Inside The Pentagon

I have a photo of the Pentagon on my desk. I can’t really make myself throw it out.

There’s really nothing special with the photo itself – I certainly didn’t take it. In fact, it’s a press handout photo from the Department of State. It looks old, maybe from the 1980s.

I’ve had it for almost ten years now. It’s been floating around in different folders, albums, binders… you name it.

My friend Julie and I took at tour of Washington, D.C. We walked the length of The Mall, we visited Mr. Lincoln at his memorial and we walked by the White House. On our way to Arlington Cemetery, I saw a stop called “Pentagon.”

“Let’s get off!” I said quickly, just as the train slowed to a halt. “I want to take some photos!”

We jumped off and the train departed. It was late in the afternoon, and we stood alone on an underground platform. The only way out was through a set of glass doors, leading to a very tall set of escalators.

When we got to the top, we found ourselves actually inside the Pentagon. Had I read Harry Potter at that time, I would have thought of the Ministry of Magic. Of course, I hadn’t. Julie and I instead wandered into a lobby looking lost.

A guard came up to us, asking how he could assist us.
“We want to get to the outside,” I said. “I want to take some photos.”
“Oh, I see,” he said. “I’m afraid there’s no way to get outside at this stop.”

We both put on sad faces. We didn’t know what to do.
“You can take photos over here,” the guard suggested, pointing at a lectern used for press briefings. The Pentagon logo was visible right behind, and I recognized the image from television.

We both got up and took turns taking each other’s photo.
“All set?” the guard asked, politely.
“Well… I was really hoping to get a photo of the outside…” I said.
“Hm… let me see what I can do…”

The man walked away and spoke to a colleague at the other end of the room. A few minutes passed; we waited patiently. Then the man returned with two glossy press photos of the outside of the building.
“Will this do?”

And that’s why I cannot throw it out. At least not today.

Traveling made easy

I'm jealous when I think of young people today and all the gadgets they have.

When I left Sweden ten years ago, I brought five of my favorite CDs with me in their original cases. I had a Hotmail account, and the first few days in New York I visited a public library to use a computer so I could communicate with my friends.

I had never had a cell phone, except for a month during the summer when work lent it to me, and I had never owned a movie on DVD.

Now, I could pack up my entire movie collection and take it with me wherever I go. It's in a convenient, flat black case. My songs are all stored on my computer. If I had a Blackberry Storm, I could use this cell phone/PDA/tiny computer anywhere in the world, and I'm sure it could also carry all my favorite songs and maybe even a few videos.

You can go anywhere now, and still be surrounded by what you know. It's like the world has all of a sudden become a much smaller place.

I'm not sure I like it.

Hiking with Bill Bryson

Stretching from Maine to northern Georgia, the Appalachian Trail runs about 2,100 miles along the East Coast of the United States. It takes you through 350 mountain tops and beautiful valleys; it features deep woods and glittering streams.

Hiking the entire trail takes about five months.

No, I am not planning on going for a hike - Bill Bryson is. Or rather, he was. He already took the hike, back in 1996, and then he wrote a book about it. I am reading it right now.

In his usual fashion, Bryson's "A Walk in the Woods" intrigues me immediately. I can totally picture this slightly goofy, middle-aged man sitting on his New Hampshire couch thinking one day, "I'm gonna hike 2,000 miles!" His wife, of course, thought it a bad idea from the start.

From the adventure of buying expensive equipment that may or may not be neccessary to finding a friend and partner in crime to share the experience with, Bryson's story brings me along for the ride (For me, it actually is a ride. I don't have to lift more than my arms to hold the book up, and most of the time it is resting against the bed anyway).

The story feels like it could be my own. Not that I would ever go for such a long walk. But if I did, similar things would happen. I just wish I could write about them like Bryson does.

I've often pondered dropping by Hanover, New Hampshire, to see Bill Bryson. It's a small college town - less than an hour from where my host-father's Vermont cabin is. If I ask people around town where Bill Bryson lives, they might know and they might tell me. Perhaps I could drop by for a chat.

I'm not quite sure how well that would go over, though. Although I feel like I know him from reading (most of) his books, I am quite certain he would stare blankly at me and say "who did you say you are again?" And "you are writing an article about me for what paper again?"

