My Night in an Igloo

Posted on by under Travel
My first glimpse of the igloo village.

My first glimpse of the igloo village.

Rounding the corner, we received our first glimpse of Iglu-Dorf, a 15-room village located in the heart of the Swiss Alps. Melted by the sun and rebuilt each year by the skilled hands of craftsmen, the village features an ice bar, a conference area (equipped with an unlimited supply of tea and hot soup), a dining area, lobby, wooden Kota, jacuzzi, sauna, public bathroom and accommodations ranging from the Standard Room, which sleeps six, to a super high-end Romantic Suite for two. Mr. Photog and I opted for the Standard. Dropping our bags in the lobby, we were taken on a tour of the grounds by Philip and his colleague, Chris. They explained the differences between the various room categories and allowed us to get familiarized with the rooms before giving us our assignments – Mr. Photog, myself and one other guest were relegated to Room One. A sextet of sleeping bags had already been arranged for us, each able to withstand subzero temperatures. We were also given light sleeping bag liners and a small pillow, the bare necessities to keep us from freezing to death.

Dinnertime and the pungent smell of fondue is wafting throughout the village. To the Swiss, this traditional dish is known as Moitié-Moitié (meaning half-half) and is made with Gruyère and Vacherin Fribourgeois. Mr. Photog and I order a 15 CHF apéritif consisting of several slices of cheese, two small sausages, two apricots, two walnuts, two pecans and two glasses of Champagne. Taking my skewer, I push a cube of crusty bread onto the sharp metal tip and swirl it in the silky cheese mixture. The entire group, including Philip and Chris, are sitting around the table (our ice seats are overlayed with thick furs) laughing and conversing in French, German and Romansh. An older gentleman sitting across from me celebrated a birthday yesterday and has offered Mr. Photog and me some wine. We happily oblige.

After dinner, a short break and then a few of us head outside for a moonlight snowshoe outing. A quick tutorial and I am adjusting straps and maneuvering my feet expertly into the snowshoes. In a straight line, we follow Philip out of the village and into the darkness beyond. A faint veil of golden light has slipped over the mountains creating a kind of ethereal glow that only enhances the fairy tale-like feeling I had at that moment. We continue our ascent, the steely teeth on our snowshoes creating a distinct crunch with every step, our breathing labored at the high altitude. When we finally reach our destination, Philip asks us to turn off our headlamps and stand in silence. At that moment my lungs fill gratefully with icy mountain air. Around me I am surrounded by a family of rippling peaks, miles of virgin snow blanketing the world as far as the eye can see. I feel incredibly and utterly alive in my own skin. Not a sound to distract my thoughts, not a place to be, not an email to write, not a worry or fear in the world at that moment. Beneath the stars, I stood with that little group of people I had met only hours earlier feeling connected to them in a way I knew I would never be with anyone I knew back home. After a celebratory shot of caramel-flavored vodka, we embarked on our descent and readied for warm brownies in the Kota and a dip in the Jacuzzi.

My Matterhorn Moment

Posted on by under Travel

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It’s nearing 4 p.m. and I can’t stop staring at my watch. The automated female voice overhead calmly announces our next destination as a slight feeling of dread starts blossoming in my belly. The steady grinding of the cogs beneath the train provide comfort, if only momentary, as panoramic views of the Alps glide gracefully by the windows. The Chinese couple next to us keeps staring and laughing kindly – neither Mr. Photog nor I can sit still. We keep running to the windows, cameras in hand, looking out at the breathtaking expanse of snow and ice.

It seemed like such a good idea at the time – a night in an igloo. But now, as we slowly inch up the side of the mountain toward our destination, my excitement is diluted by my feelings of nervousness about what is to come. After nearly four hours traveling from Geneva to Zermatt, the Gornergrat Bahn grinds to a stop. We are 2,660 yards above sea level, awestruck as it seems we are standing at what must surely be the top of the world. Glancing at my watch again, I realize we are in danger of being late to meet the Iglu-Dorf group. A backpack each (stuffed to the seams), Mr. Photog and I make our way down the slick ski slope on foot toward the Hotel Riffelberg dragging our suitcases behind us. When we arrive, a group of about eight others is already sitting on the patio – some already sipping foam-capped German beers – listening to the guide go over safety precautions and the night’s itinerary. Not only are we the youngest of the night’s guests – we are the only English-speaking ones, too. Philip, our 20-something guide from Zermatt, comes over to introduce himself and is within minutes already enamored with Mr. Photog and his nearly 30 pounds of camera equipment.

