Back to the gypsy that I was

Current Top Ten Albums

Thu, 24 Apr 2008 16:05:11 GMT

I decided musical tastes are too fluid to do "all-time, desert-island" top ten records anymore, so here is the current list, which is a blend of some all-timers with some new favorites:

1. The Crane Wife - The Decemberists
2. Vampire Weekend - Vampire Weekend
3. The Flying Club Cup - Beirut
4. August and Everything After - Counting Crows
5. Poses - Rufus Wainwright
6. Grace - Jeff Buckley
7. Castaways and Cutouts - The Decemberists
8. Want: One - Rufus Wainwright
9. Hard Candy - Counting Crows
10. Graceland - Paul Simon

I realize that female vocalists are conspicuously absent from this list, and I am still an enormous fan of Ani diFranco and The Cranberries, among others, but no one album stands out as a current favorite above these ten, so they didn't make it. Apparently I'm not a believer in affirmative action.

Parisian Holiday

Mon, 07 Jan 2008 21:33:23 GMT

I suppose some of you may actually want to hear about our trip to Paris and such. We were in France for three weeks, from just after Thanksgiving to just before Christmas. The idea was that this was the perfect time to go because of our winter’s schedule, and we thought it would be lovely in Paris at Christmastime, you know, all decked out and snowy. So when we actually got there and were wandering around a grey Paris, shivering in the drizzling rain and freezing cold, the few holiday decorations we saw were little comfort. At first I felt fairly stupid for thinking this would be such a great trip, and being sad that so far it sucked.

The situation improved, however. Yes, it was cold and quite rainy (not cold enough for snow) most of the time, but we had a lot of time to see Paris, so we saved the nice days for walking around sight-seeing and took advantage of the drizzly days to go to museums, sit in cafés drinking espresso, and relax in our place. We had found an apartment to rent for the time we were there, and there was a bakery a block away and a grocery store three blocks away, so we had fresh croissants every morning and fifty kinds of cheese with good, cheap French wine in the evenings. It was so nice to have a home for a little while, and in Paris, of all places. Despite the weather, the city did turn out to be charming in the winter, with more Christmas decorations going up everyday, people walking around all bundled up in boots and coats and scarves, kids skating on the ice rink in front of Hotel de Ville, and every corner café serving hot mulled wine to go from giant cauldrons. It was a very different city than the warm, blossoming, sunny “April in Paris” I spent so many years ago, but it was wonderful in its own way, and the Seine still sparkled at night under so many city lights.

I won’t bore you with all the details, but will give a few highlights. I still discovered the incredible Impressionist collection at Musee D’Orsay to be so much more rewarding than anything at the Louvre, especially the tiny, crowded Mona Lisa. We spent some time in Montmartre, seeing the city view from the Sacre Coeur basilica at the top of the Montmartre hill, seeing Moulin Rouge, wandering the artists’ haven of Place du Tertre, and having drinks at Amelie’s café, Les Deux Moulins. We of course saw the Eiffel Tower but didn’t go to the top because the cost and the lines didn’t seem worth it, especially when the best thing to see on the Paris skyline is the Eiffel Tower itself. And just as the seventeen-year-old me, my favorite place by far was Notre Dame cathedral. We spent a lot of time walking around it, sitting in the square in front of it or in the café across the river from it, and best of all, climbing to the top of the bell towers. Anybody who has read Victor Hugo knows the draw of the bell towers, and finally getting to ascend them was amazing. We saw one of the bells inside, the 13-ton Emmanuel bell, saw the many gargoyle guarding the high walls, and climbed to the top to get a panoramic view of the city. It was definitely the highlight of the trip in more ways than one.

We also managed to meet up with an improbable amount of friends while we were there. One of Scott’s friends from Moody, Emily, now lives there with her husband, Nicolas, and they invited us over for a lovely traditional French dinner. My flight-attendant friend Kate flew in for a couple of days to see Paris with me, visit Oscar Wilde’s grave, eat at Hemingway’s old haunt Les Deux Magots, and drink lots of tasty wine. And on the morning we left, we had breakfast with my friend Justin (whom I had last seen in Colombia) and his dad, who had just flown in the night before to spend their holidays in France. It was fantastic to get to see so many friends in such a faraway place.

