D Travels 'Round

Escape of the Week: Underground Berlin

When I was in Berlin, I enjoyed two free tours. One that took me to the historical sites (which, to my surprise, was not a snooze fest), and one that took me to the underground art scene.

In the cold and rain, our guide escorted us through squatter residences, enlightened us on the history of the street art, and educated us on the artists whose work we were enjoying.

I loved the tour. Like, really, really loved it. During that afternoon, despite the rain that was spitting down on us … in May … I quickly became enamored with the sub-culture I was just getting the tiniest peak at.

This photo is of an alley that leads to artist haunts somewhere deep in one of my favorite cities in the world.

Hello, California. You are a lovely neighbor.

I have lived in Las Vegas for basically five years.

Sure, I had that year in Atlanta I like to refer to as the Catalyst for the Rest of my Life. And my career-break/adventure through Europe and Africa. But, basically, the place I have called home since 2005 is Las Vegas.

You’d think living in Las Vegas would mean I have explored beyond the world of resorts and desert.

You’d think.

Yes, I have hopped quickie flights to Los Angeles, San Diego and Monterrey, but never really took time to vacation next door in California. I never truly went anywhere simply to take in the beauty of the Pacific Coast, the lush wine region, the hills (and fog) of San Francisco.

Well, things have finally changed. This go-round in Vegas, I have learned how to drive in Southern California, which is really more like sitting in a parking lot and the creeping along as life passes you by, and fine-tune the art of cruise control on the I-15 to and from Las Vegas and LA.

And, finally, finally, I have ventured outside of Nevada sans passport and had some little adventures in Cali.

For two weekends in a row — yes, two weekends in a row — I left the heat of Las Vegas (spare me the “it’s not that bad, it’s a dry heat” comment … it’s like turning your hair dryer on high and blowing it in your face) and headed to the cooler climates housed in one of my new favorite states, California.

The first weekend jaunt came courtesy of my mom being in Newport Beach for a wedding. She was so close to me, I couldn’t not get in my car and drive out to see her. I wrapped my work week up early and headed southwest on a Friday to make a weekend out of it.

She didn’t arrive until Saturday, so the night before I met Shane in Orange County.

“Don’t worry, I have a hotel room. You can stay with me,” he assured me before I even got in my car.

Of course, the hotel room fell through so at 9 p.m. that night, he and I sat in my car while we tried to book a room. We settled on sharing a bed at a 2 1/2 star motel near where he was working for the weekend.

He tried to talk me into spending a few more dollars and staying in a nicer place.

“Nah,” I said. “Do you have any idea the crap I have stayed in when I was backpacking? This can’t be that bad.”

Ha.

We arrived and walked into the check-in room.

Bullet proof glass. Classy.

I couldn’t remember a place in Europe which featured that, uh, safety measure.

The room was OK, nothing great, but it was a place to sleep. Plus, there were no bed bugs, so I was pretty happy.

Then, the next day, I went and checked into the Newport Beach Fairmont, the complete opposite of our highway motel the night before. It was grand, with a marble-floored and airy lobby, plush seating, crisp white linens on the bed … beautiful.

I spent the afternoon with an old friend of mine wandering the streets of the beach town and parking ourselves on a bench overlooking the Pacific for awhile, catching up on life. Even the thick marine layer which had yet to burn off didn’t dampen my sheer joy of being in front of the ocean again. The cacti, the flowers spilling over walls, the bite in the air … it all soaked in, leaving me feeling content and happy. Happy to be with my friends. Happy to see my Mom. And happy to be somewhere other than what I was used to … somewhere free of the bells of the video poker machines, the smoke swirling in the air … the landlocked valley. It had been way too long since I had been outside of Nevada for pleasure. (And it has been way too long since I have been outside of America, but that’s another story coming soon.)

Then, it was time to pick-up Mom from the airport. Seeing my mom always makes everything all better. She has that calming effect on me. Sometimes, all I need from her is a hug and then all is right in the world.

