Are you a rat racer?I was a rat racer, chasing the ever growing carrot of the American Dream.I was working more hours, for more money, for more responsibility, while spending less time with true friends and family—at the same time, locking myself into working like this another 30+ years with the purchases my good credit score allowed me to afford.
A memorable line in the movie Fight Club says, “The things you own end up owning you.”You can’t quit your job and take some time off because of your mortgage, your car payment and that wonderful “no payment on the big screen and leather couch until 2007.”Ah ha, but we did!And, we’ve been on this adventure for ten months, loving every minute of it.
So how do you escape the rat race?We sold the house the car, the washer/dryer, the refrigerator, gave away some furniture and put the rest in storage!We took off on a shoestring budget for the road less traveled.But, I’m married and 32, not single and 22.I didn’t dial-a-bride from Russia.She went to USD.She doesn’t have to do what I say to keep her visa or risk being sent back to the frozen tundra of Siberia.My wife’s idea of a romantic honeymoon wasn’t sleeping on trains to avoid hotel room costs or sharing a hostel with a group of techno loving, x-dropping, 18 year-olds from Germany.So, how do you have the budget of a transient without living like a derelict?
Go where the Dollar is strong.We spent three months just in South America, spending less money per month than we would have living at home in California.First, we rented small apartments in central but residential areas, instead of racking up hotel bills.Not only was it cheaper than staying in hotels and hostels, it gave us an opportunity to share in the cultural experiences that most tourists miss.Second, we usually purchased groceries at a local store instead of frequenting restaurants.We also opted for public transportation instead of taxis or tourist buses. If you think there are some interesting characters riding the bus in the US, the spectacle of creatures riding public transportation in developing nations is nothing less than shocking.Each day proved to be an incredible experience.
Here’s just one reward for escaping the rat race:Carnival in Rio de Janeiro.We rented an apartment in the beach town of Ipanema for one month.We danced in the streets and on the sand to the rhythmic pounding of Samba.We relaxed and listened to the romantic melodies of Bosa Nova next door to the bar where the “Girl from Ipanema” was written.(Yes, Tom Jobim and Vinicius de Moraes were a couple of middle-aged perverts just like you guys.They were two guys gawking at tan young girls in tight dresses, who happened to write a song about it and got filthy rich.)
We screamed and jumped with the energy of 5,000 Cariocas (the locals of Rio) as they paraded down the Sambadrome topless, g-stringed, with a few colorful feathers as costumes.We ate enough Brazilian meat at a churrascaria to make a Roman emperor puke from the debauchery.We made friends with locals who took us to the clubs for the best food and music.We even convinced some friends and family to fly south to join us!A perfect month of nothing but fun and we still had eleven other months to enjoy around the globe!
Maybe you don’t feel you need to escape the rat race, but if you’re one of those people who is tempted to, know that it has done before and it is possible!A quote by Mark Twain sums up the motivation: "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."
Two Seasons in one Month
As I was packing up in anticipation for warmer weather in Buenos Aires, I looked out our windows and saw infrequent flakes of snow gently coming down. Angele and I were so excited to see snow on our last day in New York; it was like the perfect climatic ending to the Broadway play of our stay. At first it was rather light and did not stick, but by noon everything in the city had been covered with a blanket of white. Outside we walked up the boulevard and observed that the dirty grey and brown streets had been replaced by a pure white blanket that looked so out of place in the New York City we had become accustomed. We had to see Central Park in the snow, so we braved the wonderful falling flakes and briskly walked four long blocks. White rolling hills completely covered in snow were just what we had imagined. There was an inch of snow clinging to each leaf and branch. There were kids having rambunctious snow ball fights and there was us, happy as could be, making fresh tracks in such a populated city. There was a pristine silence and purity out of place in the Big Apple. The green grass and colorful falling leaves had been replaced by pure white. The stark contrast was beautiful and made our one month stay seem like we’d been there for two seasons.
In New York City, gospel music is not reserved solely for church on Sundays.Any day, at any time, is ripe for gospel music in the metro.In an otherwise unexciting atmosphere, the metro tunnels are brought to life by African American men, whose soulful rhythm and pitch are a perfect complement to their songs about hope, praise, and the Lord’s love for you.
On Friday night, close to 7 o’clock, Chris and I were on our way to see the Christmas Spectacular at Radio City Music Hall.We expected a night of song and dance, but not until we reached the Off-Broadway venue.While sitting in the subway car we had just boarded on West 87th Street, two men burst through the doors and joyfully exclaimed to the passengers, “Welcome to the Gospel Train!”
The singing duo began to perform a song of praise to the “Almighty and Heavenly Lord,” and proclaimed, “The Lord Loves You, Let’s Sing to Him!”While the gentleman to the left clapped his hands to keep the rhythm, the fellow to the right snapped his fingers, creating a sound that was simple yet upbeat and lively.
Just as most musical venues request payment for entertainment provided, the singing subway duo was no different.Once their performance came to an end, they offered the passengers a baseball hat into which we could give a donation.Digging into our pockets for spare change, we were able to make a small contribution to these two performers’ musical careers.
When the singers had made it to the end of our metro car, they took a deep breath, crossed into the next car, and just as the door closed behind them, we could hear once more the energetic words “Welcome to the gospel…”
Nobody ever said that Manhattan was a bargain.The astronomical prices of lodging, dining, and shopping undoubtedly require a person to dig deep into his or her pockets when visiting the Big Apple.While Chris and I had prepared ourselves for the high cost of living in NYC, we had not fathomed that a glass of club soda and a Coca Cola could cost us $15.
After a magical evening of ice skating in Rockefeller Center, we decided to refresh ourselves with a drink.We had heard that the Rainbow Room, perched 65 stories above Rockefeller Center, boasted magnificent views, so we thought it was a perfect location to continue our romantic outing.