We made it home in time for Christmas with both families, first in Texas and then in Michigan. It was great to be home for the holidays again, remembering how lonely we were last year on our solitary beach in Nicaragua for Christmas. And now we’re settling into Michigan for the next several months, strangely excited to experience winter again.

Windows

Sat, 29 Dec 2007 23:12:52 GMT

(I admit that I got this idea from the book The World According to Mimi Smartypants; I liked the "windows" theme so much I decided to use it as a writing exercise. I can't find the original text on her blog (which was the basis for the book) or I'd link it. Her blog is definitely worth reading anyway.)

My parents have had the same house my whole life. For the first several years of my life, I had the big bedroom with the red carpet. It was a corner room, and the windows faced south and west. The western window looked out over the woods and a pond that had very different levels depending on what time of year it was. The southern window overlooked the back of the woods and a large field beyond that generally alternated between towering corn and golden wheat. There was a lower roof just under this window from which you could climb down the TV antenna ladder, and even as a five-year-old it occurred to me that I had the room with the best fire-escape plan.

Later I moved to a room down the hall on the opposite corner of the house. This room’s windows faced north and east. The eastern window displayed yet more woods, and the northern window faced the driveway so that I could always see who was there. If anybody came to our house, they came by car, since we were so far away from everything. Between my window and the driveway was my climbing tree, a silver maple that had a perfect crook about fifteen feet up where I would sit and read. I’m sure in retrospect that it really wasn’t the most comfortable place to sit and read, but I think as a kid the novelty of finding a seat in a tree far outweighed the seat’s comfort. I even rigged up a rope and basket from a higher branch at one point so that I could transport various necessities up to my spot without having to climb with them.

When I was eight years old, my family lived in the Dominican Republic for a year. My sister and I shared a room at the back of the house. This room had one little window with louvers over it, and you couldn’t see much out of it but brambles and the dirt road beyond, but you could quite often hear roosters crowing or donkeys neighing (do donkeys neigh?) just outside the window. We had the master suite, and there was also a window in our bathroom on the other side of the room, but this one faced the neighbor’s house, so we didn’t have it open very often. No one wants to see the neighbor’s house while they’re on the pot, or maybe it’s vice-versa. I was in this bathroom the first time I ever got a phone call from a boy I liked. I kept this information from him (both that I was in the bathroom and that he was the first boy ever to call me).

When I finally moved away from home to college in Chicago, I shared a tiny dorm room with an assigned roommate, and we had the typical assigned roommate problems that college freshmen are supposed to have, with the added complications that this girl was crazy as hell. Our one window view reflected the nature of our relationship: all we could see was an alley (where there were always pigeons fighting loudly) that ended in a brick wall. The one good thing about this room was that it was where I had my first kiss, which is still a good memory even though the guy didn’t last very long.

The summer between freshman and sophomore years was the last time I went home to live. I had my old room, but I had inherited an orange armchair from my sister that sat in the corner under the window. I often sat in this chair to contemplate, as soon-to-be sophomores do, and it was in this chair that I saw one of the most beautiful moon risings I’ve ever seen, and first listened to and learned to love Counting Crows.

For my sophomore year I had arranged for much better accommodations: two fantastic roommates (who became my best friends and still are at present) in a huge, two-section room. The back section had our desks and dressers in it, and we generally kept those windows shut because they were right above the dumpsters. The front section, though, was where our beds were and where all the socializing took place. There was a giant window with one window on each side, and in the morning the sunlight was glorious. We were on the first floor and our windows were only about eight feet up, so our friends would just shout up to the windows on their way by instead of calling us. Most of our conversations were held through that window that year. It was through that window that I received the offer for the babysitting job I had for the next couple years. I was pelted with a lot of snowballs through that window. Some of my happiest memories took place through that window.

The next summer I stayed on campus and roomed with one of my friends from that past year. In the summer everyone who stayed had to live in one dorm, an old brick monstrosity that was a boys’ dorm during the year. There was no air-conditioning and the building usually felt like an oven. Our second-floor room had a view of the trash-strewn porch roof and a street of smaller houses, many of them used for student housing. It was a rather stark and boring room, except for the time the extremely heavy bookshelf fell off the wall and nearly killed me while I was sleeping.

