Tag: destination

Tourists in Tiger Territory

          The morning air in Basanti was warm, with smog draped over the pink-orange sunrise like a thick layer of grey chiffon. After a 2-hour drive southeast from my Dadu Ji’s (granddad’s) house in Kolkata, we had reached the far edges of the state of West Bengal and indeed the outer borders of the country of India, but we had not yet escaped the ring of air pollution that surrounds the city center.

          The streets of Basanti town were abuzz with shopkeepers preparing their wares, mother cows bellowing to their young, and tropical birds cheerfully singing the tunes for which they were named: papiha (Common Hawk-Cuckoo), kokila (Asian Koel), kowah (Crow). Their songs were underscored by the incessant thrumming of mosquitoes, menacing man and animal alike as they flitted in search of their next victims. Mosquitoes, I believe, were put on this planet to humble humans — after all, their mere presence reduces us from power-hungry predators to paltry prey.

          We unloaded our car briskly, swatting the air vigorously all the while, then made our way to the waterside, where a sign welcomed us:

Sundarbans National Park & Tiger Reserve

          A boat and its crew awaited us at the dock: the Delta Queen, captained by a majestically mustached man named Mrittunjoy. The Delta Queen was our ticket into the Sundarbans, the world’s largest mangrove forest situated within the world’s largest river delta. Spanning two countries (India and Bangladesh) and nearly 4,000 square miles, this region boasts a wide range of flora and fauna, with over 200 bird species alone. But the jungle, we were told, was full of terrible dangers—ranging from tree roots to tigers to territorial bees – and thus the water was the safest place for us to observe its biodiversity.

Mangrove trees are unique in that they have aerial roots or “breathing roots” that grow up and out of the water-logged soil. This incredible adaptation has enabled mangroves to thrive in extremely harsh, saline environments; however, these breathing roots are also very sharp and hazardous for land-dwellers.

          Just as the sun began to peek out from behind its ashen curtain, the Delta Queen embarked on its 3-day journey into the Sundarbans Delta, where the sacred Ganges River empties into the Bay of Bengal. Mrittunjoy had a keen eye for spotting birds, and he promptly began to point out Kingfishers concealed in masses of mangrove roots. He soliloquized about the species of the Sundarbans; about the sea and its stringent saltiness; about the sweets that might be served at snack-time. Within only a few hours, we had seen deer, monitor lizards, birds of prey, and hundreds of mudskippers along the canal shores.

This amazing shot of a Black-Capped Kingfisher was captured by my incredibly talented uncle, Partha Pratim Saha. You can check out more of his photography on his Instagram and website. 

          Then, in the late afternoon, as our boat wove down a wider waterway, my sister leapt up from her seat and pointed excitedly towards land. I craned my neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of an elusive Bengal tiger. Instead, I saw…

          A woman. She balanced a pot on her head as she retreated from the riverbank, the pleats of her sari swaying in time with her gait. I squinted at this sight, struggling to see what had attracted my sister’s attention.

          “People live out here?” my sister asked in awe.

          Despite the dangers advertised to us, people do in fact live out there: 4.5 million on the Indian side and even more in Bangladesh. Much of the Sundarbans is protected as a nature reserve, but this region is still one of the most densely populated in the world. The fertile floodplains surrounding the delta are ideal for agricultural production, and there are small fishing villages on the islands within the delta. These settlements are simple and extremely rural, sometimes only accessible by boat.

          Discomfort settled over me as I realized that we had been observing these villagers with unabashed scrutiny, just as we had been observing the flora and the fauna. They’re not here for my viewing pleasure, I scorned myself. Yet, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The sight of this woman was jarring, I realized, because her life was so necessarily attuned and inextricably tethered to the patterns of the earth: the comings and goings of the rains, the cycles of the moon, the ebbs and flows of the tide. Every morning, while I stumble to my bathroom and turn on the tap, this woman carries a pot down to the riverside and fetches her water straight from the Sundarbans Delta. Though united by our shared humanity, I couldn’t help but feel species away from her, as distant as I felt from the exotic Kingfishers.

          Over the remainder of our jungle cruise, Mrittunjoy pointed out local fishing boats and informed us about the villagers’ practices of collecting honey from wild rock bees. He explained that the locals fish the delta from June to December, then pause all fishing activities and collect honey between March and May to ensure sustainable harvesting practices. As he continued to intersperse facts about the local people’s customs with his commentary on cobras and crocodiles, my unease grew. I became acutely aware of the separation between us and them; between our tour boat and the Sundarbans – their home.

          Indeed, from the safety of our tour boat, it was all too easy to view these villagers as another species altogether; to assume that they are somehow less susceptible to the forecasted dangers of the Sundarbans simply by virtue of surviving there everyday. This is not the case. The villagers enter the jungle at their own peril, for tiger attacks are common. Yet, they have no choice; aquaculture and beekeeping are the only ways for them to make a living. In this way, the villagers are equal contributors to the Sundarbans ecosystem; they survive on the offerings of the jungle, at any time prone to becoming offerings themselves – whether to tigers or to mosquitoes. Sometimes predators, sometimes prey, these villagers remind us that humans are but one species acting within complex, multi-species ecosystems. They challenge the illusion that humans are always, unequivocally, at the top of the food chain.

(c)PPS Photography
(c)PPS Photography
(c)PPS Photography

Some more breathtaking captures of the Sundarbans food chain by my uncle, Partha Pratim Saha. 

          But then, if the villagers are prey, what is it that seeks to predate them? Is it really the tigers, prowling innocently in search of their next meal? Or is it the tour companies that ferry paying foreigners out by the dozens, predatory in their promise of ‘exotic experiences’ at the expense of ecological peace? These tour companies are required to hold permits, and they are (in theory) regulated by strict legislation. But the laws prohibiting pollution are not enforced – I personally witnessed a great deal of waste during our three days onboard the Delta Queen. Though I remained firmly on the boat, I was drawn into this larger socio-political ecosystem of the Sundarbans, animated not by waters and winds but by neoliberal greed and corruption. We may have been safe from the jungle, but the jungle was not safe from us.

          In climate change discourse, humans are usually positioned against nature — and for good reason! Humans have too often exploited nature’s balance to our gain. However, I reject the notion that humans are always and can only ever be antagonistic forces on nature. As we see in the Sundarbans, humans can be protectors and stewards of their lands; they, too, can contribute to ecological balance. We need only to remember that we are – despite our daily differences – the same species as the villagers of the Sundarbans. We are products of our environments, not just polluters of them.

          Though protected as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the fragile brackish ecosystem of the Sundarbans is extremely vulnerable to climate change, and many of its inhabitant species are endangered—including humans!! Rising salinity levels, coastline erosion, cyclones, and floods threaten to disrupt the precarious natural balance of the Sundarbans and displace the millions of people who live there, triggering an environmental refugee crisis. We cannot allow this to happen!

Climate change is NOT inevitable OR irreversible.

We are ALL a part of this global ecosystem, and we all stand to benefit by saving it.

          If you are interested in learning more about the Sundarbans, or if you’d like to donate in support of its inhabitants, please visit the links below:

Read about/ see maps of the Sundarbans UNESCO World Heritage Site

Read Misreading the Bengal Delta by Camelia Dewan

Donate to the Sundarban Foundation to support tiger victims and other humans in the Sundarbans through medical aid, employment, and education.

Donate to The Canopy Project Sundarbans to support environmental conservation and restoration.

Donate to AID India to support natural disaster relief and climate resilience infrastructure.

Photo by Partha Pratim Saha

A Visionary Experience

          “Organic…wheatgrass…smoothie stand…” I muttered to myself, my breath hitching as I trotted along the uneven dirt path. I had been walking for maybe 20, max 25 minutes. The journey wasn’t long, but I didn’t exactly know where I was going, and after twenty-some minutes alone with my own thoughts, I began to wonder if I had already passed my destination. I peered over my shoulder and saw the same stretch of road I had just walked. No smoothie stand. It must be further ahead, then, I thought, and kept walking. 

          “Smoothies…organic smoothies…” 

          I wasn’t craving a smoothie. No, I wasn’t really looking for the smoothie stand at all. Rather, I was seeking what lay behind the smoothie stand; an elusive treasure promised to me by a stranger… 

          I had arrived in Tulum the night before, with only my yoga mat and a small backpack in tow. For the three weeks prior, I had been living with a Mexican host family in Merida. 

          The bus ride between the two Yucatecan cities was a few short hours, but transportation delays and my own neglect to consider time differences caused me to nearly miss the check-in window at my hostel. Luckily, the staff at “Mama’s Home” took pity on me.

         After a good night’s rest in my shared dormitory, I woke early, intent on making the most of my weekend in Tulum. Mama’s Home Hostel served delicious homemade breakfasts every morning!

          Mama’s Home was in the heart of town, but the locals insisted that I check out the beach. So, on my first visit to Mexico’s East coast, I boarded a local bus. The beach in Tulum is lined with resorts, boutiques, cafes, and art installations; I took my time meandering along the street and observing the city’s unique aesthetic. 

          It was during this wander that I first encountered the work of Daniel Popper, a 3D-multimedia artist who specializes in larger-than-life feminine statues. After this trip, I sought out Daniel Popper’s astonishing works at music festivals, a conservatory in Vegas, and a pop-up exhibit in a Chicago arboretum.

          This installation served as my gateway to the white sand beaches of Tulum, and I stepped through the statue’s heart space towards my first glimpse of the Caribbean Sea. Almost immediately, I was greeted by a spritely vendor with a massive load of fresh coconuts.

            “Veinte pesos!” he offered, and I couldn’t resist. I watched with glee as he picked out my coconut and hacked off the top with his machete. He plopped a straw into the hole, handed it to me, and quickly took off down the coast, his coconuts clanging cacophonously as his feet plodded against the sand. I settled into a resort chair—though I wasn’t a paying guest, no one seemed to mind my presence—and sipped the sweet coconut water.

          After my refreshment break, I set off down the beach in search of a yoga studio. Tulum is notorious among Western yogis for its selection of top-tier yoga classes and instructors, so I was eager to check out the scene for myself. Indeed, I found several options within a half-mile stretch, ranging from sound baths to Yoga Nidra to Kundalini. I eventually opted for a familiar offering: slow vinyasa flow. The studio was breathtaking: a free-standing room on the beach with floor to ceiling glass windows and a pristine view of the ocean. I was the first to arrive, and I enjoyed the ambience for several minutes in blissful solace.

            When the class time rolled around, the instructor appeared to let me know that I was the only one enrolled! We chatted for a bit before beginning my inadvertent private lesson. I was surprised to learn that my yoga teacher was not from the Yucatan Peninsula, nor would she be showcasing a unique Tulum style of yoga—rather, she had grown up and completed her yoga training in California. Nonetheless, her class provided exactly what I had been craving: a dynamic yet gentle sequence of postures and transitions, enhanced by the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

I didn't snap any pics of the studio on the beach, but this is the yoga studio at Holistika Resort where I attended a Kundalini class the next day. 

          After savasana, I thanked the instructor, and we shared tidbits from our respective teacher trainings. I learned that she, like me, had traveled to Tulum in her early 20’s and fallen in love with the slow-paced, ethereal atmosphere. When her husband received an offer to relocate for work, she was all too happy to leave her life in the States and open her own studio in Quintana Roo. Our conversation eventually lulled, and I prepared to bid her farewell. As I rolled up my mat, though, I hesitated. I had an inquiry for her, though I did not know whether she would have an answer for me. Worse: I did not know whether my inquiry might be seen as tacky or even offensive. I chewed my lip for a moment, contemplating. Finally:

            “Do you know where I might find a plant medicine ceremony?”

            I expected a grimace, an eyeroll, or a gasp, but I received no such response. Instead, the instructor paused for a moment, deep in thought, and then said,

            “Try the organic wheatgrass smoothie stand.”

          So, that’s how I ended up on the roadside, clinging desperately to a blind faith in my yoga instructor’s vague directions. This was a new experience for me, and I had known coming in that I wouldn’t find a clear list of options on Tripadvisor. Even still, I was a bit unsettled by the prospect of approaching a random smoothie vendor and asking them for mind-altering drugs. Would they scorn me? Would they laugh? Would they turn me into the local authorities? I truly had no idea what to expect.

          At the ripe age of twenty-one, I was no stranger to the world of psychoactive substances. I grew up in Colorado, where recreational cannabis was legalized just after my 14th birthday. By the time I went to study abroad in Mexico, I was a certified psychonaut, but I had never undergone a psychedelic experience with a guide, save for the rare occasions when my roommate happened to be home and offered, jokingly, to be my “trip sitter.” I was, as drug users go, quite responsible; I was careful to always assess the risks of each substance, measure my dose meticulously, and prepare a safe setting in the event of a bad trip. I had never seen a need for a guide. However, I had journeyed to Tulum seeking a spiritual release, and I knew that this city would be the perfect place to dip my toes into the waters of sacramental drug use.

           After another ten minutes of walking aimlessly, I encountered the first marker of my destination: a hand-painted wooden sign with the words “Vegan Organic Wheatgrass Smoothies.” The smoothie stand itself was only a few meters off the road, a quaint wooden hut with a roof of dried palm fronds, nestled within a lush garden of tropical plants. I approached hesitantly, still not knowing what or how to ask for what I desired. Luckily, I didn’t have to—a middle-aged Mexican woman behind the bar flashed me a comforting smile and handed me a menu. Internally, I facepalmed—duh, I should order something, I thought to myself. In feeble Spanish, I informed the woman about my vegetarianism and asked for her recommendation. She pointed to one of the specials, barbecue jackfruit tacos, and I nodded eagerly in agreement.

          Within minutes, the woman had served me a stunning plate of plant-based tacos, complete with freshly squeezed orange juice and their house salsa. This meal was a welcome sight, for I had already learned that Mexican cuisine is not the most vegetarian friendly. Back in Merida, I had repeatedly told my host mom “no como carne!” (“I don’t eat meat!”), only for her to serve me ham sandwiches and arroz con pollo. She was such a gracious host that I was happy to eat whatever she offered me, but I was incredibly grateful to finally have some animal-free dietary options.

            As I savored my meal, I basked in the beauty of the surrounding garden and worked up the nerve to ask for what I had come for. At last:

            “Do you know where I could find a plant medicine ceremony?” I gulped my orange juice nervously, awaiting her response.

            “Ah, si,” she replied immediately. “Go talk to the man in there.” Much to my surprise, she pointed to a small building behind me. 

          I quickly finished my meal, walked over to the modest hotel, and repeated my question to the man behind the desk. He confirmed that I was in the right place. Before I could even process what happened, we agreed that I would come back the following morning at 7 am—“just as the sun is rising,” the man said, “it will be beautiful.”

          I went through the rest of that afternoon and evening in a state of slight disbelief and gripping fear. What had I signed up for? Should I even trust this man? Was I putting myself in danger by agreeing to this? In hindsight, my concerns were perfectly valid, and perhaps I should have asked more questions before I paid the man to reserve my ceremony (a measly $100 USD for what I perceived as a once-in-a-lifetime cultural experience). Even still, I am glad that I calmed myself and embraced the unknown. The next morning, I awoke before first light and tiptoed around the hostel to avoid waking my roommates. At 6:30, I set off down the same road I had walked the previous day, this time knowing confidently where I was headed.

            Just as the sun’s light began to peek over the horizon, I arrived at the hotel and greeted my facilitator, whose name I learned was Valtteri. He led me through the garden behind the hotel towards a lone tipi nestled within the lush vegetation. He then introduced me to his assistant and invited me to get comfortable amongst the many blankets and pillows laid out on the tipi floor. He began to explain the medicine offering: 5-MEO-DMT, not a plant medicine after all, but in fact the venom of the toad known as Bufo Alvarius, which is native to the Mexican Sonoran Desert. My heart was racing out of my chest, but he spoke slowly and steadily, and I began to feel calm by listening to his voice. I tried to focus on my breath in an attempt at getting my heartrate under control.