Hope is still alive and well that I will get to meet him one day. For now, though, I still have his books. And we've got lots of miles left to hike on the Appalachian Trail.

Greek life

What does Greek life mean to you?

To me, it brings back memories of walking dusty streets of Plaka in Athens, drinking creamy chocolate milkshakes and carefully wandering on a rocky beach by the Mediterranean. It also means playing on the swings in the hilly suburb of Daphni and driving around in a convertible Jeep with the top down, smelling the salty air.

To most Americans, especially college students, it means being part of a fraternity or sorority.

At my alma mater Quinnipiac University, there are Alpha Chi Omega, Phi Sigma Sigma and Kappa Alpha Theta for the girls and Sigma Phi Epsilon and Tau Kappa Epsilon (“teek”) for the guys.

Greek chapters are “(f)ounded upon the principles of friendship, community service, scholarship and leadership” and “provides students with an enriching and rewarding experience,” according to Quinnipiac’s Web site. It also forms friendships that “last a lifetime.”

The girls often plan fundraisers and do charity work. The guys have drinking parties. That’s really what it comes down to.

I was never part of a real sorority. Since I was the student newspaper editor, I found it a conflict of interest to engage in student clubs that we would later write about. At Westchester Community College, however, I was inducted into Phi Theta Kappa – an honor society for “achieving” students. At the four-year school level, the same group is called Phi Beta Kappa. It’s more prestigious and impossible to get into.

So, while I cannot call myself a “Greek,” I can definitely say I’m a fan of Greek life. The life Greek people live in Greece, that is. Drinking parties and charity work I can live without.

Reading Bill Bryson

One of my favorite authors is Bill Bryson, an American travel writer who lived in Great Britain for many years before he moved back to the U.S. with his wife.

I enjoy reading about Bryson’s adventures and mishaps. But the books are sometimes very frustrating. One book in particular: “I’m a Stranger Here Myself.”

In this book, Bryson writes about his return to America after 20 years abroad. Not only does he use every single one of my column ideas, but he does it so extremely well. He encounters 24-hour dental-floss hotlines and microwave pancakes, in addition to many other new, strange "improvements." (Unfortunately, I cannot quote directly from the book because I have misplaced my copy).

Perhaps the worst thing about it is that Bryson is allowed to complain. He is talking about his own country, and what he says is funny. When I try to comment on strange things or point things out, I am just a foreigner being rude.

However, as soon as I gather some more ideas there will be plenty of complaining here. Those who think I am being rude will just have to visit someone else’s blog.

'No record of your reservation'

I had a little scare yesterday when I called Northwest Airlines to confirm that our names had been corrected. They said they have no record of our reservation.

My boyfriend Albie and I are flying to Sweden for one week in September. My former host father in New York was nice enough to find us great, cheap tickets through his American Express account with some frequent flyer miles added on. When I got the confirmation a month ago, however, I noticed that both our names were misspelled. My host father promised to take care of it.

"There are no remaining flights in this reservation," it said on the web site when I finally manged to log into our reservation.
"I'm sorry, that reservation has been cancelled," the nice lady on the phone explained.

"Oh crap! No Sweden for us!" I thought.

Well, after 45 minutes on the phone with American Express, it turned out that it was all their fault. When the names were being changed, they had to cancel one reservation and make an entirely new one. The new one was never made.

We're all set now, though. Sweden, here we come!

Winter in Southern Vermont

Another travel writing piece from 2002:

I had spent many winters in this little ski town in southern Vermont. So many, in fact, that it started to feel like a home to me. I knew the house at the end of High Hopes Road as well as I knew my own, and I knew my way around the woods surrounding the house; I had followed the little stream up to the tiny waterfall and back down again during falls, winters, summers and springs.

This time, however, I was here with a friend, a friend who wanted to see Vermont for what it really is. I was self appointed as her enthusiastic tour guide, and I swore I would give her an authentic experience.

