From Taos to Santa Fe—-High on Chiles, Culture, Adventure (& Altitude)

April 9, 2012 By Leave a Comment

As a visitor, New Mexico is one of those places–like New Orleans–that feels as if you are traveling to a foreign country–thanks to its local food, culture, and history. Add the mountains, the art, the natural hot springs and the options for adventure, and it’s a pretty idyllic spot.

On a recent trip there, we started our journey by making the ascent to the high altitude of Taos Ski Valley (TSV), nestled in the Sangre de Cristo mountains. TSV is run by the children and grandchildren of founder Ernie Blake, who came from Switzerland after WWII and was one of the West’s true ski pioneers. As first-time visitors to the valley, we were able to feel the sense of family and history throughout.

Though the altitude (9200 feet at the base; 12,800 at its peak) can take a couple of days to acclimate to, the upsides are the resulting ski conditions and terrain, one of the country’s most challenging. And don’t let the sign at the base (see above) frighten you, because there truly is terrain for skiers of all levels.

Both on and off the slopes, there is something very welcoming, very European, and very intriguing about Taos. For example, the legendary ski instructor, Jean Mayer, who came from France to join Ernie Blake in 1956, still doles out soup to customers at his St. Bernard Restaurant and Hotel, when he’s not instructing the mountain’s ski staff on the latest ski technique.

The Bavarian Lodge at Taos Ski Valley

We had the good fortune of staying in the quaint and welcoming Bavarian Restaurant & Lodge, located at the base of Kachina Peak and steps from the #4 lift. Owned and run by German-born Thomas Schulze and his wife, Jamie, the Bavarian offers guests and skiers a true Bavarian experience with its beer–specially imported from the Spaten Brewery in Munich–food, concerts and weekly fondue night. The inn’s four rooms are decorated lovingly with pieces imported from Bavaria, where Thomas spent time as a child. The one thing the Bavarian needs desperately, which Thomas is well aware of, is the apres-ski hot tub–hopefully soon to come.

Taos faces a tough future, however, as it attempts to hold on to its traditions and charm while keeping up with the bells and whistles of other Western ski resorts. There are plans to redesign the base of the mountain, as well as add ski lift accessibility to some of the mountain’s famous high ridges, which skiers currently access via a 40 minute hike.

The Iron pool at Ojo Caliente

Leaving Taos was not easy–we were loving the snow conditions and the vibe–but a stop to soak in the hot spring at Ojo Caliente, en route to Santa Fe, was the perfect activity to lure us away. Deemed sacred by Northern Pueblo Tribes of New Mexico, Ojo Caliente Mineral Springs has been a gathering place and a source of healing for hundreds of years. Our muscles in dire need of a soothing soak, we spent a few hours at Ojo Caliente Mineral Springs Resort and Spa, trying out the the different pools–the Lithia, Iron, Soda and Arsenic–which vary in minerals, benefits and temperature. We also spent some family time in a private outdoor pool with a gorgeous kiva fireplace and the mountains just behind us.

Rejuvenated by all the minerals, we then headed to Santa Fe, where we spent the next few days doing little other than eating, shopping, looking at art, and taking part in a geocache adventure. We headed straight to our hotel, the recently-opened Hotel Chimayo de Santa Fe , which is conveniently located just one block from the historic Santa Fe Plaza. The hotel’s uniqueness

Chef Estevan and his New Mexican specialties

lies in its connection to the village of Chimayo, an historic agricultural community 30 minutes north of Santa Fe (rumor has it that Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith skipped the Georgia O’Keeffe museum on a recent trip to Santa Fe to collect some sacred earth from Chimayo instead). More than 70 artists from Chimayo contributed to the hotel’s decor–large, colorful weavings adorn the lobby–and members of the Chimayo community crafted 500 hand-made crosses from found materials to accent the fireplace mantels in each hotel room.

It’s not typical for a hotel restaurant to be a highlight for me, but in this case it was, as the hotel’s Tia’s Cocina restaurant and its charming chef, Estevan Garcia, a Santa Fe native, created a memorable meal for our family. Throughout the meal, Chef Estevan, a former monk whose dishes celebrate northern New Mexico’s traditional cuisine, came out to explain the origins of the dishes (some he’d learned from his grandmother), such as a Chile Relleno and the Torta de Huevo. We also learned about the farmer in Chimayo, hired exclusively to produce and provide the restaurant with the famous Chimayo chile. In Santa Fe, “Red or green?” is as common a question as “How are you?” My official response is red.

Speaking of colors, a friend suggested I stop into Back at the Ranch, an alluring store selling handmade cowboy boots, in a myriad of colors, patterns and materials (ostrich was a personal favorite), ranging from about $900 and up. You can even have an image of your dog imprinted on a custom-made pair.

