November 23, 2009

It’s fascinating to be part of Sir Richard Branson’s world. The uber-entrepreneur turns dust into gold, and rarely comes across a challenge he can’t solve. When Richard Branson puts his mind to something, creativity knows no boundaries (don’t believe me? see: Virgin Galactic). So what does this man do when he’s just being Branson? You might be surprised…

I’ve had the privilege to talk to Branson on a few occasions. The topics usually involve the airline industry, his newest adventure or invention, or a quick chat about upcoming trips, and they usually take place as we’re running through an airport. But our latest conversation was a little more intimate. I had the unique opportunity to join Branson at the dinner table on Necker Island (Branson’s own private island in the British Virgin Islands). There was dining, drinking, dancing (yes, all on the dinner table), and conversation on one of the most private islands in the world. Simply put, my one night on Necker Island was a travel writer’s dream come true…

It all started with a little invitation to attend the kick off to the first annual Kite Jam in the British Virgin Islands, a kite surfing extravaganza set to launch in March 2010.

I hopped a flight to San Juan and weighed in for the Cessna flight to Tortola, where the festivities were set to begin. The first night was at Maria’s By The Sea, a helpful little hotel located right in the center of town. The hotel is perfect for business travelers needing quick access to everything, but if you’re staying for a few nights be sure to request a room overlooking the water (otherwise you’ll have a great view of the parking lot). I met my fellow press trip reporters for dinner and tucked myself in for a good night’s sleep after a long day of travel.

The next day we set sail for Norman’s Island, courtesy of Sunsail fleets. The catamarans took us to the island said to harbor the treasure chest of Blackbeard. Sadly, I didn’t find the loot, but I did leave the island with a hat that reads, “Where’s your booty?” After a nice dinner at the hotel restaurant, I packed my bags and set up a wake-up call for 6 a.m. the next morning. Destination: Virgin Gorda.

Sailing the BVIs

On our way to VG, we detoured at the undiscovered and beautifully unspoilt island of Anegada. (more…)

Note to readers: Medical travel and volunteer travel (voluntourism) is fast becoming an important way to help those less fortunate, and it’s a program that is near to my heart. What better way to spread good health than by helping those less fortunate? The Nightwalker Children are a group of kids in Uganda who walk from town to town in the dark of night to avoid being trapped into a life of violence. Thanks to medical travel volunteers, these kids are cared for and put on the path to a healthier life…

The ‘nightwalker’ children in Northern Uganda travel from town to town in the middle of the night to avoid being abducted and forced into a life of violence. They sleep on dirt and their clothes are tattered. They are orphans seeking refuge from a life of constant running and torture. They haven’t had a good meal or a proper night’s sleep in years. In fact, most of them don’t know if they’re sick, infected, or carrying a virus. Most have never seen a doctor or, just as importantly, a dentist.

Uganda smiles!

But imagine a world without toothbrushes, bubblegum toothpaste, or mint-flavored floss. Imagine a mouth full of cavities and so painful that you aren’t able to properly chew your food. Imagine not having your teeth at all. It’s a familiar reality for children around the world, but thanks to volunteer efforts from our local dentists, underprivileged kids in impoverished countries—including the nightwalker children—are being treated to free cleanings, free supplies, and a new outlook on dental hygiene. Continue reading on Medical Travel Today…

Summer nights sizzle in Boston. The city oozes with heat as people crowd the streets in the North End.

Friends congregate on the corner of Parmenter and Salem streets to plan out their next destination for the night. Parents hold tightly to their kids; kids hold tightly to their ice cream cones and Italian ices. Couples are unfazed by the drips of sweat that trickle through their entwined hands.

Cell phones sing in the background of the neighborhood band, which presents the Lady Madonna as she’s carried through the streets. People crowd the statue to add their dollar bill to the Society.

