This is one in a series of New England winter travel articles.

WESTFORD — For years, I’ve sat smugly on chairlifts, riding confidently to the top of mountains all over the East Coast, occasionally giggling and rolling my eyes at the poor souls going down who obviously had no idea what they were doing. They were easy to spot and often fell into two categories: the creepers, those so petrified that they inched their way down like glaciers; and the screamers, those for whom helmets were invented, who race in a straight line to the bottom, using their vocal cords as a warning beacon.

I learned to ski at age five, so I have no recollection of the terror of learning to hurl oneself down a mountain on pieces of waxed fiberglass. I have no idea whether I was a creeper or a screamer. And perhaps that’s part of why I decided one day this winter that I was ready for a new challenge: snowboarding.

The idea of braving the crowds and the cold up north didn’t appeal to me. My day would mostly be spent on the bunny hill, so being on a big mountain didn’t seem to matter much. Somewhere close to home would be significantly cheaper and more convenient.

I settled on Nashoba Valley, which offers a learn-to-ski deal several times a week: $55 for a lift ticket, rental and lesson –  everything I’d need to get started. And with Nashoba about a 35 minute drive from downtown Boston, I could spend a day on the slopes and be home in time for happy hour.

I arrived at Nashoba Valley mid-morning on a weekday, a luxury for any skier or boarder as weekdays are significantly less crowded than weekends. In minutes I’d signed up for a lesson and was directed to the rental center, where I was outfitted with boots and a board. The mountain got new skis and snowboards this season, a treat for yours truly, whose skis are circa 1998.

Founded by Alan Fletcher Sr. in 1964, the Nashoba Valley originally boasted a rope tow and four trails that were hand groomed each night by staff armed with shovels. A one-story gravel-floored lodge was heated with a pot bellied stove. Completely dependent on Mother Nature for snow, the inaugural season lasted just 14 days.

But those few days were considered a success, and over the years the Fletcher family expanded the mountain, clearing new trails, adding chairlifts, and improving the lodge. Today, Nashoba Valley boasts 17 fully groomed trails, four chairlifts, a snow boarding terrain park, a 16-lane snow tubing hill, as well as a cafeteria and The Outlook Restaurant. The result is a facility that has a little something for everyone, from seasoned skiers and boarders looking to hone their skills to those like me, who are just starting out.

Trying to look as expert as I could, I took my board and went out to meet my instructor, Sean Doyle. After some introductions, Sean assured me that he’d have me looking like I knew what I was doing by the end of the day.

We headed to the bunny hill, territory that I hadn’t traversed in decades. I was a bit humbled when Sean declared me not ready for the conveyor belt towing up all the pint-sized pupils and instead walked me over to the far corner of the beginners’ area. There, he explained the parts of the board and showed me how to strap the board to my left foot. He demonstrated how to climb up the hill with the board and how to propel myself with my free foot and glide to a stop. Before long, he had me hiking up the hill and perfecting something called J-turns, which not-surprisingly are turns in the shape of a J.

While skiing has been second nature for decades, I felt like a fish on land trying to maneuver around with a snowboard. More than once, I fell on my face trying to simply propel myself in a straight line.

After learning the basics, I stepped aboard the conveyor belt and rode to the top of the bunny hill. Sean was patient and encouraging, using each run to build upon what we did in the last. And so, while I definitely felt out of my element, I was never scared or out of control. We zigzagged down, then did C-turns (yes, that would be a turn in the shape of a C) and then S-turns.

Once I had turning down, Sean brought me to the chairlift. The bunny hill allowed for one or two turns at the most; on the big hill I could carve several, hopefully getting better each time.

I suppose I should have stopped at the top of the mountain to enjoy the view or take in my surroundings, but I didn’t. Instead, I glided off the lift, strapped into my board and followed Sean down the mountain, intent on mastering my turns. I liked how snowboarding had turned a trail that would be ho-hum on skis into a new challenge, I liked that I felt like I was using new muscles, and most of all, I liked that I was warm, despite the 30-degree temperature.

The moment I’d been dreading happened at the end of my first run on the big hill. I wasn’t going particularly fast, I wasn’t even on a steep part of the hill. I was at the bottom, on a piece of terrain as flat as the parking lot. One second I was gliding towards the chairlift, the next I was on my back, a sharp pain shooting from my tailbone to my teeth. “Oh, that hurt,” Sean said, standing over me. “You OK?”

Take a breath, I told myself. “Yeah, I’m OK,” I lied. I lay there for a minute, breathing, looking up at the sky and the trees. My tailbone throbbed. I got up slowly, happy that my hat and goggles masked most of my face. Yes, it hurt. But I was just getting the turns down, I didn’t want to quit just yet.

