notes and slides I had only half-heartedly started earlier. The next day found me out with the morning dew headed for my workplace for the conference. The upside was I was getting my trauma hours fulfilled and the subject is interesting to me. It was also catered by the implant company and they spend lavishly, compared to the hospital.

I found some time Sunday to go to the opening day of the farmer’s market along with washing clothes, cleaning, and cooking for the week. One day off before another horrid week is far too little. Even two feels short. The nxt week found me downright crispy and cross. I had reached the other side of exhaustion and instead of feeling sleepy, I was bedraggled but couldn’t sleep. I managed to finish the week jut through sheer grit. There was nothing more lofty involved. Nothing more than a single-mindedness to get through it.

I had several items of business to get done in New York. One involved getting refills for my Nespresso machine, the nearest store being in Manhattan. The other was my need to get my hands on an iPad. They haven’t been released to the third party reseller market and there is no Apple store in Center City. The nearest one is in King of Prussia, but if it’s necessary to travel anyway, may as well go to the Big Apple. I also intended to shop for some furniture, but since the latest sofa I’ve liked is a sectional from BoConcept, of which we have a branch in Center City, it quickly took a backburner to the other charma of the city.

It was a beautifully crisp spring day and I left on the 0658 train out of Philadelphia and was charging my MetroCard at 0930. Amy’s Bread at Hell’s Kitchen was my first stop but unlike every other time I’ve gone there, I didn’t get a seat, even if it was a weekday. Some Italian guys were taking animatedly in the back. There isn’t even any standing room there. I broke with tradition and got one of their oatmeal scones rather than the cherry cream scone I usually get and a small coffee. I walked back through the breezy streets and ended up in Bryant Park. The directions to Bloomingdales that I had were wrong so I ate my scone there in the perfect half-light under the trees. They have seats and tables that aren’t hogged by a restaurant or eatery. They’re free foe tour use. Let me also say the shockingly immaculate bathrooms complete win flowers in vases has made Bryant Park my favorite in the city.

Since I was there, I stopped inside the New York Public Library which is currently undergoing renovation. It’s stately and immaculate inside and I looked into their lovely bookophilic store and only stopped myself from buying things bcause it was early and I didn’t want to carry them around. Now that I think of it, I should have treated myself. Now I know.

Grand Central Station is nearby with its dramatic entrance with a bronze eagle outside. I took the subway from there to Union Square. The market was in full swing and while I may have been there before, I don’t clearly remember it and it was nearly all new for me. I entered through the artist’s market and took cursory glances. A Whole Foods looms on one side, eateries and other box stores on the other sides and a W hotel anchors a corner. Sephora faces Whole Foods across the square. This could be the perfect place to stay.

I found ABC Carpet and Home without too much trouble but was really underwhelmed. Accoring to reports of awesomeness on home design blogs, I was ready to see a Wonder of the World but instead it was a lot smaller than I thought with a lot of space wasted on clothing, of all things. There was a Conran Shop but it was severely underwhelming too. I did get to see the little white canisters I’ve been considering as a side table. They’re a bit small than I wanted and a little rickety for the price. I may not want them anymore. That’s good to know. The rest I was done with quickly. It was too ornate for my tatste and I’d rather get anything with “world” or “international” flair actually out in the world, not just at a store in New York. I wasn’t there for long and actually stopped at a
Sephora which I think I visited for longer.

After buying and devouring a chocolate chip cookie in the park, I crossed over to the DSW and shopped on there for a
Long time. I live shoes and we don’t have a DSW in Center City. The selection was great but I only got one pair, chiefly for the reason that I did ‘t want to tote around two pairs of shoes for the rest of the day. The staff was lovely. New Yorkers continue to impress me with their non-suffocating kindness. Why are they thought of as rude? That’s completely false.

With my new shoes, I jumped on the subway again to Spring Street. Though I had vacillated on the decision, I de ides to spring for it and took a journey into the Lower East side to
find Economy Candy. That part of the city isn’t as gentrified as others but never at any time did I feel unsafe. Economy Candy is huge and chockablock crammed with all kinds of candy. I bought some absinthe breath mints and a bunch of small Ritters for just over 5 bucks. A steal.