After a stressful few weeks, Mom Time was exactly what I needed.

For exactly 24-hours, I was at her side. We caught up on life, ate, drank at the Fairmont bar, explored Laguna Beach, and then hugged good-bye.

I made it back to Sin City in record time for me. I was refreshed. Rejuvenated. Ready for the week … and the next weekend when I would head to San Francisco and Napa Valley with two of my favorite travel bloggers for a girlie weekend of awesome.

Escape of the Week: A Turkish Camel

Turkey has some serious bus stops. Like, serious. These huge facilities greet thousands of visitors a day and come complete with restaurants, shops, pay-to-pee squat toilets, and more. They even wash the buses quickly when passengers disembark to stretch their legs.

On the first day of my Fez Bus Tour through Turkey, we stopped between Istanbul and Canakkale to give the bus driver a rest AKA spend money on food and random Turkish trinkets. At this particular bus stop, which was surrounded by endless sunflower fields, there were some animals kept behind awful white bars, on display for everyone.

I loathe animals being treated with anything but love and respect, so was pretty peeved when I saw a camel and an ostrich contained in small spaces. I walked up to the camel and was immediately touched by its friendly demeanor and beauty. I guess after seeing so many people each day, it was pretty domesticated.

Of course, when the camel popped its nose out towards my face, batting it’s long-lashed eyes, I had to snap a picture.

Travel and a Trainer: Skinny Jean Rules to Live By

This is a guest post by Kristin Weiland, a certified personal trainer. This is the first in a series of articles about staying healthy/keeping in shape while traveling. Have fitness question? Send it over to me, dtravelsround [at] gmail [dot] com, and maybe Kristin can answer it in an upcoming post!

Ahhh, vacations! While they are great and needed, these trips away from the norm can completely sabotage your diet and workout plan –if you are not careful. Time spent away is fun, exciting, and interesting since you get to visit new places and meet new people, but it can quickly turn into havoc for the seams and buttons on your jeans. Vacations typically mean you are spending time consuming more wine (or other refreshing alcoholic beverages while watching the sunset over the beach or mountains or … ) and dining out frequently (how can you say “no” to the local cheese plate?).

It’s easy to fall into the same trap as everyone else when it comes to food — you know how it goes — you tell yourself, “as long as I work out regularly a glass of wine or a hamburger won’t hurt me.”

Right.

Unfortunately, one glass turns into two or three and once you do the math, you find out you actually consumed close to 3/4 of your daily caloric intake in one meal. Each glass of wine is approximately 280 calories and a hamburger, even a plain one, is more than 450 calories. We tend not to keep track of what we are eating and drinking when we are on vacation, and that is a sure fire way to sabotage all the hard work you put in prior to your trip.
It is important to remember that 60-70 percent of your weight-loss results come from managing your diet. I am not saying you should deprive yourself, because if you do you will eventually crack and binge eat – and instead of eating a few bites of that cheesecake, you end up eating three slices of it! It is possible to go out with friends or go out for a nice evening with a special someone without completely blowing your diet.

If you want to have a drink with dinner try to limit it to one or pick a drink that won’t make you feel guilty. There are several low calorie options to alcohol such as the “skinny girl margarita.” If you wish to have a drink with friends, there is a great Web site for concocting your own low-cal cocktails to sip while vacationing.

But, you are on vacation, so going out to eat is only natural. When you go out to eat, follow some simple rules to help keep you from consuming too many calories:
1. Have the waiter bring a to-go box when he or she brings out the meal. After your meal arrives at the table immediately place half of it in the to-go box to eat the following day (assuming you have a place to properly store it, if not, take the remainder to go and give it someone who looks like they could use a good meal). Most meals served in restaurants are entirely too large. If you get half the meal out of your sight immediately you won’t feel like you need to finish it. The old philosophy our parents had of “you have to finish everything on your plate” no longer applies.