I managed a few more runs on the big hill and took some more spills. But each turn seemed smoother, each run less fraught, and when my lesson was over, Sean congratulated me. “You’re officially a part of the snowboarding community,” he said.

Despite the bumps, I’m looking forward to practicing what I learned, even if it means I’m likely to leave divots in the snow with my knees or to slide down the hill on my back with arms flailing. Hey, at least it’ll be entertaining to the people watching from the chairlifts.

For more information on Nashoba Valley visit their web-site: skinashoba.com

For anyone wondering what the political landscape will look like now that the Supreme Court has overturned the ban on corporate spending in campaigns, "Edge of Darkness" is a worst-case scenario, illustrating all that can go wrong when greed and politics collide.

As Boston Police Detective Thomas Craven (Mel Gibson) investigates the death of his daughter, the film’s mystery unravels from the opening scene when three bodies float up in the dark of night in an anonymous body of water. We then meet Craven, a devoted father who’s on his way to South Station in Boston to pick up his daughter Emma. When she arrives, Craven can sense that something is amiss. Emma’s worn out by her work at Northmoor, a prestigious research firm in Western Massachusetts that does lots of top-secret work. But she’s also quite sick, and after developing a nosebleed and vomiting on the kitchen table, she admits that there’s something she needs to tell her dad. However, she never gets the chance: as the pair head out the door to a doctor, a masked man yells "Craven!" once and then blows Emma away.

Though police think that the elder Craven was the intended target, the detective has a hunch that someone set out to kill his daughter. His suspicions are confirmed when he finds a gun among her personal effects and discovers a lock of hair he cut from her body is radioactive. From there, viewers are taken on a fast and scenic journey that stretches from the streets of Back Bay to the shores of the Connecticut River as Craven slowly unravels the web of corruption that led to his daughter’s death.

Gibson’s first lead role since "Signs" in 2002, "Edge of Darkness" is largely seen as the actor’s attempt to reestablish himself as the King of Rage. Here we see an older Gibson, grayer and a bit more subdued. But his role as a bereaved father racked with guilt and grief makes him a sympathetic character — something Gibson desperately needs. And when he faces an oncoming car and fires away, quipping lines like "You had better decide whether you’re hangin’ on the cross or bangin’ in the nails," we catch a glimpse of the hero we came to love in the roles of Mad Max and Lethal Weapon.

A remake of director Martin Campbell’s 1985 BBC miniseries of the same name, "Edge of Darkness" is refreshing in that it doesn’t fall into most of the stereotypes we’ve come to expect from Hollywood portrayals of Boston. We’re used to examinations of the city’s seedy underworld, but the machine here is Massachusetts’ hot technology sector- the bad guys are white collar power players. Even Craven breaks stereotypes- he’s something of a loner in a city of cop’s cops, speaks Latin and lives in Roslindale (thank God, not Southie!). The accents are predictably bad (Gibson’s is mediocre at best), but writers William Monahan (who also wrote the Hub thriller "The Departed") and Andrew Bovell have mastered the Boston art of sarcasm and even get a few laughs in between high-speed chases and flying bullets.

"Edge of Darkness" isn’t philosophical or deep enough to tug at the heartstrings of viewers, but its adrenaline pumping, non-stop action keeps your attention for the nearly two-hour duration of the film. And you can’t help but root for Craven as he avenges his daughter’s death, one bullet at a time. After all, what more have we come to expect from Mad Max?

Media credit/Smart Decisions via Flickr

Winter is in full swing, and if you’re anything like me you’re likely counting down the days until you can head outside without looking like the Michelin Man.

However, the one thing that makes these cold months bearable (at least for me) is the abundance of winter sports. New to the area, or maybe you’re simply interested in checking out a new winter sport? Here’s a little something to get you started.

Cross Country Skiing: You’ll see people cross country skiing on the Esplanade after any major snow storm, but for more assured conditions head to the Weston Ski Track (a convenient 15 minute drive from downtown) for groomed trails, rentals and lessons. Bored after work? Give night skiing a try. Not so sure on your skis? Snowshoe rentals are also available.

Ice Skating: Opportunities abound in the city. Each winter, the Frog Pond on Boston Common is transformed into an outdoor skating rink. Billed as the city’s "coolest gathering spot" it’s open for public skating everyday and offers rentals. The Skating Club of Boston in Allston also offers public skate sessions on Saturday and Tuesday afternoons, as well as rentals and lessons. And Bay State Skating School has a number of locations, including in West Roxbury, Cleveland Circle and Southie. The Massachusetts’ Department of Recreation and Conservation also runs a number of skating rinks across the city. Go here for locations and public skate hours.

