I had one of Those Moments the other day, driving into work with a headache and a full schedule ahead of me. It wasn’t a big deal – I wanted to merge into my exit lane, and the car in that lane just kept hanging out in my blind spot. Accelerating didn’t help, and neither did braking, until I slowed to a near crawl so they could go by. “Thanks for nothing, bitch,” I muttered as I merged at the last possible second.

I felt guilty almost as soon as the words left my mouth. Saying it didn’t make any difference; the other driver couldn’t hear me, and there was no one else in my car to judge me, but I had the sinking realization as I coasted down the exit ramp that I had just added unnecessary negativity to my day. Since muttering to myself hadn’t changed anything – hadn’t stopped the other driver from dogging my blind spot, hadn’t caused the driver to apologize, hadn’t made me feel like I’d won – what was the point? More specifically, what was the point of calling that other driver a bitch?

Later in the day, interviewing a man who had been arrested for domestic violence, I was struck by the way he talked about the women in his life. Even when describing happy occasions, his tone was marked by persistent epithets, especially “bitch”. Everyone was a bitch – his mom, his wife, his sisters – and I’m sure I was as well. I made a note that his speech patterns consistently degraded and dehumanized women, that his initial characterizations of them was that they were aggressive, and angry, and dogs.

“Bitch” plays an interesting role in Western feminist culture. It’s a way of describing behaviour, primarily by correlating it to the behavioural patterns of a dog in heat. Applied to a woman, it suggests that she is unpredictable, menacing, sexually voracious, and cognitively impaired by her hormones. Historically, when a woman has been called a bitch, the implication is that she’s angry for no reason. Many Western feminists have, understandably, taken offense to this epithet. Others have tried to reclaim it, arguing that, Of course we’re bitches; we’ve put up with your crap for far too long! Something along those lines.

Personally, I’ve started to realize that “bitch” isn’t actually the problem. I had a long think after that interview with the detained man, not only about his use of the word, but about how it related to mine. Why was I okay hurling “bitch” at an anonymous driver on the interstate when this man’s seasoned speech made me squirm? What I realized is that, for both of us, “bitch” was the cover-up for the more insidious process of dehumanizing someone that had upset us. In the case of the arrestee, he was angered by years of trauma that had been inflicted by the various women in his life. I was annoyed that I couldn’t switch lanes. In the end, it really didn’t matter what vernacular either of us selected – the process was the same. Both of us were too fried, for whatever reason, to see the other person as a person and have a little empathy.
Maybe the other driver had spent the night in the hospital with a dying relative.
Maybe the other driver had a new baby and hadn’t slept properly in weeks.
Maybe the other driver had spaced out at just the wrong moment.
Maybe the other driver was trying to merge into my lane and was just as annoyed as I was.

Road rage affects everyone. Image from unitedinsuranceagencies.wordpress.com.

I don’t know, and in the end it doesn’t matter. There will always be people who are tired, annoyed, grumpy, spacey, or confused, and irritating each other is inevitable. What matters isn’t whether or not this happens; what matters is how much grace we give each other in these moments. I’ll never forget waiting to disembark one of our flights back from Okinawa. We had been traveling for about 20 hours and still had another 10 to go. Despite our exhaustion, I was elated. Nick had proposed on the flight, and we were going to get married. I was standing in the aisle, waiting for the people ahead of me to start moving, when from behind me a voice came, loud and annoyed: “We don’t have anywhere to go. Quit shoving, jerk.” I turned around and discovered that the person behind me had been bumped by my backpack as I wavered in my spot. It was completely accidental, but, as you can imagine, rather than wanting to apologize, I wanted to scream at the man that he was the jerk for not understanding that I was tired too and that he had just ruined my post-engagement high. I didn’t do that, of course. But that man’s assumption – that I was deliberately pissing him off – stayed with me. It was the same thing that, years later, I did to the other driver. It was the same thing that my arrestee did to the women in his life. I still wonder how I would remember that moment, and if I would remember it at all, if the man had said, “Excuse me, you bumped me” instead of calling me a name.

