Now, I’ve been to Spain several times. You may recall I wrote my first guidebook on Spain. I’ve even been to both Sevilla and Cadiz, the port town in which the ship was docked, en route to Morocco in 2005. But I hadn’t been to Sevilla and Cadiz—other than to sleep on the bus station floor and take a ferry, respectively.

For some reason, I remembered Cadiz as a dirty port town. Turns out it’s not in the slightest.

But because of this preconceived stereotype, I picked the nearest mid-sized city and decided our group would go there for the two days and one night we had back in Spain.

I found us a cute little four-star hotel for just over $100 a night off of one of the city’s many plazas. It was clean, modern and boasted this view from our balcony.

Best of all, the staff couldn’t have been nicer. What more could you want? Speaking of staff…it’s harder than it looks keeping track of seven little meandering ducklings in as crowded a place as Sevilla. Sometimes I felt like I needed some sort of order or baton, like this woman.

Something else exciting happened in Spain: This little gal joined us!

Only, she hadn’t shaved when she first arrived.

Because my sister is a first-year CPA, the most she could take off from work was six days, so she hopped over the pond and joined us for half of this leg of the cruise. We were pretty stoked to have her on board; after all, she brings the party.

We had planned to do what my mom always insists on doing anytime we have a short amount of time in a city and explore by “the big red bus” (aka the hop-on, hop-off city sightseeing tour). WELL. Let me tell you. The one in Sevilla sucks. We waited at the main stop for two hours and…it never showed up. Then one finally came, it went one stop and made us get off. At that point it was time to pick my sister up at the train station, so we bailed entirely. But I am done with that stupid City Sightseeing company for life. The local rep said I had to contact corporate to get us refunds (17 euro per person), only corporate doesn’t respond to calls, emails, Tweets or other forms of harassment.

Our one night there, we found ourselves eating delicious tapas (and drinking even more pitchers of sangria) on Calle Mateo Gagos near the Cathedral. Our eyes were bigger than our stomachs as by the end of the meal, there were at least 35 plates on the table—and only nine of us!

Then, we wandered around the Cathedral en route to our nighttime Flamenco show. If the 16th-century structure was stunning by day, that had nothing on what it looked like by night.

We weren’t allowed to take pictures inside of the Flamenco show, but trust me in that it was awesome and you should go to a show when in Sevilla (but book tickets in advance as they are full nearly every night!).

The one thing we did not do was sample the local delicacy: LIVE SNAILS.

They were available in every restaurant (meaning I’ll have ample opportunity at some other point in my life, I’m sure).

But still, snails aside, with tapas, sangria, Flamenco and some cultural “stuff,” Sevilla as a whole was just good, old-fashioned family time at its finest.

The next, I was a sick, sick panda.

Segment I of the Enrichment Voyage ended on Saturday, and I had two days to spend with my family in Paris before they flew out and I had to get back to the ship and report for duty. But two days in Paris wound up equaling only a handful of healthy hours, during which I got to pal around with the darling Lindsey of Lost in Cheeseland at Le Coutume Cafe, and later have dinner with one of my business partners, Lana, and her husband Andre, who were in for Canne, at Le Cinq Mars, the most adorable, little restaurant I’ve ever seen.

(And before you ask, neither establishment had a thing to do with my pending illness, of this I promise. I would absolutely recommend either place for any of you traveling through Paris! I only hope none of my dining companions caught my germs…)

After lunch, I was already feeling it, but there was no way I was canceling on Lana, a meeting that I have been anticipating with great excitement for so long, and so I took a brief nap and then I rallied. And it was lovely, the whole meal and spending time with Lana and Andre, but not 20 minutes after I arrived back at my hotel, the sick started.

I’ve always been known for my resilience. Sick? I don’t do sick. Most people who know me marvel over the fact that I can a) operate on very little sleep at all—and b) never get ill as a result. That all changed this last week. Prior to now, the last time I had gotten any sort of stomach anything was 2009 in Switzerland; I was better in 24 hours. Before that, it was a nasty case of the flu in Spain in 2006 while I was alone in Bilbao and working on my first book for Frommer’s. The fact that I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had a virus in my grown-up years should tell you something.

