Sunset at the Big C, Berkeley.

A favourite spot in Berkeley that I only got to visit once.

Sometimes, I think it is up to us to make the days count.

When I first arrived in Berkeley, I had too much time at hand. I practically had no friends. I only had classes for a few hours each day, 3 days a week. There were not many assignments and no academic paper to read. My ‘commute’ involved a mere 10-minute walk to my (very lovely) house.

This was not something I was used to. I started feeling uneasy, not knowing what to do with all this luxury. I could use it to acquire some new skills, but the irony of life is, the more time you have, the fewer the things you will get done.

So one day I decided I needed to get my lazy ass out of the house. Instead of lying around on the couch, I put on my sporty outfit, my colourful crocs and decided to go for a little hike to the Big C.

The Big C, I had read, was a giant concrete block of the letter ‘C’ built on the Berkeley Hills. It offered a stunning view over the UC Berkeley campus, where I was studying at the time. Definitely a perfect incentive for a rookie hiker. I decided to go during sunset because I wanted to witness the transition from the golden soft lighting of the sun to the dark expanse being studded by the city lights.

The starting point was from the North Gate Hall, Berkeley’s journalism school.

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From then on, I just needed to follow some paths that led me to the top of the hill. For example, these stairs that greeted me right in the beginning of the journey.

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One evening in New York City.

To the untrained, exploring New York City at night generally entails walking along the famous Streets and Avenues to spot famous landmarks and then ending up at Times Square, stopping on your track and being dazzled by the blinding billboards.

In short, you get swarmed by tourists from all directions.

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Luckily, I had my friend @mrkim85 to show me around NYC, and I got to see the city at night through a different perspective. He had the most brilliant plan for the evening: after a round of drinks at a bar in Manhattan, he would take me to dinner at an excellent restaurant in Brooklyn and we could walk back to Manhattan crossing one of the bridges and cycle 30 streets up on one of those Citibikes.

Nothing too touristy and it involved cycling and great food- there was nothing not to love about the plan.

The drinks in Manhattan was great – we went to a trendy rooftop bar on the 6th floor of The Pod 39 Hotel, sandwiched in between the skyscrapers. By the time we got there, it was already busy, full of well-dressed New Yorkers who had just finished their work. I felt embarrassingly out of place with my bright orange top and equally bright pink backpack plus my brown shoes that were close to falling apart.

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Just to give you an idea.

My dinner at Brooklyn was excellent (I need to look up the exact name of the restaurant). I ordered a pork dish, and the meat was juicy and cooked to perfection (this is how talented I am if I were to become a food blogger. I did not even take a picture of the food). All I can say is this – I came out of the restaurant extremely happy.

Then there was the walk across the East River to get back to Manhattan. My friend suggested that we walked through Williamsburg Bridge, which was the less famous sister of the Brooklyn Bridge. It connects the Williamsburg neighbourhood of Brooklyn with the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Again, less famous means fewer (or no) tourists at all, so it was perfect.

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The start of the Bridge.

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How Vegas grew on me.

I hated Vegas the moment I got there. After all, we drove all the way from the beautiful Lake Tahoe and Yosemite and was spoilt by all the glory that nature had to offer. In essence, it was a somewhat downhill view from ice capped mountains to an endless desert that was Nevada.

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This road sign was probably the most interesting thing we saw on the way there.
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Although I did find the thrill in entering a new state and hearing Google Map lady say “Welcome to Nevada” in her robotic British accent. I have my phone language set to English U.K.

And at the part where it was not a desert, a large area of the city was covered with big, shiny and absolutely tacky buildings: fake Statue of Liberty, fake Eiffel Tower, fake sky and fake everything you could think of.

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The streets and flowers of North Berkeley.

During my last week in Berkeley, one of my favourite things to do was to wander aimlessly through the streets of North Berkeley.

Although the city is famous for the UC Berkeley campus and hipster street of Telegraph Avenue, my first impression of Berkeley would always be this.

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The quiet street.

Not to mention how fiery it turned one magical sunset in March.

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So it was only appropriate that I said goodbye to the city by taking my time to admire everything about the neighbourhood.

