Nikki Yeager

The long awaited bull-riding video. Best watched when set to the music of Honky Tonk Bodonkadonk.

I might look foolish but 10 bucks says you couldn't do better!! lol

Riding mechanical bulls. That's just how I roll during trade shows. Especially during the evening party at a Texas Apartment Association show. And of course, only when the owner of my company's son is along for the ride.

That's when I decide to drag random folks to the dance floor to line dance and gladly hop on the mechanical bull.

And what's a bull ride without the appropriate bull-riding face? Which, if you didn't know, consists of 4 chins, squinted eyes and a half grimace/half grin. Double points if you keep your hand in the air for the ride.



Videos coming late tonight or tomorrow/

I've always felt a special connection to Texans. Something about the fact I was born here stayed in my blood.

Plus, every time I come here I leave with great stories.

Like the cab ride I took today from Fort Worth to Dallas. It took a good 30 minutes and 60 dollars to get from my hotel to the building I was visiting. My beer-bellied driver chattered away with a heavy southern accent as I nodded along and stared at the sites passing by.

He told me about the Cowboys stadium and the Mavericks. He told me about the cowboys and the ghettos in Fort Worth. And he told me about his favorite place in TX... Austin.

Because in Austin my big burly Southern cab driver was allowed to wear drag as often as he liked and enjoy whichever sexual orientation tickled his fancy without any judgement in the world.

Yes, the Christian, native born cabbie next to me was a full on drag queen for years and years.

And that... that is why I love TX.

Couchsurfing is my favorite. Have I ever mentioned that?

Because of CS, I've spent my entire weekend doing things I would never tell my mom about (until AFTER I already did them of course!) and have nothing but love for Boston so far.

It started with a poetry festival at the Boston library and then a day wandering around the city, watching skateboarders, hanging out, drinking coffee.

Then I headed off for a friendly meet up with Sergei, the random CouchSurfer who offered to host me Saturday night. I found him lounging outside the BU gym after he got out of classes at the law school nearby. He was wearing a leather jacket and I was speeding to find him in my heeled boots and ginormous backpack.

We said hello and exchanged a few words about school and law and Boston. Then he lead me to the parking lot where we found his motorcycle safely resting as far away from the other bikes and cars as possible. I awkwardly attempted to put on my helmet (a 15 minute endeavor) and then hopped on the back ready to go.

He happily shouted that we were taking the "scenic route" and then sped off with no delay.

We veered off the road past Boston University and headed over the bridge to Cambridge. He picked up speed on the freeway as I stared dumbly to my right - the water between Cambridge and downtown Boston sat before me.

 Beautiful.

Inside my helmet, my eyes stayed glued to the scene speeding past me. Sail boats idled quitly in the water. Harvard students stood along a dirt path, walking, talking, kissing. Behind it all, Boston stood as a backdrop to the activity, each building standing tall beside the others while the sun sank slowly behind them.

Sergei shouted back in his lovable accent  (Russian.. because now that I'm dating Daniel everyone I meet seems to be Russian) and asked if I was ok.

I nodded.

In that moment there was nothing else I could do.

FYI: I stole this picture, definitely did not take it.

Good news! The missing trade show booth was rediscovered and returned safely.

Or something like that.

I got a call from Yousef the cab driver after admitting to myself we’d never see that booth again. I answered the work phone only to hear him describe how I accidentally left my large black box in his trunk (I “left it”, we misunderstood the situation or he stole… just a matter of semantics, right?) and then demand payment for his hard work toting the package around and all. Without giving him much of a response I let him know someone would give him a call to pickup the package.

So our handy dandy DC sales rep headed over to make nice and retrieve the long lost box.

Assuming it was all handled and done with, I saw Yousef pop up on our caller ID about an hour later. Again, demanding his money.

At which point, I handed the phone to our office everything-gal and she masterfully navigated the waters of money, anger and [accidental?] thievery.

All I can say is thank goodness it’s off my hands and if it’s going to happen to any one – of course it happened to me.