Sure, you can argue: Well, if you had to get sick, better to do so in cities you’ve already visited before, like Paris and Antwerp. True, but these were the two I was most excited to visit again. I already made SVV promise me to return to both in 2014 when we’re in Europe—we have two trips planned back; one, if I get hired for the 2014 Enrichment Voyage, which will do a different route in Europe, and two, for his 40th birthday later in the summer—because I am feeling slightly “woe is me” at the moment, and I would like to spend some time in these two marvelous places.

Sunday was an absolute nightmare. The vomiting was so relentless, I was in tears by noon. It just wouldn’t stop, and my whole body ached. What’s worst, my hotel—name and shame, Mercure Paris Tour Eiffel—wouldn’t let me book my room for a second night given that I couldn’t so much as roll over, and I had to move into a tiny, one-bed Parisian hotel room while quite germ-y with my parents. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!

Luckily, a new friend from Santa Barbara and her 13-year-old daughter accompanied me back on the early-morning train from Paris to Normandy Monday morning. I slept the whole way and probably wouldn’t have woken to get off at the right stop if it weren’t for them. Once we made it back to the ship, which was a quick taxi ride from the train station, I immediately retreated to my cabin only to find it was time to do the obligatory lifeboat drill with the new passengers (international maritime law requires it). So it was a bit longer before I was horizontal again.

When that time finally came, I cranked the heat up as high as it would go in my cabin, wrapped myself in four blankets and tried to sleep, only my body was shaking like a seismic wave and I had the worst chills. I thought my fever had broken the day before and that I was on the homestretch. Ha! Hardly. Suddenly, all sorts of dire scenarios played themselves out in my mind—I may be an optimist about some things, but I’m also an alarmist about many—and I began to fear I would die here in my cabin. Alone.

Here’s the thing: If you absolutely have to be sick, the ship is a safe place to be. We have a couple trained doctors and nurses on staff, and even while in port, one of them is always on call. I rang receptionist, and they called Dr. Bill for me right away, who told me to meet him in the clinic in five.

When I arrived, he scolded me for not going to the hospital in Paris to get fluids—believe me, I thought about it, but my own mother dismissed such a suggestion as silly—and then took my temperature (still hovering around 100) and checked all my vitals. ISE gives all staff and passengers MedEx insurance for the duration on the ship. I’ve never actually put mine to use, but I helped  professors and students alike use theirs on Semester at Sea after broken bones or surgeries or family emergencies. So I knew if it had come to me not being able to leave Paris, I had MedEx to fall back on to get me to the next port to meet the ship—and that they’d cover all my costs.

Some people had contracted a terrible case of food poisoning in Fes, which was what Dr. Bill was afraid of, but I was not one of them. First off, I didn’t even go to Fes, and I had eaten little other than boxed granola in the days leading up to my onset, so I knew it wasn’t the food. This was a good ol’, can’t-do-anything-but-wait-it-out virus. Awesome.

Dr. Bill had a female nurse come in and inject my ass with some miracle drug to help the nausea abate. He also put me on “cabin rest”—meaning strict quarantine for at least 24 hours until released by the medical team—and a diet of liquids. Cabin rest is not as bad as it sounds; you’re stuck in your quarters, yes, which are quite comfortable, and your cabin steward brings you “room service” in the form of water, applesauce, chicken broth, Sprite and whatever else you may request.

Though by the end of my first night stuck in the cabin, I was feeling heaps better from the shot, and my friend Layne called to check on me. I told her how famished I was, and so she snuck me a bag of Triscuits. True pal there.

But then yesterday, after lunch with one of the SAS professors, Bob, Layne and I set out to explore Antwerp for a few hours in the afternoon at a leisurely pace—and I started feeling extremely under the weather again and returned to my cabin for some sleep and sick time. All my Facebook and Instagram friends have been keeping me in high spirits despite everything with comments like, “cabin rest? I figured they’d confine you to the poop deck!” Har de har har.

