Pinkguacamole Travels

London, Again

My trip to the French Riviera in September was a prelude to meeting up with family in London.

My parents were gearing up to bike around France and Spain, so we decided to meet in London at their start to visit my dad’s aunt Myra, who was 92 years old and openly ready to move on.

I had been lucky to stay with Myra many times 10 years ago when I lived in Paris and traveled around Europe. I did not realize how nostalgic being back in London would be, but it was fitting considering how much my time in London impacted me with various coming of ages I’d experienced and how much I learned from Myra during those stays.

In 2013 it was the first place I traveled alone and I spent many melancholy walks around the city, curious to explore but unsure of what to do with myself. I eventually found my groove and had a lot of interesting experiences with new people all over.

A year later, London was where I launched my bike ride across Northern Europe, which was an intimidating adventure I had to have.

All the while, the diverse community in the East End of London where Myra lived was where I began to dismantle my American indoctrination regarding Muslim and Arab stereotypes and where I truly began to grapple with the misinformation I’d received regarding Palestine. My aunt Myra was an activist who’d spent her life protesting nuclear weapons, war, and standing against any systems that further marginalized communities.

Being back in London, I managed a few of my standard melancholy and reflective solo walks™️ and I also had the chance to show my parents how London is the craziest and scariest place I’ve ever biked but if you take a canal path, you can at least have a clear shot to where you are going. Otherwise the city streets are winding and narrow so there isn’t room for bikes and you could easily be going south when you think you are going north. I was still terrified but my parents loved it.

Menton, France

Along the French Riviera there are many colorful villages on the sea. Right before the border of Italy, there is an orange and pink town called Menton that is famous for growing lemons. In and out of history it has been a part of Monaco, but it’s now part of France.

The day I went to Menton, I’d been planning to take the train to other small villages and maybe to Ventimiglia, the first town across the border in Italy and the last town on the French line. When the train got to Menton, an announcement was made that there were issues on the rail so we had to get off there. My fate was decided. Menton it was.

I walked through town to the water and meandered along the perimeter of the sea along paths and a harbor and a bastion (small fort). The views of the colorful town on a hill were gorgeous against a sunny blue sky. Then I made my way into the village. I wove my way through small passages and picturesque doorways to the top, sometimes turning a corner into another gap between buildings with blue sea hitting the orange walls. Stunning.

At the top, I walked around a cemetery then left the old town to walk back down to the sea through residential neighborhoods. I came across another train station and thought I would try to take the train across the border to Italy, but then I saw a lot of border patrol entering another train and remembered that I forgot my passport at the hotel (whoops). Sometimes in the EU, passports aren’t checked and I usually don’t like to have mine on me in case I get pickpocketed. But this didn’t look promising.

I left the train station and walked back to the water. There was a sign that said the border was 1,000 meters away, so I strolled closer to see if I could just walk into Italy (for the hell of it). But no, more border patrol. Fair.

I went back through town and the train station to head back to Nice. The train leaving Menton was delayed and when I finally boarded, I got a text that it would be the last train of the day, many hours before the usual end of service. I realized that if I had gone to Italy, I likely would have been stranded there.

One thing about Monaco is that there are a lot of shiny surfaces- perfect for mirror selfies.

Some other things about Monaco: Grace Kelly was an American actress and married the late Prince Rainer III in 1956. She died young in a car accident but made a massive cultural impact. Her son Prince Albert II is the reigning leader of the city-state and you can take tours of his palace. The famous Casino de Monte-Carlo from the James Bond movies is in Monaco and citizens of Monaco are not allowed to gamble there. Monaco is a tax haven for the rich and the harbor is filled with super yachts. The bus system isn’t bad and there are electric bikes to ride around, but the city doesn’t have many accessible paths for biking (I kept getting stuck on stairs with a bike 🙃). The old town is on a hill with a palace and great views and what seems like a pretty deserted residential area with colorful apartments and small alleys. The names of the royal family are very similar to the names of the family in the Princess Diaries (so obviously Monaco stole from Disney). It’s an easy train ride from Nice or the border of Italy!

Not the Eze-iest Hike

There is a train route that goes along the Mediterranean coast in France with relatively frequent trains unless there are delays or strikes!! While I was staying in Nice, I thought I’d catch a train to Monaco but visit the medieval town of Eze along the way. Everything I read said Eze village would be an hour hike from the train station, so naturally I left the hotel in Birkenstocks and not enough water and went for it.

The Nice train station was chaotic so I never had a chance to buy more water and there wasn’t anywhere by the Eze stop to buy water before ascending the hill… so up I went with half a bottle or so. It was steep and hot and rocky, and sure I was in sandals, but you know, I’ve done this before and you always make it up to the top eventually.

When I got to the top I recovered for a bit with 5 bottles of water and a nice lunch at a restaurant, then I wandered into the Medieval village. It was cute with shops and cafes but extremely crowded and narrow. It reminded me of Mont Saint Michel, another winding village of narrow paths now converted to disneyland with colorful signs and goods.At the top of the village there was a garden with some beautiful views of the coast and town below.