West Dover, Vermont, is located about 40 minutes off of Exit 2 on I-91. Because of its convenient location, it has become a popular tourist town during all seasons, except for spring, maybe, when half of the roads are closed due to thawing of the frozen ground. During the summer, people from New York and Connecticut drive the three hours up here to play golf, to go fishing or to bike and hike the mountains.

During the fall, the same tourists come up here to stay at a Bed & Breakfast and enjoy the magnificent change of colors on the trees. There aren’t many things to do, but just driving around to take in all the beauty is enough for most people.

During the winter, West Dover is flourishing. With its five ski shops just in the center of town it serves the tourists with all the newest equipment necessary to hit the slopes. Mount Snow is located not even five minutes from the center of town, and while the price of a lift ticket is on the steep side, it is nothing compared to the tickets at classy Stratton Mountain, located only fifteen minutes away.

This time there was no snow on the ground, but since it was winter, my friend decided she should try skiing at Mount Snow. After spending three days relaxing at the house – eating, watching movies, and sleeping – we dragged ourselves out of the heavenly comfortable beds at 7:30 in the morning to go rent skis. We were the first to enter World Class Ski Shop that morning, and as I started filling out the release form for rentals, Mirek, the Czech store owner, came running into the store from his back office.

“It’s been a while since you were here,” he remarked. “We changed some things around.”
Being that I own my own equipment, as do most people who spend at least five weekends a year in Vermont, I had never actually rented skis for my own benefit. I had, however, brought Mirek many other customers, and I was well-known among the staff. Since it was a Wednesday at the end of the season, Mirek didn’t expect nor did he have many customers, so he gave us all his time and attention.

The first ski boot was tried on, and my friend started complaining. “It hurts. Is it supposed to feel like this? I think it is too small.” Mirek and I glanced at each other over the counter.
“Push your knee forward,” I instructed. “Are your toes hitting the front of the boot?” My friend said they weren’t, but that the boots hurt around her ankle.

Mirek looked at my friend with sympathy and asked if she had ever skied before. She told him the truth and he said, “I’ve got just what you need, then” and he picked up the shortest pair of skis I had ever seen given to an adult.
“These are shaped skis and they will help you turn,” he said.

Except for the fact that I had told her many times how easy it was to ski, my friend’s upcoming disappointment really wasn’t my fault. I walked over to the tiny ticket-window to purchase the lift tickets while my friend was stumbling along in her boots, and the equipment pointing in all sorts of directions. She started complaining that her feet hurt. I told her she would be fine.

We did a ten-minute lesson in how to put the skis on – toes first and then push the heel of the boot down. Take the skis off and try again. My friend was very nervous about the lift, but I tried to calm her down by saying that it was easy; she didn’t have to do anything except to sit down, and then stand up again.

When the lift chair finally approached us my friend fell, and the South African seasonal worker had to press the emergency stopper. Getting off the lift was easier, and then we started with the turning. Rather, I turned – my friend didn’t.

To me, the slope we were on seemed flat enough for a beginner – a beginner who had refused to sign up for ski-lessons. As I skied across the trail I instructed, “Put your weight on the left side of your skis and lean towards the mountain.”

I stopped and turned around. My friend was going straight down. “Turn, turn, turn!” I yelled, but it was too late. She was already sitting down, poles sticking out of the snow a little bit above her.

Lessons in snow plowing, getting up without going straight down, and bending your knees followed, and after an hour we were finally at the bottom of the bunny slope. “I’m not doing this anymore,” my friend said. “You go on without me.”

After returning my friend’s skis to a smirking Mirek at the ski-shop, my friend wanted to stop at a souvenir store she had seen on the way. I hesitated for a moment. That shop was no place for me. What if someone I knew saw me go in there? On the other hand, I thought, what is wrong with being a tourist every now and then? Plus, it was for my friend’s sake we were going into the store, not for me.

My friend looked around at all the moose shirts and Mount Snow hats, and I stayed uncomfortably in one corner of the store. “Look at this one!” she suddenly yelled to me from across the store. “Wouldn’t this be great for my mom? Come and look at it!”

Forty dollars later I managed to sneak out of the gift shop and crawl back into my car. What made it even worse was that I had Vermont plates on my car. Vermont cars do not park outside gift shops.

