Zurich: Cheese, Lakes, Cheese, Mountains, Cheese, and Cheese

On July 8, 2024July 6, 2024 By TommyIn Minifig, Big World, Non-Daily Dispatch, TraveloguesLeave a comment

In September 2022, Lauren and I traveled to Zurich. It was always tough to travel together during her medical residency, as time off was rare and trying to organize flights to maximize our time within a very short window was a headache. After a failed trip to Greece during her intern year (our March 2020 trip cut short after just a few days when the President announced the border would be closed because of the rising threat of COVID-19), we didn’t often entertain the idea of trips to far-off lands during the remainder of her training.

That is, until her fourth year, when between a wedding I was attending in Turkey and her own bachelorette party, we saw a window of opportunity: 4-5ish days where we could meet up somewhere new.

I looked at places that would be both convenient for Lauren to fly to from Philly, and for me to fly to from Turkey. And after a lengthy search, I found that Zurich ticked our required boxes for timing.

Lauren would fly right after work on Saturday, and land Sunday afternoon. And I would fly early in the morning on Sunday, in the wee hours after dancing all night at the wedding, and land Sunday just before her. The perfect plan!

Despite airline strikes in Germany, we arrived on time and met up at the airport. After the appropriate amount of canoodling hellos, we headed into Zurich to check into our hotel, the Zurich Marriott Hotel. The Marriott was in a great spot for us: right along the main river thoroughfare and an easy walk to anywhere we wanted to go. And unlike a lot of European hotels, the beds would actually fit my uncomfortably long bod.

We wanted to make the most of our time in Zurich, while letting each experience breathe and not get too rushed between dozens of activities. So we divided each day into a theme and organized our events accordingly:

Day 0: Arrival and Exploring the Town
Day 1: Hike Day
Day 2: Lake Day
Day 3: Museum & Culture Day
Day 4: Departure

This let us really dial into the different experiences we were interested in. If there’s anything more exciting than fun, it’s regimented fun!

Day 0: Exploring the Town

After dropping our bags at the hotel, we took a stroll along the Limmat River into town. As we walked by, we saw people swimming in the river all the way down to Lake Zurich, which got us quite excited for our Lake Day. But that wouldn’t be coming for a while, so we buried our excitement deep down and continued walking to town.

We strolled through Old Town, passing wieners and beer places galore. I was obviously in heaven, but wanted to save my appetite for dinner. We found the Grossmünster, a church built in the 1100-1200s with two huge towers (one of the most famous landmarks in Zurich, probably?), and climbed to the top of one for a great view of the city and lake. And Lauren didn’t even burst into flames after entering a church!

I tried snapping a few pics of my minifig, thinking I’d rekindle my Instagram account, though I never posted them. Until now! Behold!

Based on how nothing is actually in focus, I’m realizing why I never posted this one.

This is actually not taken from the top of the tower, it’s an illusion. Don’t jump, Minifig!

Things were heating up, and anyone that knows me knows that even looking at a single stair can cause my sweat to flow like a river in Switzerland, so we stopped outside the opera house by the Grossmünster at a little cafe. There, we sat in a classic European square and had a classic European refreshment: the Aperol spritz.

Ah, the Aperol spitz… what an experience! Colorful and chilled, bitter and burp-inducing. A treat to be sure, and a welcome one.

As it was getting close to dinner time, we walked across the river, across the cobblestones, to Restaurant Zeughauskeller. There we sat outside and had beer and sausage, wine and charcuterie. Heaven for us both.

Restaurant Zeughauskeller (god bless you) is inside an old 15th century armory. Weapons and armor adorn the walls, though the Swiss are notoriously a neutral, non-warring folk. But it makes for great decor.

The food was traditional Swiss fare, with recipes dating back generations. I gobbled down a good number of wiener and had some delicious local beers, while Lauren sampled the famed Riesling from nearby Germany.

And after dinner, full enough to burst, we decided to walk it off. Hand-in-hand, we ambled along the river again, back to the hotel for sleep. Nothing more romantic than a stroll through the European autumn, someone might say (probably).

Day 1: Lake Day

Lake Day! Everyone loves a lake day. Our buried excitement from seeing the swimmers the day before bubbled out of us with all the force of a cheese on the lactose intolerant. We put on our trunks and swim suits and headed back east to big old Lake Zurich. Our destination was a little farther than anticipated, but we were able to stop for sausages on the way to replenish our energy.

We paid to enter the “pool” at Stranded Tiefenbrunnen, which had lockers, bathrooms, and a large section of lakefront with some diving platforms we could swim out too. No actual pool, but that’s Europe for you. We spent our day lounging on the grass, reading, and swimming in the water. It was incredibly clear and fresh water, so we didn’t have to get anything from the snack bar when we got thirsty!

After hours of lounging, swimming, and generally frolicking, we dried off and headed back into town for dinner. Right outside the Grössmunster, we grabbed a table at Restaurant Le Dezaley Zurich, where we split a pot of fondu.

Fondu is a famously Zurich dish, though it is typically saved for cold winter months when people need a hot cheese to warm up and get all their gas out to heat their homes. But many places will still serve it year round, and having been in the crisp mountain lake water all day, we were ready to be warmed. It was expectedly delicious.

With bellies full of cheese and Aperol spritz, we again made the walk back to our hotel to sleep and rest up for our big active day.