Lunch at the SantaCafé offered another great meal (chicken confit enchilada green chile, asadero cheese and calabacitas–yum) before a tour of the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum. In addition to the art—so connected to the terrain of New Mexico, which she made her permanent home in 1949 until she died in 1986—O’Keeffe’s life, including her relationship with renowned photographer, Alfred Steiglitz, was captivating. She was deeply tied into the New Mexican culture, and never afraid to express it. Her quotes are legendary:

In front of the Georgia O'Keeffe museum

“When I was at Mabel [Dodge Luhan]’s at Taos…there was an alfalfa field like a large green saucer. On one side of the field was a path lined with flowers…one day walking down the path I picked a large blackish red hollyhock and some bright dark blue larkspur that immediately went into a painting—and then another painting.”—Georgia O’Keeffee, 1966

If traveling to Santa Fe, do not miss a meal at Maria’s of Santa Fe on Cordova. In addition to their delicious, down-home spicy New Mexican cooking (blue corn enchiladas and steak relleno), there are over 100 combinations of margaritas to choose from. (As the menu states: A margarita is “one that’s made with “Real” tequila, “Real” triple-sec and “Real” lemon or lime juice–we use fresh-squeezed lemon juice instead of lime, because of it’s year-round consistency). Each margarita has its own name and everyone that goes there has a reason why you should like theirs best.

After breakfast at the Teahouse at the top of Canyon Road, we ambled along, ducking in and out of a sampling of more than 100 art galleries and studios. We then made a stop to check out the Railyard, Santa Fe’s recent addition of shops, galleries, cafes and a farmers’ market.

Our last day in Santa Fe began with huevos rancheros and good coffee at Café Pasqual’s, where we sat at its long, oval communal table. We needed the energy for our final adventure—geocaching on snowshoes.

Simon reads his GPS device while geocaching

Organized by Santa Fe Mountain Adventures and led by a guide named Rowlie, our “Trails to Treats Snowshoe Scavenger Hunt” (treats were key) began on a snow-covered trail system part way up to the Santa Fe ski mountain. Using GPS technology, we negotiated our way using clues based on the natural surroundings (trees, animals, etc) to help find a series of destination points—where the treasures lied—while navigating the trail system on snowshoes through several feet of fresh snow. It was an invigorating way to end our journey.

After all of our adventures–eating and otherwise–nothing proved a better way to cap off the week than an incredibly soothing massage in the traditional Japanese style at Ten Thousand Waves—a 15 minutes’ drive from downtown Santa Fe.

My last visit to Santa Fe was 17 years ago, when we had no choice other than to fly from New York to Albuquerque and then drive an hour north to Santa Fe. Now that you can fly directly into Santa Fe, the ease to travel there will bring me back soon. Skiing in Taos, visiting the museums and galleries of Santa Fe, and eating all those chile-laden dishes make it an entirely worthwhile trip, and you don’t even need a passport.

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Triathlon to Tree Pose: Exploring the Power of the Breath in Mexico

February 8, 2012 By Leave a Comment

I am married to a man who loves to compete. He is long and lanky, yet as strong as an ox. Much less competitive but also athletic, I have shared many challenges by his side for more than two decades—from running and cycling to rock climbing and skiing. While he strives to win, I just want to sweat, stretch and inhale the intoxicating, fresh air. Would he ever be able to sit still and learn the power of the breath?

woman doing yogaEvery year since our wedding 21 years ago, we’ve celebrated our anniversary with a trip—like biking in Croatia, skiing in Park City, Utah, museum and pub hopping in London, and golfing in Hilton Head, North Carolina. As soon as each trip is over, I start thinking about our next springtime getaway—a rare chance for us to have extended time together, away from our three beautiful kids and the stresses of daily life.

When it was time to plan last year’s trip, I was intrigued after hearing from a friend about Esencia, a small 29-room resort on Mexico’s Riviera Maya. I love Mexico not only for its food, climate, and culture, but it also makes for an easy trip—a non-stop flight from New York to Cancun, and then a one-hour drive.

Once the beachfront estate of an Italian duchess, Esencia is a 50-acre white-walled property that looks out over the Caribbean. It is a peaceful oasis with two pools, a day spa that uses ingredients like juniper berries and rosemary grown in its on-site garden, and a welcoming open-air restaurant called Sal y Fuego.

But what really grabbed me was learning that Esencia offered yoga—every morning, free of charge, outside in the open air.

This was my chance. A rare opportunity for my point-scoring, lap counting, time-keeping husband to perhaps let down his competitive edge and try something that would greatly benefit his body—and soul. I’d been urging him to try yoga since I began my own practice 15 years ago, but he always found something else he’d rather do—you know, more of a challenge. Maybe at Esencia, he’d be so relaxed from the previous night’s Temazcal massage, tuna ceviche and lime-soaked margaritas, that I’d be able to coax him to give yoga a try.

The wake-up call came at 7:30 a.m. and we ambled slowly along the hibiscus-lined path to a gazebo, just steps from the sea. Pieces of white linen hung from three of the outer edges of the open bamboo structure to keep the hot sun from hitting us directly.