I admit though, that there isn’t much to write about the day. I roamed around for hours, just lost in my thoughts, mostly wondering how did time fly so fast. And taking  pictures of flowers. A great part of admiring North Berkeley is the flowers, along with the Victorian houses that come with them.

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The many faces of San Francisco.

San Francisco is one of those cities that is very hard for me to define. No matter how many times I visited the place (thanks to my stint in Berkeley, I had the privilege of living 45-minute BART ride away from THE San Francisco), I never felt like I got to know the city well. Perhaps it was my fault that I hardly spent a full day there just to explore – I normally visited San Francisco when I was meeting a friend or if I had to go there for a reporting assignment. But maybe it was the city’s ‘fault’, that it just had so many different things to offer.

In the end, I gave up that internal battle in my head and came to accept that it was just the way things were. Perhaps, San Francisco is just like that intriguing friend of yours who always shows a different side every time you see her. She’s not someone you are meant to figure out and fit into a box. She is just that, San Francisco, with its many facades.

She is as much the Victorian buildings that form the Seven Sisters…

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As the skyscrapers at Market Street.

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Lobster Roll at Neptune Oyster, Boston.

Boston is a beautiful city…

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That comes with its fair share of delicious food.

One that was recommended to me by a Bostonian was the lobster roll at Neptune Oyster. I first encountered the name of the place through Yelp, but I was highly suspicious that it could have just been a tourist trap. Seriously, what could be more cheesy and touristy than having lobster in Boston? But when my friend, who was born and raised in Boston, recommended it, I just knew that I had to try it.

And boy, I sure was glad I did.

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Normally I would let the picture speak for itself, but I will try to be helpful and give you some heads up and tips in your pursuit for one of the best lobster rolls there is.

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20 thoughts I had while I was at Sleep No More (no spoilers).

On my last trip in NYC, my friend and I decided to be a bit more cultured after practically eating our way through Manhattan and Brooklyn for a few days in a row. We decided to splurge some money and get tickets for Sleep No More, an interactive theatrical experience based on the tragic story of Macbeth by William Shakespeare.

The play is located at the McKittrick Hotel. Don’t be misled by the name though – the McKittrick Hotel is no hotel. It is an old warehouse which has been converted into five-storey sets that mimic the structure of a hotel. It’s got a bedroom, a ballroom, a bar, etc, very much like a hotel, except you can’t stay in there, and trust me, you wouldn’t want to.

I did not do much research before going to the play, apart from reading up on the story of Macbeth. The upside of this was that I went in not knowing what to expect and was pretty blown away by the whole experience by the end of it. The downside of this was that I was not mentally prepared of what was to come. Macbeth storyline isn’t the most cheerful in the first place, and when being put in a contemporary setting, it could get rather creepy.

Plus, you are not allowed to talk throughout the whole thing, which probably explained why I could hear all my thoughts very clearly. So clearly that I decided to share some of them with you which could possibly be useful in case you are still deciding whether to go for it or not.

Continue reading “20 thoughts I had while I was at Sleep No More (no spoilers).”

There is something about Berkeley.

There is something about this little city.

I remember feeling slightly dreadful when I arrived here late at night a few months ago, jet lagged from my long plane ride from Denmark. In the dark, the place did not look like much – the sparsely-lit streets looked depressing and unfamiliar; the shadows of the houses looked rather creepy and I wonder if I had just moved from a small Danish city to an even smaller town. I started questioning, as I always do, what in the world I had gotten myself into.

The next day, however, draped in the famous Californian sunshine, Berkeley became beautiful. The Victorian houses turned charming, the campus buzzing with life, the streets outside quiet and peaceful, the green trees a nice change from the leafless ones that I got used to during the Danish winter.

I fell in love with the place from the very first fiery sunset.

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And then one day I walked past an Indonesian restaurant. I did not realise it until then, but I was missing home and felt a surge of relief and excitement at the sight of the place. When I finally went there with a friend that I was (and still am in many ways) very fond of, and spoke a few words of Indonesian to the waiter, I immediately felt at home.