I like the idea that we could all make a tiny step in that new direction: giving one person, each day, the benefit of the doubt. Grace comes with practice, after all. I wonder if we could make a new habit and erase our tendency to dehumanize and attack.
It’s worth trying, isn’t it?

Brasília Church

Congress

While traveling abroad, people usually make mistakes about the real capital of Brazil. They say a whole range of names (including Buenos Aires, which is the capital of Argentina…) but never say Brasília. Well, as a Brazilian, it is a must for me to write about my country’s capital, which I have already been to about five times and one I wish to live in soon. Moreover, when people come to Brazil, rarely do they visit Brasília. They obviously focus on the seaside of Brazil with all of its natural beauties. As Go Girl gathers all types of travelers and readers, why not present a different side of Brazil, a city that has no beach but that is full of history?

To write about Brasília, the capital of Brazil, is to talk about Brazilian history itself. Brasília became the federal capital in 1960, having Salvador and Rio de Janeiro as its predecessors. The changing of the capital to the Central-West part of Brazil was a promise made by the president, Juscelino Kubitschek, in which he wanted to develop the country (50 years worth of development in only 5) and move forward along with modernity through industrialization. Until then, Brazil had a huge disparity between the rural north and the industrialized south, leaving the Central-West an empty region that did nothing to connect the extremes of Brazil. Brasília is the symbol of the prosperous feelings created by Kubitschek’s government. The economic growth and the investments in infrastructure was a way for Brazil to be seen itself as a country of the future.

The futuristic focus is seen in its architecture. Brasília is a planned city that combined the ideas of two great architects: Lúcio Costa, who planned the city, and Oscar Niemeyer, who designed the city and its buildings. Brasília is compared to the shape of an airplane, the wings being the residential and commerical areas and the body of the aircraft being the area where the governmental buildings are located.

Schematic of Brasilia, from Wikimedia Commons

The end of the 1950′s was a memorable moment for Brazil. The construction of a brand new capital from scratch, with such a contemporary feel, made the Brazilians gain hope in the country. It is during this period that new and modern attitudes started to grow in Brazilian society as a whole. Not only in architecture, but also in the movie industry (Cinema Novo) and in the music (Bossa Nova), Brazil was developing itself, shaping its national identity even more to become the one known overseas.

Brasília is definitely the most unique city I have ever traveled to. The modern architecture is a must-see to everyone who comes to Brazil. The city also offers good leisure activities, with good parks, lakes and swimming pool clubs. On Sundays, the main road is closed so that the residents can run, walk or bike around. There are great restaurants and important cultural events. Although it is a calm city, where the vast majority of Brazilian civil servants as all the governmental offices (presidency, congress, ministries) are located there, is it also a good place to see a special side of Brazil: a city that shows a thriving country.

National Museum

JK Bridge

Here’s a chance to support their educational programs and get involved in the community.

Go Girl Chicago will be joining Girl Forward in running in the Chicago Women’s 5K on June 23, 2013 to raise money for its summer education programming, Camp Girl Forward. Join us to make a difference, meet other women travelers and have loads of fun, too!

Check out this link to our meetup group for details on how to sign up.

And of course, there are prizes!

Raise $200 = get a copy of “Girls Like Us,” GirlForward’s book of essays and poems by girls in their programs

Raise $500 = get a copy of “Girls Like Us” PLUS an awesome GirlForward t-shirt

Raise $600 = get a copy of “Girls Like Us” PLUS an awesome GirlForward t-shirt PLUS GirlForward will cover your race entry fee!

Raise $1,000+ = get a copy of “Girls Like Us” PLUS an awesome GirlForward t-shirt PLUS we will cover your race entry fee PLUS GirlForward will post a video message to you from one of their girls on their Facebook page!

Sign up by June 5th to be part of a great team, have an opportunity to participate in some pre-race events (pasta dinner, anyone?) and stay connected to the world from our own little hub here in the Windy City.

See you there!

Not so much, right? Recently, the country has been receiving a lot of media attention from several accidents concerning famous brands’ factories located there. Unfortunately, these accidents are not uncommon: just google the words “Bangladesh + fire” and you’ll see what’s happening. These events occur almost every single day and we only realize the magnitude of the catastrophes when the media shows them to us.