I instructed my yoga novice husband to take a mat and a block, and yes, definitely, a bottle of water. He had no idea what he was in for. The young female instructor quickly realized that Rich was unfamiliar with the poses, and helped adjust him as necessary. I thought it’d be best to leave the teaching to her, so I kept my own focus, enjoying the poses, the flow, and the sound of the nearby waves. At one point, I glanced over at him and saw beads of sweat rolling down from his temples. He was struggling.

After shavasna, a final relaxation pose, we rolled up our mats and walked back down the path to our casita.

“What did you think?” I asked gingerly. “Will you do it again tomorrow?”

“I liked it,” he said. “But I don’t want to slow you down.”

I explained that yoga is not about what anyone else is doing. It’s about your own mind, body and breath. Nothing he could do would “slow me down.”

During our four days at Esencia, he joined the yoga class twice. I asked him if he’d consider doing it back in New York and, to my surprise, he answered, “Sure.”

Well, that was enough for me. Within days of returning home, I found a local, highly-recommended instructor—the fact that she was young and attractive did not hurt my sales pitch—who now comes to our house on Saturday mornings to lead my husband in his yoga practice. I couldn’t be happier that after all those years of training for triathlons and pounding the pavement (did I mention he’s had knee surgery three times?), he’s finally discovering the power of the breath.

Trying to keep his competitive nature at bay, I thought it best to opt out of his sessions with Samantha. I didn’t want him to feel the need to “keep up” with me. My 16-year-old daughter, however, is a willing participant. While I sip coffee and read in the kitchen, Rich and Emily descend to the open space of our basement, ready for their time together on the mat.

I wondered if my husband had left behind a little of his competitive edge with each asana. Emily emerged from downstairs one morning and declared: “Dad actually said he can lift his leg higher than I can. Can you believe it?” Yes, I could. We had a good laugh.

I hope to return to Esencia one day soon, for the beach, the warmth of the Caribbean sea, the Mayan culture, and the delectable ceviche. I’m not sure if my husband will opt for round two of yoga in Mexico. He’ll probably prefer to swim—and count—his laps. If so, I’ll just go to yoga on my own.

 

*This article was originally published on YourLifeIsATrip.com

photo by skynesher via istockphoto.com

 

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Safari on the Sea: the Galapagos

January 16, 2012 By 1 Comment

The legendary blue-footed booby

In these islands we seem nearer to the great fact—the first appearance of life on earth.

These words, written by Charles Darwin after he visited the Galapagos in 1835, only hint at the magic that lies in this cluster of islands. On a weeklong trip last year, my family had a taste of the magic, coming face to face with incredible wildlife and the unique personalities of each island we visited.

Organized by Geographic Expeditions, who’s been bringing travelers to the Galapagos for more than 25 years, our trip took us aboard La Pinta, a state-of-the-art, 48-passenger vessel that would transport us—mostly at night—to 8 of the archipelago’s 19 islands. Equipped with wetsuits and snorkeling gear that were ours to use for the week, we began each morning and afternoon boarding a panga (inflatable zodiac boat), built to hold about a dozen passengers. Always escorted by a naturalist, the panga delivered us—via dry or wet landing depending on the shoreline—to one of the islands, or to a specific destination where we’d slip into the chilly waters.

Like a safari on the sea, our adventures under water and on guided hikes were an eye-opening opportunity to get up extraordinarily close to numerous types of iguanas, sea lions, giant tortoises, frigate birds, the legendary blue-footed boobies, yellow warblers, flamingos, Darwin finches, doves, sharks and penguins.

I was amazed by the lack of fear in the animals when we approached. Respecting their habitat, we often stood silent, watching in awe of their trust and grace—even the iguanas. Our visit in late December was during the sea lions’ birthing season, so we’d often come across throngs of sea lion babies, suckling their mother or trampling one another along the beach in search of her.

First known to the whalers, traders and pirates of the Pacific as Las Islas Encantadas (the Enchanted Isles), the Galapagos were eventually given the name of the galapago, meaning tortoise, by Spanish explorers. The islands’ topography varies greatly—from white, sandy beaches to black volcanic rock to red, lava terrain. As
we hiked across volcanic craters and pristine beaches, there were frequent surprises—a sea lion bull aggressively chasing off his competition, two albatrosses doing a complex mating dance, or a blue-footed boobie tending to her white, fluffy newborn.

We saw firsthand how each island has its own ecology and unique population of species and sub-species—as Darwin saw in the historically pivotal finch, which has evolved into 13 species, each adapted to a different island environment.

Sitting on the deck of La Pinta eating lunch one afternoon, the captain announced over the loudspeaker that we might want to take a look over the starboard side of the ship. We put down our ceviche, and there, below, were scores of dolphins, performing for an enthusiastic crowd while escorting us to our next destination.

 

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It’s a First—Happy to Be Going Nowhere

November 23, 2011 By 2 Comments

Home sweet homeToday, the day before Thanksgiving, I am happy to be traveling NOWHERE. There is little that gets me more charged up than the anticipation of a trip, including the ride to the airport, the at-times lengthy waits at the gate, and my personal favorite–waking up before sunrise for an early morning departure. The airline boarding announcements, the race to the newsstand for a pack of gum, Twizzlers, and a bottle of water–these are all part of the excitement (strange, but true).