          Valtteri asked me if I had ever experienced the toad medicine, and I shook my head. He smiled knowingly but did not say anything; I imagine he did not want to create any expectations for me. Instead, he explained the method of ingestion. Though he gave clear and concise instructions, I could feel my stomach twisting into knots. What if I did it wrong? What if I missed a step? What’s the worst thing that can happen?

            My facilitator did not give me time to dwell on my anxieties. He immediately launched into a guided meditation focused on the breath. Those ten minutes felt like an eternity. I attempted to clear my mind and listen only to the sensations in my body, which were clouded by the overbearing thump-thump of my heart in my chest. My logical mind fought for dominance against my emotional center, and I tried desperately to suppress my panic without tensing my body or losing the rhythm of my breath. Finally, Valtteri asked me to open my eyes. His assistant handed him a small glass pipe, which he promptly held up to my mouth.

            “Breathe in,” he instructed, and began to light the pipe. I did as I was told. Almost immediately, a burning sensation erupted in my lungs. My years of smoking weed could never have prepared me for that moment—I wanted to exhale, to choke, to cry out, but Valtteri said firmly, “keep going.” I did as I was told. I inhaled until my lungs were full of red-hot air, swirling and smoldering and igniting my airways. I inhaled for a thousand years and felt my chest imploding with the shape of smoke, my blistering breath combusting inside me. And then, when I thought I couldn’t possibly inhale anything more, Valtteri said, “hold it in.” I did as I was told.

            I must have exhaled at some point. I vaguely remember seeing a cloud of wispy smoke dissipating before me. I believe Valtteri guided me through one more inhale, though my memory of the ingestion disintegrates into conjecture after the first hit. Valtteri’s voice began to sound very distant, as though I was falling down a deep well and he was calling to me from the top. At some point, the blazing fire in my lungs faded away, overtaken by the more pressing concern of my rapidly dissolving consciousness. The edges of my periphery blurred, followed soon after by my entire field of vision. I began to vibrate.

          At first, the vibrations were gentle and low, emanating from deep within my gut. Then, the vibrations grew stronger and stronger, crescendoing in a symphony of high-frequency tremors that resonated outwards from my being and caused the earth beneath me to quake and tremble violently. Just as the pulsations arrived at a deafening throb, I heard Valtteri speak to me from someplace far away: “lay back.”

          I did as I was told, and I immediately slipped into the warm embrace of the visionary realm.

          My blurry, precarious grip on reality exploded into unprecedented clarity. I was suddenly drenched in the full spectrum of color, swimming in a pool of blinding saturation. Every shade of the rainbow splintered into fractals simultaneously. Each hue gave way to a new shape in succession: circles, stars, spirals, supernovas. They blended into one another seamlessly, creating a harmonious cinema of kaleidoscopic beauty.

          I was no longer in my body. I was not merely a detached observer; I was not separate from the kaleidoscope at all. Rather, I was careening down its center, being absorbed and resorbed by a boundless pattern of pigmented particles. My limbs, my torso, my head, all these parts of me had ceased to exist, and I rode the current of colors like the high soprano of a violin, ringing amidst its counterparts in a bright orchestral swell. The energy within my prismatic world surged and softened, crested and calmed. I floated above it all.

          Magenta rings shattered into lavender mandalas; rust-colored rhombi fragmented into scarlet diamonds; cobalt crosses fractured into dazzling lime angles. Each mosaic ruptured into one more breathtaking than the last, weaving a never-ending polychromatic tapestry. I had never seen such color before. Formless, limitless, I traveled through the tunnel of my fulminating consciousness.

          Time did not exist here. I was wholly immersed in my altered consciousness, unaware of my physical surroundings. Eventually, I was ejected from the kaleidoscope into a realm inhabited by prismatic nature spirits. These creatures were equally as colorful as their polygonal predecessors, but they resided within the third, fourth, and fifth dimensions, shifting between planes and challenging my depth perception. At one moment within reach, and the next light years away. Rainbow-colored elephants zoomed in and out of focus with the vibrant contrast of a neatly lined color-by-number painting. Jungle cats folded symmetrically along their mid-lines, their whiskers aligning with perfect precision, only to stretch and elongate, abstracting and deconstructing through countless reflections. Polyhedral parrots, geckos, frogs, and fish stacked themselves on top of one another, forming infinite totems that stretched beyond my comprehension.

          The final spirit was that of a lone wolf, crisply defined in all his chromaticity. He dominated my mind’s eye, strong and stationary. Rather than standing opposite the wolf, it seemed as though his face was presented to me: a page in a book from which I could not and did not want to look away. I stared at him; he stared at me.

          And then: white. My awareness was subsumed by a blanket of heavenly nothingness. A choir of angelic voices rang out in unison. In this blank space, I had no body, nor thoughts, nor feelings. I simply existed. Unfiltered sunlight poured in from all directions, purifying and crystallizing the emptiness. I remained there for quite a while, basking in a sensation of peace that I had never before experienced.

          Upon opening my eyes, I first saw the blue day sky through the open top of the tipi. The sun was fully risen now, indicating that some amount of time must have passed during my ceremony, though I had no conception of how much. The sounds of my surroundings came next: the gentle yet steady percussive thrum of Valtteri’s assistant as he struck his drum and chanted in Spanish; the wind whistling outside the tipi; my own breath. I slowly became aware of my own body on the earth, bolstered comfortably by the pillows and blankets onto which I had collapsed during ingestion. I felt my bones first: my hips, spine, and skull pressing against the firm ground. Then, slowly, I regained sensation in my soft tissues, felt my muscles reawakening, sent subtle movements into my extremities. My vision gradually sharpened, and I began to remember where I was and how I had gotten there. I rocked my head from side to side and swirled my tongue around my mouth. I returned to reality.

          I pressed up to a seat and looked to Valtteri, who was smiling softly.

          “Lost track of space and time, hm?” he asked with slight amusement. I nodded, bewildered. The details of my journey were already beginning to fade from my memory, but the integration of what I had learned would take many months to follow. I could only begin to process my visions in those first few moments after reemergence.

          We took our time exiting the tipi, as my legs had seemingly forgotten how to work. Valtteri wished me luck and sent me deeper into the garden, where another member of the hotel staff was preparing a fresh vegetarian breakfast for me. Having just encountered a multitude of divine beings, eating was the last thing on my mind, but indeed my body was grateful for the nourishment. I ate slowly, chewing each bite a hundred times as I lost myself in recollections of my trip. And then, when I had finished my meal, I simply got up and showed myself out. 

          I felt as thought I was putting my human suit back on and resuming the mundane act of theatrical imitation. My head reeled with everything I had seen; my perspective on life felt forever changed; and yet, I had emerged in the same physical form, a mere 45 minutes later. I had no choice – I went on living my life, having captured a glimpse of the otherworldly forces that lie beyond the veil. 

The Truth About Birthright Israel – Part One

          I inherited Jewishness from my mother, so I have had the bittersweet experience of visiting Israel for free. Yes, for FREE. The Israeli government runs a program called “Taglit (Discovery)-Birthright Israel,” otherwise known as “Birthright Israel” or simply, “Birthright.” This program sponsors ten-day trips to Israel for all Jews between the ages of 18 and 26, and it covers ALL expenses, including airfare, accommodations, meals, transportation, and cultural experiences. The eligibility requirements are straightforward: you must have at least one parent of Jewish descent or have converted to Judaism through a recognized Jewish movement. As the name implies, the program is founded on the assumption that all Jews have a birthright to discover the Jewish homeland and connect with their Jewish identity. Readers, perhaps you see where this is headed, but dear readers…I did not.

          Here, I must pause to make a disclaimer: not all Jews are Zionist. I do not believe that any religion or perceived birthright is justification for violence, oppression, and apartheid. Make no mistake — Israel is an apartheid state. For this reason, I will continue to refer to my Taglit trip as “birthright,” because I do not feel that Jews have any more birthright over that land than the people who have resided there for centuries. Furthermore, I use the terms “Israel” and “occupied Palestine” to refer to the same region; “Israel” occasionally in the context of the Jewish state, “occupied Palestine” everywhere else.

          Despite my staunch opposition to modern political Zionism, I do not wish to downplay the beauty of Judaism in my attempt to expose the lesser-known truths about Taglit-Birthright. It was an enormous privilege to visit this region and experience its history. This article covers Jewish history and Israeli culture; please visit Part Two to read about the parts of my trip that left a sour taste in my mouth: the discrimination, the propaganda, and the shocking geo-political realities of the Zionist state.

THE TRIP

          My “Birthright Israel” journey took place in summer of 2018, shortly after I trained to become a yoga teacher. By that time, I had connected profoundly with my Indian heritage, and I yearned to do the same with my Jewish roots. I thought, an all-expenses-paid opportunity to learn about Jewish history and culture? Sign me up! Ultimately, I did learn about Jewish history and culture, but I was not entirely pleased by my findings.

          Our itinerary was jampacked, and we didn’t even have time to recover from the jetlag before we were piled onto a coach bus with the words “Taglit-Birthright” emblazoned on the side. In ten short days, we were shuttled from border to border to take in all the sights and sounds of occupied Palestine. We never stayed in one hotel for more than two nights; we never ate at the same place twice; we truly experienced a lot of the country through the eyes of Israeli settlers. Here are some of the highlights from my trip:

West Asian Agriculture

          In the Shomron region in northern occupied Palestine, we visited Kibbutz Ein-Shemer. A Kibbutz is an intentional community traditionally based on agriculture, so we explored Ein-Shemer’s greenhouses and fruit orchards to learn about the community’s history, as well as the role of agriculture in Israel’s economy. Several Kibbutz members joined us to discuss their lifestyles and daily activities on the Kibbutz, and they even invited us to enjoy some fresh fruits and veggies from the greenhouses!

            At the end of our Kibbutz tour, each of us were given a dove to release. To this day, I have no idea why we did this. Perhaps they were attempting a symbolic gesture of peace? Let me know what you think in the comments.

Graffiti Tour in Tel Aviv

          Tel Aviv, a vibrant urban center, plays host to a wide range of artists, many of whose mediums are the streets. As we wandered the city, our tour guide pointed out various works on building facades, mailboxes, fences, and sidewalks. He highlighted motifs in each piece and provided context on well-known graffiti artists, along with the socio-political messages that they attempt to convey through their work. We also visited some indoor galleries that showcased Tel Aviv’s more orthodox artisanship.

Yad Vashem Holocaust Memorial

          Perhaps the most chilling and solemn moment of my trip was our visit to Yad Vashem, the World Holocaust Remembrance Center. Located on a hill overlooking Jerusalem, the museum is a long, narrow, dimly lit building with exhibitions designed to be viewed in a linear fashion. Our tour guide explained that the building’s structure invokes the Jews’ experience of the Holocaust, such that the visitor enters a long, dark tunnel with no end in sight. We spent more than three hours inside the museum, observing photos of concentration camps, simulations of gas chambers, and glass cases full of abandoned shoes. In seeing those snippets of Jewish life during the Holocaust, the gravity of their genocide fell upon me. The final exhibit is a dome-shaped room with floor-to-ceiling projections that flash rotating photos of Holocaust victims. In a poignant moment of collective grief, I wept alongside my Jewish peers for the loss of our ancestors.

            When our tour concluded, we emerged from the dark building into daylight, where we paused before the vast landscape of the Holy Land. The gaping exit of Yad Vashem, our tour guide told us, symbolizes the liberation of the Jews from concentration camps and the ultimate creation of the new Jewish state, where Jews could finally be freed from generations of violence. Yad Vashem served as a profound reminder that the Holocaust continues to shape contemporary Judaism and its people.  

No pictures included of the Holocaust memorial, for obvious reasons. This is the view of Jerusalem at the end of the museum.

Hezekiah's Tunnels under Jerusalem

          As the Hebrew Bible foretold, the City of David (the ancient core of Jerusalem), rests upon a series of underground tunnels that were once used to transport fresh water from the Gihon Spring to the Siloam Pool—a life-giving source for the ancient peoples of Jerusalem. Largely regarded as an extraordinary and baffling feat of engineering, these tunnels are attributed to Hezekiah, the reigning King of Judah circa late 8th  century to 687 BCE. Biblical scholars believe that Hezekiah constructed these tunnels so that he could fortify against Assyrian invasion without compromising the city’s water source.

            Modern Jerusalem has since implemented newer methods of irrigation, so Hezekiah’s tunnels have become a tourist attraction, allowing visitors to wade through stagnant water for a portion of the tunnels’ 533-meter length. Inevitably, this tour is a staple of “Birthright” trips, and we geared up with water shoes and shorts to descend underground. The tunnels are approximately two feet wide and pitch-black, with water levels ranging from ankle-deep to thigh-deep depending on the location (and your height, of course). Needless to say, I don’t recommend Hezekiah’s tunnels for anyone prone to claustrophobia, aquaphobia, or nyctophobia. However, this tour was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I was fascinated by the remarkable ancient infrastructure.

            To my dismay, my “Birthright” peers did not take this tour as seriously. Rather than listening to our tour guide’s historical talk, they opted to vape, blast obscene music from their portable speakers, and chatter incessantly. As you might imagine, noises ricochet quite loudly in narrow, water-filled corridors. I often wonder whether my tour may have been more educational and less fear-inducing had I traveled with a more respectful group.

Camping with Bedouins in the Negev Desert

          The Bedouin are nomadic Arab tribes that have herded animals such as sheep, goats, and camels throughout the deserts of Northern Africa and the Middle East since 6000 BCE. Some Bedouins have adopted urban, sedentary lifestyles in the last two centuries, while many others live semi-sedentary lifestyles. Large groups of the latter now inhabit tent settlements in the Negev desert in occupied Palestine. Despite their exposure to Israeli culture and politics, the Bedouins have retained their traditional customs and language (Arabic), which include “Bedouin Hospitality.” Thus, the Bedouins welcomed my “Birthright” group with open arms.

            During our stay, we slept in a Bedouin tent for a night, partially exposed to the hot and sandy elements. The desert was so quiet—that night was my best sleep the whole trip. We shared a meal with our host tribe, comprised of lamb, rice, and a highly anticipated cup of Bedouin coffee: a dark, bitter roast with a unique blend of spices. We ate with our hands (just like in India!) while seated on cushions on the floor. A Bedouin man gave us a talk on their traditional art forms, which range from loom-woven textiles to clay pottery to animal-hoof utensils. The Bedouins also took us for a camel ride through the desert, which was somewhat of a roller coaster—the camels would kneel on their front legs to allow us to mount, then stand suddenly, one leg at a time, requiring us to hold on to the reigns for dear life.

The Dead Sea

          The Dead Sea lies at the lowest land-based elevation on earth, bordered by Jordan to the East and occupied Palestine to the West. This body of water is not actually a sea at all, but rather a salt lake with such high levels of salinity that swimming in it is more like floating. Being one of the world’s saltiest bodies of water, the Dead Sea is a harsh environment for plants and animals, hence its name.

            This historic landmark, mentioned throughout Jewish and Biblical literature, is one of the most anticipated destinations on the “Birthright” itinerary, but after wading into the waters, I began to wonder why. Within moments of my effortless float, inordinate amounts of salt began to seep into my skin and burn my nose, ears, nailbeds, and other unmentionable parts of my body. The experience of being lifted to the water’s surface was uncanny, but I didn’t linger to relish it. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the white sands and sunny sights of this natural marvel, grateful for the opportunity to visit.

            Perhaps more famous than the Dead Sea itself is its mud: silt from the lake’s shores that has absorbed the water’s salinity. Many health and wellness companies have profited by packaging this mud into commercial mud masks, which are now sold globally. These entrepreneurial claims are not mere pseudoscience—medical researchers have established that high concentrations of salt and magnesium, among other minerals in the mud, can effectively treat a wide range of conditions, including psoriasis, arthritis, acne, and chronic pain. However, I was surprised to discover that Dead Sea tourists cannot simply dig up this miraculous mud. Instead, you must visit nearby spa shops that sell mud products for 70 to 350 Shekels. My group leaders graciously purchased several masks for us all to share, so I slathered myself in the magic elixir of yore. Maybe it cured me of all my ailments? Only time will tell.