It’s obvious that a developing country needs to create more jobs for its population, yet in many cases this desperation has reached the point of setting up a business with poor infrastructure and very low-paid jobs. Some earn about a dollar per month. Have you ever thought how one would be able to survive with only that?

We have become such a consumerist society that we don’t even pay attention to our inner values anymore. We just want to buy the latest products, because everybody has it and if you don’t buy it, you’ll feel bad being the odd one out. How does this happen? And why do we choose to follow along? We don’t want to know where the products come from or who made them, we just want to have it. Will you be happy about yourself knowing that the thousands of people who made the clothes you are wearing under really poor conditions are earning a dollar for it?

The disease which we have to overcome I’ll call first world problemitis (FWP), which I will show you with two extreme diagnoses:

1. Going to a store and realizing that the last cool pair of jeans that everybody from school owns is sold
2. Not being able to buy the latest smartphone with all those wonderful apps

Now, when you compare these to developing world problems (DWP), you’ll see that the FWP symptoms are not bad at all. The people who suffer from the latter, the DWP, are obliged to work under poor conditions because they don’t have their basic needs filled. In comparison, their problems are way worse.

How to solve this problem? As consumers and customers, we can demand and buy products under the fair trade stamp. According to the World Fair Trade Organization, fair trade is “a trading partnership, based on dialogue, transparency and respect, that seeks greater equity in international trade. It contributes to sustainable development by offering better trading conditions to, and securing the rights of, marginalized producers and workers – especially in the South.”

Let’s start the fair trade movement and help workers achieve better employment conditions and, consequently, have better lives. Just like you, they need proper jobs to take care of their families and they deserve respect for the services they are paying to our society.

Every Friday on the wwoof farm in north western France where I spent six weeks last year, we would make bread.  Our whole little ecosystem revolved around it: the fresh loaves would be sold at the market on Saturday and Sunday; the remainder made up our primary source of nutrition during the lean, cold month of May, when nothing was up in the greenhouse and the winter stores of vegetables were all gone. We would carve off hunks with a dull knife, slather it with unsalted butter, then fresh goat cheese, then sweet peach or kiwi or berry jams.  This was breakfast. This was lunch. This was dessert.

The whole process started at 7:30 in the morning, with everyone crowding around the long table in the Stone House, quietly peeling 15 pounds of potatoes. After the goats had been milked, the cheese made, and the rams let out, we would reconvene.

The recipes are all on one old stained piece of paper, written in illegible man-handwriting; the proportions of salt to yeast to blended wheat berries or potato puree smudged and crossed out and written over—a decade of tweaking recorded on a single sheet.  There are more types of bread to be made than there are sets of hands, but you pick a recipe and start in: sarazin, siegle, potitron, pomme de terre—châtaigne if you are lucky enough to find a jar of the sweet chestnut paste in the back of the armoire. Then it’s flour time.

“One hand to mix,” Jean-Yves, the farmer, injures, “ONE HAND.” The other hand adds the flour in heaps spooned out with a 1970s-era floral-embelished saucepan. You run your fingers through the slowly thickening basin of pumpkin puree as you heap more and more flour in.  It feels like heaven; it feels like home.

Mitch asks, after three minutes with the buckwheat flour, “So, how do I know when it’s finished?”  Jean-Yves gives him a disbelieving look and says, “When it looks like bread, and not like a swamp.”  That is to say, you’ve got another 35 minutes of adding flour and mixing by hand before you can even heap it out onto the table and start kneading it.  Just keep adding flour, Mitch. Just keep going.

You knead.  (That is an understatement.) The dough rises; you weigh out 1160 grams, shape loaves, let it rise again.  The oven is lit.  And when I say the oven is lit, I mean: forty to sixty pounds of wood is hauled into the kitchen and stacked in the mouth of the giant stone cave to make a fire Prometheus would be proud of.  We pause to admire the fire. Then we get back to work.

A loaf of rye bread baked at the Kerjean farm in Pleyben, France. Photo by Ec Brown

When the embers have died down and we’ve prepped six meals worth of food for the oven; when the loaves have risen to lofty heights, and the chairs are removed from the kitchen, the long-handled paddle comes down from above the oven and the race for heat retention begins.  45 loaves go into the oven in less than 5 minutes.

