Today, we spent the morning at the World of Coca Cola. Despite having come to Atlanta once for fun and countless times for work, somehow I’ve never made the time to come here and finally did today. I guess the main reason I wasn’t super enticed to come is that in general, I’m not a soda person, and I don’t particularly like Coke at all. I understand why people are obsessed with the flavor and kind of see why people prefer Coke over Pepsi, but overall, I’m not enthralled with the brand at all.

But then, they got brownie points with me when I saw that they not only donated land for what is now the National Institute of Civil Rights just across the park from them, but they also supposed anti-segregation back in the day. And, I guess I do quite like their old-school, original bottle design. I also prefer the taste of “real” coke with sugar, as opposed to the disgusting high fructose corn syrup that sweetens it here.

In the museum, the actual recipe/concoction/formula for Coca Cola is locked and sealed in The Vault. It’s very dramatic, and apparently only two people in the world know the formula, and only half of it, and therefore, they can never travel together at the same time if God forbid anything happens to them. The funny thing to me is that I am pretty convinced that given it was concocted in a lab way back in 1892, I am 100% convinced that it is fully made of artificial “natural flavors” and therefore probably has gut-busting, body-ruining, cancer-causing hideous ingredients in it, and that’s partly why they are being so secretive about their formula. If you actually spend time to think about it, what in real life that you eat actually tastes anything remotely like a can of Coke?! It just screams to me of artificial flavorings and therefore, yuck.

We caught up again with our friends in Atlanta today, first at the Martin Luther King, Jr., Birth Home and National Historic Site, then over dinner in Duluth, where the third largest Korean population in the U.S. resides (and evidently, has delicious and authentic restaurants). I feel like the more I listened to our friends talk about living in the South, being in the sciences as a person of color, the more disgusted I was becoming in these conversations. I never would have learned these things other than in random articles unless I spoke with them about these incidents they’d gone through.

She talked about being an intern and working with a white racist attending doctor, who basically determines whether you get to move on to fellowship and becoming a full fledged practicing doctor; they do all your write-ups and evaluations, they decide whether you can take the next step. If you don’t get along with your attending, you’re basically screwed, and the system is set up in such a way where it doesn’t matter if you have been discriminated against; no one wants to care or cares. A patient came in, black and poor without medical insurance, and the doctor says to her in the room that the patient is a “fat n*****.” Our friend raised her eyes at him because she felt powerless and could say or do nothing, and he retorts back to her, “Why are you annoyed? I didn’t say anything about your race.” In her very wealthy and white undergrad experience at LSU, she was surrounded in sciences by 5th, 6th, 7th generation white southern women, some of whom were wealthy because of their slave-owning ancestors pre-Civil War. And these are people who you could probably never have a conversation about civil rights with, as they lamented what a difficult time their relatives had back in the day when slavery ended, “how hard” it was for their families to get by and make themselves into what they now have today. To them, black people and other people of color don’t have it hard; they have it hard because we’re probably taking all their land, their jobs, their rights from them. When she worked in Birmingham for a temporary internship, she told her team openly that she wanted to visit the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute and the 16th Street Baptist Church where the bombing happened, and it was just crickets in response; no one else had any interest in going or cared. It was chilling for her to witness this… today, in the 21st century, in a time post our first African-American U.S. president.

I couldn’t really say anything because I was just so disgusted. But then I am reminded of the horror stories I’ve heard in California, in Long Island, of people who think just like this. And I realize that the stories our friend shared during this trip — they are not isolated. They are a lively and growing group of hatred-filled people being further fueled by President Dipshit.

Today, we drove to Birmingham for the day to explore this Alabama city famous for being one of the major hubs for civil rights movement activity. We discovered that it has a very fun and eclectic farmer’s market with many vendors selling everything from squash pickles, baby eggplants, to freshly baked wheat loaves and grandma’s handed down recipe for banana pudding. We visited the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute, plus the 16th Street Baptist Church right across the street, where in 1963, four little black girls were murdered when the Ku Klux Klan bombed them in a racist attack. We learned in further detail what went down in Birmingham during the many decades of racial segregation, and got a relearning of the events that happened in cities across the south, from Greensboro with the sit-ins at “whites only” restaurants (which we saw at the International Civil Rights Museum in Greensboro last year) to the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., when he was standing at the balcony of the Lorraine Hotel (which is now where the National Civil Rights Museum is located) in support of sanitation worker rights in 1968.

