Home is Where the Permanent Address Is

I can remember to exact moment that I decided to move to Manhattan. I was standing in the middle of Times Square, fresh from dinner on the town and tickets to RENT, my first Broadway show. My girl friend and I stepped into the middle of Times Square and instead of feeling overwhelmed I let out a sigh of belonging. “I love this city,” I said to my girl friend. When she responded, “Why don’t you move here?” I was left literally speechless, racking my brain for an answer.

I grew up very attached to my hometown of West Seattle. On every family vacation I was afraid that something important was going to happen at home and I would miss out on the moment of a lifetime. I applied to college based on in-state tuition and proximity to lifelong friends and imagined settling down and building a family in the same zip code as my parents.

This all changed in my senior year of college. I toyed with the idea of transferring to an out-of-state school amidst changing my mind and my major almost seven times (hello, undeclared!), but I never had the guts to follow through. It wasn’t until a friend passed through the study abroad office and discovered a pamphlet for a quarter in Greece (a place I had always dreamed of and talked about going) that something clicked.

Of course, I was terrified. I didn’t pack for my three-month trip until the night before my flight departed. The layover in New York City to visit a friend was meant to break up my flight and ease myself into the trip. I had left the country before, but I had never spent more than three weeks away from home. I had no idea that those three days would change my life.

I went back to my friend’s dorm room after that night in Times Square and emailed my parents, “I think I want to live here one day.” I was convinced that I had just been given the perfect trial period- if I spent the next three months studying abroad homesick and miserable than I wouldn’t move, but if I came home to the same friends, family and city that I knew and loved then I was free to go anywhere in the world. As you may have guessed, Greece was amazing and a crowd of friends met me at the airport upon my return with balloons and a “Welcome Home” banner strung above our freeway exit.

Travelers are often characterized as “brave”, which was a label I had a hard time getting used to. Sure, a new place can be intimidating and keeping up long-distance friendships can take work, but when the worst-case scenario is coming home to a place that you love, it makes taking that first trip a whole lot easier.   

Give and Let Give

Human nature doesn’t get nearly the credit it deserves. One of the most important attributes that I’ve found upon moving to both New York and New Zealand is the kindness of relative strangers- particularly in times of distress.


New Yorkers have a reputation for being a fast-walking, tough-talking, competitive breed but upon arrival I found a culture dying to feel a connection. One can’t stand on the street or stare at a subway map for five minutes without someone approaching with an offer to help. Complete strangers will start a conversation in an elevator or subway and, particularly while working in restaurants, patrons were dying to ask about your life story. Work acquaintances and fast friends were always willing to go above and beyond to help find a new job, place to live, or promote an aspiring artist’s show. In New York I found the strong support network absolutely necessary to cultivate a city of dreamers.


I was struck by a different kindness from the international travelers making up the Chateau staff. I was a little bit nervous to join a team slightly later in the season than most, afraid that previous friendships may have already formed impenetrable bonds. What I found was the polar opposite: a welcoming group of open arms, an open-door environment, and a willing trust to lend money, a car, or some advice at any hour of the day.


Truly beautiful colors were revealed during a recent bout with the flu that plagued almost every member of our staff. While some people were barely able to breathe or get out of bed, others were making runs to the pharmacy in town to pick up medication, lending magazines and movies to keep patients entertained, covering long hours at work, and even sitting in germ-infested rooms to dull the loneliness and boredom of being quarantined away from home. The selflessness and kindness that I witnessed gave my faith in humanity and my immune system enough of a boost to ward off this round of illness- and yes that’s the sound of me knocking heavily on wood!


I’m not sure if it’s the difficult pace and constant rejection of being a struggling artist in the big city, the isolation and backpacker’s conditions of a small mountain town, or the inherent goodness of people in general, but what I’ve seen of the world is far from what is reflected on the front pages of newspapers and gossip magazines. They are the small voices offering to buy you a coffee, recommend a word-of-mouth traveler’s destination, and pay forward the kindness offered by those before them. What I’ve seen is hope for our future.

A Taste of Home

One of the best ways that I’ve discovered to combat homesickness is to recreate the traditions that you miss most. This is how the idea of All-American Brunch was born.