Now it’s day four of this stupid virus—whatever happened to the 24-hour bug? no one mentions that some of them plague your very existence for 96 and counting—and while I haven’t lost my cookies today, I’m still not feeling on top of the world. I did make it out to the most adorable cafe, The Chocolate Box, to work and use WiFi for a few hours. While chocolate isn’t on my current BRAT diet, I took it upon myself to buy a sampler box to enjoy back on the ship when I’m better. I figured I owed it to myself! I mean, I’m missing the greatest indulgence on this trip, Belgium, where artisan chocolates are everywhere you look and waffles and crepes are served with chocolate and ice cream and other sweet delights! Pure torture.

All that said, wish me luck standing up in front of 600+ people on the ship tonight and waxing poetic about Amsterdam’s coffeeshop culture and why you shouldn’t go all snap-happy with your camera in the Red Light District. We arrive in Holland, my once home, tomorrow, and I only hope I’ll be feeling up to visiting my old haunts and maybe seeing some tulips before the festival ends in a few days.

What’s your worst “sick abroad” story? And do you ever actually put your travel insurance to good use?

I did know when I saw we were scheduled to dock in Livorno—just 100 kilometers from Florence—that we would be spending our two days in Italy in Florence. It made sense given the proximity—and the fact that 71.5 percent of our group had never been before.

I found us the most darling hotel right near the Duomo—the Tornabuoni Beacchi, for which we paid around $170 a night (including lackluster Wi-Fi and a breakfast feast)—and it embodied everything I love about the romance and architecture of Italy.

And once we checked in, we were out the door, ready for a wander. People ask me how I travel—meaning what’s the first thing I do in a place—and there’s honestly not much method to the madness. Eat, drink, photograph, wander. I love to get lost more than anything (provided I have a map to get me “found” again).

Italy was no different. I mean, the epitome of Italy is eat, drink, photograph, wander—am I right? I’m pretty sure it says so somewhere on the country’s marketing materials.

And wander we did. For nine solid miles the first day (thanks, FitBit).

We saw canals. We saw bridges.

We saw people en masse coming to Florence for some crazy all-night lights festival and lines four hours long to get into famous museums (which I opted out of, obviously).

And we saw a whole bunch of naked dudes rendered in stone.

I guess they didn’t much like clothes back in ancient times. No bigs. I don’t judge.

Apologies for my infrequency of posting these past few weeks. As noted before, I’m traveling on Enrichment Voyages as the Communications Coordinator, and Internet access is far less accessible—not to mention, completely unreliable—than I expected. The only means of communication I seem to be able to access regularly is Facebook, so please follow along in real time on the EV Facebook page, as well as my C&C Facebook page.

Monaco, just over a mile wide at its fattest point, can easily be seen in a quick afternoon. So once we’d checked out the highlights and it began to dump buckets on us, something even our canary yellow rain slickers could do little to prevent, it was time to hop the train to Nice.

It was only nine euro round trip for an adult—and even cheaper: two euro less for the “seniors” in our group—so if in Monaco on a cruise stop, there’s no reason not to head next door to Nice, eight miles away, or even Italy, which is about the same distance in the other direction. Don’t get me wrong: Monaco is nice—and if you gamble, you could spend alllll day there—but with just 33,000 people living there, you can run out of things to do, fast.Lucky for us, Vicki led the way, from purchasing the tickets to corralling us all off the train when we reached Gare de Nice-Ville.

It didn’t hit me until we walked a ways in the (still) pouring rain that I’d actually visited Nice before. When my friend Helle and I went to Corsica for a project back in 2006, we took the ferry from Nice to Bastia, which was an overnight ride. (Have more time in France than just a few days? Definitely go to Corsica!)

But there we were, walking the cobblestone ways Helle and I had traveled by foot, heavy packs weighing down our backs, so many years prior.

Because it was so damp, we didn’t do so much sightseeing as we did bar-crawling. Whatever. When in France…or Italy…or Spain…

But don’t worry, other than ingesting tiny beers and palm fronds disguised as mojitos, we did see the cultural side of Nice, as well.

I’ve told you I’m not the biggest fans of museums, but when a native Francophile leads you to a modern art museum—in this case, the MAMAC, or the Museum of Modern Art and Contemporary Art—you go, no questions asked.

