Our recent vacations have featured free or majorly discounted hotels courtesy of B's membership in the Starpoints program from Starwood hotels. We've stayed in Paris, Nice, Venice, Florence, Madrid, Barcelona, Munich, Frankfurt, and Salzburg for nearly 40 nights (over 4 trips) and paid a song for it all. Times were good.
Our upcoming trip to the Canadian Rockies will be a relative hardship compared to the golden times of the past, though. The only Starwood hotels in the Rockies are in Calgary, and we're not flying all the way to Calgary to actually stay there (no offense, Calgary).
The current hotel plan involves only 2 nights in Starwood hotels, in fact. We'll stay in one near our local airport for the night before we leave--and can't even use points to pay for it because you "can't combine promotions" (stupid)--and one near the Calgary airport for the night before we fly home. We will have to pay cash money for the remaining 13 nights of the trip.
And even though I threatened/hoped to book some of our nights at one of the glamorous Fairmont hotels in the area (specifically the Fairmont Banff Springs or the Fairmont Chateau Lake Louise--ooh la la), I just couldn't bring myself to pay $400--even if it's $400 CAD--for a night in a teeny tiny room. The exchange rate, while favorable for the US dollar, isn't that good.
As of right now--barring an amazing sale courtesy of Fairmont, a proposition that is not out of the question--there will be no castle experience on our trip. However, we have found no bargains when it comes to hotels for Banff, Lake Louise, and Jasper.
There are a limited number of hotels, and an even more limited number in the areas that we want to stay in. They can and do command steep prices. I have booked all of our hotels and gasped a little when I added up the total cost for all of them. It was a small comfort to know that the number will be reduced slightly when CAD is converted to USD. Here's hoping the dollar continues its current rally well into next year.
Our hotels, while pricier than what we're used to (though what isn't, when you're accustomed to "free"), offer a nice mix of accommodations. Our very own log cabin, in one instance. Part of a chalet in another. A one-bedroom suite with laundry in the unit and a full kitchen. A more traditional hotel that's smack in the middle of the action in Banff. All of the places have onsite laundry and most have their own kitchens, so we won't have to dine out for every meal.
And--this is an important distinction--we chose the hotels ourselves. With Starwood hotels, we have a choice of maybe 2 or 3 hotels in any given city, and even then, we usually opt for the lower-category hotel, since they cost fewer points. Whether reviews are good or bad, we have to live with the hotel because it's our only option. For the Canadian hotels, I scoured the guidebook and tripadvisor and compared prices and amenities and locations and everything that I don't have to think about when I book a Starwood hotel. The planning process involved more work but I feel like I was able to choose hotels that suit us and our vacation style.
However, paying for hotels is not and never will be awesome. I protest.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Abused by Mother Nature
This morning, I received my daily weather forecast, as usual, from The Weather Channel. Once upon a time, I wanted to become a meteorologist and work for TWC. My career aspirations changed and oriented themselves toward a path that was more suited to my natural abilities, but my interest in weather has not waned.
I look forward to the daily forecast, even if it brings only bad news. I especially like the severe-weather alerts (though if you sign up for them, prepare yourself for being on the receiving end of a high volume of emails whenever a storm is a-brewin'). Today's forecast looked unlike anything I had ever seen.
Sun! Sun for the foreseeable future, with barely a cloud in sight! Did I mention the lack of precipitation? We still have snow on the ground from the last 2 "weather events," and receiving snow upon snow is enough to make you want to pack up and move south.
There was a catch, though. (Isn't there always.) Check out the temperatures that accompany this "fabulous" weather. While not quite single digits, we'll be dangerously close to them on several days. We might not see any new snow, but our old snow isn't going anywhere.
Oh, New England. You could have at least waited until winter arrived to deliver this frostiness to us.
I look forward to the daily forecast, even if it brings only bad news. I especially like the severe-weather alerts (though if you sign up for them, prepare yourself for being on the receiving end of a high volume of emails whenever a storm is a-brewin'). Today's forecast looked unlike anything I had ever seen.
Sun! Sun for the foreseeable future, with barely a cloud in sight! Did I mention the lack of precipitation? We still have snow on the ground from the last 2 "weather events," and receiving snow upon snow is enough to make you want to pack up and move south.
There was a catch, though. (Isn't there always.) Check out the temperatures that accompany this "fabulous" weather. While not quite single digits, we'll be dangerously close to them on several days. We might not see any new snow, but our old snow isn't going anywhere.
Oh, New England. You could have at least waited until winter arrived to deliver this frostiness to us.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Setting the bar too high?
Despite my recent brave trip to Sephora, I've never been much of a make-up person. Or, more accurately, I never really learned how to put on make-up.
But I have to wear it because when I don't, people ask me if I'm feeling ok.
I feel fine. I'm just pale, people.
So a little blush is always required to avoid people's sympathy. And while I'm at it, perhaps some powder to balance out the shine from my (SPF 15, which contributes to the paleness issue) moisturizer.
And recently I've been using some mineral makeup, which seems lower maintenance than the liquid foundation that I used to use.
Is it possible for an item of make-up to be called low-maintenance? What if it is replacing a less expensive type of make-up?
We'll leave those questions unanswered for now. Feel free to answer to yourself at home and make fun of me.
So powder and blush are usually the extent of my morning efforts, and I spend approximately a minute and a half on that part of my morning routine.
Sometimes I'll spend an extra 15 seconds applying a lip gloss. I usually eat it off when I have my morning yogurt, and I don't bother reapplying. But I still feel like I went above and beyond that day. Bravo me.
Some days, when I'm feeling particularly plucky, I'll apply eyeliner. A few years ago when I was working at the-company-that-shall-not-be-named, one of my harmlessly flirtatious coworkers (he was older and from South America, so it seemed normal, if that makes any sense) asked me, "M, why are you so beautiful today?"
It was the eyeliner. I realized that perhaps I was setting the bar too high with my eyeliner efforts, so I put the pencil in the back of my make-up box (a plastic Q-tip holder). I can't have people expecting me to put a full 5 minutes into my make-up routine on a daily basis. Next thing you know, they'll expect me to wear mascara. The last time I wore mascara was on my wedding day, and that was over 2 years ago. (Note to self: Perhaps it's time to throw out that mascara.)
But (there is a point) I bought some new eyeliner at Sephora earlier in the week, and it's amazingly easy to apply, so much better than the stuff from Target, that I've actually worn it several times this week. No one has asked me why I look so beautiful--that compliment likely won't come my way ever again--but I am coming around to the idea of setting the bar a little higher for myself.
But I have to wear it because when I don't, people ask me if I'm feeling ok.
I feel fine. I'm just pale, people.
So a little blush is always required to avoid people's sympathy. And while I'm at it, perhaps some powder to balance out the shine from my (SPF 15, which contributes to the paleness issue) moisturizer.
And recently I've been using some mineral makeup, which seems lower maintenance than the liquid foundation that I used to use.
Is it possible for an item of make-up to be called low-maintenance? What if it is replacing a less expensive type of make-up?
We'll leave those questions unanswered for now. Feel free to answer to yourself at home and make fun of me.
So powder and blush are usually the extent of my morning efforts, and I spend approximately a minute and a half on that part of my morning routine.
Sometimes I'll spend an extra 15 seconds applying a lip gloss. I usually eat it off when I have my morning yogurt, and I don't bother reapplying. But I still feel like I went above and beyond that day. Bravo me.
Some days, when I'm feeling particularly plucky, I'll apply eyeliner. A few years ago when I was working at the-company-that-shall-not-be-named, one of my harmlessly flirtatious coworkers (he was older and from South America, so it seemed normal, if that makes any sense) asked me, "M, why are you so beautiful today?"
It was the eyeliner. I realized that perhaps I was setting the bar too high with my eyeliner efforts, so I put the pencil in the back of my make-up box (a plastic Q-tip holder). I can't have people expecting me to put a full 5 minutes into my make-up routine on a daily basis. Next thing you know, they'll expect me to wear mascara. The last time I wore mascara was on my wedding day, and that was over 2 years ago. (Note to self: Perhaps it's time to throw out that mascara.)
But (there is a point) I bought some new eyeliner at Sephora earlier in the week, and it's amazingly easy to apply, so much better than the stuff from Target, that I've actually worn it several times this week. No one has asked me why I look so beautiful--that compliment likely won't come my way ever again--but I am coming around to the idea of setting the bar a little higher for myself.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Conquering your fears: My visit to Sephora
Today I took a day off to tackle a few of the items on my to-do list. Conveniently, all of my tasks could be accomplished in one location--the mall.
Now you see why I had to take a day off from work for these tasks. If you've been to a shopping mall on a weekend in December, you have probably sworn never to do it again. After we got stuck in gridlock in a mall parking lot for an hour a few years ago, we avoid it on Saturdays and Sundays.
But I figured a Monday was a safe time to go, and I was correct. The mall was more crowded than I expected--though it's always good to see people spending money--but I found a parking space without a problem and was off and running with my to-do list.
My first stop was the camera store to print our PR photos and to inquire about a digital SLR. I love my little point-and-shoot camera but I think the Canadian Rockies might be worthy of something more sophisticated. I'm a Nikon girl and am eyeing the D3000, which is their entry-level model. I love photography but I'm not a sophisticated photographer, so I'm looking for something that's easy to use and that will shoot good-quality photographs without my having to know too much about aperture and other technical talk. A purchase like a digital SLR shouldn't be impulsive, though, so I'm going to hold off, watch prices, and see if I can convince B that a camera is a better purchase than a computer, flat-screen television, and new water heater. (That last one will be a tough sell.)
After the camera store, I went to Sephora. Well, first I walked past it because I was scared to go in. But I convinced myself to go back. They had sent me a coupon for $15 off a $35 purchase, and I had never ventured into the store and wanted to pick up a few makeup items.
Sephora is an intimidating store. I always feel like I should have better hair and more make-up to be able to enter. But I tiptoed in and saw that there were other normal-looking women there and decided to stick around.
The store was mobbed. If you're feeling bad about the economy, just hit up your local Sephora to be reassured that all is well. There are also lots of helpful associates around (I think at least 5 asked how I was doing).
I wanted to buy blush and eyeliner. My blush is so old I don't remember when I bought it, and ditto with my eyeliner. I think you're supposed to replace every 6 months, but at Sephora prices, I think I'll hold on to the stuff for as long as I can.
The store organizes items by brand rather than type, so you can't just walk up to a display of all eyeliners to compare all of them. You have to walk from display to display, find the eyeliner, try to figure out from the sample whether it's what you want, and then hope it's in stock.
After about 15 minutes, I was ready to give up, but I couldn't leave because I had not yet found $35 worth of items. When the next associate asked if I needed help, I said (with more than a hint of desperation), "I need eyeliner and I'm overwhelmed!"
She looked sympathetic and asked if it was my first time in the store. I said it was and she gave me a little tour and took me over to another display (with cheaper eyeliner than what I was looking at) and used the samples to draw on her hand and show me how the liner looked. I chose the brown option, thanked her for her help, and hopped into the line.
She told me that Sephora associates do not work on commission, so they won't steer you to the brand that will make them the most money. Having never worked on commission, it never occurs to me to wonder if someone who is helping me is making their money that way, but I'm glad to know that their associates are offering bias-free assistance.
For my purchase, I was rewarded with a free sample and could choose from 3. There were 2 moisturizers and 1 lip gloss. I have a history of never using moisturizer samples so I went with the gloss. A girl can never have too many glosses, right?
Overall, my Sephora visit went all right, and I now know that the first thing I should do upon entering is ask for help.
Now you see why I had to take a day off from work for these tasks. If you've been to a shopping mall on a weekend in December, you have probably sworn never to do it again. After we got stuck in gridlock in a mall parking lot for an hour a few years ago, we avoid it on Saturdays and Sundays.
But I figured a Monday was a safe time to go, and I was correct. The mall was more crowded than I expected--though it's always good to see people spending money--but I found a parking space without a problem and was off and running with my to-do list.
My first stop was the camera store to print our PR photos and to inquire about a digital SLR. I love my little point-and-shoot camera but I think the Canadian Rockies might be worthy of something more sophisticated. I'm a Nikon girl and am eyeing the D3000, which is their entry-level model. I love photography but I'm not a sophisticated photographer, so I'm looking for something that's easy to use and that will shoot good-quality photographs without my having to know too much about aperture and other technical talk. A purchase like a digital SLR shouldn't be impulsive, though, so I'm going to hold off, watch prices, and see if I can convince B that a camera is a better purchase than a computer, flat-screen television, and new water heater. (That last one will be a tough sell.)
After the camera store, I went to Sephora. Well, first I walked past it because I was scared to go in. But I convinced myself to go back. They had sent me a coupon for $15 off a $35 purchase, and I had never ventured into the store and wanted to pick up a few makeup items.
Sephora is an intimidating store. I always feel like I should have better hair and more make-up to be able to enter. But I tiptoed in and saw that there were other normal-looking women there and decided to stick around.
The store was mobbed. If you're feeling bad about the economy, just hit up your local Sephora to be reassured that all is well. There are also lots of helpful associates around (I think at least 5 asked how I was doing).
I wanted to buy blush and eyeliner. My blush is so old I don't remember when I bought it, and ditto with my eyeliner. I think you're supposed to replace every 6 months, but at Sephora prices, I think I'll hold on to the stuff for as long as I can.
The store organizes items by brand rather than type, so you can't just walk up to a display of all eyeliners to compare all of them. You have to walk from display to display, find the eyeliner, try to figure out from the sample whether it's what you want, and then hope it's in stock.
