Random Reader Question: Language Barriers Abroad

Q. I'm considering taking a RTW trip next year, but worried about the language barrier in the countries I want to visit. How did you handle this when you were abroad? Did it cause difficulties for you? —Jessica

A. Shockingly, in nearly every country around the world, we found that it was fairly easy to just use English...it's truly become the international language. Don't let a fear of not being able to communicate stop you from traveling. In the highly touristed areas, locals can almost speak English better than we can :-)

That said, its always helpful—and much appreciated gesture—to buy a guidebook and learn a few phrases in the local language. we kid you not when we say that the three of us practiced saying "no butter, no oil, please" in Thai, Vietnamese, Spanish and Portuguese. This handy command helped us break the ice in many a restaurant—but never actually worked out as intended. Maybe something was lost in translation?
—The Lost Girls

Lost Girl of the Week: Melissa Braverman

ADP: A few years ago, in the scary in-between time of leaving my position at an assistant editor at a women’s magazine and actually getting my toe in the door of the freelance writing world, I received an email from a travel publicist Melissa Braverman. It seemed that the Hilton Barbados was hosting a press trip for a few select journalists, and she wanted to know if I’d like to join them for the grand reopening of the hotel.

Saying yes would require me to fly down the Caribbean, stay in my own corner suite in the new Hilton, feast on traditional Bajan cuisine, and fill my time with various activities like scuba diving, watching local dance performances and sipping cocktails by the pool. Of course, it was a difficult decision, but after consulting the vast wasteland that was my work schedule at the time, I wrote Melissa back to give her the appropriate (but very professional) “hell’s yeah!” response.

Upon arriving at JFK several weeks later, I managed to locate our little crew of press junketeers and fell into easy conversation with Melissa, who, within an hour takeoff, had revealed that her then-boyfriend had nasty little habit of putting his two dogs before her in the relationship. In fact, she’d practically gotten pushed to the floor on more than one occasion when the girl dog Jasmine had commandeered a place on her guy’s bed.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can handle,” she said, pouring her heart out to me over the shared packet of airline peanuts between us. “It’s like I’m in…a ménage a dog!”

Relationship puns? I liked this girl already.

We spent the rest of weekend in Barbados doing exactly the opposite of what I’d anticipated—rather than lounging poolside with pina coladas, our group rose with the sun to participate in property walk-throughs, press conferences, island tours, and something called “Crop Over,” a multiple day Soca dancing festival held in the national stadium. The latter probably would have been pretty cool, had the pouring rain not transformed the bald grass field in one gigantic mud-wrestling pit. Melissa and I buddied up to brave the elements, share an umbrella and go “local” by trying out the national dish, cou cou and fried flying fish sold by the local food vendor.



Despite our initial efforts to stay dry and avoid ruining our shoes, we eventually gave up and just slogged it out in the rain and mud with the rest of the revelers, trying (and failing) to keep up with all of the locals as they jammed out to the beat. I know I felt pretty ridiculous (that lightening fast “booty clap” perfected in hip hip videos surely originated in Barbados) but it was actually kinda fun to let loose in the pouring rain with a thousand strangers. A Carib-a-polooza, if you will.

Long after returning home and writing up a short piece on the island for Bride’s magazine (I did not advise newlyweds to make Crop Over a part of their romantic getaway) Melissa and I stayed friends. In fact, she was the lifesaver who took me in for a full month (for free!) when the girls and I returned from our year around the world. She’s one of my favorite people—not just a loyal friend, but a crack-you-up funny storyteller whose relationship dramas could rival any of the SATC girls.

And since we don’t have the musing of one Miss Carrie Bradshaw to keep us entertained any more (sniff!), Miss Braverman has volunteered to fill the void by launching her very own blog—Melissa, Single Gal in the City (www.melissa-singlegalinthecity.blogspot.com). I’m so psyched that she’s going to be sharing all of the relationship heartaches, successes, dramas and mayhem that have kept me so entertained (and feeling in good company!) these past few years. Click on over there and pay her a visit. And ask her to share the full ménage a dog tale—her ex in the city will make your own guy seem like a saint.