Hockey: Looking to fulfill your own Bruins fantasy? Check out the Greater Boston Hockey League for information on joining a rec team. Or check to see if your local skating rink offers a neighborhood league.

Downhill Skiing: With great skiing just a quick drive away, there’s no reason not to gather up a few friends and head north for a day or a weekend on the slopes. No car? No problem. Several companies run bus services that leave from the city. The Boston Ski and Sports Club offers day and weekend trips to some of the best spots in New England. At $79 for a bus ride and lift ticket, these trips are a veritable bargain. Also, New England Action Sports does slightly cheaper weekday trips that leave from South Station. If you’re just starting out, you might want to get a few lessons under your belt before heading to the big stuff. Consider a trip to Blue Hills Ski Area in Canton, which offers weekend and evening lessons.

Snow Tubing: Hankering to relive your childhood sledding days? Head to Nashoba Valley or Amesbury Sports Park. Whirling down groomed slopes will bring that same old rush, minus the grueling climb afterward (yes, there’s a lift to carry you up).

SAN JUAN — Aquamarine seas, palm trees and sunshine; it doesn’t really get any better, in my book, at least. There’s something intoxicating about the tropics, like the way a banana becomes part of a savory meal, the way the salt air and humidity make a beer taste that much better, the way a straw makes drinking out of a coconut seem civilized. Puerto Rico did not disappoint on those fronts.

We did a lot some days and a whole lot of nothing on others. Still, I left feeling that I must return to Puerto Rico. I have a feeling there’s a lot that I still need to see.

A few thoughts: While Old San Juan is charming, I got the distinct feeling that the city in general is trying mighty hard to become South Beach. Places push their prices sky high, blare house music, drape everything in white and compare themselves to The Delano. To fall into this would be a shame. While I love South Beach, Puerto Rico is no South Beach and I wish they’d try to forge their own identity rather than become copycats. The result ends up looking like a fake Louis Vitton bag: kind of desperate and cheap.

I’m also at a loss when it comes to the service in Puerto Rico. Whether at a restaurant serving comida tipica or an upscale place with menus in English, the waiters were the same: they’d come and take your order, bring your food and then disappear. Getting a check or paying a bill were nearly impossible and probably doubled the amount of time I would have spent in any establishment. This wouldn’t have been nearly as bad if I’d had some kind of drink in front of me, but sitting at an empty table, with an empty glass, trying to flag down a waiter is simply no fun. It also makes the dine and dash a tempting prospect”

Notables: Eating well in Puerto Rico is easy. Eating healthily, not so much. It seems the Puerto Ricans like to fry everything- fish, tacos, plantains. You name it, you can probably find it fried. Even seemingly good foods like rice and beans are cooked in ways to increase their calorie content- a technique that harks back to the days when people had to subsist on the basics. Rice is typically cooked with lard, while beans come stewed with some kind of pork fat.

We ended up at a strip of food stalls in Loquillo one day, about an hour east of San Juan, but I was so hungry I forgot to take pictures. There must have been 50 places, all lined up on the beach, all selling chicharron, mofongo, fried fish and yellow rice. While the comida tipica was tasty, I can’t figure out how these places survive when they seem to all sell the same thing.

The Surprise: San Juan Water & Beach Club in Isla Verde. Yes, this place falls into the category of establishments trying too hard to be South Beach. But the lovely ocean views, waterfalls in the elevator and not too pretentious service made it work: this place is chic, fun and definitely worth a visit. We started our evening at Wet, the rooftop bar which afforded a lovely 360-degree view and a too-cool-for-school atmosphere. This would be a great place to come on a date, or to start a rowdy evening with friends. (One complaint: they don’t have a cocktail menu. What upscale nightlife establishment doesn’t have its own cocktail menu?)

We then had dinner at Tangerine, the restaurant downstairs that emphasized ambiance with blue lights, a waterfall behind the bar and white everything. While appearance is good, what sets this place apart is the fact that the food was tasty and original.

We started with a trio of ceviches: ginger tuna, topped with candied ginger; coconut snapper; and tangerine salmon. Each was distinct and unlike any ceviche I’ve ever had: the snapper was subtly sweet, the tuna had a bit of bite and the salmon emphasized sour.

Next, we had a paella with red snapper. It was a lovely execution, not at all greasy, which can be the case with paella. The rice was accented generously with carrot, zucchini and red pepper, as well as large, gorgeous chunks of snapper.