Day 2: Hike Day

After guzzling wieners and bowls of cheese, we knew we would need an active day on our itinerary to earn such tasty treats. So we planned for a day spent hiking the mountains of Switzerland. Switzerland is a notoriously lumpy land, full of mountains and valleys, inclines and declines. Not for the faint of legs!

Rising early, we caught two trains to reach the now-closed Sattel-Aegeri railway station, situated on the outskirts of the town of Sattel, in the Swiss canton of Schwyz (look ma, no vowels!). We had to get up to Mostelberg to begin our hike, and while there was a cable car that would go straight there, we decided to be fit and walk the 3 miles uphill to that town. Bold, and it would certainly come back to haunt us as we got into the main hike.

Once in Mostelberg, we had a coffee and snack before turning our legs back on and getting our hike going. We walked across the Skywalk suspension bridge, and then a few more hours uphill past country houses, cows, and scenic vistas, up to the bench on top of Hochstuckli. It was a lot of walking, and our dogs were certainly barking, but the views were amazing. We spent a lot of time taking pictures up there (do it for the ‘gram, I kept telling my legs).

Lauren posing on the Skywalk suspension bridge. I didn’t like looking down, it was very high.

Sometimes you need to rest your blocks on your way to the summit!

Lauren posing at the top — queen of the mountain! Ready to get our legs amputated.

It’s a lot harder of a hike when your legs are small.

On the way back down, we had lunch at Mostelberg, before opting to take the gondola to the bottom. It was a good choice too, since it began raining. Perfect timing! From there, we hopped on the train and returned to Zurich.

After showering off the dirt and pain, we walked (oof) to dinner at Rheinfelder Bierhalle, which is a classic Swiss beer hall. There, we both had some well-earned beers to cheers to our fitness. For dinner, I had the Jumbo Jumbo Cordon Bleu (because Lauren’s nickname in high school was Jumbo Jumbo). It turns out, a Jumbo Jumbo is a giant flattened cordon bleu, and it is amazing.

After a few steins, the day began catching up to us. We left the beer hall and grabbed a gelato at Dieci Gelateria before turning.

Day 3: Culture Day

In search of a day of culture, we mapped out some museums we wanted to hit, and took a stroll towards the lake before stopping at a small juice cafe for breakfast. The cafe was on an historic street, Augustinergasse, but I don’t remember exactly why it was historic. I don’t think it was for the juice place.

From there, we checked out the Swiss National Museum. Some cool exhibits, though they seemed to go to a lot of lengths to excuse their problematic neutrality during WW2. Overall, pretty cool, and definitely earned some culture points.

With that out of the way, we went to the real museum we wanted to see: the Lindt Home of Chocolate. I had never been a big Lindt person, though Lauren was, so we made it a priority to go for the history and also lots and lots of free samples.

We learned how chocolate is farmed, how the Lindt family got so popular, and all sorts of other fun chocolate facts. Then we had more and more samples of all the different flavors, and I got diabetes, probably. Before heading out, we grabbed another Aperol spritz in the museum bar. I decided I never wanted to eat another Lindt chocolate again.

We decided we enjoyed our Lake Day so much, we had to go back. So we did! And relaxed in the sun, hoping its rays would dissolve the kilos (a European measurement that means “pounds”) of chocolate inside us. And maybe it did, because we were hungry enough to try a new restaurant for dinner.

The restaurant, Raclette-Stube, was a fantastic little place. We had some delicious raclette and fondu, still spiting my lactose intolerance, and it was all amazing. We ended the day with another moonlit stroll along the river, romance in the air and cheese chugging along through our systems.

Day 4: Saying Goodbye

We woke with grief in our hearts: not only were we leaving that day, but we were also splitting up and going our separate ways for the next five days.

We had one more walk along the river early in the morning, when the town is quieter. We stopped for a traditional European breakfast (minus the cigarette) somewhere along the river close to the lake, before making our way to the airport.

One last picture of our favorite river in Zurich!

At the airport, Lauren grabbed a huge bag of chocolates to bring home to her girlies. No matter how many we had eaten the day before, she still didn’t hate them.

And that’s it! Lauren boarded her flight back to the States to go to her bachelorette party in Cape May and I went on to visit my friend Fred in Copenhagen. A very good trip for the time we had, and really great to get to travel together again.

A Non-Doctor’s Unconventional Journey on a Medical Mission

On June 8, 2024June 8, 2024 By TommyIn Non-Daily Dispatch, Travelogues1 Comment

WARNING: This post has detailed descriptions of medical procedures, dirty surgical tools covered in bloody bits, and a baby being born. If you are at all squeamish, maybe skip this one and read something else. I would!

The company I work at has an initiative to fund the travel portion of global health missions. The goal is to alleviate some of the cost burden of getting to high-need areas across the globe and allow medical groups to dedicate more budget to bringing along additional resources and doctors. In 2020, my employer added a new element to this initiative — company employees could volunteer to pair up with a global health group and actually go on the mission, providing organizational and on-the-ground support.

I was psyched. I already resonated with the company’s mission to help physicians in the U.S. with their day-to-day work, but this was an opportunity to take that a step further and provide direct support. And I felt I could truly help from the get-go as I already had a ton of experience organizing trips for large groups with a lot of equipment (when putting together several rowing tours to China over the past few years).