After about 15 minutes, I was ready to give up, but I couldn't leave because I had not yet found $35 worth of items. When the next associate asked if I needed help, I said (with more than a hint of desperation), "I need eyeliner and I'm overwhelmed!"
She looked sympathetic and asked if it was my first time in the store. I said it was and she gave me a little tour and took me over to another display (with cheaper eyeliner than what I was looking at) and used the samples to draw on her hand and show me how the liner looked. I chose the brown option, thanked her for her help, and hopped into the line.
She told me that Sephora associates do not work on commission, so they won't steer you to the brand that will make them the most money. Having never worked on commission, it never occurs to me to wonder if someone who is helping me is making their money that way, but I'm glad to know that their associates are offering bias-free assistance.
For my purchase, I was rewarded with a free sample and could choose from 3. There were 2 moisturizers and 1 lip gloss. I have a history of never using moisturizer samples so I went with the gloss. A girl can never have too many glosses, right?
Overall, my Sephora visit went all right, and I now know that the first thing I should do upon entering is ask for help.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Failure
To celebrate her eighth birthday, my car failed her annual inspection. Perhaps it was a passive-aggressive reminder that she's not getting any younger (though who of us is).
I try to take care of her as best as I can. I take her in for regular checkups when she starts making funny noises or running oddly. I get her oil changed more frequently than the recommended 5,000 miles.
I am somewhat remiss with taking care of her outside, though. The hail damage lives on and will never be fixed--not under my watch, anyway. I never get her washed in the winter unless my windows get so salty that I can't see through them. I never wax her exterior, and now there are some sticky-like patches and the occasional small rust spot dotting her exterior. But she's an eight-year-old car, and these things will happen.
Before inspection, we warm her up, and we take her to the place that doesn't seem to look too closely when they perform the inspection. But they still failed her. Her emissions were fine--phew--but the guy said that she was missing a tie rod. I didn't know what a tie rod was but I felt certain that my mechanic would.
And he did. He also said that tie rods can't be missing, or a car won't steer. This particular tie rod was just a bit worn and needed to be replaced, which it was.
And today she passed inspection with flying colors, and the big red R sticker has been replaced with a sticker that indicates she's good to go for another year.
Another interesting note--if your car fails inspection in November and you bring it back for reinspection in December, you still get a sticker for November. I was hoping to skip ahead a month, but I guess that's not how it's done.
I try to take care of her as best as I can. I take her in for regular checkups when she starts making funny noises or running oddly. I get her oil changed more frequently than the recommended 5,000 miles.
I am somewhat remiss with taking care of her outside, though. The hail damage lives on and will never be fixed--not under my watch, anyway. I never get her washed in the winter unless my windows get so salty that I can't see through them. I never wax her exterior, and now there are some sticky-like patches and the occasional small rust spot dotting her exterior. But she's an eight-year-old car, and these things will happen.
Before inspection, we warm her up, and we take her to the place that doesn't seem to look too closely when they perform the inspection. But they still failed her. Her emissions were fine--phew--but the guy said that she was missing a tie rod. I didn't know what a tie rod was but I felt certain that my mechanic would.
And he did. He also said that tie rods can't be missing, or a car won't steer. This particular tie rod was just a bit worn and needed to be replaced, which it was.
And today she passed inspection with flying colors, and the big red R sticker has been replaced with a sticker that indicates she's good to go for another year.
Another interesting note--if your car fails inspection in November and you bring it back for reinspection in December, you still get a sticker for November. I was hoping to skip ahead a month, but I guess that's not how it's done.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Not so sweet charity
This weekend, I learned a valuable lesson about charitable donations.
Ever since we cancelled cable and started watching more public television, I've been meaning to donate. Every year, they have their big campaigns and I think, I ought to donate. I enjoy a lot of programs on PBS and it's a great go-to station when nothing else is on.
(C-SPAN is another oft-overlooked but surprisingly entertaining network. Seriously, check it out some time. I watched it almonst nonstop the weekend of Kennedy's funeral and was very pleased with the coverage.)
However, I had yet to donate--until this weekend. Rick Steve's European Christmas episode was on, and it brought back great memories of our trip to Germany and Austria a year ago, and I grabbed my laptop and wallet and decided that there was to be no more dillydallying. The season of giving is upon us, so it was time to give.
But I let selfishness creep into the situation. The good feeling that you get after making a donaton wasn't enough. PBS offers great thank-you gifts and I figured, well, why not get something back for my donation? Rather than just become a member ($40), I kicked up my donation a notch to $150. In exchange, I'd receive 9 (!) seasons of Rick Steves' Europe shows. What a fabulous thank-you gift! Who could resist?
People with sense, that's who. I received my confirmation email, thanking me for my donation and informing me of the "fair market value" of my thank-you "gift." Their assessment of the value of the DVDs? $105.90. That means that we can claim a donation of only $44.10 on our tax return.
If you think that $105.90 seems steep for the value of the DVDs, you're not alone. I checked out their going rate on Amazon. They're currently selling for less than $63.
It's calculator time, boys and girls. Had I bought the DVDs straight out from Amazon and donated the remaining funds from the $150 allocation, my donation would be close to $87. Same cost to me but my deductible donation would be nearly doubled. The obvious downside to this proposition is that PBS would end up with less money, and shouldn't this donation be about PBS and not me?
Yes, yes it should, and that's why I didn't cancel my donation and reorchestrate this whole deal. But I have learned a valuable lesson to just buy the darned "free gift" outright. Donater beware.
Ever since we cancelled cable and started watching more public television, I've been meaning to donate. Every year, they have their big campaigns and I think, I ought to donate. I enjoy a lot of programs on PBS and it's a great go-to station when nothing else is on.
(C-SPAN is another oft-overlooked but surprisingly entertaining network. Seriously, check it out some time. I watched it almonst nonstop the weekend of Kennedy's funeral and was very pleased with the coverage.)
However, I had yet to donate--until this weekend. Rick Steve's European Christmas episode was on, and it brought back great memories of our trip to Germany and Austria a year ago, and I grabbed my laptop and wallet and decided that there was to be no more dillydallying. The season of giving is upon us, so it was time to give.
But I let selfishness creep into the situation. The good feeling that you get after making a donaton wasn't enough. PBS offers great thank-you gifts and I figured, well, why not get something back for my donation? Rather than just become a member ($40), I kicked up my donation a notch to $150. In exchange, I'd receive 9 (!) seasons of Rick Steves' Europe shows. What a fabulous thank-you gift! Who could resist?
People with sense, that's who. I received my confirmation email, thanking me for my donation and informing me of the "fair market value" of my thank-you "gift." Their assessment of the value of the DVDs? $105.90. That means that we can claim a donation of only $44.10 on our tax return.
If you think that $105.90 seems steep for the value of the DVDs, you're not alone. I checked out their going rate on Amazon. They're currently selling for less than $63.
It's calculator time, boys and girls. Had I bought the DVDs straight out from Amazon and donated the remaining funds from the $150 allocation, my donation would be close to $87. Same cost to me but my deductible donation would be nearly doubled. The obvious downside to this proposition is that PBS would end up with less money, and shouldn't this donation be about PBS and not me?
Yes, yes it should, and that's why I didn't cancel my donation and reorchestrate this whole deal. But I have learned a valuable lesson to just buy the darned "free gift" outright. Donater beware.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Bending the rules for Banff
Ever feel like you're breaking the law, or at least the rules, even when you're not? And by "not," I mean you're operating within the boundaries set by a company when making a purchase.
My heart is still beating a little bit fast. I'm just not used to taking these kinds of risks. But it was a risk that paid off.
I've booked flights for our next trip, and we're going to the Canadian Rockies. Banff, Jasper, and Lake Louise, here we come! Purchasing our flights was a somewhat convoluted and complicated process (with me, what isn't...), but the tickets were cheaper than they could have been.
The vacation-planning process started before we left for Puerto Rico when B checked to see his status with the airline we were flying. His lack of travel on the airline in the last year and a half left him with no status whatsoever (bummer), but he somehow had over 50,000 miles in his account.
You know what 50,000 miles means. If you fly during the cheap times, you can get 2 round-trip tickets to a North American destination.
I'm sure you can imagine the tizzy that this newfound bonus got me into. Free airline tickets? To anywhere we wanted? Did I mention the free part?
Then I began analyzing the situation to try to figure out how to get the most out of these miles.
We could go to one of the places we've been thinking about, such as New Orleans or San Antonio or Jackson, but the flights to these destinations are relatively cheap. I wanted to fly somewhere expensive to get the most out of the miles.
Enter Banff. Oh, Banff, how I have worshipped you from afar, your glaciers (ok, they're in Jasper) and your lakes and scenery and animals and outdoorsiness (which can be observed from the comfort and glamor of one's Fairmont hotel room). Banff, secret honeymoon contender, faraway land, where the dollar can still buy something and the locals speak my language. Oh, Banff, how have I ignored thee for so long?
I'll tell you why. Because it's expensive to fly there! A ticket to Banff costs about the same as a ticket to Europe. But--aha!--it's the same cost, miles-wise, as any other domestic ticket.
Bang! Bang! Bang! (That's the sound of more bang for my miles buck.)
After we got back from PR, I started investigating our options. To purchase 2 round-trip tickets, we wouldn't be able to fly on our ideal dates, and dates were literally being snatched up from day to day. If you fly on "super-saver" days, a one-way flight for one person is only 12,500 miles. But those dates go fast, and most routes have only the 25,000 one-way flights available.
However--interestingly enough--there were several first-class options available for only 25,000 miles.
I soon realized that 50,000 miles might not be as awesome as I hoped. But I still had hope.
I reasoned that at least we could use the miles for one-way travel. One-way flights on other airlines were reasonably priced, and I decided that I could suck up the extra security that would likely accompany us and our one-way tickets. And maybe if we were lucky, we could get first-class flights for that one way.
I called the airline earlier in the week to explain my plan, but their stupid policies thwarted me. The first agent explained that a one-way ticket costs the same number of miles as a round-trip ticket (that is, 100,000 miles), and her computer was not showing the same availability for miles awards as their computer system was showing me on their website. She also said that there were no first-class options available for our route.
I didn't like what she had to say so I hung up and called back. Sometimes this policy works, as you might reach a more experienced person who can help the next time. Unfortunately, the second person, though perhaps more competent, was not any more helpful than the first.
I went to bed that night with a heavy heart. Would we have to--gasp--pay for our tickets? The trip, which in the beginning involved free flights (in my mind, anyway), was suddenly getting more complicated.
That night and the next day, I pondered the situation and came up with two options:
I called the airline and spoke to one of the less competent representatives, asking how long it would take for purchased miles to appear in my account. After I explained the situation 3 times, she said that they'd appear within 24 hours. It seemed like a long time to wait, but I was in a gambling mood.
Back to the computer--bought the miles--and bang! (there it is again)--the miles showed up right away. I selected the flights, chose our seats, put in the card number, and waited for the website to tell me that it sensed I had scammed the system and it wasn't going to let me buy the tickets.
You see, the cost of the miles plus the taxes on the tickets (even the free ones aren't free) was still several hundred dollars less than the cheapest airline's service for that route. In coach.
And we're flying first class.
But the confirmation is in my inbox, so it's official--Banff, here I come, and I'm coming in style.
My heart is still beating a little bit fast. I'm just not used to taking these kinds of risks. But it was a risk that paid off.
I've booked flights for our next trip, and we're going to the Canadian Rockies. Banff, Jasper, and Lake Louise, here we come! Purchasing our flights was a somewhat convoluted and complicated process (with me, what isn't...), but the tickets were cheaper than they could have been.
The vacation-planning process started before we left for Puerto Rico when B checked to see his status with the airline we were flying. His lack of travel on the airline in the last year and a half left him with no status whatsoever (bummer), but he somehow had over 50,000 miles in his account.
You know what 50,000 miles means. If you fly during the cheap times, you can get 2 round-trip tickets to a North American destination.
I'm sure you can imagine the tizzy that this newfound bonus got me into. Free airline tickets? To anywhere we wanted? Did I mention the free part?
Then I began analyzing the situation to try to figure out how to get the most out of these miles.
We could go to one of the places we've been thinking about, such as New Orleans or San Antonio or Jackson, but the flights to these destinations are relatively cheap. I wanted to fly somewhere expensive to get the most out of the miles.
Enter Banff. Oh, Banff, how I have worshipped you from afar, your glaciers (ok, they're in Jasper) and your lakes and scenery and animals and outdoorsiness (which can be observed from the comfort and glamor of one's Fairmont hotel room). Banff, secret honeymoon contender, faraway land, where the dollar can still buy something and the locals speak my language. Oh, Banff, how have I ignored thee for so long?
I'll tell you why. Because it's expensive to fly there! A ticket to Banff costs about the same as a ticket to Europe. But--aha!--it's the same cost, miles-wise, as any other domestic ticket.
Bang! Bang! Bang! (That's the sound of more bang for my miles buck.)
After we got back from PR, I started investigating our options. To purchase 2 round-trip tickets, we wouldn't be able to fly on our ideal dates, and dates were literally being snatched up from day to day. If you fly on "super-saver" days, a one-way flight for one person is only 12,500 miles. But those dates go fast, and most routes have only the 25,000 one-way flights available.
However--interestingly enough--there were several first-class options available for only 25,000 miles.
I soon realized that 50,000 miles might not be as awesome as I hoped. But I still had hope.
