It was mineral and dry, the Riesling that made me finally appreciate the varietal.

It wasn’t about sweetness. It was about acidity, as all wine is to me. Acidity is key. The balance of acidity is the most important characteristic – it’s the pepper on the steak, the thing that holds it all together.

When an ambitious young winemaker decides to set up a new estate in Germany, it usually doesn’t makes news. But if it’s 1984, and the newcomer happens to be a woman set out to make different (oh no, “authentic”) styles of Riesling, soon people take notice. For Sybille Kuntz, the leading figure and founder of Sybille Kuntz estate, breaking old-world traditions in more ways one just served as free press.

Today, Sybille Kuntz and husband Markus Kuntz-Riedling together run the Sybille Kuntz estate and are considered “leaders of the Mosel region Riesling renaissance” for their focus on producing dry and refined wines that emphasize the character of the region.

This afternoon, I had the privilege of attending a roundtable discussion and tasting led by Sybille and Markus themselves, at Rialto restaurant in Harvard Square, Cambridge, which I was kindly privy to thanks to sommelier Miguel Escobar at 51 Lincoln restaurant in Newton.

Riesling Tasting Setup at Rialto, Cambridge

We tasted through a gamut of current selections, from the elegant and mineral trockens (dry) to honey-like (but dry-fermented) ausleses – some of the spiciest Rieslings I’ve tried. The wines were superb. Always have been, since I discovered them for myself years ago – before I had a chance to buy and introduce them to my customers at the wine store.

The Lineup

Their personal mantra is that “wine is made in the vineyard, not in the winery”. This means low yields, pre-picking, green harvesting, careful watch over fermentation, and commitment to organic methods.

What’s most fascinating to me about wines I like are stories behind them. Meeting the winemakers deserves attention for that reason alone. Learning from winemakers as they present their creations at a tasting is another education entirely—because as a whole, German wines are easy to enjoy, but not easy to digest (intellectually). There is too much nomenclature. Between the laws on geographical classification and styles of quality, it becomes confusing as hell unless you are 1) in the industry and 2) regularly taste and update yourself on current wines.

Sybille Kuntz’s wines are on the mid-price side, but they are worth it—because they are good. They make you care and they make you question. They educate you on the wonderful diversity of the Rieslig grape. They make you curious. And once you are curious, you are hooked.

Nikon is where it’s at when it comes to photography. And looking through your city like a tourist certainly has photographic opportunities.

Boston is a pretty the summer. Here are some snapshots of August life in beantown:

This one is a classic view of Back Bay from the Longfellow Bridge – the one connecting Boston and Cambridge that is also home to the Red Line T. I liked the details of the rusty iron and focused on those, leaving Back Bay as a suggestion in the background.

Back Bay from Longfellow Bridge

Swan Boats in Boston Common. It’s a tourist thing. I’ve lived here for more than a decade, and never been on one of those. It’s just not something locals do. I mean, you can cross the pond on foot without getting your knees wet sometimes. But the boats sure look pretty.

Swan boats in Boston Common

Classically maintained classic car on sale in classic Back Bay, off Newbury Street.

Easy to park in Back Bay...

Hot August afternoon at the Charles River by the Museum of Science.

The Charles River, next to the Museum of Science

Kendall Square, Cambridge. MIT students’ hangout. The Republic of Cambridge begins here.

Kendall Square, Cambridge

Memorial Hall, Harvard Yard, Cambridge. I call it the “Harry Potter Building” for its Hogwarts-like appearance.

Memorial Hall, Harvard.

Laila is a five-month old German Shepherd whom I met while walking along the Charles River in Cambridge. Love her curiosity, the playfulness in her manner, and those ears!

Laila

Living in Boston, if you like short trips by car, you can easily visit all six of the glorious states of New England. Driving distances are doable, and there are things worth seeing.

Especially up north. Especially by the coast.

This means Maine.

Maine is gorgeous. The rugged Atlantic coastline, the freezing ocean, the trees, the quintessential New England towns, Acadia National Park – it’s an experience. Like most of nature traveling, you don’t drive to Maine to see cities. And well, there aren’t many “cities” in Maine anyway. Yet there is one worth visiting – Portland.

