One fabulous discovery my family made on Prince Edward Island, Canada was Cows Ice Cream. It may possibly be the most wonderful ice cream on earth.

Description from their website:

A re-cap of the 3 factors that make COWS ice cream taste so good!

HIGH BUTTERFAT CONTENT
16%

MINIMUM AIR
high density, slow to melt in your mouth ice cream!

FINEST INGREDIENTS
fresh cream, real eggs, sugar,
pure natural vanilla fresh PEI berries,
imported Holland cocoa.

Be sure to visit ‘Cows’ whenever you’re in Canada!

http://www.erikawatters.com/

As summer ends and fall creeps up on us, I thought this might be an appropriate time to reminisce on family road trips.

No one understands road trips better than my father. Early in his career, my dad was a surveyor for the State of Florida and spent hundreds of hours travelling from one beach to another surveying the coastline. Now, as an engineer, he doesn’t travel for work quite as often. However, that doesn’t mean his love for road travel has diminished even the slightest bit.

My dad truly found his soul-mate when he met my mother. She may be the one and only person who likes to travel by car as much as my father (actually, I just think she likes to hang out with my dad…whether it is in a car or not). It isn’t because they are afraid to fly, they just happen to really enjoy the scenery when traveling. So, getting from point A to point B by car makes the most sense.

When I was younger, my family would always try to take some sort of a summer trip. Sometimes, they were short trips and sometimes they were long trips. But, two things were constant. The trips were made by car, and I sat in the backseat with my younger brother.

I’d like to say that my brother and I were civil to each other during these excursions. But, I won’t lie. We weren’t. Come on!!! We were young kids! And these were the days before iPods and built in DVD players. So, you can imagine how much fun these trips were for my parents.

Needless to say, we spent a lot of ‘quality’ time together as a family. Maybe pieces of my road trips sound like some of the road trips you’ve taken in life:

Florida to New York – Purpose: Attend my mom’s high school reunion

I was 10. My mother wanted to attend her high school reunion in New York. So, my younger brother and I were going to New York for the 1st time in our lives. We started in Florida and made our way up the East Coast. Along the way, my brother started attacking me with the middle seat belt saying it was a snake, throwing it on me and screaming. Clever. My brilliant mother started a game that had the goal of spotting as many different state license plates as possible. That game helped us get through Georgia and the Carolinas.

In New York, we lived it up… Visited my mom’s friends out on Long Island and got to stay in a swanky house in the Hamptons with a pool (that is all my brother and I cared about at that age)… Ate at a fancy restaurant where my brother decided he didn’t like the food and instead wanted a hot dog… Had a canolo for the very 1st time… And got to see the Statue of Liberty. All that fun packed into one road trip.

Florida to Prince Edward Island, Canada – Purpose: Walk in the footsteps of ‘Anne’ from ‘Anne of Green Gables‘

Like many young girls, I read the ‘Anne of Green Gables‘ books. I envisioned visiting Prince Edward Island and walking in Anne’s footsteps. For some reason, my mother understood my excitement and thought that Prince Edward Island was the perfect place for us to take a summer vacation. So, off we went, in the car, driving up the East Coast, all the way to Canada. Of course we stopped at great places along the way; and then finally, crossed the border into Canada.

All I remember is how clean and beautiful it was. Certainly my father was thinking, ‘Canada, Oh Canada’ in his head. 

We took a ferry over to Prince Edward Island and instantly discovered its beauty. I remember dark red sand, wild grass, green pastures and our lovely house that overlooked the beach. We rented part of a 100 year old house that overlooked the ocean for a week. We explored the island, witnessed the aurora borealis (well, my family did…I was asleep) and found Green Gables. My childhood dreams were fulfilled.

Seattle to Montana to Wyoming to California to Oregon to Seattle – Purpose: The ‘legendary’ 3 week camping trip that started off with us losing our luggage in Kansas City

Ahh…finally my favorite trip to complain about, yet the most fun to remember. Believe it or not, one year my parents decided to FLY.  You heard me right! We flew all the way out to Seattle for a 3 week camping trip that would start right after we left the Seattle airport. First, we had to make it to Seattle.

No trip is complete without some kinks, and this trip had plenty. Due to weather, our flight was cancelled; and we were stuck in Kansas City. Of course, our luggage was shipped off to another city as we were escorted to a hotel for the evening. We made it to Seattle the next day, our luggage didn’t. Luckily, we were able to stay with friends until our bags arrived about 3 days later. Then, we were off, gear in hand. Bound and determined to conquer the wild west.

We drove up into Canada and then over and down into Montana to see Glacier National Park. Yes, camping the whole way. I like camping and all, but a 3 week camping trip for a teenage girl is just too much. Then, my parents thought it would be great fun to relive memories from their honeymoon. So, we went to Wyoming and hiked various trails in the Tetons. Then, we zig zagged across the great west…singing ‘Lion King’ songs the whole way.  We finally stayed at a hotel to take a normal shower in San Francisco. YAY!!! I could write an entire entry about this camping adventure, but I’ll spare you the details today.