The highlight of the evening, however, was the steak with green chile sauce. To be frank, I didn’t have high hopes for this one, but we didn’t think two tapas-sized dishes would be enough to eat (though in the end, two would have been fine). Chunks of tender beef sauteed in a red-wine, chile and caper sauce, and served with house fried plantain chips, this dish was succulent, savory and impossible not to love. While our previous two dishes had been good, this one set the bar even higher.

The Regret: Driving back to San Juan from Loquillo on Saturday I passed a sign for chicharron de conejo. I was intrigued. Chicharron are typically fried pieces of pork skin and conejo is rabbit”¦ fried rabbit skin? Alas, I kept driving, and now I haven’t been able to stop wondering what I missed out on.

While I mostly have great things to say about Puerto Rico, there was one place that annoyed me so much, I feel compelled to warn others to stay away, especially because it’s supposed to be one of the best places on the island.

The Disappointment: Budatai in Condado. Frommer’s led me astray with this one, naming it one of the 10-Best Dining Bets in Puerto Rico. Perhaps the good people at Frommer’s only ate at 10 places in Puerto Rico? Executive Chef/Owner Roberto Treviƒ±o is a contestant on Iron Chef America this season, and if this cuisine is any indication of Treviƒ±o’s talents I’d avoid putting any money on him winning.

Located across from La Ventana al Mar Park, the terrace area where we ate did have lovely views of the sea and surrounding area. However, that did little to make up for the limited menu or poor execution. My first beef with Budatai came with the menu, which boasted “Wild Salmon” but which our server then informed us was actually farm-raised. My sense of distrust raised immediately. Why would you put “wild” on the menu if it isn’t? What other fabrications are included? Is the vegetarian cuisine truly vegetarian? Is the duck really duck?

We started with some vegetarian egg rolls, which interestingly enough had cheese in them. Yes, cheese, which in my book is the ultimate faux-pas when it comes to Asian-fusion cooking. Worse, the cheese was gooey and tasteless, adding nothing but calories and a strange mouth feel.

My companion, who keeps kosher and hence had little to choose from on the shell-fish and pork heavy menu, reluctantly opted for the salmon, which came with vegetables and a Bearnaise sauce- again, a strange offering at what is supposedly an Asian restaurant. It was forgettable at best. I opted for the pork dumplings (billed as the house specialty) and a side of duck fried rice.

In his last column as The New York Times’ dining critic, Frank Bruni suggested that one way to safely navigate a restaurant’s menu was to “scratch off anything that mentions truffle oil.” I wish I’d listened. As a rule, pork dumplings are usually a safe standby in Asian places. Budatai’s started off promisingly enough with some well-flavored pork wrapped inside a doughy wrapper. Then things got a bit”¦ well, crazy. The dumplings looked like they’d been grilled, but they were about as crispy as chewing gum. Then, they were topped with what looked like any and everything the chef had within reach: some strange brown sauce, caviar, truffles, truffle oil, garlic, sesame seeds, watercress”¦ and those are just the things I could identify in the terrace’s half-light. It was a cacophony of flavors, so busy I wondered if I’d even notice if half the ingredients were missing.

The duck fried rice was similarly busy. Greasy, with only a trace of duck, this dish came laden with sweet plantains, which were just weird. Just say it: rice, banana and duck”¦ it even sounds weird, doesn’t it? This dish would have been saved with more duck and perhaps the inclusion of some complimentary ingredients: think scallion or bean sprout. Banana? Not so much.

The Delight: Mirƒ³, also in Condado. This place obviously caters to tourists, but had a few hard to find dishes, like grilled baby octopus and arroz negro — rice cooked with squid ink and then mixed with a variety of shellfish. In addition, the sangria was pretty amazing. Made to order with red wine, brandy, triple sec, pineapple juice and a squirt of sprite, it was refreshing, but not too sweet.

HAMILTON, Bermuda — One would have to be about as dull as an empty rum bottle‚ to set foot on this island and not figure out the importance of the Dark “Ëœn’ Stormy. Vendors sell Dark Stormy scented candles, bars advertise happy hour specials and t-shirts sport every bad pun imaginable. It is the national drink of Bermuda.

With that in mind I set out Thursday to learn a bit more about the Dark “Ëœn’ Stormy’s two ingredients: namely Gosling’s Black Seal rum and Barritt’s ginger beer.‚  Both are‚ about as Bermudan as pink sand; Gosling’s‚ has been around for seven generations, while five generations of ‚ Barritt’s have been brewing ginger beer.

