Travel Planning: What to Do | Writing with my mouth full: New York City restaurant reviews, international recipes, travel stories

Staying in a Treehouse in Santa Cruz, California

Jan 21, ’12

Kara handed us two empty plastic quart yogurt containers from Trader Joe’s: If you have to go in the middle of the night and you don’t feel like getting out of the treehouse. I looked at my travel partner to quietly tell him that there was no way I’ll be squatting and peeing right next to him while he slept tonight! Even if he paid for dinner! And thus, our Santa Cruz adventure to welcome 2012 officially began.

I didn’t grow up in the Philippines in a hut; in fact, quite the opposite surrounded by concrete and marble. But I remember climbing a lot of trees and getting in trouble with our nannies and parents for it. I also remember flat bamboo beds tucked in a nook inside my grandmother’s house in the province of Pampanga for cool afternoon naps during the summer. In the last 10 years of my travel life, I’ve stayed in all sorts of places: old castles in Ireland, yurts in Big Sur, tents in Patagonia, clay houses in Tunisia and 3-sided huts in Isla Bastimentos where you wake facing the open sea, but nothing has made me feel like a kid again more than this treehouse in Santa Cruz, California.

Renting the treehouse was my first Airbnb experience. Working for a tech and business publishing company, I’ve read the bad press about the Web site, but I was willing to give it a shot when we were looking for a place to stay a few hours outside of San Francisco. Santa Cruz is a California beach town and it’s teeming with small hotels situated near the boardwalk and the ocean, but I wanted to share a unique experience with my new travel partner and have a different story to tell upon returning to New York City.

I immediately started emailing with Claudine, the treehouse owner, as soon as she approved of the date I wanted to rent the treehouse for. I paid the nightly rate and a $100 deposit was put on hold in my credit card for incidentals. What makes the treehouse even more quirky is that it had been built on a homeowner’s backyard. We laughed with half giddiness and half nervousness when we drove around the downtown area of Santa Cruz and realized that we would be sleeping 30 feet up above the neighbors’ private homes. Kara was taking care of the main house during the holidays, so I only had the pleasure of making arrangements with Claudine via email and SMS, but both were so welcoming that even this New Yorker softened up a bit. We entered their hippie-centric home to use the bathroom at night and in the morning, but we pretty much stayed up in the treehouse before and after New Year’s Eve dinner.

A very sturdy cable wire was installed to make climbing up and down the treehouse stable and easy. Even in the dark, before retiring for the night, we were pretty comfortable going up with just my headlamp illuminating our way. (Kara also lent us a flashlight when she gave us our pee cups!) A trapdoor let us in and we just had to carefully hoist ourselves up to be fully inside. A twin-sized bed was on the left and a narrow side table on the right, plus a floor cushion, but not much else other than finger paintings on the wall. One side was painted with splatters of red, a Jackson Pollock attempt perhaps, but unfortunately looked like gunshot wounds. (Ah, west coast self-expression!)

Besides the Tibetan flags outside the treehouse, my favorite was the plastic basket that was attached to an industrial pulley to help us bring our stuff up. Being the OCD person that I am, I packed our own comforter and my much-loved bamboo flat sheets from 3,000 miles away. (Seriously.) There was no heat the night of our stay and we were much too scared to light candles inside, so we mostly kept ourselves warm throughout the night using, well, body heat. Taking into consideration how cold I felt sleeping inside a tent in Kilimanjaro just two years ago, the “cold” California temperature was harmless.

A few hours of sleep later, we caught the first sign of sunlight from a small window right above the bed. Maybe people were slowly enjoying their mornings, but the street was very quiet. For a few minutes, we forgot that there was an entire neighborhood right below us waking up for their first breakfast of the new year.

I only had a vague idea of my partner’s travel sensibilities because of the circumstances of how we first met, so I was quite worried of how he would react to this experience. Would he be picky? Would he be freaked out? At the end of our stay, he let me know that he also enjoyed our time in Claudine’s treehouse and appreciated the fact that I tried to find a different kind of place to wake up in for our first trip alone together. I wouldn’t mind traveling with this one again.

Thanks, Kara and Claudine!