I can’t help but think about all the parallels between what happened in a segregated America and what happens today. Is it really that much different? Now, it’s just more disguised and nuanced. “States rights” is just code for anti-people of color, anti-woman, anti-immigrants, anti-progress. Shooting unarmed black men is defended as a police officer protecting his own life. Disagreeing with Muslims or brown people coming into this country is based on the lack of desire to allow people to “leech” off our system of benefits… which really isn’t that good to begin with when compared with that of other westernized countries. It’s hard for me to understand or empathize with that way of thinking. Aren’t we all just trying to do the best we can with what we have?

The worst part about visiting all these museums full of history that is supposed to teach us how we can learn from the past and not repeat it is that the people who need to visit these museums and read this history are just not doing it and will likely never do it. They will never be open to visiting a civil rights museum or exhibit or watching a movie about police brutality against black people. There’s no seeing the other side’s story to them. But it goes back to how poorly educated people are here because in everyday schools in the U.S., you aren’t fully taught the full brunt of slavery and the post-Civil War period. It’s not like when the Civil War ended, all white people widely opened their arms to black people; it was actually quite the opposite, hence the KKK. That’s why we had laws around segregation and no interracial marriages. But if you don’t know that or learn that, then you will never “get” it today.

For the long Labor Day weekend, Chris and I headed down to Atlanta for some Southern exploration, including visiting MLK’s National Historic Site and Birth Home, Jimmy Carter’s Presidential Library and Museum, and the National Center for Civil Rights in Atlanta. We’re also doing a day trip tomorrow to Birmingham for their Civil Rights Institute and historic site, particularly since it was one of the key cities of the Civil Rights Movement. As the start to our trip, we met up with two friends we met in Little Rock in October 2016, at an informal gathering that my friend organized. My friend and the female friend were in the same med school program, and at that time, this couple had just started dating after meeting online. Almost three years later, they’ve recently gotten married and are now working and living in Atlanta.

She is Bangladeshi and Muslim, born in Kuwait, and moved to Baton Rouge with her family when she was 10. He is a fifth or sixth generation Mexican American born and raised in San Antonio, having lived in Little Rock and now Atlanta. He’s also atheist, but he “ceremonially” converted to Islam in order to marry her, and they had a Muslim wedding. I remember having a lot of fun with them back in 2016 during our Little Rock visit and feeling very energized during our hours-long conversation. I think the thing that got me the most was that I was spending time around people in the sciences (she was studying to be a doctor at the time; he’s a microbiologist working for the FDA) and learning all kinds of things that I really had no idea about. And it dawned on me then that I rarely get much intellectually stimulating conversation. Work conversations are very occasionally interesting when colleagues are debating certain topics or discussing politics. With long-time friends, we’re usually just catching up on random goings-on in each other’s lives. I read a lot, but I don’t have a book club to discuss the books in. Overall, I don’t feel “sparked” much. But I loved hearing what these two had to say then. And it was also fun to see them nearly three years later and realize that this general sentiment hasn’t changed. They are just as fun and engaging as they were then.

My ears always turn on when people are discussing culture, race, politics, and how their lives relate to all of that from a day to day perspective. In general, I don’t think I spend enough time talking to anyone about these things, and maybe that’s what I am missing.

When traveling back from Newfoundland and Labrador on Sunday, we had only carry-on bags, but my backpack, which was holding my beloved Newfoundland Salt Company sea salt, was flagged. The security agents took the salt jar out of my bag to check the weight of it. At 150 grams, it was under the 350-gram limit for salt to carry on during a Canadian flight. I had no idea that “salt” even had its own category!

According to the CATSA (Canadian Air Transport Security Authority) website: “Salt: Certain powders and granular materials in your carry-on are limited to a total quantity of 350 ml or less (roughly the size of a soda can).” So, it’s not being categorized as a liquid, but actually has its own category under “powders and granular materials”? I didn’t realize this was an issue when flying in Canada, but now I know. I checked the TSA website, and salt does not appear to get flagged.