As I’m about to leave the East Coast for another Portland, one in Oregon, it’s only fair to pay homage to what Portland, Maine is all about. After all, Portland, Oregon was named after Portland, Maine. So Maine was first. The East Coast was first. Naturally. That’s why we are all so uppity here.

Portland, Maine is only a two-hour drive north of Boston, right up interstate I-95. It’s a small city on the water (population is only about 66,000). It’s pretty; it’s cute; it’s touristy in the summer. Typical New England stuff.

There wouldn’t be anything special about it but for one thing –it’s a foodie’s jewel. There are at least three restaurants worth traveling to from Boston, just for the food. On my recent visit there a week ago, I went with one goal only – to eat at a certain lunch place attractively named Duckfat. Come on, how could you not wish to eat at a place named Duckfat? Fries in duck fat are God’s gift to this planet. So is with duck confit. But back to Portland. Not only does this appetizing city have specialty spice shops, it has at least two wine stores within three blocks of each other that feature wines I’ve never seen (that’s saying something, because I work in the wine business). Go Portland. Really. These people know how to eat. Behold:

Vernacious, spice and condiment store on Commercial St. in Portland. Just spices. SO my thing.

Duck fat fries with truffle ketchup at Duckfat in Portland. Does anything taste better?

If you are interested, Duckfat is open daily 11am – 9pm. They don’t take reservations. It’s just a casual place that serves damn good food.

Tomato Fennel soup at Duckfat. Makes me hungry just remembering the taste.

We are all mortal until the first kiss and the second glass of wine... 555 Congress, Portland, ME.

Do you have this problem?

You realize your life is not a cookie-cutter path of a single career. You saw the top of the corporate ladder, and realized that roof needed fixing beyond your desire to fix it. You no longer care about the roof or the cubicle or the ceiling, glass or not. You want a condo with sunny windows, lots of stamps on your passport, and a home office instead. (Or whatever floats your boat.)

So you climb down and leave the “safe haven” of HR-directed corporate life. What then?

Then you get yourself some education. You read, you study, you meet people. You talk of “gigs” instead of “jobs”. You poke around in the dark. By talking and learning, you start to figure it out, little by little.  You stumble, fall, risk and adjust. Get burned a lot. Win a little. Get feedback. Correct course. Learn who is important and who is bullshitting.

Then you search inside yourself to discover what excites you, and how to marry what you offer with services market will pay for. People don’t pay for passions. People pay for solutions. The road to that sweet intersection of skill supply and market demand is a long and tedious one.

I’m on that road, and it’s both a blessing and a pain in the ass.

I’ve learned more, seen more and done more in the last two years than in the nine years of following up on what a finance major is supposed to be. But none of it matters now. What matters is where I’m going, and how I plan to get there.

It’s funny, though. The more I deviate from a straight path, the more I get called crazy or unreasonable, the more sure I am that I am onto something at least interesting and at most hugely rewarding. The social unacceptance of what I plan to do next is directly proportionate to how insanely cool it’ll be to do it.

I travel to a foreign country to learn winemaking and work my ass off. I return, and some call me frivolous and don’t want me to work with them. I indulge in learning more than one subject (say, CSS, photography and winemaking), and some call me non-committal. I want to get rid of the possessions that no longer serve me, when people my age are having their second child and accumulating stuff. I aim to drive my car to over 100,000 miles, regardless of the high value I can get at trade-in right now. I drink too much wine. I have six different versions of my resume, and have a really hard time putting all the experiences together in a coherent chronological manner. I struggle to establish a freelancing path. I always do more than just one thing. I always strive to make income out of interests. It’s not perfect. It may not seem focused. But it is, to me. And all of this, combined, is what makes me feel alive.

I am an adult, and these are my choices. I knew the path wouldn’t be simple when I left the perceived safety of the cubicle. It’s never going to be, from now on. I’m ok with that. Perhaps this acceptance is what it means to be an adult. Perhaps not. I’m only about six here, going on seven.

It took me a whole year to thaw out my soul from three and a half years of the latest corporate job of being I was “supposed to be”. I’m still great at Excel. I can build you a sophisticated model with macros, and write investment summaries, and trade options like there’s no tomorrow, and talk about subordinated debt any day. I’d love to do this for you as a freelancer. But the days where my lunch wine glass cost me more than lunch itself—because a) it had to be in stealth mode and b) it had to be at a place decent enough to serve wine (i.e. not Mickey D’s)–are over. I’ll take that glass at home, thank you. I have the whole bottle here, bought on sale or given as a sample by industry contacts. And an oven, and protein. Much cheaper. And quicker.