Then the rice pudding, the potato gratin, the cake, the ziti, the pizzas.

We lay on the lawn, waiting.  We write a song about our absurd consumption of bread during the course of the week. And then, one hour later, the bread comes out just as quick as it went in, is covered in clean white linens, and the farmer from down the road shows up with his daughter right at 5 pm, to buy the first loaves of the week.

We sneak the tiniest demi-loaf of chestnut bread, just for us.  It tastes like the woods in eastern France, like looking out over the edge of the earth, like bike rides and stone floors.

Bread Making.  It is magical and mad scientist and down home and really, really tiring.  But it is so basic, and so essential, and so right, too.

Girl Rising is a stunning film that follows the experiences of a handful of girls all over the world–Nepal, Peru, Haiti, Afghanistan–who fight the odds and push for an education despite social, political, or financial hardships. Many of the girls have been victims of slavery, early marriage, or natural disaster, yet they risk their lives and livelihoods to learn, sometimes in the secret hours of the night.

The showing near me was spearheaded by an active high school student who wanted her women’s empowerment club to be able to see the film. They needed at least 100 people to pre-order tickets in order to guarantee a showing, which they succeeded in doing. What a valuable concept! Gathr Films allows communities to pool together to request hard-to-locate films, some of which, like Girl Rising, are of powerful social and international significance. I would like to think that such films would not be as hard to attend in the public realm, but, unfortunately, they often are.

Image from imdb.com.

As far as the film itself, I was blown away. It is directed by Academy Award nominee Richard Robbins, written by renowned writers native to each of the locales, and narrated by the likes of Alicia Keys, Anne Hathaway, Salma Hayek, Liam Neeson, and Meryl Streep. The only difficulty I had while watching the film was separating the different lenses through which I watched: those of a film critic, of a former Peace Corps Volunteer, and of a girl with wanderlust.

As a moviegoer, I kept thinking, “Look, how beautiful!” As a former Peace Corps Volunteer, I was struck by how complacent I have become with my comfortable surroundings, compared with the impressive young women of the film who fight for such basic rights. And as a girl with wanderlust, all I could think of was, “Oh, I want to see that land!” All mindsets were simultaneously stimulated and overwhelmed. Nevertheless, the film is equally as powerful from each perspective. It is as stunning in its cinematography as it is in its message, that the benefit of educating a girl far outweighs the cost, fear, and difficulty a culture might perceive as part of the process of doing so.

As I sat in the theater, I gawked at the empty seats. Why weren’t more people watching this? How do we get the word out? I know that it was a specialty screening. I understand that it was organized by a small, select group. But the film and the movement are so powerful and inspiring that I had hoped more parents, for instance, would have thought to bring their daughters. Yet, what was I doing, personally, to advertise? The film made me ache for those girls who suffer in silence, it made me proud of my own education, and it made me eager to make a difference in the lives of the girls who will follow me. It brought out the traveler in my heart as I watched girls’ experiences in Nepal, Afghanistan, and Haiti. Most importantly, it reminded me that my life is precious, that every moment is a learning opportunity, and that even the most serious of situations can have a warm, smile-inducing outcome. Girls are indeed rising. Good for us.

Check out the trailer for the film!

This day took place during a visit home for Christmas between my first and second years as a Peace Corps volunteer in Barranquilla, Colombia. I’m almost halfway through my second year, and as I make Colombia my home, it’s easy to overlook how much my concept of “normalcy” has changed. A recent conversation with other volunteers about finding friends within our communities spurred a look back.

In Barranquilla, I haven’t experienced the same sort of isolation that many volunteers have around the world. I live in a city of over two million people, a “site” I share with twelve other current Peace Corps Volunteers—many of whom are just a short walk or bus ride away. One distinct isolating experience I went through for a long while, however, was feeling like I had no “friends” within this culture.

