It was another early start for us, boarding a 6am domestic flight from Mexico City to Oaxaca to maximize time in this culinary capital of Mexico. It’s my second time in both cities and Chris’s first, but I loved this time perhaps even more than last time because I can reflect on what I experienced in the past and see what still resonates… which is pretty much everything here. Oaxaca is colorful, friendly, rich with history, culture, and gastronomy. It is said that the national dish of mole was created here, that the seven original moles were made in this city, and that the 20+ other varieties around the country can all trace their roots back to this colorful place. The best part of Oaxaca to me is the markets; I generally do not like to compare places I’ve traveled to because to me (and Chris), that’s like saying you have a favorite child; each city and town has its uniqueness, its quirks, its own beauty, something that makes it special that draws you to it. But Oaxaca I can say with certainty is one of my favorite places for markets, next to Sao Paulo, Valencia, and Kyoto. There is something about the way the food is displayed, the way the vendors interact with their customers, the crispness and the scents of the impeccably fresh ingredients, that is so mesmerizing that sucks me in. I could probably just sit in these markets for hours, just inhaling all the scents and watching the interactions of the locals (and eating… yum) and be completely content.

Chris immediately pointed out when we’d walk into the markets how the scents of everything from the greens to the tomatoes and tomatillos to the peppers and mangoes just hit us full force. “There’s no market in the U.S. that is like that,” he said. “There’s no fresh smell like this at all.”

He was definitely right. It seemed as though these fruits and vegetables were, within hours, just plucked or dug out of the ground, brushed off, and put on display for us to witness in all their fresh, crisp glory. The perfume of mangoes, guavas, and pineapples was unmistakably wafting towards us, beckoning us to have a bite or two. We picked up some fresh yellow-fleshed guavas, each no larger than a golf ball, and enjoyed a “round” of pineapple that was, by far, the sweetest, lushest pineapple we had ever eaten. The flesh was translucent and extremely soft, and it just dripped in sugary goodness. We also shared a large cup of freshly made coconut milk, lightly spiced with a hint of canela (Mexican cinnamon). Everything just screamed of freshness, of just readiness, of “I’m ripe and ready: eat me now!” We’ve traveled to markets around the world, and all of them make the U.S.’s markets seem stale and old.

I’ve always understood, because of this, why I’ve read so many accounts of travelers who originally planned to stay in Oaxaca for only one to three days, but ended up extending their time to a full week, if not multiple weeks or months, just to enjoy the gastronomical glories that this place has to offer and the richness of the culture… that oftentimes gets lost when in the U.S.’s eyes, Mexico is marred with “rapists” and “illegals” who are trying to get into the U.S. without the proper process. But we can let ignorant people continue to be ignorant and enjoy this gorgeous culture for what it is while we are so privileged to be here.

We didn’t have the best of luck today with our flight departing for Miami to then connect and bring us to Mexico City. We got on the plane, then almost immediately had to deplane because something was wrong with the engine, and AA ultimately had to cancel a flight to Chicago to use that plane to take us to Miami late. Regardless, we still made it to Mexico City, just about three hours late, but I witnessed one of the biggest displays of white privilege that made me so angry.

Chris and I were seated in business class, which was actually quite empty today. Because I get upgraded a lot, I know that unless a flight is extremely short, such as Boston to New York or San Francisco to Los Angeles, you usually have to “request” an upgrade in order to get upgraded from economy to business class assuming there is availability. I pretty much always do this, and occasionally because I have the highest level of status, I automatically get bumped without requesting an upgrade. That’s a bit rare, though. This woman, tall, blonde, disheveled, maybe in her 30s, clearly overly privileged who just expects to get whatever she wants and loves to have her mind read, got on the plane and stopped in the business class section where we were seated and immediately started whining. “I just don’t understand why I didn’t get upgraded,” she said, in a whiny, high pitched tone, dragging out every syllable slowly and painfully. “I alwaysget upgraded, and it didn’t happen this time. I don’t get it. It just doesn’t make sense because look at all these empty seats up here in business!”

The flight attendant was apologetic, but using some level of rationale, asked her if she actually requested to get upgraded and if she was on the upgrade list.

The woman, so very polite and well mannered, rolled her eyes at the flight attendant and shot her a dirty look. “No,I didn’t. I never have to do that, and I’ve always been upgraded in the past!” She stormed off to her sad little economy seat in the middle of the plane. I was turning to watch her and the flight attendant and made eye contact with the guy sitting in the row behind me in business, shocked by what we just witnessed, who mouthed to me, “What the fuck is her problem?”

I got so much satisfaction watching that exchange.

I love spoiled entitled brats not getting what they want.

I took a walk with a colleague to Madison Square Park today, and we were talking about the desire to escape and have a mental reset. Chris and I are leaving for Mexico City and Oaxaca tomorrow through Monday for an extended long weekend, and I’d been looking forward to this for the last several weeks. “What are you trying to escape – New York, work, your bubble, or what?” he asked.

“Everything?” I responded, questioning. “All of the above?”

