A Shot of Formosa - Taipei

My grandfather didn't make it. Overly confident that Chiang Kai-shek would soon return, he remained in Shanghai despite many friends, colleagues, and even his brother whom he'd followed to China after WWII, begging him to leave while he still could. As Mao's communists seized control of China in 1949, many foreigners escaped to safety in British Hong Kong. Others, along with most Chinese loyal to the Kuomintang, boarded boats in Fujian (my husband's home province) to cross the Taiwan Strait. My grandfather wasn't one of them. 

Not a bad place to rest

66 years later, sitting in the business class lounge at Beijing Capital Airport awaiting my nonstop* flight to Taipei, I thought about my grandfather. Smuggled onto a Russian frigate after slipping past the guards surrounding his home, I imagined the sorrow he felt catching his last glimpse of China from a small porthole as the Hong Kong bound ship disappeared into the night. He would never see China again, nor would  he ever forgive Chiang for abandoning them. 

Historic Tainan

It had just stopped raining when I exited the train station in Tainan, once the largest city in Taiwan. Because of its rich cultural heritage and striking architecture, it is often referred to as the 'Kyoto' of Taiwan. My friend an local guide Stephan was waiting with a taxi. There was quite a celebration happening in the streets as we exited the car and began walking down a narrow pedestrian/moped alley towards his friend's guesthouse - my humble lodgings. Emerging from around a dark corner, I literally ran into a parade celebrating the reunion of individual "branch" gods who reside in small temples unto themselves. (That explains the commotion from earlier.) Every so often, these gods must gather at the main temple to celebrate [their godliness??] Afterwards, they are paraded together back through the streets and alleyways, stopping at one another's small temple in a sign of brotherly unity. Exploding fireworks, blaring music, and dancing temple gods manifested delightful chaos - the best welcome gift a traveler could ever ask for. 

(Is)land of the Rising Sun

No. 29

Nineteen years ago, I enviously waved goodbye to my brother Watson as the chartered James River Bus pulled away from an otherwise desolate strip-mall parking lot in Richmond, bringing him and the other members of West Richmond Little League’s All-Star baseball team to Dulles airport for a 13.5 hour flight to Japan – his first trip abroad. For years afterwards, I dreamt - as little brothers often do – of following in my big brother’s footsteps, just without the whole baseball bit (I am such a bad player that I was lucky if permitted to watch from under the bleachers). Whether playing with a small, golden souvenir of Edo Castle or marveling at his leftover Japanese Yen with the iconic holes in the center, I lost myself in daydreams encountering ninjas and samurai, walking past geishas, visiting ancient shrines and gardens, and crossing steeply curved wooden bridges. Nineteen years waiting, I was happier than Jean Valjean – 24601, I am no more!

London Calling Once...

Do you ever think these are
just for tourists?

Having cancelled two trips to Virginia and one to Russia due to Alex’s untimely cancer diagnosis, I jumped at the opportunity when my favorite travel blogger, ThePointsGuy, posted that Delta was offering half-priced award redemptions on flights to Europe throughout winter. Checking my balance and discovering I had just enough points for two tickets, I began weighing destinations. Amsterdam, Paris, London, Dublin, and Munich - the options weren’t nearly as varied the schedules. Italy and Spain were discounted, but remained beyond my reach. As I glanced over at Alex slouching in a chair, fixated on intravenous vitamin C dripping down the clear tubing into the port nestled between his skin and thoracic wall, a sneaky scheme suddenly began forming. Alex has always knowingly or unknowingly thwarted every attempt I’ve made to surprise him. Utterly helpless in his current state (don’t judge me), I saw an opportunity to plot my revenge. Click. Click. Enter - a trip was born.

Beijing: The Good

Gulou (Drum Tower)

Beijing. An ambush on the senses that puts American cities to shame - no wonder we [Americans] feel so blasé about our surroundings that for lack of creativity seem manifested from singular streams of consciousness (or perhaps it's just me?). Beijing is a place unlike any other, a surreptitious beacon of debilitating metaphysical stimulation transpiring into the realm of reality. Centuries old temples and hutongs loom in stark contrast to glimmering glass and steel skyscrapers abutted by bustling shopping malls mega-arenas. The sour taste of communism  usurped by sweet capitalist enterprise, evident by zealous young people touting their Louis Vuitton bags and zipping their exotic sports cars past 80-year-old [peasants] collecting recyclables to put on their 'pick-up' bicycles. The affluent come home to apartments adorned in marbles, granites, rich woods and crystal chandeliers, greeted by their ayi(s) [live-in servants] while the peasant slowly pedals to their one room home down a narrow, dirty alleyway. THIS is the REAL CHINA. 