2. Choose baked or grilled over fried. You can still have the chicken breast or the shrimp – just have it prepared differently. Skipping the fried foods will help keep you in those skinny jeans or micro mini you were finally brave enough to purchase, let alone wear on your trip.

3. When it comes to sides, skip the fries. Now this is a tough one for me because anyone who knows me, knows that I love fries. Not only do I love them, I salt them before I even try them – which is a terrible habit! Always try the food before adding additional salt – nine times out of 10 you won’t even need to add anything to it. Instead of fries try to get the seasonal vegetables or the sweet potato without the caramel and marshmallows.

4. Just because it is a salad doesn’t mean it is low-calorie. I have seen people load up their plates with salad at the salad bar and then pile on bacon bites, egg, croutons, and dressing. Well congratulations, you are about to consume your entire daily caloric intake in one sitting! Remember proper portions are also important when it comes to salad. Yes, green leafy veggies in general are GREAT for you, but they are no longer healthy if they are drowned in bacon, egg, and ranch dressing. Always get the dressing on the side and dip the tip of your fork in the dressing first, then grab a bite of food — this will keep you from eating all of those empty calories, but still get the taste of the dressing.

Remember these tips next time you pack your bags. Your jeans and your body will thank you! Especially when you return from your holiday.

——-

Kristin Weiland is a personal fitness trainer certified through the International Sports Sciences Association. She has worked in the health and fitness industry for more than five years as a personal trainer. She also served in the United States Air Force as a meteorologist and physical training leader for eight years. She specializes in pre and postnatal training, weight loss, strength training, and speed and agility training. For more information on how to get healthy, visit her site., K.Weiland Fitness.

Guest Post: Being a hero in Brazil

This is a guest post by Jason Bastanky. Have a story you’d like to share? E-mail me, dtravelsround [at] gmail [dot]com.

If traveling has taught me anything, it’s that heroes are made, not born. No one can know just what kind of person they are, just how much they are committed to their morals, beliefs, and fellow man, until they see another person in trouble and either feel compelled to help or compelled to ignore the need of another human and tend to self-preservation. A couple years ago, I found out what I was made of. I saved a man’s lip from a subway door in Brazil. At the time I was on my way to a huge block party in one of Rio’s infamous favelas.

I’m still glowing.

I’m also thinking of trying to get a house out of Extreme makeover home edition. I don’t have a house and I am a hero. Those are all the qualifications you need. And I’ll cry and scream in excitement when they pull back the truck, I swear I will.

I didn’t know that destiny was going to call on me that day. I suppose no one ever does. I was in Rio, in the subway station with two Canadians, a Frenchman, and a Brazilian. Notice who springs into action as the story progresses (hint: only me. U-S-A! U-S-A!). We were running to catch the train, which we did, just in time.

As we were running down the platform I noticed that our party had grown by one. Although I do sometimes get excited by seeing people run, and join in out of a sense that I might miss something fun, or that they are aware of some impending natural disaster or alien invasion I don’t yet know about, this man running with us was, like us, only trying to catch the train.

As the five of us from the hostel all leaped aboard and quickly filled a bank of seats, the man behind us was chosen by misfortune to be a victim of her malicious machinations. I’m not sure how it happened, I didn’t see it, I knew we had just made it on the train, and I’m not sure how the man, dressed in a soccer jersey and jeans, turned around to face the door as it closed. It made no sense, but when does tragedy ever make sense? The gods are a capricious bunch.

At first I didn’t even know what the emergency was. I just felt the sudden onset of tension followed immediately by yelling and looking. A few seconds before I had just heard a woman ask a man to watch her bags, and, having grown up in the post 9/11 world, I thought maybe the woman, a cunning terrorist in disguise, had jumped off the train to safety as the doors closed and the packages turned out to be some sort of bomb. I saw the woman return to her bags, and then turn her head at the door I was sitting next to. I scanned the scene and as we sat next to the door I looked to my right and saw a wide eyed, frantic look on the man’s face who had run with us. He was standing an inch from the subway doors, looking out onto the platform, and his lower lip, bunched and stretched, was stuck in the subway door.