For the first semester of my junior year I lived with the same friend back in our lovely previous dorm, while our third friend was off to a semester abroad. We had another corner room, coveted among college students, this time on the outside street facing away from campus. The sound of the traffic was grating at first, but once I got used to it, it was comforting. On the street corner opposite ours was a Swedish restaurant where I would go for cinnamon-orange waffles or salmon quiche if I felt like a splurge. I had brought the old orange chair to this room, and here it found another corner under another window where I contemplated more still. I watched a lot of rain out of this window.

The next semester I went to Egypt for a Middle East studies program. I had five roommates in my first apartment ever, on an island in the Nile in the middle of Cairo. We had three bedrooms between the six of us, and my roommate and I ended up in a room with far too many beds. She had a bunk-bed for herself and I had an extremely lumpy double bed all to myself. There was a balcony next to my bed, and I would open the shutters and step out, and Cairo stretched out in front of me.

When I came back to Chicago, my last roommate had graduated and my other friend and I were both back from our studies abroad, so I stayed on campus again, this time with her. We stayed in the same dumpy building with roughly the same window view, but it was further up, so the perspective seemed fresher. We had a wonderful lumpy old couch under this window, where we listened to music while we drank coffee (and sometimes forbidden wine of the extremely cheap variety because we were in college and didn’t know better). Another friend of ours lived across the hall, and when we would put on Counting Crows, she would drift over and onto the couch, where we handed her an already-poured cup of coffee. We had decorated the room with bright pictures and fabrics, no doubt influence by our world travels. We felt older and wiser, and this room was a sanctuary.

Our senior year she and I got a campus apartment where we had a room together, two new friends had the middle room, and the crazy girl from freshman year had the back room. (I must have been a little crazy myself to live with her again; I thought we were older and more mature and could work it out, but it turned out she was just older and crazier.) Our bedroom window had little more than an alley view yet again (that’s life in Chicago), but the living room curved out at the front and had lovely windows angled three different ways. You could just barely see the top of the Sears Tower, all the way downtown. I watched a lot more rain out these windows, and once I heard bagpipes and looked out the window, where I saw a man across the street playing them on his porch. When he was done, I and several others leaning out their windows clapped for him. On the day the Iraq War started, I could hear someone on the block playing “War” through the window. “What is it good for? Absolutely nothing…” And late one night I got a call from someone who said he was a friend of a friend and that he was stranded and he was outside of my apartment. Ignoring the creepiness of the call, I looked out the window and first saw the man that I would marry years later.

When I finally graduated college, I got my first real (as in, had to find it myself and pay rent) apartment with my previously-mentioned two best friends. We rented a condo in a high-rise on Belmont and Lake Shore Drive, and the only way we could afford it was to share one bedroom. Fortunately, it was a large bedroom and we managed to fit a twin loft and a double bed in it. I think our rich neighbors thought we had some kind of a lesbian brothel going on, and it didn’t help that we had a red Chinese lantern in our bedroom window. All our windows faced south, with a breathtaking view of downtown Chicago, and if you craned your head to the left, you could see Lake Michigan. This was by far the best view I’ve ever had. I sat many nights (you guessed it, in the orange chair) looking at all the lights of the city. Our friends would come over and we’d watch movies and have drinks and go up onto the roof to smoke, taking in the whole city and the lake stretching out forever. Possibilities always seemed endless on the roof.

It was a sad day when both of my girls left Chicago and I had to go on without them. I found another roommate, the sister of a friend, and we got a great two-bedroom apartment in Edgewater, on the northern edge of the city. There was a sunroom on the front that was all windows, and it faced a quiet, tree-lined street full of similar brownstone apartment buildings. There were shots outside our apartment one night and I watched some punk kids run down the street as I called the police. We had a black kitten that liked to perch on the windowsill and stalk the pigeons that he couldn’t get through the screen. The elevated tracks were right behind our building and you could watch the trains rumble by from the back porch, where I would sip espresso and write.

Then I got married, and my husband and I found an unbelievable deal on a tiny one-bedroom right on Clark Street in Andersonville. The view was really only of a grocery store parking lot and a Kentucky Fried Chicken across the street, but you could climb from our fire escape onto the roof next door and look all the way down Clark Street. We had great parties in this apartment that took place more on the roof than inside. We lived there less than a year, and then we left Chicago.