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Day 2 in Stockholm, Sweden: Södermalm and Glenfiddich Warehouse

Apr 26, ’11

Our last full day in Stockholm, Francine and I hit the hotel breakfast buffet to power up with more herring, more fresh fruits and more charcuterie before we walked around the hip Södermalm neighborhood. We scoured so many stores that we forgot to eat lunch. Towards mid-afternoon, we walked by Louie Louie and decided to join the pretty people inside–I was already convinced by the pretty typeface they used on their sign. (We later realized that it was on our list of places to eat that we’d left back in our hotel room.) While Francine saved a couch and coffee table for us, I managed to talk to the guy at the counter and asked him to order two things he would like for us to try. He chose a warm open-faced roast beef sandwich and a blueberry pie. How do you feel about vanilla sauce? he asked. I flirted back that if he liked it, I would like it. It was an eye-rolling experience. The pie and the vanilla sauce, of course, not the guy, though he was very easy on the eyes. By the end of our day, I ended with vintage dish towels, a clutch and a necklace while Francine fell in love with another hat. Both of us had several items of clothing on our tallies.

We put our feet up back in Gamla Stan at Wirströms Pub and drank a couple of pints to while away the rest of our afternoon. We were pretty desperate to eat reindeer during dinner time. The one place I was dying to go to was closed for the day (also used a good-looking typeface in their logo) and the one recommended by the concierge didn’t serve it. (Thirty-one countries and not once did concierge ever give me a good restaurant recommendation.) We remembered seeing reindeer on the menu when we walked by Glenfiddich Warehouse back in Gamla Stan the day before, so I called to confirm.

We expected a dark and cavernous space full of old barrels and the menu to have some heavy stews. It had been drizzling all day and we were quite ready for a satisfying meal. To our surprise, the kitchen whipped up some beautifully-presented dishes that you would see at a modern restaurant. Ordering veal carpaccio for an appetizer before the reindeer fillet main course sounded a little much at first, but they were perfect split in two.

For a nightcap, we stopped by Akkurat for some scotch before we decided to end the night with a second one in the lobby of our hotel. We counted down the minutes until Francine’s birthday and then toasted turning a year older before we called it a night.

It was a little sad back in our room, packing up and saying goodbye to Stockholm. Though we felt like we did a lot in the short time we had, we agreed we could stay for another day, but alas, real life was waiting for us back in New York City.

Louie Louie is at Bondegatan 13 in the Södermalm neighborhood of Stockholm. Glenfiddich Warehouse is at Västerlånggatan 68 in Gamla Stan.

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Stockholm, Sweden photos on Flickr

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Day 1 in Stockholm, Sweden: Gamla Stan and Pelikan

Apr 19, ’11

Swedish efficiencies were immediately experienced upon our arrival six hours after taking off from JFK: no immigration forms, no lines at customs, a superfast Arlanda Express train to downtown, smooth check-in at the Nordic Light Hotel conveniently located right next to the train station, a much larger shared room than expected, a good breakfast of herring, paté, fresh fruits, cheeses and charcuterie at the lobby.

Francine and I only had two full days to spend in Stockholm, Sweden and we were going to be as efficient as any Swede. We freshened up after breakfast and picked the nearest neighborhood to explore first. Filled up and energized to walk around Gamla Stan, or Old Town, we looked up old buildings, took photos of the water coming in from the Baltic Sea, crossed bridges and checked out several vintage and specialty stores. Francine scored a cute hat from the “antikt” store on Drakens, or Dragon’s Alley, and I poured over different fabrics with loud Swedish prints and contemplated buying a very pricey wooden sculpture of a mackerel. (For US$200, I changed my mind.)

Kronor still intact in our wallets, we decided it was time to eat again after a couple of hours of walking. If you think Americans are gluttons of the world, you better check the Swedes’ all-time world record when it comes to eating candy. Every Friday, or fredagsmys–literally “cozy Friday”–the Swedes unwind and reward themselves with something sweet. The pastry shops and bakeries we walked past displayed wares that made my mouth ache. Café & Brödbod looked more chill inside and so we grabbed a table and bought the two prettiest things behind the glass. My pastry was filled with almond paste and sprinkled with cardamom seeds that made it oh-so-savory. Francine opted for the ultra-light choux with the perfectly sweet cream topping.

We walked off the snacks and snuck into some more alleys to window-shop for souvenirs. I checked out a small gallery where people were drinking while hovering around some art. We went inside several gift shops to look for fridge magnets that also doubled as bottle openers to add to my collection. It took us a few more blocks before we decided that it was time for an afternoon drink. We ducked into Pubologi, a bar decorated after my own heart, and sat at one of the long tables for some hefty and not-so-hefty beers. They were closing to prepare for dinner service, but the bartender let us move to the bar by the front window so we could drink our second and third pints.

