The Urban Migration

It’s already been about three weeks since the Feminine Adrenaline 2010 tour came to a close. Regretfully, I wasn’t able to write as much as I would have liked to during the last legs of our trip, as we were busy city-hopping along the East Coast. A sincere THANK YOU to all the friends and family we visited along the way. Thanks to all of you for hosting, dancing, cooking and exploring with us, the trip was an absolute blast! Brit summed it up in her blog by saying, “24 days, 4098 miles, 16 states and 3 parking tickets later, we have concluded what has been a road trip to remember!”

Below is a map of our route, including some of our stops:

Not bad, eh?

So after admitting to myself that not all of life can be one giant road trip, I’ve made it a point to get organized and brainstorm future plans.

REFLECTIONS:

I looked at the calendar the other day and realized I’ve been home from India for six months. SIX MONTHS!! I have no idea where the time has gone, but I do know that I’m ready for a change. Being at home in New Hampshire was exactly what I needed after a year and a half abroad (when I arrived back in the U.S., I was desperate for some grounding). I don’t know that any other place could have been more suitable for such a task, as the calm and slow nature of the place is conducive to anyone needing time and space for self-reflection.

With that being said, I’ve had my fill. I’ve soaked up the comforts of home, and am ready for some change. I want to go to a place that's fast. Someplace bustling… eclectic…and sexy.

THE SCOOP:

One month from today, I’ll be moving and grooving to a quicker beat. A tempo fast and choppy, interrupted only by the lulls of urban traffic and its dense congestion.

I’m trading in my driver’s license for an unlimited metro card- an indication of my enthusiasm and expected reliance on public transportation. I’m eliminating a bag of clutter a week (or such is my goal) so that my possessions and I can fit into my allotted sublet space. Downsizing so drastically isn’t easy for me- I have a hard time dissociating myself from the memories attached to all my “stuff”- but the challenge to de-clutter is a good one, and I’m hopeful that a lighter load will be liberating.

I’ll be subletting from a friend of a friend in Bushwick. From what I can gather through pictures, the room appears to be the size of a walk-in closet. For $350/month, one can’t expect many luxuries (after all, we’re talking New York City). Bushwick’s overwhelmingly Hispanic population serves as the inspiration for my recent interest in Spanish-revival-I’ve been watching the Spanish channel on a regular basis to ‘brush up’ on my thrice removed Spanish skills. I anticipate I’ll learn the neighborhood fairly quickly, as I’m a solid eight blocks away from the nearest subway line. (Which reminds me; will I get beaten up or befriended if I invest in some rollerblades?)

POR QUE, NYC?

To live. To work. To Play.

I have 3 ½ months to make the most out of my time in the Big Apple. I will have no job when I arrive, so unsurprisingly, finding work is my top priority. In an ideal world, I’d find something long-term. Something to serve as the perfect starting point for my life-long professional development. A fulfilling career that rewards me, both personally and professionally, in the most handsome of ways.

And if that doesn’t work out?

I will sell newspapers…lots of them.

Part-time job opportunities abound in New York. From waiting tables at a diner, to professional dog-walking, the employment options are endless. My hope is that with ample effort, I will be able to find something to support the cost of my sublet, and ‘then some.’

A CHANGE OF PACE:

Each time I visit the city, I find something new to discover. From Harlem’s ‘Little Senegal ‘to the back alleys of Chinatown, New York is buzzing with culture, entertainment, and FUN. I’ll never be able to see it all in 3 ½ months, but you can bet I’m going to try.

And of course, if the idea of sharing a twin bunk screams COZY and not CLAUSTROPHOBIC, I would most certainly welcome you as a visitor!

More pictures from the American Southwest.