Strawberry Fields

HCC: I’ve always wanted to be a California girl. So I decided to go there for a three-week visit to see my sister who has landed on the Central Coast as a traveling nurse. It wasn’t intended to be a vacation—I figured the sunny weather and ocean air would offer inspiration for writing the book. But, I soon discovered, it’s impossible to be all work and no play in the Golden State.

Case in point: Even a simple coastal drive can morph into a pleasure cruise. One of my college roomies, Melissa, picked me up from LAX for a road trip to a beach town called Carpentiria. The plan was to camp overnight with her and her boyfriend in his RV, and then hop on a train for my sister’s home in Pismo Beach (one of the most beautiful places ever, but more on that later). It was the day before the 4th of July, traffic was thick, and we just wanted to get there, already! We had fireworks to light, campfires to build, and s’mores to eat. (Tough itinerary, I know!)

Smoggy haze, honking horns, and bumper-to-bumper traffic soon gave way to open road, blue skies, and miles of strawberry fields. As we kept passing wooden fruit stands advertising “fresh-picked strawberries,” I convinced Melissa to make a pit stop. In addition to purchasing a pint of berries, we also stocked up on dried apricots, salted pistachios, juicy oranges, and organic honey. It was my idea of a shopper’s paradise.

Once we got back on the road, I gave Melissa the honors of having the first strawberry tasting. After taking a bite, her eyes grew wide. “These are the best strawberries in the world!” she proclaimed. I looked down at the bright red gems spilling out of the green container in my lap, and tried them for myself. If it’s possible to actually taste fresh sugar spun with pure sunlight, this was it. I had to concur that these were, in fact, the best strawberries in the world.

Either that sugar must have gone straight to our heads or those farmers were using some special herbal pesticide, because all of a sudden we could not stop laughing. Any word out of our mouths seemed hilarious—I’m sure the humor won’t translate so I’ll spare you the sidesplitting details. We laughed so hard we could not breathe. And then we got the munchies.

So we proceeded to stop at half a dozen or so more fruit stands along the way to confirm that we had, in fact, tasted the best strawberries in the world. We probably consumed our weight in berries. I must report that we erred in our initial assessment—each successive strawberry was even better than the last.

Melissa’s very patient boyfriend—who had driven his RV from LA to Carpinteria two days earlier to beat the crowds for a coveted ocean spot—was very good-natured when we arrived over an hour late (but with ample food supplies!). Melissa proceeded to open my eyes to yet another fun pastime—shooting bugs off of rocks with some kind of toy pop gun thingy (don’t worry—I didn’t kill anything. My hand-eye coordination is about as good as my sense of direction—definitely not spot on!) We erupted into another can’t-breath-stomach-hurting laugh attack, and he finally had to ask in bewilderment, “Seriously, what the hell did you girls get into on the ride up here?!” All we can say is this: It’s the strawberries, man.

How You Can Make a Difference

HCC: Global warming. Genocide. Food crisis. It’s easy to feel powerless with all the big issues happening in the world. As an individual, I want to help, but am not sure how the heck I could ever make a real difference. Then a friend told me about this site, Avaaz.org.

Meaning “voice” in many languages, Avaaz uses the power of the internet to connect people across borders so they can take action on the major problems facing the world today. In a nutshell, when you sign up to get their email alerts about the latest global issues, they’ll give you ideas about what you can do to help—be it signing a petition to send to political leaders, holding rallies to draw awareness to genocide, or combining small amounts of cash that add up to huge donations when pooled with others. Here's a video the nonprofit put up on YouTube.

Dancing Around the World

HCC: For all of you who haven’t yet seen this guy, Matt, dancing in different locations around the world, you can click here to see his videos. I’m posting it for a few reasons.

1. It always makes me smile, and hopefully it will do the same for you.

2. According to Matt’s site, he thinks Americans should travel abroad more. The Lost Girls share this opinion: The best way to learn about the world is to, well, get out there and see it.

3. One of the FAQs featured on his site is the same question my mom used to ask me whenever she saw pics of us during our own year abroad: “Why are you always wearing the same clothes?” Matt's response: “Ever traveled for an extended period of time?... I didn’t think so.” Ha!