Today, however, with the rain falling and in preparation for feeding 18 people tomorrow, I’m particularly happy to be staying put in my cozy abode. This year, I have new perspective and an added appreciation of the meaning of home, largely due to the fact that one of my chickens (my 18-year-old daughter) has flown the coop (to college).

Watching her the first few minutes after she arrives home—though it’s no longer officially hers—makes me smile both inside and out. After a quick hello hug, she makes a beeline straight to the kitchen pantry (lot of goods in there). Her face lights up as she clutches her favorite and familiar snacks in hand, speaking excitedly about sleeping in her “old” bed, taking a hot shower and eating mom’s home cooking. While extremely happy at school, she revels in the comforts of home.

And so, for me, that makes home—and the ways in which we nurture it—even more meaningful this year. Over the next few days, it’ll be hard to find me anywhere but in the kitchen and curled up close to the fireplace.

For those of you who are traveling, enjoy and be safe. I’m staying home.

 

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Local Color Abounds in San Cristóbal de Las Casas, Mexico

November 6, 2011 By 4 Comments

children in San CristobalMy first taste of San Cristóbal de Las Casas, Mexico, was atop a lovely, but slightly neurotic, horse named Abril. Reassured by a local wrangler that Abril was indeed gentle–despite her bizarre sidestepping response to unfamiliar objects–I joined my group on a trail ride through the misty-covered hills of San Cristobal’s El Encuentro Reserve to the El Arcolete ecological park.

Located in the central highlands of Chiapas, Mexico’s southernmost state bordering Guatemala, San Cristóbal is a colonial-era city and one of Mexico’s most indigenous–an isolated Maya refuge that the Spanish conquistadors never completely Europeanized.

On a recent visit here for the Adventure Travel World Summit–a yearly gathering of over 600 adventure tourism professionals from over 50 countries–I stole some time between seminars and meals to wander the streets of this charming city, known as the region’s cultural capital and dotted with museums, galleries, artisanal workshops and markets to prove it. I was especially touched by the warmth of the local people–from wranglers Gloria and Juan Castellanos ofme and Abril Enduro Encuestro, to the women of the local weaving cooperative, Sna Jolobil, to the owner of the Kakao Natura Chocolatería, to the chef at Tierra y Cielo, where I had my final San Cristóbal meal (of this journey, that is).

Although Chiapas is among Mexico’s poorest regions, it is rich with natural beauty comprised of roaring rivers, soaring mountains, deep canyons and life-fortifying forests, making it a natural draw for adventure-seeking travelers. As part of this inspiring forum, organized by the Adventure Travel Trade Association, I had a chance to participate in one of a myriad of locally hosted adventures. In a region such as Chiapas, the choice of adventures is plentiful, and I struggled over the decision whether to spend a day rock climbing at central Chiapas’s Copoya Plateau, rappelling with parrots at Sima de las Cotorras, or riding with Abril on the Encuentro-Arcotete equestrian experience.

Locally made chocolates at Kakao Natura.

I was happy with my decision, and mostly grateful to have discovered a corner of this vast country which is in great need of winning its tourism back. The effort to make that happen is so strong, in fact, that our gathering was welcomed with a speech by Mexico’s President Felipe Calderón*, who summed it up with these words:

We are a country my friends, of enormous natural wealth and enormous cultural wealth. And, no doubt, Mexico is truly a land of adventure, wherever you see fit.

But more than all that, my friends, what has Mexico, we feel, to bring to the world, it is not only its natural wealth, immense and many of them still unexplored, it is not only their cultural riches, is perhaps even more important, that is its people…

Here in Chiapas, from Chenalhó or Navenchauc, or in many places where poverty, indeed, is material. But the native is there…and when he says: This is your house, truly, he means it. We, my friends, we are a hospitable people. We have problems, yes.

Women at the local weaving cooperative.

But we are people with courage and character, determined to fix our problems. And more importantly, we are a people that we like to greet people. It is our nature, is in our DNA, that Mexico is truly a friend of the world, and we like it. So we are a country that celebrates both its visitors, because the joy of Mexico, a joy that has to do with what we are, with life, with death, with the colors, the flavors of our Mexico, is a joy that we share.

And San Cristóbal, with its colors and flavors, is worth sharing.

 

*To read President Calderón’s speech in its entirety, click here.

 

Photo source 1 (COG)

Photo source 2 (COG)

Photo source 3

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Nosara, Costa Rica: Where the Turtles Meet the Monkeys

October 11, 2011 By 2 Comments
sunset on the beach at Nosara

Sunset on the beach at Nosara

There’s something extraordinary about a Nosara sunset. It’s not just the beautiful light and color emanating from the darkening sky. It’s more–the surfers looking for that last wave before daylight slips away, the kids running in and out of the sea, the dogs playing in the sand, and the rest of us, watching, preferably with a cerveza or margarita in hand.