After a quick nap back at our hotel room, we joined the tourists for more beers at Pelikan before we shared home-style Swedish cooking of meatballs (much better than what you can get at Ikea’s) with cream sauce and lingonberries and a roasted pork knuckle as big as our faces. A salad would have been nice, but naturally, there were no vegetables on the menu except for an artichoke pie. Pelikan’s cathedral-high ceilings reminded me of the old pubs in Prague and the group next to us singing beer songs reminded me of the camaraderie in Ireland. We spent our last few hours of our first day congratulating ourselves at how well we did even with jet lag and a six-hour time difference.

We were falling in love with Sweden. We didn’t need to worry about the language whenever we had to inquire about something. Almost every person we assumed was local was mad beautiful with their height, skin tone and ridiculously blonde hair, and yet there were a lot of people who looked like us. (I later found out that by 1996, approximately 26% of Stockholm’s residents are of an immigrant or non-Swedish background.) Metro attendants were friendly and everything was convenient and easy to get to. The city may not be on an easy-to-understand grid, but it’s divided into smaller neighborhoods that are explorable by foot.

I could create a long list of the things I love about European countries someday, but for now, I was happy to experience that Stockholm had a lot of them in one place.

Pubologi is at Stora Nygatan 20 in the Gamla Stan neighborhood. Pelikan is at Blekingegatan 40 off the Skanstull metro stop.

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Day 3 in Dominica: Valley of Desolation and Boiling Lake

Jan 20, ’11

I woke up extra early today to have coffee and fresh fruits at the restaurant before an ungodly start of 7:30am to our Valley of Desolation and Boiling Lake hike. Because most of the guests signed up to hike, yoga was cancelled.

I had asked Joanne in the kitchen last night to boil two eggs for me in the morning. Joanne being Joanne asked her staff to cook three for me. I ate two with my breakfast and packed the third with the lunch we signed up for: an assortment of peanut butter and jelly, cheese and tuna-cucumber sandwiches. We each asked for three sandwiches apiece with their homemade granola bars; we had no idea the 8-hour hike was going to make us more hungry than usual. By mid-day, we were exchanging sandwiches; begging for someone else’s PB&J and trading in granola bars.

The long drive through Dominica’s curvy road made me queasy so I was glad that we immediately started our hike from the parking lot when we arrived at 9:30am. I began to appreciate Jungle Bay’s early start to our days. We always arrived at popular hikes before anyone else, which made it seem like we were the only ones in the paths except for the occasional Germans who were stereotypically super fit and seemed to always be in a race for gold.

We trekked through the rain forest during the first two hours of our hike. Its lush surroundings reminded me of my first day in Kilimanjaro. Moss and vines hung from giant Banyan trees; wide elephant ear leaves and palm fronds formed canopies that barely let the sunlight in. Most of the path was muddy and quite slippery because of the constant moisture, so a lot of time and care were taken while we walked. We reached a flat top by lunch time. The view from high up was pretty unreal. It was drizzling a tiny bit but it was a welcomed respite from the forest’s humidity.

We could see the canyon which reminded me of Kauai’s Waimea. The earth was so red, a perfect contrast against all the greenery.

We stepped on steep steps made of bamboo logs down to the Valley of Desolation where we crossed over steaming streams that smelled like sulphur, hopped on iron-dotted red rocks and held on to slimy boulders for support. Whenever we came across running water, we gloriously refilled our drinking bottles.

When we finally made it to the Boiling Lake, Iceland came to mind. In the middle of the lake, vigorously boiling water proved that the volcano was still very active. There was a small waterfall on the side that just made the place surreal. Our group took another break while we ate our remaining sandwiches–I finally got to eat my boiled egg.

I was amazed at how one country would bring to mind my past three travels. Dominica has so much to offer and I wondered how it’s still under most people’s radar.

On our hike back, I remembered the small pool of water during one of our crossings. Sam had told me the night before that we could take a quick dip if we had time, and since I was hiking ahead with the three youngest participants of our group, we undressed to reveal our swimsuits underneath and jumped in. The rest of our group joined us a few minutes later and we all took turns under the small waterfall. We passed by a hot spring next, and feeling refreshed from our first swim, we all undressed again and slithered in. The hot water from the volcano was therapeutic but I much preferred the cold shocking water because I was hot during most of the hike. Our guide, Carlos, couldn’t really stop the adults-turned-children from making the unscheduled stops. We all knew we still had hours to go and that we had to be at the parking lot before it got dark, but we were all just having too good of a time not to jump in every pool of water we came across.

My massage appointment was moved since we were an hour late returning to Jungle Bay. I took a quick shower in my room before I subjected myself to an hour-long aromatherapy massage. My legs didn’t hurt after the hike, but my body certainly still appreciated the kneading.