It has taken me years to get over the trauma of being a teenage girl who has to deal with semi-primitive camping conditions for 3 weeks. But now, looking back, I can see how very special that trip was. Our whole family was together. Enjoying the scenery. Not worrying about work or school or anything back home. We were just living.

Remember, life is a highway…

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Today I was remembering a very brief encounter that I had with a complete stranger at an airport. Why oh why do I have so many of these types of encounters? Very very good question.

In late December of last year, I was flying to Italy to meet my boyfriend and his family. For the first leg of my flight, I only made it to JFK in NYC (which may possibly be worse than the Atlanta airport on my list). In New York, I learned that the Iberia flight that would be taking me to Milan…with a connection in Madrid…had been canceled. I didn’t realize this until after the 3 zillion other passengers had already made their way over to the ticket counter to get reassigned to a new flight. So, I was stuck at the back of the line.

It was complete chaos. There were literally two women helping a sea of over 200 passengers. Some were speaking English, some Spanish, others Italian. Everyone was anxious to get home for Christmas…and here we were on the 22nd trying to get reassigned to new flights…flights that were already completely full. A girl in front of me was trying to translate what was going on for the people around us who didn’t speak Spanish (since Iberia is a Spanish airlines). She started to ask me questions when they would speak too quickly in English. So…we became ‘line buddies.’

After a while, we stopped paying too much attention to all of the craziness around us. We gave into the fact that we were not getting to Europe that evening. Ahhh…we’d get there…eventually. Not much we could really do about it. We could scream…we could yell…but that wouldn’t really get us there that much faster. So, we chatted. I learned that she had been in Boston for 4 months studying English. She hoped that learning English would help her excel in her career. Her husband was back at home waiting for her. They had not seen each other in 4 months. Her name was Paz (which means ‘peace’ in Spanish). I thought that the name suited her.

We made our way to the ticket counter. As suspected…neither of us were getting a flight that evening. So, we were shipped off to a nearby hotel where dinner would be served free of charge for all of those trapped for the evening. I have to say, the Holiday Inn staff was more than accommodating and tried to make our stay as pleasant as possible. All that I really wanted to do was eat and go to bed. In the cafe, however, I found my Spanish ‘line buddy.’ She already had a table and was sitting down to eat. She invited me to join her where we both dined over the free, buffet-style food. That is when she told me that the first thing she wanted when she got home was a ‘tortilla’.

For those of you not familiar with a Spanish ‘tortilla’, it is something like an omlette on steriods with potatoes. YUM! This was the first meal that I had when I went to Spain many years ago (primarily because I can’t deal with paella). So, my Spanish friend taught me the secrets of making a good tortilla. Then she proceeded to tell me what she did and didn’t like in her tortilla. It was a completely random conversation that lasted for a good 45 minutes.

Exhausted after a long day, we both realized that we needed sleep; and we parted ways. I was tired, I was frustrated, I was anxious all at once. Yet, a total stranger had made me forget about all of that for 45 minutes while we shared a meal.

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Finding incredible natural treasures in unexpected locations is always a thrill. I mentioned before that I worked in the Dominican Republic for a few months 8 years ago. One weekend, one of the girls that I was working with and I made a trip up to the northern part of the country. As both of us enjoyed a bit of adventure, we decided to set off in search of a waterfall called 27 charcos that my co-worker had read about in a guide book.

We found a local mini-van/bus to transport us to 27 charcos. As we didn’t know where we were going, we asked the van driver to let us know when we had reached our destination. After a ride that seemed to go on forever in the hot sticky weather, we reached a barren stretch of road and the van stopped. The driver told us that this was our stop. To one side of the highway was a narrow road just wide enough for a vehicle. He told us to follow the path, and we’d reach the 27 charcos. It seemed ‘oh so safe’ for us to be walking down this path that led into the woods in the middle of nowhere. (I am sure that this entrance has changed since we went there about 8 years ago).

For those of you who have never heard of 27 charcos (literally 27 puddles), it is a set of 27 waterfalls created as the Rio Damajagua descends towards the ocean. If you’ve never been there, I highly recommend a visit.

Now, I don’t know what possessed us to think that we could take on these waterfalls ourselves. I do not consider myself to be an extremely athletic person. Nor have I ever had any experience climbing rocks. In fact, I am a bit afraid of heights. Perhaps that day we were feeling a little cheap and getting extremely irritated by the anxious guides who pounced on tourists at the base of the falls. The guides were there for a very good reason. They were the ones who would help push you up the falls if you were ascending and would help you slide down the falls if you were descending. I wish we had taken that piece of information into consideration. Instead, we told the guides we’d be fine, we didn’t need them to help us climb the falls. Oh no, we would be just fine. (There are probably rules against touring the falls without a guide…who knows if those were in place when we visited the falls 8 years ago).