We’re so tied up and absorbed into our day to day lives – everyone is guilty of this no matter what your background, where you live, what you do for a living. It’s hard to step outside of that and think about the world around us and what’s bigger and greater than what we are and what we do. For me, the best mental reset is one in which I can get away from my day-to-day routine, away from what I consider “normality,” and experience a culture, language, lifestyle… life, that is so far removed from my own. That’s what travel is. Immerse yourself in the unknown, the new, the exciting, and completely fall into it and forget what we considered important or essential back at home. Think about how other people live, what passions and priorities others have in worlds away from you, what keeps them up at night, and what drives them. And then, after all of that, think about our differences… but then realize that we’re all doing such different things when at the end of the day, we really want the same things: a roof over our heads, warm food on the table; to be loved and appreciated and respected; to help and provide for others; to feel like we all have some sense of purpose in life.

When we were in South Africa last December, in Cape Town specifically, the water shortage made me think (and feel guilty) about my showers back home, where I’d luxuriate occasionally and not keep track of how long I was exfoliating or conditioning my hair. When outside of Kruger National Park, I got excited at the idea of being far away from any urban place and wondered what life would be like as the rangers and workers of the safari lodge, waking up every morning to the calm of buffalo drinking water in the nearby watering hole, or even a lion sleeping right outside my bedroom window. In Japan, I thought about the salarymen in their plain, uniform-like suits, waking up early, walking their everyday walk/train commute to work, having a long day in front of their computers, drinking late night in bars after a quick rice bowl or ramen, and hitting repeat for the next day and the next day. I also thought about the average Japanese man’s refusal to have sex (or want to get married… and thus the low marriage and birth rate in a country we consider so advanced), and wondered what that would be like if that were the case back in the U.S. The list goes on for every place I’ve visited.

Some people freak out and are alarmed when they are lost in translation, trying to communicate something to someone in another country that does not speak their native language. I actually thrive in that and get excited by it; it’s like a mini adventure to me: get this person to understand what I am saying, and try to figure out what he is telling me. I also tend to smile and laugh more because I find that it lightens the mood of the other person in the event any frustration arises from not being able to understand each other. Warm, open body language disarms them and gets them to trust you, and I suppose it helps a lot that I’m a woman… because how threatening could a petite Asian woman like me be? These situations also force you to be more creative in how you express yourself, whether that’s via facial expressions, gestures, sign language, acting out something. If what is often said by researchers is true that seventy percent of communication is non-verbal, then for all the basic human emotions, desires, and messages, we should be able to suffice without knowing every exact word that comes out of a person’s mouth.

The world is so big and so great – there’s no better way to remind yourself how insignificant you are in the universe than to travel to parts unknown to you and witness humanity outside of your own bubble. I’m not an ignorant ass, though; I’m aware that not everyone can afford to travel, whether it’s due to living paycheck to paycheck like so many people around the world do, or due to commitments with sick family, etc. But for those who can afford to do it, there’s nothing else that is quite like it. There’s so much humility and perspective to be had from it, especially if you choose to fully immerse yourself into your surroundings.

One of the nicest things about coming down to Miami for work is that I get to stay at a beach front property where I usually have a room that overlooks the beach. It also means that since I’m on the east coast, and Miami is on the east side of Florida, that I get to see the sun rise if I wake up early enough. I woke up just in time to see the sun rise this morning, and also had my morning workout, which ended with a long walk on the beach. I sat outside on the sand for a while and really just soaked the sun, the air, and the sounds in, and kind of reveled in how lucky I was. Yes, work can get really stressful, as it has been in the last few weeks. Yes, work travel can be extremely tiring and lonely. But the fact that I can have moments like this when I can travel for work is amazing, and I’m so grateful for it.  Seeing the sun rise fully, and knowing I have one more morning of it waiting for me tomorrow have made this trip really worth it. And today is also my one-year work anniversary, so I feel like this trip was even more special because of it.

It was in the 50s when I departed Boston today. I had my warm coat and scarf on, and as we touched down at LaGuardia this afternoon, I could already feel the heat. It was so strange — to leave New York when it was cold and drizzling and to come back when it’s over 70 degrees and sunny. I immediately felt like I had to peel all my layers off to feel comfortable.

That’s the awkward thing about transitional seasons like spring and autumn. It’s hard to know what to dress and how to dress, especially when traveling to different cities as unpredictable as those in the Northeast. But it was encouraging to see the beginning of cherry blossoms lining the Back Bay when I was heading to lunch with a partner today. I’m ready to be done with all my cold-climate clothing and wear lighter clothes again. I’m ready for some change.

When in transit yesterday, my manager sent me several Slack messages to ask where I was, and if I could join the mandatory meeting that was on my calendar. I had communicated I’d be on a plane at that time, but the meeting sounded really urgent. As soon as I landed, I called her on her mobile phone, and the big news she wanted to announce is that she’s leaving the organization. I wasn’t quite sure how to react, but I knew that this was not necessarily the best news given that she had barely been here for nine months.

In the tech world, every startup, even the late stage startups, feels like revolving doors. People are constantly coming and going. It’s hard to know who to trust and confide in because they may just peace out the next day. And when it’s your manager who leaves, it’s normal to question the stability of the team and what the future holds for your own position.