It's difficult to convey in words my reflections on a long, drawn-out experience that for better or worse not only shapes one's transition to adulthood but also weaves his fibers of what can only be described as 'cultural character,' that is, extinguishing all concept of precognition in favor of embracing self-devotion to opening one's mind for all life's possibilities. I am but one of many whom have experienced this 'je-ne-sais-quoi' in China, her energy measured in units of foregone bias and life-changing friendships. For all that was my time in Beijing, I embrace that which I came to love in this first installment - Beijing: The Good. 

An English Weekend - Part 3

"England's Garden"

Sissinghurst Tower

Southeast of London's thriving metropolis one finds the charming Weald of Kent, often referred to as England's Garden. Wildflower meadows and wide green fields surround sleepy villages nestled among gentle rolling hills. Dotted across the landscape are some of England's finest country homes and castles. Just an hour journey by train from Victoria Station we arrive in Staplehurst, our gateway to what will be stops in several "hursts," including the sublime Elizabethan era estate of Sissinghurst Castle.  [N.B. if you don't know what a 'Weald' is, that makes two of us - until I decided to actually look it up. P.S., N.B. is Latin for 'Nota Bene' - thank you, Steve Cheney.] 

An English Weekend - Part 2

London Crawling

Morgan Stanley "Healthy Cities Garden" - Gold Winner - Chelsea Flower Show

Be careful what you wish - you just might get it...

An English Weekend - Part 1

The Layover

Fate is the only explanation. I had not intended any trips, least of which across the Atlantic on a whim for just a weekend. Sure, living in Boston or New York might make such a proposition seem more reasonable - it takes the same time to fly to L.A. as to London. From central Texas, it's a different story. Admittedly even after declaring my willingness to consider the offer, the universe hadn't yet spoken to me to tell me that this was its desire, what was meant to be. The confirmation came Tuesday night - I needed to leave in 36 hours. 

Riviera Maya

More than just an Ocean View Room

When friends found out Alex and I were going to Cancun, the first question they asked was which resort were we staying at? I admit it wasn't the first time friends have made such general assumptions about travel habits to major destinations. We had no intention of staying in a resort, let alone in Cancun, instead opting to rent a car and head south away from touristy crowds towards the more secluded Riviera Maya. Speeding down the two-lane highway past mega golf/beach resorts with titanic-sized entrances lavishly adorned with fountains, fire pits, and architectural marvel rivaling the Las Vegas strip, we arrived in the laid back seaside town of Akumal.  

Diving the Cenotes

The Pit

We gasped for air upon entering the chilly, calm water surrounded by towering limestone walls. Clear cerulean water transitioned into darkness as we descended one-hundred-thirty feet into the abyss performing a never ending repetition of equalizing the pressure in our body.  We gazed at mammoth stalactites dangling on the cavern walls whilst avoiding collision with a mountain of boulders protruding centrally from the cave bottom. Atop the mountain was a tree perched as if it were a king on his throne. Approaching our bottom limit, my eyes were drawn to the cavern's vastness evoking our true insignificance. Millions of years created the "Pit" while fifteen-thousand years ago melting glaciers filled the Cenotes, effectively locking the formations in a permanent time capsule.

San Francisco - The Minimoon

Looking down from Twin Peaks

When Alex and I moved stateside, I hadn't quite foreseen him showing me around a place in my country that I had never before visited. I had also never imagined that my "honeymoon" would be spent literally in the world's gayest city - oh the irony! At long last reaching our end of the Pacific Coast Highway having passed towering redwoods and magnificent, sun drenched beaches, we arrived at the City by the Bay.

Cruising the Pacific Coast Highway

It started long ago with a dream: to one day cruise the majestic Pacific Coast Highway, a journey by way of long roads winding around mountains edging the great Pacific. Breathtaking scenery lurked around every turn. Having already had a taste of the journey before when I went to Santa Barbara, I was sure great surprises would lay along the road ahead. Unfortunately as so often happens, the weather was against me. Low lying clouds and intermittent rain showers dampened the mood. Still, I enjoyed the trip for what is was: another chance to explore the unknown. 