It was a significant walk back to the heart of Soho to find the Bloomingdale’s. Sure enough, it had a Nespresso cafe and I stocked up on the goods. There were also Marc Jacobs bags for sale and if I had found the yellow one in the smaller size, I would have so bought it.

Magically, it was getting on to 2 pm so I played with the idea of going to a new pizzeria reviewed in the Times. But first, I determined to stop by a Spanish grocery I had glimpsed the last time when I was in town. It was a few blocks from a great wine store. I wasn’t going to be getting wine on this trip (thanks to some friends and San Jose Garces), but I wanted jijona turron, still impossible to find in Philadelphia. To my pleasant surprise, not only is the place a grocery and charcuterie of sorts, but it’s also a lunchonette, much like DiBruno’s. I had a nice lunch there in the back sharing a table with a nice older couple. It cost me much less than a restaurant would have with the added benefit of shopping for Spanish foods afterward. I should open a place like that in Philadelphia. It would be a hit. I bought my turron and some piquillo peppers and hit the road. Part of me regretted not eating at Balthezzar (long a goal), but that place us always so busy.

Unable to wait much longer and fully knowing I was runnnv out of time, I headed for Prince Street and the Soho Apple Store.t was hoppng and I had to wait my turn in order to try out an iPad. It’s much lke this little machine but faster and brighter. I just wish it were a little flatter in the back, lighter since I have the weakest wrists in humanity, and that I could afford the data plan for it. It’s great for old people, as I suspected. The form factors of many of the programs are efferent in odd ways and I can’t really say it’s better. Since it excls at manipulating data, your personal data is what would make it most useful so a true review is impossible, but it has the Love Me factor even though I can’t see myself ditching s real keyboard for marathon writing sessions. As a data depository though it’s fantastic, possibly without equal up to this point in history, much like the iPod before it. For the first time, I thought it would be nice to read off of it since the words would look great. But do I really need it? Not more than Aperture 3.

The staff bid me a friendly farewell and I struck out north across Houston into the Village. I still haven’t tried Joe’s pizza and maybe never wil, but I stopped at Amy’s Bread and bought a loaf of the semolina and sultana bread that’s so amazing. They only had a small loaf left but that’s probably a good thing. I also got a slice if carrot cake thought I meant to have a devil’d food slice when I firstalked in there. I’ve been having a hankering for carrot cake but strangely, one of my favorite bakeries underwhelmed mr with their version. The Naked Cjovolate cafe makes a better version in their cupcake and Whole Foods makes a beyond-competent version. This one just didn’t have it. Maybe I was too tired or too dehydrated to appreciate it. I saved more than half in the empty coffee cup. Maybe it’ll taste better to tomorrow back in Philly. Next time I go to Amy’s Bread buy a whole wheat loaf and some of the bar cookies, especially the butterscotch cashew. I’m regretting not buying one right now.

I strolled down Bleejer WMD stumbled upon a table of books outside a bookstore. I think they were new though at the time I thought they were used because the prices were so good. I found a copy of John Le Carre’s The Spy Who Came In From The Cold and nabbed it. It’ll make a great poolside read.

I read about Il Cantuccio on Christopher Street in the Times and I intended to stop there to get cantucci before getting back on the subway in time for the 6pm train. The place was cute, the girls working there Italian, and the cookies looked delicious. I foolishly ordered a pound though I guess you can get singles, too. They didn’t take credit cards and the total was a jaw-dropping $29.50. I hate cash and I hate spending so mcuh of it at once. There was a standalone ATM across the street outside a kinky store with weird dudes hanging around in front of it. I hate using non-bank ATMs so I did something I’ve never done before and just kept on walking. Almost thirty dollars for cookies o don’t need is madness and ordering so many was absolute madness. I can never go back again now but that’s okay. There are other places to eat. I would feel worse now if I had that bag of cookies amongst my possessions right now.

