Category Archives: Where To Go

Sallie Ann Glassman: The High Voodoo Priestess of New Orleans (No, Really!)

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Sallie Ann Glassman

Sallie Ann Glassman

Meet Sallie Ann Glassman – a Jew from Maine who also happens to be the high voodoo priestess of New Orleans. Not what I expected either.

Fun fact: I spend every Thanksgiving at Joan River’s house. A few years ago, I was at Joan’s house and she told me this story: “When I bought my (NYC) apartment it was haunted. Doors would open and shut, things would fall. So I found (Sallie Ann Glassman). She came up to New York and did an exorcism of the whole building. Apparently something really bad happened in the basement once. After she came all the stuff stopped. So now I have her do all my houses.” When Joan found out I was going to NOLA she introduced me to Sallie Ann. Separately, when I went to New Orleans, several business people in the town said, “You’re doing a New Orleans story? You should talk to the voodoo priestess – Sallie Ann!”

Outside the Island of Salvation

Outside the Island of Salvation

So, of course I had to talk to Sallie Ann, right? The Island of Salvation Botanica is on the edge of the Ninth Ward and crammed full of… stuff. The temple room has candles, statues, booze, cigars, altars and just things everywhere. Apparently voodoo spirits (and there are a ton) like to party.

Sallie Ann claims that during Katrina, the water stopped at her block and didn’t damage her house, temple or store because of her voodoo. Believe, don’t believe – either way, she was never under water and after Katrina that’s pretty amazing. She also says she can talk to spirits that will tell you about your past, your present and your future. She went into a trance and… Apparently I was a Buddhist monk in my past life. Go figure. I’m also supposed to be wildly successful in this life (I’m still waiting).

Photos of the voodoo after the jump:

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Eating An Alien Lung At Santiago’s Mercado Centrale

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I love a food market, especially a fish market. Fun fact: After 8 surgeries on my ears as a child, my auditory orifices are shot so I can’t go diving. Even if I could, being from Ohio and Kentucky, every time I go snorkeling far from the shore I hear the “Jaws” theme pumping in my head. So, yeah. No scuba masks for me. Instead,  I go diving by visiting fish markets. Which suits me just fine – that way I can actually touch the fish and check them out without having them swim away or, you know, bite me. Added bonus: Dry Diving means I also don’t have to worry about a bikini wedgie or that weird rash you get from a wet suit.

Yummy. I swear.

I haven’t been to my dream fish market in Tokyo yet, but the one in Sydney Fish Market was pretty insane – with almost everything in the ocean available to poke, prod and squeeze.

So I was pretty stoked to find the fish market in the Mercado Central in Santiago, Chile. My guide, Fanor (velascofanor@hotmail.com), even introduced me to a new sea specimen I hadn’t even heard of: Piure.

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How To Survive High Altitudes (With Bonus Video!)

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Coca leaves, I looove you!

Coca leaves, I looove you!

I’m usually good up in the mountains – okay fine, there may be a bout or fifteen with HAF*, but nothing a few GasX won’t cure – but holy hell was I not prepared for what was about to happen in Peru or Chile.

High Altitude Sickness kicked in the first time for me in Peru. I was in Cusco at the market – not the big tourist one but the one waaaaay down the hill where the locals go – haggling my ass off over some alpaca skins when suddenly I wanted to die. As in crawl in the ground and call it a day. I got nauseous, light headed, dizzy and blacked out thinking, “THIS is how it’s gonna go down? Here?” I woke up to the guy I was haggling with standing over me and shoving what looked like bay leaves in my mouth.

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The Dark Side of Phu Quoc : The Idyllic Island That Comes With Torture Instructions

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IMG_3845Subtlety just seems to confuse people and so the Vietnamese government has good-naturedly sought to make its war homages as literal and interactive as possible with the use of life-sized mannequins, no matter how dull or inappropriate the theme may be. They are placed in mundane situations, like the ones chilling on hammocks at Cu Chi, or the UN inspector models at the DMZ line which are being served tea by a gorgeous little Vietnamese paper mache model. And then there are those placed in situations that are just… unfortunate. Like the re-enactment of the My Lai massacre – where American GI’s are frozen in place, forever terrifying women and children – or the torture scenes at the little known, un-publicized prison museum on Phu Quoc Island.

Phu Quoc is a tiny, idyllic island at the very southern tip of Vietnam that takes about three hours to traverse over dirt roads. An airport was installed about two years ago, roughly the same time a small patch of road on the West Side of the island was paved and resorts were built, including the exclusive La Veranda, where honeymooning couples go to snuggle on the beach and get their tan on. The hotel’s brochure lists activities to do on the island, like “snorkeling, reef diving, waterfalls, hiking in virgin forests, shopping at the market…” at the very bottom of the list, on the back page is “Coconut Tree Prison.” Located at the far end of the island, the prison is not a very popular destination for La Veranda guests – the hotel employees gave me a strange look when I told them where I wanted to go and it cost me a whopping forty dollars for someone to take me there.

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Ho Chi Minh’s Tomb: So Strict Yet So Chic.

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Chilling with my pal Theano outside of Uncle Ho's tomb

Chilling with my pal Theano outside of Uncle Ho’s tomb

The Vietnamese do not fuck around when it comes to their beloved Ho Chi Minh. The line to see the Dear Leader’s body lying in state in a glass coffin inside his tomb is almost always a mile long, but it moves at a pretty good clip despite the many checkpoints. As I waited, a woman in a long navy blue uniform and a severe bob observed visitors through a glinty, eagle eye. I passed muster. The French woman behind me wearing a skirt that fell just above her knee did not.

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Where The Boys Are: The Valle Nevada Man Stew

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Dear (Single) Ladies,

Tired of trying to meet Mr. Right through bad introductions, OkCupid, Match, JDate or Tinder? Sick of wondering if an axe murderer will show up or why the dude who’s stiffing you with the check for his drink doesn’t resemble the chiseled hunk in his profile at all? Do you ever wonder if there’s one place in the world you could go and just be surrounded by hot guys — kind of like MTV’s Spring Break — but in reverse? Or, on a night out with your girlfriends, looked around at the slim pickings have you thought: “Ok. Somewhere there has got to be a place full of eye candy for us. There’s just got to be.” Well, no worries ladies, I have the answer: Chile.

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The Most Important Difference Between North And South Vietnam

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Dinner. Photo courtesy of Martin Brandt.

Dinner, Hanoi. Photo courtesy of Martin Brandt.

Fun fact: the Vietnamese are practically American in their view of one another above or below the 17th parallel – their Mason Dixon Line. It’s the typical grudge match between the Vanquished and the Victor. “People in the South are lazy. They just want to party,” Northerners will say. “People in the North are too uptight and strict,” the Southerners will say.

There are also more subtle differences.

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