Practice, Practice, Practice

For Mutti's birthday I'm taking her to Carnegie Hall in NYC tomorrow. Neither of us have ever been there so my many thanks to Bobby of Luzerne Productions for scoring me 2 free front-row boxseats. Works by Mozart, Jalbert, and Stravinsky will be performed by the Empire State Youth Orchestra (ESYO) and conducted by Scott Stickley.

5 years ago I shot a half-hour show for CBS in Europe with ESYO. 110 virtuoses playing in venues throughout Germany and the Ch.Republic. The kids, all under 21 years were a fabulous bunch - very gifted and modest about their talents. We toured famous castles, large opera houses and Bach's birthplace. If my experience from 5 years ago is any indication of the level of playing I'll be listening to tomorrow - Mutti's in for a memorable day.

Green Grass Canvas

4 years ago I bought a house and started mowing the lawn in creative patterns and designs. It takes a few times to get the rusty old mower moving but by the end of 2 hours another Picasso is completed. Check out the billowing American flag I etched in the front yard for Memorial Weekend. Okay, I admit, unless your on stilts nobody's going to notice my efforts but this is the best part about owning your own place - control over landscaping! Tomorrow I'll finish up the back with my signature favorite - a crescent moon with 2 stars.

Guilty Pleasures

I have a confession. I love, love, love roaming through boutique hotels, especially those designed by world renowed architect Phillippe Starck. There, I said it. Beyond my fantasy of wanting to stay in every penthouse suite with Jack Johnson, I revel in Matisse-inspired colors, contemporary energy and the modern luxury of boutique hotels. Starck's surreal Cocteau-like dream world inspired him to use unicorn heads as wall decorations in one hotel and a 20 foot log tree with seatbacks in another. Now that's creativity. His hotels are museums that you don't need to worry about alarms going off if you touch them.

Sneaking through super chic hotels are guilty pleasures I do when I find myself in big beautiful cities like NYC, Los Angelas, London or Hong Kong. I'll tiptoe past the concierge, through the lobby, up the elevator and check out all hyper-adorned accommodations for the discerning traveler. I am not a discerning traveler but I play one on location. Hey, it's an urban adventure that satisfies my love of labyrinths, passageways and trendsetting design.

Some of favorites include:
The Mondrain Hotel in L.A., featuring underwater music in an outdoor pool overlooking the Hollywood Hills.
The Faena Hotel in Beunos Aires with an infinity pool and pulsating Cabaret night lounge.
The Sanderson Hotel in Londonwith a super whimsical billiard room featuring an entire wall with original 50’s stained glass design.

Risky Behavior

"Faith is a beautiful thing, if it gives you the strength to do what you know you should be doing anyway. The more certain I am that if I take the less secure and more adventurous course the rides will arrive, the better my experiences on the road. It is not easy to keep that faith, and I freely concede that I have gotten a little rusty, a little prone to stick to the well-traveled highways- but I count it a victory that after all these years I am out here at all."

And so goes one of my favorite metaphoric passages for life from my latest book from the library - "Riding with Strangers, A Hitchhiker's Journey" by Elijah Wald. Woody Guthrie and Jack Kerouac have nothing on Elijah Wald. His roadside mythology bedevils most Americans but his sensibilities and virtues make him the wisest candidate to hitch from Boston to the west coast dozens of times and stay safe from peril. Having a harmless-looking guitar slung around his musician neck helps too.

When I visited San Fransisco last year I hitched a ride from 3 people, one student, one couple and one aspiring reality show contestant. Albeit the rides were short and I had no particular destination in mind but I concluded that wherever the driver was going it might end up somewhere interesting. The philosophy worked and I exchanged emails with all three. Barring using my thumb it was the closest I ever got to hitching.

Following Elijah's excercise of faith and lessons in road etiquette this week I'm itching to use my naked thumb. He says that he feels more closely in tune with the universe than any other time when he's hitching. This sensation usually happens 10,000 feet under when I go scuba diving with a buddy. Maybe I need to move my risky behavior to dry land and see what I've been missing. I'll let the end of Elijah's book and imploring my scuba buddy to join me be the deciding factor...

Argentina Travel Shorts

The article is nearing completion and should be online at GoNOMAD.com soon but in the meantime, check out some of the videos I put together. I'm experimenting with compression size, fomats including AVI, DV and Wave but for now you must have Quicktime Installed in your computer. It's a free download for Mac users or PC users - just click here. Make sure you have a broadband connection, no dial up please - not until I discover how to super compress these files without sacrificing video resolution and audio quality.

