Last night was our first on the Tui Tai. It takes a while to get sea legs, and it has sure been a test, all of us are rolling around like I assume baby giraffes do, and the crew must love it.  I woke up at 4 am to see my deoderant and other toiletries comically sliding back and forth across the shelves in my cabin. Even as I type, they key board and my body are doing a sort of samba…

It’s amazing how fast humans can adjust – an hour on the boat yesterday and we were in full exploration mode. We snorkeled in Dolphin Bay while the sun was still out, the late in the afternoon we were already in a remote village testing the residents’ blood sugar levels…I’ll step back a bit.

I’m the lone East Coast American girl, here for four weeks to bring “the Zen” to the Tui Tai bunch. We have Dale, from Florida “the winner” he’s dubbed appropriately after winning a freaking free trip to Fiji. Who does that? (Did you enter the competition we were promoting, it wasn’t rigged, folks!) We all hand our Coca cola bottles to him because they’re giving away a free trip to Brazil.  There are the three “surfer, guys” from San Clemento, and of course sweet Bethany Hamilton, another surfer from Kauai.  The “doctors,” med students out of Oz and New Zealand are traveling with us to do a bit of humanitarian work, and there’s another Aussie who’s on the trip because his sister purchased this getaway for him.

Some of the best things are unexpected and usually unplanned.  Around dusk, we took the dinghy’s in to a small village on the island of Rabi (pronounced Rambi).  A small group of people moved to this beach about 6 years ago.  A group of men of Polynesian descent married women from the island who are Micronesian like the rest of the island, and decided to settle down on their own small plot of land.  I like these rules – if you can survive off the jungle and the sea, you earn your spot on the planet, as they have and continue to do.

The Tui Tai is one of the only charters to have access to such remote places. The staff being almost 100% Fijian gives us the knowledge and priviledge we would otherwise not have.

The residents are a family of only 10 people, incredibly inviting to our groups cameras, odd smiles and giggles. Bula (hello) and vinaka (thank you) are the only things flying from our mouths.  We all settled into one large hut to watch “the doctors” do their work. The attempted to read shotty equipment to test the villagers blood sugar levels and blood pressure. Everyone was relatively healthy, it mostly turned into a competition between husband and wife to see who had the most satisfactory numbers.

After crunching on some fresh coconut, it’s a short ride in the dinghy, under the star-filled Fijian sky back home.

The satisfaction and silliness of leaving New England in November…in flip flops.

I’m of to Savusavu, Fiji – Tom Robbins says something like everything on an island needs to be said twice – to join the Tui Tai crew for the month of November.

I’ve been out here for 15 of the past 24 months, this time on a year stretch.  The more people I talk to, the more I feel less like an idiot for having brought things I wouldn’t need.  I’m not the only one who has mailed a big package of stuff home after a few weeks.

Here are a few things that I could not live without:

1) Retractable Cable Lock These run about $10 and can really save you in hostels that don’t have security lockers.  I just lock my pack to the bed.  Also really handy if you need to sleep on dodgy transport – I even locked mine to my belt buckle once because I was sketched out by my busmates.

2) Tupperware A small Tupperware container is one of the things in my pack that I’ve used the most.  Yes, it’s good for leftovers.  Better though, I’ve used it to keep electronics from getting wet in monsoons and usually for transporting potentially leaky items (The Great Olive Oil Spill of 2009 was such an occasion).

3) Seasoning (No Kidding) If you’re traveling in hostels that have kitchens, invest a few bucks in spices that you crave.   Most days I can’t be assed to cook but when I do, I have at least some herbs, curry powder and garlic salt.  From there, I can whip up about ten things for under three bucks.  Transfer anything to plastic baggies, so that the glass container doesn’t weigh you down.  Light and tasty.

4) Extra Computer Battery This is a must for anyone who writes or has an online poker addiction.  It will save you some serious crying, especially when you’ve turned up at an island that only has electricity from 7pm-10pm (Shout Out To Laos!).

5) Headlamp Oh, I know. They do make you look like a luminescent cyclops. I fought it for a long time but I have to say that mine is ridiculously handy, whether it be for reading in bed or walking down a dirt path in a drunken stupor.

6) Battery Powered Electronics Charger There are a million different kinds nowadays.  Mine charges my phone, my Nintendo DS, my camera and my iPod.  It is a lifesaver again and again.