For the most part, my day-to-day doesn’t change. But I’m wondering what the overall impact will be to our team and the general feelings around the organization around her departure. No matter where you are, the rumor mill still continues to rotate.

I arrived in Boston today for my short work trip, and at check-in, they let me know that there would be a daily complimentary “wine hour” from 5-6pm each day, where the team would serve local wines of the region and some small bites during this time. The tradition began when the hotel first opened many decades ago, and the hotel owner wanted to make his guests feel welcome, as though he was hosting them in his own house, so he served wine and appetizers to all his guests to make them feel comfortable. Now, it’s expanded to all the locations and is considered “wine hour” across Boston. For those who are unacquainted, Boston is extremely puritanical, and the term “happy hour” is pretty much banned and illegal. So no bar or restaurant can advertise that they have a “happy hour,” and instead, some places who want to entertain the notion of a “happy hour” have to come up with pseudonyms like “wine hour” or “beer hour” to be legal and kosher.

Boston is a great place to visit. Because of stupid laws like that noted above, I’m so happy I don’t live in that area anymore.

Two days in a row, due to customer meetings and personal travel, I’ve had to wake up at 4am for early morning flights that depart at 6:30am. I originally planned to take a late morning flight back to New York from Orlando, but because I had to connect, it would have wasted too much time, and I’d have less time to do all the work that’s been piling up in my email inbox. So I opted for an early morning return to be more efficient.

The crappy part about changing flights within 24 hours is that the picking of seats is limited, plus the chance of getting upgraded to business or first class based on my level of status is probably not going to be great because other people would have already been confirmed for upgrades. And I found out exactly how important it was to have TSE pre-check in Orlando during spring break: the regular security line at the Orlando airport was so long that I couldn’t even see the beginning of it when I arrived at the airport; the TSE pre-check line had 2 people before me when I arrived. If I didn’t have TSE pre-check, there was no way I would have made my flight in time, even with an hour arrival before flight departure.

On our final day in Kansas City, we drove a little outside the city to visit a grass-fed sheep’s milk cheese creamery in Weston, Missouri. I had read about it in some travel and food blogs when doing trip research for this weekend, and so we made a booking for a tour of the grounds, which ended in a cheese and local grape varietal wine tasting.

The comical thing about coming here and taking Chris and his parents to this is that in Australia, pretty much all dairy is grass-fed; there’s no novelty about it. It’s what is considered normal and what is practiced. Every time I go there, the milk always, always tastes better than the average milk that we buy here, even organic. It doesn’t matter if the milk or organic or not. What that means it that if you are drinking “organic milk, your cows are likely just getting organic grain and corn. It’s still corn they’re eating, which isn’t normal. What really matters is whether the cows are eating grass, what they are naturally supposed to be eating. They are what they eat.

Chris’s dad, who really doesn’t know much about food at all (when I tell him I like to make things from scratch and don’t like brownie or pancake mixes, he has absolutely no idea what I mean when I say a “mix”), even said that grass-fed dairy was the norm in Australia and New Zealand, so he didn’t quite get why this place was notable. “I suppose that in Australia, this place would no longer have its shtick, right?” he asked. Yes, he’s right. This stupid country.

The last two days have been a bit of an education both in regional Kansas barbecue, and in American history. When I look back at the textbooks that I read on American history, particularly around slavery, race, and civil rights, I always feel as though so much of it was glossed over, and many areas that could have gone deeper just aren’t given the time or the textbook paragraph space.

We visited the Brown vs. Board of Education national historical site today on our way back to Kansas City from Abilene, Kansas, which is where the Eisenhower Presidential Library and Museum is. Brown vs. Board of Education was one of the handful of major Supreme Court cases that we learned in school, but what I do not remember being told or taught was that after the ruling, many states actually rebelled against it, going so far as to shutting down their schools and entire school districts to prevent desegregation from happening. It just sounded so full of hate and selfishness; there’s really no other way to put it. It happened everywhere from Arkansas to Virginia. We knew from learning about the Little Rock Nine that communities and individuals were against whites and blacks having the same rights and going to the same schools, but for entire cities’ school districts to just shut down to make a statement just seems so unfair to literally everyone living in these areas.

Maybe that’s why so many people believe that racism doesn’t exist, that there’s no difference in treatment between a white or a brown or a black person. Maybe that’s the reason insanities like Fox News exist. It’s because the way rulings like Brown vs. Board of Education are taught do not delve deeper into the aftermath of the rulings. They don’t drill into the injustices that continued to happen day after day when major decisions like this are made. They don’t make the connection between those times and what we are experiencing today. They make it seem as though these decisions or laws swept away all the bad, and everyone just lived happily ever after since then. That isn’t the case. It wasn’t the case then, and it also still isn’t the case now. The amount of ignorance in this country around our own history is just so saddening. Even when I think about myself, I still believe I learned more about U.S. history visiting presidential libraries and these historical sites over anything I learned in school. And I supposedly went to the “better” schools in San Francisco, too, so I’m not sure what that’s saying about the quality of schools in America in general.