Eventually when it was time to move on to Monaco, I made my way to a bus stop on the main road. There was conflicting information about when a bus would come, but aside from hiring an expensive (and potentially non existent) uber or hiking down, this was my best bet.

Je ne regrette rien

In September I visited Nice, France.

This was the French city of my childhood dreams and stories. I think images of Nice are what led me to want to live in France in my 20s. Ironically, I never made it down to Nice when I lived in Paris despite seeing many other regions while I was there. But there I was, finally in the quintessential vacation capital of Europe, promenading on the Promenade des Anglais where the English Aristocracy would holiday 200 years ago and onward.

It was strange to be back in France, which was so familiar yet jarring in its own way. I tried to spend a day relaxing at a fancy beach club, but spent the whole time looking at maps to plan my walks, so I left so I could wander.

I weaved my way through narrow streets, markets and alleys, I climbed any hills I could find, I ebiked around the harbor, I let random men walk with me so I could practice my French until I got sick of them and found a way to breakaway, and I ate at bistros and cafes whenever the atmosphere seemed right.

Being back in France was a strange mirror to myself from 10 years ago- I still had the same urge to explore and contemplate (and brood), but I had more money to enjoy what was around me, and more sense on how I wanted to spend my time. Je ne regrette rien.

At the end of August, I was on my way to Nice, France and I had a 5 hour layover in Lisbon, Portugal. It looked like the city wasn’t too far from the airport so I decided to uber into town and walk around for a bit. (This was a good choice also because the airport itself is a mess with no comfortable places to wait).

The moment I got into the city center, I was hit with the nostalgia of landing in a European city in the early morning smells of smoke and baked goods, sleep deprived and curious, carrying all of my luggage on my back and ready to explore. This was my first time back in Europe after spending a year and a half there backpacking and bikepacking around, and living in Paris (and sometimes London) 10 years prior.

So I walked. I walked up and up the hills and made my way to the water so I could see the 25 de Avril Bridge which looks like the Golden Gate back home. I made my way to the Praça do Comércio plaza and had breakfast and a Pastel de Nata while facing the water and reading about Sardines and the history of Lisbon as one of the oldest cities in the world and the role it played in the Roman Empire.

Then I kept walking through the hills. I walked up and up and up and I came across Castelo de São Jorge. This castle originated in the 1st century BCe and overlooks the city. It’s good I randomly came across this, because if I had just googled highlights, this would have been the place to go…Glad something seemed to pull me up there 😅. I ran around the castle for a bit, looking down at the waves of red roofs on hills along the water, so happy that I was able to have this unexpected time in a remarkable place.

The media and our institutions want you to believe that the Pro-Palestine protests on campuses across America are a dangerous place for Jews and students.

But these protests are Love, Community, and Resistance.

Here are some things that my friends and I participated in while we were there last night:

The crowd formed a circle around the Muslim attendees while they prayed at sundown. I got emotional as I looked at the sunset, side by side with my friends and other allies, understanding the power of what was going on behind me.

Then the crowd said the prayers for Shabbat as the candles were lit and bds-approved Matzah was served because it’s Shabbat and also Passover. It meant a lot to me to sing the prayers from my upbringing in the Jewish community in this space. I have struggled with my religious identity my whole life, but I am certain that the G-d I learned about in Sunday school would never ever believe genocide is justified. That G-d would not want us to turn against our neighbors and hate people who are different from us. I can only sing these prayers in this community now.

Then women from Harriet’s Wildest Dreams, a Black-led community defense hub in DC led songs of freedom.

These protests are community care. They are love. These student encampments are a vision of the beautiful world we want to live in: side by side, in community. In support and peace and cultural traditions and love and religion and humanity.

Do not let anyone tell you this should be feared.

We must follow the example of these students to fight against the institutions that tell us this division, this devastation, this dehumanization, and these wars are essential. They are not. They never have been.

Every day that the United States government financially and vehemently supports Israel’s actions in Gaza, we lose hundreds of more innocent people. Families, teachers, students, doctors, chefs, men, women, children, babies

PEOPLE

PEOPLE

PEOPLE.

stripped-down acoustic version of one of our most requested original songs, for anyone who has moved around and left home. 

More Wildlife in Antarctica!!

Okay, here is my last Antarctica post (most likely). For the afternoon of day 3, after I hiked up the hill on Cuverville Island and saw the clearest and most majestic view of Antarctica, we cruised around on zodiacs to see wildlife. We saw a weddell seal plopped on the shore and another chilling on the ice. We cruised through the gorgeous iceberg landscapes. Someone mentioned that no one is going to want to see a bunch of pictures of ice, but I think every angle and view was beautiful.

Later on I was supposed to kayak again, but winds were too high so we went out on zodiacs again for our last interaction with Antarctica. It was windy and snowy and icy but right as we got out there, we saw a few humpback whales circling around. Then we saw two Adelie penguins sitting on an iceberg in the middle of the bay. Along the shore we saw a chinstrap penguin bouncing around. We sat and we took in the splendor of it all.