Scene: North End Fisherman's Feast

Sausages and peppers sizzle on the portable grill. Mike’s Pastry welcomes a long line of tourists eager to get their hands on a cannoli or almond cookie. The sounds of carnival games get louder as the night gets longer. We slowly make our way down Hanover Street to check out the buzz, weaving our way through the hundreds of people who flock to the feasts. The not-quite-teen-not-quite-adult boys stand perched in a corner, eying the the newcomers to the area and wondering which of the young ladies might be back next weekend for another feast. I love watching the excitement on the faces of little kids the first time they knock down all the soda bottles and get a prize, and the proud expressions on the faces of elderly residents who have been part of the feasts for 50 or more years. (more…)

I remember the first day I volunteered with the Special Olympics. It was in high school and I coached track for the 8-10 year olds. The kids were inspiring… full of hope and excitement. Nearly two decades later, I remember the feeling I had when I handed one athlete a medal. He was so proud.

Eunice Kennedy Shriver, 1921–2009

Eunice Kennedy Shriver’s passing reminds us all that hope, hard work and a little faith can turn obstacles into miracles. While her brothers, John, Bobby, and Teddy, all tackled politics, Eunice tackled people. She lent a hand to those who had no strength and made them heroes. John F. Kennedy once said he feared seeing Eunice in the White House because ‘she always had an agenda.’ Thankfully, her agenda was heard.

I remember just a few years ago helping out the Special Olympics in Boston. I made sure each of the athletes had enough water, enough food and enough fun to carry them through their day. The reality is that they didn’t need any of the handouts from the table — they were given a gift from Eunice a long time ago, and every year the Special Olympians re-open their gift and make their patron Saint very proud.

When Eunice Kennedy Shriver passed on Aug. 11, 2009, a silence fell over the people she gave a voice to, but her legacy lives on in all who maintain their dreams.

“You are the stars and the world is watching you. By your presence you send a message to every village, every city, every nation. A message of hope. A message of victory.” ~ Eunice Kennedy Shriver

He was always my favorite Beatle.

Paul, the writer, the lyricist. The words, his melody. He inspired me from the first moment I heard him sing. While I wasn’t born in time to see The Beatles tour, I vowed I would see Paul McCartney in concert one day. Wednesday was that day: Paul McCartney, Fenway Park, Boston. It was like traveling back in time…

Sir Paul graced the stage at exactly 8 p.m. His song set included some new tracks from his album “Electric Arguments” and some fan favorites including “Eleanor Rigby,” “My Love,” “Something” and “Band on the Run.”  I shed a tear during “Blackbird” and sang along during “Hey Jude”, but the most emotional moment of the night came when Paul payed homage to John with the song he wrote the day after John’s death, “Here Today.” The audience ranged in age at Fenway Park that night, but for a few minutes everyone was taken back to Monday, Dec. 8, 1980, when they received the news that the music, and the legend, died.

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Boston in the summer is a force to be reconed with. The students have moved out, but the tourists have moved in. It’s hot in the city, and the narrow streets of Boston’s North End get smaller as the feasts get larger.

The North End feasts are a tradition. Starting in July, the every-weekend feasts honor one of the patron Saints. The streets are decorated with red, white and green lights and booths offering everything from pizza slices to cannoli and gelato are set up for all to ‘feast.’  As the summer gets longer, so do the feasts.

A procession through Boston's North End for the Feast

No longer a peaceful spectactor sport, the feasts have grown in the 12 years I’ve lived in the neighborhood from simple age-old traditions to sponsorships and carnival games. Next to the Lady Madonna sits a booth with faux Louis Vitton bags and fake rolex watches. The banners that welcome tourists to the North End are sponsored by local banks or restaurants. I wonder if these ‘additions’ to what once was a religious ritual is really helping the local economy or just providing a commercial distraction.

Every summer I sit on my front step and watch the hundreds of people go by. I wonder if they know the signifcance of the North End feasts, or if they just find the scene exciting and entertaining – like something out of a movie. No matter, really. I know the look in the eyes of the 80+ year-old men who remember the days of feasts long ago… when the courted their wives, played bocce in the streets and drank lemon ice from a paper cup. It’s those memories that will last a lifetime.

There are some people in this world who are nice because they are taught to be nice to others, and others who are nice because it’s simply their nature. In America, we’re nice – on occasion – because we’re told to be. The Irish are nice because it’s their nature.