7) Packets Of… Get your hands on whatever you can that comes in little packets, rather than bottles.  Things like bug spray can be found in towellette form.  Kiehls is a killer place to stock up on free samples – although I still haven’t used that Soothing Gel Masque they gave me.  Remember: You only need some things sometimes.  Don’t go crazy carrying 8 ounces of bath oil for a bathtub you’ll never find.

8.) An Unlocked Cell Phone It’s a must if you are moving between many countries.  I’ve spent about $350 over the past ten months on my phone and I use it for everything, from email to internet.  I’d have spent triple that if I was still locked into my program from home.  Local SIM cards are now a reality almost everywhere I’ve been (except America).

9) Travel Sized Toilet Paper Rolls Oh, so embarrassing.  Today I took the bus from Lisbon to Porto.  Halfway through the trip that half-eaten donut went on the offensive.  I bolted from the bus to find a men’s room that looked like something out of Trainspotting, complete with the Sharpie’d phone numbers of men wishing to fornicate.  I considered crying, then reached for this little roll of stuff I had been carrying for a year.  I had almost thrown it away at least three times.  Fourth time’s a Charmin.

The 10th item here is YOURS. Tell us what you can’t live without!

The honeymoon days in any new place are often an exciting blur. Sometimes, that sense of wonder gets marred by the shame of making a cultural faux pas. As Vincent Vega said in “Pulp Fiction,” “It’s the little differences.”  Just as with Irish-English, there are a few cultural twists here in Ireland that have embarrassed me in the company of my new peers. Fool me once, Ireland.

Paper or Plastic … or Nothing? 

In America, supermarkets give shoppers their choice of free paper or plastic grocery bags. Irish supermarkets are a bit more eco-conscious so to minimize waste, they give away … nothing. Until you catch on you’ll stand there, dumb as a stone, faced with the prospect of juggling loose cartons of orange juice and cereal boxes all the way home. Chains like TESCO sell reusable bags, which are grand. Unless you forget yours. 

All Hail the Bus

Back home, we hail cabs and The Chief. Here in Dublin, they hail cabs and public buses. Buses only stop when passengers press the “stopping” button or flag them down in the street. Forget to wave and you’ll have to wait for another. Keep in mind that a bus will not stop if you hail it one second too late and chase after it while frantically waving your arms like air traffic batons. Not that I’d know. 

Tipping

In America, we tip anyone who breathes. In Ireland, they tip only … well, I’m still figuring it out so please lend me some advice lest I get chased down by a disgruntled florist. In Ireland, you tip the barber and maybe leave a couple Euro for the cab driver or the waitress if – and only if - they ‘re good. But what about the pub? 

An Irishman and a girl from New York walk into a bar. The New Yorker orders a bottle of Bulmer’s. When the bottle arrives, the New Yorker tips a Euro. The Irishman shouts, “What are you doing? You don’t tip the barman!”  He grabs the coin away. Then he tells his friends and they tease the New Yorker for the rest of her life. “Ha ha!” they sneer. “You never tip the barman! Only if he’s the best barman in the entire world and if – if! –  you’re feeling generous. Ha ha! Americans.” 

No, there’s no punchline. I wish it were really a joke. 

To the Left, To the Left

Two years in Japan and I never got used to the idea of driving on the left side of the road. A couple days after arriving in Dublin, my boyfriend’s uncle offered to drive us down to Cork. Ready to go, I tossed my things in the passenger seat.

“You’re driving?” he asked.

In countries that drive on the left, the steering wheel is on the right side of the car. I’d accidentally thrown my purse in the driver seat. 

Don’t get me started on crossing the road.

So I can get used to calling a cookies “biscuits” and a line a “queue” … but dealing with left hand traffic? Please help, or my next tripwolf post will be written from a hospital bed. 

Been to Ireland? Help the new girl by sharing advice and pictures in our comment and gallery sections!

I love to do a bi-weekly wrap-up for you of Andrew’s posts on The Brooklyn Nomad because he’s on top of interesting travel trends.  Here are a few interesting posts from this week:

Who visits the US the most? Find out which countries come to the US for tourism, and why tourist numbers are declining.

Congrats!!!  Andrew is excited to announce he’s bringing another travel lover into the world – due in April! (thelittlenomad.com?)