I, like many volunteers, joined Peace Corps soon after graduating college. Throughout my life, my free time was filled with activities alongside people my own age. After college, I lived in my own apartment, alone. Many evenings found me curled on my officemate’s couch, along with my other 20-something friends who felt like hanging out after work. We did monthly “family dinners”—a collection of friends gathering to eat together. Parties meant drinks and fun with people my age, usually starting at someone’s apartment and heading downtown for the night.

It shouldn’t be hard to meet friends, I thought when I arrived at site. Especially in a city—there are always things going on, and people to meet who share the same interests I do…Right?!

Except, it didn’t happen. My first few months at site were marked by bewilderment. It seemed that no one left their houses–weekends or otherwise. How was I supposed to find friends?

Fast-forward, months into my Peace Corps service:

It’s Sunday, and my host family and I gather around a homemade lunch (lunch is the big meal of the day, here). We take hands, and bow our hands for prayer. Although family schedules are erratic during the week, Sunday is always family meal day.

The following Friday, women gather in the kitchen, pulling out industrial-sized pots and knives, chopping up cilantro and hacking apart cow hooves and stomachs to make Mondongo soup. A pungent aroma reminiscent of hot dogs (multiplied by a thousand) fills the house as cow intestines bob around marrow-filled bones while the Mondongo soup, a rich, coastal-specialty, bubbles to completion. There are relatives visiting and we’re having a party.

Hours later I’m sitting in a plastic beach chair, a part of a circle of about twelve other folks. Everyone from the grandmothers to cousins to the newborn babies are in the circle. After food is served, people take turns dancing salsa in the middle of the circle. Babies wearing diapers are prodded to take their turn. Then the grandmothers join in, dancing with their granddaughters’ husbands, and the mothers serve more food. Neighbors stop by to chat, clinging to the patio gate and sometimes accepting the invitation to come in and join the circle. There is loud music and talking and more sitting until the early morning hours. A highly successful party, everyone agrees. It might take a week or so to rest up, but we’ll have another one soon.

In this family-oriented culture, social clusters of similarly-aged, unrelated young people are the exception rather than the norm. For entertainment, families visit other family members for Sunday lunch, or stroll through the neighborhood to catch up on the gossip, or invite others over to do some joint front-porch sitting. Most people don’t have cars. People certainly don’t live alone. (Even now, I got a little shiver of shock just thinking about living all alone! Especially not at my age–25! And it’s high time to get married and start having babies, now that I think about it…I mean…)

During Carnaval, we got down at my friend’s Mom’s house. His mom (second from the right) brought the party!

Certainly there are pros and cons to both cultural contexts of living alone and living with families—of having friends my own age versus having babies and grandmothers be the folks with whom I spend the most time. …But if I think about this too much, my head actually starts to hurt. My 13 year old students are pretty cool. So is my host mom, and my venerable neighbors, and also my fellow volunteers.

All I can say is, if the people we spend time with define who we are, I’m a very different person than I was when I left the United States. I knew that already, though. More importantly, I often don’t even know what’s strange and what’s “normal”, anymore.

At this point, I don’t feel as though much is missing on my social front. Rather than actually gaining  many additional friends, however, I realized that I simply changed my perception of what “friends” are. I don’t know exactly what my next step will be, come December at my service’s end, but I do know this: if I do end up needing to move back in with my parents for a while, my time in Peace Corps will have given me plenty of practice at it!

Where can I pee?

We were stopping for a bush pee in the middle of Africa or South America. Usually girls will come up to me and ask where they can pee and if I can help to find them the best spot. Really? It is nature, you can go anywhere and everywhere you want to. Behind a rock, behind a tree or even just behind the truck – really I do not care where you go as long as you bring back the toilet paper!

How much money will I need?

I do understand why you would ask me this question, but honestly, how should I know? I just met you and I don’t know how many beers you will drink every evening or how many souvenirs you want to buy. It’s gonna be anything from 5$ to 50$ a day – did that answer really help you?

What should I wear tomorrow?

Alright, I can also understand this question to a certain extent. Sometimes activities require a certain “dress code”, but many times people have been asking me if they should wear short or long trousers, should they wear a hat or not… I am not your mum and I thought you were an adult who has been deciding how to dress and what to wear for many years…

And here is my favourite question of all time: How will the weather be tomorrow?