We drove past Barry’s house and continued down to the General Store, where I pulled up with my pick up truck in front of the sign saying “Parallel parkers will be shot.” “I’m just going in to get some milk and cheese,” I said. “Do you wanna come?”

I always had to get cheese when I went to the General Store. This store is the only place I know where they actually sell real Vermont cheddar cheese, not the kind you get at Stop and Shop. The cheese is displayed in the store on a big, round pillar, and Lissa cuts pieces out of it like you would cut a piece of cake.

As we are watching the cheese being cut, a man walks past us into the narrow isle of pasta. “That’s Dan Hescock,” I whisper. “He is the guy that always inspects my car.”

This car inspector is widely known, not only up here in Vermont. Hescock is the reason why my car is still out on the roads, even though I have no horn, no parking break and no back-up lights. Every year when I go to inspect my car, he says to me, “It looks like your back-up lights aren’t working,” and I give him a surprised look and say, “Oh, really?” Sometimes he asks if I want him to take a look at it, and sometimes he just says I should consider getting it fixed. I really should consider getting it fixed. On the other hand, I don’t even know if the car will last until next year’s inspection, so what’s the point?

The only reason the car was purchased in the first place, by the man who owns the house at the end of High Hopes Road, was to drive garbage to the dump. Oh, the Dump! I realize this is the only thing I have forgotten to show my friend.

The Dump, where everything is now sorted into household garbage on the left, colored glass and white glass a little further over, and metal, scraps and anything else you can’t dispose of on the right. The Dump is usually muddy, but the man who works there is nice. When I tell my friend about it she isn’t excited at all about going to see it.

“But the man who works there gives you lollipops when you drop off all your bottles and cans,” I say enthusiastically.

My friend just shakes her head at me. Maybe another time.

Visiting New York on a tight budget

This is actually a story I wrote for my travel writing class at Quinnipiac University a few years ago, but I think it works well here, too:

When I was in New York this weekend, I realized that no matter how much money I have with me, I always manage to spend it all. There’s no city that can make me go as crazy as New York can. I always need money for the train, some food, and then some shopping, those $5 coffees from Starbucks and then some more food… and it can go on like that until I am up to over $100 for a day.

Then I thought about all those other times when I have actually gone to Manhattan without bringing hardly any money, and I’ve had just as much fun. Without spending any money, you can still experience the fresh green, slightly wet grass in Central Park, the smell of fresh fish off the ship at the South Street Seaport or the sounds of angrily honking taxicabs trying to cross over Seventh Avenue at Times Square.

There are several ways you can go to New York on a tight budget. First of all, don’t waste $25 on taking the Metro North into the city from New Haven (or wherever you are coming from). Instead, if you have a car, drive down to the Bronx and take the subway to Manhattan for $1.50. Of course, you have to know your way around the Bronx a little, because you don’t want to park in the back streets of South Bronx and come back from a day in the city to find out your windows, your stereo, and your seats are gone. Nor would you want to come back from the city to find out that you have a $25 parking ticket because you parked on the wrong side of South Broadway.

The best places to park are right around subway 5 (green) or the 1 and 9 (red). You can get to number 5 by taking exit 7 off the Merritt Pkwy (of course it will change to Hutchinson River Pkwy as you enter Westchester County), and you can get to number 1 and 9 by taking the New York State Thruway 87 down to the 238 street exit.

If you are going to New York with a group of friends, it really isn’t a bad idea to drive in and just park at a municipal parking garage for the day. To park for a day is about $18 (including tax and tip), which I usually split with my friends, and I have personally never had any trouble driving in the city or gotten anything stolen from my car while parked.

If you do decide to take the subway into the city, and you plan to move around a lot between downtown, midtown and uptown, you should definitely consider getting a Funpass. Funpasses are $4 and you get unlimited rides on the subway until midnight. That way, if you get tired throughout the day from walking the miles-long avenues, you can still hop on the train even if all your money is gone.

Walking around the city taking photos is, of course, something that doesn’t have to cost you a cent, until you get home and want to develop your film. If you want to take good photos of the now chopped down city skyline seen from the south, you can take the Staten Island Ferry for free. It will give you an opportunity to get good photos of the city without the World Trade Center, both when you are sailing away and coming back. The trip takes about 20 minutes one way.