I immediately raised my hand and got paired with a group of physicians traveling to Chennai, India to assist in cleft palate repair. The trip was scheduled for April 2020, and I immediately began coordinating with the hotel and helping all the doctors book their flights. Unfortunately, the trip was cancelled in early March as the coronavirus bug that had been going around decided to become a bigger bug (if you ask my wife, big bugs are scarier than little ones). But at the end of 2021, I was told we were spinning up the initiative again, and there was a trip that December. Feeling just as passionate and excited about joining one of these trips, I jumped at the chance.

This time, it wouldn’t be for cleft palate repair in India. Instead, I was joining a team of OB/GYNs traveling to a hospital in Santiago, Dominican Republic. The local Dominican doctors were very knowledgeable and effective, but were struggling by a scarcity of resources, an overly large patient population, and hospital organizational issues. The visiting team had already been down to this hospital several times over the years, and so was pretty established in its role. But for this specific visit, the doctors had two goals: (1) continue training the team of local physicians on how to perform laparoscopic surgeries (minimally invasive procedures) using tools the local team didn’t normally have on-hand; and (2) review the hospital’s postpartum hemorrhage practices for areas of improvement.

The trip would consist of four full days in the hospital, performing surgeries and training the local physicians on new equipment and surgical techniques. The visiting doctors performed or guided the local team through vaginal hysterectomies, laparoscopic hysterectomies, prolapse surgeries, and emergent ectopic pregnancy interventions. They also held sims (lectures with visual-based teaching) on best practices for postpartum hemorrhage.

For a person who had never been exposed to the intricacies of obstetrics and gynecology, who had never stepped foot in an operating room, and who had only rarely ever seen a more-than-normal amount of blood, I grew more and more nervous as the trip got closer. The cleft palate trip was mostly going to be logistics, patient interviews, and photographs of patients before and after each repair. But this team had already been established in the area, they knew the hotels they wanted to stay at, they already had a driver and most meals sorted, and had their routine set.

Instead, they wanted me to scan through hand-written charts to identify deliveries that resulted in postpartum hemorrhage, coordinate lunches when they were too busy to, and take photos documenting the entire trip – including all the procedures being performed. The first two I was confident were in my wheelhouse. With a two-month crash course in Duolingo, I knew enough Spanish to order lunches and identify “hemorragia” in a chart. But it was the sitting in an OR, photographing things like c-sections, total hysterectomies, and vaginal prolapses, that worried me. I had only read about those things in books! And even then, not really. Who knew that things could fall out?? Not me! And now I’d have to photograph it, which probably meant looking at it? When I mentioned it to friends and family, they teasingly asked if I would faint.

My partner Lauren is an OB/GYN, so ahead of the trip I recognized terms like “laparoscope,” “prolapse,” and “hysterectomy” (from the dinner table talk I was privileged to hear when we would meet up with her coworkers), but I never really appreciated what each entailed in the OR. Having never even been in an operating room, I asked if there was anything I could do to prepare myself and make sure I wouldn’t pass out onto (or into) a patient. Lauren graciously offered to let me shadow her at work, but I felt guilty going into her hospital as the coronavirus Delta variant was rearing its head. So instead I winced through a video or two online, which really didn’t help much at all.

Also, no one had mentioned the smells! People’s insides smell different than their outsides, and that’s not a fun fact to learn in the moment. And when the doctors need to cauterize, it smells like meat cooking. Face masks don’t really block any of those smells out. I distinctly remember one of my first times hanging out with Lauren during her time in med school, and she was discussing with a classmate how she had finally been allowed to work the cauterizing tools in the OR. They both guiltily admitted that they thought it actually smelled good, and I was left thinking “Do I really like this woman? Was BBQ a bad idea for dinner?” Luckily, I wasn’t as squeamish during the trip as I had feared; there were only one or two scenes that forced me to look away and take a breath before getting back to snapping pics. The fact that doctors do this stuff everyday is wild. It was such an alien experience for me, and so commonplace for them.

Anyway, I flew down with the team, and it was very much a “hit-the-ground-running” experience. Minutes after first arriving at the hospital, I was told to quickly grab my camera and run into an operating room. In front of me was a pair of doctors, tugging and stretching a hole in a woman’s abdomen to make enough room to pull a baby out. I was aghast. Not only was it the first time I had seen a birth, it was also the first time I had even been in an operating room, and the first time I had seen someone’s insides. Apparatuses filled the room with beeps and gasps, people rushed all around to check on the patient, blood covered an alarming amount of the ground. And me in the corner: not a doctor, no real training to justify my presence. I managed to take my jaw off the floor long enough to take photos of the doctors, the baby, everything. I even made a gif of the baby coming out! (I’m not including it here. There are limits to what I would put my readers through!)

My uncertainty in my own value was quickly erased by the team after the c-section. They liked the pictures, wanted more of the other surgeries, and said I should feel free to come and go from the OR as I pleased. But first, could I go grab lunch for the doctors? And when I got back, could I start reviewing charts to help them gather the right hemorrhage research? And then run to the hardware store to buy and assemble some shelves so they could better organize their supplies?

The first day was a whirlwind, but by the end of it, I felt more confident and sure of my role. Each day, I grew less overwhelmed and more comfortable documenting surgeries, reviewing charts, and building a supply inventory. While the days were draining, I felt great because my work was truly additive.