No Man’s Land and Leopard Pants: The Kansas Chronicles

Ever since the beginning of our road trip, people have asked whether we are taking the Northern or Southern route through the U.S. Our answer has remained the same. “We’re going straight through the middle!” we’ll proclaim, excitedly. After admitting this, we’re consistently met with mortified faces. “Oh, God,” someone will say, “That means you’ll be hitting Kansas!” “Yeah,” we say “we know.”
Just about everyone Brit or I spoke to expressed concern over us driving through Kansas. We were told we were crazy, and that Kansas would be just ‘god awful’ and a tremendous waste of time. In the face of these accusations, we feigned confidence and assurance. “Oh don’t worry about us,” we said, “we’re going to rock Kansas like nobody’s business. We’ll dominate that state like it’s going out of style! We’ll have road-side dance parties galore, and we’ll be invited in homes for pot pie dinners, and…” the list went on and on.
Naiveté and denial never reeked so badly.

What really happened
We left Boulder, Colorado at 7:30 in the morning, with the hopes of allowing plenty of daylight for our nine hour trip to Kansas City, Missouri. For the most part, everything East of Denver is flat, brown, and visibly unappealing. Everything was covered in a thick gray, forging an indiscernible line between highway and sky. We had planned on cruising upwards of 80 miles an hour, but given the icy roads and otherwise terrible road conditions, we were forced to coast at half that speed.
At some point in the afternoon, the road conditions cleared up. As we picked up speed, our moods improved and we began to get pumped for our night in Kansas City. Lady Gaga blared from the car speakers, and we laughed in the faces of those who said Kansas would be a nightmare. We laughed and laughed, until…

The Helicopter
Suddenly, Brit overheard what she thought to be a helicopter flying over us. She turned down the radio, and sure enough, we heard a loud thumping coming from somewhere nearby. “Is there a plane flying over us?” she asked. “It sounds more like a helicopter,” I replied. For the next 1 ½ minutes, we searched high and low, looking through the sunroof and passenger window for the plane overhead. It wasn’t until we hit the brakes that we realized the noise was closer than expected. The noise was not coming from a ‘copter. The noise was coming from our own car.
We pulled over to examine the potential vehicular damage. I checked the bumper, and looked under the car for C.P.D’s (car part danglers). Zip, nada, nothing. I wiped my hands clean, and was about to declare that the car was in okay condition when I caught sight of the flaccid rubber. “Shiza, Brit,” I said, “we’ve got a flat!”
To our dismay, our rear tire was demolished. It looked like it had been stabbed with a finely-sharpened instrument (pitchfork, perhaps?) and emitted an overwhelming smell of burning rubber. With no evidence of civilization in sight, we had no idea where to go.
Brit and I usually manage to keep ourselves relatively composed, but for one reason or another, we chose to handle this situation with irrational, erratic behavior. We screamed and shouted expletives towards Kansas and its peoples, and lashed out at the vehicular Gods who condemned us to such demise. After five or so minutes of manic ranting, our tantrums subsided and we called AAA.
Giving directions to the people at AAA proved to be difficult, as our only visible landmarks were a tractor trailer and billboard for an adult superstore (Turns out, these generic landmarks are found near almost every single exit throughout Kansas). Finally, after a bit more research and exploration, we learned that we were in a small town called Hays.

Welcome to Hays, Kansas. Can I take your order?
A half hour later, the AAA representative arrived. He patiently waited around while Britt unloaded her trunk (formerly known as her apartment) to locate the donut. A dozen roadside piles later, the spare tire was located, and securely placed on the Civic’s rear. We were then told to follow the tow truck to a nearby Walmart in order to purchase a new tire. As darkness neared and the snow continued to fall, we couldn’t help but declare to one another that the day had, in fact, totally sucked. Our moods were getting worse by the minute.