This weekend I made my way to DC for a trade show. Considering I'm addicted to travel and my parents agreed to come up for dinner one evening, I was happy as a clam. In fact, everything about the trip was pretty much perfect. My bus got there early, my hotel was beautiful (and cheap!), we got a ton of contacts at the trade show and my coworker took me to my very first hockey game.

Pretty much everything was dandy.

Minus, of course, the cabbie who stole.

After our wholly successful tradeshow, my coworker and I tried to flag down a cab so we could haul our two trade show booth trunks and single computer/technology box to Fedex. Unfortunately the cab had other plans.

My coworker organized the boxes while I dragged the first trunk over to the trunk. A little bit of effort and all 40 lbs and $1k+ of the equipment made it's way into the back. Right before I managed to toss the second box in, a police officer raced over with his ticket book and a frown- we couldn't load on the crosswalk.

So I shut the trunk and gave the cab driver the ok “Move up just a little!”

And – zoom! - off he went down the block and around the corner.

Yes, you heard me right. The cab driver stole the very expensive box of work equipment.

And once again I was left bewildered by out of state transportation, something that seems to be a pretty hard thing to avoid.

Never get on a Chinatown bus. I’m not racist, I’m not elitist, I’m not against cheap transportation. I’m just sharing a little nugget of information – if you have to pay an extra $300, do it. I repeat, do not take a Chinatown bus.

A few weeks ago I had my first Chinatown bus experience. My mom called me the weekend before last and let me know I had about 30 hours to get to SC for a funeral. Not a good way to start an epic adventure of absurdity.

After seeing 600 dollar airfares and 400 dollar train fares, I finally stumbled upon $50 buses. Should’ve been my first clue, but I somehow ignored it. Instead of using my brain, I threw some clothes in a bag and literally ran to the subway, trying to make a 10pm overnight bus.

Immediately after I boarded, I decided to go to sleep. The plan was to sleep right through 9am the following morning when it was time to get off. Being overly optimistic, I even set my alarm clock.

About five hours later I woke up. Outside I saw a few trees and a black sky. Still night time. Then I noticed something else that was rather peculiar – we didn’t seem to be going anywhere. I looked at the time (4am) and then looked back outside (forest) and then spent a few minutes looking at my feet (confused). A passenger in the back seat immediately started freaking out about refunds, New York accent and all. I waited patiently for another 15 minutes and continued to try to work out the situation in my mind. We were in the woods, in the middle of the night and we weren’t moving.

Then another passenger started screaming at the first passenger that we would never get any refunds “Those guys don’t care ‘bout us! You crazy!” Then another passenger discovered the bathroom was locked and joined in on the shouting, “I gotta pee, man! I gotta pee!”

All the while I stared at the front of the bus trying to fill in the last piece of the puzzle. The drivers had apparently disappeared.

Another 15 minutes went by and the two drivers came back. The passengers behind me started to form a gang and attempted to riot for information. The drivers looked blankly at the whole group of us and then continued to talk to each other – in Chinese.

Which is when it dawned on me. They couldn’t speak English and we were all screwed.

Fifteen minutes later the bus inexplicably started again and I gladly fell asleep without asking any questions.

When I woke up again it was still dark and we were stuck in another patch of forest. For another hour the same scenario replayed itself in true Groundhog Day fashion. Again, with no explanation the bus started up after about an hour of arguing and a random police search.

Before I could close my eyes for the third time, the bus turned the corner to a lone service station and then, before we got to the parking lot, it sputtered… sputtered… coughed…. Chugged… sputtered.. and then died. Completely stalled out on the side of the road to the gas station.

Which is when our non-English speaking drivers demanded that we get off the bus. NOW.

After two hours of waiting in a freezing cold gas station with an old man telling us about his goats on his Virginia farm, a woman finally decided to translate Mandarin to English for us. Two hours after getting stranded she decided to magically speak both languages.