Let me start by saying that I love my country. There is no where else I’d rather live than in the U.S.A. (ok, actually, that’s debatable, but it’s not because I don’t love my country). I’m proud and honored to be an American. Never was that clearer than at the Shannon, Ireland, airport on Tuesday, June 24, when hundreds of U.S. soldiers marched passed travelers to board their flight to somewhere. As they walked through the airport, people waved, children saluted and I was overcome with emotion. Maybe they were off to serve their next tour of duty, or maybe they were heading home – either way, they were proud, and I was proud of them.

But while in Ireland, I discovered something about my country: we’re downright rude. Sure, there are sweet people in middle America who bake cookies and serve as Little League coaches or Den Mothers for the Girl Scout troops, but that doesn’t make them ‘nice.’ (more…)

The boat approached Key West and I was suddenly seduced by the tropics. The swaying palm trees, the island music, the smell of conch grilling on the harbor BBQ – we were finally here, ready to bask in the sun for 48 hours and de-ice from the frigid Boston winter weather.

Wicker Guest House

The room at the Wicker Guest House was perfectly eco-friendly, clad with a baby gecko in my bed the next morning. I hope he was happy there, because it took about three seconds for me to jump up and scream, which I’m quite sure startled the little guy right out of his relaxation.

Outside our room a hammock swayed in the breeze and palm trees shaded the pool area. There was an unmistakable Hemingway-esq ambiance of the place that tucked guests in for a good night’s sleep.

Key West Sunset

The next day, wild dolphins welcomed us in the Gulf of Mexico – five to be exact. The night was capped off with a sunset sail, complete with a storm approaching from the east. As we sailed back to land, water spouts formed behind us – mini-tornadoes were stating their claim on the sea and I was eager to get my feet back on land.

We walked through the rain past a dark man in all white. He had long white hair and a white beard and appeared randomly throughout the day on street corners or in storefronts. He was hard to miss, and was now perfectly perched on a wooden chair ready to read my palm. The storm was getting closer, but I was focused on the man in white. (more…)

I’m working on a report due the moment I walk in the office Monday morning. I’ve spent the past few months working on this in hopes it delivers exactly what we need: notoriety. In working on this report, I’ve spent countless hours on phone interviews, email chats with analysts overseas and online researching stats and forecasts. Today I devoted all day to completing this report. My reward: window shopping at the Natick Collection tomorrow. I’m a firm believer in window shopping – no need to purchase; a little imagination goes a long way.

In order to stay true to my deadline, I needed a change of scenery. I’ve worked on this report in the office and in the apartment and everything is just stale. This morning, I bundled up, grabbed my laptop and walked to Starbucks. I grabbed the first table near an outlet, spread out my paper work and powered up the HP. I ordered my grande Pike Place, got my 10 percent off thanks to my Starbucks Gold Card, and started writing.

Louie Armstrong is blowing his horn over the sound system. It’s the holidays, and everything from the paper cups to the tracks spinning on the Starbucks stereo system says so.

The lines come and go, and Jenna behind the counter comes out to check on me every so often.

“You doing OK? Can I get you anything?”

“Nah, I’m OK… just plugging away.”

“That man would like to buy you a coffee,” she says, and points to a white-haired and wrinkled older gentleman who I’ve seen around the neighborhood. He’s a friend of my landlord’s; I believe his name is Gus.

“Thanks,” I say, and wink in Gus’ direction.

The place is filling up again. Starbucks seems like everyone’s retreat. Here, there doesn’t seem to be a recession – at least not one that a good cappuccino or a salted hot chocolate can’t fix.

Yesterday was the perfect day in the neighborhood. The sidewalks were empty, the streets were quiet. Not a rumble around. It seemed like the entire neighborhood was mine. Today, it’s all back to normal.
People are walking aimlessly and paying no attention to the other people on the street. Not walking, slowly strolling. Not paying attention, particularly to the little old lady using a walker to get down the icy streets she’s known since she arrived off the boat 80 years ago.

I long for somewhere else.

I miss the sound of the sun setting in Selema, Portugal over the cliff rocks and the slow pour of a Chianti from a sidewalk cafe in Rome. If I close my eyes I can see the bright lights of Paris and the whitewashed buildings of Morocco. I miss the sunsrise over the Bay Bridge in San Francisco. It’s time to travel again…