Had I stayed on the “accepted’ path, I wouldn’t have traveled, learned, taken risks, hustled, talked to people, and learned to live with less yet find ways to earn more. I wouldn’t have learned to photograph the long white clouds of that lovely distant country of the South Pacific. I wouldn’t have gazed at the Milky Way while adding yeast food to a tank in open air. I wouldn’t have met the people who altered my life. I wouldn’t have expreienced what it’s like to run a business. I would have stayed at the office and done…who knows, but I venture to guess…just about the same.

Do I feel nostalgia for it? For the higher salary, the daily suit-wearing, the prestige of downtown? Not really. Do I feel the desire to earn more cash? Absolutely! Do I compare myself with my peers who are earning more? Definitely, although not in the same regard. My ability to earn more cash depends directly on my ingenuity to produce, create and sell what the market demands. I like it this way. Because it makes sense.

I do care about a career, but not about how the majority expounds it. I view my life as a series of projects, and I am ok with that, as long as those projects are value-added. I absolutely want to be fully engaged, to be useful, to master the skills I’m learning and apply them, to pursue my passions and develop them, and to use the products of my mind in the creation of my personal value. In short, I want to create and add to the world, whether via writing or winemaking or photography. For the love of money and the love of art.

Apple kicks ass. The company, that is, not the fruit.

Don’t own a Mac? You are on the Jersey side. But wait, you may own an iPhone. Bit more ubiquitous. I just bought one, finally.

Oohh, shiny.

Is there an app for awesome?

Back when I was innocent and thought all computers crashed from time to time, I resisted Macintosh because I “didn’t know it”. That is, until an IT colleague at a marketing firm I used to work at convinced me to buy one for my next computer upgrade.

It was 2005 then. I walked into an Apple store and fell in love with what was the iMac G5 the second I gazed onto the immaculate white curves framing the sleek monitor. I carried it home and wasn’t heard from for the next eight hours. Mac and I and countless glasses of Pinot Noir spent a lot of quality time together since then. The relationship strengthened. The only problem was that it was stationary. I couldn’t take it with me. It was a teenage romance.

Upgrading last year to a MacBook Pro notebook was like falling in love with a grown-up version of the same guy. It’s beautiful; it’s light; it’s virus-free; it works seamlessly with my iPod and…it just works. It traveled with me all over New Zealand and the east coast of Australia, providing much-needed wi-fi connection when available.

What I love even more than owning Apple’s products and evangelizing the company’s brand (which is, I know, precisely what they want me to do), is their seamless and genius marketing. I’d love to see it in action behind the scenes at one of their offices.

This morning, two days after I bought the iPhone, Apple sent me a welcome email with a short, simple sentence that impressed me.

We have so much to talk about.

Now I’m drinking the right Kool-Aid. The rest of the email contained various links on how to get get the most out of the iPhone. But that sentence made it sound like the iPhone were a person, an old friend who had just sent me a drinks invitation. As if it already knows me, and just wants to be useful.

Warm fuzzy feelings for Apple all-around.

I know marketing, and I know how strongly they feed this loyalty. I know that satisfied customers are the best brand ambassadors there are. But I love the subtle, yet powerful ways in which they do it.

In short, they do it by feeding the relationship with a constant wow.

They do it with compelling, innovative products that speak for themselves, that are like nothing else on the market. We feel they have something superior to other brands, and act that way, and convince others they can solve their life needs by purchasing an i…[insert Apple product here]. We make others visibly jealous for Apple gear. It’s the image–cool, creative, fun–that strikes such a deep cord with people.

Whether or not the iPhone is the best in the market ceases to matter. That’s the incredible brand loyalty the company cultivates. It’s fascinating to watch from a marketing perspective. So compelling.

He who said genius lies in simplicity would have loved to have to have owned Apple. Their ethos embodies it.

Not too long ago, I was content with owning a little point-and-shoot Panasonic Lumix camera that took fantastic pictures on the go. It did video. It boasted a 2.8 Leica lens. (Leica is a famous optics company that manufactures glass for medical equipment.) Cameras like this are perfect for the masses. They teach you nothing about photography, but they don’t claim to, either – they exist to take fun, snappy shots. Good enough.