L.A. Escapades

Pasadena City Hall

I was very fortunate to escape Austin's horrendous summer weather to the cool, sunny climate of Malibu. Six weeks in Southern California was a godsend physically and emotionally; spiritually, it marked a triumphant return to the destination of my very first "trip" from 1994 when Uncle Rick brought me to L.A. for a weekend. I hadn't ever returned, but since that fateful trip left me spoiled after flying first class sipping endless cokes from a champagne flute, my journeys had taken me through a world far greater than I had ever dreamed. Spoiled then became humbled now - I boarded the private plane in Austin bound for a new journey - one that would bring all the training from years with Uncle Rick into play. Now, it was my turn to be the teacher, to bear the torch of inspiration for another generation of wild babies. Of course, it could only have started in L.A.

Paris - The Many Memories

Uncle Rick first took me and my brother Watson to Paris in 2001 for our 13th and 16th birthdays respectively. Having made all As and Bs in school that year, this was the trip I had finally earned. I was giddy as a school boy (well, I was a school boy) as departure day approached, thrilled to experience my first trip out of the country. We set out from Richmond to Paris via Cincinnati on an Air France 747 - up to that time the biggest plane I had ever been on. Though I was no stranger to flying, the turbulence we endured on that flight was so severe I doubted we would ever survive. My only recourse was to close my eyes and pray to awake in France.

Argentine Cuisine

Argentina is all about meat. I don't recall eating any vegetables, which explains why I gained 6 lbs on my trip - and perhaps was a reason for being so tired. The food scene doesn't utilize vast arrays of spices in the cooking, which can lead to the food being sometimes bland. As far as cooking, always ask for meets to be cooked rare because they easily overcook them to the point that medium = well done!

Nevertheless, I had some delicious meals at several of the very best restaurants in South America. Best part besides the food were the prices. At our wonderful Blue Market rate, no meal costs more than $100 USD - (2 people, dessert, bottle of wine, gratuity). 

La Cabrera (#17 best restaurant in Latin America)
- its all about meat here - only need small dishes to cleanse pallet.

Sweet Breads and Intestines 

San Carlos de Bariloche - Patagonia

Uncle Rick and I left Buenos Aires and headed south to Patagonia for some much needed rest & recreation. Along the eastern edge of the Andes lies an alpine lake district, and our destination, San Carlos de Bariloche. The area could best be described as a untouched version of Switzerland, an outdoor lover's paradise. From the airport we passed several ecosystems - beginning on the edge of the desert and ending in an alpine forest. 

Lake Moreno 

I'm new...Buenos Aires

People of Argentina - I send you the gift of The World of Anton…. 

**Cue the music..**

Picked up by the driver known as John Boyle, the 'go-to' man for the fast track tour, his insights of town means you'll never get bored. He gave me a taste of the best B.A. has to offer, but when there's so many things on offer, choosing's hard!  

Brazilian Christmas

Thiago, Me, and Uli

Simply stated, the weather was against me. What was supposed to be a few pleasant days at the beach over Christmas ended up being a blah, 'this just wasn't meant to be' experience. My friend Thiago, who I met in Brazil through Alex, had invited me here from Buenos Aires to relax after the long journey. Neither of us could foresee the weather how it was, but we made the best of our time together. 

A Week in Provence

While spending the summer of 2004 in France, my godfather, Uncle Rick, came to visit. Mentor, motivator, creator, role model - if there is anyone I owe (or can blame) for inspiring me to get out and see the world, it's him. A fellow francophile and my benefactor, it was no surprise he wanted to come check in on me. We decided to rendezvous in Nice.

Obviously this is not my photo. Promenade d'Anglais. 

Alsace, France - The Summer That Changed My Life

Garden in Thanvillé

When I was 13, I started working as a busboy at a small French restaurant called La Petite France. The owners, Chef Paul Elbling and his wife Marie-Antoinette, were good friends of my parents and my godfather (who had taken me there for dinner the night I was offered a job). After some time working at the restaurant, Chef Paul told me that since I was learning French in school and had straight A's that if I wanted I could go live with his family in Alsace for the summer. 

When my father came to the restaurant to pick me up one evening (but not before socializing with the last remaining patrons), Chef Paul strategically made the offer again, this time in front of my father. As I turned to my dad with that look on my face saying, "Father, may I?," he quickly added, "If Mack Brown (head coach of U Texas football) has a summer camp in France then you can go." Honestly, my heart sank a bit, only to float back to the surface with a wonderful inflatable I call determination.