Stepping out of the elevator into the Rainbow Room, the city lights greeted us from every direction.We could see past the Empire State Building, as far south as the massive skyscrapers of the financial district.A rainbow of lights gleamed before our eyes in red, yellow, blue, green, and white.What a breathtaking site!
As we walked down the narrow interior, the waiter showed us to our dimly lit table for two and provided us with a bar menu.Initially, Angele had planned to order an Irish coffee to warm her up; however, when she saw that the coffee was $18, she quickly changed her mind and ordered a club soda.Chris had considered ordering a cocktail, but the sky-high prices convinced him to ask for a Coke.
Waiting for our drinks, we could not take our eyes off of the view.While other locales like the Marriott and Ritz Carlton have sky bars, the city lights are neither as colorful nor as extensive as the view from where we were sitting.This was an experience to savor, and when the waiter returned with our drinks, we enjoyed them slowly.
A club soda and a Coke are not fancy drinks, so when the bill came, we did not expect to pay $13 and a $2 tip!Undoubtedly, we were paying for the view we had been so privileged to see.Despite the shocking prices, a stop at the Rainbow Room is a treat.We explored its rivals, like the Ritz Carlton, and for the same prices, we did have the pleasure of riding in an elevator with supermodel Tyra Banks.However, the view from the Rainbow Room was much more impressive!
To most people being out of the house 8 to 5 means going to work at 8am and getting off at about 5pm. But to a couple of world travelers like Angele and Chris, it means leaving the house for dinner at about 8pm and returning home at about 5am. So the story goes...
We left our apartment shortly after 8pm for dinner at “Bobby Van’s” near Grand Central Station. The popular Zagat Survey describes the midtown steakhouse as a "manly man’s red meatery, with huge, juicy steaks as thick as your arm." After a carnivorous dinner of sirloin and filet mignon, we were ready to tackle anything the city had to offer.
Forward to 12am.Braving dark allies which led us to the South Street Seaport, we arrived at the Fulton Fish Market to see what Let's Go describes as a "must see" from midnight to 8am. As the largest fresh fish market in the US, the late hours (or early hours depending on your prerogative) haven't stopped the hustle and bustle of the market since the 1600's.
The action was non-stop and we deftly dodged forklifts unloading what seemed like thousands of pallets of fish from semi-trucks. The night-time temperature was nearing 40F as we stepped through mud, fish guts, and smelly passageways, so we decided to take a break and warm ourselves up with a drink.
The" Paris Café" looks more like an Irish Bar catering to local fisherman than a snooty Parisian coffee house. In 1873, the structure was erected as a salt warehouse for the growing port, but was turned into a motel and bar for weary foreign travelers ten years later. Another one hundred twenty years later, the bar is still serving beer to visitors and fisherman alike.
Over a few pints of Harp, the Irish Bartender, Barry, mentioned to us that the fish market does not really pick up until 2 or 2:30am. So after a few more pints of beer, we finally ventured back to observe the hundreds of types of fish that workers were unloading from the pallets. With the Brooklyn Bridge and moon as a backdrop, the market scene was almost a romantic one...
However, nothing kills romance more surely than seeing hundreds of men carrying 14 inch solid steel hooks to stab and pick up fish. Conjuring up images of Captain Hook from Peter Pan, the fisherman each had a hook in hand with their name emblazoned on the handle. We met Johnny, a fisherman from Long Island, who was kind enough to stab a flounder, hand me the hook, and pose for a photo. He said, "If you want to see the real action, come back at around 3:30 to 4:00am." So it was back to the “Paris Café" for a few more pints.
While sitting at the bar, we met three New York City Police Detectives. They were a jolly bunch of drinkers, buying us shots of Schnapps and Goldschlager, showing us their guns, and putting handcuffs on Angele.What else would you expect from an Irishman, an Italian, and a Mexican drinking at a bar? The three of them were the kindest, funniest people we had met since we arrived. As we exchanged jokes, stories and business cards, we learned that these detectives fought organized crime. Even though they worked in the East Village, organized crime was once a concern at the fish market too.
Apparently, police officials have long claimed that the mob controlled the fish market.In fact, feuding mafia families were allegedly responsible for an arson attack on the market in 1995.Luckily, the fire affected only a small portion of the market, but this was enough of a reason for Mayor Giuliani to intensify his actions against the mafia.In the months to follow the fire, Giuliani mandated that all vendors at the fish market operate with a permit.Anyone with ties to the mafia was denied a permit and forced to leave.
After hearing unbelievable stories about fighting crime, the clock struck 4, and Barry was closing the bar. So, we put on our coats and gloves, and headed out one last time to see the action of the fish market. At this point, all the fish were colorfully displayed on ice in crates, at the largest fish market we had ever seen: 700 vendors selling wholesale to New York's restaurants and markets. In the spirit of the moment, we tried to buy a pound of jumbo prawns but were told that they only sell in units of 50 pounds each! That was a disappointment for us because the fish looked so fresh, and we had planned to make linguini drizzled with olive oil, dressed with scampi and some fresh parmesan cheese. Oh well, c'est la vie.
Just as we were about to head back to the subway and call it a night, the heavens opened up and the rain began to pour. Typical Californians, we did not have an umbrella, so we waited under a canopy until the rain stopped. We noticed that the tempo of the fish market did not skip a beat despite the torrential rain.
At nearly 5am, we were finally on the subway, dry, tired, and happy to be going home. As we talked about what an exciting eight hours we had just experienced, two ladies stepped into our subway car with purses and briefcases. While the eight hours that comprised our “work day” had just ended, their work day was just beginning...