The real joy of image-making was lost on me until the day I received a beginner DSLR, a Canon Rebel XS, as a going-away present to take pictures of that “beautiful place” everyone claimed New Zealand was.

My fingers on the controls went from clumsy to nimble in a matter of a day. Then I arrived in kiwi land and understood what everyone was talking about. I was so smitten by the landscapes and perfect vineyards and basically everything I saw on my way around the country, I wanted to create as many memories as possible. I read the instruction manual cover to cover and back again. I learned how to use every hidden feature in that camera. I experimented with program mode, with semi-automatic modes like shutter speed and aperture priority, and then “dared” to make the foray into manual mode—where I then remained most of the time. It was the best self-teaching practice ever. Because if those landscapes didn’t inspire you, nothing would.

Fox Glacier, West Coast of NZ

The little Lumix still had its place; it fit in the back pocket of my overalls. It’s responsible for my snatching those amazing sunset moments from the winery’s catwalks.

Can't think of a better workplace view than this catwalk

As for the rest?

Over two thousand images later, I got the bug. And when I’m curious, nothing will stand in the way of my acquiring knowledge. In New Zealand, I sometimes wished I had a teacher, someone who could critique my work and tell me about elements of better composition – but maybe then it wouldn’t make me practice so much. I just really wanted to keep more images of New Zealand – so I clicked, looked, switched, adjusted, clicked again, and repeated that many-many times.

There are some keepers.

Back in Boston and with some free time in between jobs, I did what most of us do when we want to learn. Read books and get on Google. Bless you, Amazon, for your recommendation of one of the most useful and fun photography books so far: Bryan Peterson’s Understanding Photography: Field Guide.

Indifferent to the sunny weather, I’ve sequestered myself at home (or café) reading, fascinated, completely engrossed in the subject on the art of image-making, because it’s presented in a clear, colorful and compelling way. With lots of pictures with tips on how they were taken.

Beware, reader, when you start to learn about photography. You will covet. And the things you’ll covet—gear—actually do matter, so it’s not just wishful thinking. Apparently, all photographers are gear-obsessed. It’s an industry thing.

So far, I’ve bought the inexpensive things, the ones I now consider necessary—a tripod and a polarizing filter. But what you really start wanting are better lenses. I’ve exhausted the possibilities of my 18-55 kit lens. But lenses are expensive, damn it—as they should be. Those pieces of glass are precise optical instruments that take expense and care to manufacture. And it’s the lenses that do most of the work, not the camera. And there are so many, I could spend days on research. So instead, until I have more disposable income, I’m going to keep exhausting the possibilities of a kit lens (and borrowing friends’ ones, whoever lets me) and using the tripod as a new toy to feed the photographic curiosity.

4th of July Fireworks, 1/10th of a sec at f11, tripod, 18-55 kit lens

When I landed in Boston Logan after a couple months in the land of the Southern Cross, I expected to be either bored or hyperactive. Because I fell in love with New Zealand and I wanted to continue the affair; I didn’t really want to come home just yet. The adventure down under reminded me the joys of living in another country, and I returned even more restless than when I left.

I dithered on whether or not to use up the year of the working holiday visa, but being a mature individual, I returned because reality called—banal reasons like money, apartment, bills, and the wonderful dance of work-finding. I knew I’d taken a risk when I left a perfectly good job to work the harvest in New Zealand. I didn’t know whether things would work out with it again. So I knew I’d have nothing to do with myself for a couple of weeks except get my routine back together, and that’s precisely what wasn’t so motivating.

Then my bag showed up second in luggage carousel, and I thought it was ridiculously awesome. Really though, when does that luck happen? Usually, I wait for at least twenty minutes, hoping and praying the airline didn’t lose it. That random bit of luggage luck made my day. I figured Boston can’t be that bad after all.

What saved me from being pissed off at being back in the US was the fact it was summer. After feeling the chill of imminent winter in the Southern Hemisphere, the abundance of greenness and long daylight hours were welcoming. Yes, it still managed to be gray and foggy when I stepped out of the airport. It was drizzling. But it was warm, and nature was alive. Oh, glorious sauna-like humidity and heat! I didn’t miss you, but I’ll take you anytime over nor’easters and digging my car out from two feet of snow for the umpteenth time in single digit weather.