But it wasn’t all lunch-runs, charts, and glamor shots. While the hospital does have access to a sanitation machine for cleaning surgical equipment, each cycle takes 12 hours and there aren’t enough spare tools to accommodate that schedule, even overnight. There are no OR techs (who, in the U.S., typically manage equipment), so the equipment and room cleaning is left to the doctors who just spent hours in a procedure. Because cleaning wasn’t actual surgery, it was an area I could help!

Let me set the scene for you. The cleaning process begins with getting gloves, a bottle of alcohol, and some gauze. Sometimes they don’t have your glove size, so the gloves will keep ripping off when you put them on, but eventually you squeeze in a pair without immediately tearing through. Then it’s time to go to town on each tool, scrubbing with the alcohol-soaked gauze to get the bulk of the blood and little bits of flesh off. Maybe the gloves tear again so you double up and hope both layers don’t rip and you don’t accidentally touch blood again. Safety first! You keep scrubbing and it’s taking a while — wow, there’s a lot of chunkies (medical jargon) and congealed goops (medical jargon) and body bits (medical jargon) on here! Once the bulk of the bits are gone, you let the instrument soak in some cleaning solution for a bit before it is rinsed the dried. Then you move on to the next one. Look at you, you’re an expert!

Anyway, I didn’t faint.

While this process may seem distressing (yes), it was actually one of the moments of the trip that I am most proud of. I can point to it and say, “They needed extra hands. I was able to come in and help.” My work scrubbing gave the doctors time to clean up faster and have a longer breather before diving into the next case. That might not sound like much, but actually experiencing how packed their days are, how early they arrive, how late they leave, and how many patients they see while they are there, every little bit counts. Even scrubbing bloody little bits.

When people ask me how the trip was, I usually say, “Exhausting, but worth it.” You often hear that doctors don’t have enough time in the day and that it isn’t easy to give patients the care they need. With this team, I lived a small portion of their experience and found that it’s all true: there is such a dearth of time that any bit saved truly helps.

And at the same time, I gained a lot more insight into how lacking health care is in certain regions, and how hard it is for doctors to do their work when there isn’t enough equipment, or support, or training. In places like the Dominican Republic, you don’t have support staff to clean the rooms and equipment, or to hand a tool to a doctor during a procedure, or to even organize the cabinets. That all falls on the doctors themselves, which means they have to spend extra time between each patient and during each surgery, and see fewer patients in a day. It falls to global health teams to negotiate donations from medical device companies, bring them to these high-need hospitals, and train the local doctors on how to use them. Even outside of the operating room, they spend time giving lectures on best practices, organizing and inventorying available resources, and building shelving space so the sutures aren’t stuffed into the same bin as the forceps, laparoscope, loose gloves, and lunches.

At the start of the trip, I was worried. I’m not a doctor, what if there isn’t anywhere I can pitch in? What if the doctors think I am just a hindrance? But that wasn’t how it went. I didn’t perform surgery (maybe next time!) (jk) (unless…?) (jk), but my work made it easier for doctors to do theirs.

I don’t have a ton of pictures to share of the inside of the hospital — even though the DR doesn’t have data privacy laws, I wouldn’t feel right about it. And because we spent most of our time either in the hospital or sleeping, I don’t have much from outside either. But I have a few to share below.

A hallway within the hospital. This wasn’t where we typically worked, which was an area much smaller and more crowded.

The maternity area of the hospital stores its surgical instruments in a tool box.

A pic of minifig in front of Monumento a los Héroes de la Restauración. It was the only sightseeing we did, after dinner one night, so the pictures didn’t turn out that great. Which leads to…

The only picture I was able to get of myself! A blurry selfie in the dark. We had to keep our masks on most places since, in December 2021, the COVID pandemic was still very much a thing. Being around high-risk patients all day meant having to take precautions not only for ourselves, but for them too.

One more pic of that same monument, this one with a Christmas nativity scene. I really milked it for photos since it was the only opportunity for tourism amid all the work.

Lindeman Daily Triple-Pack: Italy 2023

On April 4, 2024August 5, 2024 By TommyIn Current Articles, The Lindeman DailyLeave a comment

A special Lindeman Daily triple-pack: three articles for the price of one! (Please remember to pay your Lindeman Daily writers.)

Fighting Fire with Fire: Heat Wave Does Little to Solve GERD

Italy has been unseasonably hot during the second and third weeks of July this year, but it’s not just the temperature that’s causing people to sweat and moan as they make their way through the day.

“Haaaaaaagggghhhttt,” said Lindeman, who has already sweated through two tank-tops and a pair of color-changing swim trunks.

According to Lindeman, things were “heating up”. After a few days on the Amalfi coast, hoofing it up and down a mountain between the beach and his Airbnb, he was hurting. Panting his way through the congested, twisting footpaths that make up the main roads of Positano, Lindeman surmised that he needed to drink at least four Peronis at the beginning and end of each walk to replenish the fluids lost to the sun.

“Si, it’s certainly molto caldo,” said one local Positani resident. “But that [Linde]man perspired more than most!”

Lindeman has attempted to douse the flames on his flesh with swimming. “We’ve gone to the beach, taken a boat out, swam in some caves — underwater caves, overwater caves, lots of different caves. But that’s only solving half the problem.”

The heat wasn’t only coming from the outside, but the inside as well. The Lindeman Daily’s medical correspondent, L. Burton, MD, explained that a rapid influx of acidic foods, such as pastas, tomato-based sauces, and all the other delicious foods Italy is famous for, can exacerbate the symptoms of people suffering from GERD.