For a taste of the nature in the middle of the greatest city on earth, you can visit Central Park, also free. You can either step into the park and leave the city behind, or stay along the paved sides of it, like I did when I was trying to get a glimpse of Harrison Ford. Ford is supposedly renting an apartment at 101 Central Park West, really close to the Dakota Building outside of which John Lennon was shot. If you get tired from waiting, there are nice wooden benches along Central Park West, and also throughout the park. Be sure to bring some leftover bread, however, if you plan to sit down around the Baruch Chess and Checkers house since it is filled with hungry and overly friendly squirrels.

If you go to the city on a weekend, there are always fun things going on and fun people to talk to in Washington Square Park. You can take the 1 or 9 to Christopher Street or the green, yellow or gray line to Union Square. From here it’s also a close walk to Greenwich Village where you will find second hand CD’s, funky stores, and semi-cheap coffee houses.

If you walk around in Greenwich Village, you should definitely pass by Grove Street where the Friends building is located. It took me several years of walking up and down the street until I actually found the brown brick building. The trick is to walk onto Grove Street from Hudson street towards Seventh Avenue until you see the Friends building appear on your right. If you are a fan of this number one rated show on television, as I am, it is definitely worth the while looking for the famous façade.

Eating in the city can be quite expensive if you go to the wrong places. So, don’t. You don’t need to go to the Rainbow Room or even the Hard Rock Café to get a good meal. Those places are best seen from a distance, where the luxurious view of the city or the loud music won’t bother you or your wallet. I’ve actually had friends who found buffets in Chinatown and Greenwich Village for $1 per person. My best meal in the city, however, was a juicy gyro in soft pita bread with plenty of fresh salad for $3.50 at the deli on the corner of Third Avenue and 43rd street.

Personally, I value food above everything else, so I’d rather save my money and make sure I eat well instead of buying souvenirs or clothes. However, if food is not a priority, you can either bring a sandwich and some water in your backpack and have lunch on a park bench or in the grass in Central Park, or go to McDonald’s, which is only slightly more expensive in the city.

There are many events going on for free in the city, especially during the summer. Keep your eyes open and check in newspapers and magazines to be sure to spot some of them. Famous people appear randomly at bookstores and in music stores for promotional events and you might be able to catch a glimpse of them. I once saw Alice Cooper when he was in Coconuts on Sixth Avenue signing CD’s. One warm, sticky summer night in Central Park I also managed to catch a free play starring Meryl Streep, Philip Seymour Hoffman, and Natalie Portman, thanks to my dear friend who found a small ad in the newspaper. Of course, we had to stand in line outside the Delacorte Theater for two hours with our clothes sticking to our bodies because of the intense heat and wait for returned tickets, but we had more or less been guaranteed spots by the employees, so it was worth the wait.

Ground Zero is of course the newest tourist attraction that is so far free to visit. If you really want to stretch your legs, you can walk from Times Square all the way down on Broadway, a walk I accomplished in a little less than three hours. Otherwise, take the subway.

Last time I was down there, Ground Zero covered an area from Chambers Street in the north to Cedar Street in the south and from Trinity Place/Church Street in the east all the way to the Hudson River in the west, but I would imagine they’ve cleaned up some more of the ashes and rubble by now.

While you are downtown anyway, I recommend walking over to the East side of Manhattan to experience the South Street Seaport. As I was there on a Saturday with beautiful weather, I was a bit overwhelmed by the number of visitors and the smell of fish, but in general I believe it can be a really nice place to visit.

When the sun decides to come out, as it often does in the city, the Seaport is a nice place to just sit down and relax, look at people and pretend that you are sitting at a beach in Maine. Try to stay away from the actual shopping area on Pier 17 if you don’t want to spend money, but definitely look to the north for a view of the Brooklyn Bridge.

As the sun sets, you should definitely make your way over to the Hudson River, and watch all the roller-bladers fly by in their helmets and kneepads. And before you head back to your car, just stop for a moment and think about the amount of money you spent. If you follow my advice, you can have a great day in New York City for less than $10.