Boston is alive and kicking in the summer—though it’s really not its best weather. The best one happens in October, when the colorful palette of foliage reminds you New England is, in fact, beautiful. Temperatures cool down a bit, and the sun shines photographically ideal light upon the world. It’s my favorite season in New England. Summer, on the other hand, is hot, humid and sticky.

But this time around, I love it nonetheless. Everything is growing, green, alive and…abundant! The best of all are farmers’ markets, which are at their plentiful. There’s nothing like the taste of just-picked local heirloom tomatoes and strawberries, and of course grass-fed protein grilled outdoors. It takes two minutes to get dressed. Flip-flops everywhere are acceptable. The waters of the Atlantic warm up just enough to be bearably swimmable (there’s no Gulf Stream help here as there is on Cape Cod), like just over 65F. There’s nothing like swimming in the open ocean in relative comfort and enjoying the fact that the water isn’t going to turn you into an icicle. There are free movies in Boston Common. There are concerts on the Esplanade. There are Red Sox games, outdoor eating, and free manicured tennis courts.

When you don’t get sunshine year round, you really appreciate it when it’s here. It makes you almost forget it was ever different. Nature’s tricks, eh.

I know this city intimately. I’ll always have a soft spot for it. It’s been my home for many years. It’s a city of many personal firsts: first college experience, first job, first love, first swim in the Atlantic, first oysters and beef tartare, first elations and disappointments, first roads to practice driving on, first memorable wine, first time being paid for writing, etc. I’m enjoying it over the summer—but perhaps more so only through the lenses of a soon-to-be outsider. I’m restless and, as usual, the desire to explore overweighs the status quo. My next move is to a state with weather much like Boston’s, where the ocean is on the “wrong” side. Why? Because they grow grapes there, and I want to be at the source and continue what I started in New Zealand – learn about the winemaking side of things at the actual winery.

Boston Harbor at Sunset

South Otago

We’ve been three people on the road.

Three travel companions thrown together by confluence of circumstance and a simple saying yes to a promising journey, we spent ten days driving around the South Island of New Zealand. This little slice of a lifetime was an awesome nature eye feast. We witnessed and experienced first-hand the captivating beauty of the land of the long white cloud.

Heaps of activity kept us interested, agreeable and excited to keep moving on. By default, every day brought something new—somewhere else to be, something different to do. Among the three of us, the decisions of what to have for food and accommodation led us to the most intriguing places—from a cozy country-esque house in the middle of nowhere in Te Anau to a Harry Potter-inspired bishop’s residence called Hogwartz in Dunedin. We shared dinners, sightseeing, wine, driving—then we went our separate ways, as intended, keeping in memory our individual experiences.

I took hundreds of pictures of the most majestic scenery on earth. I played with every feature on the camera—shutter speed, ISO, aperture, manual mode…you name it. It’s like this: if I don’t learn photography capturing New Zealand’s landscape, I won’t learn photography. So I’m working on it. It’s worth every shot. This place is beautiful even when it’s raining.

And through the lens of New Zealand landscape, I learned more about myself. Traveling does that to you—changes you, teaches you, shifts your priorities, makes you re-think what’s important and what you plan to do next.

I’ve learned how to cook in the midst of the communal kitchen at a typical backpacker’s accommodation, and how sharing a room with strangers is so completely ok here. I’ve learned how little clothing you need when you only pass by new people for a night–you won’t see them again, so who cares if you look the same tomorrow? I’ve learned many stories of people from many countries who travel here-long term for similar reasons–on a working holiday for a backpacker lifestyle experience. Somehow, somewhere, a mass of people decide to say “screw it, home, if not now, then when?” and move to a foreign country in search of money, adventure and opportunities. When we meet and talk, it’s like an unspoken mischievous travel bond. It’s sweet as. It rocks.

I’m not done. This is just the beginning. So it’s onwards and upwards—for me, driving solo up the North Island from Wellington to Auckland. Then To Sydney. Then home–to new adventures. This is a perfect catalyst. I’m on the move.

Cheers to New Zealand. My favorite country so far.

Road to Queenstown heading south

Milford Sound is New Zealand’s landscape porn.