GERD is short for gastroesophageal reflux disease, a chronic disease in which stomach acid flows up into the esophagus. It can lead to a burning feeling in the chest and throat, stomach pain, bad breath, and vomiting.

“Not only is the burning vomit really painful,” said Dr. Burton, “but the burps are smelly too, and the groans are generally unpleasant.”

Each day, both Lindeman and Burton enjoyed the culinary delights of coastal Italy, and each night both were filled with the fires of Vesuvius.

“There was no escape,” said Lindeman. “You’d be roasting in the heat all day, going from grape-mode to raisin-mode. Then when you’d finally get home to rest in some air conditioning, the lava would flow from within, scorching you from the inside out.”

When asked why they didn’t simply avoid the sun, they both argued that they couldn’t resist taking in all Italy had to offer. And so, the allure of the pizzas, pastas, and vistas kept their fires burning day and night.

When asked for a final comment, both Lindeman and Burton gasped in unison with the sour breath of burning GERD, “Worth it.”

The Truth Comes Out: Romantic Holiday Just an Excuse to Play on Phone

On July 18, T. Lindeman’s reason for choosing Italy as the destination for his sabbatical from work (despite the country suffering from an unseasonal, climate change-driven heatwave) became crystal clear.

“I can’t believe this is why,” remarked his wife, L. Burton. “Sure, everything we’ve done has been wonderful: the boats, the cooking classes, the beaches, the food, the Tommy [Lindeman] in a bathing suit, everything.

“But to finally know his real reason for picking Italy… just… wow.”

“Wow” indeed. As it turns out, Lindeman’s entire trip, from the first five days in Positano touring Capri and Nerano, to the final two days in Naples, exploring the ruins of Pompeii and the vineyards on the slopes of Mt. Vesuvius, had all been a second fiddle excuse for one 20 minute experience on a hotel balcony in Naples.

“So what?” asked Lindeman. “I don’t see anything wrong with building a vacation out of one keystone moment. Lots of people go to Peru, don’t tell me there’s any other reason besides Machu Picchu that people even begin to consider a trip there. And London, is anyone really traveling there for anything other than the kebabs? Sure, the Eye is a close second, but it’s garnish to the kebab experience. This was a similar thing.”

According to several eyewitness accounts, that Napolitano hotel balcony was the site where Lindeman met up with a fellow Pokémon Go player to trade Pokémon.

“It’s not even like this is a novel experience for him,” said Burton. “He’s traded with several other friends in the past. I mean, even his younger brother [Lindeman] plays!”

“No, it isn’t really any different than that,” admitted Lindeman. “But there was an opportunity, so why not take it?”

The details of the trade itself are scarce, though juicy gossip abounds. Some unsubstantiated rumors say that the other party in the trade was a seven-year-old boy from Minnesota. And that Lindeman traded a “Best Buddy” status Hydreigon for a nothing-to-write-home-about Crabrawler. And that soon after their first and only trade, the parental controls on the boy’s mother’s phone locked him out of playing any more that day. But Lindeman is adamant: that is not what matters here.

“Sometimes it isn’t the details that make something great,” ventured Lindeman, holding up pinched fingers and adopting a far-off look. “It’s about the people and the experience… but yes, that kid made out like a thief.”

At the end of the day, though, Lindeman has no regrets. Even his wife remains cheery after learning the circumstances of their trip.

“If it makes him happy, I’m happy,” smiled Burton. “Happy husband, happy life, right? And I got to roast in the Italian heat, so it was a win for everyone.”

Lindeman Takes in Authentic Real Italian Experiences

Over the course of a week-long stay in Italy, Lindeman was on the hunt.

“We wanted to experience true, authentic Italy,” explained Lindeman. “My wife [The Lindeman Daily’s medical correspondant L. Burton] and I had both individually traveled to other parts of Italy in the past, but never felt like we truly scratched the surface of a Real Italian Experience™.”

The couple planned their trip ahead of time, booking reservations, tours, cooking classes, and boat rentals. But it wasn’t in any of the standard fare where they found what they had been craving all their lives.

“If we hadn’t felt the Real Italian Experience™ later on,“ said Burton, “I think I would have been happy with a simple cooking class and boat day.”

“But then we experienced the Real Italian Experience™, and now we know what we were missing,” added Lindeman. It is no single moment that makes a Real Italian Experience™, Lindeman explained, but an all-encompassing feeling of La Vera Italia that comes from a cumulative lived experience.

When local Italians were asked about this, not a single one knew what Lindeman had been talking about.

First, Lindeman and Burton strolled through cliff sides of Positano, exploring shops, bakeries, and pizzerias, before Lindeman decided to take the plunge.

“I was seeing shirts with lemons on them everywhere,” recounted Lindeman. “It must be an Amalfi Coast thing, but I loved it, and needed one.”

“[Lindeman] is notoriously hard to shop for,” explained Burton. “Not only because of his weird body shape, but he’s pretty picky too.”

But through perseverance, Lindeman succeeded. Unable to try anything on as his body was both soaked and caked in sweat, Lindeman took a gamble and sized up two sizes (“Because the Italians are teensy!”). Paying for two linen shirts, one covered in lemons and one in oranges, it wasn’t until he had returned to his room to shower and change that he noticed something was a little off.

“The shirt sleeves were too tight!” exclaimed Lindeman. “The length and size in the chest were both right but the sleeves were constricting my pythons. And I don’t have big pythons.”