We’ve been moving around ever since, traveling both in and out of the country, and there have been too many windows to remember. The windows in our cabin in Alaska portray evergreens and mountains in every direction, often lit by a constant slanting sun. There were shuttered windows in Guatemala that opened to the roaring Pacific, sixth-story windows in Ecuador with an amazing view of Cuenca’s cathedral, gossamer-curtained French doors that opened to the center of Paris. There was a balcony above the Caribbean in Colombia, another above the Pacific in California. There were steely New England winter skies outside Massachusetts windows, the smells of a Portuguese bakery wafting into New Jersey windows, views of a trash-strewn and watermarked New Orleans street. There were all the panoramic views of North America rolling past our car windows, South America rolling past bus windows, Paris coming into view from a train window. There are the well-trimmed lawn and picket fence outside the window of the room where we always stay at my in-laws’ house, and the old view out of my old room where we always stay at my parents’ house, the maple tree that I sometimes still climb and the driveway where our well-traveled car sits, resting before the next journey.

How We Got from Peru to Paris

Sat, 10 Nov 2007 18:02:32 GMT

So you thought we fell off the face of the earth, didn't you? You thought if we found the time to write so many blogs and emails and updates while we were traipsing around the world, certainly you'd hear from us much more often when we were back States-side and had steady jobs and easy access to internet, right? And then when we had no jobs at all and were just bumming around our family's houses for awhile, we've have even more time and would write tons, right? Surprise! Somehow life caught up with us and it's a season or three later that you're hearing from us again.

So, let me back up ages and ages. When our Latin American journey ended, we were ready for it to end. It was an incredible adventure, but we were ready to come home. We eased into the homecoming with month-or-so-long stays with Scott's family in Texas and mine in Michigan. It was nice to enjoy modern conveniences again, but it was even nicer to have company again and be able to sleep in the same bed for more than a few nights, to be able to unpack and spread out without having to jam it all back into a backpack again after a few days. It was nice to be still. It was nice to have our car back, our home-away-from-home. Our little plastic shell of a car that holds what we need to take with us and takes us where we need to go. Homecoming was fantastic. We appreciate having families who will let us make their home our home for a time, and even enjoy having us there.

After awhile, though, one does need a home of one's own. That was probably what I missed the most during our whole trip, a place of our own. A ten-by-ten foot cabin in Alaska may not qualify as a home to some, but after living out of a backpack, it feels like a mansion. I dreamt of our snug little cabin as we made our trip northward again. This year we recruited my dear friend Amy and her husband Steve to come live and work with us for the summer, and (after we had a nice visit with Chicago friends) they caravanned with us the whole way from Minnesota to Alaska, with another stop in Montana to visit our mutual friend Al.

It was a good summer. In addition to to Amy and Steve, we had a whole contingent of Chicago-linked recruits for the coffeehouse, which made for a really fun time, both at work and all hanging out together at home. I did a lot more of the touristy-Alaska things I had wanted to do last year and never got around to: I went camping at Wonder Lake, deep into Denali Park, and saw amazing wildlife along the way, including dall sheep, caribou, moose, and grizzly bears; I went on a road trip to Seward on the coast and took a boat tour along the Kenai Fjords, seeing birds and sealife like puffins, orcas, humpback whales, sealions and harbor seals; I took some good hikes into the park while the autumn colors were at their glorious peak, the golden leaves and red brush an amazing contrast with the evergreens. I got to see a lot more of Alaska this summer, and I immensely appreciated it. Scott, on the other hand, worked several jobs, picked up extra shifts, and made us a lot of money. *Grin* And thus another Alaskan summer came and went.

We accomplished our fourth road trip across Canada, had another visit with Al in Missoula, then made a detour to Longmont, Colorado, where our friend Dave was living and our friend Todd was visiting him. We spent a couple days chilling out in Boulder, camping in Rocky Mountain National Park, and climbing Long's Peak. Well, more like huffing and puffing our way from about 9500 feet to 11500 feet on Long's Peak. Doesn't sound as impressive that way, but it was still a workout and an amazing view. We finally made our way towards Michigan, dropping off Todd in Chicago on the way.