People yelled at the conductor to stop. But we were in one of the back cars, there was no way he was stopping. One of the Canadians breathed a “what the hell?” as the train began to move. That’s when the spirit moved me, and I came to the man’s rescue along with a pair of jacked Cariocas. Carioca means someone dwelling from Rio de Janeiro. Fun fact.

I stood up and reached below his lip and tried to pull the doors apart. The other men tried too. No luck, subway doors are automatic, and they don’t open if the train is moving. I stumbled a step to my left as the train lurched forward. The three of us grabbed the man, who was now yelling, but between the Portuguese and the (hopefully) temporary speech impediment caused by the paralysis of his lower lip, I couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

“One, two, three? Ready? One, two, three?” I said in butchered Portuguese.

He made a noise I took to be in the affirmative. We grabbed him around the waist and on the count of three we all yanked. I was amazed how secure his lip was in between the doors. I even thought this was maybe some sort of bizarre street performance. But no, it was just a very unlucky man who happened to get on a train with a hero.

——-

Jason Batansky is a location independent 23 year old traveling throughout the world, working 20-odd hours a week running 3 web-based businesses. He writes about his travels at Locationless Living and Flash Packer Guy. You can find him on Twitter @Locationless, Facebook , and subscribe to hisRSS feed.

Escape of the Week: Krakow Sunset

Krakow is an easy city to fall in love with, and one of the most underrated. The old portion isn’t too large, so it’s easy to navigate. There’s tons of kebap shops. Clubs and bars make the nightlife one of the best in the region. And, well, it is just plain gorgeous.

I spent a few days in this city, just wandering. My first night in Krakow, after a hellish bus ride that began at 10 p.m. and ended at 2 p.m. the following day, I longed to just sit and relax over some comfort food. Down a few minutes from Tutti Frutti, the hostel where I was staying, was the town square.

I sat for more than an hour with a glass of wine, a little pizza, a book and my camera, just eating, drinking, reading … and most of all, watching as the sun sank and the moon came up.

In this moment, with the old buildings, the square and the horses and carriages, I was transported to another period of time. Plus, if you stare at the sky and buildings for a moment, it looks like the clouds are moving … which makes me feel like I am almost back in that moment.

A different kind of addiction

So, it’s been nine months since I returned to America.

And, I have a confession:

I am starting to freak out knowing that I’ve been living a stationary existence for nearly one year.

It scares the hell out of me.

More and more I have been feeling waves of panic wash over me as my one-year anniversary of being home ticks ever closer.

It has left me paralyzed, lying awake at night, just thinking about having to think about my future. And what I want. And what I don’t want. And, imagining a life of not moving.

The fact that in September I won’t be able to end my day thinking back to where I was at the same time last year makes me cringe. It nearly physically hurts me to know that almost a year has passed since I left Croatia.

I watch everyone here go about their day-to-day activites, talking their business deals, shaking hands over lunch, cell phones at the ready … and it bothers me. Not because they do it, but because I am doing it, too.

Why does it effect me like this?

There is a morning I remember so clearly. So perfectly.

I was walking along the roof top terrace of a hotel I had been invited to visit. There I was … in the heart of Marrakesh’s medina, looking out over the pinky-orange roof tops playing off the bright blue sky, of the minarets piercing the horizon … when BAM! my life made sense.

It’s that moment every person craves — the moment of clarity. When everything just clicks and you wonder to yourself “why on earth didn’t I realize this sooner?”

For me, it was coming to the conclusion nothing made me happier than traveling. It was committing to myself, on that rooftop terrace, from that second on, I was going to do whatever it took to make sure I could continue feeding this passion once I returned to America. I didn’t want to fall into the lifestyle people are accustomed to in America. I wanted to remain the way I was that morning …free. Happy.

From Morocco on, I had plans.

Spain. I was going to live in Spain. Somehow. And write and travel and write about traveling. Somehow.

