I was pretty psyched to try skiing and snowboarding while in the Tahoe area, thinking I would prefer the latter. I envisioned those days on my brother's skateboard as an omen of what was to come - gliding, sailing, and face-planting. But I was surprised to find skiing felt more intuitive and exhilarating, whereas snowboarding felt awkward and oddly captive. I didn't particularly enjoy having my body planted on a board, facing sideways.
On skis, I wasn't afraid to fall face first into a blanket of fresh powder at out of control speeds, nor did I hesitate to launch from the ski lift with giddy abandon. Yet I detested dragging my foot around on a snowboard, instinctively wondering where my ski poles were and how to stand up after falling. Skiing gave me a certain confidence, whereas snowboarding left me feeling melancholy and craving a sense of place.
I did manage to continuously nail my leg on my borrowed snowboard over and over again until I developed the most brilliant black and blue bruises that were larger than my entire hand. Their presence was my war wound, proof that I had braved the elements and had not retreated into defeat. I showed them off to my fellow travel writers with pride, never hesitating to hike up my pant leg regardless of the situation or environment. Dinner? A tour of a state building? A fancy lodge? Bruises abound. Finally, I found myself hiking up my jeans at a casino at 2:30am while looking for a slice of pizza and another beer.
My whole lackluster performance at snowboarding probably wasn't helped by the fact that I had a touch of altitude sickness which caused acute insomnia. I showed up at my snowboarding lesson at Heavenly in Tahoe on no sleep and with the sun beating down on us. I stripped off my husband's water-resistant coat (which I had borrowed, lest slide down the mountain in a black belted trench coat) and my hat during the first ten minutes.
Our snowboarding instructor Shep was very patient and managed to get me through the lesson without breaking a leg. Despite his good graces, I found myself intimidated by his lifestyle, living in Tahoe for 6 months and New Zealand the rest of the year. I wondered what it did to a person to live one long continuous winter with a snowboard attached to your feet. While I tried to maneuver around on my board without hitting innocent bystanders, I took in the views from the top, wishing for both sleep and longevity. I never wanted to leave. And then inevitably I would fall into a bed of packed snow and hear my leg slam against my board, grinning at the new bruise sure to come.
I went to bed those nights with my legs aching and the thrill of skiing down a mountain fresh in my mind. My lungs swelled and felt raw and twisted from the day's events. But despite our 17 hour days of touring the area, I never got more than 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night, no matter how exhausted I was or banged up. But lack of sleep does something interesting to your brain, forces a spontaneous bonding experience with those around you. I came home, breaking my John Denver Rocky Mountain High streak with a luxurious 10 hours of sleep, leaving me more aware of how discontent I am in NYC and the lack of nature's fresh powder along the Gowanus.
Snowboarding Bruises
Reno or Bust
There's much to say, including skiing vs. snowboarding and some gnarly bruises I earned, but for now I must catch up on forgotten deadlines and of course sleep!
Robert Beckmann - Body of a House
I'm in the Denver airport killing time before my flight to Reno. I just had some very uninspired pizza from Pizza Hut. Ray's Pizza it is not. It was largely an uneventful flight. Now, I don't want you to get jealous, but instead of The Jane Austen Book Club, which was suppose to air, we got to watch Rush Hour not 1, not 2, but 3! It went down great with a soda and mini pretzels. I slept through 95% of it. But I'm assuming the best part of the film was the credits anyway. And what's up with the show Monk? It seems like every flight I've been on in the last 2 years on features the entire season in full.
Usually I don't say much to my seat-mates. I always offer a hello and am happy to chat if that person takes the lead. Otherwise, I tend to assume they want to be left alone. But saying 'hi' is important. It establishes a precident. What if you're first to evacuate? Do you want to just blurt out "I hope we don't die!" Or what if the first thing you say is "Can you move so I can go to the bathroom?" It's just good airline manners to greet the person you're sitting with.
So after saying hi, my seat-mate made small talk which lead to a fascinating conversation about art. His name is Robert Beckmann, an accomplished painter and muralist, with his work Body of a House permanently displayed in the Nevada Museum of Art. I'm looking forward to seeing it on my press tour and putting a name to the painting. Body of a House depicts the rapid disintegration of a house on a nuclear test site and encompasses 8 large canvases. He's lived in and visited dozens of places that would make any seasoned traveler green with jealousy.
I never considered how much a professional artist would have to travel between artist in residencies, commissioned work, and tours. And I left the flight wondering about the connection between travel and passion. I wonder how different that kind of intimate traveling is compared to my own. Makes me wish I traveled more for just the sake of travel. I've often wondered if travel means more to the person who is evoking his/her creativity and spirit into the experience. Does going on a press trip where I'm being shown attractions and sites to slant my view on the area mean as much as someone who goes for self-discovery and exploration? Or does my passion for travel and writing make up for the fact that it is in fact an organized press trip? Is work just work no matter where you are?
Where does Traveling With Meaning fit into the travel industry?
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