Anyways, turns out the bus was broken and it’d be another 10 minutes. Which is when both drivers came running in holding a greased up radiator hose with a crack as long and wide as my arm in it. They shuffled through the store, shouting to one another, yanked something from the shelf, threw money at the Goat farmer behind the counter and ran back out the door.

In my exhausted state I watched it all happen in disbelief. And then I watched the drivers start peeling off strings of duct tape from the roll they just bought and slowly put the pieces around the hose. With more than half of our trip left, we boarded the bus again and while everyone else shouted and screamed, I just sort of sat and chuckled. Nothing as ridiculous as that should even happen to a person. And by that point I was pretty sure the duct tape would get me to SC… however, the people going to GA were probably in for a crazy ride.

I posted an entire album of Spain Pictures. Since I don't have a FB anymore, you'll have to do all the stalking here. Sorry for the inconvenience  

WooHoo!

When I was on my way home from Spain I wrote about 100 blogs that were never posted. They ranged from irate to depressed to curious and spanned everywhere in between. 

While Spain was beautiful, and my particular hosts were absolutely amazing, I found myself in the same dilemma with the general population time and time again. Turns out it's true: the rest of the world sort of hates America. 

But not in overtly mean ways. In the way a closet racist tries to be accepting by ending every statement with "I'm not racist though". 

The fact is, an insult is an insult and a judgement is a judgment. Which I don't mind in small doses but after 100 different people attack my country's position in the world, it gets a little annoying. 

And after being understanding for the first fifty comments, I found myself wanted to be overly patriotic for the second batch of attacks. However, I was smart enough to keep my wits about me and calmly let the conversation die. Which is extremely hard to do when you want to defend the good parts of the US. And yes, there are many good parts despite all the bad. 

In the end, I found that Americans are expected to be more understanding, more intelligent and more cultured than any other country. Why? To make up for the fact our country is fighting in the Middle East, we have a larger population than any country in Europe and we have way more money than most countries combined. It's as if an American traveler has to be on their best behavior to overcompensate for our country's perceived flaws. Which can get extremely exhausting. Especially when you sort of like living in these American boarders. 

One of my biggest qualms was this- How many people from Europe can place Missouri on a map? Very few. Why? Because it doesn't matter for European life. It's outside the necessary realm of knowledge considering Missouri is a small state in a country that costs at least 700 dollars to get to (if you find a great travel sale) and is at least an ocean away. However, if I can't tell someone exactly where Uruguay is, I'm an ignorant American. More fuel to hate us all. 

And the problem is this. If I don't know where something is I usually admit it, apologize and ask. From that point forward I try my best to remember where that location is, what sets it apart from surrounding countries and what language they speak. Still, I'm judged for not knowing that information in the first place when in Spain (or talking to most Europeans). However, if a Spanish person comes to the US and doesn't know where Missouri is, we usually smile and shrug.. Why would they? 

The fact is, by and large, we don't mind if you don't know a lot about the US. At least not in NYC (in general, but there are exceptions to every rule). All we ask is that you try to speak English when here and stay polite. Other than that, we're happy to tell you where that state is, along with anything else you'd like to know. We don't assume you come with that information and don't bash your country mercilessly when you don't. 

So why is it so awful when I can't recite your country's history... but still try so hard to learn? 

Why is it so awful that I come from a country where I can afford to live alone if I please? Why is that my fault? Why do I have to apologize for the fact my country is at war? Did anyone ever stop to consider the fact that it wasn't my personal choice? Does anyone consider anything good the United States has ever done? Like the fact that we gave 25 billion dollars away in foreign aid in 2008 when the next largest amount given was Germany's 13 billion (Global Issues*). Or the fact that we seriously helped France when we invaded Normandy (and sacrificed a TON of American lives). Oh, and we also gave you Facebook. Which everyone seems to love in Spain, and beyond. 