We spent about a month with my family, during which we made a visit to Chicago, brainstormed about starting our own cafe in Ann Arbor in the near future, I went to the opera ("Carmen") with my mom and sisters, and Scott did some construction work here and there. Near the end of our stay, my dad landed a home construction job and asked Scott if he wanted some work for the winter. This was precisely the sort of thing we were looking for, so we decided to head back to Michigan by the holidays and set up camp there for the winter and spring. In the meantime, we came to Texas to visit Scott's family, where we are now, with plans to spend several weeks in Paris between Thanksgiving and Christmas. We had been hoping to do some European travel in the spring before Alaska, but with the schedule for the construction job, it seemed like it would be better to just go now. And those of you who know me know that I would never argue with an idea to just go to France now, because "Paris is always a good idea." *Grin*

April Snow-Showers

Sat, 14 Apr 2007 19:58:43 GMT

The weather is very strange in Michigan. It's supposed to be the height of spring right now, and instead we keep getting snowstorms. I think my body has gotten used to the inconsistency, though, after a summer in Alaska and a winter in the tropics. We've gotten a lot more variety than one gets even during a whole year in Michigan.

We have been back in the country for over a month now, and I still feel like I'm recuperating. It got really tiring moving constantly during our trip, so now I'm making up for it by being as much of a homebody that I can. We don't really have a home, but we've been splitting our time between family homes (awhile in Texas, and awhile in Michigan), and it's really nice to get to sit around all day, doing whatever I feel like, but not having to be on the move. It's amazing how my wanderlust is sated (at least for now) and I crave staying "home" more than anything. Soon we will be on our way north again, then setting up our little Alaskan cabin and working for another summer. Right now working doesn't seem so bad at all when it also means a daily routine, some kind of purpose other than wandering, having a home rather than a hotel room. And friends, most of all.

But for now, there is free beer on tap (my brother-in-law has a basement brewery), I'm enjoying a Saturday afternoon with loved ones, and I can smell brownies baking. Mmm... Life is good.

The journey comes to a close.... for now

Sat, 14 Apr 2007 19:33:25 GMT

For Scott's blogs about the end of our trip, see our myspace page.

Cuzco, Perú

Thu, 15 Feb 2007 22:48:20 GMT

So, Perú is pretty fantastic. Unfortunately, our time here has been brief and is ending tonight when we hop on a bus to Bolivia, but what we have experienced has been amazing.

When we left Ecuador, we took back-to-back overnight buses from the northern border town of Tumbes, through Lima, to the southern city of Cuzco. (By the way, three days and two nights on a bus is no fun, but at least we had cushy reclining seats and got to watch movies. The second bus even had meal service! Fancy...) We spent several days in Cuzco, enjoying being in one place. Scott wasn't feeling very well during that time, though, and we never quite figured out what it was. Altitude sickness seemed like a likely option; I, at least, had a tough time breathing while getting up the steep hills of Cuzco, but I'm out of shape, anyway, so it's hard to say. It's just nice to have an excuse for once.

Cuzco is a really beautiful city, one of my new favorites, in fact. It's got the colonial vibe, but rather than multi-colored buildings like we're used to seeing, it's almost entirely white and beigish buildings with orange stucco roofs and, I swear, bright blue doors and shutters all over the city. There is a beautiful main plaza with two ornate cathedrals and a fountain, and everyone in town approaching you trying to sell you every kind of product imaginable. There are also great cafés and restaurants, so we spent the bulk of our time there eating and lounging and drinking coffee (and coca leaf tea for Scott). There is also a very large indigenous population there, so we got used to seeing women and girls in very bright traditional clothes toting baby llamas and all kinds of amazing crafts.

From there we headed to Aguas Calientes, the town just outside of the famous Machu Picchu, so-called Lost City of the Incas. We spent a few days there (even though it's ridiculously expensive and there's not much to do besides go to the ruins) because the first two days were rainy all day and we decided to wait for better weather. We knew we had to move on eventually, though, so we set our sights on the last day, which happened to be Valentine's Day, and decided we were going to Machu Picchu come rain or shine. Well, our strategy worked or we were very lucky, because it didn't rain all morning until we were ready to leave the ruins, and the sun even broke through brilliantly for awhile. We had gotten up before dawn and taken the first shuttle to the ruins, arrived before they even opened, and were the second couple in once they did. There was heavy morning fog, but we climbed to the overlook (where the quintessential photo is always taken from) just in time to watch the fog clear and see the ancient city spread out before us. It was fantastic.

