Camp America '18: Camp Life!

Wednesday, 5 September 2018

travel

Camp America '18: Camp Life!

'Anyone who ever gave you confidence, you owe them a lot'.

'Okay guys... Need help. Writing my next blogpost and want all your best moments from Camp. Funny, special - you name it. Go!' - My iMessage shoots halfway across the world to my American sistas.

Seconds pass before hundreds of messages come pinging through on my phone.

'Bounce bounce bounce.'

'When our kid woke everyone up sneezing and farting simultaneously.'

'Our rap battle at Color War.'

Having just finished typing up a thirty-five minute transcription at work experience (more to come about this soon!), my facial muscles were reminded that smiling felt good.

It's real, the Camp blues are hitting me harder than my first alcoholic drink back in England did.

Knowing where to even start with all these snippets is a mission in itself. As I've been recounting various stories to my family and friends, a bewildered expression has spread across their faces. 'What's Pinnacle?', 'Why is Color War such a big deal?', or worse still from my brother: 'Holly, no-one wants to hear your 10,000 tales about your "best summer ever" with all your "new best friends!!"' So, for those unlike my brother and who actually want to hear me rattle on about Camp, read on for (what I hope) is a rundown of some of my most memorable moments.

Camp Life:
Every day, the campers were able to select activities lead by specialists. These ranged from kayaking to high ropes to yoga to ancient arts - the list was endless (lucky kids!). Although the counselors didn't lead these, we had to attend for safety reasons. Feeling a little plump from the carbs on carbs on carbs, I volunteered to go to mountain bikes - which my co-workers seemed a little too grateful for.
Ten minutes into biking and I had the overwhelming sensation that it wasn't just my bike that would be rolling rapidly downhill - my optimism would be plummeting with it. Did I fall off? Yes. Did I throw a tantrum? Yes. Did I make the whole experience even more humiliating by wearing a soaking bikini that turned my top see-through? Absolutely.

Next week I opted for the 'nature' option, thinking it would be a welcomed break for my knackered legs... Which it was, until a wild snake dropped down from the ceiling and the cute rabbit I was holding decided to take a nibble on my boob.

Aside from these dramas, my co-counselor and I had 16 campers to look after in our cabin (the biggest cabin on camp!). But through our everyday struggles a new-found strength emerged in us - the ability to find laughter and joy in the most simple, pure moments. Through this she quickly became my rock and, more importantly, my best friend.

(Our kids stole a giant inflatable unicorn and put it in our cabin one day...)

Of course, we dealt with shit every single day (literally - my camper told me she had an itchy, crusty ass). Yes, I may have nearly been suffocated beneath another of my camper's sleeping bags as she somehow rolled on top of my head during our campout. I may even have had my naked body completely exposed to 16 sets of amused eyes as they ripped the shower curtain open on me. But these were the moments that made us smile.

You can't help but question whether you've made a lasting impact on these kids by the end of the summer.
One day I lost it with my kids when I discovered them writing in my travel journal... Only to realise they were writing 'plane letters' for me. As I stumbled across them a month later on my travels home, my question had been very much answered...

(I'm not crying, you are)

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Camp America '18: Culture shock!

Monday, 27 August 2018

travel

Camp America '18: Culture shock!

'Can you rattle right over here? It's important,' and there was a croak of excitement in his froggy voice.

June 3rd. I'm halfway across the world from home, in an unfamiliar environment with a group of people I have just met in the last 24 hours. We're gathered by a fire-pit and have just finished introducing ourselves as the staff of Blue Star Camps 2018. 

As my brain attempts to put names to faces and faces to accents and accents to places, I thank God that we have the same mother tongue as Americans - I don't think my mediocre foreign language skills would have coped under the circumstances.

My new found American friend hands me a stick with two marshmallows on the end. 

'So this is going to be the test of our friendship. Let's see if you can toast it to perfection and make me the best s'more I've ever had,' she grins and urges me forward; 'Oh, no pressure. I've only been coming to this camp for years'.

As we tuck into my first ever 's'more', she gives me the thumbs up - I've surpassed her expectations. Who would have thought that 10 weeks later I would class her as one of my best friends.

With my ego soaring as chief s'more maker, I had thought I'd nailed that cheesy, American spirit to a T. Naive little me thought I may even get mistaken for your typical yank escaping the hustle and bustle of city life to work a summer job in the mountains.
In typical Holly style, my 'episodes' meant this assumption was soon out the window...

When I first told my campers to 'put on [their] swimming costumes' for the beach party, outrage erupted:
'Swimming COSTUMES! But Holly, it's not a costume!!'
Feeling mortified I had apparently been calling it a costume or 'cozzie' my whole life instead of a 'bathing suit', I cowered back into my bunk. 
'But it's not a suit either,' my meek defensiveness is lost in their giggling screeches.