Stephanie Yoder stepped in this week as a Guest Nomad – posting 5 cool day trips from London…Hey Steph, post ‘em on tripwolf!

Cheers!

tripwolf is constantly changing and improving to bring users the best travel site we can. Whether making it easier to search and find info about places, plan a trip, and even book it, here are a few new features you will definitely want to utilize:

- Book Flights; Along with searching for the best hotel deals, you can now find cheap flights on tripwolf through Kayak.com.

- Free SIM card; Our new partner ekit.com is offering the tripwolf community a free international SIM card to take on your travels!

- Plan trips; We have improved our new trip feature even more – now you can leave comments on other users’ trips, and see what other people think of yours

- Personal Travel Diaries; the map is back!

We heart travel, and we heart tripwolf – we’re always looking for comments and suggestions on how we can improve! Thanks! Be our fan on Facebook, or follow our travel tweets on twitter.

Adena/tripwolf

Who doesn’t love dumplings?  They’re kind of like sex – even a bad dumpling is better than no dumpling at all.  But I’m used to equating dumplings with Chinese potstickers and Japanese gyoza, or maybe Polish pierogi when I’m feeling like a non-meat filling.  But it turns out things are a little more complicated than that.  After a day at the NYC Dumpling Festival that featured such unlikely contenders as Indian idli and Italian gnocchi, I was left wondering: what the hell is a dumpling?  Had my assumptions been mistaken this entire time?  After a few Google searches and a skim of Brian Yarvin’s book “A World of Dumplings,” I found out that dumplings are present in practically every world cuisine except for countries of Africa.  It makes sense – who wouldn’t want to stuff a piece of dough with some meat and see what happens?  But as it turns out, there’s not much of a set standard for what qualifies as a dumpling, and the forms these “dumplings” take can surprise and even shock.

As far as I can tell, there are the following families of dumplings:

The “Yeah, I know that’s a dumpling” Dumpling:

These are, most typically, your Asian dumplings: you’ll recognize them as the potstickers and gyoza of the world, and Korean mandu, Kazakh manti, and Tibetan momos also fit the bill nicely.  Yet halfway around the world in Eastern Europe, Polish pierogies, Russian pelmeni, Jewish kreplach and Georgian khinkali look strangely like their Asian cousins.  What is the common thread?  A dough wrapper filled with meat or vegetables, with either crimped seams or a gathering of dough at the top for sealing.  Whether they’re round or shaped like half-moons, they’re dumpling-sized – you probably couldn’t eat more than 12 without vomiting.

The “Oh . . .on second thought, I guess that is a dumpling” Dumpling:

Ravioli and tortellini are the winners in this category.  It seems so obvious now, but the square shape of a ravioli threw me off.  Similarly, a tortellini’s diminutive size was misleading – you can toss a tortellini in the air and catch it with your mouth, though try that with the “yeah, I know that’s a dumpling” dumpling and you will probably hurt yourself.

The “That’s not a dumpling, even though it meets the requirements” Dumpling:

Yarvin’s definition of a dumpling is “a dough-based outer wrapper filled with everything from seasoned fish to chopped meat to vegetables . . . [that] can be poached, boiled, fried or sauteed, and served with or without a sauce.”  It sounds reasonable enough, but then he goes on to claim that Indian samosa, British pasties, and empanadas of any sort are part of the package.  I’m sorry, but those are not dumplings!  They are too big, too fried, too filling, too . . .something.  I’d also put Jewish knishes and Brazilian esfirra, mentioned by general internet riffraff, in this category – dumplings that provoke a deep-seated reaction arguing to the contrary.

The “Where is your silky dough wrapper” Dumpling:

This is where we start getting into really sketchy territory, because of Wikipedia’s definition of dumplings as being mere “cooked balls of dough.”  The Italian gnocchi, Norwegian potetball, Venezuelan papas rellenas and the Mexican tamale either use mashed potato to encase a filling or make use of a corn dough that ends up having a texture similar to a mashed potato.  I struggled with this one, because wheat (and consequently, flour) isn’t native to the Americas and I’m guessing that it’s too cold to grow much in Norway; no one should be left out of the dumpling club because of a lack of ingredients, right?  But in the end I think there is something fundamentally wrong about a non-flour-based wrapper.  Call me racist or elitist or whatever, but I really believe it.