Seriously, I did not study meteorology nor am I a god. Usually my answer to this question is: It will be sunny with some clouds, some rain, windy at some point and between 10 to 30 C. And believe it or not, most people are very happy with this answer!

And this is what I can’t wait for…

Although I sometimes make fun of all the questions I get, I seriously can’t wait to hear them all again. And I will do my best to answer all of you with a big smile as I know you guys are on holidays and you deserve to switch your brains off sometimes!! I cannot wait to wake up, surrounded by mountains and glaciers, on top of my truck and thinking about a million things: How did my passengers sleep last night and are they already preparing breakfast? Hopefully the weather will be fine for today’s sea kayaking excursion. Everybody is excited about the chance to spot sea otters, icebergs, of course, and maybe even whales and I really want some sunshine for that!!

Very soon I will be off on the road again, in my truck on the way up to Alaska.

The truth is:

At the end of the day, as a tour leader, I even feel responsible for the weather. I want every single passenger to have an amazing time and I know the weather plays a big role – so I even feel a little guilty sometimes when it rains…

Welcome to the world of tour leading!

With the summer being so near, many of us are looking for the perfect getaway. An escape to the vineyards where you can immerse yourself into wine tastings with your girlfriends, fresh air, magnificent food and have that glass of wine by the pool overlooking the vines, might be exactly what you need!

Whether you are a keen wine traveler or an explorer who wants to experiment with wine, we would like to unveil some of our favourite stays and experiences in the vineyards. So here go some of our top wine destinations around the globe for 2013!

A la Bordeaulaise!

If you have not been to Bordeaux, there are three things you need to know before you go: Fantastic Wines, Magnificent Chateaux, Dunes and Oysters. We bet that the third option did not occur to you! Experience Bordeaux in any season, but if you are there in the summer, you have to give our Oysters, Bikes and Beaches tour a go! For a quick nibble in the vineyards, a walk through the wines by an expert and to taste the rich grape varieties of Bordeaux, go to Medoc or Graves. Bordeaux is the wine traveler’s dream. You will rarely taste such wines in any other part of the world! And for the ideal experience, boutique hotels in Bordeaux will provide charm and authenticity!

Visit the hidden cellars in Bordeaux’s chateaux

Steak, Malbec and Lunches with the Winemaker

Mendoza is truly a traveler’s dream. With its views of the Andes and the 300 days of sunshine it gets every year, it is one of the world’s most acclaimed wine regions. We suggest you give your taste buds a most memorable experience through Gourmet Tours. Make traditional Argentinian empanadas and sip them with some of the region’s best wines Malbecs or experience one of the most Exclusive Wine Tours in the famous Uco Valley region followed by a five course wine and food pairing course.  You will not be disappointed and will take back the most beautiful memories!

Authentic Southern Italian Paradise

Puglia has been an all time favourite for our Winerists. This regions is so beautiful through its rustic feel, it’s earthy wines and the wonderful people you meet on a journey here. You cannot visit Puglia without trying a Cooking Class where you will make delicious orecchiete and taste the beautiful ingredients of the south. The great respect for ingredients in this region will be savoured and appreciated with every bite. If you and your friends want an indulging experience with an active twist, this Puglia Bike Tour is most certainly a must try. There is so much to Puglia! Make sure you don’t miss out the smurf houses in Alberobello!

UNESCO Heritage Site of Alberobello Smurf Houses

Vineyards by the River

The Douro Valley is one of the most breathtaking regions on the globe and a perfect destination if your prefer adventure travel. You will never feel so close to the sky, the river and the vineyards. Here you will be truly immersed in the vines. When in the Douro Valley, you must try the river journeys, which will be that much more fun by sipping some of the great local wines.  Multiple day expeditions through the Douro are available as well! If you are a free spirit and want to experience Douro at your own pace, walk through the vines, meet the winemaker or try the multitude of water sports available, book a few nights at one of the traditional Quintas which have breathtaking views of the valley. Sipping a glass of wine in the pool, overlooking the terraced vineyards will give life a slightly different meaning!

Quinta da Veiga views over the Douro Valley

We hope you enjoy our recommendations for stays in the vines and we cannot wait to see you on our Winerist tours!