Weeks later, I'm sunbathing with some of the staff. Alas, on comes the summer banger that everyone seems to know... Bar me. You know the situ - smiling, doing the awkward side to side head bob and chancing a few lyrics so you don't look like you've lived under a rock for your entire existence. 
But today? Oh no my friends. Today Holly has remembered to bring her phone along. Feeling smug and savvy at what I think is a discreet 'Shazam', I sink back into my towel and let the music transport me to my imaginary stage. Once I master this all-American anthem my transformation from Brit to American will be complete! Just as my eye-lids go heavy and I envisage my solo guitar piece, my friend's voice booms from above: 'HOLLY. TELL ME YOU ARE NOT SHAZAMING LIFE IS A HIGHWAY!' Again, my ears are met with screams of laughter and disbelief; 'You do realise that this song is from the film Cars don't you?'
 Even my F.O.M.O. excuse couldn't save me from the embarrassment.

Calling 'Chick-fil-A' 'Chick.. a.. fill', saying 'Chipotle' in the most Received Pronunciation possible and arguing a 'biscuit' is not the same thing as a 'scone' also set me apart from my fellow comrades. Drat. At least I wasn't calling flip flops 'thongs' like my Australian friend there and saying 'yum-o' after every meal. Now that would be embarrassing...

Aside from the American culture, I was also immersed into the Jewish side of camp. Although it wasn't orthodox, we were encouraged to participate in Friday and Saturday Sabbath services, as well as singing the prayers before and after meals (those are engrained into me for the rest of my life). 
Although for my thirteen-year-old campers these co-ed services were a chance to get dressed up in their best gear, wear make-up and straighten their hair, a wave of calm tended to sweep across everyone once we were in the Camp Chapel.
(That said, one week I struggled to keep 'zen' as I'd spent 45 minutes straightening my camper's curly, thick hair... Only for her to decide that she preferred it 'au-naturel' as she washed it five minutes later. Good job I'm not a hairdresser really.)

During services our camp focuses on different values each year and sets a theme accordingly. This year they chose 'Choose kindness, share peace'. It was comforting knowing that in a world full of heated politics, gun crimes and injustice, there is a collective culture we can all benefit from. And that culture thrives from love.

(More tales to tell about camp coming soon...! 'This one time, at summer camp...')

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Boston and Down The Cape...

Monday, 4 September 2017

travel

Boston and Down The Cape...

'So the days, the last days, blow about in memory...'

In the blink of an eye our time in New York was over and on Thursday morning we found ourselves on an Amtrak hurtling towards Boston. Goodbye city of dreams - and damn - it's good to meet yah Boston.

Clam chowder, the freedom trail, Harvard University - Boston has its fair share of renowned attractions. Being first time Bostoners ourselves, our stay here was more touristy. People had said it was a "small scale New York", although the pace was more leisurely, the shops more boutiquey and the people perhaps less pretentious...

The sun arrived with us in Boston, so we soaked up its rays whilst we strolled through the public garden and alongside the Charles River. Rowers rowed, people picnicked and runners raced around the park. 

Amongst sipping Shirley temples (no alcohol for this minor!) and chomping down lobster rolls (a pricey version of a prawn cocktail sarnie), we also toured Harvard University. Led by an enthusiastic Harvard student, we learnt about the treasured traditions. I won't ruin them for anyone hoping to do this tour at some point, but there is something magical about the myths - I love the idea that you can only go through the Harvard Gate twice (once when you join and once when you graduate)... If you break this your chances of graduating are cursed! (Might try and enforce this in Newcastle somewhere!)

In classic parent fashion, my Mum also insisted that we all engage with the history and culture of Boston. This resulted in us attending the Freedom Trail Tour, which I must admit was a short but sweet briefing on the American Revolution, and later the Boston Tea Party (which we concluded was for a younger audience).

During our evenings, we had many tasty meals in Boston - Eataly was an exciting Italian marketplace with a buzzing atmosphere (& tasty pizza!). 

The North End also boasts many authentic Italian restaurants - deffo worth a trip to a few!

Other pitstops included Faneuil Hall Market, Beacon Hill neighbourhood and a look around the Tall Ships. As Fathers Day was on our last day in Boston, my brother and I had surprised my Dad with an evening cruise focusing on the Tall Ships. Although much of the tour guide's jargon went straight over our non-expert heads, we savoured every last sunset hue.

With the arrival of Monday morning, it was time for my brother to depart from the USA (he chose a Stone Roses gig instead, pffft) and for my parents and I to drive over to Cape Cod. A stark contrast to the two cities we had just been in, The Cape (as it's known to by locals) is home to historic character and beautiful beaches.

Our stay here was brief but wonderfully organised thanks to the women who owned the inn we stayed in. (And may I just add that their inn - A Little Inn on Pleasant Bay - was the kind of place I have dreamt about owning!) Can life get anymore stress-free than birds-eye vistas of the bay and a side of homemade french toast for breakie? I'll take that any day!
(My horoscope also hit the nail on the head for my 2017 travels - yes, I did fall in love... With the cutest lil rescue dog!)