For decades, the only place in the world one could get a real‚ Dark “Ëœn’ Stormy was on Bermuda. That’s because for decades the Gosling family stubbornly refused to export their distinctive rum. The drink developed a cult following — chiefly among the sailors who raced in the many annual regattas to the island. Once in port, they’d‚ drown themselves in rum and ginger beer before‚ returning home with a hangover and several bottles of Gosling’s stashed in the bilge (to elude custom’s officials who would otherwise enforce quantity limits). Over the last decade Black Seal has started trickling into the U.S., but can still be tricky to obtain. So much so that the company took out a billboard on the Mass Pike a few years back that read “Harder to find than Whitey Bulger.”

People who have never had a Dark “Ëœn’ Stormy either love them or hate them upon first taste, both because Gosling’s and ginger beer are somewhat acquired tastes. Ginger beer can best be described as ginger ale on steroids. While it is somewhat‚ sweet, Barritt’s in particular has an intense spiciness that‚ cuts the‚ sugar and‚ plays on the tongue like the sun on‚ Bermuda’s ‚ waters. Gosling’s meanwhile is the obnoxious uncle of rums, the one who stomps into your mouth and makes his presence known immediately. The trouble is that most Yankees are accustomed to a light rum that mixes well with coke and absorbs the fruity flavors of a pina colada. Gosling’s is no such drinking partner.‚ It is dark in color and complex in flavor with swirls of fruit, vanilla and smoke. It is a rum that’s impossible not to notice.

Like most things on this island, there is very little about the Dark (rum) or the Stormy (ginger beer) that is actually native. As Barritt’s General Manager‚ Bruce Barritt said, “We’re an island of 22-square miles, it’s hard to grown anything for production.” Instead, Barritt’s uses imported cane sugar (Brazilian) and Gosling’s imports rums from all over the West Indies and blends them in giant tanks on-island before shipping it to Kentucky where the product is aged in smoked, recycled bourbon casks for three to six years. It’s the smoked barrels, and a little molasses, that gives the rum its motor oil color and burnt sugar undertones.

As with many things involving booze and boats, the history of the Dark “Ëœn’ Stormy is somewhat cloudy.‚ Gosling’s Brand Manager Andrew Holmes told me that ginger beer was long a popular mixer for Gosling’s, but it wasn’t named until the early 1960s when a bartender at the Royal Bermuda Yacht Club accidentally put the ginger beer into a highball glass before the rum. As a result, the dark rum floated on top of the drink like a storm cloud. Barritt on the other hand said the drink had been dubbed such because it’s orange-ish color was‚ reminiscent of the sky in the old mariner’s rhyme: “Red sky at night, sailors delight. Red sky at morn, sailors be warned.”

By law (in the U.S. anyway), a drink can be labelled a Dark “Ëœn’ Stormy only if it actually contains Gosling’s Black Seal Rum. As The New York Times documented last month, Gosling’s has two trademark certificates on file, a rare move in the cocktail world, but a vital one in the eyes of the Gosling family given their flagship spirit’s distinctive flavor. “There isn’t a week that goes by that we don’t have to protect that trademark” Holmes told me.‚ Unfortunately for the Barritt’s folks, the‚ brand of ginger beer isn’t specified.

Though Barritt’s and Gosling’s livelihood’s‚ appear to‚ be‚ inextricably linked the two companies‚ have no formal business relationship. Interestingly, while the Barritt’s web site suggests mixing it with Gosling’s to make a Dark “Ëœn’ Stormy, the rum maker makes no mention of Barritt’s on their web site. This may be because Gosling’s started producing their own ginger beer line in May (Made by Massachusetts’ own Polar Beverages), putting themselves in competition with their former unofficial partner (though Gosling’s Holmes‚ stressed that the ginger beer is intended mainly for‚ the U.S. market‚ to sell in liquor stores alongside the Black Seal Rum). Meanwhile, Barritt’s recently ceased production of the pre-mixed Dark “Ëœn’ Stormy in a can (available on-island only) and supplies are expected to run out before the end of the year.

Lest you prefer the dark minus the stormy or vice-versa, there are plenty of other things you can use Gosling’s and Barritt’s for. Bermudans christen new homes by pouring a bottle of Gosling’s over the roof. Nelson’s Blood (Gosling’s and milk) was once‚ quite popular on-island, while Canadian fisherman tend to prefer the “Seal Caesar”- a combination of Clamato and Gosling’s (yeah, I just threw up a little in my mouth too). On the stormy side, Barritt talked up the Moscow Mule, which mixes‚ ginger beer and vodka. Golfers in Bermuda have also been known to enjoy a “Shandy”- that is, a pitcher of beer with a can of ginger beer poured into it.