Well, OK, maybe there were questions asked when empty water bottles of art and this constituted creative genius:

But all in all, an…erm…interesting visit, nonethelesss. Plus, now I know I simply need to take lone doll heads and staple them to a board with pitch forks and call it “art” to make a “living!” Win!

At the end of the day, Vicki left us on the train as she disembarked at her stop. We wondered if we could smuggle her back on the ship with us, but figured we’d save it for next year. Because we’re already planning two trips back to Europe in 2014 (and inviting any of you who want to join, so start saving now! pack your bags! let’s explore the Med together, whaddya say?)…

Of course, this weekend is the biggest party in Louisville all year long, the Kentucky Derby, and one day I will don a huge hat and a sundress and join the masses for the occasion.

As someone who has a wee bit of a shopping obsession, I spent the majority of my inaugural trip to Louisville popping in and out of shops along East Main Street, the city’s up-and-coming art corridor dubbed “NuLu” for New Louisville. (Don’t worry, I didn’t buy…much.)

There are a lot of fun, little boutiques, and I purchased an awesome “Bless Her Heart” print from Gifthorse.

Though my favorite place to poke around was Joe Ley’s Antiques.

I didn’t buy anything there, but I did find some things I would have liked to own.

Like for example, this coffin. I mean, who doesn’t need a coffin…just in case?

After I’d exhausted my personal budget—OK, most of it went to bourbon from this adorable tasting room, I’ll be honest—I headed over to Bardstown Roads and its quirky stores. Why Louisville, which now has a second location in NuLu, was just as adorable as I expected.

But what blew my mind most was the food. Oh. My. Yum.

If you’re heading to Louisville, be sure and grab a burger and sorghum cookie at Wiltshire on Market.

Have a drink on the outdoor patio of Garage (complete with Ping-Pong tables!).

And then a pie or two inside.

My trip ended with the house favorite ganache latte at Please & Thank You, during which time I met the adorable owner Brooke. I didn’t want to leave, but a pending storm of apocalyptic proportions (and my 30th birthday, which was two days later) nudged me along back to Tennessee.

*****

I have a neighborhood story on NuLu coming out this month in Southern Living, so if you’re a subscriber, keep your eyes peeled for it!

Which means precisely what you think it does: I, the cash-strapped entrepreneur and freelance journalist, didn’t gamble on this particular visit to Monaco, though I lived vicariously through my mom and dad and their friends who entered the impressive seaside building and dropped some greenery. Worth noting: It costs 10 euro just to visit the establishment, and you need to be dressed in “smart” attire if you want to get in (i.e. no flip-flops or shorts).

Monaco was our official first stop on the spring Enrichment Voyage after departing from Barcelona last Friday night, which brings me to this: Are you following our 50-day journey all the way around Europe? If not, I’m manning the EV Facebook page and Instagram account and hope you’ll follow both. I’m primarily posting images and short blurbs in real time about all of our amazing European ports, from Lisbon to St. Petersburg.

What I love so much about blogging is the tight-knit community it provides; I’d venture to say I can go anywhere in the world and find a friendly face who I know (albeit virtually). Vicki of Nicer than Nice is a shining example. We “met” through the Internet a few years ago, then lunched in person in San Francisco just days after she got engaged in 2010. So when I saw our voyage would be docking in Monaco, I sent her a note, to which she immediately responded that she would keep the day free and gladly be our tour guide. I’m not sure she knew what she was getting herself into!

Due to rough seas, we were a bit delayed in disembarking, but Vicki was right there to greet us when we finally made our way from the ship to the shore via tender. It was already overcast, and the forecast of 90 percent chance of rain did not bode well for our afternoon. But Vicki is such a ray of sunshine (true story) that a little—OK, a lot of rain—did nothing to ruin our one day along the Cote d’Azur.

Not only has Vicki lived in Nice, just a 15-minute train ride away, for 13 years now, but she works in Monaco and is fluent in French. This was key to us making the most of our 12 hours on land; had we not had a native speaker with us, particularly when it came to navigating the train, I’m sure we would have spent all day looking at each other and trying to figure out what to do and how to do it. Case in point: After Vicki got off at her train stop in Nice, we were en route back to Monaco to catch the ship and couldn’t even figure out how to open the darn train door! We (and by we, I mean my dad’s longtime partner-in-crime Neal) almost got stuck on the train—though sprinted to the next car to escape just in time—which would have put us clean over the border in Italy. I mean, there are worse problems to have than accidentally winding up in Italy, I suppose.