Then, while researching travel to Brussels this November, I found out that the airports there actually consider chocolate a liquid if they are pralines or truffles that may have fillings that are soft or become liquid after reaching a certain temperature. As such, a number of disgruntled travelers were forced to check their bags full of their Belgian chocolates when leaving Belgium. I definitely would have been confused and not understood right away if I were told this. This is almost as befuddling as the salt incident from this past weekend.

I guess I will need to pack a bag that will be good to get checked because I’m definitely planning on bringing back chocolate from this trip!

Exploring Newfoundland and Labrador has given us quite a number of sights, from rugged cliffs, unique rock formations, crashing waves and piercing blue waters, to puffins little auk birds, and several different whale sightings. The funniest thing about going on a whale watching boat tour, which is what we did this morning, is that it’s always a gamble on whether you will actually see a whale, but you kind of go just hoping for the best. And we saw not a single one today, but it didn’t really matter because we had already seen two or three by chance during other hikes and walks on this trip.

During our boat tour today, I learned that puffins are local to this area, and after having visited a free puffin viewing site a couple days ago, I realized how unique these tiny birds are. They have so much oil on their feathers that despite being able to regularly dive into water as deep as 100 feet, as soon as they get out of the water, they are 100 percent dry. Their signature orange-red tinge on their beaks is temporary; it’s only present when it is mating season and used to attract a mate. And the funniest part of the narration of the tour: I had noticed how much puffins had to flap their wings while flying in the air, but one of the guides said that here in Newfoundland, unlike in other areas of Canada such as Ontario, they really do not care about being politically correct here. So, they like to call puffins “PPFs” — “piss poor flyers.” They flap their wings while flying like there’s no tomorrow, as though if they didn’t flap 100 times that they’d fall out of the air.

And of course, Chris had to make comments wondering what a puffin would taste like. He is a true omnivore.

While I enjoy alcoholic beverages quite a lot, one thing I’ve never really gotten into is beer. I’ve been to beer festivals, been to too many beer tastings that I’ve lost count, but it’s just never been something I’ve really loved or looked forward to. I particularly have never, ever been able to develop a test for IPAs (India pale ales). However, there are exceptions to this: I do enjoy cider (is that considered beer…?), plus I do love a number of fruit beers I’ve tried over the years, particularly the pear, pomegranate, and grapefruit Schofferhofers we discovered we loved in Germany in 2013.

On the second day of this trip while visiting the Quidi Vidi fishing village just outside of St. John’s, Chris suggested we check out the Quidi Vidi Brewing Company and try a beer flight. The bartender was really friendly and did a custom flight of four beers based on what we said we like and don’t like (fruity, nothing too hoppy). They are most well known for their Iceberg lager, which is a North American style lager brewed from water that is genuinely collected from icebergs found off the coast of the province.

In our flight, we tried the Iceberg lager (very clean and fresh tasting), a baked apple sour (cloudberry) beer, a mango-peach tinged IPA, plus a wheaty saison beer. The baked apple sour was definitely my favorite, and with further discovery while doing other tastings on our trip and some quick Google searches, I discovered that “baked apple sour” is synonymous with cloudberries, which is the same as bake apple berries and Nordic berries. They are local to this region and also found in Nordic countries and Scotland, plus other temperate regions of the Northern Hemisphere. They grow wild, not to mention they are pretty resistant to being domesticated, so when used or sold, they are pretty much always picked wild. Cloudberries are most often used in liqueurs, wines, and jams, and this makes sense given how delicate and tart the berries are. They resemble raspberries and are “cloud-like” in their shape, extremely seedy, and are a bright-orange hue. We lucked out on our drive back into St. John’s from Elliston and Bonavista this afternoon and passed a man on the road side selling mason jars full of cloudberries. I likely paid the most I’ve ever paid for fruit after jackfruit or durian — $15 CAD for a pint-sized jar of cloudberries. But I figured that since one of our biggest joys is trying and discovering local produce and foods when we travel that it was a worthy investment. And boy, were these little guys tart! They were quite sour with a slightly sweet after taste and while jarred, it seemed like their juices were oozing out, creating somewhat of a fermented, alcoholic flavor as we ate them. And now, I have their mason jar to take home and remember them by.