Lindeman was later told by a local friend that this was the real Italian style. And he realized he was experiencing something beyond a typical adventure. Was Lindeman on his way to a Real Italian Experience™?

“Tight shirt sleeves? Real Italian Experience™.”

Lindeman and Burton next traveled to Naples, where they took a day trip out to Pompeii and a series of vineyards on the Vesuvius volcano.

“The sweltering heat was a real Pompeii experience,” remarked Burton, noting that the temperatures reached record highs during their visit. “But a real Pompeii experience is not a Real Italian Experience™.”

Lindeman kept eying the volcano with suspicion, refusing to take his eyes off it to make sure it didn’t blow; if it did, he would be the first to know and could book it out of there.

“The American was completely ignoring us,” recounted Teresa, their tour guide through the volcanic vineyards. “Even when we handed him his wine tastings, he never looked away from the volcano.”

After a few hours of this staring contest, Lindeman had an epiphany. Is this fear of a volcanic eruption at any moment, of being incinerated instantly, the experience he had been searching for?

“The ever-present danger of being cooked alive? Real Italian Experience™.”

Eventually, Lindeman and Burton escaped the slopes of Vesuvius unscathed, and returned to Naples for a birthday party.

“Some friends of ours were attending their father’s birthday at the yacht club in Naples,” explained Burton. “They very very graciously invited us to come along.”

The pair met at the yacht club, just barely arriving on time. They soon learned that this was not required, or even preferred.

“Apparently in Italy,” said Lindeman, “being on time is being early. And arriving hours late is arriving on time.”

Indeed, the birthday boy himself did not even show up until two hours into his own party, and guests continued to trickle in for hours beyond that.

“It was a wild time,” said Burton. “There was a lot of singing, gifts from the Pope, who the man of the hour seemed to know personally, and a seven course meal.”

It was a real Neapolitano experience, but as they knew from Pompeii, that does not mean it was a Real Italian Experience™.

“As authentic as it was, there was something missing,” reminisced Lindeman. But that “something missing” would soon be found.

Hours into the party, Lindeman and Burton were fading fast and sleep couldn’t come soon enough. While they tried to put on a brave face, the week of travel in the sun had drained every last bit of energy from them. A bit bashful, they had to excuse themselves and head home.

“They were only three courses into the seven course meal!” explained one partygoer. “It was only 11:30PM! There were hours and hours left in the night!”

They left before any other attendees, including a group of children all under 10 years old. But they swallowed their pride and missed out on what would be a memorable night for the ages.

“That’s ok by us. But the invitation, followed by the festivities, and then the shame of leaving early, that’s what we had been looking for the whole time,” said Lindeman. “And coupled with the shopping and the threatening volcano, our trip ultimately provided that authentic lived experience we had craved.

We truly had a Real Italian Experience™.”

China Rowing Trips

On March 7, 2024June 30, 2024 By TommyIn Non-Daily DispatchLeave a comment

I’ve gone to China too many times.

In high school and college, I was on the rowing team. Rowing is a sport that can happen wherever there is a river long and wide enough to fit a few boats side-by-side for a good distance. Despite that pretty general criteria and the abundance of water on the earth (or maybe because of it), teams find themselves traveling all over the place to practice and race. Through my time in school, we traveled across the US for training trips and races in California, Florida, Massachusetts, New York, Ohio, and Tennessee, to name a few.

This continued after college as well with alumni rowing, but with a twist. Instead of many short trips across the country, we with were invited to fewer races, but they were farther flung across the world. The first of these for me was to China.

As I was still folding up my cap and gown, I received a message from my older brother Jack, who had recently finished up grad school in the UK. His Cambridge team had been invited to send a boat of rowers to China for a week and half to race in three different cities, and they asked him if he wanted to go. He declined as he was busy working at the time, but he let them know that I was still fit (having just finished the national championships) and had absolutely nothing going on (which was a great burn on the fact that I didn’t graduate with a job lined up). So they agreed and I was invited along to race!

I got my passport ready and went to the Chinese consulate to get my visa sorted. Then I boarded a plane to go spend 10 days on the other side of the world with a bunch of people I had never met.

Most rowing trips in high school and college followed the same format: cramped flights or buses, two to a bed in a Days Inn or HoJo, bag lunches, lots of downtime, and straightforward racing. In high school, we also had to pay for most of the trip. All that is mostly what I was expecting on this first trip to China. We’d go to each city (Chengdu, Wuhan, and Linfen), do our racing, and have lots of pal-around time at the hotel in between some serious bouts of rowing. But this would be all-expenses paid—I just had to get my passport and visa, and they’d cover everything else. I was also told there would also be a banquet at the end of the racing, which was new to me but didn’t seem too out of the ordinary.

After a long, cramped flight on China Air, I arrived in Chengdu. That’s when I first linked up with Dave (my brother’s friend and the organizer for the Cambridge team) and met the rest of the crew. We were met at the airport by some of the organizers and some of our “handlers”. Having handlers seemed weird to me, but I supposed we needed translators. I later figured out that they were basically chaperones who were there to make sure we stayed out of trouble and were where we needed to be at the right time. They were all local students who were studying English, and they all seemed pretty fluent.

When we arrived to the hotel, I got my first sign that this wouldn’t be a normal rowing trip. The hotel was enormous, gilded everything, with huge rooms and no need to share beds. I shared a room with the other American on the trip, but we both had our own space.

