Let’s just skip over the Switzerland that I didn’t see. Cold and rainy Geneva along with 12 hour days filled with “Je ne parle francais” was enough for me to make a few resolutions: 1) take those French classes I always wanted and 2) not to miss my EasyJet flight to Madrid. Iceland’s erupting volcano attempted to delay my entry into Spain, but I got there just in time. My friend Amy was waiting for me having arrived at our Madrid hotel earlier that day. A week in Spain exploring wine country, Spanish art, and of course food. Lots and lots of food. (This will turn out to be a little too much enthusiasm, but you only live once.)

I love Spain. The way of life. The freshness of the food. The oh-so-exacting nature of the language. The Spanish don’t easily offer up information. They answer a question with just the information required. Ask the wrong question – that’s your fault. But ask the right one – be prepared for an onslaught of opinion and conjecture. How are you supposed to tell the difference? Well you can’t. It’s all about nuance and intuition. You have to figure out or really feel the Spanish language to know which words to use when. I suppose it’s probably the same for most languages. When you do, you’ll have a marvelous time. So what if you don’t know Spanish? Learn some. Seriously it’s not hard to learn basic words in any language. Hello. Goodbye. Thank you. Please.

I’ve been amazed in my travels by tourists unwillingness to show courtesy to their non-English speaking host country by picking up some basic phrases. A little learning will go a long way. Especially once you realize that Spanish maps don’t actually tell you how to get anywhere. Also, a week with a bunch of four language speaking Swiss is enough to make you vow to kick them off their smug high horses. So far, I have two down, two to go. I’m already looking forward to picking a fight in French.

Switzerland wasn’t high on my list of countries I needed to visit, but in my planning my time I figured I should do at least one thing semi-work related.  A little googling and I found the Lift Conference in Geneva.  I traded my time for entrance to the conference and a free place to stay.  Seemed like a fair trade. I have proof I was there. These are the volunteers as we were saluted at the conference close. (Far right, near the mobile).

Now I have nothing against Lift10 and it’s mission.  Enabling the discussion about the use of technology in society is a worthy endeavor.  But my 3 days volunteering made me accept one thing:  I don’t like conferences.  Perhaps my expectations are too high.  The workshops and talks with the best titles turned out to be disappointing. Where exactly does this “networking” happen? I watched 700+ a day sit behind their computers or play on their iPhones/Blackberries. I’ve been to several conferences in my career and regardless of topic, they all seem the same to me. I’m also always surprised by how quickly I want out of there.

Spring in Europe was also a bit colder than I expected. Talk about being underdressed with sandals and a jacket that I will burn because I never want to see it again. At some point, I’ll have to visit Geneva again because I didn’t see much more than the walk between the hostel and the conference center. My other big learning from Switzerland: I don’t like cheese fondue. After about four bites, you realize you’re eating a pot of melted goo that just slides down your throat and sit in your stomach. Yuck. A nice warm, gooey pain au chocolat, however, indescribable. Seriously yum.

The best part of Geneva was hearing complimentary words about a friend far, far away.  Another volunteer (from Poland) had taken a course in Denmark from a friend who lives in San Francisco.  His kind description and appreciation of my SF friend brought him to life.   I guess that’s how you’re supposed to network.

“No, I have no idea where I’m going or what I’m doing,” I declared to CQ when I arrived in Wellington. This was after knowing that I was coming to NZ for a good six weeks and wanted to do something different. Planning isn’t always my strong suit. All I knew was that I was headed to the South Island and I needed to see nature. CQ helped me sort out an aggressive 10 day South Island plan that would include two kayaking trips, 1 day hike, a glacier walk, but driving on the wrong side of the road.

Day 1 of South Island adventures: Kayaking in Abel Tasman National Park.

I got picked up super early in the morning and we drove out to the kayaking company’s base. From there, piling in another van and straight to the water. We arrived at the dock only for me to see this going on:

About three meters of water gets displaced and brought back by the tides everyday. The width of the sandbar/beach is so much that they need these tractors to put haul the water taxis back into the water. It’s a good 10 minute ride from the dock to see. Imagine this boat with 10 people plus 4 kayaks tied to the back. And yes, it still floats.

We set off in the direction of Tonga Island which serves as a marine reserve, but also where you can find seals! It’s so strange coming up to what looks like a brown blob and realizing that it’s a live, fully in the wild seal. They let us come into their home. Baby seals are naturally curious, energetic kids who love to play.

I wasn’t so lucky that the seals chose to jump on my kayak, but my Slovenian friends Ales and Marjeta got the most bang for their buck when three seals jumped on theirs. But, I can say that this guy gave me a nibble. You know how dogs some times gnaw on you a little but without biting, well that’s what this guy did. Pretty cool.

Kayaking was fun and gives plenty of time for introspection. You really have nothing else to do while you’re paddling. The day was perfect, the company agreeable, but I couldn’t tell you what I thought about that day other than “this is amazing” and “I need to live near water always.” Assurances abound, however, that after a full day of kayaking 1) your arm will hurt so bad that you can’t even cut meat and 2) the next morning you’re still going to be swaying in your head.