And then, something happened. I got my American re-entry stamp on my passport.

I had sworn when I returned to America, I would no longer let things that didn’t matter, matter. I held tight to this resolve until I started looking for a job. Then, in a dressing room of a department store, I was resting my self-esteem on a dress and whether it made me look fat, instead of on my inner self. I was judging myself based on things I promised I wouldn’t judge myself on anymore.

Yes, I returned in an instant to the land of superficial.

When I got home, my promise to continue traveling wasn’t necessarily side-tracked, but put on hiatus. I had a dwindling amount of money left to my name, I had bills to pay. I had a life I needed to pick-up, even if temporarily, and whip into some quick shape.

It wasn’t easy.

Yes, within a month of returning, I knew I had a possible job. I knew where I wanted to live. I had put my mind to the challenge of re-entering and not falling on my face, and had aced it.

But, that inner turmoil was raging inside of me.

In the process, the promise I made to myself had faded. Now, it was more important to make money to live. Travel would still be there, but it wasn’t something I could wrap my mind around in addition to everything else.

Sure, I still talked about my plans. There isn’t a person in my life who doesn’t know I want to end up in Spain. But, those words, the love letters to my adventures, weren’t backed up by any action.

Suddenly, travel was just a dream and no longer a reality.

As these nine months have passed, I have been spending a lot more time wrapped in my thoughts. I find myself just sitting and thinking about a year ago, recalling things which had slipped my mind entirely — people, places, moments that meant so much to me and somehow had vanished in the desert.

I’ve been battling the same thoughts a lot in the past month:

What if I can’t settle down somewhere?

What if, as soon as I get comfortable, I can’t bare to feel that way anymore?

I mean, there isn’t a reason in the world I shouldn’t want to stay in Las Vegas. I have a great job. I have phenomenal friends. I have a nice and inexpensive roof over my head. I have belongings. And yet, not too deep down inside, I keep thinking over and over how easy it would be to just pack it all in again and go back out on the road.

There is something about travel that overwhelms me. Makes it hard to breathe. Makes my heart race. As an ex-smoker, I can confidently state remaining stationary for a long period of times makes me feel the same as withdrawing from nicotine.

Yeah. Traveling is an addiction. It’s also my reality check. It reminds me I don’t need a cell phone. Or a fancy dress. Or a nice car. I can be happy with a lot less. Happier.

Of course, all of this has been exacerbated by the recent presence of amazing people in Las Vegas whom I met on the road … back when the thought of moving back to Las Vegas made me shake my head and smile at its ridiculousness.

First, it was seeing Katie. Then, I had drinks with a couple I had met in Turkey when I was really a mess. We talked for a few hours and I marveled at their story. These two had spent years saving up money so they could travel. They did it for 18 months and are now wrapping it up for the time being. And of course, I am constantly reminded of my time in Bulgaria because Abby and I both live here and talk travel.

To help with my addiction, I turn my free time into work time. I spend my time when I’m not working, working. I have taken on some freelance travel blogging and travel writing gigs. So, not only does it provide some money to nestle into my baby baby savings account, but it lets me put my mind back into my clouds of travel, even if I’m not physically traveling.

It quiets the withdrawal, but doesn’t silence it.

So, I’m trying something new. For those times when I start to freak out about hitting my one-year mark, I am going to focus on the things I can do to make my Marrakesh realization a reality.

It won’t happen over night. Or in a month. Or six months. Or a year. But, it makes me feel better just knowing I have never not succeed at something I have put my heart and soul into. And, sooner or later, that addiction will be quenched.

The Adventures of D — A Retrospect

Oh, my little blog. It’s been around since before I decided to take my career break and travel. It’s been around since I one sleepless October night in Atlanta when, around midnight, the words to the start of my story I wanted to share just popped into my head. Then, I was up. Out of bed. Laptop open. WordPress blog created.

And the rest is history.

Now, nearly two years later, I certainly have shared. At times, I’ve shared too much. At times, I haven’t shared enough.