As well as exploring the local area, we also caught a ferry to Nantucket - a small island off Cape Cod. As the weather was a little cloudy, we opted for a bike ride around the island aided by a huge peanut butter and jelly sandwich... The energy was needed! Nantucket also has a plethora of bookshops, cafes and holiday houses to browse at.

Due to only having one other full day, we crammed in a road trip that took us through some of The Cape's top spots. From a pleasant few hours spent sunbathing on Marconi beach, to the colourful and fun Provincetown, it's no surprise that the enchanting Cape Cod is a popular holiday destination for many city inhabitants. As you've probably concluded, our trip was a major food fest, so I may as well confess my last luxurious dinner consisted of oysters (due to the abundance of fresh fish available in Cape Cod!).

As our plane soared above the Boston streets, I reflected on the many hidden gems we were yet to explore. But until next time Boston - cheers, you rock my sox(!).

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The Mets to The Met

Tuesday, 8 August 2017

travel

The Mets to The Met

'Onward: across the park and out into Fifth Avenue: stampeding against the noonday traffic, taxis, buses that screechingly swerved...'

As promised, this second post about our remaining time in New York arrives in rapid succession after my first. (In very un-like Holly style, who procrastinates her blogposts for months!)

Our next couple of days were as glorious as the first, albeit somewhat less crammed. Having said that, in the space of just 2 days my Dad was told he looked like Sting three times and I was stopped in the street to be informed "you're the white Beyoncé" (I was pretty chuffed). 

48 hours into our food infused trip, I somehow found myself at the hotel gym on Tuesday morning, in a meek attempt to burn off the huge American portions. Sadly, due to weak will power and the alluring aroma of greasy diner grub, I was stuffing my face with french toast, poached eggs and streaky bacon at Blooms Diner just an hour later... no regrets.

Upon persistent requests from my family to find unconventional activities, I had discovered Roosevelt Tram. The ski-bubble-like lift glides above the New York streets and across the East river until it arrives at Roosevelt Island. Although the cheap as chips ride uncovers panoramic views, I didn't get the "wow, that was great!" reaction I had been hoping for. 34 degrees, no air conditioning and a claustrophobic bubble made me realise perhaps it's an activity better suited to the cooler months.

To avoid the grumbles of the unimpressed (slightly sweaty) boys, Mum and I departed from them to do our own thing. By our 'own thing', we meant stepping into Blair Waldorf's louboutins and claiming New York as our own... 
We sashayed across to Central Park, perched in the shade and cursed not bringing bread to feed the ducks with (where's Dorota when you need her?). Without Chuck Bass to escort us via personal chauffeur, we hailed a taxi to take us to the Met Art Museum. The long building overwhelms visitors with her maze of artefacts, and gloats in her superiority to the many other galleries around the city. 



We attempted a look round a section but were defeated by the copious pieces of art, so we booked onto a museum highlights tour. Although I do love art galleries, I can only hack exploring them for so long before I get the 'ugh get-me-outta-here' feeling. However, I would happily spend my Sunday mornings sauntering around the Met with the added bonus of light pervading atriums to give your thoughts space.

After our tour, we caught some rays on the Met steps whilst working out how to get the metro to our next stop. (Embodying Blair's hierarchical tactics, I made my minion sit on the step below me...! Amongst our metro riding and getting a little lost, we also called at The Museum of the City of New York - or to those familiar with Gossip Girl, Constance Billard School. 

Reunited with the boys, our evening was spent watching the New York Mets baseball! I had been sceptical about watching a sport I know nothing about, but the four of us agreed it was a holiday highlight. Like a bunch of keen beans, we all purchased an official Mets cap, a foam finger and a tasty tea from inside the arena. To those of you reading, you may think this is a little extreme, but the arena is brimming with many families getting into the sporting spirit. Unlike the football hooligans in the UK, there's a friendly, competitive vibe, and we gathered that for many Americans it was a chance for a good ol' catch up with colleagues and chums. (Sadly the Mets got their asses whooped by the Chicago Cubs!)

Encouraged by the sport we had watched the night before, we kickstarted Wednesday morning with a run around Central Park. The sun was intense and I developed an unfriendly relationship with my trainers that decided to rub me, but the feeling of being a local throughout the tranquil park compensated for any misery. 

Afterwards we chomped down a well deserved healthy breakie at Bread and Honey - a 'food bar and urban market'. Salmon, avocado and egg (in a less healthy) croissant was to die for!

As it was our last day in New York, we opted for a more relaxed schedule as we ambled in and out of shops and department stores. None of us were bothered about going crazy and spending loads of money - damn you exchange rate! - but my tired running legs were glad of a gentler itinerary.

Our last evening in New York was concluded with a meal booked at Patsy's Italian - a popular spot for celebs and a family fave from last time we went! Whilst the rich ravioli satisfied my love for Italian cuisine, my taste buds tingled with eagerness for the next part of our trip...

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