Hiking Masada

          Hebrew for “fortress;” Masada is a UNESCO World Heritage Site for two palaces built by Herod the Great. Masada was fortified during the 1st century BCE to protect the palaces against Roman Siege. Situated atop an isolated plateau in southern occupied Palestine, Masada is only accessible by foot and by cable car. There are two trails that lead to the top of the plateau, both of which are perilously narrow and steep. My “Birthright” group traversed the Roman Ramp trail in the darkness of early morning, hoping to reach the summit in time to see the sun rising over the Dead Sea. Not much remains of the palace structures at the top, but the scenery was certainly stunning.

Shabbat (The Old City & The White City)

          Also known as the day of rest, Shabbat is an ancient Jewish tradition wherein Jews refrain from work activities and take rest. Every week, Shabbat begins at sundown on Friday and continues through sundown on Saturday evening. Each Jewish family has unique Shabbat practices, but traditionally, Shabbat consists of three required meals: Friday night dinner, Saturday lunch, and Saturday dinner, with the first of these three being the most commonly observed. Religious Jews attend synagogue on Saturday morning to read the Torah and perform special Shabbat prayers. Other traditions include indulging in meat and other fancy foods, wearing nice clothes, lighting candles, and greeting others with the traditional greeting, “Shabbat Shalom!” Any form of work is strictly prohibited on Shabbat, so Jews perform housework on Friday to prepare, then spend Saturday socializing, eating, worshipping, and relaxing.

            My “Birthright” trip spanned Friday to Sunday, so I celebrated two Shabbats in occupied Palestine. The first was spent in Jerusalem, the Old City, where we visited the Western (Wailing) Wall and learned about religious Shabbat customs. Then we lit candles, shared sentiments of blessings and gratitude with the group, and enjoyed a meal together.

            Our second Shabbat took place in Tel Aviv, the White City. Not everyone who lives in occupied Palestine is Jewish, but many are—as a result, most businesses close at sundown on Friday and do not reopen until sundown the following day. It was fascinating to walk the deserted streets of this normally bustling city, knowing that everyone was at home, enjoying restorative communion with their friends and families.

The Western Wall

          At the center of the Old City of Jerusalem is the Temple Mount, the holiest site in Judaism. The Temple Mount is thought to be the location of the Holy of Holies, a term used in the Hebrew Bible to denote a spiritual junction between Heaven and Earth; an inner sanctum where God’s presence appears. As such, two temples have been built in this spot to house this sacred sanctuary and its precious treasure: the Ark of the Covenant. The first temple was commissioned by King Solomon circa 10th century BCE and stood until its destruction by the Neo-Babylonian Empire in 587 BCE. A second temple was constructed nearly a century later and served as a site of worship until its destruction by the Romans in 70 CE. A Third Temple has not yet been built, as the Temple Mount is currently occupied by the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque, a site of religious significance in Islam.  

            Even still, this site retains historical importance and divine presence for Jews. The Temple Mount rests on a hill surrounded by retaining walls, one of which is the Western Wall. Entry to the Temple Mount is restricted, so Jews gather at the Western Wall to pray in proximity to the Holy of Holies, which is believed to lie just behind the wall.

          Of all the things we did on my “Birthright” trip, our visit to the Western Wall was by far the most powerful and profound. The women were asked to cover our hair with scarves, and we were separated by sex; the men were directed to the left side, the women to the right. When we got close, we were permitted to touch the wall and pray for as long as we felt compelled. I must admit, I don’t have much of a relationship with the Jewish God (assuming He/ She is different from the divine forces I believe in), but I couldn’t help but be overcome by the tangible spirituality surrounding me as I approached the wall. On all sides, women pressed their faces and palms against the worn stone—some muttered prayers in hushed tones, while others loudly expressed their devotion; many more simply wept. A deep sense of loving faith hung in the air, like a warm blanket embracing all of us at once. I saw then and there why the Western Wall has been nicknamed the “Wailing Wall,” for even I was brought to tears.

          To understate the great history and spiritual power that I experienced on my trip would be an immense disservice to occupied Palestine, as well as the people of all cultures and faiths that comprise its population. This small swath of land is a globally significant site for archeologists, biblical scholars, followers of Abrahamic religion, and world travelers alike; I consider myself lucky to have been able to explore even a fraction of it, let alone in the capacity Taglit enabled me to.

          However, I cannot in good faith discuss the good parts of my “Birthright” trip without giving equal attention to the ethically concerning parts. I know now that my luxurious experience came at the expense of Palestinian lives. Please visit The Truth About Birthright Israel – Part Two to read about the not-so-subtle agenda of Taglit-Birthright Israel. 

Let the Good Times Roll

          Did you know that there are no open container laws in New Orleans?

          I didn’t. Frankly, I didn’t know what to expect when I flew into NOLA on the eve of Mardi Gras. I have always wanted to celebrate Mardi Gras in New Orleans, but only because of the living room in my childhood home. My mother painted the walls a dark, royal purple and hung feathered masks to match. I had a strong visual of the iconic event, but in my mind, it was completely distanced from its context. New Orleans couldn’t possibly be a city in Louisiana, not in the United States at all, but rather, a whimsical land outside of space and time where sequined fairies shower you with beads and court jesters dance in the streets.

          My conception wasn’t entirely false. Sequined fairies do shower you with beads, and court jesters do dance in the streets. New Orleans at Mardi Gras embodies liminality. Everyone is either coming or going, yet no one has any real place to be. All other affairs come to a screeching halt. The laws and morals of everyday life needn’t apply—after all, it’s Mardi Gras, baby.  At least, this seemed to be the attitude held by my friend Payton, who lived in New Orleans and hosted me for the week. His job gave him the week prior to Mardi Gras off, so he spent his free days attending parades and collecting festive paraphernalia. He proudly showed off his favorite “throws”—stacks of plastic cups and handfuls of fake doubloons—while boasting his tried-and-true method for capturing a Krewe member’s attention aboard a float. I won’t reveal his secret, of course; everyone must discover their own methods.

          Unsurprisingly, the debauchery and chaos of Mardi Gras are steeped in age-old religious tradition. And who better than the Catholics, of course, to throw a raucous sin fest every year to commemorate the season of salvation?

          Rather than tell you where it all starts, it’s easier for me to explain where it ends, and that’s Easter Sunday. Easter falls on the first Sunday after the Paschal full moon, and the forty days preceding the feast are called Lent. This is a time of fasting and religious observance, wherein Catholics honor the forty days Jesus spent wandering in the desert prior to his crucifixion. They will usually make a Lenten sacrifice (such as a food or habit) and/ or undertake a spiritual discipline (such as daily devotional or prayer) to honor Jesus’s ultimate sacrifice. Many Catholics also forgo meat. Easter, then, is a welcome respite; the breaking of the long fast; a light at the end of the tunnel. The period of grief is necessarily ended by celebration of the great miracle of Christianity.

          But let’s keep winding the clock back. Lent kicks off with Ash Wednesday, when Catholics attend mass in the morning to formally begin the fast. If we go back one day further, we land on the Tuesday before Lent. This Tuesday is known as *Fat Tuesday* in honor of the gluttony that you’re meant to indulge in on the day before you fast. Traditionally, Catholics eat rich, fatty foods the night before Lenten season, then repent their sins one last time before the piety begins. It’s a classic pre-game celebration, and because it’s such a great idea, lots of non-Christians have joined in on the Fat Tuesday festivities as well. Mardi Gras is a literal translation of “Fat Tuesday” in French, and you don’t even have to be Catholic to partake!

          France, a nation that proudly celebrates Carnival, is responsible for bringing the festivities to Louisiana. In 1699, on the eve of Lent, French-Canadian explorer Jean Baptiste Le Moyne Sieur de Bienville arrived on a plot near New Orleans and declared it the “Pointe du Mardi Gras.” I guess the people of New Orleans took that title and ran with it, because now the city is infamous for its rowdy pre-Lent party. Suffice it to say that the world has Catholicism to thank for this thrilling tradition.

Festivities

            The NOLA Mardi Gras celebration consists mainly of lavish parades, hosted by exclusive groups called Krewes. The Krewes, usually named for Classical heroes and Gods (Bacchus, Sparta, Dionysus, etc.), build their own floats, plan performances, and design costumes, all of which are shrouded in secrecy until the grand Mardi Gras reveal. Unless you’re one of the lucky few privies to a Krewe gathering, you’ll have to set up camp on the parade route to see the resulting masterpieces.

            Parades start as early as a month before Fat Tuesday and each follow different routes, though most of them travel west through the French Quarter. Festivalgoers stake out spots hours before the parade to socialize, dance, eat, drink, and generally cause a ruckus. I attended my first parade with some of Payton’s friends, who prepared an entire parade-side cookout. We hauled a charcoal grill and carts full of food to the street, where we commenced a needlessly elaborate barbecue. Our neighbors to the right blasted music from their boombox while the couple to our left danced in matching sequined outfits, and we offered hot dogs to both parties in the spirit of Mardi Gras abundance. I opted for a smoky veggie skewer, of course.

          Most parades are still led by Flambeaux—a line of flaming torches that were once crucial for providing light for the festivities. Even after the advent of streetlights, they remained a symbol of the party to follow. The Flambeaux announce the arrival of the Krewe and its parade: gargantuan floats, costumed dancers, and showers of petty treasures—namely beaded necklaces and plastic masks. Attendees crowd the floats as they pass by, pleading and performing for a chance to catch the krewe’s exclusive throws. Some of my favorite catches included a set of plush dice and a Krewe of Orpheus coin.

          Masks, the iconic symbol of Mardi Gras, allow wearers to temporarily transcend borders of class, status, race, and religion. They grant the wearer freedom to behave freely during the Carnival season. Masks lend to the liminality of the event; no one is who they usually are. You can find plastic masks littering the streets after a parade, but the best ones require exquisite craftsmanship and painstaking detail. I quite enjoyed perusing the mask shops on Bourbon Street, where each mask alluded to a different culture or time, from 18th century Commedia Dell’arte to 14th century plague doctors to ancient dramatic traditions all over the world.

     Now, Mardi Gras doesn’t have to be all booze and belligerence (although you’ll see plenty of that!). In the name of contextualizing the chaos, I have some travel recommendations for my readers.

Food

Union Ramen: Japanese cuisine curated by a Vietnamese chef and a Filipino restauranteur—a true melting pot! Try the beggar’s purse dumplings, the shishito peppers, and the miso ramen with oyster mushrooms.

Juan’s Flying Burrito: Creole-tinged Tex-Mex with an emphasis on burritos. Chips & queso are great, of course, but the vegetarian options are numerous; order the tofu Juaha roll, the veggie punk burrito, or the BBQ mushroom quesadillas.

The Vintage: a classy little café bar with a tantalizing selection of beignets, baked fresh daily with rotating flavors. They also serve hors d’oeuvres and wine if you’re into that. I was extremely tempted by the truffle parmesan fries.

San Lorenzo: an ode to coastal Italian cuisine nestled in the historic St. Vincent Hotel. The lounge is spacious, warmly lit, and the dishes showcase the diversity of flavors in NOLA. I recommend the zucchini fritti and the arugula salad.

Creole Creamery: a local ice cream joint with a large selection of novelty ice cream flavors ranging from lavender honey to petit four. My favorite was chocolate doberge, but the flavors rotate regularly. Go check out the new menu when you’re there!

NOLA Caye: a contemporary take on regional New Orleans cuisine, which is a hybrid of European, Indigenous American, African, and Caribbean flavors. Unfortunately, creole food leaves something to be desired for vegetarians, but Caye has struck a beautiful balance. They’re known for their seafood, but I loved the crispy plantains and the jalapeño-cheddar grits.

Bittersweet Confections: a quaint café/ bakery on Magazine St. They offer delectable pastries as well as a full breakfast-lunch menu. I practically inhaled my veggie wrap (okay, maybe I was just starving).

Sucre Bakery: a pastry haven. If you’re like me, you’ll be craving a traditional macaron in this French-influenced city. This bakery has every flavor of the delicate dessert that you can imagine, plus coffee and other baked goods. Even if you don’t like macarons, you’ll love seeing the vibrant rounds stacked in cake form behind the case.

Magnolia Sugar and Spice: a hot-sauce-shop-slash-bakery in the French Quarter that specializes in a classic nutty confection: the praline. Incredibly sweet and impossibly good; I wish I could load a whole suitcase full to take some home with me.

HONORARY MENTION- Auction House Market: a stunning food hall that WAS in the Warehouse District. Sadly, this co-op closed shortly after my visit, but it was so adorable that it deserved a mention here. The central bar was adorned with trailing plants and provided a perfect workspace for local professionals. The back room featured a gorgeous moss wall—I sat there sipping my latte and enjoying the botanical view for hours.

City History & Culture

Café du Monde: OKAY, you caught me, the first one is just more food. I came to realize that between creole cuisine and French pastries, food is a large part of NOLA culture. If you’re wondering where to find a classic New Orleans beignet, look no further—this is THE spot. Their outdoor stand in the French Market offers the full experience: freshly fried pastry dough copiously coated in powdered sugar that is simply *impossible* to not get all over your clothes and face. You can also sip a chicory coffee while you people watch, which is sure to be an exciting sport around Mardi Gras time.

French Quarter: the historic district around which everything in New Orleans revolves. This area has something for everyone: upscale boutiques, restaurants and bars, horse-drawn carriages, voodoo shops, and ghost tours that tackle NOLA’s dark history of slave torture. Bourbon Street, a 13-block stretch of bars and neon, plays host to late-night gatherings and streetside parties. This neighborhood showcases the wrought iron balconies and lush courtyards that characterize NOLA architecture.

Mississippi River: the waterfront bisects the French Quarter and offers a bustling snapshot of the city, with commemorative statues and street vendors galore. Throughout history, the river has signified commerce, but large industrial complexes blocked the waterfront from public access. Since the warehouses were removed in the 1970s, visitors have enjoyed the river with beachside picnics and riverboat tours.

The steps were strewn with party paraphernalia; I imagine they're usually much cleaner!

St. Louis Cathedral: the oldest continuously active church in the United States!!! Also known as the Cathedral-Basilica of Saint Louis King of France, this cathedral stands at the edge of the French Quarter and the Mississippi River, boasting jaw-dropping architecture and stained-glass art. The building undergoes regular renovations to reinforce the 200-year-old structure, but Catholics still attend Sunday morning service every week. Interestingly, the site has been a place of worship for even longer, but the original building was burned to the ground in 1788. The current cathedral has stood since 1793.

The Swamp: New Orleans belongs to a temperate deciduous forest biome with marshes all along its tributaries. These boggy inlets create one of the longest coastlines in the United States! Sadly, I did not encounter any gators while down in the bayou, but these forested wetlands play host to complex ecosystems with turtles, pelicans, mosses, and cypress trees, the latter of which play a vital role in protecting the swamp from soil erosion. The rough terrain of this fragile ecosystem has long protected New Orleans from Southern attacks, while providing access to important oceanic trade routes.

Buckner Mansion: built by a cotton kingpin in 1856, this mansion is one of many in the Garden District, featuring grandiose gates, stone columns, and not one, not two, but three ballrooms! The property is rumored to be haunted by the Buckner family’s slave, Josephine, which explains why it was chosen as the set for American Horror Story Season 3: Coven. Nowadays, ghost enthusiasts, AHS fans, and ambitious property buyers alike flock to the Buckner Mansion to admire the architecture and catch a glimpse of poor old Josephine.