Midtown was the usual knot of alarms and nerves and tourists. A glass of wine at a bar of a nice hotel would have hit the spot but the hotels near Penn Station aren’t at the upper echelons of hotels and the others were too far. I set out for the nearby Artisanal, but it’s a true restaurant and stood empty at just after five. I didn’t even see a bar with a happy hour. I just walked on by and then looped back to 34th where u couldn’t easily find a bathroom at Macy’s. I went to the Borders above the station instead and then went down to buy tickets. It turns out it was a good thing I got there early since the line ran the length of the waiting area. I got a frappuccino and came back just as they were announcing the the platform. I’m writing this on the train home.

What a fascinating city it is. Philly is so much smaller, slower, cheaper, and more livable. I couldn’t live in New York, but having it within 80 miles is worth the costs in time and money it takes to get there. People are helpful and smart and realistic and tough. The city’s squares are beautiful and desperately needed and used. It doesn’t stop. It thrills and excites and educates and wears you right out. There is no other like it. Not a one. A guy on the subway was saying Chicago was like it and Philadelphia was like it. No one is like it. No one comes close. This is a city that’s Sui generus and exists in spite of anything else. This is a place where terrorists will never win. This is a place that doesn’t know how to be afraid or quiet or bored or the same.

Subjects for the new BA headers are, in no order since they change: bottles at the Plaza Dorrego fair, a statue from the cemetery in Recoleta, the ceiling from Cafe Tortoni, and the ceiling and lights at the Abasto. These things have something in common, can you guess?

More later.

P.S. I have forgotten a lot of the Photoshop essential shortcut keystrokes. Have I really become that useless? Plusly, that program grinds my computer into the dust. Maybe I need a new one.

The Plaza de Mayo in the morning

I thought I’d take more pictures. I ended up not even using the third CF card I brought along. Oh, well.

I thought I’d be able to just hop over to Uruguay today but I got there too late so I just bought tickets for tomorrow instead. It’s my attempt to see another country and another city with nice architecture and get out of the city. Though Buenis Aires is a shockingly beautiful city, I need to stop shopping and eating and do some more sightseeing before I leave. I already know I’ve missed all opportunities to go to Iguazu falls. I didn’t have a burning desire anyway. Mendoza would have been cool, but I’m glad I saw Buenos Aires as well as I did. The city is worth it. Rushing through would gave been heartbreaking. And the slow pace has granted me a new NaNoWriMo story on top of it though I can’t start actually writing until November.

All the great stuff I’ve bought will make everyone so jealous back home. I can hardly wait to wear that new coat out. I got it on sale because Argentine winter is over, but it’s right on time for Philadelphia autumn. All I need are boots. I’ve had a hard time finding shoes since I don’t want or need more sandals and let’s just say there aren’t many 41s in town. Well, I have the same problem at home hence Zappos has become my exclusive shoe purveyor.

I’m going to miss this place but planning my next trip to Argentina will fill those upcoming days of bitter cold. And it’ll be nice to go to the gym again. I wonder how much I’ve packed on. That’s actually the one thing I’ve missed from home… besides the Daily Show (or my computer, take your pick) and Italian cheese.

1. Don’t get up early, especially on weekends. I’m an early riser now thanks to my job, but even in my old days of late to bed late to rise I’d be running too early for this city. Museums for the most part don’t open until 1400. Shops don’t open until noon on weekends and you’ll be the only one shopping before about 1500. Restaurants don’t start hopping with lunch patrons until at least 1400.

2. Don’t think you can get by with just your credit cards. A lot of places don’t take them.

3. Don’t walk too fast. Flying down the sidewalk is the norm in New York. Not so much here. Also, don’t expect people to move out of your way if you do.

4. Personal space is much closer than you’re used to. Don’t be offended.

5. Don’t feel bad if you’re dining alone. No one will treat you any different.

6. Don’t wear tourist clothes. The poor college student look doesn’t fly well either.

7. Don’t be a vegetarian, especially the type who spouts lectures about the mistreatment of living things ad nauseum. You’re a bore anyway. Shut up.

8. Don’t be bothered by the men. They’re only doing what’s socially acceptable. Do what the local girls do and just keep walking. Don’t be offended.

9. Don’t let graffiti bother you. Its presence does not necessarily mean it’s a bad neighborhood.

10. Never enter a shop or a business without greeting the staff… even if they’re talking amongst themselves or on the phone or anything.