For a 2 minute clip on the popularity of Tango in Argentina, click here.
For a 2 minute clip on the beauty of Iguassu Falls, click here.
For a 2 minute clip on the history of the Jesuit Missions, click here.

The Sarah House

The Sarah House is an affordable extended housing option for family members visiting ill patients at area hospitals in cities like Syracuse, NY. It's one of those saintly places I've covered extensively for television news, like Ronald McDonald houses, St. Judes Grizzlie and Target houses in Memphis and charity shelters throughout New York State. These places are built on the backs of personal donations, fundraising and private grants and for many needy families, it's a true blessing. Last night I found out just how much of a blessing they truly are.

With 10 strangers under the same roof, eating at the same table and watching the same tv programs, I shared contemplative thoughts with the worried families of cancer victums. All of whose familes are currently bedridden in University Hospital, including one of my own - my unfortunate but super strong Stepmom. She's a wonderfully brave woman who already spent all last year battling cancer in her lower extremities. Now she has a new virulent form of cancer, lung cancer - a lethal killer if not caught early enough.

It's a terrible fate and I'm feeling deep sorrow for my otherwise healthy young vibrant relative. Thankgod places like the Sarah House make it a little easier but like last year the road to recovery is long and winding and nobody knows that better than my Dad. He's a champion for staying steadfast to her needs...if more chemo, radiotherapy and surgeries are needed, he's right there by her side.

I'm going to ask the doctor if I can keep her tumor (after the operation) in a glass jar and shock everyone into quiting smoking. That shoud stop those hundreds of young kids I see puffing away at the entrance to the local mall or theater or coffee house, right?

Belly Dancing Blond

The Billion Belly March in Seattle, Washington takes place next month and I want to be there! It's a world famous event that showcases woman of all ages belly dancing their way up and down the streets of the Emerald city. The pagan ritual is rich in creativity, ingenuity and the preservation of freedom so chances are there may be a few nude bicyclists streaking along the way. To get prepared for my possible trip my dear friend Denise invited me to take belly dancing classes with her in Troy this month. Perfect - a genius way to get my midriff in shape and prep for the event.

Belly dancing conjures up images of veiled women writhing seductively in some exotic harem. Women who easily accentuate their feminine beauty with their eyes, nose, face and of course, their richly costumed breasts. The tricks they turn with their bellies is mesmerizing and I'm hoping I can learn the 'art of seduction' in 6 weeks. Better yet, I'm hoping I can wear provocative tassels, beads and sequins and both feel and look comfortable. There's a lot to consider before committing myself to this kind of dance.

For upcoming events check out Salome and if your interested in joining me get yourself a bra, belt and bedlah and we'll be on our way!

Mutti's Day

I returned from Nashville on Friday - just in time to celebrate Mutti's day. My favorite German always insists on the Olive Garden but instead I took her for Vietnamese at a small brownstone down the street. I know, I know - it's Mutti's day and I should take her where she wants to go but I figured I was doing her a favor. No lines at Hai Au and healthier portions. Besides, I promised her Italian next weekend.

Mutti works hard. She's a nurses aid for a couple in their late 80's living in a uber-large mansion in Loudonville. Unbeknownst to them, it's probably worth a fortune to the right investor. She's out the door by 6am and sometimes doesn't return until midnight. She's from the Vaterland (anti-nazi), born during the war, escaped the Russian front in 1943, fled to Bavaria and returns every September to Stuttgart to see her remaining family. She and her 5 siblings grew up with dirt floors on empty bellies with little education and at 13 yrs. she even took a part-time job caring for deaf children to help her parents. She's had several insignifigant jobs all her life but she's devoted 110% to every one of them and approaching 63 she doesn't seem to be slowing down much.

Mutti and I are as stubborn as they come and we seldom agree on much but I love her dearly - german roots and all. And if I ever slow down myself I'll write a book about her - her and Sarge. And with the Puliter prize money I make, I'll take them both out to the Olive Garden.

Music City Convert

Before yesterday, when someone mentioned Nashville I envisioned Honky Tonks, rhine stones, Hee Haw and Baptists. 24 hours later and the reality is Nashville is a vibrant and thriving landmark that embraces all kinds of music from jazz to classical to folk to bluegrass and, of course, country. Sarge threatened to test my wits when I get back so I'm dutifully touring the Country Music Hall of Fame, Ryman Auditorium, RCA Studio B, where Elvis recorded half his #1 hits, and all of Music Row.