Mardi Gras traffic only allowed a drive-by, unfortunately

          Though I had no idea what Mardi Gras in NOLA entailed, I was so grateful to discover southern hospitality, amazing food, and ritual transformation, all steeped in fascinating history. If I were to celebrate Mardi Gras in NOLA again (which is something I definitely plan on doing), I would arrive a week or two before Fat Tuesday to experience more parades from the other prominent Krewes. I would also reserve a spot on a ghost tour because WOW this city has some dark lineages. I did not have nearly enough time to explore all this city has to offer. However, my first Fat Tuesday celebration was an absolute riot, and it’s all thanks to Payton and the friendly people of N’awleans.

11 Quirks of Seattle

          Hello friends! As I am sure many of you know, I recently moved to Seattle, and it has taken every single one of my feeble brain cells to figure out this city. I traveled a bit before my move, but I’ll write about those adventures later—for now, I am completely enamored with the Pacific Northwest, and I thought it would be fun to share the first eleven quirks I noticed about this city.

Ever-Greenery (+ Pesky Ivy)

            I was immediately struck by it on the drive up from Colorado. My Northwest-bound route was mainly monotonous: desert and dry shrub throughout Western Colorado, Northern Utah, Western Wyoming, and Southern Idaho. But as I wound down dark roads through Eastern Washington with a Uhaul trailer in tow, I found myself suddenly enveloped in lush forest. A light rain greeted me, alluding to the countless warnings I had received about Washington state’s climate. The towering hemlocks, firs, and cedars welcomed me in a way that Colorado’s flora never had.

            After being here for a few months, the greenery continues to be the most comforting aspect of West Coast city life. I am incredibly fortunate to live half a block away from a forested park with over five miles of trails—my urban oasis with a surprising amount of foraging potential. I won’t even get into the insane greenery I saw on my recent trip to the Olympic Peninsula, which shall be a whole article of its own.

            A good chunk of Seattle’s greenery comes from English ivy, which is quaint & cute cottage-core vibes….until you realize that it’s a rampantly invasive plant to this region. It takes over everything. I guess it’s good for the wildlife, though, because the ivy patch in front of my apartment is home to a family of large rats. Super fun for my cats, not so much for me.

Go Huskies!

          Besides my unsatiable thirst for exploration, I was drawn to Seattle by a very exciting development: my acceptance to graduate school! Starting in the fall, I will study comparative religion and women & gender studies in South Asia. I am looking forward to building on my undergraduate research in Hindu women’s rituals and incorporating my new studies into my Yoga practice. The best part is that I’ve been offered a Foreign Language and Area Studies fellowship to complete this degree in exchange for studying Hindi (which I was going to do anyway).

            I am also unbelievably lucky to have found an apartment near the university district in Seattle, so I live within walking distance of campus, and I am constantly surrounded by college culture. Though I don’t start classes until the end of September, I can tell that University of Washington (colloquially known as U Dub) students are full of pride in their school, and I am extremely optimistic about the faculty I will be working with during my two-year program.

Skyler and our cat, Big Handsome, settling in to our new apartment near University District, Seattle.

Land Acknowledgements

          Seattle occupies the traditional land of almost thirty indigenous American tribes, and the people here seem more aware of our continued colonization than most other places I’ve lived. I encounter land acknowledgments to the Coast Salish people and the Duwamish tribe almost everywhere I go, from natural landmarks to touristy urban destinations. I especially appreciate the ones at Snoqualmie Falls, which emphasize that sacred sites and resources were stolen from Indigenous Americans and commodified by colonial settlers. The Snoqualmie (meaning “moon” in Salish) region encompasses vast fertile valleys and a 268-foot waterfall, which was once coveted by indigenous Americans as a source of natural abundance and the birthplace of many formative myths. These myths speak of the Moon Transformer, Snoqualm, who birthed fire and trees from the sky unto the earth. The Moon Transformer receives offering from the falls’ water, so the land surrounding the falls served as ceremonial grounds and burial sites for the Snoqualmie people.

            Unfortunately, the Snoqualmie land was settled by pioneers in the 1850’s, whereupon it was pillaged by loggers and later channeled into an underground power plant. Those hydroelectric generators still exist and operate today, appropriating the sacred energy of the Falls to provide electricity for surrounding areas. The natural marvel of Snoqualmie Falls, along with the power plant, continue to draw hordes of tourists that impact the remaining members of these indigenous tribes, as well as land back efforts.

          While hiking at the falls, I was grateful to see plaques that were truthful about the power plant’s ugly history. Yet, written statements seem a feeble consolation for the native peoples’ loss of land, resources, and rituals. I wonder whether these acknowledgements are backed by tangible social action, and I must ask myself how I can make reparations to these indigenous Americans as I reside in their territory.

Water Water Everywhere

          The wonder—and sometimes the terror—of living in Seattle is being surrounded by formidable bodies of water. Flanked by the Puget Sound to the West, Lake Washington to the East, and Lake Union in the North, there is never a shortage of water activities. I haven’t spent much time on the water since my summer in Tennessee, so I am soaking up my proximity to the ocean. Each morning, the tide recedes, making way for my newest hobby, the sister science to foraging in the woods: tidepooling!!! So far I have spotted anemones, starfish, hermit crabs, harbor seals, and sea otters all within thirty minutes of my apartment. I have never been an ocean girl, but I have a feeling I’m about to become one.

            Lake Washington and Lake Union teem with wildlife, as well. Kaleidoscopes of swallowtail butterflies perch on the sandy beaches (fun fact: a group of butterflies is called a kaleidoscope!) while beavers build dams and Great Blue Herons dive for fish in the clear waters. I’ve been channeling my inner duck when I paddleboard through swampy enclaves.

Seattle Freeze

          Okay, ouch. People warned me about this phenomenon before I made the big leap, but I wasn’t prepared for the honesty of the expression. “Seattle Freeze” refers to the tendency of Seattle residents to be cold, distant, and unwilling to make new friends. This disconnect has obviously been challenging for me as I attempt to find my people in this city. Seattleites aren’t downright mean—no, the freeze manifests in subtle ways, like the total rarity of smiles shared between passersby. The grocery clerk never asks me how my day is going, which isn’t an earth-shattering tragedy in and of itself, but my inability to connect with strangers has certainly hindered my transition. I’m used to the welcoming warmth of Coloradoans and the sickly-sweet hospitality of Midwesterners, so I’m curious to know why Seattle hardens everyone here. I fear I’ll succumb to the freeze if I stay here too long!

Skyler has been helping me ward off the Freeze!

Native Fruit

          My mom grew up in Tacoma, Washington and I fondly remember picking cherries from a tree in the backyard of her childhood home. Growing up in sub-desert Colorado, though, I always imagined that a backyard cherry tree was an unusual luxury, even in Washington. I could not have been more wrong. In hunting for mushrooms, I accidentally stumbled into the cherished PNW tradition of native berry picking. It was impossible to ignore—as I reached through thick brush to harvest an oyster mushroom, my hand met with a bushel of orange berries. I soon came to identify these enticing morsels as salmonberries, edible native fruits that have long been enjoyed by indigenous tribes. The Salish people ate the young plant shoots and the berries (which resemble salmon roe) with dried salmon, hence the name.

          Once I worked up the courage to put my fruit identification to the test (by eating them and not dying), I discovered that the PNW is rife with streetside pickins. I have since found native thimbleberries, huckleberries, salal berries, raspberries, grapes, cherry plums, and blackberries—OH, the BLACKBERRIES. They are everywhere. The native species, rubus ursinus, is harder to spot as it grows close to the ground, but the invasive and incredibly noxious Himalayan blackberry has taken over every street corner and city park. While most edible berries have now gone out of season, the Himalayan blackberries are just now starting to ripen. I plan to take this opportunity to perfect my jam recipe. I have also honed my ability to spot poisonous berries, including snow berries and deadly nightshade. A tip for foragers across the world: 99% of aggregate cluster berries (like blackberries and raspberries) are edible, so munch away!

Cultivated Fruit

          Finding free fruit on the streets is a novel thrill for me, but I have also noticed that people in Washington are crazy about their fruit in general, even the non-native cultivars. I moved to Seattle in time for peak fruit season, July through September, during which grocery stores and farmer’s markets boast fresh, locally grown peaches, apples, cherries, and numerous other stone fruits. If you’re lucky, you can catch the fruit vendor just after his daily delivery and enjoy divinely juicy nectarines that were picked and shipped from Yakima that same morning! Rainier cherries are the main summer craze, hailing from Washington state and named for the region’s beloved glaciated peak, Mount Rainier.  I never would have guessed that two species of red cherry could combine to produce a new fruit that makes every other fruit’s taste and aesthetic value pale in comparison. Nonetheless, I have hopped on the Washington fruit bandwagon, and I now indulge in melt-in-your-mouth white peaches every morning for breakfast.

Pike Place Market, the quintessential place to buy fresh Yakima fruit. The market is traditionally known for seafood, but in the summer, vendors stand in the walkways and slice fresh chunks of nectarines for passerby to sample.

Daily Commute

          I knew Seattle traffic was dreadful, but nothing could have prepared me for the haphazard road infrastructure, which necessarily accommodates odd land shapes formed by surrounding bodies of water. The specifics of the driving terrors I have encountered are not important, but I have finally drawn a conclusion as to why driving is so frightening here. I have driven through more than half of the states in the U.S.., and I find the middle states to be the easiest to navigate. Driving in East coast states like New York and New Jersey can be intimidating due to urgency and aggression on the road, while driving through the American South can be mind-numbingly slow and boring.

          Somehow, driving through Seattle encompasses the worst aspects of both extremes. For some downfalls, I question the urban developers—why do they hate turn lanes? Why don’t they understand what signage is relevant? Why is the speed limit 25 MPH on every road? Most of the time, however, I ask myself about the people that commute in this city. Drivers, pedestrians, and cyclists alike seem to have very little regard for their own fragile lives. Suffice to say that my Yoga practice has become even more integral to my daily commute.

I pass the Japanese Garden in the Washington Park Arboretum every day on my commute to work. 

Ethnic Cuisine

          Seattle boasts diasporas from many nationalities (namely from Asia and Pacific islands), so it comes as no surprise that the cuisine of the city is likewise diverse. Yes, there are espresso shops on every corner, but no one talks about the boba tea shops, of which there are twice as many. Indian food, Ethiopian, Thai, Vietnamese, Mexican, Italian…I could go on. If you want it, you’ll find it in Seattle. I haven’t done too much foodie exploration yet, but I do enjoy living near Din Tai Fung, a tantalizing dim sum restaurant in University Village.

The Rain (or lack thereof)

          Ah, yes, the dreaded Seattle gloom. Before my move, I met so many people who lived in the PNW and moved away because they couldn’t stand the climate. Some emphatically advised me to get a “Happy Lamp,” while others just shook their heads and said sadly, “you’ll never see the sun.” I heeded their forecasts and bought a light therapy lamp off Facebook Marketplace as soon as I got into the city. The previous owner told me she was moving out-of-state: “somewhere sunnier,” she bragged, referring to Colorado. Indeed, Colorado boasts 300 days of sunshine, which makes even the coldest, snowy winter mornings feel bright and beautiful. In the meantime, Seattle was prophesied to be dreary all winter without even a good powder day to ease the pain.

          I worried that constant overcast skies would affect my mood and my spiritual practice, but I came at a good time. The daily rains subsided in early June, and since then we’ve had an *uncomfortably* dry and hot summer. Historically, Seattle summers haven’t even been hot enough to warrant air conditioning in private residences. It’s temperate here year-round, traditionally with highs in the 80’s and lows in the 30’s (Fahrenheit). Sadly, climate change has brought heat waves over the city for the past few years, and this summer was no different. For two weeks in mid-July, temperatures passed 100 degrees every day, and Sky and I scrambled to keep our cats and reptiles cool with only a couple of fans.

       I know I’ll regret saying this come January, but I’m looking forward to the Seattle rain that I was promised. We’ve had the occasional morning shower, but the lack of moisture is seriously impeding my current favorite hobby, which is of course…

MUSHROOMS!!!

          My love for mycology was undoubtedly the #1 driving factor behind my West coast relocation. Sky and I have been getting more confident in our identification abilities recently, so we were itching to test out our skills in new territory. The timing of our move was perfect because we had an excellent month of spring mushrooms before the forest dried out. The park near our apartment has proved fruitful for smooth puffballs (edible), scarlet bonnets (inedible, but stunningly beautiful), and fly agarics (poisonous and psychoactive). My favorite spot so far is an adorable mossy clearing that flushes with oysters (edible and choice!) almost every week. Though we haven’t found much during the dry season, September is sure to bring enough moisture for the mycelium to fruit. I’m hoping for chanterelles this autumn!

          Have you noticed the trend in my observations? I’m not sure that I’m cut out for city living…driving is unpredictable, a dark winter is coming, and let’s be real—shit’s expensive up here. Unsurprisingly, nature has been my saving grace. Whenever I need to escape this urban enigma, I can venture into the woods or hop on my paddleboard.

          My Yoga practice has also been integral for my sanity throughout this wild transition, and I am proud to announce that I began teaching at a new studio called Shefa Yoga Roosevelt! I am so grateful to have this studio and community as I get oriented in my new life. I also adore having students who are receptive when I share traditional aspects of Yoga such as mythology, philosophy, and subtle body attunement. If you happen to be in the Seattle area and would like to practice with me, I teach on:

Tuesdays @ 6:00 AM

Saturdays @ 4:30 PM

Sundays @ 9:30 AM

            I get one buddy pass for each class, so please reach out if the drop-in cost ($25) hinders your ability to practice. I would love to move and breathe with you, as well as hear your thoughts about Seattle. What did you notice first? Do you like the rain? What’s your least favorite thing, and why is it the driving?

          Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for more on yoga & adventures in Seattle!

Honorary Mention: St. John's Wort, a beautiful flowering plant that grows everywhere here. Used medicinally in many cultures for thousands of years, clinical trials now prove this herb's effectiveness as a mild antidepressant. 

16.5 Things to See & Do in Central New Mexico

            We have reached the last chapter in my four-part road trip saga, and my final destination: New Mexico! I effectively procrastinated this article so long that I was forced to write it on the airplane—to a location which will be disclosed in the next article 😊 This is not to say, however, that New Mexico was not noteworthy. On the contrary, I found the state so lovely when I visited in May 2021 that I decided to return in November. I spent time in both Santa Fe and Albuquerque, and I have exactly sixteen and a half recommendations to share, should you find yourself in the area.

Santa Fe

          If, like me, you grew up listening to Broadway musical soundtracks, you might think of Santa Fe as the center of Bohemia, a mythical destination with powerful artistic allure. In Rent, Angel and Collins fantasize about leaving New York City for Santa Fe, singing “sunny Santa Fe would be nice!” And of course, no one can forget Jack Kelly of Newsies lamenting, “just a moon so big and yellow, it turns night right into day. Dreams come true in Santa Fe” in the famous song named after the city. Obviously, I played both songs on full blast on my drive into town.

            A spot of Santa Fe history before we proceed: this city boasts the oldest capitol city in the United States, as well as the oldest public building (La Palazza de Gobierno) and the oldest community celebration in the nation (La Fiesta de Santa Fe). New Mexican land transferred ownership a few times (Spain to Mexico to United States) before achieving statehood in 1912. Around that time, Anglo-Americans from the Eastern United States began to migrate to New Mexico, inspired by the expansive, breathtaking sceneries. These migrants decided to settle, creating Santa Fe’s reputation as a good place for artists to work and live. Santa Fe was viewed as “exotic” for its emphasis on indigenous art forms and its dry climate, which was thought to cure tuberculosis.  Art has always been central to the lives of Santa Fe inhabitants, from the days of the Spanish empire to the modern gallery scene. Today, Santa Fe is a major American tourist destination, with a thriving local art market that drives the city’s economy. The legacy of the native culture persists visibly in the art and architecture of the city, with unique zoning laws to preserve historic buildings such as traditional adobe houses in urban spaces. Basically, if you go to Santa Fe, go for the art!!