If you would like to receive more information about your perfect wine experience please get in touch with us on info@winerist.com!

I wasn’t really sure what to expect when I did it for the first time. Art is open for interpretation, so I thought there might be an open mindset about how to dress and act while looking at art. But sometimes mass media portrays art and galleries as something held for the elite (or those commonly referred to as hipsters), and while that could be argued pro/con in a number of different ways, the image sticks: and full of the intelligent, creative art-types who can spot an imposter or a free-booze hound instantaneously.

Just for the record – it’s not really true. And while I’m sure there are places in the city that do fit this bill, my experience was completely different.

Chelsea is the city hub for small art galleries. You can find them almost everywhere, and they always showcase something different, thought provoking, and beautiful in some way.

The area between 10^th and 12^th Avenues, and from 20^th to 28^th Streets is stock full of different galleries and at any given point, exhibitions. I’d never been to an opening until this year, when my friend, a talented art major herself, invited me to tag along to the opening of Despina Stokou at the Derek Eller Gallery on West 27^th.

I was completely unprepared for what awaited us. I had work in the morning so I made sure to wear something that could convert into a nighttime outfit, and that I presumed was appropriate for an art gallery opening – meaning a black skirt, nice blouse and fun heels. My business-casual assumption was, however, wrong. My friend, who has visited galleries a few times, was in jeans.

Courtesy of Derek Eller Gallery / Despina Stokou “bulletproof”

When I walked in, I realized that there was no expectation for how I needed to look at all. It was completely come as you are. Canned beer waited at the door in a cooler – a choice of Budweiser and Yuengling – and people walked around at their own pace but it was loud and bustling.

After spending some time looking at the jarring paintings by Despina and talking to an older gentleman about writing and the importance of words, we moved along to the next stop – the Winkleman Gallery right next door. And then the next door. And then the next one. People who don’t know the artists do the same thing – they bounce from place to place, gallery to gallery, taking in the different sets, and even drinking socially for free.

Each gallery was different – the first was paintings by Despina, one of the others was a photography exhibition. One of the following galleries housed paintings with crazy figures and colors so bright my eyes might have been electrocuted. And of course, a tour through art galleries wouldn’t have been complete without an exhibition dedicated to modern art. That gallery was two floors, and so crowded we could barely move.

The wine and beer flowed until they ran out – which they all did – and people who knew the artists ran around appreciating their friend’s art, and those who didn’t were introduced or mingled with the other guests crowded into the tiny gallery spaces.

And they were all packed. People were everywhere. It was all interesting work, but the visitors were half of the experience. They all varied – they looked like they came from work or were prepared for their Friday evening in. I saw sneakers and heels, jackets and sweaters, hats and beanies, cool tattoos, disheveled faces and clean-shaven ones. Everyone was socializing. They looked at art, and then they talked.

I had this fear of seeming like I had no idea what I was talking about – my ability to discuss art only comes from my friend and the one required art history class I took in university, but for the most part I can’t hold an eloquent conversation about a single piece of art unless it really strikes me.

If you’re anything like me – no fear; there is no serious conversation required. One of Despina’s pieces was Halloween orange, with black splatters and intensely designed words pasted all over. My reaction was, “Oh wow that’s awesome! I love the orange background!” Another of my friends used the word “disconcerting,” in a nicely formed sentence outlining the feelings she had just by glancing at it. I felt a little unprepared in my vocabulary, but luckily, I was told by an artist that describing something as “awesome” is a pretty great reaction to have about a piece of art. If you have any reaction at all, from feeling underwhelmed or passé to any range of what you could feel, it’s justified. Not everyone gets the same thing out of art.

To anyone visiting New York, I would recommend gallery hopping. It’s a part of the New York culture and art scene. The hustle and bustle and excitement over a person’s – an artist’s – success makes for a pretty exciting and fun evening. You get to celebrate someone’s work while looking at great art for free and–for those who can and do drink–free beer or wine.

Each gallery has a different schedule and hours of operation. For all the info, check out the Chelsea Gallery Map, where many galleries and their current exhibitions are listed. Opening and closing dates for exhibitions are included.