I was worried: would I miss sharing a tiny bed with another giant dude? (Luckily, I got used to it.)

That night we all crashed early, exhausted by the long flights. But first thing in the morning we were up, traveling to the race course to take a look at our equipment and get it sorted for practice. On the way, we properly introduced ourselves in the light and figured out the lineup for the boat. Everyone on the team seemed great and I was settling in nicely. This would be a great trip, and nothing could go wrong!

We got to the course and that’s when the wheels started falling off. For most rowing trips, you bring your own equipment — boats, oars, cox-box, etc. And the boats are already wired up with speakers and have shoes and seats screwed in. These boats were completely empty, and in two pieces (the front and back were separated). There was a pile of shoes and seats off to one side, and a pile of oars off to another, for all the various competing teams to sort through. The Cambridge team seemed to know to expect this and they had brought their own speakers, wiring, and cox-box, and told a few of us to quickly go through the oars, shoes, and seats to ensure we had matching sets that fit the boat.

Why would the regatta organizers fly everyone over only to have equipment that didn’t match, or that was slightly broken, or in any way wasn’t good? I don’t know, and I never figured it out. This free-for-all was simply part of the competition, every time. Could you get enough workable equipment to get your boat in the water and take some strokes? If so, you were better off than most.

While half the boat went to scavenge from the piles, the other half went to work assembling the boat itself. After finding the right bolts and putting them together, we were met with an interesting hiccup.

It was over 100ºF, and these boats had been sitting in the sun for a few days. When we tried to tighten the boat together, we found that the heat had actually warped the fiberglass, and the two halves of the boat wouldn’t fit smoothly together. That means water would leak in through the seam, which just so happened to be at the six-man’s seat—my seat. So we did the only thing we could. We complained until we realized the organizers didn’t care, then we bought Vaseline and shoved it into the cracks, and kept some sponges in the bottom of the boat to bail it out when needed.

Finally, it was all put together, we had serviceable oars, and were ready to launch. The water was a nice neon green, like the ooze that made the ninja turtles, and the heat was oppressive. We asked our handlers if we could have water, and they said it would be ready for us when we finished practice. We tried to explain that in the heat, it’d be dangerous to work out without water, but they didn’t seem to get it.

So we launched and practiced, trying not to splash any of the water into the boat, and frequently stopping to bail out the leaks. But against the odds, the rhythm was nice, and the squad had some power. After a while we swung it into the dock and put it away. We looked for our handlers and the water, and finally saw them running over with a few boxes. We opened them to discover dozens of cans of Red Bull. As it turns out, Red Bull was sponsoring the regatta, and so cans of Red Bull were the only drinks provided to the athletes. We talked to them again about the need for actual water, and they assured us it would be provided the next day for the race. Which is a little true, they did provide bottles of warm, sweetened, flavored seltzer water. Better than nothing!

We headed back to the hotel to cool off and have lunch. Unlike the bagged meals for US rowing trips, all our meals were provided for. We usually ate at the hotel, which is what we did that day. Meals typically consisted of noodles, rice, and French fries, although Dave (who had gone on some of these trips before) was more adventurous with some of his snacks.

After lunch, we headed out of the hotel to go find some water bottles and granola bars to have for the next day. The handlers did not like that, they wanted us nice and cozy in the hotel, not outside in the world where anything could happen to us. Like what? I don’t know, nothing happened. But we frequently had to find strong excuses to leave the hotel, or simply sneak out.

Again, an early night, and we woke up the next day to race. Typical races are started fairly, with an agreed-upon starting sequence (naming each of the crews competing, then saying “Attention…Go”) and an umpire making sure the boats are aligned evenly. In China, it didn’t really happen that way. They started off with the names, but no aligner to make sure everyone was even. Then they said something very loudly, which may have been “Go” or may have been anything else. Whatever the case, we sped off the line and raced. We got 3rd place.

After the race, there was a short ceremony where they announced the top three finishers for the mens’ and women’s races, and then they set loose a bunch of ducks into the race course and a ton of locals jumped in to grab them. One of the French women’s team’s competitors jumped in to catch one, and she came climbing out with a duck in her arms. However, she must have gotten some of that neon green water in her mouth because she got very sick and ended up in the hospital. I don’t know enough about Chinese hospitals, but she was later airlifted home to France. We heard she ended up recovering.

After the race, we had our first banquet. We dressed in our blazers and had to perform a short skit for the organizers and the other competitors. We chose to do a dance routine to “Everybody Was Kung-Fu Fighting,” which went over very well with the organizers. When all else fails, just pretend to do karate in front of the Chinese officials and you’ll be golden.

We ate dinner, which was pretty good, but the chefs must have put the names of the dishes through a translator because they came out somewhere between humorous and terrifying. A few examples are: “This is good yo” (no idea what it was), “Baba rice” (lamb over rice), and my favorite, “Fragrant smell of urine” (not too far off, but I didn’t try it).

Noodles and greens, with a healthy amount of spice on top.

We were also introduced to Chinese drinking culture. The organizers would keep coming up to our table to cheers us with a “ganbei,” and then have us all finish our drinks. By the end of it, the organizers were obviously toasted (the rest of us too). I’ve never been to a race where the hardest part was keeping up with the drinking of the organizers. I kind of liked it.