I didn’t know much about Nosara before my daughter, Emily, and I arrived there. All I knew is that this Costa Rican town is located on the country’s Pacific coast, south of Tamarindo, a kind of bigger sister, hippy-filled surf town.

view from Tierra Magnifica

The view from Tierra Magnifica

It didn’t take long for us to discover that similarly, Nosara is basically all about surfing and yoga. The main beach in town, Playa Guiones, is part of a National Wildlife Refuge, and much of Nosara’s beauty is sustained because of the efforts of both locals and the expat community whose environmental campaigns have successfully warded off development that would affect the beaches.

To get to Nosara, we flew into Liberia and after a couple of hours drive arrived at our destination, Tierra Magnifica, a privately-run ten room boutique hotel perched on a hill overlooking the beach a few miles below. Affiliated with Activated Life Experiences, an adventure outfitter specializing in nature based activities in Costa Rica, the staff at TM arranged for Emily and I to have a surf lesson at the Nosara Tico Surf School, go on a thrilling zip-line tour with Miss Sky Canopy Tour, and visit a local family-owned

on the farm

We visited and had lunch on a local farm.

farm and home. To get to the farm, we drove about 30 minutes and were met by a farmer along a river bed. Each one of us was assigned a horse and we rode along a river and through the forest, eventually making our way to the farm where we toured the crops, and ate a traditional homemade lunch of chicken, rice and beans.

In addition to its great surf, Nosara is well known as a haven for yogis. Open in 1994 by the former director of the Kripalu Center for Yoga & Health in Lenox, Massachussetts, the Nosara Yoga Institute offers teacher training to yogis from around the world. At Tierra Magnifica (TM), we took a yoga class given by a local teacher in the hotel’s open air yoga gazebo. The view and surrounding nature only added to the zen experience.

La Luna

Emily and I just before sunset at La Luna.

When we weren’t eating homemade meals or munching on afternoon guacamole and chips al fresco at TM–much of the beautiful wooden outdoor furniture is imported from Bali–we ventured to beachside restaurants like La Luna on Playa Pelada. Sipping cocktails at one of the outdoor tables with the setting sun and rolling waves just steps away is hard to beat. And from where you’ll watch the sun set is probably the toughest decision you’ll have to make in Nosara. Pura Vida.

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Taking the Iron Way–Via Ferrata–Up the Mountain

October 10, 2011 By 5 Comments

via ferrataThe cool Canadian air felt good on my flushed face as I followed a guide with a thick French-Canadian accent up the rock face. Continually clipping and reclipping to metal cable sections separated by anchor bolts, free of the burden of searching for hand- and footholds in the rock, we moved swiftly up the mountain. Like a ladder to the clouds, the metal rungs we stood on were leading us to the summit.

Soon we reached a ledge where we celebrated our accomplishment and took in the view of Charlevoix, Quebec. The hesitant and the confident alike had just conquered this peak on the via ferrata.

A cross between rock climbing and mountaineering, via ferrata offers outdoor enthusiasts a chance to access the same high, vertical faces as rock climbers, without the same rigorous training or nerve-racking risk. Thanks to the metal-ladder rungs fixed into the mountain and the security of a cable to which you are always attached, it’s a breathtaking adventure that combines the accessible with the extreme.

The Iron Way

Conceived during World War I, via ferrata was a means for Italian soldiers to move more swiftly through the mountains as they fought the Austrians for higher ground. The rusty steps and tattered cables that remain in mountains throughout Europe now provide a present-day means for nonclimbers to scale otherwise inaccessible peaks.

Today via ferrata allows outdoor enthusiasts to reap the rewards of climbing at a growing number of sites. “It’s a wild adventure where you end up in places that used to be reserved for technical rock climbers,” says Ethan Zook, a guide at Nelson Rocks Preserve in West Virginia. “People love the adrenaline rush from being way up high and taking in those views.”

While via ferrata is extremely popular in Europe, where there are well over 300 routes, it’s a relatively new phenomenon in North America. In the past decade, nearly a dozen via ferrata routes have been built in the United States and Canada, and the number of visitors is steadily growing.

Just before crossing a bridge -- cable intact.

New Heights

The experience of sometimes dizzying heights can make via ferrata a particular challenge for some. When Louisa Marziali, a management consultant in Vancouver, was invited by a friend to go for a via ferrata outing in Whistler, British Columbia, she agreed, excited to try something new and edgy. At the mountain, a guide outfitted her and the rest of the eight-person group with equipment — a helmet, harness and via ferrata lanyard — and explained what they were about to encounter.

When Marziali saw the metal ladder that would aid her climb, she thought it would all be fine. But about halfway up, suddenly realizing she couldn’t see the ledge at the top, she froze. “I wasn’t sure I could continue and was probably stuck there for three minutes thinking my fear was too big,” she recalls.

With the group’s encouragement and some time to talk herself through it, Marziali eventually made it to the summit. “The biggest payoffs for me were the gorgeous views and the sense of accomplishment of facing down a fear,” she admits. “I will absolutely do it again.”