We started our morning by walking up the steep steps that would take us from the port up to the Rock and the Prince’s Palace. When Vicki told us they were steep, she was not joking. We were all huffing and puffing before even halfway there. If going to Monaco, I also encourage you to wear shoes with good grip, as even in my Merrells, I almost wiped out a few times.

Once atop the Rock, we opted not to go into Jacques Cousteau’s famous Oceanographic Museum and aquarium, though we wandered through the gardens and saw some nice sculptures and flora.

We made for the Cathedral instead, only to arrive and find that Prince Albert and his young bride, the Princess Charlene, were inside! It was a Sunday morning after all, and I guess the royal couple are pious like most in their position. At first we weren’t sure exactly who prompted a bodyguard to stand outside the door and prohibit tourists from congregating around the periphery, but Vicki went right up to the uniformed man and, in flawless French, inquired as to who was inside. Unlike in America where everything was hush-hush, he told her outright. Apparently, Albert drives around town freely and the Princess walks around at her leisure; it’s nothing like the iron-clad security we know in the States!

 Also, can I just say how something about my mom, dad and I traveling internationally together just brings the royals?

It started raining then and there as we climbed even higher toward the Palace. We didn’t retreat indoors, though; rather, my group pulled out their trusty Semester at Sea ponchos, wisely purchased from the campus store earlier that day, and waited patiently for the changing of the guard to happen. The safety yellow slickers were a godsend for me, as it made it so much easier to keep track of my six restless little ducklings. Being a wrangler in a foreign country is hard, yo.

Only the changing was more than anticlimactic as they did it indoors, just out of our view, thanks to the downpour that started just before the 11:55am daily event. Oh well—always ones to make lemon out of lemonade (or beer out of rain in this case), we used that as an excuse for a mid-afternoon snack of pizza, libations and sugary-sweet crepes instead!

In my travels to Spain, I’ve learned that you’re either a Madrid person or a Barcelona person. I am the latter. While I find Madrid enjoyable, I feel it could be any international city anywhere in the world, while Barcelona has a distinct, well, Barcelona feel to it.

Weary and jetlagged from a Nashville to Atlanta to Barcelona overnight flight, my parents, four of their friends and I arrived in Spain on Wednesday morning just to drop our things off at the hotel, grab some coffee and get moving.

We only had two-and-a-half days there and wanted to see as much as possible before we fell asleep on our feet.

Though all I really wanted to do was grab one of these pods and go to sleep. I don’t sleep a wink on planes.

Seeing as we were staying in the center of everything on Passeig de Gracia, we started with a wander down to Plaza Catalunya and on to Las Ramblas, which even though it was a Wednesday in May, was packed with pedestrians, both locals and tourists alike.

We found a great marketplace, perfect for eating lunch, but then decided we wanted a sit-down experience so grabbed a table upstairs at Casa Guinart.

Then, we returned to the hotel, as the sangria was working its magic, and I crashed. Hard. Once again, I broke the cardinal rule of travelers everywhere and napped through my jetlag. Oops. I awoke to a 6:15pm call from Neal asking where I was as it was time to go to dinner. Last I checked my watch, it was 2pm! That was one serious nap.

I credit my ridiculously comfortable bed that enveloped me like a giant marshmallow. Our hotel, BCN Design Hotel, was phenomenal—the service, the rooms, the everything—and I just picked it on a whim via Trip Advisor reviews as it was within our budget ($200 or less a night per room), and I wanted to give my parents and their friends a distinctly Barcelona experience by picking a swank design hotel. This beauty definitely did the job.

After naptime, it was still light out, so we decided to take a stroll in the opposite direction from where we went earlier as we built up an appetite for dinner.

For dinner, we found a “topless bar” in which to dine, and I’m pretty sure the guys were disappointed to learn what tapas actually are.

Still, the food was delicious. And yes, there was more sangria.