Regardless, this ride has been the highlight of my life, taking me through moments, through happy, through sad, that have left me wanting more … and ready to start the next chapter in “The Adventures of D.”

So, when Jason from Jason’s Travels, asked if he could nominate me for this fun little project, My 7 Links, put on by Trip Base, of course I said “yes.” I mean … I get to relive some of my favorite posts!

Without further adieu, My 7 Links:

The Most Beautiful Post:

I’ve always relied on the kindness of strangers

It’s not a beautiful photo essay. But it is an example of the beauty and generosity that still exists in this world. It is also one of the many reasons I fell in love with Croatia.

The Most Popular Post:

How to barter like a pro

I spent a good amount of time in Turkey during my trip, where negotiating is a part of the package. It constantly awed me that people could go in to a restaurant and negotiate the cost of their meal. While that wasn’t for me so much, it was fun to go back and forth with the shopkeepers at the Grand Bazaar and elsewhere.

The Most Controversial Post:

My 30-Life-Crisis … Solved?

It wasn’t controversial in the sense it started a heated debate, but to my family and friends, this post was controversial because I was throwing away a comfortable life for the unknown. I was … LIVING instead of deciding to just go through the motions.

The Most Helpful Post:

Airport Sleeping 101

Oh, the beauty of backpacking and being on a budget. There were a few times when I had stop-overs that, while they were 12 or so hours, were overnight. Rather then haul my 40 kilo backpack and my tired self to a hostel in the city, I opted to just crash out on the floor … or a bench … in the airport. This post gives tips on how to make the best of airport sleeping.

The Post Whose Success Surprised Me:

Dude, don’t be a Hostel Dick

Yes, it’s meant to be funny. I just didn’t realize this post with these tips would be one of my most popular posts of all time. In all seriousness though, every backpacker who stays in hostels should read this.

The Post That Didn’t Get the Attention I Feel it Deserved:

The Best of … Madrid

It’s got some pretty good tips in the post and in the comments for anyone headed to Madrid.

The Post I Am Most Proud Of:

Love, Life and Loss … on the Road

By far, this was the hardest post I have ever written. It took every ounce of me to pull myself together to write this.

****

And now comes the fun part. Here are the five bloggers I want to do this on their site, too. These folks are some of the best out there! Be sure to check their sites for the My 7 Links project soon!

Adam from The Travels of Adam

Anna from Frill Seeker Diary

Candice from Candice Does the World

Lindsay AKA Hogga from The Traveller

Margo from The Travel Belles

Escape of the Week: Benidorm by night

It was a year ago, nearly to the day, I was on #blogtripf1 in the Land of Valencia.

The five-day trip was an amazing experience, allowing me to experience yet another beautiful province in Spain, and meet some of the most amazing travel bloggers ever.

Our second night together, we headed to the super British resort town, Benidorm, for a lovely dinner together in the older part of the city.

Before dinner, our group spent some time taking in the views from the outdoor terrace of the large full moon casting light onto the Mediterranean and the city below.

The Las Vegas Foodgasm: Wicked Spoon

Katie and I wandered through the halls of Cosmopolitan’s second floor, en route to Wicked Spoon, passing by tourists posing inside of larger-than-life shoes and walls adorned with art.

We were on a mission: stuff our faces with good eats at the hotel’s much-praised buffet, Wicked Spoon.

I’ve already confessed, I’m no foodie, but after being seated in the dimly lit room, my eyes nearly popped out of my head.

There, a mere few feet from our little table-for-two was the largest and most spectacular dessert island I had ever seen:

Sweet goodness. Mmmmmm.

Yeah, I’m pretty much a sucka for anything sweet (except cheesecake and cream cheese).

“Oh my goodness,” I exclaimed, looking across the table at my friend. “Holy shit. That’s a lot of dessert.”

“I’m not really into dessert,” Katie explained.

Then I don’t have to share.