Afterwards, we headed out to some clubs, where it felt like if you were tall and white, locals would invite you over to their table and give you free drinks. I don’t think I spent money on anything in China (which was just as well, considering my aforementioned lack of a job at that point).

The next stop was Wuhan, which has become internationally renowned lately. When we checked into our hotel (which was attached to a water park), I found that the hotel had learned it was my birthday, and they had sent up a birthday cake to my room. Great service! I was already warming up to this new city — I guess you could say I had Wuhan fever.

Aside from the racing (where we got third and were given a giant dish-sized bronze medal), we also took part in a dragon boat race, which we won (the other boat actually sank). Then we toured the mountain next to Donghu (West Lake) where we rowed, which had a temple at the top. And against the wishes of our handlers, a few of us took some roller-luges down the mountain to avoid the steps and make it down faster. Maybe they had god reason to not like us leaving the hotel. But it was too hot to walk!

Wuhan is known as one of the four “stoves” of China, since it sits in a valley that can get incredibly hot, especially in mid-July. Before leaving for Linfen, we cooled off in the water park attached to the hotel. Upon entering, we were greeted with the sight of a man running across the entryway screaming as he held is son in his arms, blood running off the boy’s head. The water park employees shuffled him into a side room, but the park went on business-as-usual, and we went on some rides. I think this is where I picked up my parasite, which caused me to loose around 20 pounds after I returned to the US. It was fun though, and I got better.

Posing in front of the view of the water park from my room.

The last city of this trip was Linfen, famously one of the most polluted cities on the planet. We heard through the grapevine that in preparation for the regatta, they had actually had the factories in town shut down for a few days before we arrived, just to clear the air a bit. It was still tough to breathe, let alone row. Much like the other cities, it was racing, tourism, and banquet, and then we finally went home.

But! Not before I spoke to some of the organizers and suggested they invite Princeton along to some future races. And the next year, I got a message—would Princeton like to send a boat to race in Wuhan and Changsha that summer? So I organized a boat, coordinated travel schedules, ensured everyone had all their documentation ready, and we went off for another trip, this time with the Princeton alumni. And another year we were invited along to a race in Xi’an, home of the famous terracotta warriors. And another we were invited to Shangyu. We kept being invited to go on these amazing, all-expenses-paid experiences through China, and coming home with medals, engraved plates, scrolls, trophies, and the occasional stomach issue. One time, they even gave a cash prize to the winners and we came home with hundreds of dollars each!

Each trip had its own special moments: two of the guys waking up to find a third had slept, and pooped, on their floor; one guy voluntarily doing shoe-ies over and over; another drinking beer out of a teammate’s unmentionables; watching someone pour an entire bottle of baijiu in their face and not even wince; watching someone take a sip of baijiu and immediately vomit; dancing to the Harlem Shake; dancing to the Macarena; racing in a number of suspect boats; showing up to a regatta we were told was going to be 2,000 meters long to find they hadn’t finished building the lake yet so it would only be 800 meters long; learning the story of the Yellow Crane Tower; having schoolchildren line up for our autographs and pictures; being interviewed on TV for the Shangyu News; bonding with the GCBs; and simply getting to travel with friends to completely new cultures and compete.

I’m very happy I did each of these trips. They are tough on the body, between the travel, the racing, and the drinking, but they are worth it, and entirely new experiences to standard rowing events. After coming home from each one, my body sore, my mind tired, my stomach sick for weeks, I always say that I would never go back. But then the next invite comes along and I’m excited again.

“These terracotta warriors are good construction — and I would know!”

I’ve had these one-in-a-lifetime experiences four times now. Maybe I’ve gone to China too many times, and I should give someone else a chance. But also maybe not.

Banff: Minifig, Big World

On October 24, 2023October 25, 2023 By TommyIn Minifig, Big World, TraveloguesLeave a comment

I’ll start this site with my favorite picture I’ve ever taken for my LEGO/travel Instagram (Minifig, Big World).

This photo was taken in Banff, Alberta during a trip to the 2017 Calgary Stampede (an annual rodeo festival billing itself as “The Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth”). Before heading to the Stampede itself, we spent a few days in Banff to kayak, mountain bike (during which a friend easily managed to break his collarbone after traveling halfway across the world for the trip), and explore through the beautiful mountain scenery. We capped the Banff portion of our trip off with a long hike up to Ha Ling Peak where I snapped the above LEGO minifig photo.

There’s something interesting about the niche hobby of LEGO travel photography. It forces you to focus down to a new, tiny perspective where you can see those small details you might not have otherwise noticed. (Not to mention, travel photos of a small LEGO are probably more exciting for other people to see than the 10,000th selfie with your own face covering 1/3rd of the screen.)

Here the photo overlooks the town of Canmore, with more of the Canadian Rockies crawling out into the distance. While all of that is out of focus for us, a gleaming river still stands out as it slithers between the hills and town. The LEGO minifig and the stone he sits on is in sharp focus as he enjoys a cup of coffee, the relaxed mood thematically juxtaposing with the arduous effort to climb the mountain. It is here that I insert myself and this site: sitting on my mountain of content, looking out toward the unfocused horizon where a future of possibilities may something something, blah blah blah, making more stuff up to sound like I thought this through, etc., etc. You get it. Picture of a toy on a mountain = fun.

Anyway, more to come about this and other trips, more photos, writing, whatever I want to put out here. It’ll be great! And to close, some more pictures from Banff:

the lindeman daily

Tag: Travelogues