The thing about Spanish dinners is that they last far longer than you expect. It was midnight before rolled back into the Design Hotel and 2am by the time I had finished tending to work queries back home. So much for an “early night.”

Though the next two days in Spain peppered us with rain and nearly blew us away with strong winds, so I’m glad we got our Barcelona fix while we could.

]]> http://www.camelsandchocolate.com/2013/04/barcelona-spain/feed/ 31 http://www.camelsandchocolate.com/2013/04/microsoft-office-skydrive/ http://www.camelsandchocolate.com/2013/04/microsoft-office-skydrive/#comments Thu, 25 Apr 2013 13:00:00 +0000 Kristin http://www.camelsandchocolate.com/?p=19094 Read More]]> SVV and I run a business together, and just because I’m traveling at the moment (hi from Spain!) doesn’t mean our clients should suffer. As a result, we make sure one of us is always available, and this means frequently passing Word documents and spreadsheets back and forth across the great abyss. Which is why the invention of Office 365 Home Premium with built in SkyDrive integration quite honestly has been a game changer for us.

But for those of you who don’t have Office 365 Home Premium—which you can download via free trial here—you’re probably wondering what SkyDrive is. It’s password-protected, online storage that keeps your files in a cloud. Even if you don’t have Office, you can sign up for an account and get 7 GB of free space; with the Office 365 Home Premium subscription, you gain an extra 20 GB.In SkyDrive, you can create Shared folders under which you can drag and drop Office documents you want accessible to others. It used to be that we were playing a constant game of pass-back-and-forth-to-one-another-via-email; now, we keep everything we each need to access in SkyDrive.

It’s so handy, and I find it a lot easier and more user-friendly than other methods of file-sharing like YouSendIt or Dropbox that I’ve used in the past.

Office 365 Home Premium automatically defaults to saving your Office files on SkyDrive so the process is very easy, too. Or, you can select what you want to upload in the traditional way:

Or you can click on the folder to which you want to add documents and drag and drop as many as you wish from your desktop (this is my preferred method as a) I’m lazy and b) always trying to do a million tasks on my computer at once).

But it’s not just SVV with whom I need to share; I have another business with my LA partner Stef that requires a half a dozen Excel spreadsheets open at any one time. Rather than using Google Drive, which was our old method and had way too many bugs, I had Stef make the move to SkyDrive last month, and we’ve been able to create documents that all of our contractors can access as well so no one is doing double the work. And with the live save feature, we can all edit our Word and Excel documents in SkyDrive on the fly at the same time, and they update in real time. Super slick, I tell ya.

Even better? There’s a SkyDrive app, so I also have access to everything I need via my iPhone. I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s been stranded somewhere without a travel itinerary and wishing I’d just printed one out before I left. Now, I keep all my OneNote and Excel files in SkyDrive, and they’re automatically accessible on my phone in case I’m in a pinch—because let’s be honest, I make a whole lot of spreadsheets for any one trip.

Game. Changer.

Have you used SkyDrive yet? If so, what are your favorite methods for file-sharing?

**********

This post is part of an ongoing partnership between Office 365 and C&C. No one tells me what to say or what to review; rather, I’ve been given free rein to write about whatever I choose, as Office wants honest feedback from professionals using the software in their everyday lives.

I’m not even sure how we found the dive outfitter Special D. Diving and Charters, though being on a small island I’m pretty sure I just Googled “best dive operator in Anguilla” and Dougie (aka Douglas Carty) popped up. And I will attest that he is the best.

It’s always comforting when you arrive to a dive to find that every one of your fellow divers—travelers like you—keep returning to this very dive operator year after year because they love him so much.

If I could afford a house in Anguilla—or heck, even a timeshare—you better believe I’d become chummy with Dougie, too. And Punkie, as well, who was our captain and every bit as likable as Doug.

The dive boat was docked at Sandy Ground, and from there, we motored 10 minutes offshore to the northeastern part of the island. In fact, we could see our resort, the Viceroy Anguilla, directly across from our dive site for one of the most flourishing wrecks I’ve dived to date.

I’ve done dozens of wrecks at this point, and I still can’t help but feel a bit like Ariel every time I dive one. Luckily, no great whites were lurking just around the corner—only a few harmless barracuda here and there.