#1 Canyon Boulevard

          An outdoor shopping area with several streets lined with art galleries. The galleries are open weekdays, 9 am to 5 pm, so plan to spend a day there. I arrived later in the afternoon, so I only visited a handful of interior galleries, but there was a plethora of outdoor displays to behold. I took my time wandering the alleys and delighting in the colorful surprises around each corner. My absolute favorite was the wind sculpture garden at Wiford Gallery. I wound up there at sunset and it could not have been more enchanting.

#2 La Plaza

          The historic center of the city now plays host to a downtown area of restaurants, office buildings, museums, and you guessed it! More galleries! Some of these are open later than Canyon Boulevard, but you could still dedicate a whole day to perusing La Plaza’s unique architecture and selection of shops. You’ll walk right past the Palace of the Governor, as you pass the contemporary, upscale fine art galleries, but if you’re patient, street vendors will peddle their masterpieces to you at slightly more affordable rates. Besides, the streets are lined with sculptures and murals-you can get an eyeful without spending a dime!

#3 Los Museos (Museums)

          After the influx of Anglo-American immigrants in the early 1900s, the city of Santa Fe began to emphasize art culture and quickly opened a native art museum (New Mexico Museum of Art) to increase the momentum from tourism. Since then, the city has welcomed five more art museums, as well as several other museums dedicated to the cultural heritage and history of the city. I personally only had time to visit the IAIA Museum of Contemporary Native Arts, however the Georgia O’Keefe Museum and the Museum of International Folk Art are both internationally renowned. When I left, I vowed to return to visit all the museums I missed.

#4 House of Eternal Return

          YUSSS! Meow Wolf’s first ever permanent installation is housed in Santa Fe, and that should tell you all you need to know about this city as the Art Capital of the American West. Unless that would be Los Angeles. Anyway…you can read my full review of House of Eternal Return in my article on Immersive Art, but suffice to say that Meow Wolf’s humble origins still blows most immersive art exhibits out of the water. Unlike the newer exhibits, HoER is mainly sculpture based, taking attendees on a psychedelic adventure through a family’s home that is trapped between dimensions. I went by myself and spent four hours inside the exhibit, fully unpacking every element of the expansive narrative. I also made friends in there! If you want to go, plan your time accordingly.

#5 La Fiesta de Santa Fe

          La Fiesta de Santa Fe: An honorary mention, because I wasn’t in town at the right part of the year to witness this cultural festival, but I have studied it, and it’s a huge bucket list item for me. The festivities begin in the beginning of September and continue for about a week, including elaborate reenactments of the Spanish conquest, dance and theater performances, parades, and a thrilling, symbolic burning of a giant effigy named Zozobra. The entire fiesta is a celebration of the unity of the Pueblo and the Spanish cultures, and a dream ethnography for an anthropologist like me!

#6 The Flying Tortilla

          A Mexican American breakfast joint with fabulous chilaquiles (fried tortillas with tomato sauce and eggs) y chile rellenos vegetarianos (breaded poblano peppers stuffed with veggies and cheese)

#7 Café Castro

          A Mexican restaurant that boasted the most impressive array of vegetarian options I have ever seen! I opted for the tamales, which I have been craving since I gave up meat two years ago!

#8 Annapurna’s World Vegetarian Café

          A Santa Fe veggie staple, from what I understand. It’s known for its hearty, flavorful vegetarian cuisine from around the world, including Indian, Lebanese, and of course, New Mexican dishes. My uncle and I are both naturally inclined towards Indian food, so we enjoyed a sampling of dal (lentils), subzi (vegetable) curry, and rice. We ordered take out, so I can’t say much of the restaurant’s ambience….until I get to the Albuquerque section, and you’ll see why.

#9 Dale Balls Trail

          I hiked this trail system in early May and was enamored by the vibrant, unexpected color in the desert: brilliantly red cactus blooms, fuzzy pastel-colored lichens, and the occasional yellowing weed struggling to survive in the sand. I hiked to a height of 8500 feet where I happened upon 360 views- in one direction, Santa Fe’s low skyline, and in the other direction, arid landscapes as far as the eye could see.

#10 Bandelier National Monument

          Okay, this one is technically in the town of Los Alamos, New Mexico, about an hour outside of Santa Fe. This national monument preserves mesa and canyon landscapes that have been settled for over 1,000 years, first by the Ancestral Puebloans and then by Spanish colonizers. Adobe structures and cliff dwellings still stand within the park, and visitors are invited to climb the rocky crags to experience life in a cliffside. The weather was perfect in November—if you go during the summer, be sure to bring a hat and sunscreen as the walking trails are mostly unshaded.

Albuquerque

          Admittedly, Albuquerque never had the appeal that Santa Fe once had for me. I had always wanted to experience Santa Fe, my Mecca as a musical theater student. My uncle recently completed his PhD in Los Alamos, a nearby town, and I reached out to him about my visit, which was very spontaneous…as in the day before. By pure coincidence, he had moved to Santa Fe mere weeks before I wrote to him; he hosted me that weekend and the whole trip worked out beautifully and serendipitously.

          But when my playwriting colleagues from undergrad told me they were moving to Albuquerque, I wanted to ask, “why?!”  Beckie and Brayden, some of my closest college friends, desperately needed a change of scenery a few months into the pandemic. I promised them I would come to visit, and I made it the grand finale of my cross-country road trip. Nevertheless, I enjoyed my time in Albuquerque, and found it to be a quirky, interesting place where I would like to spend more time.

          In my experience, Albuquerque contrasts Santa Fe in many ways. While Santa Fe is the state’s capital and cultural center, Albuquerque has served as an important trading center since its founding in 1706, serviced by several major railroads, airlines, and highways. The city has a markedly more urban feel to it, despite being bounded by the Sandia Mountains to the north, the Manzano Mountains to the East, lava fields to the West, and the Rio Grande River through the center. One of Albuquerque’s major draws is its low cost of living compared to other major cities in the Southwest, and especially when compared to Santa Fe.

#11 Anodyne

          A relaxed billiard hall/ pub on Central Ave, in a prime spot downtown. I enjoyed a margarita; I’ve heard they also serve perfectly cooked tacos. I’m not the best at pool, but I was enthused to discover a modest array of pinball machines in the back of the dimly lit establishment. Pinball has kinda been my thing recently—more on that later—so it really made my night to shoot a few rounds on The Addams Family machine!

#12 Effex

          As a raver, I’ve seen my fair share of clubs across the country (and even across the globe). Each has its own merits, and some have none (ahem, Skully’s in Columbus). With Effex, I was most impressed by the variety in music and the rowdiness of the crowd. When we arrived at around 10 pm, I watched four girls fall down the stairs within five minutes of each other. Everyone had gone all out with their costumes, and the highlight of the night was easily when Bohemian Rhapsody began to play and a spotlight illuminated a man next to us who turned out to be Freddie Mercury In the Flesh!!! With his wife beater and mustache, he was indistinguishable from the real Freddie, and the entire crowd egged him on as he performed a dramatic rendition of the legendary six-minute song. We ended up befriending Freddie Mercury—he was a fun dude!

Effex

#13 Salt & Board

          An intimate, upscale charcuterie restaurant that my friend, Brayden, proudly manages. He treated us to a lovely night of sweet and salty samplings, with my favorites being the spicy mustard and the array of soft cheeses. My tip for charcuterie dining—pay attention when your server tells you what’s on the board. I know Brayden was frustrated when we asked him what everything was for the fourth time, but some foods are more self-explanatory than others, okay?!

#14 Vinaigrette

          A gourmet salad bistro in Old Town. Of course, restaurants with several good vegetarian options will always earn my vote, but this one really captivated me with its cozy nature-based aesthetic. At the beginning of November, it was still warm enough for us to sit on the patio and soak up some desert rays. I was utterly amused by the succulents on each table that had grown so vigorously they had cracked their clay pots. The food was delicious as well, with excellent service.

#15 Watrous Coffee House

          A spacious, modern coffee shop with huge windows for ample natural light. I’m no coffee connoisseur, so I make no remarks in that regard, but I was very pleased with my pastry and *the vibes*

#15.5 Annapurna’s World Vegetarian Café

          My friend Brayden raved about this place, but I never connected the dots! The cafe building hosts an Ayurvedic cooking school, and the exterior murals depict Shiva, the Hindu destroyer god, so naturally my interest was heightened. However, I didn’t realize that this was another location of the restaurant in Santa Fe until months later! So, I tried the food in Santa Fe (amazing) and I experienced the environment in Albuquerque (also amazing) and therefore my overall review of the chain is this: amazing! BUT to be fair, I think a second location should only be considered ½ of a destination.

Annapurnas

#16.5 Pino Trail

          A relatively flat yet scenic trek through the foothills of the Sandia Mountain Wilderness area. My playwriting friends were particularly fond of this trail for its proximity to their apartment. On this hike, I was drawn to the textures of the desert. Bushels of cactus spines appeared fuzzy and wild grasses contorted into tiny curlicues. We stopped hiking after a mile or so to attempt (with varying levels of success) to climb a boulder. Eventually, we all ended up on rocks and snapped some cute shots.  

          There you have it: 16.5 things to do and see in central New Mexico! I found both Santa Fe and Albuquerque to be exciting cities with tons of engaging activities, from indulging my inner foodie to marveling at the natural sceneries. Of course, it helped that my friends and family in the state are positively wonderful people. New Mexico is a big state; there’s plenty I haven’t seen and for that reason, I will surely be back within the next few years. Carlsbad Caverns, I’m coming for you!

Country Roads

            Hello, friends! I apologize for being MIA…I have been applying for *grad school*. I won’t say too much, lest I jinx my chances at admission, but I am very much looking forward to moving to a new state and embarking on this new academic adventure. Now that the application deadline has passed, I can get back to chronicling my cross-country road trip last fall! Oh yes, we have several more destinations to cover.

            We left off in Washington D.C., where I speed ran the National Mall and was left craving several more days in our nation’s capital. I left my parking spot in the city (that garage had started to feel very homey!) and made the short drive across state borders into Virginia. I camped in my car that evening, and the following day brought new adventures of the national park variety!

Shenandoah National Park: Virginia

            On my days in the national parks, I got in the habit of starting early at the visitor center. I picked up a map, enjoyed the views from the accessible scenic overlook, and enlisted a ranger’s help to figure out which parts of the park would be best for mushroom foraging. Unsurprisingly, the ranger had to ask another ranger, and then another, until they all eventually admitted that none of them had any idea. But they pointed me to their favorite trails, which was a good start.

            I ended up on a quiet wooded trail that eventually led me downhill to a gentle creek. I didn’t have much luck in my fungus hunt until I moved to sit at the edge of the water. As I turned to step over a tree’s exposed roots, I discovered that its North-facing side was entirely covered in fungus! I spent a long moment sitting on a fallen log and admiring the forest before heading back to my car.

            I pulled off at a picnic area and broke out my camp stove for the first time on my journey. I prepared a simple meal of gnocchi and red sauce—the ingredients for which I had saved from Trader Joe’s in Columbus. As I enjoyed my lunch, I found a great deal of amusement in watching a toddler boy attempt to escape his parents by sprinting into the woods.

            Then, I took a peaceful, winding drive down Skyline Drive, the road that runs 105 miles North to South along the crest of the Blue Ridge mountains. I pulled off at a scenic overlook near the middle of the park and camped out for a few hours to watch the sunset. Upon awkwardly crawling out of my Subaru’s moon roof, the top of my car offered stunning views of the Blue Ridge mountains, as well as a very good fluffy boy. I sat there long enough to discover that this little dog’s name was Leonardo Davinci, and that Davinci was not, in fact, the original inventor’s last name, but rather a notator of his hometown (da Vinci, meaning “of Vinci,” a city in Italy). I also befriended Leo’s owners and had an all-around lovely time watching the sun illuminate the hills in brilliant hues of reds and oranges.

New River Gorge National Park: West Virginia

            The next day, I was on to another national park—the one most recently added to America’s roster! Having only been named a national park in 2020, much of New River Gorge remains private property. A railroad runs straight through the park, sectioning off natural landmarks in ways that are occasionally confusing and frustrating to navigate. As became my tradition, I asked a ranger to recommend a trail for fungus hunting and was sent to a short trail just across the highway from the visitor center. ‘Twas a lovely hike, but not so fruitful for my mushroom endeavors. I then wound down the highway, taking a discrete side road that led me many miles into the hills and away from cell service. The drive was somewhat disorienting; the views were beautiful, but at any given moment, I had no idea whether I was ambling about on federally owned land or if I was accidentally trespassing on someone’s private property. I did eventually make it to my destination: a trailhead/ picnic area/ stunning, secluded beachfront to the New River and its respective gorge. I recycled leftovers from the day before to prepare lunch out of the back of my car, then walked down to the beach and had the whole stretch of river to myself. It was absolutely one of the highlights of my trip.

            After lunch, I followed the trailhead that led away from my private beach. It led me on a gander through the woods along the river, and I came to appreciate why this Appalachian oasis had been deemed one of our country’s natural treasures. I had been to West Virginia a few times prior to this trip, and admittedly I had come to view the state as unforgivably strange. Even still, my time in New River Gorge was incredibly introspective, awe-inspiring, and I would go back in a heartbeat.

Spiritual Materialism: Asheville, North Carolina

            Night 3 of car camping in a Walmart parking lot completed, I set off for my most anticipated destination. I was greeted by Jess, one of my friends from when I lived at a marina in Tennessee. She had been dying to show me around Asheville ever since I expressed interest when we met in the summer of 2020, and her hype did not disappoint! The city gave me big Santa Fe vibes, with hordes of local coffee shops, craft breweries, and hippie dippy stores lining every street for blocks. We began the day with breakfast at Early Girl Eatery, where I indulged in spinach and potato cakes. Half of the menu was plant-based, excitingly, so I simply must go back to try all the options I spurned the first time.

            We spent the better part of the morning and early afternoon exploring all the shops, from imported metaphysical goods to local artisan crafts. I’m typically not much of a souvenir gal, but even I was tempted by Asheville’s boho chic selection—I came away with a tree of life necklace, a vintage mushroom poster, some stickers, and a print for my goddess art collection. It took a looooottttt of willpower to not splurge on a cat tarot deck and a necklace fashioned from the skull of a tiny woodland creature. Inevitably, we closed out the afternoon with an adult beverage at Bhramari Brewing. I quite enjoyed the time spent chatting with Jess, sampling my beer flight, and ogling at the bastardizations of Hindu gods depicted in murals on the brewery’s open patio.

            I will say, I think Asheville has a lot of spiritual spectacle and very little substance—similar to Santa Fe, at least in my opinion. I get the vibe that it was once a nice place for nature-oriented artists and spiritualists to live, but it has become so gentrified in recent years that those people can no longer afford to stay and draw inspiration from the breathtaking natural scenery. Besides a very persistent Hare-Krishna devotee who swindled us into buying several Prabhupada texts, I didn’t encounter any truly “hippie” beliefs or traditions. Just a lot of white folks bent on peddling their ‘spiritual’ materials—an oxymoron if I’ve ever written one.  Nevertheless, I liked catching up with Jess and taking a short break from my normal lifestyle, which is usually quite minimalistic.

Kittens and Beignets: Johnson City, Tennessee

            Jess lives a short drive away from Asheville in Johnson City, so I got to meet her roommate and her two cats, Echo and Love. Love was a tiny kitten when I visited—only 6 weeks old—and she took a liking to clambering on me in my sleep. I wasn’t mad. We also went to Babbette’s Coffee Shop one morning and I was delighted to see beignets on the menu. They were amazing, albeit a very messy car snack.

Great Smoky Mountains National Park:
Tennessee/ North Carolina

            As the most heavily trafficked National Park in the United States, the Great Smokies were naturally a priority on my journey down South. The Appalachian Mountains are an entirely different beast from the Rockies, but no less majestic. I was taken aback by the lush greenery in the park, how the entirety of each rolling hill was enveloped in rainbow vegetation as the trees underwent their autumnal transformations. It was certainly perfect timing to see the park.