I reasoned that at least we could use the miles for one-way travel. One-way flights on other airlines were reasonably priced, and I decided that I could suck up the extra security that would likely accompany us and our one-way tickets. And maybe if we were lucky, we could get first-class flights for that one way.
I called the airline earlier in the week to explain my plan, but their stupid policies thwarted me. The first agent explained that a one-way ticket costs the same number of miles as a round-trip ticket (that is, 100,000 miles), and her computer was not showing the same availability for miles awards as their computer system was showing me on their website. She also said that there were no first-class options available for our route.
I didn't like what she had to say so I hung up and called back. Sometimes this policy works, as you might reach a more experienced person who can help the next time. Unfortunately, the second person, though perhaps more competent, was not any more helpful than the first.
I went to bed that night with a heavy heart. Would we have to--gasp--pay for our tickets? The trip, which in the beginning involved free flights (in my mind, anyway), was suddenly getting more complicated.
That night and the next day, I pondered the situation and came up with two options:
- We could pay cash for our flights. The disappointment I felt at being unable to book the one-way flights told me that I really wanted to take this vacation. Sometimes, it's worth it to pay more than you expected for something you really want.
- We could buy miles and use them to attempt to buy flights. This proposition was risky because we didn't know if flights were actually available, and if they weren't, we'd be stuck paying for miles we couldn't use. The website said that the flights we wanted were availalbe, but when the people on the phone give a different story, you start to wonder.
I called the airline and spoke to one of the less competent representatives, asking how long it would take for purchased miles to appear in my account. After I explained the situation 3 times, she said that they'd appear within 24 hours. It seemed like a long time to wait, but I was in a gambling mood.
Back to the computer--bought the miles--and bang! (there it is again)--the miles showed up right away. I selected the flights, chose our seats, put in the card number, and waited for the website to tell me that it sensed I had scammed the system and it wasn't going to let me buy the tickets.
You see, the cost of the miles plus the taxes on the tickets (even the free ones aren't free) was still several hundred dollars less than the cheapest airline's service for that route. In coach.
And we're flying first class.
But the confirmation is in my inbox, so it's official--Banff, here I come, and I'm coming in style.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Back from Puerto Rico
And we're back from Puerto Rico. We actually got back more than a week ago, but November has been busier than usual and I haven't had time to recap the trip in my head yet.
It was a fantastic trip and enjoyable for its own merits and for the differences between it and the last few vacations that we've taken. A few key differences made the trip feel easier than a trip to Europe. First of all, we had no issues with communication. Everyone that we encountered spoke English well and willingly. Second, we paid in dollars and therefore didn't have to think about exchange rates. A corollary to this bonus is that items were cheaper than in Europe (not that we did a lot of shopping--I know, shocking). Third, we had amazing food experiences for not a lot of money. In Europe, you seem to have 2 options for dining--there's the $50 (for 2 people) microwave-special dinner or the $120 maybe-gourmet-maybe-not experience. In Puerto Rico we regularly found delicious meals for bargain prices.
We arrived in PR on a Saturday and stayed for 2 nights at the Sheraton Old San Juan. Next we flew to Vieques for 3 nights and then flew back to Old San Juan to stay at the same Sheraton for the remaining 2 nights of our trip.
About the Sheraton Old San Juan...we had some spotty service experiences with them before we arrived and expected the worst but were happy enough with the hotel, especially the enormous buffet breakfast that was included in our rate. On several days, eating a monster breakfast meant that we could eat a late lunch and skip dinner, thus saving a few more dollars.
Old San Juan feels like it should be pedestrian only, but it isn't, and the constant car traffic on the main streets feels out of place. Streets are narrow, with room for a row of parallel-parked cars and another row of one-way traffic. Sidewalks are narrow (though not as narrow as some in Florence) so you feel a bit on top of the traffic. At night, cars sit in gridlock on the streets, barely moving but sending waves of exhaust at passersby, making the evening feel even hotter. (As a side note, rarely do the drivers honk their horns, even if they move only 10 feet in 10 minutes.)
During the day, the streets are much calmer, and you frequently can walk several blocks without encountering a single running car. Houses are painted gorgeously in tropical rainbow colors. Many houses feature balconies with wrought-iron decorations and impressive potted plants.
Everyone that we spoke to was friendly and helpful. We wanted to buy a traditional mask and went to the post office to investigate our options. The man at the counter was very patient with helping us and even recommended a store that sold masks and would ship them for us. He wrote the name and address of the store--unfortunately, the address was wrong--and while we were wandering the streets (far from the post office), I asked a man who worked for an extermination company for help. This man was walking to a job but stopped to help for 10 minutes. I challenge anyone to find someone in Boston who is (a) willing to help, and (b) willing to help for more than 15 seconds. (Unfortunately, we weren't able to find the store with him, but did find it later on, further down the road).
The weather was, surprisingly enough, pretty cooperative. Early-to-mid November is the end of rainy season, and we experienced a few showers, both in San Juan and on Vieques. However, rain is not necessarily a full-day commitment in the Caribbean as it is in other parts of the country. Most of the time, a rain shower meant that half the sky was covered in gloomy gray clouds and the other half was blue skies and sun. Showers usually lasted no more than a half hour and were followed by brighter skies.
Temperatures were hot, but not the overwhelming summer-in-Orlando heat that I am all-too-familiar with. Daytime temps ranged from 86 to 88, and evenings cooled by no more than 10 degrees. Days felt generally more comfortable on Vieques and nights could be chilly (for some of us, though 74 is "chilly" to me). Nights might have been cooler in Old San Juan, but if you were walking on a congested street, there'd be no way of knowing because the heat and exhaust from the cars made the trek uncomfortable and dizzying.
The food...the food was good. We spent the first couple of days eating traditional Puerto Rican cuisine, but because most traditional foods are fried, we soon started seeking out other options. Traditional PR food has much to recommend it. Mofongo--which is a ball of plantains stuffed with some kind of meat and then deep fried--is fantastic. There are two types of plantains--amarillos, which are fully ripe plantains that are fried and sweet. You can also get immature plantains that are fried and more savory. No matter where we got them, they all tasted just like the boxes of Goya frozen plantains that you can buy from the grocery store. Does Goya do an amazing job, or did all of our side dishes come from the freezer? Who knows.
After I placed a moratorium on fried foods, we branched out and ate at Spanish, French, Italian, and Asian restaurants--all were excellent. We didn't have a single bad meal on either island (though I could have lived without the jalapeno in my veggie sushi that last night--big pain).
Yes, I am avoiding writing about Vieques. Why? Because it was that amazing. Have you ever been to a place and felt like you had discovered something that not many people knew about? That's how Vieques was. I suspect that in 5 to 10 years, the island will be overdeleveloped and overrun with my fellow tourists, but I'll always have my memories of empty white sand beaches and crystal-clear waters.
We flew to Vieques on Vieqes Air Link--half the price of Cape Air, and worth consideration if you're staying somewhere in PR for a day or more before you continue on to Vieques, since you depart from the local airport rather than the international airport. Air Flamenco offers similar good rates. Luggage is majorly restricted--25 pounds or less per person--so resist the urge to overpack, or throw clothes out as you go (our technique, which is why you might see me in a dinosaur tee shirt in some of the vacay photos).
Security is light in the local airport. By "light," I mean nonexistent. There are no x-ray machines or any security counter to speak of. They don't ask for ID when you check in. They do, however, ask your weight, which determines where you sit on the plane. For the ride back to PR, I was in the last row (of 5) and B was in the first, but you can't really be upset about being separated for a 22-minute flight.
Though you can be upset about being placed in the back row of the plane, as it was bumpy and scary. I was not a fan. However, the experience was better than riding into a wall of water--a crazy thunderstorm--which occurred on our way to Vieques.
Your other option for getting to Vieques is taking an unreliable, sometimes-running-sometimes-not ferry which leaves out of Fajardo. Plus you have to figure out how to get to Fajardo from San Juan or wherever you're staying. The airplane, however scary and pricey, is your best and most reliable bet.
After we landed safely in Vieques, we took a publico (taxi) to our hotel. I have to say that I experienced some misgivings on that taxi ride. We rode with 3 locals, who were not in possession of all of their teeth. They exited at maybe the most ramshackle house I have ever seen. I think it was being held up with sticks and empty plastic plant pots.
Most houses had a bit of a rundown, tired feeling. Roads were narrow and winding and wild horses were everywhere--walking on the road, grazing by the road, or hanging out in a pack.
And then we got to Hector's by the Sea, our hotel, and our taxi driver had to get out of the car to check on the driveway to see if he could make it down. I unfortunately didn't take any pictures of this driveway, but it was unpaved, steep, narrow, twisty, and scarred from 6 months of heavy rainstorms.
I'm not going to lie; I was a little scared of Vieques at this point. But from the moment we set foot on Hector's, everything got better.
We "checked in," meaning Hector showed us around and showed us our room, and then we walked to Hector's private beach while we waited for our rental car to arrive. There's something about sitting on a beach all by yourselves that makes any vacation better.
After our car arrived, we got lunch at a cafe, Bananas, in Esperanza, one of two towns on the island. Esperanza is the more laid-back and tourist-oriented of the towns. The other town is Isabel II, pronounced Isabel Segundo, and sometimes called simply Segundo, and it is more of a local hangout.
Our next stop was one of Vieques's many beaches. We drove to the Blue Beach and then realized how private our vacation was going to be. There were just 2 other groups on the mile-long, gorgeous, amazing beach. We walked down the beach, feet in the warm water, and were immediately grateful that we had taken a risk on Vieques.
We spent the next few days going to the beach, swimming, relaxing, eating, and appreciating our island paradise. The wild horses became the mascots of our vacation, and we saw the charm in the houses. We appreciated the four-wheel drive on our rental car, a 99 Isuzu Trooper. The Check Engine light was on from the moment we turned on the car until the moment we dropped it off at the airport, and the left mirror was held on with an elastic (after duct tape failed), but we fit in a lot better with the locals than the other tourists who were driving shiny and sparkly Jeeps.
All in all, we enjoyed a fabulous trip. I'll try to get some of the highlight pictures up and will try to resist posting all 20 or so of the sunset pictures I took one evening.
And now on to the next trip...?
It was a fantastic trip and enjoyable for its own merits and for the differences between it and the last few vacations that we've taken. A few key differences made the trip feel easier than a trip to Europe. First of all, we had no issues with communication. Everyone that we encountered spoke English well and willingly. Second, we paid in dollars and therefore didn't have to think about exchange rates. A corollary to this bonus is that items were cheaper than in Europe (not that we did a lot of shopping--I know, shocking). Third, we had amazing food experiences for not a lot of money. In Europe, you seem to have 2 options for dining--there's the $50 (for 2 people) microwave-special dinner or the $120 maybe-gourmet-maybe-not experience. In Puerto Rico we regularly found delicious meals for bargain prices.
We arrived in PR on a Saturday and stayed for 2 nights at the Sheraton Old San Juan. Next we flew to Vieques for 3 nights and then flew back to Old San Juan to stay at the same Sheraton for the remaining 2 nights of our trip.
About the Sheraton Old San Juan...we had some spotty service experiences with them before we arrived and expected the worst but were happy enough with the hotel, especially the enormous buffet breakfast that was included in our rate. On several days, eating a monster breakfast meant that we could eat a late lunch and skip dinner, thus saving a few more dollars.
Old San Juan feels like it should be pedestrian only, but it isn't, and the constant car traffic on the main streets feels out of place. Streets are narrow, with room for a row of parallel-parked cars and another row of one-way traffic. Sidewalks are narrow (though not as narrow as some in Florence) so you feel a bit on top of the traffic. At night, cars sit in gridlock on the streets, barely moving but sending waves of exhaust at passersby, making the evening feel even hotter. (As a side note, rarely do the drivers honk their horns, even if they move only 10 feet in 10 minutes.)
During the day, the streets are much calmer, and you frequently can walk several blocks without encountering a single running car. Houses are painted gorgeously in tropical rainbow colors. Many houses feature balconies with wrought-iron decorations and impressive potted plants.
Everyone that we spoke to was friendly and helpful. We wanted to buy a traditional mask and went to the post office to investigate our options. The man at the counter was very patient with helping us and even recommended a store that sold masks and would ship them for us. He wrote the name and address of the store--unfortunately, the address was wrong--and while we were wandering the streets (far from the post office), I asked a man who worked for an extermination company for help. This man was walking to a job but stopped to help for 10 minutes. I challenge anyone to find someone in Boston who is (a) willing to help, and (b) willing to help for more than 15 seconds. (Unfortunately, we weren't able to find the store with him, but did find it later on, further down the road).
The weather was, surprisingly enough, pretty cooperative. Early-to-mid November is the end of rainy season, and we experienced a few showers, both in San Juan and on Vieques. However, rain is not necessarily a full-day commitment in the Caribbean as it is in other parts of the country. Most of the time, a rain shower meant that half the sky was covered in gloomy gray clouds and the other half was blue skies and sun. Showers usually lasted no more than a half hour and were followed by brighter skies.
Temperatures were hot, but not the overwhelming summer-in-Orlando heat that I am all-too-familiar with. Daytime temps ranged from 86 to 88, and evenings cooled by no more than 10 degrees. Days felt generally more comfortable on Vieques and nights could be chilly (for some of us, though 74 is "chilly" to me). Nights might have been cooler in Old San Juan, but if you were walking on a congested street, there'd be no way of knowing because the heat and exhaust from the cars made the trek uncomfortable and dizzying.