The Walmart experience: Consumerism Cures
As it turns out, our visit to the Walmart auto garage was just what we needed to enhance our mood. The auto mechanics said it would take a half hour to put the new tire on, and that we should stay put inside the store to hear our name called over the intercom. As unexcited as I was about scouring the Walmart racks for a half hour, I tried to put my best face forward and stay positive, as everything related to Kansas, thus far, had been miserable. Brit and I walked out of the auto garage and straight into Walmart’s neon-lit aisles. Walmart is a metropolis, and stores that claim to ‘have it all’ (fishing poles, thongs, rifles and whole-grain cereal) tend to overwhelm me.
After glancing around for a minute, my eyes caught sight of something I hadn’t expected. I looked at Brittany, and realized immediately that she was looking at the same thing. We turned back around to stare at the brightest area in the store, a gigantic One dollar clearance sign dangling directly over a rack of glimmering, animal-print spandex. Leopard, cheetah and zebra prints hung together, side by side, practically begging to be ripped off their hangers by two desperate and fashion-clueless girls.
At that moment, I knew the flat tire was the best thing to happen all day.

Oh no you didn’t…
After trying on half a dozen pair of the aforementioned spandex—and some equally noteworthy hideous/awesome costume apparel—Britt and I were ready to make moves. We strutted back to the auto garage with our heads held high, feeling good about our confident, spandex-infused swagger. The auto mechanics gave us each a nod of approval as they checked out our new gear…Britt in leopard, me in cheetah. We smiled as they tallied up our individual bills (remember, each pair of pants was ONE DOLLAR), and while the tire was a bit of a pricey fix, the sheer bliss we experienced through our clearance find made the whole hassle and experience feel justified.

The Smaps Moral
Britt and I survived the tedious, bland hellhole that is Kansas because we chose to jazz up our drawers. By choosing to impress, rather than depress, we managed to end our 14 hour journey through Kansas on a positive note. Instead of slouching through Kansas’s finish line, we skipped through it.

Money may not buy happiness, but animal-print spandex can.

El Grand Canyon

Flagstaff and Sedona, AZ

Sedona, Arizona.


Teddy and I.




Posing near one of the many scenic viewpoints between Flagstaff and Sedona, AZ.


Downtown Flagstaff, Arizona.

Inside the "Clear Creek Trading Company" Navajo Indian store

CA

More from the Pacific Coast Highway and redwood forests of Cali.

Paging Mr. Page

A dozen churches and one Roadway Inn later, we found ourselves in the small town of Page. Located on the border of Arizona and Utah, Page lacked what most would call ‘character.’ Brit and I had a long day of driving, and were anxious to mingle amongst some of Page’s finest to celebrate Mardi Gras Tuesday. To say we were disappointed with what we found would be an understatement. Like robots on repeat, we repeatedly circled the town of Page, desperate for the vibrant nightlife we had come to associate with modern-day Mardi Gras festivities. After about five circles, we realized that we had already found Page’s downtown (five times already). Page does a good job of disguising its urban crowd and cosmopolitan flair by ignoring these ‘fun town’ components entirely. We searched and scoured for any evidence of civilization, but our searches left us empty handed.
Now, this situation could have left us in total despair. And to be frank, there was about a ten second window in which we both felt like breaking down and balling our eyes out to the gas station attendant. However, we forced ourselves to remember the various themes and mottoes we’ve come to associate with this trip. “Feminine Adrenaline”…”Live Free or Dance”…”When in doubt, don’t pout”…etc. Such optimistic slogans leave no room for Debbie Downers, so we put our creative minds to the test and devised a Plan B for our night in Page. If Page, Arizona wouldn’t throw down for us, we would throw down for Page.
Enter: one seedy motel room, Beyonce karaoke, three dollar bottles of Californian merlot, and a video camera. Ah yes, a recipe for homemade, improvisational, female fun! We entertained ourselves until the wee hours of the night by singing in spandex, eating stale bean burritos, and pretending to microwave each others most prized technological gadgets.

A night to remember, no doubt.

What lesson can be learned from our experience in Page? If you ever find yourself stranded in the middle of Podunk America with nowhere to sleep, eat, or rock out… don’t fret. Perhaps you can remember some of the activities that kept us occupied and entertained, and try them out yourself. Good luck to you, and remember: life’s too short for Debbie Downers.