            Again, I consulted a park ranger for help with my mycological quest, and for the first time, I found someone who knew what he was talking about! He recommended a short trail off Newfound Gap Road, where he claimed he had spotted a variety of shelf fungus. He did not lead me astray, as I saw a bounty of polypore mushrooms and turkey tails popping off the trees. This trail was a short stint of the Appalachian Trail, so I crossed paths with several hikers who were carrying impressive loads of gear and had clearly traveled long distances. It was so inspiring that I might have to go back and hike the whole thing one day 😉

            In the afternoon, I began the drive to the center of the park, to the highest point on the AT: Clingman’s Dome. I intended to do a bit more hiking to reach the summit, but just as I turned into the trailhead’s parking lot, a frightening grey cloud descended over the park. Ultimately, the rain only lasted for a few hours, but it was enough to deter me from the solo high elevation hike, especially because I lacked proper waterproof gear. I decided that the views from the car sufficed, and I drove through the cute little town of Gatlinburg on my way out of the park.

Hot Gossip: Knoxville, Tennessee

            Knoxville has a special place in my heart, as the biggest city close to where I lived in Tennessee. On our weekends off from our marina jobs, Payton and I used to drive down to Knoxville to enjoy the local restaurants and peruse the quaint downtown area. This time around, I was just stopping in for an afternoon to see my friend Taylor, whom I also worked with at the marina!

            Bubbly and cheerful as ever, Taylor met me at The Tomato Head, a soup and sandwich place with tons of vegetarian options. We caught up over lunch and she dished all the hot gossip from this year’s crew of servers at Shanghai (the marina we both worked at).

            Taylor had to head to work shortly thereafter, so I had some time to kill. I headed to the library at the University of Knoxville, where I posted up for several hours and got some work done. University libraries were my best friends on this trip—they’re one of the few places where people can sit for hours on end without being expected to buy anything. Plus, they are often open 24 hours!

Ceviche de Hongos: Chattanooga, Tennessee

            The next day, it was off to Chattanooga, along the Southern border of Tennessee. I reconnected with my friend Michaela, another of my coworkers from Shanghai Marina at Norris Lake. I first met up with her at a skate park, where we watched some of her friends play a field hockey game. Then we hit up a hip little bar and grill called State of Confusion. Their specialty was ceviche—for those who don’t know, ceviche is a coastal South American dish that uses acidic citrus juices to “cook” raw seafood, culminating in a fresh and flavorful fish salad. It was one of my favorites when I lived in Yucatan. I was downright stunned to see ceviche de hongos (mushroom ceviche) on State of Confusion’s menu. Two of my favorite things, combined in a way I had ever seen before! The dish was served in an oversized margarita glass and far exceeded every one of my expectations.

            Michaela had to work the following day, so I took myself on a tour of downtown Chattanooga. I walked through Coolidge Park, the city’s riverfront hang-out spot, and admired the water fountains and stone frog statues. As I ambled into the shopping area, I became enamored with the sidewalk decorations: gold plated footsteps arranged to emulate the step patterns of different dance forms. How fun, right? I ended up at Stone Cup Café, where I enjoyed a coffee, a scone, and peaceful riverside views.

Lookout Mountain: Georgia

            On my final evening in Tennessee, Michaela took me for one last adventure, which turned out to be across the border in Georgia. We drove up the side of Lookout Mountain, then hiked a short distance to the summit. At the top, cliffs dropped off at steep angles, revealing a stunning panorama of the Tennessee Valley. We sat for a long moment on the rocks, watching the sunset. We also got to witness an engagement photo shoot atop the cliffs, conducted remotely via drone. I was impressed by the photographer’s maneuvering skills, and I wish I could find that couple to see how the photos turned out!

            I spent one more night with Michaela and her cat, Lacey, before setting off again. As lovely as it was to see my old friend, I must admit it was quite the honor to meet her cat. Lacey was twenty years old. Almost as old as me. She was riddled with medical issues from her old age. One such issue was arthritic hips, which caused her to hover uncomfortably without ever fully sitting down. Instead, she would just slowly lower her chin as you petted her, ever grateful for the attention. She was also a bit…out of it because of an accidental poisoning in her youth. She would go to her litter box and simply stand in it, staring at the wall, seemingly using the litter under her paws as her own personal Zen garden. I have missed Lacey dearly ever since leaving Chattanooga.

A Random Coffee Shop in Nowhere, Alabama

            Alabama was not a destination on my trip, nor did it become one. However, I did decide to drive south out of Chattanooga, which meant I had a brief stint through rural Alabama. I decided to stop at a random coffee shop on my morning journey, and I really wish I hadn’t. I am going to write this next section in play format, because that’s the best way I know to convey this baffling experience.

AT RISE: A quaint Southern coffee shop. KAYA enters and approaches the counter.

KAYA: Hi! Could I please get an iced mocha?

BARISTA (Monotone): Sure, I can get that for you.

Beat.

KAYA: Could I also have a bagel, please?

BARISTA (Monotone): Sure, I can get that for you.

BARISTA produces a bag of bagels from below the register. He opens the bag, retrieves one bagel with his bare hand, then offers it to KAYA. KAYA reluctantly takes the bagel.

KAYA: Uh…do you have like a little tub of cream cheese to go with it?

BARISTA (Monotone): Sure, I can get that for you.

BARISTA produces an 8 oz tub of cream cheese from fridge behind him. He sets it on the counter in front of KAYA.

KAYA: Uh…

BARISTA: Oh!

BARISTA produces a metal spoon. He hands it to KAYA. KAYA begins to use the spoon to awkwardly spread cream cheese on the bagel she is holding with her bare hand.

BARISTA rings KAYA out. KAYA pays.

KAYA: I’m gonna run to the bathroom, be back for my coffee in a minute.

KAYA goes to the bathroom.

KAYA returns from the bathroom. BARISTA is still standing in the same spot.

BARISTA: Did you want ice in your iced mocha?

KAYA: ….yes, please.

BARISTA (Monotone): Sure, I can get that for you.

BARISTA prepares coffee and gives it to KAYA. KAYA leaves coffee shop as fast as possible. KAYA leaves Alabama as fast as possible.

Hot Springs National Park: Arkansas

            Hot Springs was the final National Park on my itinerary, and it was so unlike the other National Parks I had been to that I seriously doubted that I was in the right place. My navigation landed me in a parking garage in the center of Hot Springs, Arkansas, which is not a nature preserve at all, but rather, a small tourist town. I walked past a number of souvenir shops before arriving at the visitor center, which turned out to be an old bathhouse and museum.

            Apparently, water from these hot springs were believed to have healing properties in the early 20th century, and they were used for various spa treatments. However, these treatments were not administered by soaking in the natural springs, as I anticipated. Large, lavish bathhouses were built in this town to entice wealthy White guests into luxurious spa vacations. Black workers administered these treatments, which ranged from foot soaks to full-body steams. The museum in the visitor center gave guests a picture of this scene, down to the antiquated equipment used in the spa. I slowly pieced together this information as I perused the exhibits, which utilized unsettling mannequins to reenact various scenes throughout the bathhouse.

            Besides the museum, guests to this national park can also stroll up and down Fountain Street to view the selection of bathhouses. There were eight in total, several of which remain open to the public. Unfortunately, I did not get to experience the healing water itself, as I did not make a spa reservation in time. I did, however, walk behind the bathhouses at the suggestion of a park ranger. I found myself on a nature trail, heading up to a mountain tower at the top of the hill. The tower had decent vistas, but I was still completely puzzled as to why this town is considered a National Park (as opposed to a National Historic Site).

Carrie Underwood’s Hometown: Checotah, Oklahoma

            This one is an honorary mention. I did not stop here, but I was absolutely thrilled to drive through Checotah. I have long been a fan of Carrie Underwood, and I grew up singing the song off her debut album, “I Ain’t in Checotah Anymore.” As I drove through rural Oklahoma, I recognized all the landmarks mentioned in the song, like Eufala Lake! It was a fun little nod to my childhood and my long-lost love for country music.

            I was a bit wary of venturing into the American South alone—after all, I wasn’t familiar with the region, and I had heard plenty of cryptic warnings (“if you hear banjos, run!”). In the end, though, I didn’t run into any trouble, and I was grateful to explore the natural beauty in this part of the country. It was wonderful to see so many old friends, and I look forward to exploring the Appalachian Mountains a great deal more in my future adventures!

Historical States of America

          A lot of people were surprised to hear that I embarked upon my cross-country road trip alone. As tempting as it was to recruit a friend to come along, traveling solo is just so liberating—and so much easier, frankly! All I had to worry about was me- my belongings, my schedule, my bucket list. I made time for the things I wanted to do and rested when I was tired. Plus, I had plenty of friends to meet up with along the journey, so I never had to worry about getting lonely.

          Now that I’m home safe and sound, I am very proud to announce that only two things went wrong on the entire trip. I did lose my debit card in Virginia, but I had several other cards, so I was able to cancel it immediately and move on with no further thought. However, the biggest catastrophe was a story that I started in my previous article. Not only did I become frighteningly ill in a muddy festival campground, but I also inadvertently passed my illness (at the time, I thought it was food poisoning!) to my friends Georgia and Aron in Columbus. We all made it out alive, but the saga continues…

          Apparently, some stomach viruses (like norovirus) can be transmitted both through improper food handling and through interpersonal contact. I blame an order of unsettling tater tots at Lost Lands for my breakthrough as Patient Zero. That’s why I thought nothing of it when Skyler reported feeling ill on the morning of the Eberhart wedding, almost two whole weeks after I had recovered from my infirmity. However, Norovirus is highly transmissible and apparently, quite rampant around this time of year. My best guess is that Skyler was in the wrong place with the wrong person at the Cleveland Airport.

          Being the great sport that he is, Sky made it through an entire day of wedding festivities—church rituals, greeting strangers, meals, photographs—before excusing himself. It wasn’t until later that I recognized his symptoms as my own from a few weeks prior: vomiting, weakness, inability to regulate body temperature, and above all else, an intolerable, wrenching gut pain that feels like your organs are trying to destroy themselves. Never have I experienced empathy on such a direct level than when I was watching Sky suffer from the worst virus I have ever had.

            That said, Sky was feeling better as fast as he had begun feeling sick—for both of us, the dreaded norovirus lasted no longer than 24 hours. Rather than boot and rally for a dubstep festival, though, Sky simply had to make it through the drive to Pennsylvania the following morning. We bid adieu to the bridal party and set off for Quakertown: Skyler’s hometown and the current residence of his father’s family.

Q-Mart: Quakertown, Pennsylvania

          As the name may suggest, this part of Pennsylvania is historically known as the home of the Quakers, a religious group with roots in Protestant Christianity. When they gained popularity during the 17th century, the Quakers were considered radical for their beliefs in pacifism, spiritual equality between genders, and religious freedom. Their settlements in the American colonies were hugely formative for the religious ethic in the United States, though the Quakers have long since moved on from the city that adopted their name.

          Sky and I’s journey to Quakertown was much less a quest for religious freedom than it was one for family amendments. Though he has some not-so-great memories there from his childhood, I found it quite charming. Quakertown’s biggest appeal is the regionally famous Quakertown Market, a combination flea market/ farmer’s market/ bizarre liminal space that is open every week from Friday through Sunday. I heard plenty of stories about the affectionately named “Q-Mart,” ranging from whole boar heads being carted around to illicit drug deals in the corner stalls to alligators freely roaming the aisles. That said, nothing could really prepare me for the oddity that is Q-Mart. Each stall offers something unique, with some being fairly run-of-the-mill (like Sky’s stepmom’s all-natural body shop) and others being ridiculously specific (such as the vendor exclusively offering remotes).  I greatly enjoyed the few hours I spent browsing the labyrinth of the Q-Mart.

          Our other highlight from Quakertown was Sky and I’s FIRST EDIBLE FUNGUS FIND! Our eyes had been peeled since our bountiful harvest in Ohio (read about it in Magical Midwest), so when Sky told me he spotted a unique growth on a tree in his neighbor’s backyard, my interest was piqued! We ventured back to the yard one afternoon and sure enough, visible from the street, there was a massive formation of coral tooth fungus dripping off the side of the tree.

          Don’t try this at home, folks! We grabbed some aluminum foil and pried a big chunk of the growth off the tree, leaving plenty behind for the inhabitants of the nearby woods and for the purpose of future sporulation. When we got home, we double and triple checked our initial identification across several sources. When we broke the growth into pieces, tiny teeth-like gills on every surface confirmed our suspicion. We had found an edible AND choice species! With a little butter, the coral’s tooth fungus grills up in a shockingly similar way and taste to chicken. It tasted SO FRESH, too! My veggie heart was very happy. Of course, we didn’t die, so we know the specimen wasn’t poisonous.

Underwhelming Bell: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

          Sky’s hometown is a mere forty minutes outside of Philadelphia, our country’s first capital city after the American Revolution. Naturally, I was intrigued by Philly’s rich history, so we made a day trip out to see some of the sights!

            That…was a mistake. I know that Philadelphia has an appeal for some people, but I am not one of them. First, as I was driving into the city and trying to park near the Liberty Bell (first mistake!), I took ONE wrong turn and ended up across the river in Jersey. I did not want to be in Jersey on purpose, let alone on accident! I had to pay a $5 toll just to get back into Philly!

            Then, I nearly had to square up with a meter maid. No sooner than I had stepped out of my car and walked to the parking kiosk did she come over and scan my license plate. I waved at her and told her I was paying- she insisted that I should have stayed with the car (???).

            Our first stop was the Liberty Bell, and I was pleased that the entrance fee was free because the bell was quite underwhelming. I’m not even going to make a joke about how it’s cracked. It’s just surprisingly small, standing all on its own in a big room. Then, Independence Hall was shrouded in construction. I did enjoy seeing Benjamin Franklin’s grave, though, and then sitting in the park across the street to watch the squirrels.

          Sky and I walked a few blocks away from city center to South Street, another hallmark of Philadelphia culture. We explored Repo Records, a used bookstore called “Mostly Books,” and enjoyed the extensive mosaic street art by Isaiah Zagar. His mosaic murals were once confined to one wall of a small building near his studio—an effort to revitalize the downtown area. As his unconventional public art grew in popularity, his murals began to stretch across other buildings and infect other parts of Philadelphia. In 2002, Philadelphia Magic Gardens purchased the property on which his mosaics resided to preserve his work for future public enjoyment. And here we are, publicly enjoying it! I found this story quite interesting, as Zagar’s mosaics were one of the few things in Philly that I did not find unsightly and disgusting.

          Sky and I decided rather quickly to ditch our downtown parking spot and head up towards Manayunk, the neighborhood where my friend Madison lives! Madison and I met when we were roomies in Hyderabad in 2019. Since then, I’ve seen her in a lot of different places, from New York to Tennessee to Colorado, but I hadn’t seen her new apartment in Philly. When we arrived, one of my other friends from Hyderabad and Madison’s partner, Eli, was waiting for us, as well. I got to meet their turtle, Edmund, and we all enjoyed a delicious dinner of Thai takeout. I spent just one night with them before seeing Sky off (he sadly had to go back to work in CO). I journeyed to my next destination the following day, but not before completing my quest for the holy grail: a plant-based Philly cheesesteak. Silly, I know, but I found one made from tofu that tasted nothing like cheesesteak. It still hit the spot!

Taylor Swift's Infuriatingly Massive Beach House: Westerly, Rhode Island

          Madison, Eli, and I formed a caravan as we headed north to Allison’s place of residence in Westerly, Rhode Island. Allison is another of my good friends from Hyderabad, and it is rare that we all get together, so Madison, Eli, and I were happy to make the arduous drive through Connecticut for a chance to reconnect. Did you know that there is only one highway that goes through CT—I-95—and it is apparently plagued by bumper-to-bumper traffic at all times of the day?  The drive was infuriating.

          However, it was all worth it when we made it to Allison’s family’s gorgeous house, located just five minutes from the beach. A little shack with a sign boasting “Fresh Lobster” welcomed me to New England, and I could already feel a shift from the volatile atmosphere of Philadelphia and New York. As I pulled into her neighborhood, I spotted an impressive patch of fungus, featuring suede boletes (edible!) and Coker’s amanitas (highly toxic!), though it took me the better part of my stay to accurately identify these species.  