But then again, no one ever remembers that stuff. So I'll just continue traveling as a silent American, letting all the insults roll off my shoulders. Because at the end of the day, it doesn't matter if you like my country. All that matters is that I get a chance to explore the world and try, always try, to understand what it is that makes people want to stone me (or just argue with me) because of my American passport. And when I'm here I can research, question and study all of your countries whenever I so choose. Because I have the freedom to do that and am thankful to have the means as well.  

With all the facebook-quitting and new-coat-buying that's been going on in my life lately, I seem to have forgotten to blog!

I also forgot to write about Toledo, Spain. The last city I saw before getting on a plane and taking my long - and slightly horrible- flight back to NYC. 

My CS host was amazing and after showing me around the whole of Madrid, he decided to take another entire day showing me around Toledo, a former capital of the "Spanish Empire" (says Wikipedia). Just 20 minutes outside Madrid, I stepped into a Medieval town complete with strangely elaborate churches, miniature alleys and lots of swords in gift shops. 

First we had my favorite Spanish coffee outside the largest library I've ever seen in my life. And I live in NYC. I've seen some massive libraries. Unfortunately, we weren't allowed in to see the books but I spent a good 10 minutes fantasizing about it while drinking my cafe con leche. Which was probably the most amazing 10 minutes of my life. 

Much warmer and full of caffeiene, we headed back out with absolutely no itinerary and no plan. We simply took off wandering. Through alleys no wider than arms' length, and up hills that lead to parks that overlooked all of the city. Almost all of Spain (if the mountains weren't in the way). 

Around the miniature, winding, cobblestone roads were buildings that looked like they were pulled right from the set of midieval festival. But they weren't from a cardboard-and-paste set, these were the originals. And they were all around me. I could reach out and touch them, run my palms across the cold stone, take pictures of their ancient door handles. Around another corner and we happened upon an exhibit about torture through the inquisition.. and beyond! 

My sick curiosity got the best of me, and I had to see more. My host gladly obliged which makes me wonder - what does that say about us? 

Inside there were ancient torture devices, nooses, replicas, real instruments of torture from the inquisition. And people say Americans are bad. 

just kidding.

Then we wandered some more and happened to find ourselves following our whims down the side of a mountain towards a bridge that led... to no where. 

But it did lead to a beautiful view. 

And then the 20 minute, laborious hike began. All the way back up the mountain. And trust me, it was worth every single second of it. 

Last night I had a full blown Madrid night complete with great Spanish wine, lots of sightseeing and tapas that would make your mouth water. 

It started at a bear statue outside the Metro station where my third CouchSurfing host met me and proceeded to take me through every neighborhood in Madrid. He explained what different buildings were, told me about the population, the culture, everything. Then we wandered into a huge market with small stands for random tapas and caña. A few small beers later we wandered back into the cold air and discovered  a holiday market, wonderful coffee shop for Cafe con Leche (seriously, coffee here puts all of the United States to shame) and worked our way back to his apartment for dinner. 

To finish off the night - and boy, was I ready to finish the night considering I slept for 3 hours on a bus between Barcelona and Madrid the previous night - we ended up walking through one of the huge public parks in the city center and then met up with a few friends of his at a bar. One girl was Polish (now living in Spain), my host is originally from Argentina, and we were soon joined by a Brazilian girl who spoke little English but was one of the best human beings I've ever met. 

Sitting behind another glass of Spanish vino, I took a moment to look at where I was. Around me were people from three different countries using an awkward mix of English and Spanish. Somehow, from sheer interest in one another, we managed to make it work. After discussing accents we moved to sharing silly jokes and talking about discotecs (sp?). 

And the four of us had some of the best conversation I've ever seen until well past 2am in a small Spanish bar in Madrid. The perfect addition to an already wonderful vacation. 

My third day in Madrid was the exact opposite of my first two. Instead of spending time with my host and having an instant group of borrowed friends surrounding me, I opted for long stretches of alone time seeing the most touristy sights possible - Sagrada Familia, Barri Gotic, La Ramba and Parc Guell. And for those of you who are curious, I did break down and spend the 20E on a big red, doubledecker, tour bus. Because I'm just that cool. 