The food...the food was good. We spent the first couple of days eating traditional Puerto Rican cuisine, but because most traditional foods are fried, we soon started seeking out other options. Traditional PR food has much to recommend it. Mofongo--which is a ball of plantains stuffed with some kind of meat and then deep fried--is fantastic. There are two types of plantains--amarillos, which are fully ripe plantains that are fried and sweet. You can also get immature plantains that are fried and more savory. No matter where we got them, they all tasted just like the boxes of Goya frozen plantains that you can buy from the grocery store. Does Goya do an amazing job, or did all of our side dishes come from the freezer? Who knows.
After I placed a moratorium on fried foods, we branched out and ate at Spanish, French, Italian, and Asian restaurants--all were excellent. We didn't have a single bad meal on either island (though I could have lived without the jalapeno in my veggie sushi that last night--big pain).
Yes, I am avoiding writing about Vieques. Why? Because it was that amazing. Have you ever been to a place and felt like you had discovered something that not many people knew about? That's how Vieques was. I suspect that in 5 to 10 years, the island will be overdeleveloped and overrun with my fellow tourists, but I'll always have my memories of empty white sand beaches and crystal-clear waters.
We flew to Vieques on Vieqes Air Link--half the price of Cape Air, and worth consideration if you're staying somewhere in PR for a day or more before you continue on to Vieques, since you depart from the local airport rather than the international airport. Air Flamenco offers similar good rates. Luggage is majorly restricted--25 pounds or less per person--so resist the urge to overpack, or throw clothes out as you go (our technique, which is why you might see me in a dinosaur tee shirt in some of the vacay photos).
Security is light in the local airport. By "light," I mean nonexistent. There are no x-ray machines or any security counter to speak of. They don't ask for ID when you check in. They do, however, ask your weight, which determines where you sit on the plane. For the ride back to PR, I was in the last row (of 5) and B was in the first, but you can't really be upset about being separated for a 22-minute flight.
Though you can be upset about being placed in the back row of the plane, as it was bumpy and scary. I was not a fan. However, the experience was better than riding into a wall of water--a crazy thunderstorm--which occurred on our way to Vieques.
Your other option for getting to Vieques is taking an unreliable, sometimes-running-sometimes-not ferry which leaves out of Fajardo. Plus you have to figure out how to get to Fajardo from San Juan or wherever you're staying. The airplane, however scary and pricey, is your best and most reliable bet.
After we landed safely in Vieques, we took a publico (taxi) to our hotel. I have to say that I experienced some misgivings on that taxi ride. We rode with 3 locals, who were not in possession of all of their teeth. They exited at maybe the most ramshackle house I have ever seen. I think it was being held up with sticks and empty plastic plant pots.
Most houses had a bit of a rundown, tired feeling. Roads were narrow and winding and wild horses were everywhere--walking on the road, grazing by the road, or hanging out in a pack.
And then we got to Hector's by the Sea, our hotel, and our taxi driver had to get out of the car to check on the driveway to see if he could make it down. I unfortunately didn't take any pictures of this driveway, but it was unpaved, steep, narrow, twisty, and scarred from 6 months of heavy rainstorms.
I'm not going to lie; I was a little scared of Vieques at this point. But from the moment we set foot on Hector's, everything got better.
We "checked in," meaning Hector showed us around and showed us our room, and then we walked to Hector's private beach while we waited for our rental car to arrive. There's something about sitting on a beach all by yourselves that makes any vacation better.
After our car arrived, we got lunch at a cafe, Bananas, in Esperanza, one of two towns on the island. Esperanza is the more laid-back and tourist-oriented of the towns. The other town is Isabel II, pronounced Isabel Segundo, and sometimes called simply Segundo, and it is more of a local hangout.
Our next stop was one of Vieques's many beaches. We drove to the Blue Beach and then realized how private our vacation was going to be. There were just 2 other groups on the mile-long, gorgeous, amazing beach. We walked down the beach, feet in the warm water, and were immediately grateful that we had taken a risk on Vieques.
We spent the next few days going to the beach, swimming, relaxing, eating, and appreciating our island paradise. The wild horses became the mascots of our vacation, and we saw the charm in the houses. We appreciated the four-wheel drive on our rental car, a 99 Isuzu Trooper. The Check Engine light was on from the moment we turned on the car until the moment we dropped it off at the airport, and the left mirror was held on with an elastic (after duct tape failed), but we fit in a lot better with the locals than the other tourists who were driving shiny and sparkly Jeeps.
All in all, we enjoyed a fabulous trip. I'll try to get some of the highlight pictures up and will try to resist posting all 20 or so of the sunset pictures I took one evening.
And now on to the next trip...?
Friday, October 30, 2009
Epic battle: M vs. the sweet potatoes
This afternoon featured a momentous battle. I went up against 5 pounds of sweet potatoes, and I'm pretty sure I lost.
But I put up a good fight.
I was steaming the cubed sweet potatoes in cream and butter (a delicious start) while poaching some pears. This attempt at multitasking did no good for either vegetable or fruit.
The timer went off for the sweet potatoes, so I turned it off and promptly forgot about them as I continued my pear activity. Many minutes later, I remembered the sweet potatoes, so I grabbed the masher, removed the lid, and began the battle.
The potato masher is plastic and was in no uncertain terms an underperformer. Its design is impractical and not good enough. I mashed and mashed for a long time and was able to mush some of the sweet potatoes, but most remained solid. I did, however, hurt my shoulder.
I was tempted to throw the masher away, but instead, I put it in the dishwasher and turned to plan B.
Out came the food mill. I've used the food mill for mashing regular potatoes, so I figured sweet potatoes were easily mashable, too.
Except the sweet potatoes broke the food mill.
Stupid food mill.
It went in the trash.
I began to wonder if the problem was perhaps not my kitchen tools. Perhaps instead I had not cooked the sweet potatoes long enough?
A fork proved that my concern was real. However, my sweet potatoes were in an awkward half-mashed, half-not-cooked-enough state. I wasn't sure if putting them back on heat would help to soften them further.
At this point, I had two options--carry on or cry.
I paused and waited for the tears to come, but they didn't. I sighed and decided that carrying on was my only option.
Years of cooking had prepared me for this moment. I looked around the kitchen to figure out which tool to use next.
The molcajete (like a mortar and pestle) was in front of me, so I grabbed the pestle part (hand-held part), put it in a plastic freezer bag (to keep it from getting gross), and started smushing.
It should be noted that by now small mounds of mashed sweet potatoes were scattered around the kitchen.
The molcajete effort was a failure. The hot sweet potatoes and hot dutch oven nearly burned my hand. The molcajete went into the cabinet.
My last and final hope was my immersion blender. When in doubt, find a tool that plugs in.
My blender was significantly awesomer than the other tools that I had tried to use. It didn't get rid of all of the lumps, and it didn't solve the problem of the potatoes being just slightly undercooked, but... it hid most of the problems...after about 20 minutes of blending.
Thank you, technology.
But I put up a good fight.
I was steaming the cubed sweet potatoes in cream and butter (a delicious start) while poaching some pears. This attempt at multitasking did no good for either vegetable or fruit.
The timer went off for the sweet potatoes, so I turned it off and promptly forgot about them as I continued my pear activity. Many minutes later, I remembered the sweet potatoes, so I grabbed the masher, removed the lid, and began the battle.
The potato masher is plastic and was in no uncertain terms an underperformer. Its design is impractical and not good enough. I mashed and mashed for a long time and was able to mush some of the sweet potatoes, but most remained solid. I did, however, hurt my shoulder.
I was tempted to throw the masher away, but instead, I put it in the dishwasher and turned to plan B.
Out came the food mill. I've used the food mill for mashing regular potatoes, so I figured sweet potatoes were easily mashable, too.
Except the sweet potatoes broke the food mill.
Stupid food mill.
It went in the trash.
I began to wonder if the problem was perhaps not my kitchen tools. Perhaps instead I had not cooked the sweet potatoes long enough?
A fork proved that my concern was real. However, my sweet potatoes were in an awkward half-mashed, half-not-cooked-enough state. I wasn't sure if putting them back on heat would help to soften them further.
At this point, I had two options--carry on or cry.
I paused and waited for the tears to come, but they didn't. I sighed and decided that carrying on was my only option.
Years of cooking had prepared me for this moment. I looked around the kitchen to figure out which tool to use next.
The molcajete (like a mortar and pestle) was in front of me, so I grabbed the pestle part (hand-held part), put it in a plastic freezer bag (to keep it from getting gross), and started smushing.
It should be noted that by now small mounds of mashed sweet potatoes were scattered around the kitchen.
The molcajete effort was a failure. The hot sweet potatoes and hot dutch oven nearly burned my hand. The molcajete went into the cabinet.
My last and final hope was my immersion blender. When in doubt, find a tool that plugs in.
My blender was significantly awesomer than the other tools that I had tried to use. It didn't get rid of all of the lumps, and it didn't solve the problem of the potatoes being just slightly undercooked, but... it hid most of the problems...after about 20 minutes of blending.
Thank you, technology.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Some photos from NYC
Here are some photos from our trip to NYC.
Here's B at the Museum of Natural History, getting his dino on. I highly recommend the planetarium, as well, even though we had some difficulty finding the entrance.
Here's B at the Museum of Natural History, getting his dino on. I highly recommend the planetarium, as well, even though we had some difficulty finding the entrance.
Here are B and me with the Brooklyn Bridge and the New York skyline in the background. It was a cold evening. My scarf made a nice lap blanket when we were on the bus.
Here we are on the tour bus for a daytime tour. The openings at the front and back made for a brisk ride, but the overhead covering was a godsend for when the sprinkles started.
Here are the ladies in from of FAO Schwartz, home of the piano from Big. We were lucky enough to wander into the room just in time for a demonstration and got to watch two girls play a couple of impressive tunes while dancing and even cartwheeling. B said that he wanted to buy the piano, but since it came with a price tag of $250,000, we decided to pass.
I'm a female tourist, so please rip me off
This past weekend, B and I scooted out of town for a long weekend in New York City with my family. Within an hour of landing in the city, I experienced my first I'm a female tourist so please rip me off moment.
Because it was my parents' first trip to the city, we decided that our main activity of the weekend would be riding the red double-decker buses. There are 4 routes: uptown, downtown, Brooklyn, and night tour. The lower-floor of the bus is enclosed, but the upper deck, exposed, is where the action is at. Being able to see the towering skyscrapers is key to feeling connected to the skyline and buildings that you see in movies and TV shows.
We didn't buy tickets ahead of time and were heading to the office to buy them when we encountered on the street a salesperson from what I thought was a rival company--the blue buses. The map in his brochure was different from the map I had printed from the red company's website, but when I expressed hesitation about buying tickets for a different tour company, he assured me that they were the same.
"The same?" I questioned. Yes, he declared. He said that the companies merged, and if you bought tickets for the blue bus, you could get on either the blue bus or the red bus.
Now I am not an expert on mergers and acquisitions, but I would think that having double buses--in different colors, with different names--would not be conducive to a successful merger or acquisition. There was something definitively fishy about his story.
Especially when his coworker came along and he waved him away with an expression that I can't quite define, but if I had to pretend to be on Lie to Me, I'd say it said, "Don't mess up my little scheme by telling this girl the truth."
Our little dialogue on the street, in the rain, went on for some time. As the buyer, you have the advantage of not having to give someone any money unless you're sure it's the right decision. Eventually, the sales person's friend joined the conversation, as did B, and our sales person admitted (while acting as if he had never made his false claims) that a ticket for the blue bus was good for the blue bus only.
In the end, we all bought tickets for the blue buses because their top decks were covered, and rain was predicted for the entire weekend. I think they might have overcharged us for the tickets. Rewarding a man (with an overpriced sale) who deliberately tried to mislead me leaves me with negative emotions, but [insert an appropriate cliche here; there are many options].
We took 3 of the tours, saving Brooklyn for another time. The top was covered but open in the front and back, and the low-40-degree temperatures combined with off-and-on sprinkles from a lingering Nor'easter inspired us to ride a single loop of each tour and then make way toward something warmer, preferably with hot drinks. Perhaps for the next visit, we'll make use of the hop-on, hop-off option.
So I had a somewhat negative experience with the agressive blue-bus salesperson. Transportation continued to be a source of difficulty throughout the trip.
When we weren't bussing (in a transportation sort of way, not in a kissing sort of way), cabs were the chosen mode of transportation, as they were the easiest method for transporting 6 people across wide swaths of the city in a short amount of time for a low cost. The ladies (my mother, sister, and I) rode in the first cab that B hailed, and the gentleman (B, my father, and my sister's bf) rode in the second cab.
One would think that the cab that left first would arrive first at the destination, and sometimes, we did win. However, for the majority of our cab rides, the ladies left first and arrived last, even when we had a significant head start.
Surely we were not unlucky enough to catch the slow cab drivers in town. No, more likely, the cab drivers saw three women and decided to take the leisurely route to our destination.
These experiences are disheartening. I can't say for certain that people thought they could scam us because we are woman, but that's the conclusion that I have come to. Sadly, no matter how confidant, prepared, or intelligent you are, sometimes people see that you're a woman and assume that you will buy what they're selling or not realize that they're trying to steal from you, in either small or larger ways.
Regardless of the negative tone of this post, we all had a fabulous time in New York and enjoyed our time immensely, even the overpriced transportation.
Because it was my parents' first trip to the city, we decided that our main activity of the weekend would be riding the red double-decker buses. There are 4 routes: uptown, downtown, Brooklyn, and night tour. The lower-floor of the bus is enclosed, but the upper deck, exposed, is where the action is at. Being able to see the towering skyscrapers is key to feeling connected to the skyline and buildings that you see in movies and TV shows.