          Allison, who has been bragging to us about her New England upbringing for years, was more than happy to take us around Westerly. The first iconic stop was East Beach, which hosts a lighthouse that is especially quaint at sunrise and sunset. We stopped in the first night and witnessed a brilliant display of oranges and reds as the sun rose behind low clouds. East Beach is also where Taylor Swift has her beach house, which is—you guessed it—infuriatingly massive. I mean, no one even lives there most of the year! We did spot someone moving around in the living room, though…maybe her parents?

          On the second day, we visited the Newport Island cliff walk to take a scenic stroll above the beach and ogle at the other coastal mansions. We also went to the Umbrella Factory, a cute little village of local shops and restaurants that offer a variety of adorable Rhode Island souvenirs. The Umbrella Factory was also home to a full pond of ducks, a coop of rowdy chickens, a bamboo forest, some goats, and a very angry looking alpaca. As tempted as I was by all the handmade shell windchimes, I was plenty satisfied befriending the animals and discovering little families of grey bonnet mushrooms among the towering bamboo.

          On my final day in the smallest state in the country, Allison and I returned to East Beach for the sunset, and what a lovely way to bookend this section of the trip! As the sun sank below the watery horizon, creating an ombre of fiery tones on one side, the full moon rose on the other side, creating a breathtaking fade of pinks and purples. It was the most stunning sunset I have seen in a long time.

Cannoli Feud: Boston, Massachusetts

          When my time in Rhode Island was up, I took the commuter rail from Providence into Boston, where I was met by Cecelia, yet another of my friends from Hyderabad. Cecelia is the coolest and wisest art history nerd you’ll ever meet, so you can imagine my delight at being able to go on a walking tour of this historical city with her.

          We bustled twelve miles across the city that day as we hit all the sights: Boston Harbor, the Freedom Trail, Faneuil Hall, Boston Common & Gardens, Trinity Church, Boston Public Library, Capitol building, and the Hatch Memorial Shell outdoor amphitheater. We even got to witness a [pretty pathetic] reenactment of the Boston Tea Party!

          Cecelia brought me to Flour, her favorite sandwich shop in the city. For dessert, she enamored me with a thrilling tale of two feuding Italian American families who have long competed for best cannoli in Boston. Ultimately, she brought me to her personal favorite, Modern Pastry, and I have nothing to compare it to, but it was a pretty damn good cannoli! We each built our own, with Cecelia opting for crumbled pistachios on the ends while I went with the more traditional chocolate chip-dipped ricotta filling.

Olde Mystick Village: Mystic, Connecticut

          After Boston, I had officially reached the northernmost point of my route. I stopped in Connecticut briefly on the way back South and decided to take a gander through the famous Olde Mystick Village. Much like the Umbrella Factory in Rhode Island, Mystick Village boasted an assortment of hippy dippy and other novelty stores. Allison and I had a blast sampling exotic honey flavors at Sticky Situations and fancy spreads at Extra Virgin Oil Store. I was completely enthralled by several other niche stores, such as Alice in the Village, an Alice in Wonderland themed tea shop, and Cloak & Wand, a Harry Potter inspired metaphysical supply store. While wandering through Dharma Jewel, a “Tibetan” store (I say ironically because the owner was white), Allison and I got a kick out of the exorbitant prices of henna cones, as we both remembered learning to do henna with cones that cost 10 rs. (about $0.13 USD) in India. Of course, the white shop owner had something to say about the cost of importation.

Don't Tread On Me: New York City, New York

          Sadly, my time in New England had come to an end. Luckily, the drive southbound through Connecticut was far more pleasant than it had been northbound, and I rolled into Mount Vernon, New York City right on time to check into my AirBnB and meet up with my friend Jen. Jen and I met when we studied abroad in Yucatan, Mexico, and we bonded over our mutual fondness of the moon! Funnily enough, Jen was the last friend who I visited, in New York City, just as the COVID restrictions hit the first time. We said goodbye to one another in a panic as the Big Apple shut down on a frightening scale. Thus, seeing Jen in NYC again was a fabulous way to bookend the pandemic (if I can be so bold as to assume the worst of it is over).

          Jen moved upstate because of the pandemic, so we were both equally excited to get back into the city and check out some its exciting exhibitions. Our first stop was “Treasures,” a free public exhibition hosted by the New York Public Library. “Treasures” displayed just that: treasures of all origins and values from throughout American history. Some highlights include the original written draft of the Bill of Rights, original illustrations from Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland, set models of famous Broadway musicals In the Heights and Sunday in the Park with George (rest in power Stephen Sondheim!!!), and the original written draft of George Washington’s farewell address. Seeing the latter document in our first president’s own handwriting made me more emotional than I was expecting. Much of his advice is more relevant than ever now, especially his pleas to avoid political polarization.

          We stopped at Jajaja, a vegan taco restaurant in the West Village, for some scrumptious plant-based eats since Jen and I are both vegetarian. 

          Then, we booked it over to “Happy Go Lucky,” an immersive art experience that I found in an internet search. Unfortunately, I cannot be pressed to recommend this exhibit to anyone. The design was poorly thought out and even more poorly executed. Very little about this exhibit could honestly be considered “immersive.” However, there were some fun moments, and the employees served us chocolate popcorn as a treat at the end!

          After the art exhibit, we were on to Fraunces Tavern, where George Washington delivered his celebratory speech just after the British troops withdrew from the American colonies. This building now doubles as a museum, with a replica of the original tavern upstairs, and a functional, old-timey tavern on the first floor. This museum was also surprisingly moving, with several thoughtful exhibitions that critically examined the modernization of old flags and patriotic phrases such as “Don’t Tread on Me.” Of course, Jen and I stopped for a drink on the way out. You know, to get the full American experience! Then we made our way over to Clinton Street for a dinner at Ivan Ramen. We both enjoyed veggie noodle bowls before trudging back to the train that would take us North to our AirBnB.

National Mall: Washington D.C.

          The next day was another long day, as I had never been to Washington D.C. and I had only allotted myself a single day to explore it all. In hindsight, I would have planned several more days in D.C. Admittedly, I was expecting my tour of the national mall to be extremely dull and dry (i.e. “this is where President Carter stood when he spoke on October 11. This is where President Reagan stood when he spoke on May 14. Etc.). I could not have been more wrong! Our nation’s capital, even the downtown area, is full of art, nature, and knowledge. The best part of all: it’s 100% FREE!

          I had no one to meet in D.C., so let me tell you, I speed ran the National Mall like no other. I started in the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History and invested the most time there, it being my most anticipated destination. I enjoyed every exhibit, and especially loved how every path through the museum seemed to paint a narrative of life, death, and rebirth. The exhibit of taxidermy animal specimens was striking—until I wandered into the next room and saw each of the specimens’ intricate skeletons! The exhibit on Egyptian history also resonated greatly with me.

          Next, I meandered down the National Mall and visited each of the public gardens: the National Gallery sculpture garden, the Hirshorn sculpture garden, the Smithsonian pollinator garden, the national botanical garden, and the Enid A. Haupt Smithsonian garden.

         At Cecelia’s suggestion, I went inside the Hirshorn (Smithsonian Museum of Modern Art) to peruse the new Laurie Anderson exhibit. Thank goodness I did, because it was one of the most powerful collections of art that I have experienced since before the pandemic.

          Laurie Andersen, a multi-media artist, built each of the rooms in this exhibit. Many featured small projections mapped onto innovative backgrounds, with people and animals repeating phrases in monotone. Others showed videos of Andersen’s performances, excerpts of her writing, and parts of her photo projects. The one that stood out the most was an experiment she performed where she would fall asleep in public and then document the dreams she had while sleeping. Her writing on the topic has certainly stuck with me for many months. My absolute favorite part of this exhibit, though, was the room that was painted floor to ceiling with nonsense phrases. Just a few unrelated sculptures filled the room, with the main attraction being the hand-painted words scribbled across every surface. Some of my favorite Andersen gibberish includes:

          “Books are the way the dead talk to the living”

          “Who owns the moon?”

          “The many kinds of silence: The silence after you’ve said something really stupid. The silence in the middle of a deserted street at midnight. The silence after you’ve prayed.”

          I took my sweet time marveling at Laurie Andersen’s meticulous paint job. Then, realizing that I had only a few hours before everything on the National Mall closed, I practically ran to the Library of Congress. I did not get to go inside due to construction, but I did get to view the exterior of the building, as well as the US Supreme Court Building, the US Capitol Building, and the Washington Monument. I finished up my afternoon in the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, which was also mostly closed for construction, and then took a sunset walk to see the White House and some of the other stunning architecture in Washington D.C.

          There’s no way I could have accomplished that much if I had anyone else with me, and I still feel like I need another week in D.C. to check out the hordes of museums I missed. There you have it- that’s why you should travel alone. Because you can see three museums, five gardens, and five national monuments in a single day if you resist the urge to stop for ice cream. After visiting so many cities that were integral to the history and creation of America, I absolutely had newfound awe for my country, and I still had plenty of awe-inspiring destinations to hit. Make sure to subscribe so you can get notified of my next article documenting my travels through the American South and its stunning natural scenery!

Magical Midwest

          I’ve been road tripping 😊 I got back last week, and I’ve finally had a chance to collect my thoughts. Eight weeks of traveling solo really took it out of me!

          I had been wanting to do a big trip after I graduated last May, but COVID-19 wiped out my plans for the year, as I’m sure you can all understand. When restrictions loosened, my wanderlust mixed with continued skepticism about leaving the country. Then, I realized that the pandemic had scattered my closest friends across the Eastern United States, many of them to places I had never been!

            My lease in Boulder ended in September, so I quit my job, packed up my new-to-me Subaru Crosstrek, and set off. I was fortunate enough to be able to stay with friends along the way, and I brought my portable camp stove so I could save money on meals. I spent the first three weeks or so in the Midwest, and what a magical three weeks it was! Ohio, especially, is the brunt of a lot of jokes when it comes to states that are “interesting” or “important” or “nice to live in.” I must admit, after finishing my undergraduate in Ohio, I do have a soft spot for this…ahem…irrelevant state. In my most recent travels, however, I discovered what Ohio is great for. Mushroom hunting!!!

          The proudest day in my mycology career was the day I spent in Cuyahoga Valley National Park, Ohio. I saw hundreds of specimens while hiking just six or seven miles through the woods, including the prized amanita muscaria.

          If you don’t recognize this picturesque toadstool from fairytale illustrations, you might know it from the Super Mario Bros. franchise. This one was hiding coyly under a leaf, not two yards from the trail. I’m so glad I looked in that direction because I’ve been hunting for one of these elusive morsels for years. The “Fly Agaric” mushroom IS psychoactive, though it is not the strain commonly referred to as “magic mushroom” (psilocybe cubensis). This specimen has a long entheogenic history in shamanic traditions all over the world. In Siberia, indigenous mystics would ingest the caps and relay their experiences as transcendental visions, prophetic communications from the world above.

            No, I didn’t try it. It’s illegal to remove anything from a national park, and anyway, I didn’t have the materials to make a proper spore print. I decided not to disturb the forest for my own selfish curiosity. I still felt quite blessed to have seen the specimen at all, and I finished my forage with a newfound appreciation for the muggy air that I had always hated about Ohio. Thanks to the humidity, I saw more fungal growth that one day than I’ve ever seen in Colorado (hint: I haven’t been looking in the right places)!

            Besides the treasured amanita muscaria, I saw several other gems on my adventure throughout the American Midwest. My first stop on the long journey was a music festival on the Kansas/ Missouri border, and that weekend alone provided enough stimulation to last me through a whole new lockdown.

Dancefestopia: LaCygne, Kansas

          Dancefestopia Music and Arts Festival is a relatively small electronic music festival held at Wildwood Outdoor Education Center. Accordingly, the 10,000 attendees are essentially overgrown children covered in dirt and glitter, gathering in a field to dance, play, and trade tie-dye and other trinkets. It’s a very PLUR (peace, love, unity, respect) vibe and the fest falls on my little sis’ birthday weekend, so we always try to go.

          My secret to affording music festivals is simple: I volunteer at them. Like many other fests, Dancefestopia offers a highly discounted ticket ($50) in exchange for a set number of hours worked during the event, and it’s a great way to make new friends. We saw artists with the likes of Jai Wolf, Troyboi, Rezz, and GRiZ. We also chilled in hammocks by the lake, got a treat from our favorite festival food truck (SPACE FRUIT!), and met up with all sorts of great people—the highlight of the weekend for me was seeing my old friend Cece. We originally met at Resonance Music & Arts Festival in PA in 2019. When we found out we would both be at Dancefest, we made plans to meet up, but inevitably, I lost service once we arrived at the campgrounds. It was purely by luck that we ran into each other because we did so past our meeting time and not anywhere close to our meeting spot. Ah, the magic of festivals!

Convergence Station: Denver, Colorado

          After Dancefest, I left my car in Iowa and flew back to Denver for a short stint. I had a couple of appointments, but more importantly, the new Denver Meow Wolf exhibit was having its grand opening! Naturally, I snagged tickets for opening day. You can find my full review of Convergence Station in my post about Immersive Art, but suffice it to say that Meow Wolf is reason enough to travel 800 miles out of the way.

Morton Arboretum: Chicago, Illinois

          I flew back to the Des Moines airport and began the car-only part of my trip, setting off for Chicago. I had never driven in Chicago, so I was somewhat unnerved to find myself driving long stretches in underground tunnels with stop lights lurking past every twist and turn. Tunnel driving is stressful enough—why further complicate it with surprise hazards?!

          Buena Park, a neighborhood nestled along the Western coast of Lake Michigan, is home for Caleb, one of my dear friends from college, and his eccentric Maine Coon, Huey. I spent one evening with him, catching up and hearing about all the cats he watches in the city.

          We had an early start the following morning, as he was off to cat sit and I wanted to hit an art exhibit before leaving the state. Then I was southbound, winding underneath the Chicago River once again as I exited the city.

          I arrived at the Morton Arboretum a bit early, during members-only hours, but the kind lady at the visitor center didn’t seem to mind. This was the first time I had ever visited a sanctuary like this, and it wasn’t just for the trees—through Spring 2022, Morton Arboretum plays host to a five-part installation by one of my favorite multi-media artists, Daniel Popper. I first experienced his work in Tulum, Mexico, and again several years later at the Bellagio in Las Vegas. Human + Nature, as this installation is named, is my favorite of his so far; it is the largest in scale and beautifully complemented by the serene natural surroundings of the arboretum. The five sculptures were in five different parts of the park, each one the thematic centerpiece of the plants around it. Visitors were encouraged to touch and explore, although not climb, the life size sculptures. It is impossible to say which one I liked the best because they were all creatively stunning in their own ways.

Lost Lands: Thornville, Ohio

          Upon completing my tour of Morton Arboretum, I made for Ohio, my ex-state of residence which I remember fondly (although I can’t say I would ever move back). I was on to the second music festival of my trip: Lost Lands. This festival is markedly bigger, heavier, and crazier than Dancefest, with a prehistoric theme that utilizes life sized animatronic dinosaurs throughout the grounds. In the past, I have considered Lost Lands “home,” but this year, the LL gods did not smile on me.

          I drove into a nasty thunderstorm in Indiana that followed me all the way to Thornville. Catastrophically, torrential rain hit as the first wave of attendees were pulling into their campsites and unloading their gear. The downpour continued for several hours, transforming the dusty fields into saturated mud pits, and placing a bleak damper on the fun to come. Luckily, I was stationed in the information tent for my first volunteer shift, so I was shielded from the angry sky, but we had no power, no heat, and tragically, no service. Everyone else was hiding out in their cars, so we didn’t answer many informational questions that first night, but I did make friends with some lovely gals named Liz and Emily, who had come all the way from Massachusetts.