A training wall is a great way for height-averse people to test the waters, says Chris Peterson, owner of the Waterfall Canyon Climbing Park in Ogden, Utah. “About 5 percent of people just can’t get comfortable in the vertical environment,” explains Peterson. “Some will finish the training wall and say, ‘That was fun but this isn’t for me; I’ll just hike to the waterfall and take photos.’”

Visitors to Peterson’s park can choose from three routes, which vary in difficulty. While they all take courage, he says none of them requires great physical ability. “If you can climb a ladder, you can do a via ferrata,” he says. Peterson has led climbers as young as 6 and as old as 70.

That said, you probably shouldn’t expect your day of climbing to be a walk in the park. Via ferrata is like climbing a ladder, but an average route is more like 500 sequential ladders, so you want to be rested and feeling strong.

What to Expect

Like rock climbing, via ferrata combines  the rewards of physical challenge with the chance to be immersed in the beauty of wild places.
From mid-June through Labor Day, visitors to Smugglers’ Notch in Vermont can sign up for a guided trip through a via ferrata course where they’ll encounter a whole range of outdoor wonders.

During the two-and-a-half-hour adventure, climbers experience a zipline, a rope bridge, a waterfall ascent and a hike through a stream.

“It’s a hybridization, since the waterways are what Vermont has to offer, rather than a canyon,” explains Austin Paulson, owner of Smuggler Adventure Tours. “Visitors experience rappelling, canyoneering, rock climbing and a ropes course wrapped into one.”

Not all routes have guides. Torrent Falls, located in the Red River Gorge in Kentucky, offers a self-guided course that normally takes about three to four hours. The course is divided into six sections — with four degrees of difficulty — and offers an exit after each section if you decide you’ve had enough.

Though there are no guides on the route, there are two training rocks, allowing climbers to get comfortable in a harness and test out the feel of clipping and unclipping their carabiners. “Rock guards” watch all of the climbers through binoculars to make sure that everyone is moving along safely.

Bring the Gang

In August 2008, Christina Dochtermann and her husband, Erik, both avid rock climbers, decided it was time to experience some adventure with their two young sons, then ages 6 and 8. They chose via ferrata.

The Dochtermanns, who live in Bedford, N.Y., had read about the via ferrata in Waterfall Canyon, so they made the one-hour drive from their vacation condo in Deer Valley to spend the day in Ogden. “It was an extraordinary family bonding opportunity, and once we got to the top, the sense of accomplishment was so satisfying,” says Christina. “As a climber, there was a bliss and ease that I could be on the rock face but still have this great security.”

Although there are risks involved with any type of adventure activity, via ferrata sites all do their best to mitigate possible dangers. Many sites will shut down if there’s any type of precipitation, and some have minimum-age limits. Families should be sure to check out safety policies beforehand to make sure that younger
climbers are allowed.

Though it may seem scary at first, most climbers say that the rewards of via ferrata are unbeatable. “I get some people who are gripping on the rungs for dear life and others who are standing on the edge with a camera holding on with one hand,” says Zook. “But the biggest reaction is excitement — all the people who say, ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this!’”

 

*This piece was originally published in Experience Life magazine. Click here for the original website article.

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A child. A traveling companion.

October 3, 2011 By 6 Comments

Recently, I was thinking how it’s been too long since I’ve taken a trip alone with one of my kids. Any amount of time away with one child has long been an invaluable experience for me. I wrote a piece about the meaningful trips we’ve taken–previously published on wowowow–and am reposting it here.

I’ll never forget the first trip I took alone with my mother. I was seven years old and felt as if I’d landed in heaven – no big brother or dad nearby with whom to share her. For one whole week, my mother guided me through Paris, her native city, and on a side jaunt to the grand chateaus of France’s Loire Valley.

There was this one cloudy day still vivid in my mind, when the two of us made a picnic lunch along the bank of the Loire River. My mother laid out a cream-colored cotton blanket, and on it arranged a spread of crusty baguette, ripe fresh peaches, some smelly cheese I wouldn’t touch and bar of dark chocolate. She drank wine; I drank jus d’orange.

My mom and I picnic in the Loire Valley

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the middle of our picnic, a small group of men – wearing thick, black, thigh-high rubber boots – approached. They were local fishermen, and they came to invite me to see the fish swimming in the river. While my mother looked on with an excited smile, one of the men scooped me up into his arms, carrying me like a baby on its back, and slowly waded into the river to give me a glimpse of the fish they were there to catch. Would I let some strange man pick up my child and walk into a river? I’m not really sure. But now at age 45, I can attest that my mother’s free spirit and sense of adventure were seeping in.

That day in the Loire was the first of many memories, born out of trips – from Arizona and Israel to Las Vegas and London – I shared alone with my mother. With each and every journey, my collection of mother-daughter experiences and adventures expanded, and our relationship deepened in new and unchartered ways.