South of the Border

HCC: I’m used to hauling backpacks and shacking in hostels with my fellow Lost Girls, but my latest getaway was done family style: I met my mother and sister Kate for a resort vacation in Playa Del Carmen. Just 45 minutes south of Cancun on the Mayan Riviera, the beach town is filled with souvenir shops and restaurants cooking up all types of cuisine.

You won’t find the rampant wet t-shirt contests that come with being labeled a spring break destination like it’s northern sister (yes, my college roomies and I made this spring-break pilgrimage and no, I didn’t enter a wet t-shirt contest). Even so, a few super-chains, such as Wal-Mart, have found their way to playa, as the locals refer to it.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get to spend much of my five short days in town since my mother arranged for us to stay at my uncle’s timeshare. When I first arrived at the mega-resort that boasted seven pools, six restaurants, and a shuttle bus to transport guests around the enormous property, I felt completely removed from the Mexico I longed to explore. It seemed the closest I was going to get to “authentic” culture on my family vacation was sipping the $6.50 Coronas at the pool bar.

Traveling with other people calls for lots of compromise (not everyone has the same vacation priorities), but my main M.O. for the trip was to spend time with my family. Though our ideas of adventure are all very different, my mom, sister and I agreed upon excursions that we could all enjoy. Here’s a quick recap of some of the things we saw and did in this part of the Yucatan Peninsula:

Shop on 5th Avenue: No, it’s not the glitzy, designer-filled commercial road that’s found in the Big Apple, but a traffic-free cobblestone street lined with tequila and cigar vendors, kitschy art shops, and “natural” massage parlors. My favorite was Venta Pachamama, where I bought a wooden cross that’s adorned with metallic saints and a Virgin of Guadalupe magnet etched with hot-pink paint.

Jet Setting: We took a water taxi from Playa del Carmen to Cozumel, Mexico’s biggest island and a popular cruise stop. Once we arrived, we signed up for a $30 snorkeling trip. The boat didn’t bring us far enough off shore to really see the Great Maya Reef, which was badly damaged by hurricanes a few years back. In fact, we could have taken a taxi to a beach further away from the ferry landing and rented snorkeling equipment for the same experience. Oh well—travel is all about living and learning.

Once we dried off, we wandered into the town square and sat at one of the outdoor restaurants, where we washed down grilled, garlic-topped grouper with margaritas. Eating fresh seafood and watching the sunset was the highlight of our day.

Back to Nature: Xel-Ha is an ecological theme park located about an hour and a half south of Playa del Carmen near Tulum. Touted as a “natural aquarium,” it’s a protected cove where guests can snorkel, swim with dolphins, and explore submerged caves. For $75, you get access to snorkeling gear, bikes, and all-you-can eat and drink buffets. I snorkeled in a protected cove for hours, mesmerized by rainbow-colored fish that swam right up to my mask. And, after a tough day of having fun in the intense Mexican sun, I opted for a cold-stone massage at the outdoor spa. My only wish was that I’d exerted more self-control at the buffet and not eaten those three ice-cream cones right before—Mayan massage involves lots of stomach rubbing.

Lost Girl of the Week: Ida Becker

HCC: It’s often people, more so than a pretty landscape, that makes a place really memorable. Rubbing elbows with the locals can open your eyes to a whole new way of seeing the world, as I learned from sitting on the beach in Bahia after a Brazilian woman invited me into her circle of friends. I curled my toes in the sand and clapped along with them as the sun sank lazily into the sea, 100 percent content in that moment. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d noticed a sunset in New York City, let alone took the time out to celebrate one!