After several minutes (in which the group has the opportunity to double check their bags and enjoy the heat of the indoors one last time), we depart for the village. Like overexcited schoolchildren, we clamored toward the cable car for the near-vertical ascent up the mountain. Only one stop and then the rest of the journey was to be on foot. In the dying light of day, the peaks of several majestic rock faces rose above the pale snow, but none so magnificent as the Matterhorn. Towering above us, just a stone’s throw away, the disarming rock face of this iconic summit stunned us all into silence.

#MyAdventure

Posted on by under Travel

DSC_0264 copy The plane has landed. I have been sitting in baggage claim for 60 minutes, the cold tile under my butt a harsh reminder that I’ve been without real sleep since the previous morning. It’s about 8 a.m. and I am in Geneva, Switzerland. It’s surreal, really, thinking that I am back in Europe after all this time. While all of my friends and co-workers are heading off to the Dominican Republic or Cancun for Spring Break, Mr. Photog and I elected to vacation in an area synonymous with snow, a choice both spontaneous and unusual, I will admit. It all happened rather quickly; we had every intention to venture out to the Cayman Islands where we could stay rather cheaply and drink rather heavily, and come back with a nice golden tan. But when those plans fell through, we started looking up flight information just for the hell of it: Ireland, Greece, South Africa, Iceland. It wasn’t until a photograph of the sun-drenched Swiss Alps popped up in a magazine ad that Switzerland even came on our radar. After about one night of research and number crunching, Mr. Photog and I booked our plane tickets – for $100 each.

Fast forward to today. Employees at the Geneva airport are on strike and the travelers (many of whom were on my flight) are impatient. Everyone is rushed and everyone, it seems, has somewhere to be. It’s almost comforting, the hum of the traveler’s march – people, like ants, scurrying off to their important meetings or speaking in elegant tongues as they wait in baggage claim. And in the midst of all this beauty are Mr. Photog and I, two Americans sitting on the floor of the airport in our jeans, one bag to the left of each of us, two bags under each of our eyes.

When we finally step outside, the reality of this place and the nature of our travels hasn’t yet hit me. It isn’t until we hop on our first Swiss bus that I can actually breathe a sigh of relief that I am on vacation and that I am here.

Patches of tilled farmland flit past the bus windows. The large clear waters of Lake Geneva bleed into large swaths of green fields freckled with small, wooden chateaus. The procession is only broken when we reach Geneva, famous for its fountain and the headquarters of the United Nations, a concrete jungle. Unsure of where to go and how to navigate, Mr. Photog approaches a kind-looking man standing near him on the bus and asks for confirmation that we plan to get off at the right stop. The man, who does not speak a lick of English, gestures and says, “C’est la même.” He is going to the same place and will show us the way.

A bus stop and another short trip later, the man picks up my luggage and rolls it all the way to the hotel for me. In what little French I can still speak since my middle and high school language classes, I thank him and we go our separate ways. Mr. Photog and I are happily relieved to have arrived at our room (which overlooks a fútbol stadium, by the way!) and drop our bags. Feeling considerably lighter and with a renewed excitement for the day ahead, we begin our journey. First stop: Montreux.

Nestled in a sheltered Lake Geneva bay, the town of Montreux is about an hour’s train ride from Geneva and is situated against the breathtaking backdrop of the snow-covered Alps. Sitting magnificently across the lake from the town, the mountains, covered by a thin film of haze, looked as if they were almost screened back or overlayed upon the background. A real-life movie set. Along the promenade, we strolled hand-in-hand past cypress-lined parks, beds of multicolored flowers and palms trees, glancing every once and a while toward the banks of France. Our main purpose for this visit to Montreux was the Château de Chillon, described by Freddie Mercury as “Heaven on Earth.” (This was also featured in this year’s Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, a fact Mr. Photog would not let me forget…)

And here’s why:

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Isle Formosa

Posted on by under Taiwan, Travel
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The rolling hills and skyscrapered valleys provide a lovely contrast on the island of Taiwan.