          Sadly, the morning of Day 0 (the pre-party) did not look up from the night before. The grounds remained soaked to the point that festival organizers began turning attendees away. That mess was unbeknownst to me, for I had woken up in the backseat camper of my Crosstrek with a terrible feeling in my gut. What I initially thought was an adverse reaction to the tater tots I had eaten the night before quickly made itself known as a stomach virus—easily the worst one I have ever experienced. I was unable to keep even a sip of water down, and I was crippled by a grinding pain in my abdomen. I was camped by myself, on the outskirts of a muddy field, with my car tires completely sunk into the mud. As a volunteer, I had been placed in the farthest possible “worker” campsite, several miles down the road from the event grounds in rural Ohio. Food and water were a bumpy twenty-minute bus ride away; port-a-potties were at least thirty minutes by foot. In my condition, I couldn’t get more than five feet from my vehicle.

          Around noon, I ran out of water and began to panic. I was still violently ill, the festival was in the early stages of last-minute cancellation, and I had no way out of my situation. I befriended a fellow staff member who offered me some medicine to get my nausea under control. When I could finally stand without retching, I was able to flag over an on-site tractor to tow me out of the mud. For the record, I have all-wheel drive and “X-MODE,” whatever that is. When I say I was STUCK in the mud, you know what I mean.

          Miraculously, I got my car to move, and I got my organs to stop moving just long enough to drive to Columbus, just over an hour away from the festival. I sought refuge with Georgia, an absolute angel who was my roommate all through undergrad. I cannot understate how lucky I was to have her during this tribulation. She might have literally saved my life with her electrolyte mix. After a day of resting on her couch and cautiously sucking on ice chips, I was able to keep some fluids, and then some food, in my system. By the time music was starting on Lost Lands Day 1, I had regained enough strength to return to the festival and rage!

          The lineup for 2021 was INSANE and I saw a ton of my favorite DJs who I had never seen before, including ARMNHMR, Crystal Skies, Trivecta, and Fancy Monster. Most people think of Lost Lands as a heavy dubstep festival (which it is!), but the lineup of artists is so diverse and so stacked that you can really pick and choose between genres of dubstep you like. For me, that’s melodic bass, so I hardly spent any time headbanging! Despite a rocky start, Lost Lands turned out to be an amazing weekend, filled with good music and good vibes.

Columbus, Ohio

          On Monday morning after the festival’s conclusion, I set off for Columbus again, this time ailed by an acute case of post-festival depression. My digestive tract was finally feeling back to normal, and my spirits were high—up until my arrival at Georgia’s loft in the Short North, where I discovered that I had inadvertently passed my sickness to Georgia and her boyfriend. They were recovering slowly and luckily for me; they were only mildly amused and not at all upset that I had ruined their weekend. I stayed with Georgia and Aron for a week or so and tried to redeem myself for putting them through a forcible digestive cleanse, as we took to calling it. I can’t speak for them, but my intestines had been completely reset once the whole thing was said and done.

          Georgia and Aron showed me around several parts of Columbus, including a bunch of delightful restaurants and eateries. My favorites were Fox in the Snow, a local coffee shop that served a souffle egg sandwich; Pistacia Vera, a French bakery that was just as pleasing for the eye as it was for the tongue; and Eden Burger, a plant-based fast-food joint whose fries were to die for. They also took me to the Columbus Art Museum and the Franklin Park Conservatory & Botanical Gardens—both stunning. The former destination offered a special exhibition on the work of Columbus artist Aminah Robinson, while the latter featured hundreds of breathtaking installations by glassblower Dave Chihuly. 

          While in Columbus, I also had a chance to stay with Margo, my friend and mentor from college, her boyfriend Jackson, with whom I was previously acquainted but never knew well, and their rather interesting cat Rosaline. Margo helped me infiltrate the Ohio State University library so I could get some work done, and I learned some fascinating things about the OSU mascot, Brutus. You probably know of the Ohio State Buckeyes, but did you know that the mascot is a literal buckeye? Not a squirrel or a groundhog or any other creature that might serve as an ambassador for a buckeye, but an actual nut with eyes and legs? Apparently, Brutus has had a long, dark history. The mascot suit has undergone many changes since the institution of modern college mascots, and I’ll let you all be the judge of which iteration is the creepiest. My vote is for 1975.

          Margo is a member of CorePower Yoga. She encouraged me to finally cash in my three free classes and I had a blast, even though I hadn’t done hot vinyasa in a long time and thought I was going to die at times. The owner asked if I wanted to teach there and I had to explain that my own Yoga practice doesn’t necessarily align with the CorePower model, which tends to prioritize fitness and body image over stillness and intrinsic awareness. She seemed somewhat offended that I brought this up, but she agreed that, CorePower’s “whole shtick” is fitness. Still, I believe it is important to have conversations about the histories and cultural contexts of the practices we market for commercial gain. To me, it seems that CorePower uses the word “Yoga” to attract paying audiences to a practice that is, in many ways, antithetical to the philosophical roots of Yoga.

Eberhart Wedding: Northern Ohio (Rootstown/ Kent/ Akron/ Cleveland)

          Around the second week of October, I bid my Columbus friends farewell and went North towards Cuyahoga County. I spent a day in the national park, making revolutionary fungal discoveries every few steps. That evening, my boyfriend Skyler flew in from Denver. He’s also an avid mushroom hunter, so I took him into Cleveland the next day, to a public park that is a part of the Old Growth Forest network. True to its name, the park was a wonderland of Ohioan biodiversity, featuring centuries-old vegetation, rare fungus, and cold-blooded creatures. Can you spot the critter in this photo?

          The main reason for us being in North Ohio was that my good friend Olivia had asked me to be her bridesmaid. I spent a lot of time with Olivia and her then-boyfriend, Robbie, in college, and I always adored them together, so it was very exciting to be a part of their wedding. After marking off our finds in our field guide, Sky and I drove over to Kent to meet up with the other folks in the bridal party: Talon, Lexi, and Michaela. I was friends with all three of these people in college, yet I had seen none of them since before the onset of the pandemic, so it was wonderful to catch up over manicures. The rehearsal dinner went smoothly, and we concluded the night with a bonfire at Lexi’s house. Good dogs, great cheese, and excellent camaraderie made for the perfect precursor to the big day, and I even bonded with Lexi’s mom over puffballs, an edible fungus that often pop up in yards and lawns!

          The Eberhart-Rocco wedding was a beautiful, love-filled affair. The ceremony, held at Olivia’s childhood church, was traditional and very sweet. The reception was at the Akron Museum of Art, and guests were invited to peruse the galleries as they waited for the festivities to commence. The entire menu—down to the cupcakes—was vegan (and delectable, if I do say so myself). I teared up at several points throughout the night, but Robbie’s reaction to seeing Olivia coming down the aisle was easily my favorite moment, closely followed by Lexi’s maid of honor speech. I got to see Caleb again, as well as some other great folks I know from college. The DJ played some bangers!! Now, I’ll think of Olivia and Robbie whenever I hear “Blinding Lights” by the Weeknd.

          Marriages, mascots, music, mushrooms. Do you see why my time in the Midwest was magical? I must admit, I’ve never lauded Ohio with such a word, but aside from contracting norovirus, the first few weeks of my road trip were positively so. Which leads me to another story about norovirus—yes, someone else along my journey contracted the dreadful cleanse, but that is a story for another time. Check back next week for the next leg of my journey: the historical states!

9 Coolest Immersive Art Experiences

            I have been captivated by theater and the performing arts for as long as I can remember. Uniquely from other art forms, performance exists exclusively in its moment of conception. Performance carries urgency; it requires active audience participation. For these reasons, the performing arts can respond to current events in our communities and engage in topical conversations in ways that paintings and photographs cannot.

            In recent years, though, a new genre has emerged that straddles the line between theater and fine art. These installations, dubbed “immersive art experiences,” combine the immediacy of performance with elements of sculpture, narrative, and audio-visual art forms. They’ve already popped up in just about every major U.S. city!

            I’ve made it my quest to visit these immersive exhibits wherever I can find them. These are NINE of my absolute favorites across the United States.

Arcadia Earth- Manhattan, New York

            Perhaps the best example of timely art with a political statement, Arcadia Earth is constructed entirely from recycled materials—mainly, man-made debris that was discarded in the ocean. This exhibit, located just outside Washington Park in New York City, takes viewers on a journey through imaginative forests and underwater realms, inviting us to consider the damaging impacts that humans have on the natural world. The combination of augmented reality technology, shocking statistics, and thousands of plastic grocery bags incites a powerful call to action. The experience concludes in a room plastered with campaign posters by environmental activists; attendees are encouraged to sign their names on the wall as a means of joining the fight against climate change. Get tickets to this thought-provoking adventure here.

House of Eternal Return- Santa Fe, New Mexico

            The first of MEOW WOLF’s three permanent installations tells the story of an experimental scientist who mistakenly deports himself and his family into the multiverse. They leave behind their home and several unstable portals which can be freely traveled by attendees. Meow Wolf’s attention to detail is unmatched, and the (mostly) realistic house is chock full of narrative allusions, such as pages upon pages of the scientist’s copious notes documenting portal phenomena. Step through the bookcase or inside the refrigerator, however, and you’re instantly transported to the destination of your choice, from snowy wastelands to decrepit beach towns. All 70 rooms in the House of Eternal Return were created by local artists, but kiosks throughout the exhibit unravel an underlying storyline: the dark origin of the multiverse. I visited this exhibit alone and spent five hours exploring the 20,000 square feet—do yourself a favor and snag an early slot here.

Natura Obscura- Englewood, Colorado

            Set in a magical forest shrouded in secrecy, this exhibit sure lived up to its name. Animal spirits peered out of frosted mirrors; trees and flowers twinkled in gentle shades of white and pink. Tickets to these wintry woods included the use of UV flashlights, which revealed secret messages throughout the installation. This experience also had a corresponding mobile app which allowed attendees to scan glowing symbols in the forest, revealing the mystical origins of its spirits. Sadly, Natura Obscura closed in December 2019, but its creators, Prismajic, are onto bigger and better installations! 

Sleep No More- Manhattan, New York

            My colleague, Olivia, and I attended this film noir retelling of Shakespeare’s Macbeth during our spring break in 2017. We were welcomed into the lobby of the Mckittrick Hotel in Chelsea, New York with cocktails and expressionless white masks, with instructions to remain masked for the entirety of the experience. We made a quick decision to split up and entered the performance space separately. I highly recommend this approach for future attendees.

            Through haunting choreography timed to ethereal soundscapes, the characters enacted their respective storylines throughout the hotel. They crossed paths with one another in raunchy culminations of love and violence, occasionally shepherding the masked attendees together for climactic events such as Macbeth’s feast. I was often distracted from one performer by the dramatic intrusion of another, and at times, I stepped away to explore the empty rooms, which were each filled with carefully crafted props. This 360˚ attention to detail is precisely why I love Sleep No More—between the concurrent narratives and the interactive set, Olivia and I saw two entirely different performances! It was a decadent, riveting theatrical experience that fortunately, survived COVID-19. Sleep No More returns to the Mckittrick Hotel in February 2022. Try to grab the earliest time slot so you catch the whole story 😉 Book tickets here.

Omega Mart- Las Vegas, Nevada

            Like Meow Wolf’s first permanent installation, this psychedelic grocery store starts off innocently enough…until you start to look closely at the products lining its shelves. Cream of Mushroom Sop, Infinity Watermelons, Tattoo Chickens, and MILLLLLLLK are just a few of the not-quite-lifelike items available for sale inside Omega Mart. If you dare, step inside the soda cooler or crawl through the tent display—with portals to the multiverse abound, you can even find a route via the lockers in the employee break room! I adore that the Meow Wolf experience is never a linear one; each room has three dynamic exits and countless unexpected pathways leading you back through each one. I continued to stumble upon the headquarters of the mysterious Dram Corp, where each of the dozen computers were loaded with unique case files and video recordings. Similar devices throughout the exhibit implicate Dram Corp in agendas to obscure truths about missing children and leaks of dangerous contaminants.

            At twice the size of its predecessor, Omega Mart offers a grander, flashier presentation. It relies more heavily on projection mapping technology and other multi-media art forms than HOER. It also incorporates more elements of performance, such as the grocery store employees who converse “helpfully” with attendees and seem to turn off when certain portals are activated. These changes are especially fitting given that the new exhibit is in downtown Las Vegas, in an art collective a few blocks away from the Strip. People flock to Vegas for the spectacle, and with impressive artist collaborations like Alex & Allyson Grey, Omega Mart does not disappoint. Give yourself plenty of time to interact with each arresting design—book early tickets here.

Otherworld- Columbus, Ohio

            The concept of alternate realm tourism is not exclusive to Meow Wolf’s vision. This experience invites attendees into a restricted laboratory, where the gateway to other worlds lies open and unattended. Venture beyond and you’ll discover bioluminescent plants, alien creatures, and vast dreamscapes of light and sound. Otherworld offers attendees several mazes and puzzles to solve throughout the exhibit, and even occasionally serves as a performance venue for experimental musicians. This extraterrestrial mission is located about twenty minutes outside of Columbus, Ohio. Grab tickets here.

ARTECHOUSE NYC- Manhattan, New York

            ARTECHOUSE is a digital art production that has brought permanent installations to Washington D.C. and Miami Beach as well as the famous Chelsea Market in New York City. These installations play host to rotating exhibits for up to six months at a time, each one a pioneering fusion of art, science, and technology. When I visited ARTECHOUSE in Spring 2020 (just two days before the national travel advisory was issued), I saw Intangible Forms by Japanese artist Shohei Fujimoto. The main attraction was a stunning laser display that stretched from floor to ceiling in a three-story warehouse space. Brilliant red beams danced effortlessly in time to the unearthly music, creating perfect grids and fluid images. Multi-media projects in other rooms used similar patterns and projections of light to mimic the lasers’ operatic movement. Though Intangible Forms is no longer, ARTECHOUSE NYC continues to lead the quest for innovative audio-visual art forms with a brand-new exhibit called Geometric Properties. Check out availability here.

Shiki Dreams- Denver, Colorado

            From the creators of Natura Obscura comes another whimsical wander through the woods. Shiki Dreams exists in the same universe as its precursor but follows the story of a gentle Yeti named Shiki. His home is a winter wonderland teeming with enchanted trees, lore-filled relics, and snowy owls in flight. This experience, too, is enhanced with an augmented reality mobile app which encourages attendees to engage with their environment and unravel the secrets hidden among the trees. Named as one of the top 5 immersive art experiences in America, Prismajic’s current endeavor will run until the end of October. Don’t miss this charming adventure- get your tickets here.

Convergence Station- Denver, Colorado

            Easily my most anticipated experience of the year! Meow Wolf impresses yet again with an immersive psychedelia guised as an interdimensional train station. Visually stunning and intelligently mapped, Convergence Station seamlessly blends compelling narrative with diverse installations by local artists to guide attendees on a multi-sensorial tour of the realms. This experience takes elements of reality and runs with it, propelled by plotlines of lost memory and alien technology. Exhibit employees serve as diegetic characters (each with a unique backstory) that can answer attendees’ questions about the world. Elaborate props in each room spell out the history of the multiverse. My favorite? A thick, metal-bound storybook that offers clues on how to contact the Gods of the cosmos.

            Building upon the sculptural labyrinth of House of Eternal Return and leaning less on spectacle than Omega Mart, Meow Wolf’s third permanent installation is the largest in size and infinitely more creative. Even the building inspires curiosity, being nestled between the footprints of I-25 and I-70 in Denver, Colorado. It also houses a small music venue that boasts groundbreaking, interactive projection tech. The venue, “The Perplexiplex,” has already hosted international artists with the likes of GRiZ and Clozee—all within just one month of its public opening! Convergence Station is my favorite immersive art experience yet, so much so that I now consider it a Denver destination. If you find yourself in the area, you simply must arrange for tickets to this mind-bending voyage here.