So in the spirit of making connections and gaining insight, we’ve made South Carolina native Ida Becker this week’s Lost Girl. Currently on her way to Syria, she’s traveling around the globe for a year to do a web-based photo documentary she’s dubbed "The U Truth Project." She’ll be stopping along the way to photograph people she meets and ask them to share something they believe to be true. Ida’s fearlessly going where no woman has gone before, offering us philosophy in sound bytes and daily doses of wisdom. Here’s what prompted to embark upon her journey in the first place:

“Two years ago, I traveled to Nepal on a whim and happened to be there during the countrywide uprising against the king. For the last week of my trip, I was under house arrest alongside the Nepali people. Martial law gave me the opportunity to have indepth conversations with people at a defining moment in their country's history, and I was struck by the common hopes and dreams that I—a white girl from Charleston, S.C.–shared with a community of people whose existence initially seemed very foreign.

During that trip, I learned that a simple human connection can be one of the richest aspects of travel, and I vowed to always engage indigenous people in a meaningful manner during future trips. That simple resolution evolved into the decision to take a one-year trip around the world with the specific intention of connecting with and learning from the people I encounter. I believe that the more you learn about the world, the more you understand your place in it.

On March 11, I departed for Africa and began the U Truth Project. In an age when neighbors are disconnected and societies are fractured due to religion, creed, politics, race, geography, socio-economics, and countless other markers, the U Truth Project, seeks to discover commonalities within the human drama that supersede surface differences.

Armed with little more than a camera, a laptop, a copious supply of anti-malaria pills, and a tentative route, I am circumnavigating the globe and asking the people I meet to share one statement of truth."

The Rent has been paid

ADP: I have a (sort-off) embarrassing little secret. I didn't move to New York City for some career opportunity, to pursue a creative ambition or find the love of my life. Eight years ago, I moved to Manhattan--the Lower East Side, specifically—for a Broadway musical.

I'd seen the original Broadway cast of Rent during my first trip to NYC from Florida in 1998. I was a 19 year old sophomore on Spring Break, and from the moment the cast came out on stage and tore into the opening number, I was completely sucked in. This was New York depicted as I'd never seen it--punked out bohemian club kids squatting in some apartment, living, singing, pursuing art and experiencing life. Real life. An ironic first impression, especially considering that I was watching a musical, but I so desperately wanted to graduate into a world where creativity is divine, diversity rules and your friends become the family you chose.

Two years later, after traveling through Europe with Jen (we both jammed out to the Rent soundtrack on my CD walkman) I followed through on a promise I'd made myself and moved to NYC. While I didn't end up becoming a performance artist in Alphabet City a la Maureen or a filmmaker like Mark, I did end up growing into myself here. I transitioned from a suited-up sales assistant to a dressed down magazine writer, moved back down to the depths of the Lower East Side after the Upper West felt too scrubbed down and sanitized for my protection. And, of course, I did find those amazing friends who knit together to make the tightest, most loving sort of family.

The reason this is all top of mind? Last night, Jen and I not only attended a private cabaret performance featuring Adam Pascal, the original Roger in Rent, we got to slip back to the green room at Feinstein's and meet the man himself. I have to say, I have never been particularly star struck—Brat Pitt once sat at the table next to mine, chain smoking with Sean Penn, and I managed to avoid doing anything egregiously fan-stalkerish—but I had trouble acting chill around Adam. I'm pretty sure the entire time I was talking to him, I was acting like Rainman, slobbering all over myself and grinning like a fool.

Yes—he's got one of the sexiest rocker voices in the business, a gorgeous face and an almost indecorous way with a guitar—but for some reason, meeting the guy just made me crazy nostalgic. Ooo--Roger from Rent shook my hand! Roger from Rent is talking to me! Roger from Rent is posing with me for a picture! My co-worker Karen grabbed the poor guy and forced him to listen to Lost Girls travel tales (um, yes, seriously!) but he graciously took everything in stride. Guess we weren't quite as bad as the heckler who almost had to be booted from the show for bad behavior.

Jen and I left the performance at Feinstein's and sang our lungs out in the streets for a full 15 blocks. People walking past barely gave us a second glance. Giddy and delirious (and yes, perhaps a bit toasty on a bottle of wine), we both got the strange sensation that the clock had turned backwards and we were 23 years old again--brand new in New York City with nothing but the fullest expectations for our New York futures. The high lasted until I finally collapsed into bed last night, and the wine giddiness has long since worn off. But even today, I'm still feeling little buzzed...