I began to think that Christmas and my birthday won’t be so bad after all.

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Day 2 in Dominica: Victoria Falls

Jan 10, ’11

I fell in-love in Dominica. With my mosquito net.

I woke up my second morning with my room bathed in morning sunlight and shadows on my bed created by my mosquito net. I quickly noted to myself to find a way to install one back in my New York City apartment.

After a morning shower with a brown grasshopper, I walked to the yoga room at 7:30am and wished that it was this easy to commit to morning stretches back in my real life. In the restaurant an hour later, I had breakfast of eggs, fresh papaya, watermelon and star apple. These papayas were so soft and fleshy; the watermelon juice dripped onto my shirt; the star apple was actually sweet instead of sour. I felt so short-changed all of a sudden because fruits do not taste the same way in New York. I walked up to my room for my second shower of the day before joining the Victoria Falls tour with Ade and a family from Chicago. Mister Grasshopper had left for the day.

Carlos, the guide who will become my favorite throughout my stay, hauled ass driving to the falls. It was a quick drive and a short hike through an even more lush forest with four river crossings. I didn’t wear my hiking boots this time. I followed Ade’s lead and went barefoot most of the time to negotiate the slippery rocks. I used my hands to grab on to tree roots to hoist myself up. My camera was in a Ziploc held between my teeth. Good thing too that I wore my surf shorts instead of a heavier pair of hiking shorts–the water was waist-deep in two of the crossings.

It was beautiful in the forest. The morning light kept seeping in through the thick canopy of greens. (Reader beware: I will be talking a lot about morning light in these posts.) It was the perfect setting for someone on hallucinogenics–or so I’ve heard–or Avatar Part Two. It was so green and alive that even the moss on boulders were as soft and bright green as the best AstroTurf. Trees covered the surrounding cliff. They seemed to occupy every vertical space possible. My camera–any camera–couldn’t do the scenery any justice.

The gushing water of Victoria Falls reminded us that there is something bigger than life. The water power was so thunderous, we kept screaming at each other about how incredible it was without hearing one another. I was just in awe.

I slipped once but thankfully landed on my ass on a round rock. I held on as the wind power from the cascade tried to blow me away. I could not even swim past the rocks’ edges. The water was cool and refreshing and provided respite from the humidity. I tried very hard to keep my bathing suit on while traipsing.

On our way back to our truck, Carlos cut and skinned a stalk of sugar cane and we passed the pieces around to suck off its sweet juice. I picked and smelled several leaves of fresh lemongrass, wild thyme and rosemary. I was thinking of roasted pork tenderloin and lamb chops, but happily settled for a lunch of fish curry roti back at Jungle Bay Resort with a couple of their homemade ginger-lime iced teas poolside. I read my book in between hot naps and cool swims. I had the pool and the afternoon to myself, but it felt like I had the whole world.

I showered back in my room, chilled on the hammock with my book until it was time to join Nancy, Jai and Ade for a power walk up Paix Bouche hill. Nancy has been doing the walk everyday since she moved to Dominica three years ago and the entire staff shook their heads at me when they found out Nancy had convinced me to join her. (I came to tease her for being the crazy white lady who walks everywhere after also hearing the story that she once walked to the town of Rosseau which took her four hours.) No one could tell me how long of a walk it was, but it was no joke: the hill went up a 35-degree angle. The roti in my stomach felt like extra weight I had to carry; my achilles were throbbing. The walk was good for my calves even though they cried for help during my Swedish massage afterward. I ended up walking the hill with Nancy nine more times during my stay at Jungle Bay and I appreciated that I my afternoons were spent getting to know her during those walks.

For my second dinner with Sam’s family, I had the traditional Dominican platter of shredded cod and dried herring with fried plantains. It was one of the best appetizers I’ve ever had–a combination of sweet and salty all on one plate. (I would end up ordering this every time it showed up on the menu.) I barely had room for the grilled kingfish and vegetable rice after the bowl of hot seafood chowder. I was impressed at what Joanne and her kitchen staff were cooking up in the kitchen. For the rest of the night, I forgot about tenderloins and lamb chops.

I will end up forgetting a lot of regular life during this Dominican trip.

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Hi, my name is Cia.

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Category Travel Planning: What to Do

Staying in a Treehouse in Santa Cruz, California

Day 2 in Stockholm, Sweden: Södermalm and Glenfiddich Warehouse

Day 1 in Stockholm, Sweden: Gamla Stan and Pelikan

Day 3 in Dominica: Valley of Desolation and Boiling Lake

Day 2 in Dominica: Victoria Falls

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