First stop was Sagrada Familia where I discovered (and then fell in love with) Gaudi*. In Barcelona, every tour and every brochure seems to revolve around Antoni Gaudi, the famous architect and after stepping foot inside his huge church, I can finally understand why. The outside of the cathedral was so intricately designed that even with a 10 minute examination, there were still carvings and details yet to be seen. But that didn't do much but intrigue me so I wondered inside to see what all the fuss was about. 

First step into the doors and I immediately stopped, tilted my head back, and stood there with my mouth hanging open. 

And the group of visitors behind me smacked right into me. Which brought me back to reality. For about 5 seconds. Then I managed to find a nice column to stand next to and continue staring dumbly above me. 

The church was unlike anything I've ever seen. Aside from it bearing Gaudi's obvious nature-oriented aesthetic, it seemed to embody the joyous feeling of "catching the spirit". It seemed fitting if the entire building was filled with millions of shouting, screaming, baptists with a smile on their face. Instead of evoked God-fearing feelings, it made me want to jump up and dance. Sing. Smile. Joke. As if Christianity is supposed to be an elated religion, rather than a stern and stiff-faced one. 

For about an hour and a half I stood there, soaking it in. By the time I managed to drag myself out of the building I was ready to be one of the zillions of Gaudi-obsessed tourists. So off to his failed residential neighborhood - Parc Guell - I went! 

Which is going to have to be another blog post because my laundry is finally done and there are more sights to see!!

*Just FYI: The word 'gaudy' does not come from the name 'Gaudi'. I looked it up because it was driving me insane. 

Today I made the 2 hour trip to Figueres (outside Barcelona) to see the Salvidor Dali museum. And let me tell you- it was everything I wanted and more. 

The museum was 3 or 4 stories tall with a large outdoor area and a huge open room that connected all the floors. The huge room had the biggest painting I've ever seen in my life (see below.. and compare the size to the miniature-looking people standing there!) and had a few of his paintings like The Bullfighter, which appears to be one thing but is really a bazillion different things made up of a million other things when you take a closer look. 

Anyways, it was great for me because I fell in love with Dali a few years ago when I was at the Dali museum in St. Petersburg, FL. It just so happens the Bullfighter was on temporary display there and it was love at first sight. Ever since, he's been my favorite artist with Renee Magritte being a close second. 

After the museum I took a meandering stroll through Figueres with a single goal in mind - local Paella. It took a lot of aimless wandering in the pouring rain but I finally stumbled across a little local bar/restaurant without a single word of English on the menu. And even though it wasn't my favorite food, the Paella was pretty good. Plus, ordering alone in a country where no one speaks English, and you don't speak Spanish, is a whole adventure in itself. 

With an art fix and a food fix I finished my day with the best CouchSurfer I could imagine and now, finally, I'm ready for bed. Nighty Night!

Just wanted to check in while I'm in Spain. And no, Mom, I haven't been stolen and sold into prostitution yet. 

It's been 2 days in Barcelona and so far so good. I'm staying with a Catalan girl (sp?) about 20 minutes outside the city center and she's probably the most fabulous host I could imagine. The whole stay will have to come in a different blog post though, because all this traveling and eating and visiting is exhausting! 

So here's my quick observations:

1. Barcelona has mountains around it, who knew? Besides Europeans... and smart people...

2.  Spanish coffee = one hundred times better than American coffee. But served in MUCH smaller cups. Think little, mini-espresso cups. 

3. Gaudi is God in Barcelona. 

4. Madrid seems to have a superiority complex sort of like NYC. We'll see if it's well deserved when I get there in 3 days. 

5. Spanish people don't know English. Literally (not sarcastically), they don't learn it regularly so if you're lost in Spain, plan on staying lost until you figure it out for yourself or happen upon a fellow American. 

And so there it is. I've drank coffee, I've  seen sights and I've gotten lost - all the makings of a good trip. Let's keep in that way! 

Real updates coming soon