I remember a time when I was a diving novice and barracuda sent me kicking my fins in the other direction. Now, I float along beside them, as they give me the side eye, hoping they’ll turn and smile—er, sneer—for the camera. Oh, how diving has helped me conquer some of my greatest fears.

Schools of fish surrounded us from every angle. For those of you who don’t dive, wrecks are actually good for the ocean, as they create an artificial reef on which the marine life can thrive.

Doug had said that a turtle or two hangs around the sunk ship from time to time; he wasn’t lying.

I didn’t even notice this guy as he dozed peacefully atop the bow, blending in seamlessly with the barnacled, rusty ship. Later, a few of his friends flew gracefully overhead.

The turtles weren’t the only camouflaged creatures we saw; there were also a handful of rays hiding on the sandy bottom.

But of all the animals we saw, the lobsters were what shocked me the most. These guys ranged from around two to three-and-a-half feet long—I’ve never seen them grow so big! I tried to get SVV to pose next to one for scale, but the lobster got camera shy.

Still, I managed to chase a couple of them with my underwater camera and capture a bit of their creepiness. Watch this and tell me it doesn’t remind you of the prawn in District 9.

Because the wreck wasn’t a very deep dive, only 50 or 60 feet, we got to stay down the better part of an hour. (For you rookies out there, the deeper you go, the faster you suck through air, the less time you have below the surface.)

There are a few factors that make a perfect dive: abundant marine life (obviously), good sunlight, great underwater clarity (vis) and warm temps. We had all of the above. I think we were both pretty sad when we hit 200 bar and had to rise for our safety stop.

After a brief surface interval, the second dive was over a reef, and my camera began to fog up so I didn’t get too many shots (again: I have got to remember to put a pack of silica inside my housing next time!). It was a drift dive, so we were clipping along at a solid pace, lapping the fish, who were oblivious to our presence as we zoomed past them.

I did see this honeycomb cowfish, who I found fascinating with her bright, geometric skin and big, painted eyes, and I tailed her closely before the tide swept me away.

After surfacing for good, I was kicking myself for not allowing more time in Anguilla to dive. Due to the 24-hour flying policy, we were officially out of time to squeeze any dives in before our no-fly window started.

Still, we left Sandy Ground two very content divers, and Anguilla will now rival the Bahamas as my go-to Caribbean dive spot. A big thanks to Doug and Punkie for making it a great day!

]]> http://www.camelsandchocolate.com/2013/04/diving-anguilla/feed/ 31 http://www.camelsandchocolate.com/2013/04/new-york-city/ http://www.camelsandchocolate.com/2013/04/new-york-city/#comments Fri, 19 Apr 2013 14:00:00 +0000 Kristin http://www.camelsandchocolate.com/?p=18563 Read More]]> As I continue to watch the Boston stakeout unfold live on TV, it feels weird to be blogging, so I just want to say: Boston, we love you. Stay safe. Get that motherlover behind bars before anyone else is hurt.

Now. Back to my week, which has been hectic and I’m definitely in full-on, pre-trip panic mode as I try to get my various businesses sorted before leaving on Tuesday for two months. Yowza. Part of that is because I returned early this morning from the Big Apple, after five days of nonstop meetings and very little sleep.

That’s not to say it wasn’t without fun. I got off the plane on Sunday afternoon and cabbed it straight to the Village, where I met my bestie Lemon for wedding dress scouting. I’m her maid—OK, technically matron, ugh—of honor and was so happy I could be there when she found The Dress at Wedding Atelier. I’m not going to post a photo of it, obviously, but let’s just say Hadley, six-week-old daughter of my friends Matt and Stacey, was impressed.

Then, Lemon and I went to meet Katy for aerial yoga, something I’ve been wanting to try for ages. It was every bit as fun as it sounds, and it felt far more beneficial in terms of stretching and strength-training than your average vinyasa class. I’ll definitely be back at OMFactory on my next visit (classes are $20 each unless you buy a package). Read Lemon’s more detailed recap of the class here.

After yoga, we did what any workout fanatics are wont to do: reversed any benefits of our 75 minutes of hanging with a sinfully delicious shake at The Stand.