Sunshine, a trusted friend, and excellent food – life could not have been better.

If only I had found a place to live. I came here only equipped with two days of Airbnb room booking. On the second night, I woke up at 4 AM (partly because of jet lag but mostly because of the panic of not having a roof for the next few months yet), and started firing emails to every single Craigslist listing that I saw (that I could afford). By some stroke of luck, I found a place in a beautiful house, for a reasonable price, and with the most wonderful, fun-loving and caring roommates I could ask for.

Life in Berkeley was finally in order.

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Then the heavy rain came, something that apparently California had not seen in many years. I was never one affected by the weather, but I was alone, away from my friend (who had been excellent in showing me directions) for the first time after days, and I was stuck in the middle of the campus, lost, my umbrella barely keeping me dry. I suddenly felt miserable and realised for the first time that I was in this all by myself and did not have the luxury of my friends in Denmark who wouldn’t let me out of their sight when something bad happened to me. I started questioning, again, what in the world had I gotten myself into in this miserable city.

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Visiting the ‘rival’, Stanford.

One of my favourite songs of all time is “I’m not that girl” from the hit musical Wicked. It is probably the most depressing song of the whole play, but one that I could definitely relate to during one period in my life, when I did not like myself for being this awkward person and not the conventional pretty girly girl that guys like.

One line of the song particularly hits home with me.

Don’t wish, don’t start
Wishing only wounds the heart
I wasn’t born for the rose and pearls

But don’t worry, I am not about to launch into a sappy story about my love life. The reason why I’m telling you this is because I was reminded of the very line of this song when I visited Stanford a few weeks back.

Before coming to Berkeley, Stanford was just the name that I had heard being thrown around by very smart people around me. My super smart junior high school crush graduated from Stanford a couple of years back, my colleague-turned-friend went there after quitting his job. I didn’t have any idea where Stanford was, nor did I care to find out – the elite air around the name suggested that the place was somewhere too remote and had long ago been filed in my brain under the category of “unreachable places I will never go” (said the girl who had travelled all the way to the Arctic to see the Northern Lights).

Life, though, has a funny way of working itself. I somehow ended up visiting Stanford not because I was particularly eager to see the place, but because my friend, who lives in South Bay, and I were trying to find a hiking trail that would be accessible for both of us. Stanford Satellite Dish Trail seemed to be the best place for us to go that weekend, and my friend then of course very kindly requested her friend to bring us around to see the campus.

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Grand Canyon camping and hiking, for dummies.

If any of you have read my ‘about me‘ page, you would agree that I could be considered as one of the worst kind of travellers, and certainly not someone you want to get stuck travelling with.

But time and again, as I mentioned, people do get tricked into travelling with me. This time round, it was 3 of my now friends that I got to know here in Berkeley who had to feel the brunt of travelling to the Grand Canyon with me.

And unlike most other trips where my annoying sides are only showing once I’m already on the road, I was already being quite a pain right through the planning stage for this trip.

I basically went into a panic episode when I found out that I would be sleeping in a tent in the freezing cold. I contemplated (out loud to my travel mates whom I barely knew at that point) about pulling out from the trip because I didn’t want to die in the cold I didn’t have any experience in winter camping. And in the process, I might have made one of my travel mates freak out a little too.

But before you discount me completely, this is the part that I’m always proud of myself. My love for travelling is often great enough to conquer my fears. So before completely deciding to bail out from the trip, I decided to go on a research rampage, finding out as much as possible about winter camping and hiking at the Grand Canyon.

How cold does it get?

Will you die sleeping outside in subzero temperature?

Are there any animals?

Can I hike in Grand Canyon without hiking shoes?

How steep are the trails?

But the real question that I was trying to answer was: Would someone like me – a beginner (and somewhat unfit) outdoor traveller, who has no skills in camping, lighting up a portable stove let alone cooking on it, setting up a tent, blowing up sleeping pad,… the list goes on (I did not tell them these. They found out on their own pretty quickly the moment we arrived at the camp site.) – be able to survive a three-day two-night camping trip and hiking at the Grand Canyon?

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