So, here is where you start your climb…

27 Charcos, Dominican Republic

So, you can see the nice little ladder off to the right. Well, there is nothing to help you get to that level except your climbing skill. First, you have to swim through the little pond and then climb the rocks to the 2nd tier. Then you proceed to do this for 7 more levels. However, each level has its own unique challenges. At some points, you have to climb through an area of rock as water is pouring down on you.

We quickly learned that we desperately needed a guide. I think all of the guides on the rocks understood that we desperately needed a guide. I am proud to say that we managed to climb up the 1st level only with a little help and then made it up to the 2nd and 3rd levels successfully on our own. However, at various other points, we had to have a guide help pull and push us to make our way up the following levels.

Looking Down from the Third Level

Looking Down from the Third Level

27 Charcos, Dominican Republic

 With a little pushing and a little shoving and a little kindness from the extremely patient guides, we made our way up the levels that you could climb from the base. Then, we proceeded to slide back down the falls. When we found our way back to the 2nd level, we proceeded to jump into the large pond and swim back to the shore.

My adventures are always random, but they always end with a story. Hopefully you’ll have a chance to make it to 27 charcos. It is one of those places on the globe that shouldn’t be missed.

http://www.erikawatters.com/

One summer many years ago, I went to work in the Dominican Republic. Weekdays were spent working, weekends were spent on the beach. On one fateful weekend, the girls that I was working with and I went to a beach close to Santo Domingo for a bit of rest and relaxation. All of us were about as white as the powdery white sand. In fact, we may have been whiter than the sand. As the only Floridian among two girls from the northeast, I decided to forego applying sunblock while they applied SPF 55. At one point, both of them asked me to apply the sunblock to their backs. I carefully applied the thick pasty sunblock to their backs and then without a second thought…placed my hands on my thighs. After hours of baking in the sun, here was the end result.

Don't get any ideas. Those are my handprints on my legs.

Lesson learned. Always remember to wash your hands after applying SPF 55. (Or better yet…use some sunblock instead of frying in the sun).

http://www.erikawatters.com/

Riding bikes, exploring little towns by the sea, somehow finding a way to enjoy a beach where you can’t swim because the water is too cold, and watching one of your friends open a lobster in record time are just a few of the ways that I enjoy New England in the summer. A couple of weekends ago, we had a perfect summer weekend. Warm weather and beautiful skies. Just thought that I would share a couple of photos from the day.

Plum Island, Massachusetts. Yeah, can't swim in the water folks. Too cold.

Note: Friends and I were being eaten alive by killer horsefly-like bugs. Otherwise, it was a beautiful day at the beach.

Amazing skill at opening the lobster bare handed. I was impressed.

Note: I never have and never will eat lobster. Just wanted to make sure that was clear! But, I am still very impressed by my friend’s mad lobster opening skill!

One reason to love Boston in the summer. Beautiful bike rides along the Charles. Not so much fun in the winter though.

http://www.erikawatters.com/

‘Hitchhike’…that word tends to fall in the middle of a sentence that also includes the words ‘mass murderer’ and ’scary’. If I were to admit to my mother how many times I’ve hitchhiked in various countries, she would probably faint. OBVIOUSLY, however, I’ve survived all of my hitchhikes. So, they cannot be all that bad, now can they? Here are a few of my favorites.

Playa Herradura to San Jose, Costa Rica

• Method of Transportation: Range Rover (I think), rental vehicle
• # of Passengers: 3 + 1 driver
• My Age at Time of Hitchhike: 19

This is perhaps my favorite hitchhike story of all time. After a long weekend camping with friends at Playa Herradura (where it rained all weekend and we slept in soggy clothing), we were ready to make the long trip back to San Jose. Dry beds and dry clothing were awaiting us. So, we were anxious to get back as quickly as possible. Perhaps we were a little too water logged, but no one bothered to check the time on our tickets to make sure that we’d get back to the bus stop on time for the return trip to the city. So, there we stood desperate, worried, afraid, soaked, wondering what in the world we were going to do. And by the grace of something, a car happened to pass by at that very moment of panic. Oddly enough, it was a tourist from Texas who had rented a Range Rover (I think) to wander the countryside of Costa Rica. Since, I was the only one of the bunch that spoke English (go figure we’d need my English in Nowheresville, Costa Rica), I spoke to the stranger. He asked if we needed a ride, to which I replied, YES. So, he offered us a ride all the way back to San Jose…more than 2 hours away…with all of our gear in tow. For this simple gesture, he asked for nothing in return. Instead of sitting in an uncomfortable bus for several hours, we got to ride in style. And bonus…we’re alive to tell the story.