Newfoundlanders take their food very, very seriously. Given they are so remote and that they experience such extreme, cold temperatures in the winter, great care is taken in the production of every aspect of their food, from the way their vegetables and fruits are preserved for the winter (this is the largest home of “root cellars” in the world, or old food storage systems that are built into the ground; these are basically like historical refrigerators before these existed) to the killing of wild moose, the preservation and fishing of their most famous fish, cod, all the way down to how their salt derived from the local salt water that surrounds them. I was greatly anticipating eating the local food here, and I certainly was not let down.

Newfoundland’s “summer” seems to be more like New York City’s “spring” in that everything we get at the Greenmarket in New York seems to come here around July or August of every year. This includes short-season vegetables like garlic scapes, which are pungent and much loved, as well as chanterelle mushrooms, one of the most expensive mushrooms I’ve ever eaten, and one that I still have been too cheap to buy myself to make at home. We had the privilege of dining at one of Canada’s most famous restaurants last night in St. John’s, Raymond’s, which is known for its dedication to local, sustainable, and wild foods. Most of its food is wild and foraged within kilometers of the restaurant, which adds to its mystique, particularly in an era where pretty much everything we eat is farmed and domesticated, whether it’s a carrot or a sheep.

The original chef of Raymond’s, Peter Burt, is known for his creativity plus his passionate obsession for salt. He grew frustrated with the constant import of food into Newfoundland and asked, why are we importing something as simple as salt when we are literally surrounded on all sides by salt water? So he refined his method of salt making during his years at Raymond’s and eventually left the restaurant to be a salt maker full time out in Bonavista. He now runs his salt business with his partner/wife as a two-person show full time and sells to specialty shops and chefs around the local area, throughout Canada, and even in the U.S. now. His business is simply named Newfoundland Salt Company.

That kind of passion is so inspiring to me. Salt seems like it’s just this little thing in the grand scheme of food, but Peter Burt’s obsession with it in fine-tuning the granules in its size and shape is just so quirky and fascinating. That’s the kind of thing that gets me really excited about food; we think salt is salt and sugar is sugar, but there is so much that goes into making these seemingly simple ingredients that the average person just doesn’t know about and thus, doesn’t appreciate at first glance. And I can say as someone who has had this salt multiple times on this trip, at Raymond’s, Mallard Cottage, and the Boreal Diner (delicious locally sourced restaurants in Quidi Vidi fishing village and Bonavista) that this salt is unique and a true standout. You can taste and feel the difference when it sits on your tongue and as you’re crunching down on it with your teeth. A few years ago, I started getting into salt because of the famous sea salt I’d repeatedly read about from South Brittany in France, fleur de sel de Guerande. These salts are said to be high in minerals, lower in sodium (the irony), and have no additives. But this Newfoundland Salt Company sea salt is one of the most beautiful and to date, likely my favorite salt I’ve had and purchased. It’s meant to be used as a “finishing” salt, so for sprinkling on top of vegetables, salads, meats, and even baked goods right before serving. I never thought I’d be this excited about sea salt, but I can’t wait to use this on something special when I get home.

We’ve spent the last day and a half exploring St. John’s, and it’s already clear to me how different Newfoundland and Labrador, or “Newfie,” is to the rest of the other Canadian provinces we visited, even Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick. The accents are stronger here and surprised me; they sound like some combination of a Canadian accent mixed with Scottish and Irish. St. John’s feels very quaint and small, even though it’s the capital of Newfoundland and Labrador. The downtown area felt like a little seaside town in many ways, with brightly colored homes (in the vein of the Jelly Bean Row homes), windy streets, and small shop storefronts. All the businesses we’ve visited so far support other local businesses, for everything from their meats, cheeses, and produce all the way down to the salt they use. And if they aren’t supporting local businesses, then they are literally making and growing everything they use and serve themselves. The Newfoundlanders take so much pride in their crafts. 