The sun is setting. Conversation and the tinny automated voice are the only things that disturb the gentle hum of the MRT. It’s 5:20 p.m. We pass swathes of grass knitted together like a patchwork quilt on the riverbanks. We are plunged into darkness as the train rockets through the mountain tunnels. We emerge and find ourselves surrounded on all sides by lush treetops. A freeway extends westward, cutting the landscape of a world so remarkably forgotton by the rest of the world.

When you talk about Taiwan, most laugh (politely) thinking in their minds how silly you are to have mispronounced Thailand. The remaining few will often glance quizzically at you, one brow furrowed in serious thought, convinced you just made that name up. But it does exist. Isle Formosa they used to call it.

I’m here for two reasons. One is out of pure selfishness – it’s another place to check off my bucket list. The second – perhaps it is just as selfish – is to create (maybe mend would be a better word here) a relationship with my mom.

I guess you could say I’m on a pilgrimage of sorts. By sheer osmosis, by going to and learning more about where my grandmother comes from, I will be better able to understand my mom. The laws of cause and effect. It’s science…right?

Eating My Way Through Tainan

Posted on by under Taiwan, Travel
The gruesome scene that is the end of my meal...

The gruesome scene that is the end of my meal…

I just returned from a wonderful dinner (easily my seventh meal of the day) with Avis, her parents, and Mammy. Avis’ dad manages, or perhaps owns, a business that creates feed for fish in Taiwan. He does very well for himself. Because I mentioned I love sushi, the family took me out to a Japanese restaurant down the road from their home in Tainan. We had steamed cabbage, sashimi, three different sushi rolls, miso soup, freshwater clams, shrimp tempura, oolong tea, onion salad, salmon, sweet green bean soup, watermelon and milk fish soup. I am definitely not used to eating this much food!

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Taiwan: My Journey Home

Taipei, Taiwan

The Lover’s Bridge at Danshui Fisherman’s Wharf in Taipei. This bridge, a popular tourist destination in Taiwan, is a telling image that captures my journey to the land of my mother’s relatives.

It has been quite a while since I last wrote. Things in my life have been rapidly changing and I am only now finding the time to put pen to paper and share with you all my journey to Taiwan, the isla de Formosa. This trip was more of a pilgrimage than a journey. Traveling halfway around the world, I had this half-conceived idea of what life would be like on the other side. I carried with me the full hope that this trip, that finding my roots, would somehow help me find peace and, perhaps more importantly, find myself.

Stay tuned…

The Memory Project

Posted on by under Volunteerism
Since I was about eight years old, my father would consistently push my sister and me to go out into the community and help others. From handing out water to runners at a local 5K to supporting the Lion’s Club at their annual pancake breakfast, the ability to “do good” has simply become a way of life for me. Now, I cannot imagine life without it. In high school, I immersed myself in volunteer work within my community. I helped create and maintain my high school’s Leo’s Club (a teen version of the Lion’s Club) and held my position as president for three years. As a part of the organization, I worked with community members and even reached out to local families to craft a town-wide Helping Hands Day in which Leos would devote an entire day to painting a fence, raking leaves, and completing everyday tasks for those unable to conquer the tasks themselves (i.e. disabled, elderly, single-moms, etc.)
My senior year in high school, I took a painting class which embarked on a project—one that I will never forget. It is called the Memory Project, an initiative started in 2007. The purpose of the Memory Project is to paint portraits for orphans around the world. Many times these children are without any possessions and more often than not, they do not have access to any mirrors or photos. By way of this initiative, I received a computer print-out of a 12-year-old girl in Egypt. It was my job to paint a headshot of the girl and, upon completion, send it back to her. Initially, I thought the project was nice—the premise was cool. However, spending weeks, day in and day out, studying this 12-year-old’s face, her dark, flowing hair, the coffee-colored eyes, I began to realize that I was doing something much more than painting a picture. Thoughts of this young girl’s struggles, her trials and tribulations, entered my mind. By the time I completed the final strokes of my paintbrush, I felt almost as if I knew the girl—an experience which has completely changed my life.
Weeks went by and I still thought of this girl every day, though I didn’t even know her name. Finally, as high school graduation loomed closer and thoughts of college weighed in my mind, I received a picture and a note from this girl. The picture, composed of waxy leftovers of a crayon, featured a scene of Egypt, her home. In the center was a single image—a heart divided in half. One side said my name, the other hers. To this day, that picture hangs beside my bed forever reminding me of the power one person has over change.