The “Um, you’re a bun” Dumpling:

A surprise entry at the NYC Dumpling Festival was the Chinese Bao; similarly, Wikipedia’s dumpling entry included the Czech knedliky.  I don’t think much is needed beyond pictorial proof to show that these two ‘dumplings’ are having an existential crisis of their own.  Go back to where you belong, with Filipino siopao, Japanese nikuman and your other yeast-y brothers and sisters.

And finally, the “WTF, you’re not even stuffed!” Dumpling:

The Festival included Filipino Palitaw and Indian Idli, so at first I thought it was simply a case of mistaken identity; the Festival had been deceived by the cute, doughy exteriors, but were unaware of the – horrors! – unstuffed interior.  But Wikipedia confirmed the transgression and even added to it: German Spatzle, Hungarian galuska, dumplings from the Caribbean, and Jewish matzo balls.  Ladies and gentleman, I’ll take it all back and welcome potato-wrapped dumplings and their misfit cousins, the bun, with open arms – anything but this empty heathen that is an affront to everything a proper dumpling should be.

As you can see, the world of dumplings is a Pandora’s Box filled with trickery and illusions.  But admittedly, it is delicious, and I’m happy to eat myself sick getting to the bottom of this mess.  What is your favorite dumpling?  And does it qualify as a real dumpling?

The entrance to Kathputli Colony, in Delhi’s West, is easy to miss. The narrow, dirt track which leads into the colony, turns off a busy road, packed with rickshaws honking noisily and speeding rickety buses.

On most days, a trickle of drummers and performers in Rajasthani garb with tinsel trimmings, amble to and from the colony, directing one to the entrance.

Today, an over-sized ginger-colored dog sits near the entry, barking manically and snapping at flies. A group of men with gold earrings, mullet haircuts and rough faces stand around smoking beedis, the Indian cigarette.

“What do you want?” asks the roughest in the group.

Not really sure that we have come to the right place we mutter that we want to visit the slum.

The man’s face erupts into a smile and he beckons for us to follow.

He takes us to his brother, Jagdish, a puppeteer who has just returned to his one bedroom house and eight children, after a stint performing in France.

Kathputli Colony is like most Delhi slums with its cramped quarters and depleted living conditions. But the theatrics of its inhabitants, young and old, colorful homes and props and puppets which seem to be as much a part of the house, as say, a cooking pot, hint at something more.

The slum is home to hundreds of performers, many of who originated from Rajasthan in the 60s. Kathputli Colony, taking it’s name from the puppet, for which Rajasthan is famous, is inhabited with puppeteers, musicians, animal trainers, fire-breathers, craftspeople, knife-swallowers and regular pranksters. As we pass a corner, a woman leaps forward and brandishes a knife at us, emitting cackles when she catches our horrified expressions.

Jagdish, seems to be the man in charge today. His English is good and for around US$20 a person, and some notice, he promises to organize a group of neighbors into a performing troupe.

Today, we just want to wander around.

The residents are used to foreign visitors. Many have performed in festivals and social events across the country and some have traveled abroad. Others regularly put on shows around Paharganj, Delhi’s backpacker hub.

Walking around the slum, it is impossible to deny the magnetism of the colony’s inhabitants. Children follow us around, showing us the tricks they have been taught by their parents. When the crowd of laughing kids gets too rowdy, the adults yell at them to stay back, deterring the children momentarily before they are at our heels again, asking us questions and performing impromptu routines. One boy dons a Kachchi Ghodi, the dancing horse, worn around his hips while kids jump around him. Another boy, in shorts and a singlet, wraps a sparkly gold scarf around himself and starts to shimmy, trying to outdo the dancing horse.

Kathputli Colony is not on the tourist trail. And it probably never will be. What makes visiting the colony a special trip, are the captivating residents.

Indeed, for all its charm, Kathputli Colony is in for a huge change, as government plans are in the pipeline to tear down the dwellings and move the residents into government blocks, which are still to be constructed. But before then, should you find the time to visit, you may be able to see a knife-swallower perfecting his skill or a magician practicing his tricks.