It is a fjord located south of Queenstown in Fiordland National Park, which is large area that takes up a chunk on the southwestern corner of the South Island. It’s rated as one of the top travel destinations in the world.

It was a must-see, of course. And of course, as for any worthy sightseeing, we had to pay. We paid $55NZ per person for an hour-long cruise that would take us to those mountains up close and personal.

Wow. Best $55 I ever spent.

It was a sight to behold. I’ve never seen anything quite as…mystical, pure and distinctive. It felt like the last untouched corner of the earth. It rained that morning, and the low-lying clouds were pregnant with moisture and grayness. Typical weather at the Sound, we were told. These majestic mountains, which rise tall and proud straight out of the water for fifteen kilometers before entering the Tasman Sea, kiss the low fluffy clouds for a total effect that is surreal. It’s like being on a movie set with the best special effects, except it’s reality.

Milford Sound

When we got back in the car, a more banal reality kept up the alertness level.

We almost ran out of gas.

The road back to civilization is a 1.5-hour drive back to Te Anau that leads out of Milford Sound down narrow windy roads through the mountains. This lovely through-way has no gas stations, which we should have thought about on the way there, when the dial indicated we had just over a quarter tank of gas left. One wastes a lot of gas hitting the brakes and zigzagging up and down those sharp curvy roads.

Luckily, there was some “emergency gas” at a detour ten kilometers away. Cost us a bunch, but we safely made it back to our lovely hostel at Bob & Maxine’s.

It was our second night there, voted in by a unanimous decision to spend another night at this place we liked so much.

This time around, our little group watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy. It was so appropriate in that setting it risked cliché.

This time, I had no inclination to stay up half the night. Plus, I had nothing decent to drink.

Te Anau is a lovely little town two hours south of Queenstown that is travel-famous for two things: sitting on a pretty lake of the same name, which is the largest lake in the South Island, and being the tourist stop to the fjord of Milford Sound.

We decided to make that our stop for the night before hitting Milford Sound next morning. Trusting the reliable Lonely Planet guide, we settled on their “top pick” budget accommodation – a quaint house-turned-hostel named, unassumingly, Bob & Maxine’s.

The herd of cows outside the “hostel” grazed lazily. When the car’s tires crunched the gravel in the parking area, they lifted their big heads and looked at us with mild curiosity. Bob, the owner, a charismatic middle-aged man, warmly welcomed us in. It was the country of the country, with the appropriate charm. We settled in, cooked dinner and sat by the fireplace in the huge living room full of beanbag chairs, plush rugs and couches. Then one of the other guests (only about six in total) suggested watching a movie. For the next two hours, Bourne Identity captured the attention of our little audience.

Then everyone else went to bed, but I didn’t feel like sleeping. I poured myself another glass of the tasty Pinot Noir and settled back by the fire, warm and comfortable. Taking advantage of free Wi-Fi, I Skyped with home, answered emails, and made myself concentrate on further travel plans.

Next time I noticed the time, it was 3:30 am. I was drying my socks and shoes by the flames, which were still smoldering. There was still some Pinot left in my glass. (It was a big glass.) It was very quiet. There were no cars passing by; no sounds at all emanated from the outside. Cuddled on the couch in the darkened living room, my bare feet buried in a soft fur rug, I was content as a cat.  Save for the brightly lit Google page on the Macbook, it felt like the world outside did not exist.

But it did, of course, and I knew I’d have to make up my mind. I decided to travel some of the North Island, solo this time, since my travel companions would be going separate ways. I wanted to take the ferry across the Cook Straight to Wellington, then take a few days to drive up to Auckland, stopping at whatever strikes my fancy on the way. From Auckland, I’d travel to Sydney for a few days, check out Australia’s east coast with one of my travel companions, and then return home to the states.

I couldn’t have asked for better surroundings that night to think about what to do next – both with travel and with work. I knew that this harvest was the beginning of something. I knew it altered my further wine interests. I knew I’d be restless as soon as I returned. I just wasn’t sure yet how to execute it all, and didn’t want to think about it until I had to get back to home routine.

With self-imposed finality, I picked two travel dates: one for Sydney (May 26th) and one for Boston (June 8th). The credit card wobbled on top of the wine glass. My fingers hovered over the “enter” button for a second longer than necessary, and then it was settled.

Lake Te Anau