We didn't buy tickets ahead of time and were heading to the office to buy them when we encountered on the street a salesperson from what I thought was a rival company--the blue buses. The map in his brochure was different from the map I had printed from the red company's website, but when I expressed hesitation about buying tickets for a different tour company, he assured me that they were the same.
"The same?" I questioned. Yes, he declared. He said that the companies merged, and if you bought tickets for the blue bus, you could get on either the blue bus or the red bus.
Now I am not an expert on mergers and acquisitions, but I would think that having double buses--in different colors, with different names--would not be conducive to a successful merger or acquisition. There was something definitively fishy about his story.
Especially when his coworker came along and he waved him away with an expression that I can't quite define, but if I had to pretend to be on Lie to Me, I'd say it said, "Don't mess up my little scheme by telling this girl the truth."
Our little dialogue on the street, in the rain, went on for some time. As the buyer, you have the advantage of not having to give someone any money unless you're sure it's the right decision. Eventually, the sales person's friend joined the conversation, as did B, and our sales person admitted (while acting as if he had never made his false claims) that a ticket for the blue bus was good for the blue bus only.
In the end, we all bought tickets for the blue buses because their top decks were covered, and rain was predicted for the entire weekend. I think they might have overcharged us for the tickets. Rewarding a man (with an overpriced sale) who deliberately tried to mislead me leaves me with negative emotions, but [insert an appropriate cliche here; there are many options].
We took 3 of the tours, saving Brooklyn for another time. The top was covered but open in the front and back, and the low-40-degree temperatures combined with off-and-on sprinkles from a lingering Nor'easter inspired us to ride a single loop of each tour and then make way toward something warmer, preferably with hot drinks. Perhaps for the next visit, we'll make use of the hop-on, hop-off option.
So I had a somewhat negative experience with the agressive blue-bus salesperson. Transportation continued to be a source of difficulty throughout the trip.
When we weren't bussing (in a transportation sort of way, not in a kissing sort of way), cabs were the chosen mode of transportation, as they were the easiest method for transporting 6 people across wide swaths of the city in a short amount of time for a low cost. The ladies (my mother, sister, and I) rode in the first cab that B hailed, and the gentleman (B, my father, and my sister's bf) rode in the second cab.
One would think that the cab that left first would arrive first at the destination, and sometimes, we did win. However, for the majority of our cab rides, the ladies left first and arrived last, even when we had a significant head start.
Surely we were not unlucky enough to catch the slow cab drivers in town. No, more likely, the cab drivers saw three women and decided to take the leisurely route to our destination.
These experiences are disheartening. I can't say for certain that people thought they could scam us because we are woman, but that's the conclusion that I have come to. Sadly, no matter how confidant, prepared, or intelligent you are, sometimes people see that you're a woman and assume that you will buy what they're selling or not realize that they're trying to steal from you, in either small or larger ways.
Regardless of the negative tone of this post, we all had a fabulous time in New York and enjoyed our time immensely, even the overpriced transportation.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Counting my hailstone blessings
You might recall that a mighty hailstorm blew through town many months ago while we were watching Star Trek in the movie theater. The Subie remained undamaged, but the Island Corolla did not fare as well.
I didn't think that I'd repair the body damage, as it was entirely cosmetic, and she's getting up there in years--nearly 8 now--and nobody really cares about a little body damage on an older vehicle. But I called the insurance company to report the damage and get an estimate for the repair.
A week or so later, I received a sizeable check in the mail. I might have even danced a little jig around the living room after I opened the envelope. The best part was that the check was written to me and came with no requirements on how it had to be spent.
There were some caveats, of course. Insurance companies don't give checks like that without getting something in return. My insurance rate didn't go up--hail is considered an act of God, and God can't be billed for it, and I certainly can't be billed on behalf of God--but if I didn't spend the check to repair the damage, the insurance company was going to deduct the check plus my deductible from their valuation of my car. It seemed like a reasonable trade-off to me. I deposited the money into a savings account, sat back, and waited for disaster to strike.
Disaster is supposed to strike, after all, after you've received a windfall--right? I lucked out, I suppose, because no disasters have occurred thus far. However, soon after I received the check, my mechanic pointed out some maintenance that I should consider.
He asked if I planned to keep my car for a while, and I said I planned to keep it for as long as I could. Life without a car payment is fantastic! Plus my roundtrip commute to work is close to 75 miles; there's no point in buying a new car only to start racking up the miles. The Island Corolla is the best mode of transportation for me right now. And I love her.
Back to my mechanic. He praised me for wanting to keep her, and said that she was a great little car and that she's still worth a bit of money, relatively speaking, and that people who drive those Corollas love them and never want to give them up. Amen to that. But he did say that if I plan to keep her for a while, I might consider replacing her struts. He said that struts help keep her balanced and help keep her tires in the right place on the road. I said that I was planning to replace my tires before the upcoming winter, and perhaps I should just have my struts and tires done all at once. He agreed it was a good idea.
And so that's what I had done today, tires and struts and a new serpentine belt and an oil change. There was also a rattle in my exhaust that he took care of.
And what, might you ask, was the grand total of all of this work? Well, it was exactly $19 more than the check that I received for the hail damage. Sometimes windfalls come to you for a reason, and I'm glad that I was able to resist temptation (spending it) long enough to realize that money that comes to you for an item is best spent on the item, even if you spend the money in a different way than originally intended.
Lesson learned: Hail is not so bad after all.
I didn't think that I'd repair the body damage, as it was entirely cosmetic, and she's getting up there in years--nearly 8 now--and nobody really cares about a little body damage on an older vehicle. But I called the insurance company to report the damage and get an estimate for the repair.
A week or so later, I received a sizeable check in the mail. I might have even danced a little jig around the living room after I opened the envelope. The best part was that the check was written to me and came with no requirements on how it had to be spent.
There were some caveats, of course. Insurance companies don't give checks like that without getting something in return. My insurance rate didn't go up--hail is considered an act of God, and God can't be billed for it, and I certainly can't be billed on behalf of God--but if I didn't spend the check to repair the damage, the insurance company was going to deduct the check plus my deductible from their valuation of my car. It seemed like a reasonable trade-off to me. I deposited the money into a savings account, sat back, and waited for disaster to strike.
Disaster is supposed to strike, after all, after you've received a windfall--right? I lucked out, I suppose, because no disasters have occurred thus far. However, soon after I received the check, my mechanic pointed out some maintenance that I should consider.
He asked if I planned to keep my car for a while, and I said I planned to keep it for as long as I could. Life without a car payment is fantastic! Plus my roundtrip commute to work is close to 75 miles; there's no point in buying a new car only to start racking up the miles. The Island Corolla is the best mode of transportation for me right now. And I love her.
Back to my mechanic. He praised me for wanting to keep her, and said that she was a great little car and that she's still worth a bit of money, relatively speaking, and that people who drive those Corollas love them and never want to give them up. Amen to that. But he did say that if I plan to keep her for a while, I might consider replacing her struts. He said that struts help keep her balanced and help keep her tires in the right place on the road. I said that I was planning to replace my tires before the upcoming winter, and perhaps I should just have my struts and tires done all at once. He agreed it was a good idea.
And so that's what I had done today, tires and struts and a new serpentine belt and an oil change. There was also a rattle in my exhaust that he took care of.
And what, might you ask, was the grand total of all of this work? Well, it was exactly $19 more than the check that I received for the hail damage. Sometimes windfalls come to you for a reason, and I'm glad that I was able to resist temptation (spending it) long enough to realize that money that comes to you for an item is best spent on the item, even if you spend the money in a different way than originally intended.
Lesson learned: Hail is not so bad after all.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Nola 2010?
Our next vacation, Puerto Rico, is coming up, so naturally I have started looking ahead to the vacation that we'll take after that.
If you're wondering if I spend too much time planning and not enough time living in the moment, you have a reasonable concern. However, I don't think that the ability and tendency to plan (for the short-term, long-term, and unforeseen) is necessarily exclusive of the ability to live in the moment. The moment I'm living in now is fine enough; I'm eating pizza crusts at the kitchen table, listening to the dueling sounds of a running dishwasher that sounds as if it has trapped a mouse (squeak squeak) and New Orleans jazz on the radio (public radio, of course). The house is a bit on the cool side but not quite cold enough to justify turning on the heat for the first time this year or even flipping the switch on the gas fireplace.
If you think this moment is sounding peaceful and a tad on the dull side, I'm not offended because that's exactly the point I'm trying to make. Living in the moment is great, but what if not much is going on in the moment and you can make it more exciting by working toward creating better moments for the future?
I have convinced myself. It's easy to win an argument when there's no one to offer a counter argument. But let's get back to my favorite topic, vacation.
I had been feeling a tad distraught lately because no city's siren call was loud enough to catch my attention. "Where, oh where will we go for our next vacation?" I shouted out my window into the darkness each night. Well, perhaps it wasn't as dramatic as that, but there might have been a little moping and the occasional, "I don't know where I want to go on vacation next!" whine to B, who takes a much more laid-back approach to travel and doesn't understand the agony that such a situation brings to me. It's ok. He falls a whole lot closer to "Normal" than I do on this scale.
Jackson Hole has not fallen off my radar. However, B told me recently that the summer months could be difficult for travel because of work so we might have to go away in the spring. Jackson would be cold but doable in March or April, but the nearby national parks would likely be difficult to visit due to road closures from snow and/or melt. Summer and fall are much better months for that area. So Jackson is not off the list but it's probably not going to be the next destination, not if we want to go away in March or April.
I decided to try the old sit-back-and-wait approach. We weren't going to book anything until after we got back from PR anyway, so why torture myself with the once-daily flight check (has it gone up?? has it gone down??) until we're actually ready to buy flights?
My strategy paid off. A city has popped into my head and won't go away. I saw a little of the city when So You Think You Can Dance visited last week (or rather, aired the episode last week from when they visited this past summer) and thought it looked nice but didn't think any more of it.
Until earlier this week, that is, when I thought, "What would be a good place to go for a long weekend?" And there it was--New Orleans--strutting through my head with cajun music, wrought iron, Mardi Gras beads, jazz brunches, and beignets.
I broached the subject with B, who was interested, so I visited the local B&N to pick up a guidebook. Pickins were slim but I found an acceptable guidebook that I have since read cover to cover, growing more and more excited by the page. Similar to PR, New Orleans feels like another country, from its architecture to food to music to language/accents. However, just like PR, it isn't another country, so you can pay with the dollar (a nice perk; the dollar is weak weak weeeeeak these days) and get there in a reasonable amount of time (flying, of course).
The trip has grown from a long weekend to a five- or six-night adventure, in my mind anyway. I haven't booked anything so I can make all of the plans that I want to. But there are so many activities that I think we could easily fill five or six days. Here are a few good options that I've found so far:
If you're wondering if I spend too much time planning and not enough time living in the moment, you have a reasonable concern. However, I don't think that the ability and tendency to plan (for the short-term, long-term, and unforeseen) is necessarily exclusive of the ability to live in the moment. The moment I'm living in now is fine enough; I'm eating pizza crusts at the kitchen table, listening to the dueling sounds of a running dishwasher that sounds as if it has trapped a mouse (squeak squeak) and New Orleans jazz on the radio (public radio, of course). The house is a bit on the cool side but not quite cold enough to justify turning on the heat for the first time this year or even flipping the switch on the gas fireplace.
If you think this moment is sounding peaceful and a tad on the dull side, I'm not offended because that's exactly the point I'm trying to make. Living in the moment is great, but what if not much is going on in the moment and you can make it more exciting by working toward creating better moments for the future?
I have convinced myself. It's easy to win an argument when there's no one to offer a counter argument. But let's get back to my favorite topic, vacation.
I had been feeling a tad distraught lately because no city's siren call was loud enough to catch my attention. "Where, oh where will we go for our next vacation?" I shouted out my window into the darkness each night. Well, perhaps it wasn't as dramatic as that, but there might have been a little moping and the occasional, "I don't know where I want to go on vacation next!" whine to B, who takes a much more laid-back approach to travel and doesn't understand the agony that such a situation brings to me. It's ok. He falls a whole lot closer to "Normal" than I do on this scale.
Jackson Hole has not fallen off my radar. However, B told me recently that the summer months could be difficult for travel because of work so we might have to go away in the spring. Jackson would be cold but doable in March or April, but the nearby national parks would likely be difficult to visit due to road closures from snow and/or melt. Summer and fall are much better months for that area. So Jackson is not off the list but it's probably not going to be the next destination, not if we want to go away in March or April.
I decided to try the old sit-back-and-wait approach. We weren't going to book anything until after we got back from PR anyway, so why torture myself with the once-daily flight check (has it gone up?? has it gone down??) until we're actually ready to buy flights?
My strategy paid off. A city has popped into my head and won't go away. I saw a little of the city when So You Think You Can Dance visited last week (or rather, aired the episode last week from when they visited this past summer) and thought it looked nice but didn't think any more of it.
Until earlier this week, that is, when I thought, "What would be a good place to go for a long weekend?" And there it was--New Orleans--strutting through my head with cajun music, wrought iron, Mardi Gras beads, jazz brunches, and beignets.
I broached the subject with B, who was interested, so I visited the local B&N to pick up a guidebook. Pickins were slim but I found an acceptable guidebook that I have since read cover to cover, growing more and more excited by the page. Similar to PR, New Orleans feels like another country, from its architecture to food to music to language/accents. However, just like PR, it isn't another country, so you can pay with the dollar (a nice perk; the dollar is weak weak weeeeeak these days) and get there in a reasonable amount of time (flying, of course).