Due to an incoming storm we had to head back to South America a day early to avoid problems on the Drake Passage. This meant sitting on the boat passing time for 3 days, but another ship ended up having a serious mishap in that same storm, so it was for the best. There was lots of dancing and trivia. The afternoon that we left Antarctica, I sat in the hottub in the back of the ship as it continued to snow and we pulled away from the blurry dream of it all.

A perfect morning in Antarctica.

A quick dive and hike at Neko Harbor in Antarctica!

Ice Camping in Antarctica!!

Our first day in Antarctica was probably the most extreme 24 hours of my life. After surviving 2 days on the Drake Passage with no seasickness, but unfortunately a nasty cold (covid-tested negative, luckily), my head was clearing up and it was time to hit the ice. For the morning our trip to Port Lockroy to see penguins in the snow was on queue, then the afternoon would lead to kayaking (previous posts) and the evening would bring Ice Camping.

It was a snowy day so some of us were thinking and maybe wishing ice camping would be postponed, but in Antarctica you have to make the best of your weather and there is a possibility that if we hadn’t had gone the first night, we may not have gone at all.

So we suited up with merino wool base layers, fleece mid layers, water proof outer layers, a bivy bag, a sleeping pad and a super warm sleeping bag and took zodiacs to shore.

When we arrived on land it was 10pm but still light out. Fresh snow was falling so our boots would disappear into the powder if we didn’t stay on packed paths our guides had shoveled out for us. I found a clearing a bit to myself in the middle and plopped down my things. I wanted set up while enjoying the peace and scenery but I quickly realized the only way to get set up would be to just get in the bag…

I stuffed my waterproof pants into my boots so they wouldn’t get filled with snow and slipped in. I was warm and comfy. By 11pm it was snowing pretty heavily so I had to zip myself up and just lay in my body bag, hoping to get some sleep. The wind and the snow picked up to about 30 knots throughout the night.

At around 1am I started to get claustrophobic in the bag. I knew it was fine and I could tell that snow had fallen and I should *not* open my bivy bag but my brain yelled “claustrophobic!!!” In a panic I punched around looking for the zipper and opened it anyways. It was still light out (midnight sun) and a wall of snow had formed around me. I repeated this panic a few more times, opening and closing the sack until I finally found a position that felt more breathable and I watched the wind and snow beat the red bag over my head until I actually managed to sleep. I was a bit worried that in my opening and closing of the bag I might have lost my beanie or other small items in the snow, but that was future Jenna’s problem.

Around 5am I heard people shuffling around and packing up. Even though I had actually found a comfy position and was managing some rest, I decided to open my bag and see what was happening. It was snowing and windy, and I probably looked warn and confused (see photo) and a guy asked if I was okay. I was fine but I asked when the boat was likely to come. He said 6.

I had an hour but it was too late, snow was gathering in my bag so I had no choice but to continue packing up and gathering my things before I was snowed in. Overnight my waterproof bag next to me had been completely buried by snow. I was pretty deep in it as well. There was a moment as I cleared snow off of my sleeping bag with freezing hands that I thought to myself “what the hell are we doing here?” But I carried on and put my stuff away. I had a lot of time to kill before we were to be rescued back to the ship so I scooted over in the deep snow towards some friends and we all joked in disbelief at what we were doing until we saw the ship dropping zodiac boats into the water and it was time to get the hell off that island.

Despite the situation being a bit absurd, when we arrived back on the ship, I felt amazing. It was the most alive I had felt on the trip so far. My dreariness from the head-cold was behind me and I was in my element! This is when I realized for good that I really do enjoy things more when I torture myself for them. Sitting around on a boat and eating at a buffet for every meal was killing me, but sleeping in the snow during a storm brought me back to life.

Kayaking in Antarctica!!

In Antarctica you are at the mercy of rapidly changing extreme weather so we only ended up kayaking once- mostly due to high winds, but I had the chance to go out while it was snowing on our first day on the peninsula. Our guides were two awesome couples from Canada who own kayaking outfitters (and also like to boogie down) @capelahaveadventures and @learntokayak.

I wore merino wool base layers, fleece mid layers and a dry suit and I was really warm!

Antarctica!!!

Ushuaia, Argentina: The End of the World before the even more end of the world

I walked out of the airport in Ushuaia and spent the next 4 hours running around, singing in happiness at the views and the magnificence of the sunset. I hadn’t eaten much and I needed to find dinner (it was almost 9pm), but I wouldn’t stop unless I found a place with a view. I found a restaurant with a glass patio and extremely strong cocktails. This led to more walking down the street, singing and taking pictures of every changing color and light. Did I look a bit fanatical? Maybe, but I don’t care.

I can remember a few moments in my life where the views have had me completely overwhelmed and Ushuaia is up there with Cape of Good Hope in South Africa, Fjords in Norway and Fiords in New Zealand. What do all these places have in common? They are painted with mountains draping into the sea at the edge of the world.