With my husband’s encouragement, I set out early on to recreate a similar ritual with each of my own three children: Nicole, 16; Emily, 14; Simon, 9. The time away – one-on-one – has fostered eye-opening opportunities that are nonexistent with the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Between after-school activities, harried weekends and frenetic dinners, I crave the time when we can wander foreign streets, hike unknown trails or simply brush our teeth in unison without the honking horn of a school carpool. And with each trip, no matter the distance or number of days away, I discover new and evolving characteristics in my children.

When Nicole was 11 we traveled together to France to visit my brother, who was living there at the time. Wanting a chance to have some time as a mother-daughter twosome, we first spent several days in Avignon, staying in a beautifully restored hotel that had once been a monastery. We visited the Pope’s Palace and the Pont d’Avignon, the city’s famous bridge – and the subject of a French song I’d often sung to her as a baby – making frequent detours to pastry shops, and navigating the winding pedestrian zone lined with shops. She was a travel partner extraordinaire.

Nicole and I at the food market in Avivnon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One evening back at the hotel, while I was plotting our next day’s agenda and Nicole was flipping channels on the hotel room’s TV, she paused at what seemed like a German MTV station. We looked at one another, and moments later were dancing crazily on the bed to the blaring sounds of German rock ‘n’ roll. We flailed our arms and jumped on the bed until we fell down laughing. A serious and sensitive young woman at home, my own daughter was revealing a silly side I’d rarely seen. Ever since that night, when that silly side uncovers itself, I think back to our private dance party and smile at the thought of our giggling together like a pair of old pals.

Now my younger daughter, Emily, is so frequently loud and silly – and unlike her mother – that a trip to London on our own was literally a chance to get to know her better. We took in a matinee of “Chitty, Chitty Bang Bang” and hopped on and off a London city tour bus, taking in sights like Buckingham Palace, the Royal Mews and Harrods department store. She was a helpful and eager travel companion, and a delight to be alone with – no big sister or dad nearby with whom to share her.

While preparing for the trip, I booked us a teatime table at the Ritz Hotel, hoping to give Emily a true taste of an old British tradition. We dressed up – umbrella in tow – and walked hand-in-hand from our hotel to the Ritz. Emily, then nine-years old, was mesmerized by the chandeliers and fancy decor, but when the waiters brought out a three-tiered platter of mini-sandwiches, scones and clotted cream, her face went sour.

Emily and I sip tea in London

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What is this?” she asked, as if she’d been presented with a plate of Brussels sprouts. “And I don’t even like tea.” With that, I responded in my best British accent that this is what English people eat at teatime, and there would be cookies to follow. She responded in her own best accent that she would indeed taste a few things (she was not typically adventurous on the food front). For the hour that followed – and which became the highlight of the trip for me – we nibbled, sipped and schmoozed, all the while putting on the best English accents we could muster. Nearly five years have gone by since that trip, but it hasn’t kept Emily and I from breaking into English accents every now and again.

When Simon turned eight two Septembers ago, I promised him a weekend trip with me – alone – to Chicago, also a chance to visit one of my oldest friends who is like an aunt to my kids. We woke up early the morning after Halloween, and my well-seasoned traveler happily rolled his suitcase through LaGuardia Airport and onto the plane. Sitting side by side, he read his book; I read mine. We were as comfortable with this exercise as an old married couple. But his age came through when he asked, “How many minutes ‘till blast off, Mom?”

Once we touched down in the Windy City, Simon’s first and only desire was to see Wrigley Field. We stopped near the stadium and got out of the car to take pictures, and later that day spent a couple of hours walking through the Shedd Aquarium to marvel at its wondrous exhibitions on ocean life.

The following day, we walked through a park along Lake Michigan. It was a beautiful autumn day, with temperatures reaching into

Simon and I in front of Wrigley Field

the 60s, and the entire city seemed to be outdoors taking advantage. When I saw a man throwing a football with his two young sons, I wondered whether Simon would want to play with them. “Naaaah,” I told myself. He’d be embarrassed if I even asked. But minutes later, Simon pointed to a group of 20 adults playing touch football, and asked if he could join their game. In complete shock of my typically shy son’s boldness, I nodded yes.

He ran over to the group, and I sat on the grass watching. My son, my baby, was standing in a huddle with a bunch of adults he’d never laid eyes on. During almost every play, he ran down the field, shouting, “I’m open, I’m open!” or running with his two arms – outstretched to stop the offense, as if he were playing recess on the blacktop with his buddies at school. At the end of the game, the men and women on both teams gave him high-fives and he walked back to where I was sitting. My shy son wasn’t so shy. And maybe he never was.

In our private travel time, as just a pair, each of my children and I continue to discover things about one another. While we explore new cities, navigate undiscovered routes and try foreign foods, we are placing ourselves in new settings as parent and child, and bound to build lasting, special memories. Time and circumstance don’t allow me to travel with my mother alone anymore, but she gave me a gift – along with a collection of memories – and I am now giving that gift to the next generation.

As a matter of fact, last December Nicole made a holiday wish list with the usual things you’d expect from a teenager: clothes, computer accessories, some jewelry. But when I saw the words “a day alone with mom in Costa Rica,” where we’d soon be taking a family trip, I knew my plan was working. She liked the gift.