The trip has grown from a long weekend to a five- or six-night adventure, in my mind anyway. I haven't booked anything so I can make all of the plans that I want to. But there are so many activities that I think we could easily fill five or six days. Here are a few good options that I've found so far:
- Visiting the zoo.
- Taking a ride on the Natchez riverboat.
- Taking a Katrina tour.
- Riding the streetcar (named Desire?) through the Garden District. Brangelina sighting optional.
- Kicking it in the French Quarter.
- Taking a boat ride through a swamp.
- Visiting a plantation.
- Listening to live jazz, cajun, and zydeco music.
- Eating beignets, muffaletta sandwiches, po'boys, and other quintessential Nola foods (though I must confess, I am a little concerned that seafood plays such a significant role in the diet - I will have to stock up on Larabars if we go).
- Shouting "Stella!" at random balconies while clutching my head. Overdone, perhaps, but amusing to me.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Ten months of hair neglect followed by a blowout
Last week I had my first haircut since last December. December! Almost ten months. When you chop off a foot of hair, some time has to pass before you're comfortable going back to the hair salon.
I usually wait until I hate my hair or can no longer brush it and then make an appointment, and this time was no exception. Luckily I can still brush it (it is only down to my shoulders, after all) but had started wearing my hair in a bun almost exclusively--never a good sign. I booked a cut and color a few weeks ago but had to wait longer than expected because my stylist was on maternity leave (something I didn't realize since I hadn't seen her since last year).
My stylist offered light scolding for waiting so long to return. She says that if you cut your hair frequently, even just a little bit, it grows faster. How does the root know what's going on at the other end? It's a mystery that someone else will have to solve. I asked the absolute longest that I could wait between cuts, expecting her to say 4 months or so. She said 8 weeks.
Does anyone who doesn't color regularly make such frequent appointments? Aside from the lengthy time commitment (last week's visit was a 3+-hour activity), the cost adds up very quickly. When I started going to my stylist, she was a junior stylist, so cuts were cheaper. However, a cut and color is more and more expensive every time I visit.
Perhaps I can aspire to visit every 4 months--that seems like a reasonable commitment (both in time and finances), though I bet I could stretch it out to 6 months without much of a difference. To return in February or April? Stay tuned, eager reader; suspense like this is difficult to handle.
Before I left the salon, I asked for a shampoo recommendation. I knew it would be pricier than the hair products that I buy at Target, but I was willing to gamble on the $15 bottle of shampoo. I left the salon with $60 worth of shampoo, conditioner, and hair oil (to be applied before and after blowdrying--I was unsure about this one but am easily persuaded when cosmetics are involved). The brand is Moroccanoil, which is screaming out for an extra space, but that's how they spell it.
I've used my new hair products twice and am sad to say that my hair-care budget is likely going to have to go up. These bottles are half the size of most drugstore brands and about four times as expensive, but after I shampoo, my hair feels the way it does after I condition it with the drugstore stuff. After I condition it, my hair is happier than it has been in a while. I'm still undecided on the hair oil, but I'll keep using it and assume it's doing what it's supposed to (whatever that is).
Of course, these new products don't mean that I can style my hair any better than I could before. If miracles like that can be bought, I suspect they cost more than $60. However, I am nothing but pleased with my new hair. Here's a pic. It looked better after I returned from the salon, so use your imagination and pretend I look like a cover model.
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I usually wait until I hate my hair or can no longer brush it and then make an appointment, and this time was no exception. Luckily I can still brush it (it is only down to my shoulders, after all) but had started wearing my hair in a bun almost exclusively--never a good sign. I booked a cut and color a few weeks ago but had to wait longer than expected because my stylist was on maternity leave (something I didn't realize since I hadn't seen her since last year).
My stylist offered light scolding for waiting so long to return. She says that if you cut your hair frequently, even just a little bit, it grows faster. How does the root know what's going on at the other end? It's a mystery that someone else will have to solve. I asked the absolute longest that I could wait between cuts, expecting her to say 4 months or so. She said 8 weeks.
Does anyone who doesn't color regularly make such frequent appointments? Aside from the lengthy time commitment (last week's visit was a 3+-hour activity), the cost adds up very quickly. When I started going to my stylist, she was a junior stylist, so cuts were cheaper. However, a cut and color is more and more expensive every time I visit.
Perhaps I can aspire to visit every 4 months--that seems like a reasonable commitment (both in time and finances), though I bet I could stretch it out to 6 months without much of a difference. To return in February or April? Stay tuned, eager reader; suspense like this is difficult to handle.
Before I left the salon, I asked for a shampoo recommendation. I knew it would be pricier than the hair products that I buy at Target, but I was willing to gamble on the $15 bottle of shampoo. I left the salon with $60 worth of shampoo, conditioner, and hair oil (to be applied before and after blowdrying--I was unsure about this one but am easily persuaded when cosmetics are involved). The brand is Moroccanoil, which is screaming out for an extra space, but that's how they spell it.
I've used my new hair products twice and am sad to say that my hair-care budget is likely going to have to go up. These bottles are half the size of most drugstore brands and about four times as expensive, but after I shampoo, my hair feels the way it does after I condition it with the drugstore stuff. After I condition it, my hair is happier than it has been in a while. I'm still undecided on the hair oil, but I'll keep using it and assume it's doing what it's supposed to (whatever that is).
Of course, these new products don't mean that I can style my hair any better than I could before. If miracles like that can be bought, I suspect they cost more than $60. However, I am nothing but pleased with my new hair. Here's a pic. It looked better after I returned from the salon, so use your imagination and pretend I look like a cover model.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Framing pics
My negligence with posting photos is unacceptable! Motivation has won the day today. (Perhaps only because it gives me an opportunity to show off? Feel free to draw your own conclusions.)
Below is our first framing project. B picked up the painted-suede piece of art in Mexico while we were on our Caribbean cruise in 2006, and I had it framed for his birthday that year. In the background you can see the new color of our upstairs hallway, painted 2 weeks ago, though it really doesn't look like that in person. It's much more like mint ice cream.
Below is our first framing project. B picked up the painted-suede piece of art in Mexico while we were on our Caribbean cruise in 2006, and I had it framed for his birthday that year. In the background you can see the new color of our upstairs hallway, painted 2 weeks ago, though it really doesn't look like that in person. It's much more like mint ice cream.
Here is the first honeymoon print, which we picked up in Mougins (I mistakenly typed Mougin in the previous post). Does that scene not look like a honeymoon? I suppose ours was a bit short on sunflowers (they weren't in season), but we did see lots of blue, in the south of France, anyway.
Here are the other 3 honeymoon prints. As you can see, they are currently propped up against our coffee table in our living room. We are still prepping the wall upon which they will hang; we removed a floating shelf from it this weekend and had to repair about 8 sizeable holes in the wall and still have to sand and paint them. And by "we," I suspect you know that I don't mean me.
Below are 2 prints we picked up in Venice last year. I thought the colors were interesting and liked the gondolas, especially since we celebrated our first anniversary with a gondola ride (and a $5 pizza dinner).
And here are the newest members of the family! We picked them up in Vermont and have not yet brought them in for framing, though we have already identified where they will live in our house. If you're wondering about the prints from Greece that we recently brought in for framing: they're not ready yet. This weekend, I hope.
And since we're doing pictures, I figured I'd post our new whale. I have stopped worrying that he will fall on my head in the middle of the night and maim me. Plus I lost the battle for moving him to the living room, so above our bed he remains. He's a dashing fellow and I'm really glad we picked him up, no matter how much he (and the silverware and the shoe armoire and the framing) have put a hurt on the September budget.
Friday, September 25, 2009
To frame or not to frame?
Being possessed of an incompletely decorated house, B and I engage in a magical treasure hunt with every trip away as we search for the newest acquisition to adorn our walls, tables, and shelves.
Home decor excites one of us perhaps more than the other. As B pointed out to me recently, "There aren't many men out there who get excited about framing." Perhaps that is true. I don't mind leading the charge (stampede, bulldozer, whichever you prefer) toward decorative nirvana.
Did you know that thesuarus.com presents "nonfunctional" as an alternate for "decorative"? The suggestion is a bit hurtful. True, the pursuit of things is a questionable hobby, one might even call it superficial, though as it turns out, the definition to which I refer appears fifth in the list of definitions for "superficial" on dictionary.com, so perhaps I need a different word.
Some synonym options: Cosmetic, exterior, trivial. None seems all that bad, does it. Home decor might present a cosmetic exterior, but I refuse to believe that surrounding yourself with beautiful things that remind you of great memories is a trivial activity.
The framed print in our dining area brings me back to Mougin, a small town in the south of France popular with artists. We visited early in the morning on our honeymoon on a Monday--if you've been to France and are a shopper, you are all to aware that most stores are closed on Mondays. We wandered the narrow, cobblestoned streets, awake with only the cats and restaurant owners who were putting out empty wine bottles that had been enjoyed that weekend, peering into the windows of stores that wouldn't open for 24 hours and enjoying the golden and gorgeous early-morning Cote d'Azur sun.
As we were leaving the town, we happened upon an open gallery/studio. The artist, a dark, long-haired, and 40-something scruffy man who could only have been a French artist opened his doors and headed to an outdoor table to enjoy his espresso, cigarette, and newspaper with his young-enough-to be-his-daughter leggy girlfriend. B and I tiptoed in and admired his art, lovely and colorful and perfect for us and our house, or it would have been, if the price had been within our budget. We consoled ourselves with a print of his work and managed to travel many thousands of miles home without wrinkling it too much in our suitcase. Upon arriving home, we brought it to a local store for framing.
Those who have had anything framed--but especially a large print--understand the sticker shock that comes with such an activity. The framing always costs more than you think it should, and you reach a critical crossroads at the framing counter, wondering whether you really want the picture framed that badly, or whether you ought to just wait and see if you can find a frame in a store that will look fine enough, even though it won't be the right fit, even though the mats won't match.
When I reach those crossroads, I close my eyes, dig deep (in my purse, for my debit card), and remind myself that money is only money, and while it can't buy happiness, it can help create a heavenly home. And, two weeks later, when I pick up my frame, take it home, and hang it on the wall that was made for it, I never feel regret for a single penny.
Yesterday we dropped off a couple of prints, acquired in Greece a year ago, to be framed. They'll be ready in a couple weeks and will join the rest of our treasures. I've already chosen their location--the bottom of our stairs, a location that previously held three other framed prints, also from our honeymoon, picked up from a street market on our last day in Paris (also a Monday, a week after the first acquisition--hey, I can find shopping even when all the stores are closed).
Yes, I do believe that pictures are in order. Coming soon.
Home decor excites one of us perhaps more than the other. As B pointed out to me recently, "There aren't many men out there who get excited about framing." Perhaps that is true. I don't mind leading the charge (stampede, bulldozer, whichever you prefer) toward decorative nirvana.
Did you know that thesuarus.com presents "nonfunctional" as an alternate for "decorative"? The suggestion is a bit hurtful. True, the pursuit of things is a questionable hobby, one might even call it superficial, though as it turns out, the definition to which I refer appears fifth in the list of definitions for "superficial" on dictionary.com, so perhaps I need a different word.
Some synonym options: Cosmetic, exterior, trivial. None seems all that bad, does it. Home decor might present a cosmetic exterior, but I refuse to believe that surrounding yourself with beautiful things that remind you of great memories is a trivial activity.
The framed print in our dining area brings me back to Mougin, a small town in the south of France popular with artists. We visited early in the morning on our honeymoon on a Monday--if you've been to France and are a shopper, you are all to aware that most stores are closed on Mondays. We wandered the narrow, cobblestoned streets, awake with only the cats and restaurant owners who were putting out empty wine bottles that had been enjoyed that weekend, peering into the windows of stores that wouldn't open for 24 hours and enjoying the golden and gorgeous early-morning Cote d'Azur sun.
As we were leaving the town, we happened upon an open gallery/studio. The artist, a dark, long-haired, and 40-something scruffy man who could only have been a French artist opened his doors and headed to an outdoor table to enjoy his espresso, cigarette, and newspaper with his young-enough-to be-his-daughter leggy girlfriend. B and I tiptoed in and admired his art, lovely and colorful and perfect for us and our house, or it would have been, if the price had been within our budget. We consoled ourselves with a print of his work and managed to travel many thousands of miles home without wrinkling it too much in our suitcase. Upon arriving home, we brought it to a local store for framing.
Those who have had anything framed--but especially a large print--understand the sticker shock that comes with such an activity. The framing always costs more than you think it should, and you reach a critical crossroads at the framing counter, wondering whether you really want the picture framed that badly, or whether you ought to just wait and see if you can find a frame in a store that will look fine enough, even though it won't be the right fit, even though the mats won't match.
When I reach those crossroads, I close my eyes, dig deep (in my purse, for my debit card), and remind myself that money is only money, and while it can't buy happiness, it can help create a heavenly home. And, two weeks later, when I pick up my frame, take it home, and hang it on the wall that was made for it, I never feel regret for a single penny.
Yesterday we dropped off a couple of prints, acquired in Greece a year ago, to be framed. They'll be ready in a couple weeks and will join the rest of our treasures. I've already chosen their location--the bottom of our stairs, a location that previously held three other framed prints, also from our honeymoon, picked up from a street market on our last day in Paris (also a Monday, a week after the first acquisition--hey, I can find shopping even when all the stores are closed).