As I’ve gotten older, my drive and willingness to help others has flourished—that fire within me almost seems to grow stronger as I grow myself. Certainly, different people choose to give in different ways—some choose to give money while others choose to give time. Personally, I’ve mostly given time. There is just something intrinsically satisfying about getting my hands dirty and interacting with people that I normally wouldn’t, an experience I would never get by simply signing a check.

Additionally, I think that compassion is a large part of what I have learned through volunteer work. As a journalist, it is essential to understand all kinds of human beings; where they are coming from and what they have experienced throughout their lives which may be different than mine. I think that it is not only an important skill for journalists, but an important skill for human beings. If everyone was just a little more understanding and willing to help another, I think the world would be a much nicer place to live in. 

Threads of HOPE

Posted on by under Nicaragua, Nonprofit, Travel

Photo courtesy of Tiffany Onorato, Pyxis Foundation.

Managua, a sprawling city of rickety shacks, colorful concrete-block shops, revolution-era graffiti and palm trees at the edge of a polluted lake. Stretching nearly an entire city block, the school sits in all its humbled grandeur at a quiet corner, just a few short blocks from a rambling array of tiny stalls piled high with plantains and mangoes.

The concrete building that is NicaHOPE stands as a sort of beacon of light, a bright contrast to an otherwise grey and neglected neighborhood. Brilliantly pigmented depictions of volcanoes and lakes, the children’s touch, embellish the exterior along with 1 Corinthian 13:13. Across the street, 20-foot walls of concrete stand like soldiers glaring at the imposter, their barbed wire fangs curling in envy.

For the last four years, staff at NicaHOPE have hunkered down over tables in cramped, makeshift offices, replacing inventory and updating their ledger as more and more people put in orders for their jewelry. Young men and women, many who live in and around the Managua City dump, are busy stringing beads and weaving webs of colorful thread to put up for sale.

Photo courtesy of Tiffany Onorato, Pyxis Foundation.

NicaHOPE sells just about everything you would find in a jewelry store — chandelier earrings, stone necklaces, customized bracelets — but provides educational and entrepreneurial opportunities for Nicaraguans who previously had to rely on trash for their income and survival.

“Nicaragua is ranked as the second-poorest country in the hemisphere after Haiti, with 43 percent living in extreme poverty,” according to a March 2008 article by Bloomberg. “Almost 20 percent of the people who pick through trash at the 34-acre La Chureca dump are younger than 17, a study by the Nicaraguan group Two Generations found.”

Children in the community often live under abhorrent health and sanitation conditions, working in the dump to make little more than $2 a day. NicaHOPE programs aim to provide these youth and their families alternative opportunities for a future that allows a sustainable, healthy, and dignified way of living.

Check out their great work here, here and here.

Please Help!

Posted on by under Nicaragua, Nonprofit, Travel

Courtesy of Matt Andrew, Pyxis Foundation

Pyxis Foundation has entered a charity photo contest with “Gifts that Give.”

The charity photo with the most votes wins $500! Also, everyone that sees our photo will understand that change, whether big or small, can be brought about by empowering leaders in communities around the world.

Here’s all you need to do:

1.VOTE NOW!

– Go to:https://www.facebook.com/giftsthatgive

– Click the “LIKE” button at the top right side of the page.

– Then click on the Pyxis Foundation photo of the child holding the sign that says CHANGE.

A window may pop up that gives you the option to click “Log-in with Facebook.” Simply click that button and it will take you back to the voting page where you can then vote.

2.VOTE ONCE EVERY DAY through Oct. 1.

To jog your memory, you can email matt@pyxisfoundation.org and ask for a Daily Photo Contest reminder.

3.TELL YOUR FRIENDS! Help even more by inviting your friends, family, co-workers, etc. to vote for the Pyxis Foundation photo.

– Share the URL on your Facebook page or via Twitter.

– Email the URL to your contacts and ask them to forward it on to their contacts.

We hope to see those vote totals rising quickly!! 🙂

Thank you for Giving Direction to Good Deeds!

-Your friends at Pyxis Foundation