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Have Ball Will Travel.

September 28, 2011 By 2 Comments
ball at the Louvre

Playing "Butts Up" at the Louvre

On every trip we take, we bring along at least one tennis ball. It doesn’t have to be an actual tennis ball, but any ball that you can hold in your hand and is small enough to stuff into a backpack–hacky sacks and pink Spalding balls have also come along on our adventures.

As a parent, there are countless times that having a ball handy has permitted us a few extra minutes sitting in a cafe, lounging on the beach, and strolling through a park.

On a trip to Paris when our kids were 6, 10 and 12, we spent some time in the courtyard outside of the Louvre museum, rather than viewing the art on the inside. The kids sketched the I.M. Pei pyramids, and just as that activity had reached its time limit, I pulled out the ball. Before long, the three of them were playing a game of “Butts Up,” which involves using a backboard (e.g. the wall of the circa 17th century museum) to which one throws a ball. I got to revel in the surroundings, the history, the people watching.

In Romania, we tossed the ball across the fountain-filled piazza of my father’s hometown, Brasov, trying not to hit any of the locals. And in Bali last summer, the pre-dinner whining stopped as soon as Simon discovered there was a wall outside of our room against which he could pitch his ball.

ball against the wall in Bali

A backboard in Bali

So, my advice for traveling parents–stick a ball or two in your suitcase. I promise you won’t regret it. And if you’re looking for additional benefits, an article in a recent issue of Health magazine, “Get Fit with a Tennis Ball,” features tennis-ball exercises you can use to “flatten your belly, bounce and burn, tone your thighs and soothe sore feet.”

Personally, I think I’ll stick to Butts Up and Monkey in the Middle…

 

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A journey to Connecticut. A new phase in life.

September 6, 2011 By 1 Comment

college-move-in-dayLast week, we drove to Connecticut to bring our daughter to college. While she sat in the back seat, selecting songs on her iPod for us to listen to and occasionally blurting out, “I’m going to college!,” my husband and I sat up front, knots in our stomach about the impending goodbye.

For weeks leading up to that fateful day, the emotions in our house ran manic–from nostalgia and anxiety to bliss and off-the-wall frenzy. The moods and behaviors, changing as frequently as the barometric pressure, were not surprising. After all, our baby was leaving home, never to return in the same way as these past nearly 18 years.

There are all types of college drop-off strategies I could share (bring extension cords, for example, and tell your kid to pack way less than she thinks she needs). But that would be too pragmatic and there are lots of sources to turn to for those bits of information. I, on the other hand, prefer to focus on the bigger picture. As in, our daughter has left our nest. I know she will find her way, but will I first have the opportunity to impart some last minute nuggets of love, wisdom and experience?

After schlepping her boxes, clothes, and bedding into her second floor dorm room, the three of us spent several hours unpacking, hanging photos, making the bed, and overall arranging. She asked my opinion about where this or that should go, and I had answers. Just like a mother does.

Once the organizing was complete and she had a cozy place to rest her body for the next nine months, our job was essentially done for the day. We ate lunch in the student union with her roomates and their parents, and then our daughter told us it was time to go. She had a dorm meeting, and “Can we please say goodbye…now?!!!”

We went out to the dorm exit, hugged and kissed, and she then fled quickly down the hall towards her room. My husband and I stood there bewildered, relishingthe increasingly faint sight of our child as she walked away. We left the building and ambled toward the parking lot, both of us in a subtle state of shock. We talked about the strangeness of the situation, and how we were now going home to our family of four, as if we’d never see our eldest child again. We knew that was not the case. But somehow, that’s what it felt like.

When I got home, I did what many parents avoid–I entered my daughter’s bedroom. I straightened up and raised the blinds as if she would reappear momentarily and I wanted the room to look nice and welcoming for her. The reality is, though, that there’s a sudden void in our home. We will all adjust. We have no choice. Our daughter is embarking on an exciting adventure. And so are we.

Several hours after returning home, I wrote our daughter a card so she’d have something in her college mailbox. I then sent her an email, asking if she wanted us to ship her bathrobe which she’d left at home. She eventually responded that she didn’t need it now, and later that night, after my husband texted her a goodnight message, she responded that we should stop texting and emailing so she could settle in. She’s right–this is her time and we needed to lay off.

I never did get the chance to whisper my encouraging words into her ear when we hugged goodbye. She was simply too eager to embrace her new surroundings. Perhaps I’ll write them to her in a letter, or she’ll read them here. Because I just want her to know that…

  • despite how many times people (me included) tell her that college is the “best time of your life,” she doesn’t have to like it all the time;
  • our being proud of her should pale in comparison to how proud she should be of herself;
  • life is about balance, and she will learn how to find the balance that works for her;
  • she can use these next four years to explore, take risks, seek intellectual challenge and be adventurous; and most of all,
  • we–her family–are always here for her. No matter where she calls home.

 

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