Sunday brunch is a New York staple, as much about the company of friends and the excuse to drink champagne in the morning as it is about the food. We rounded up the American staff hailing from Seattle, Tennessee, DC, New York and Massachusetts, coordinated days off, and dressed in our finest red-white-and-blue for a little taste of home without anyone making fun of the way we say “tomato”.


We scoured the grocery store in town to find bagels (surprisingly scarce in this country!), eggs, smoked salmon, hollandaise, bacon, fruit salad, mimosas and coffee and dove into our feast. Saturday Night Live’s the Best of Will Farrell provided the perfect entertainment, making it tough to chew through laughter.


To top off the afternoon, Helen and I dove into a Sex and the City marathon, which turned out to be a bit of an overkill. It’s one thing to enjoy the benefits of a good brunch, and another entirely to taunt yourself with visions of the things from home you can’t have: good friends, a different restaurant everyday of the week, and all of the perks of cosmopolitan life.


So, I just reminded myself of the humidity of an East Coast summer, bundled underneath a blanket and drifted into a nap. Central Park grass can’t always be greener.

Mother Nature is a Tough Boss!

One of the largest adjustments from moving to a concrete jungle to a mountain environment has been conceding major decisions to the whims of the weather. As a pedestrian town, New York is somewhat affected by the forecast - do you carry an umbrella to the subway? Do you eat at an outdoor café or seek solace in an air-conditioned room – very rarely will the weather actually disrupt the flow of daily life.

On the mountain, we are at the mercy of the skies. My work schedule is dependent on access to the ski areas: if they’re open we can expect to be busy later in the day as families come down after a day on the slopes, but I get called in early on days that the slopes are closed to accommodate guests who settle for tea and scones as opposed to a day of snowboarding. Deliveries and trips to the nearest towns depend on the roads being open and ice free, and whether or not the car available has chains or four-wheel drive.


It can be a humbling experience, and a frustrating one. Ski and 

snowboarding fans are stuck sleeping with crossed fingers that they can take full advantage of their days off. A heavy snow can turn the walk to work into an obstacle course, dodging the snowball fights that automatically ensue after a heavy snow.

Even our moods can be affected. I worried about the idea of living through two winters in a row when I chose to change hemispheres. I may have soaked up the sun in Las Vegas before arriving, but the idea of snowstorms in September is still tough to wrap my head around- especially with pictures of friends from home lounging on the beach taunting me on Facebook.


I’ve always respected the power and beauty of the weather - lightning storms and sunsets are a few of my favorite things – but there are certainly days when I wish Mother Nature took requests into consideration.

NY vs NZ

I definitely prepared myself for a culture shock before this trip. I went from a small island crammed full of everything one could ever need or want to a village where every building is within walking distance. Despite that, life in New Zealand is surprisingly similar to life in Manhattan, with a few distinct differences:

1. A good pair of walking shoes is absolutely required.
In New York mine were generally a good pair of black heels.
In New Zealand they look more like this:


2. Someone else cooks all of my meals for me.
In New York they’re superb quality, delivered to my door and generally overpriced.
In New Zealand they’re served in a cafeteria free of charge, and surprisingly good quality.


3. I’m surrounded by people from all over the world speaking many different languages.
In New York it’s generally Spanish or something European.
In New Zealand it’s English, Scottish, or Kiwi English and I’m still constantly asking for clarification.


4. A car is optional.
In New York I can go anywhere I want on the subway or in a taxi.
In New Zealand I’m subject to the whims of any friend who drives, and the nearest town is about an hour away.


5. You can’t always drink what you want.
In New York I would get upset if the local deli ran out of lo-carb Monster energy drink on my way to work and I had to walk a block out of my way to get another.
In New Zealand I get annoyed that the water supply was contaminated and we to boil it to have access to fresh drinking water or brush our teeth for 24 hours.


Despite the differences, I’m feeling pretty comfortable here. My access to phone, internet and amenities may be limited but I’m surrounded by friendly people with a job and a roof over my head. And the most common question to start a conversation is the same here as it is in Manhattan: “Where are you from?”