This was an “appetizer” before our dinner at Blue Smoke with several other friends.

(We look like a cast photo for Brad Pitt’s new apocalyptic zombie thriller, World War Z. Terrible quality of these photos brought to you by my iPhone 4S.)

Monday was all meetings. My business partner Stefanie flew in to meet me, and we camped out at the Waldorf-Astoria for a few nights. Stef even managed to talk the front desk into giving us an adjoining suite on the 26th floor. Girlfriend doesn’t mess around.

Truth? I know the hotel is a New York icon; however, I found the hotel pretty tired and in need of a serious upgrade—but man were those beds comfy. (And Fareed Zakaria was there, whose office I worked outside of at my very first magazine gig at Newsweek!)

We had a bazillion meetings—from Jeff Corwin’s team to HGTV over the coming few days—but also managed to meet up with one of my photographer friends, Frannie, for a photo and video shoot.

She hired the adorable Coleen Scott to do our makeup, and we spent several hours hamming it up in front of the camera.*

That night, I found myself in Tribeca hanging out with my girl Aly and the wonderful Andrew Evans, who could not be a nicer person if he tried. Being in his presence meant that we were also with the National Geographic team, each of whom was delightful, as well.

The next day was full of meetings, meetings and more meetings through Canada Media Marketplace. I was exhausted by the end of the day, but managed to sneak away to finish up a Glamour assignment then high-tail it down to the Bowery Hotel to meet Stef, two of her friends and…Tilda Swinton. (True story.) Then we spent a couple hours with my beloved Josh, Semester at Sea “boss” and one of my dearest, and his extraordinary fiance Kurt in their amazing West Village apartment.

Kelly, founder of Go! Girl Guides who I have adored from a far for years, came to meet us, too, and I wanted to pack her in my suitcase and take her home to Tennessee with me.

On Wednesday, Stef and I had more meetings and then she flew back to LAX, while I went to brunch with Lemon and her other MOH, Lauren, at my old haunt, Cornelia Street Cafe. We found our bridesmaid dresses and ordered her dress, then called it a wrap and headed to Bryant Park for cupcake sustenance.

That night, Lemon and I met her fiance, Katy, and my wedding ushers Ryan and Anthony in Chelsea Market for one of the best meals I’ve had in NYC, ever ever, at Green Table. I don’t feel it needs any words other than GO. The food was fantastic, and the dessert was some of the most insane sweets I’ve tasted in my life. Make a reservation two weeks in advance as the place is tiny.

I stayed with Katy that night and finally got to meet the man in her life: her cat Cow (whose middle name is Boy…get it?).

Yesterday, I met with my editor at Entrepreneur’s headquarters and then headed a few blocks down to my old place of work, Conde Nast Publications.

Katy made me come up and raid the Teen Vogue beauty closet. She’s so demanding of me, my gosh (or maybe simply trying to tell me something).

I continued my walk down nostalgia lane with a quick bite at Wichcraft in Bryant Park with Rick from Enrichment Voyages. I used to eat here every. single. day. when I worked a block away at Lucky and even ordered my standard ham, gruyere and pear. So yum!

Then, I hopped the subway to the Village to meet Annie Fitzsimmons, of whom I have been a longtime fan and who I want to come live in my house because she is just so much fun and we have absolutely everything in common. Annie is a freelance shark like me (only prettier) and most recently nabbed the honor of becoming Nat Geo’s Urban Insider. (Her dog Rocco is just darling, and I think he liked me, too, ha!) I had so much fun with her, I lost track of time and missed my flight! Oops. Though I actually blame rush hour traffic—it took me two hours to get to LaGuardia from Manhattan!—and American Airlines stupidity (their system was down) over my lack of time-telling abilities.

All in all, an excellent trip. There were definitely friends I missed seeing this visit—it happens when your entire industry is based within the confines of a three-mile-wide island on which you once lived—but hopefully I’ll see those friends when I’m back in August. Now, I’m off to soak up some quality time with SVV and Ella before I leave them next week…

*Looks like our huge business venture I’ve been teasing you about for a year is slated to roll out around May 1. Stay tuned! Get excited!