Yes, I do believe that pictures are in order. Coming soon.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Hotwire: All that and then some
Bargain hunter though I strive to be, especially for travel, I had never tried bidding or blinded travel sites until recently.
I liked the idea of a bargain--who doesn't?--but not finding out critical information such as the time of the flight and the name and address of the hotel until after I booked and paid was way more adventurous than I like to be. For a short vacation, the time that your flights leave and your total time in the air are critical. Similarly, the location of your hotel can significantly improve or hurt your vacation experience.
But I recently found an occasion for which buying a hotel room "blindly" was not such a bad thing.
We're heading back to NYC shortly and decided to find a hotel room in Stamford, CT for the night before so we can get a jump on the day's activities. We didn't care where we stayed, as long as the hotel was close to the train station and was in a safe area. A three-plus star rating was not required but was certainly a bonus.
I started investigating on hotels.com and found some acceptable deals starting around $80, which is not too bad. Most of the nicer hotels were priced at $120 and up, though. On a whim, I decided to check out the deals on hotwire.com and found a 3.5-star hotel for $59/night--bargain! I returned to hotels.com to investigate the 3.5-star hotels in the area and found 3--a Hyatt, a Marriott, and a Holiday Inn. All three looked nice enough from their websites and were advertising prices that were close to $200/night. I knew that I had stumbled upon a good deal.
I didn't book right away, though, and good thing--because the price fell $4 more by the next day! At $55/night, I knew I couldn't pass up the deal, so I booked. Hotwire told me the total amount of the taxes (at $55/night, they weren't too high). The booking page said that sometimes hotels charge additional fees, such as a resort or parking fee, and they would be due upon arrival or checkout. I suspect we'll have to pay some nominal parking charge, and that's ok with me.
After I clicked "Buy," the page told me the hotel that we are staying at (and I was right--it is one of the three I suspected).
So far, I am very pleased with Hotwire. Of course, everyone has heard a horror story or two about online travel agencies, so I'll try not to get too enthusiastic until we check in and the hotel actually has a room for us. But I intend to call the hotel to confirm the reservation with them (always a good idea when you book through a third party) and to inquire about additional fees.
Hotwire isn't for everyone, of course. First of all, you have to pay all of the charges at the time of booking. They offer some level of trip insurance, but it doesn't cover you if you change your mind. Definitely read the fine print before you decide to buy their insurance. Second, they don't offer you a choice of rooms; they recommend that you call the hotel after booking to tell them your requests, such as one king or two double beds. Third, I've read online reviews of people who book hotels through discount sites and end up in the smallest and worst rooms in the hotel. Finally, even if you book a hotel that offers a frequent stay program, such as a Starwood hotel, your stay doesn't count as a stay and you don't earn any points from the stay.
Now I've tried Hotwire--perhaps someday, I will be brave enough to bid on a flight or hotel on Priceline.
I liked the idea of a bargain--who doesn't?--but not finding out critical information such as the time of the flight and the name and address of the hotel until after I booked and paid was way more adventurous than I like to be. For a short vacation, the time that your flights leave and your total time in the air are critical. Similarly, the location of your hotel can significantly improve or hurt your vacation experience.
But I recently found an occasion for which buying a hotel room "blindly" was not such a bad thing.
We're heading back to NYC shortly and decided to find a hotel room in Stamford, CT for the night before so we can get a jump on the day's activities. We didn't care where we stayed, as long as the hotel was close to the train station and was in a safe area. A three-plus star rating was not required but was certainly a bonus.
I started investigating on hotels.com and found some acceptable deals starting around $80, which is not too bad. Most of the nicer hotels were priced at $120 and up, though. On a whim, I decided to check out the deals on hotwire.com and found a 3.5-star hotel for $59/night--bargain! I returned to hotels.com to investigate the 3.5-star hotels in the area and found 3--a Hyatt, a Marriott, and a Holiday Inn. All three looked nice enough from their websites and were advertising prices that were close to $200/night. I knew that I had stumbled upon a good deal.
I didn't book right away, though, and good thing--because the price fell $4 more by the next day! At $55/night, I knew I couldn't pass up the deal, so I booked. Hotwire told me the total amount of the taxes (at $55/night, they weren't too high). The booking page said that sometimes hotels charge additional fees, such as a resort or parking fee, and they would be due upon arrival or checkout. I suspect we'll have to pay some nominal parking charge, and that's ok with me.
After I clicked "Buy," the page told me the hotel that we are staying at (and I was right--it is one of the three I suspected).
So far, I am very pleased with Hotwire. Of course, everyone has heard a horror story or two about online travel agencies, so I'll try not to get too enthusiastic until we check in and the hotel actually has a room for us. But I intend to call the hotel to confirm the reservation with them (always a good idea when you book through a third party) and to inquire about additional fees.
Hotwire isn't for everyone, of course. First of all, you have to pay all of the charges at the time of booking. They offer some level of trip insurance, but it doesn't cover you if you change your mind. Definitely read the fine print before you decide to buy their insurance. Second, they don't offer you a choice of rooms; they recommend that you call the hotel after booking to tell them your requests, such as one king or two double beds. Third, I've read online reviews of people who book hotels through discount sites and end up in the smallest and worst rooms in the hotel. Finally, even if you book a hotel that offers a frequent stay program, such as a Starwood hotel, your stay doesn't count as a stay and you don't earn any points from the stay.
Now I've tried Hotwire--perhaps someday, I will be brave enough to bid on a flight or hotel on Priceline.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
And then we bought a whale
We headed to the Cape for Labor Day weekend and came back with a new acquisition for our home - a copper whale.
On the one hand, who buys a 3-foot, 3-dimensional copper whale and then hangs it from a ceiling in their house? It's kind of a strange acquisition.
On the other hand, who hasn't walked into a store, seen an item, and thought, "I can't leave the store without it!" That's how it was with the whale. It (he?) called our names. B didn't need much convincing for that purchase.
The whale has two circles about a foot apart on his back for hanging. He was hanging by some clear plastic string from a hook on the wall. The woman at the store recommended that we not hang him directly against the wall because he is three dimensional. He's only about an inch and a half wide, but he still can't lie flat against the wall.
We had a few ideas for hanging him and headed to Lowe's to buy the hardware. We decided to hang him from hooks in the ceiling and as decorative a chain as we could find. "Decorative" is maybe too generous of a word, but it looks fine enough.
When we bought him, we figured we'd hang him above our bed because we don't have anything on that wall. That's where he hangs now, but I'm not convinced that it's the best place. We might need to install a couple more ceiling hooks and try him out in the living room.
What this post really needs is a picture. I'll get to it, as soon as we decide where his permanent home will be. Until then, we're still trying to come up with a name for him. If you have any ideas, send them along.
On the one hand, who buys a 3-foot, 3-dimensional copper whale and then hangs it from a ceiling in their house? It's kind of a strange acquisition.
On the other hand, who hasn't walked into a store, seen an item, and thought, "I can't leave the store without it!" That's how it was with the whale. It (he?) called our names. B didn't need much convincing for that purchase.
The whale has two circles about a foot apart on his back for hanging. He was hanging by some clear plastic string from a hook on the wall. The woman at the store recommended that we not hang him directly against the wall because he is three dimensional. He's only about an inch and a half wide, but he still can't lie flat against the wall.
We had a few ideas for hanging him and headed to Lowe's to buy the hardware. We decided to hang him from hooks in the ceiling and as decorative a chain as we could find. "Decorative" is maybe too generous of a word, but it looks fine enough.
When we bought him, we figured we'd hang him above our bed because we don't have anything on that wall. That's where he hangs now, but I'm not convinced that it's the best place. We might need to install a couple more ceiling hooks and try him out in the living room.
What this post really needs is a picture. I'll get to it, as soon as we decide where his permanent home will be. Until then, we're still trying to come up with a name for him. If you have any ideas, send them along.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Shoe nirvana
As I mentioned in my last post, September has been a month of spending.
I already talked about the silverware. It's nice to use grownup silverware. Moments like these make my upcoming milestone birthday a little easier to accept.
In addition to the silverware, I also bought a new shoe armoire. I have discussed our shoe issues in the past. B and I own quite a few pairs of shoes between us. Mine fit nicely into little (ok, not that little) plastic shoe boxes from The Container Store and live on the top shelf in my closet. The remaining pairs--the ones that get more frequent use--hang from a shoe rack on the back of the door of our coat closet.
B's shoes are a bit bigger than mine. They don't fit into my plastic shoe boxes, and they are too big for the door shoe rack. We use a metal wire rack that now lives in our spare bedroom and is devoted exclusively to his sneakers, shoes, and boots. Unfortunately, they don't all fit, and the chaos is just too much for me.
I have a very low tolerance for clutter, especially of the shoe variety.
While cruising the Hammacher Schlemmer site--the store that sold the shoe box that I originally intended to buy--I discovered a fabulous bigger shoe box that was on sale (how convenient!).
I proposed the purchase to B--we generally consult on non-necessary purchases--and his feelings were neutral. He isn't as bothered by the shoe mess as I am, but he understands that it bothers me and was open to buying the shoe armoire. I didn't need any more convincing.
Thanks to Retail Me Not, I didn't have to pay shipping on what turned out to be a very heavy item - over 70 pounds. The armoire did not arrive fully assembled, but we put it together without needing any tools, and you'd never know when looking at it that it arrived in a box, Ikea-style.
The box holds 25 pairs of shoes, and B is kindly sharing the space with me. He has 15 slots and I'm taking the remaining 10. We can finally repurpose (or perhaps donate) the metal rack, and the back-of-the-door shoe rack can also probably go away.
We have achieved shoe harmony.
I already talked about the silverware. It's nice to use grownup silverware. Moments like these make my upcoming milestone birthday a little easier to accept.
In addition to the silverware, I also bought a new shoe armoire. I have discussed our shoe issues in the past. B and I own quite a few pairs of shoes between us. Mine fit nicely into little (ok, not that little) plastic shoe boxes from The Container Store and live on the top shelf in my closet. The remaining pairs--the ones that get more frequent use--hang from a shoe rack on the back of the door of our coat closet.
B's shoes are a bit bigger than mine. They don't fit into my plastic shoe boxes, and they are too big for the door shoe rack. We use a metal wire rack that now lives in our spare bedroom and is devoted exclusively to his sneakers, shoes, and boots. Unfortunately, they don't all fit, and the chaos is just too much for me.
I have a very low tolerance for clutter, especially of the shoe variety.
While cruising the Hammacher Schlemmer site--the store that sold the shoe box that I originally intended to buy--I discovered a fabulous bigger shoe box that was on sale (how convenient!).
I proposed the purchase to B--we generally consult on non-necessary purchases--and his feelings were neutral. He isn't as bothered by the shoe mess as I am, but he understands that it bothers me and was open to buying the shoe armoire. I didn't need any more convincing.
Thanks to Retail Me Not, I didn't have to pay shipping on what turned out to be a very heavy item - over 70 pounds. The armoire did not arrive fully assembled, but we put it together without needing any tools, and you'd never know when looking at it that it arrived in a box, Ikea-style.
The box holds 25 pairs of shoes, and B is kindly sharing the space with me. He has 15 slots and I'm taking the remaining 10. We can finally repurpose (or perhaps donate) the metal rack, and the back-of-the-door shoe rack can also probably go away.
We have achieved shoe harmony.
Friday, September 11, 2009
I expected better advice, Vera
The past two Septembers have featured decadent trips to European countries, which were ideal for spending binges. When we saw something we wanted--or rather, let me clarify--when I saw something I wanted for us, we bought it.
"B..." I'd say in a particular tone of voice that he is good at mimicking, "Can I have some money?" (I always carried euros but it's a pain taking them out of my money belt.)
At this point, B would sigh and ask how much I needed, but he generally didn't put up much of a fight. He sometimes thinks my proposed purchases are unnecessary but in hindsight, agrees that they are worthwhile.
This September, we have no big European trip planned. In fact, we have no trip planned for the entire month. Home we shall stay, but that doesn't mean that I can just give up my annual spending spree! Good habits like that are difficult to break.
The spree started with the flatware. Remember the flatware I wanted to buy ages ago? Well, I finally got around to buying it. It's by Vera Wang and it's called Equestrian, and it's been discontinued. I feared that if I waited any longer, I wouldn't be able to get it anymore. We ordered a single set from Amazon to make sure we liked the weight and feel, and we did, so we ordered a full set from Replacements.com. It arrived yesterday, and we've already started using it. It came with some interesting instructions:
1. Wash thoroughtly prior to first use.
No problem. This one is pretty common sense. We were able to fit about 3/4 of the set into the flatware slots in our dishwasher, and the remaining pieces will get washed next time the dishwasher fills up.
2. While Vera Wang stainless steel is dishwasher safe, we recommend stopping the cycle prior to drying and removing the knives to hand dry the blades.
Really? Really?? This recommendation reminds me of those ads with the woman running down the stairs, frantically clutching her fabric softener bottle, but always missing the point in the cycle when she's supposed to add the magic softener. I'm not going to set the alarm so I can wake up at 3 AM (which is when our dishwasher cycle usually ends - we have a 6-hour countdown timer on it and usually run it in the middle of the night to take advantage of what we hope are cheaper electricity rates) so I can dry the blades on my butter knives. Lame advice.
3. Do not allow your flatware to soak, even in plain water, or remain unwashed overnight.
There are some days when we have to run the dishwasher on a nightly basis, but we frequently can go 2-3 days without running it through. And the whole point of a dishwasher is to not have to wash annoying things like forks by hand. Definitely not practical.