I'm staying at the postmodern Hilton Hotel. The building reminds me of the inside of a Borg Collective from a Star Trek episode. The height of expansive atrium lobby is outrageously high, nearly disconcerting for anyone with a fear of high places. There's exposed piping and tubing mounted on the ceiling, far far above, and 1 of 3 glass elevators rushes you to the 12 floor so quickly you can feel the G-forces. My guest suite is three times as big as a NY City apartment rental with a sweeping view of the new Schermerhorn Symphony Center, still under construction. I'm here for a hard-hat tour of the concert hall, an acoustic masterpeice before it officially opens Sept. 9th.

Last night I listened to Hall of Fame Songwriter inductee Don Schlitz at the "Shhh!" BlueBird Cafe. It's a cafe by day and a music club by night. Some of country and folk music's best artists got their start here. Don Schlitz wrote "The Gambler" way back in 1974 for Kenny Rogers but sings it better than anyone else can. We were told that if we were caught talking during a performance after the third strike we'd be tossed out. Schlitz tempted us with comedic breaks in between songs and playing up to his sweet Mom in the back row. Check out his lyrics at his website and you'll see why he received a CMA nomination for Song of the Year in 1994. Great stuff!

Fashion in Flight

Everybody dresses to impress on domestic flights. To my right is a woman wearing a glossy black Chambolle-Musigny blouse and matching open-toed Steve Maddens. On my left is a clean-shaven twenty five year old with a classic embroidered button down shirt with a Latin flair and a computer bag that smells 100% leather. Passengers up and down the aisles are sporting expensive Omega jewelry, professional hair treatments, the best smelling perfumes and the newest cellphone attachments.

Then there's me - completely out of place with my worn-out tired look. Sandals, sneakers, sweats, sometimes an overswashed t-shirt other times a favorite college sweatshirt. I sport the same clothes on planes as I do in the gym. Today, I'm even buffed up a bit - a faded pair of lightweight corduroys ripped only slightly at the bottom with a few random strings dragging on the ground. These outfits may not be as flattering as my form-fitting Gucci's and short pleather mini-skirts but this a 4 hour flight not a bar scene...or is it? Before I know it I'll be 40 (sooner than I look) and I'm still dressing like 25 and since my days of bar-hopping have long since ended (minus the recent birthday bash with the girls) frequent flying might be the only chance I get to meet new interesting people, a.k.a. available guys (oxymoron).

Oh no, the plane is experiencing some turbulence right now and two giggly girls in back of me are feigning fear. Their neurotic behavior attracts enough attention from an Alpha male to warrant a look of protection. In minutes they're all exchanging business cards and phone numbers.

I doubt I'll have time for strolling through boutiques and upscale malls (nor would I want to) while in Nashville this week but maybe it's time for me to rethink my wardrobe, at least while confined to a 737 for any length of time...

Coming Home

It took exactly 24 hours to travel from Argentina to Albany on Thursday. That's a whole lot of planes, trains and automobiles to commute 5253 miles back to work. We were promised business class on the way home but miscommunications lead Brazilian airlines TAM (Taxi Aereo Marilia) to throw us in coach. Hey, for a free flight you could toss me in cargo and I'd be happy! From Iguassu to Rio to San Paulo to JFK by plane, from JFK to Penn to Grand Central to Beacon by train and from Beacon to Albany by automobile. Whew!

I was pleasantly surprised to see a new stone patio and 6 beautiful Douglas Firs planted in my backyard when I finally arrived. I trusted the boys I hired to get the job done right and to their credit, they did a better job than I could have imagined. The patio isn't big enough to stage a Starcode performance or entertain the masses but it beats sitting in the garage sipping lemonade on a hot summer day. The six 10-foot trees shade the neighbors, add privacy and attract morning doves, cardinals and finches. A little TLC goes a long way and already my red, rose and pink annuals are in full bloom while the hedges and rows have grown another couple inches.

Sure, travel is great but nothing compares to the beauty of coming home, especially in the Spring time.

Presidents Day

Hundreds of security guards and international media are swarminig the Iguassu hotel right now. Four star generals, secret police and reporters from around the world are jockeying for position. We're all waiting impatiently for the President of Brazil, Argentina, Bolivia and Venezuala to arrive. I can't believe my luck! Last night it was decided that the four Presidents would convene right here at the hotel I'm staying at to finish talks on the fate of oil reserves in Bolivia. I don't have all the details but if the agreement is signed the newly formed cartel would not bode well for the United States. A united South America with a vast quantity of natural resources could play economic hardball with the U.S. and considering relations between us and Hugo Chavez is tenuous, I'm guessing that the Bush Administration has moles parked all over this place.