I guess they didn’t accidentally name Nova Scotia “New Scotland” for no reason, nor are the accents similar to the Scottish accent for no reason, as well. We visited the Johnson Geo Centre, which is built right beneath the beautiful Signal Hill National Historic Site, the highest point of St. John’s. The centre describes the earth’s geological makeup, the local area’s cultural history, and in general, Newfoundland life. The craziest thing we learned from visiting this exhibit was that back in the Caledonian orogeny 400 million years ago, two bits of the earth’s crust began to collide. The result much later was the Central Pangaean Mountains that formed. What we know now to be Newfoundland and Labrador and Scotland were actually the same land mass once upon a time but have since been separated. The same rock formations found in Scotland can be found in Newfoundland today, and we saw many examples of this during our hike as well as at the Geo Centre. 

The other interesting history we learned was the real cause of the Titanic sinking. At first, I was wondering why the Titanic even had its own exhibit, but then I found out this was due to the Titanic crashing in this vicinity. The exhibit made it very clear that you cannot blame the Titanic sinking “because of an iceberg,” which I always thought was idiotic, yet another example of human beings refusing to have any accountability or take responsibility for their mistakes. The crash and the over 1,500 deaths that happened as a result of the Titanic sinking was really due to many, many greedy and arrogant white men, including J.P. Morgan, who at the time, made selfish and short-sighted decisions, resulting in this epic and tragic devastation. What probably made my blood pressure soar the most was seeing that those who managed the Titanic gave zero reparations for damages and deaths to the survivors and families despite their extreme wealth. This, plus the fact that there were not enough life boat seats for everyone, and they boarded people on the life boats in order of class – it’s just amazing how greedy and heartless people are regardless of what time period we’re in. 

Signal Hill gives a gorgeous view of the entire city and the sweeping water, harbor, and lighthouses that surround it. We spent the late afternoon yesterday hiking this area, and it was so impressive how well laid out and maintained it was. It reminded me a lot of the coastal walk in Rhode Island, just that here, there were far fewer people hiking, and the ones who were actually in the area seemed more like locals going for their daily exercise. There are boardwalks and stairs in many areas, chains where the ledges are very slim so that you can still safely walk across the rocks, and many resting areas where bright red Adirondack chairs can be found. The colors of the area were so vibrant; the green of the grass seemed to be nearly florescent and glowing in some areas, while the water appeared aquamarine and emerald-hued, sparkling wildly depending on how bright the sun was shining. The greens and the blues really contrasted with the whites and reds of the lighthouses. You could also see all those millions of years literally layering on top of one another when gazing over the cliffs and the rock formations, with all the different layers and shades of tan, brown, orange, and red. 

The rugged beauty of this area has stunned me in the last couple of days. I’m happy that it feels so remote and untouched because that adds to the beauty and serenity, but given its proximity to New York City (it’s just about 4 hours away by flight), it’s crazy that so few people come visit. Most of the tourists we’ve noticed so far have been domestic tourists exploring their own backyard. This truly feels like a getaway from civilization as we know it.

I was in an airport lounge restroom at the Toronto airport this morning, standing at the sink while washing my hands. As an older woman got out of her bathroom stall, I casually noticed in the mirror that she seemed to be waiting for someone else to exit another stall as she also washed her hands. In about a couple minutes, a much younger female (she couldn’t have been any older than 11 or 12) also exited a stall and stood next to who I assumed to be her mom. She clearly used the restroom and flushed, but she made no attempt to get to a sink to suds up her hands.

Older woman: Hun, aren’t you going to wash your hands? You just used the bathroom, didn’t you?

Pre-teen: (grimaced, said not a single word, then points to the little bottle of hand sanitizer that is attached to the side of her backpack. She made no indication that she would use it then and there.. or maybe even ever).

Older woman: You’re going to that instead?

Pre-teen: (nods)

Older woman: Okay, then. If that’s what makes you happy.

They exited the bathroom. There are so many problems with what just happened, ranging from entitlement, lack of gratitude, lack of self-awareness, #firstworldproblems, to just plain filth, that I cannot even begin to list them out now.

I was immediately wondering exactly how permissive of a life this child led to be allowed to exit a public restroom without washing her hands. The purpose of hand sanitizer is to use it when you do not have access to soap, water, or a public restroom. She clearly had access to all the above. Yet, she stubbornly refused to use it. You’ve got to be kidding me. If that were my child in that situation, I would have said, “You’re in a public restroom with running water and soap. You’re going to wash your fucking hands now.”