Delhi, is of course home to a myriad historical sights, but if you tire of the monuments, here are a few different ways to experience Delhi:

Salaam Baalak Trust City Walks
Inner city street children along with a guide conduct these tours, giving people a glimpse into the street kids’ lives and their perception of Delhi. Slum tours have inevitably been criticized over the years- do they raise awareness or do they unnecessarily invite the prying eyes of nosy tourists? The Rs.200 charge, however, goes towards bettering the health and lives of these street children. Tours last for two hours and are conducted six days a week.

Eating Out in Delhi
The bloggers at www.eoid.org have made it their mission to uncover the best eateries in town. About twice a month, you can join them on a culinary outing.

Hope Project Tours in Nizamuddin
On Thursdays and Fridays, the Hope Project conducts tours through the narrow, bustling lanes of Nizamuddin’s Basti, which is home to a thriving Sufi Muslim community. The tour stops at historical sites and makes a visit to the whirling dervishes at the Dargah, an impressive Sufi shrine. It costs Rs.150 per person and lasts one and a half hours. Proceeds go towards community projects.

Delhi By Cycle Tours
If you’re brave, sign up for a three hour bike tour that takes you through chaotic Old Delhi and then on to the grand Civil Lines district. The tours will set you back Rs.1,150 and groups have no more than eight people.

We always have out-of-towners staying at our apt, and when they ask me the first thing they should do in NYC, I tell them to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge and explore DUMBO afterward. But most out-of-towners have no idea what that means, so I usually end up drawing a little map with some highlights on it. It end up looking a lot like this one.

DUMBO is absolutely beautiful for just walking around, which is why I haven’t listed too many galleries or bars – meandering around, you’re inevitably going to find them all. You could also do this itinerary in reverse, starting out in DUMBO and then walking across the bridge at sunset for dinner in Chinatown. But to do DUMBO any justice, you really should go back for seconds and thirds.

See the featured trip and where to go!

The Museo de la Policia Federal has got to be one of the strangest places in the world. Often ignored by guidebooks and maps, its contents are a dream for anyone who is obsessed with CSI:Whatever. I spent a few hours here and can attest to the outright creepiness that the museum delivers.

The building that houses the museum looks like any other in downtown; half-hotel, half-office and all business – hardly the locale for a museum. I took the elevator up a few flights, not sure what I would see as the ding dinged. The woman in the ticket office was downright startled to see a patron. Entering the museum, I could see why. Nobody was there – not a soul. I’d spend the next two hours taking it all in and would not witness one other customer.

The first section of the museum was straight out of a B horror flick. The curator used mannequins to display uniforms that were worn through various eras of Argentine history. The effect was eerie. There were glassy-eyed mannequins at every turn, all seemingly about to come to life. The uniforms were interesting – but not interesting enough to keep my pansy ass from scadoodling through to the next section.

Around the corner was another treat, the long-since-dead bones of a police dog called “Chonino” . Proudly displayed, the sizeable skeleton was flanked with information about his active duty.

Directly upstairs was an incredible array of gambling items, all from busts that have happened over the years. There were poker chips with president’s faces, roulette machines and a poker table. I wandered around for a while, trying to imagine the busts and bullets that had brought these items to the museum.

Not much could have prepared me for the section of the museum that dealt with drug crime. Immediately noticeable was some kind of display showing how heroin is injected, complete with a wax arm and a syringe. Examples of other kinds of drugs (locked in displays) rounded out the room.

Another section went into detail about what criminals faced in jail, a depiction that did not seem pretty in the least. A bizarre bust displayed a prison tattoo of a ship – the designer had glued on splotches of hair to give it a more realistic effect. He failed.

Being alone in the back room was on par with the most nerve-racking experiences of my life. The room displayed gruesome crime scene photos along with the explanation of what had happened to each person. It was all here; murder, murder and murder. It was the most shocking display of gore I’d ever seen, let alone in a museum. Bones with knife chips were out in the open, as were vivid descriptions of sexual crime. A huge case displayed the re-creation of what a dismembered body looked like after it had been dug out of the ground.

Back downstairs, a hundred guns stared me in the face. The display of weaponry seemed comforting given what I’d just wandered through. This section of the museum was pretty fascinating and also contained many other kinds of explosive devices, as well as an old-school diving suit. I wandered around for about thirty minutes wondering just how many kind guns one population needs.

Given the bodies, drugs and ready-to-kill mannequins I’d just seen – it needed lots and lots and lots.