After our server came (and we committed to unlimited glasses of wine for $7 each), I let Katie do her thing and go explore while I continued to drool over the rows and rows of confectionery delight encased in glass, and the continued display of dessert wrapping around four sides of the dessert area.

I probably could have just dined on the dessert. But, noooooo.

Then, Katie returned, snapping out of my dessert trance.

“It’s amazing,” she informed me. “I just went to one station, but did a walk around to see what’s out there. Oh my goodness.”

And I was up.

Of course, I started with the desserts. Not eating, but just eyeing.

Then, I saw the buffet.

A huge sprawling display of station after station … a sea of savory, spice, succulent, sensational food.

I didn’t even know where to start. I mean, how does one properly conquer a buffet?

I knew one thing: I was going to enjoy this. And, in an effort to not waste (“there are starving children in Africa” was running through my head) I wasn’t going to pile copious amounts of food on my plate.

So, I took my time. I took multiple trips. Each time, just putting a little bit on my plate.

I started with the Asian selection, grabbing a few pieces of sushi and some red curry tofu to take back.

A few minutes later, I was up again, eyes wide at the next station. And the next.

The thing about Wicked Spoon that struck me was the difference between it and the other buffets. Sure, I haven’t been to a lot of them, but just in researching my article, I knew what they served. And, what they didn’t. And, the buffets in Las Vegas didn’t have what this one did.

Bone Marrow. Mac and Cheese station. Asiago-Stuffed Gnocci with Lamb Ragu. Peach and Jalapeno Stuffed Pork Race. Watermelon Salad with Cucumber Slaw. Chocolate-dipped marshmallows on a stick (c’mon, I had to throw in a dessert reference).

[Note: there are so many more, but I had to stop listing them because I’m hungry as I write this.]

Finally, when it came time for dessert, I didn’t know where to start. Tiny little cakes, mousses, pies … pink marshmallow logs sprinkled with pink sugar (which I so loving dubbed “marshmallow log-y things) … cookies … gelato … chocolate dipped strawberries … fudge …strudels … heaven.

I piled my plate with all of the sweet morsels and headed back to Katie (for good measure, and to add some healthy to the plate, I added some melon with basil).

“I just … I mean … it just all looks so good …” I breathed, words failing to do justice. Katie looked at my plate and then to me, eyebrows raised. “I’m not going to eat it all … don’t worry. I just want to try it.”

So, I did.

I would take a bit, close my eyes to savor the amazingness and then pass it over to Katie to try.

An hour or so after we began the culinary affair, we looked at each other over our second glass of wine.

“Stuffed?” I asked.

“Definitely.”

For a few minutes, we recapped our Wicked Spoon experience.

Was it all amazing?

No. There were some dishes that left us unimpressed. The Leek Bread Pudding was bland. The Char Su Pork was met with a scrunched nose and quick chasing of red wine. The Fried Brussel Sprouts with Walnuts and Capers sounded good, but turned out to be a flavor combination which couldn’t survive the first two bites (hey, I had to give it at least a chance).

And there were other items that were little tastes of fantastic. Katie and I both dug the Wild Mushroom Polenta. It even earned the honor of being one of the best things Katie had ever eaten in her life. She was also a fan of the Prime Rib (“heavenly … so tender it falls apart in my mouth”) and the Korean Short Ribs.

In all, I filled my plate four times … not eating everything, but trying everything on the plate. My favorite was the Cavatelli with Short Ribs. Oh my goodness. I could have eaten the entire little bowl it was in, but pacing at a buffet is key. So, instead I just kept telling Katie how damn delicious it was and how it tasted like Christmas. Don’t ask. It just did.

She and I walked out of the hotel, way too full, nearly in food comas. Fortunately, we were able to muster our strength and head downtown for some patio drinks with one of my best friends for a few, before it was time to let our bodies digest … and get ready for Round Two less than 48 hours later at The Buffet at ARIA.

For you foodies, here’s pics to make you hungrier:

Editor’s note: The Cosmopolitan provided the dining experience at Wicked Spoon but all opinions are my own.