Random Bus Stop in Nowheresville, Honduras to Tegucigalpa, Honduras

• Method of Transportation: Old, beaten up sedan
• # of Passengers: 3 + 1 driver
• My Age at Time of Hitchhike: 21

Training for Peace Corps is a long, 3 month process. Training groups stay in multiple places before settling into their own towns. During my training, our business development group was sent to a town in central Honduras. For some reason, I am forgetting the exact details of how my training group ended up at a random bus stop in central Honduras; but I believe it must have been the day that we were returning back to our primary training site. After asking multiple people at the stop, we realized that the next bus wouldn’t be passing by for quite some time. However, during this same inquiry, we ended up talking to a man who just happened to be going back to Tegucigalpa. And of course he had room for some American girls in his old, beat up sedan. This could have ended badly, but it didn’t.  In fact, the man was quite pleasant. We chatted politely for a while, and he stopped at a market on our way into the city to buy fruit. He was even kind enough to buy all of us a bunch of bananas! Now how’s that for one good hitchhike? I didn’t have to pay for the ride, and I got a free snack!

Nuestros Pequenos Hermanos Orphanage to Guaimaca, Honduras

• Method of Transportation: Pepsi truck
• # of Passengers: 1 + 1 driver
• My Age at Time of Hitchhike: 21

While living in Honduras, each week I would visit an orphanage a couple of hours away from my town. If I timed it right, I could get to the bus stop just before the bus arrived. If, however, I missed the bus, I would have to wait for an hour or two for another to pass. If I had to wait, I had to wait in the sun as there was no shade under which to hide. This is precisely what happened to me one fateful day. There I stood baking in the sun on the side of the road…waiting waiting waiting. Out of nowhere, a small Pepsi truck drove by. Then I saw the truck stop and back up. For a moment, I was a little frightened. The man in the car was waving his hands hysterically at me. I quickly came to learn that it was the brother of my neighbor. He worked for Pepsi. Quite frequently, he would travel into the city and back on the same road where I would wait for the bus. Lucky for me, he saw me standing there and offered me a ride in the comfortable Pepsi truck all the way back to our town. No, I didn’t get a free Pepsi; but I was sure happy to be out of the sun!

http://www.erikawatters.com/

Have you ever had truly random conversations with complete strangers at airports? You know, the ones where you complain about how air travel has become more and more difficult or how the weather could delay the flight? Well, if you get past those topics, you tend to end up talking about more serious subject matter, such as where you’re headed and why. Then if you keep on listening, you end up learning about the full life story of the poor soul you decided to talk to. Now, perhaps I am too friendly. Perhaps I am the only person in the world that this happens to, but I hardly doubt that. Oddly enough, this phenomenon reminds me of Honduras… and here’s how.

Several years ago, I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Honduras. Like many adventurous volunteers, I would travel back and forth between cities. On certain days of the week, I would visit an orphanage about 3 hours away. Then I would make the long trip back to my town by bus.

Surprisingly, the bus system in Honduras is somewhat efficient. Well, as efficient as it could possibly be. There was an actual schedule, and the buses usually ran on time. You could wait with a reasonable sense of security that a bus would pass by at the scheduled hour. And, even if a bus broke down…another would be by sooner or later. Now, I will say that I lived within a four hour bus ride to the main city. So, other volunteers may have had different experiences. In fact, I am sure that my experience differs greatly from that of other volunteers.

To quickly answer any of your questions… yes, I have sat on a bag of beans for four hours, I have sat next to a chicken, I have stood for four hours while clinging on to a metal rack above my head on a rickety old school bus, I have seen a man vomit out the window of a bus for four straight hours, and I’ve fallen asleep on a bus while traveling alone.

ahhh…back to my story. So, you can see that I’ve traveled on my fair share of buses. Well, as you can imagine, I’ve found myself at numerous bus stops. And usually, I had a bit of time to kill before my bus would arrive (unless I got lucky and the Pepsi guy passed by and gave me a lift back home-don’t worry…he was the brother of my neighbor). That left plenty of time for all the people at the bus stop to come sit beside the little blonde girl to learn more about who she was and why she was waiting at the stop.

The conversations would start off with a discussion about how the buses were too slow. Then, the conversation would progress into talking about how the weather was affecting the crops that year. Typically, a few questions were thrown in about where I was from, where I was living and why I was there. Then, the individual would proceed to tell me their entire life story.

So, as you can see, there is a very similar structure in the type of conversations that I’ve had with people at airports and at bus stops in Honduras.  Essentially, I’ve learned that people really just like to talk about themselves. If you listen long enough, they will tell you their whole life story. Sometimes it is funny. Sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes you learn something. And sometimes you make a friend.

http://www.erikawatters.com/