My room is next door to the Presidential Suite and that's exactly where all the negotiations are going on and because I'm carrying a camera that literally fits into the palm of my hand, nobody suspects I'm with the media. Of course, I'm here for travel and tourism but if shots ring out who am I not tape it? After all, shooting is in my blood and you might be able to take me out of the news but you can't take the news out of me. I only have a few hours before my flight home - wish me luck on scoring another exclusive!

Wild Side of Life

Iguassu Falls is the most beautiful ecological reserve I've ever visited. It's also the largest. We took off after breakfast for an 8 hour excursion of adrenaline-rushing fun. First up, a walk around the perimeter or edge of the falls on the Brazilian side. An furry-tailed rodent called the Quantis or Coati welcomed us with prying claws and a hungry snout. They look like minature ant eaters but with striped raccoon tails and sharper teeth. To shoot the best footage, I tempted one with my open handbag. There were leftover potatoe chips at the bottom and the smell drove them crazy. Unfortunately the Quantis also bit me twice when I pulled the bag away. One Quantis even took off into the jungle with a ladies purse that held her wallet and passport. I didn't want to risk that happening to me.

After taking photos of the magnificent Iguassu, with heights of up to 300 feet, we decided to go repelling off the side of it. Yes, repelling - you read me right. Iguassu Falls is one of the only places in the world to repell from a suspended bridge. It's exactly 180 feet down and for anyone but Sarge (my Golden Knight Paratrooper father) this is an extremely harrowing drop. I was adamant about taking my video camera but as soon as I was harnessed up, I decided to keep both hands free to manage my rope. The fall was exciting and with the help of Daniele, my Portugeuse suitor (hot, hot, hot) I finished in record time. What normally takes the average repeller 30 minutes took me 5. I love speed and without any dangers holding me back, I let go of the rope (look ma, no hands) and hurled towards the ground. And with such tranquil beauty surrounding me, repelling felt as if I had become part of this scenic portrait called Iguassu.

Following that (yes, there's more) we paddled our way through Level 3 rapids inside the canyon on the Iguassu River. Using inflatable yellow boats and faced with a series of challenging rapids, 6 of us descended without hestitation or doubt. Most of us, including me, have rode white water before and so how much different could Brazil be? I quickly found out. No sooner had we paddled a few feet from the launching point when I went tumbling backwards from a gigantic wave, 10 stories high if it were 1. "Oh Shi***!", here comes another"! And another, and another. I kept falling into the boat (luckily not out of it) and wondering why I was the only one. When I was finally told to squish my right foot under the seat in front of me it was too late. The rapids had morphed into a gigantic swimming hole and that's where we spent nearly 45 minutes enjoying it's waters. The water temperature was warmer than the air and Kristen and Karen resisted getting out. With the sun setting and our ride coming to a close, we left Iguassu teeth chattering and goosebumps on our skin but warm memories of the wilder side of life in Brazil.

Barrios of Buenes Aires

Yesterday was another crazy day in the barrios - that's what the Spanish call their neighborhoods of Argentina. Since I wasn't able to make it to an Estancia or the Pampas, Kristen (press peep from Trump Magazine) gave me a great tip on where I could find me some real authentic cowboys - gaucho cowboys as they are called, in full costume, slinging and singing right in Buenos Aires.

The concierge tried convincing me it wasn't safe but for 33 cents I took my chances and boarded bus #92 for a 50 minute trip to the most northern edge of the city. It was absolutely fine. Everyone smiled pretty and helped with my muffled Spanish as I showed them a map of my final destination point. One sweet couple even offered their cell phone number should I get lost.

It was Sunday and the shows and exhibits went from 11am to 6pm. I could hear the dancing and singing in the distance as I approached the folkloric Feria de Mataderos. Demonstrations of roping, shearing and sortija races weren't starting until 3pm but I had time to shoot video of 5 couples folk dancing. Men wore bandanas and colorful ponchos and woman wore blue dresses that resembled, I can think of nothing else, square dancing outfits. They swung each other in the the middle of the street, the woman waving hankerchiefs and the men clapping and stomping in rhythm. It was a spectacular sight and thankfully I befriended an English-speaking city guide who gave me weeks worth of background on the celebration.

The trip home was just as pleasant. I rode the same bus back and got to see barrios I never would have if I was walking for just under a buck. Don't let fancy hotels or even trip advisors scare you. Having spent the last 10 months on the road I can assure you that I'd rather take a crowded bus before a vulnerable cab ride with a stranger any day!

Now, onto Iguazzu Falls!