4. Do not wrap in rubber bands, plastic, newspaper, or any high sulphur material.
I wonder if the plastic that the pieces came enclosed in is excluded?
Bad instructions aside, we're loving our flatware. The spending spree continued with a whale and a shoe armoire - I'll save those treasures for another time.
"B..." I'd say in a particular tone of voice that he is good at mimicking, "Can I have some money?" (I always carried euros but it's a pain taking them out of my money belt.)
At this point, B would sigh and ask how much I needed, but he generally didn't put up much of a fight. He sometimes thinks my proposed purchases are unnecessary but in hindsight, agrees that they are worthwhile.
This September, we have no big European trip planned. In fact, we have no trip planned for the entire month. Home we shall stay, but that doesn't mean that I can just give up my annual spending spree! Good habits like that are difficult to break.
The spree started with the flatware. Remember the flatware I wanted to buy ages ago? Well, I finally got around to buying it. It's by Vera Wang and it's called Equestrian, and it's been discontinued. I feared that if I waited any longer, I wouldn't be able to get it anymore. We ordered a single set from Amazon to make sure we liked the weight and feel, and we did, so we ordered a full set from Replacements.com. It arrived yesterday, and we've already started using it. It came with some interesting instructions:
1. Wash thoroughtly prior to first use.
No problem. This one is pretty common sense. We were able to fit about 3/4 of the set into the flatware slots in our dishwasher, and the remaining pieces will get washed next time the dishwasher fills up.
2. While Vera Wang stainless steel is dishwasher safe, we recommend stopping the cycle prior to drying and removing the knives to hand dry the blades.
Really? Really?? This recommendation reminds me of those ads with the woman running down the stairs, frantically clutching her fabric softener bottle, but always missing the point in the cycle when she's supposed to add the magic softener. I'm not going to set the alarm so I can wake up at 3 AM (which is when our dishwasher cycle usually ends - we have a 6-hour countdown timer on it and usually run it in the middle of the night to take advantage of what we hope are cheaper electricity rates) so I can dry the blades on my butter knives. Lame advice.
3. Do not allow your flatware to soak, even in plain water, or remain unwashed overnight.
There are some days when we have to run the dishwasher on a nightly basis, but we frequently can go 2-3 days without running it through. And the whole point of a dishwasher is to not have to wash annoying things like forks by hand. Definitely not practical.
4. Do not wrap in rubber bands, plastic, newspaper, or any high sulphur material.
I wonder if the plastic that the pieces came enclosed in is excluded?
Bad instructions aside, we're loving our flatware. The spending spree continued with a whale and a shoe armoire - I'll save those treasures for another time.
Five years of awesome
Yesterday marked the five-year anniversary of B's and my first date, and I was reminiscing about the time we spent together before our first date.
You might say that our relationship developed during a series of after-work happy-hour outings to local bars, back when you could smoke in bars, back when one of us did smoke.
I always drank Coke, Sprite, or water because I was a driving commuter. B was a Bud guy.
The first time that B asked me out, I had to say no because I was joining a group of coworkers for a harbor cruise that night. We were going on the Sunday of Labor Day weekend. Wasn't he going, I asked. He said he wasn't because he got seasick on boats.
After LS and I boarded the (disappointing, dark, and dingy) vessel, I saw him. He showed up in spite of the threat of illness at sea. I stopped worrying that our boat would sink at any moment and realized that the night was full of potential.
We spent the whole evening together, talking and laughing. I knew from time spent together at bars that I was interested in getting to know B better, but I wasn't sure if we were a good match for each other. He seemed impulsive and much braver than I and had lived much more raucously than I. I wondered if he would be too wild for me and if I would be too sedate for him. But that night on the barely seaworthy boat, I realized that there was something between us that I needed to explore further.
Later that night, while I was in the ladies room, B told LS, "I like your friend." She said, "I know." He replied, "No, I really like her." I still smile when I think about that exchange, even though I wasn't part of it.
At the end of the night, when he tried to put us in a cab and we stubbornly refused and insisted we could take the bus home, he asked if I would go on a date with him. I smiled and told him that I didn't date smokers. He smoked his last cigarette that night, and we had our first date the following Friday, an outing to a driving range and a local burger place.
And in case you're wondering, he managed to avoid seasickness the entire evening. And in the last five years, his wildness has rubbed off a little on me, and the equilibrium that characterizes my life has evened his keel a bit.
You might say that our relationship developed during a series of after-work happy-hour outings to local bars, back when you could smoke in bars, back when one of us did smoke.
I always drank Coke, Sprite, or water because I was a driving commuter. B was a Bud guy.
The first time that B asked me out, I had to say no because I was joining a group of coworkers for a harbor cruise that night. We were going on the Sunday of Labor Day weekend. Wasn't he going, I asked. He said he wasn't because he got seasick on boats.
After LS and I boarded the (disappointing, dark, and dingy) vessel, I saw him. He showed up in spite of the threat of illness at sea. I stopped worrying that our boat would sink at any moment and realized that the night was full of potential.
We spent the whole evening together, talking and laughing. I knew from time spent together at bars that I was interested in getting to know B better, but I wasn't sure if we were a good match for each other. He seemed impulsive and much braver than I and had lived much more raucously than I. I wondered if he would be too wild for me and if I would be too sedate for him. But that night on the barely seaworthy boat, I realized that there was something between us that I needed to explore further.
Later that night, while I was in the ladies room, B told LS, "I like your friend." She said, "I know." He replied, "No, I really like her." I still smile when I think about that exchange, even though I wasn't part of it.
At the end of the night, when he tried to put us in a cab and we stubbornly refused and insisted we could take the bus home, he asked if I would go on a date with him. I smiled and told him that I didn't date smokers. He smoked his last cigarette that night, and we had our first date the following Friday, an outing to a driving range and a local burger place.
And in case you're wondering, he managed to avoid seasickness the entire evening. And in the last five years, his wildness has rubbed off a little on me, and the equilibrium that characterizes my life has evened his keel a bit.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
A few pics from Newport
Here I am, standing in the back yard (har, har) of the Elms. Yep, that's my new red raincoat; she performed like a champ. Also note the new glasses. I'm still getting used to them but I think I like them.
And here's B and me, same location. B has new glasses, too. He actually got 2 new pairs so you can expect to see lots of variety from him in the upcoming months.
Here's a closeup of the back of the Elms.
Here's a side view of Chateau sur Mer. So many windows...
And here's B and me, same location. B has new glasses, too. He actually got 2 new pairs so you can expect to see lots of variety from him in the upcoming months.
Here's a closeup of the back of the Elms.
Here's a side view of Chateau sur Mer. So many windows...
Adventures in Newport
This weekend, B and I spent some time in Newport, Rhode Island, home of the famous summer "cottages."
Newport is a great little town with a quaint shopping area (with the usual recognizable stores but also some locally owned places), tons of outdoor dining, and a hip-and-happening vibe. Summer weekends can get busy, especially when a cruise ship is invading, but the less-popular mansions weren't too crowded for us.
The mansions offer a variety of ticketing options. I investigated them before we left home and decided that becoming members of the Preservation Society was the best deal. For $75, we could tour all of the mansions for an entire year. In addition, because the society is a nonprofit organization, we can claim the membership as a charitable deduction on our taxes.
Our first stop was the Elms for the Rooftop and Behind-the-Scenes tour, which was included in our membership. The guided tour took us to places that you can't see on the regular tour, including the roof (obvious from the title) and servants' quarters. Sadly, their rooms were much nicer than nearly every apartment I ever lived in. Life as a servant was difficult and unpleasant, though; they worked long hours, had only a half-day off per week, were always on-call, and could expect to make only $300 per year. The butler enjoyed a significantly better life, for a servant; he had a private bedroom and bathroom and his own pantry and was in charge of all of the other servants.
Because the Elms is one of the bigger mansions and is open through the end of the year--and is even decorated for Christmas, along with the Breakers and Marble House--we decided to skip the regular tour and see some of the mansions that have more limited schedules. We're hoping to return at Christmastime to see the seasonal decorations and will take the tour then.
Our next stop was Chateau sur Mer, a 30,000 square-foot masterpiece with an amazing entryway (unfortunately for us, photos aren't allowed inside the houses) and decadent decorations.
A side note: If you go to Newport, you might be tempted to skip some of the smaller mansions, including this one (yes, in the land of Newport mansions, 30,000 square feet is "small"), but keep this in mind: every mansion tour takes you to a limited number of rooms, so a visit to a smaller house means you're more likely to see more of the house. Additionally, because everyone wants to see the Breakers, you're more likely to be among a smaller crowd at the smaller houses. Also, if this matters to you, the tours at the smaller houses are largely child-free as most kids want to see the ridiculously big houses. Plus, if you prefer a guided tour over an audio tour, stick with the smaller places.
After the Chateau, we headed to Kingscote, which was an interesting enough house but didn't feel that homey to me. It was my least favorite tour but was by no means dull or not worthwhile.
Our last tour was the Isaac Bell House, and I had trouble deciding whether I'd rather live in it or Chateau sur Mer (hypothetically speaking, of course). The Bell House is considered a work in progress; it was acquired by the Preservation Society in recent years and came completely unfurnished and unrestored. The house remains without much furniture and is not well lit (to replicate lighting conditions when the house was originally built), but its natural light and built-in furniture features were gorgeous. Many of the windows on the first floor doubled as doors and opened onto porches that looked out over Bellevue Avenue, where many of the more famous mansions are located.
I highly recommend Newport for a day trip or a long weekend, maybe even a full week if you want to take your time and get to know the town more. Tours at the mansions take about 45 minutes each; the tours at the larger houses are now conducted by audio guide. Three tours are tiring; I think five tours in a day might be too much for most.
For schedules: I wish the society offered a daily schedule with the times that tours leave from each house. Some leave every hour, and others leave every half hour. But the society doesn't offer such a schedule, so you can either try to figure it out yourself or hope for the best. We opted for the latter option and lucked out, arriving just in time to start all of our tours or join a recently begun tour. Keep in mind that if you miss an hourly tour, you'll have a long time to wait.
Newport is a great little town with a quaint shopping area (with the usual recognizable stores but also some locally owned places), tons of outdoor dining, and a hip-and-happening vibe. Summer weekends can get busy, especially when a cruise ship is invading, but the less-popular mansions weren't too crowded for us.
The mansions offer a variety of ticketing options. I investigated them before we left home and decided that becoming members of the Preservation Society was the best deal. For $75, we could tour all of the mansions for an entire year. In addition, because the society is a nonprofit organization, we can claim the membership as a charitable deduction on our taxes.
Our first stop was the Elms for the Rooftop and Behind-the-Scenes tour, which was included in our membership. The guided tour took us to places that you can't see on the regular tour, including the roof (obvious from the title) and servants' quarters. Sadly, their rooms were much nicer than nearly every apartment I ever lived in. Life as a servant was difficult and unpleasant, though; they worked long hours, had only a half-day off per week, were always on-call, and could expect to make only $300 per year. The butler enjoyed a significantly better life, for a servant; he had a private bedroom and bathroom and his own pantry and was in charge of all of the other servants.
Because the Elms is one of the bigger mansions and is open through the end of the year--and is even decorated for Christmas, along with the Breakers and Marble House--we decided to skip the regular tour and see some of the mansions that have more limited schedules. We're hoping to return at Christmastime to see the seasonal decorations and will take the tour then.
Our next stop was Chateau sur Mer, a 30,000 square-foot masterpiece with an amazing entryway (unfortunately for us, photos aren't allowed inside the houses) and decadent decorations.
A side note: If you go to Newport, you might be tempted to skip some of the smaller mansions, including this one (yes, in the land of Newport mansions, 30,000 square feet is "small"), but keep this in mind: every mansion tour takes you to a limited number of rooms, so a visit to a smaller house means you're more likely to see more of the house. Additionally, because everyone wants to see the Breakers, you're more likely to be among a smaller crowd at the smaller houses. Also, if this matters to you, the tours at the smaller houses are largely child-free as most kids want to see the ridiculously big houses. Plus, if you prefer a guided tour over an audio tour, stick with the smaller places.
After the Chateau, we headed to Kingscote, which was an interesting enough house but didn't feel that homey to me. It was my least favorite tour but was by no means dull or not worthwhile.
Our last tour was the Isaac Bell House, and I had trouble deciding whether I'd rather live in it or Chateau sur Mer (hypothetically speaking, of course). The Bell House is considered a work in progress; it was acquired by the Preservation Society in recent years and came completely unfurnished and unrestored. The house remains without much furniture and is not well lit (to replicate lighting conditions when the house was originally built), but its natural light and built-in furniture features were gorgeous. Many of the windows on the first floor doubled as doors and opened onto porches that looked out over Bellevue Avenue, where many of the more famous mansions are located.
I highly recommend Newport for a day trip or a long weekend, maybe even a full week if you want to take your time and get to know the town more. Tours at the mansions take about 45 minutes each; the tours at the larger houses are now conducted by audio guide. Three tours are tiring; I think five tours in a day might be too much for most.
For schedules: I wish the society offered a daily schedule with the times that tours leave from each house. Some leave every hour, and others leave every half hour. But the society doesn't offer such a schedule, so you can either try to figure it out yourself or hope for the best. We opted for the latter option and lucked out, arriving just in time to start all of our tours or join a recently begun tour. Keep in mind that if you miss an hourly tour, you'll have a long time to wait.
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