My flight from Sydney to Wellington was perhaps the best flight ever. Friendly, orderly bordering process. No scramble to cram the overhead bins. More movies and TV shows than I could possibly every watch. As a Star Gold, I even got noise canceling headphones. There was one thing that I will suggest to any future New Zealand visitors: NZ wants you to come, spend your money, see their nature, and leave. You must have a return ticket booked and printed in hard copy or you can’t board your flight. And don’t bring any dirt with you. My hiking boots were examined for any dirt or grime that could bring more pests and vermin into the country.

Carolyn was disappointed that I didn’t stare out the window as we flew into Wellington. I desperately tried to get to the end of It’s Complicated to see if Meryl Streep and Alec Baldwin get back together. Don’t tell me; I still don’t know. I will find out when I fly back to Sydney. First impressions of Wellington, however, were that it was what I expected out of Sydney. Hilly, lush, and beautiful. Not unlike Trinidad and Tobago in some ways.

New Zealand made it on my trip itinerary for two reasons: 1) to see Carolyn (CQ) who moved here last year and 2) to confront my discomfort with outdoor activities. I don’t know how to camp, kayak, hike, etc. My plans for my two weeks in New Zealand: kayaking Abel Tasman and Milford Sound, hiking part of the Routeburn Track, climbing Franz Josef Glacier, and other assorted outdoor adventures. Kiwis excel in everything outdoor so I figured they were the ones to initiate me.

To get me started, however, I took a ride on a Flying Fox in Wellington’s Central Park. CQ and I met up on Cuba Street and headed to her flat. She graciously took me through her extra hilly walk home just to get me used to sore muscles and aching legs. We came upon a playground which had a contraption that will never be seen in an American playground:

Obviously, this is not me and Carolyn, but we did go for a ride. It was amazing. Especially after you jump on and realize there’s no way to stop except for your body slamming the tires at the end of the rope. You jump on this plunger type thing attached to a rope suspended above you. Then you launch yourself off the platform and let gravity take over. The best part is the warning sign that says “Children ages 5 and above should be appropriate for this ride.”

Airport immigration officers aren’t known for being chatty let alone friendly. Every time I enter the U.S., I’m convinced they’re not going to let me in.

Australia proved to be quite the opposite. Carl saw that I’d been to El Salvador within 6 days of arriving in Sydney. The first concern was whether I’m bringing any yellow fever with me (no). The second was whether I’d been to the same beach in La Union, El Salvador that he’d visited on his last holiday (no). Really? I only know one American who has been to El Salvador let alone the scores I’ve met who can’t find it on a map. To go around the world and have that encounter was surreal.

Sydney is well…expensive. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but imagine UK prices for an American. A dinner entree is $25 – $30 minimum. A can of soda $3 – $4. Ferry ride $7.00. You can get a soda in El Salvador for 50 cents maybe $1.00. Thankfully, my hotel was free (best use of SPG points ever) which included breakfast and a light dinner so I saved money while staying in luxury. I’m still scratching my head, however, as to how Sydney-siders manage. Also as to why a plane was writing this in the sky above the Opera House. Can’t answer that either.

I’m missing something, a context, an experience that reveals Sydney’s true identity. As a tourist you set out to see the Opera House, a koala/kangaroo, and Crocodile Dundee. Then you realize, Australia is almost as big as the United States in landmass. Just like all Texans don’t walk around in cowboy boots and hats, Australians don’t go around saying “G’day mate” and wrestling a crocodile. Sydney is a cosmopolitan city with a thriving business district and distinct neighborhoods. And a coffee obsession. The obsession rivals San Francisco and Seattle’s combined, but I’m happy to say we Americans would win in a blind taste test. Gordon and I did a coffee tour of San Francisco and it holds up well against the flat whites and long blacks of Sydney.

I managed to fulfill two of my three goals for Sydney. Saw the kangaroos in the wild (sorry no picture) and the Opera House (totally gorgeous). Rather than show you the building you already know, here’s what the bathroom looks like. I saw another lady stealing I shot, so I figured why not?

Welcome to House Hunters San Salvador. Fifteen years ago, this house was nothing more than a sign on the side of a volcano. Now this house sits inside the exclusive area of Santa Elena with the added bonus of being situated very near the U.S. Embassy. Every trip to El Salvador usually includes a day spent on wondering what it would be like if we lived here which is how we ended up here.

So what do we need in our Salvadoran sanctuary? The requirements get added on quickly: hot water, cistern, large protective wall, generator, air conditioning…yes, living in El Salvador requires things you don’t think about in America. Despite being out of war for almost 20 years, public utilities still aren’t what we expect. The water still goes out and brownouts have been known to occur. Many homes don’t have hot water let alone purified tap water.

However, money buys comfort. This home is what $600,000 buys you in San Salvador’s La Montaña neighborhood. Just imagine the pool you could put here:

Bathrooms were small and closets were pretty much non-existent, but the kitchen!

Let’s not forget to mention the gated driveway that you arrive at after passing through two other gated entrances. This house has everything you want, service quarters, plenty of bathrooms, and the ability to see your neighbors frolicking in their pool.

I’m not sure how I feel about this home or others like this that I’ve seen in El Salvador. I would want to recreate the comfortable, secure feeling of living just about anywhere in America. But I do think you can take away the flavor and context of a country by trying to replicate something that isn’t really transferable. To be a good house, it needs character and personality and this house just don’t quite have it. So I guess we ended up losing on this edition of House Hunters.