We spent several hours there, climbing around the ruins, taking in the view, and enjoying the company of the llamas who apparently live there. We also talked to a park guide who told us a lot about the site, including the fact that Machu Picchu means "Old Mountain" in the native language of Quechua. The mountain you usually see in photos, though, behind the city and on the opposite side from Machu Picchu, is called Wayna Picchu, meaning "Young Mountain". Those Incas sure were creative with the naming! Overall, it was an incredible experience, absolutely a highlight of our trip. Also, I had my first brownie in four months, and I was happy as could be.

Now we are back in Cuzco for the day, awaiting yet another overnight bus that will carry us to La Paz, Bolivia. We still have a few countries left, but our time is winding down and it's hard to believe we'll be back in the States in only a few weeks. We're looking forward to what's left in South America, but also incredibly excited to come home.

Ecuador

Thu, 15 Feb 2007 22:47:24 GMT

For Scott's blogs on Ecuador, see our myspace page.

Otavalo, Ecuador

Sun, 28 Jan 2007 01:01:18 GMT

Well, we've gotten to the point in our trip where, upon trying to write the subject for this blog, I had to ask Scott, "What country are we in again?" We are also really glad that we brought along a travel clock that has the date on it, because we honestly can never remember the date, let alone the day of the week.

Scott keeps promising that I will fill in more details from the last several, so I guess I better not disappoint my public. I think he updated through Nicaragua, so I'll pick up there and fill in the gaps in our Colombia visit.

As he said, we spent the entirety of our Colombia trip with either Juliana (a good friend of mine who spent a year with my family as an exchange student), or her very gracious family. We flew from Panama City to Barranquilla (hometown of Shakira), where Juliana picked us up and took us to Santa Marta, a city on the Caribbean coast where everyone, and I mean everyone, in Colombia was currently vacationing. I've never seen a beach so crowded! We did, however, go with Juli and her husband Jesus to a nearby national park called Tayrona, where after a sweltering 2-hour walk, we enjoyed some of the most beautiful beaches I've ever seen. Turquoise water, huge rock formations, forests of palm trees. The kind of island paradise you'd like to lose yourself in.

In Santa Marta, we also went to La Quinta de San Pedro Alejandrino, a villa-turned-museum where Simòn Bolìvar spent his last days before dying. (For those who don't know, he was the man who liberated pretty much all of South America from the Spanish, so they like him a lot here. Virtually every main square in every town we've been to is named Plaza de Bolìvar.) Other than that, we had a nice time just hanging out in Santa Marta with Juliana's family.

We had something like a 16-hour trip getting from the coast to Bogotà, an unpleasant reminder of how much huger the countries are in South America than in Central America, and how much longer it takes to get anywhere. We spent about a week in Bogotà with Juliana, seeing the sites. We both really liked it; we had avoided big cities so much in Central America because they are generally drab, crowded, dangerous, capital cities, but Bogotà was the cultured metropolis the likes of which we hadn't experienced since Chicago, and suddenly we remembered we enjoy big cities when they have interesting things to offer.

We enjoyed several visits to Juan Valdez Cafès (our first reminder what a coffee Mecca Colombia is!), spent a couple afternoons at the main plaza (named after Bolìvar, of course) where the gorgeous cathedral, cobblestone floor, cooing pigeons, and mountainous backdrop are reminiscent of some European city, saw some Spanish colonial and indigenous museums, took a cable car to Monserrate, a sanctuary perched on top of a mountain providing sweeping views of the city, and enjoyed some nice bars and cafès in the chic "Zona T" neighborhood. We got to meet up with my old Chicago friend Justin, too, who happens to be living in Bogotà right now. It was great to get to catch up with him as well.

We also drove outside the city once to La Laguna del Cacique Guatavita, a crater lake that is the source of the El Dorado legend. The local Muisca indians threw gold and other treasures in the lake as sacrifices to their gods. The Spanish and later entrepeneurs tried to retrieve the treasures, but with little success. Gold or not, it's a beautiful lagoon, and surrounded with amazing wildlife, flowers, and rolling green farmland. We went to the town of Guatavita afterwards, which is constructed entirely of white buildings with orange stucco roofs. It was a lovely place to have dinner and then eat sweets in the plaza at sunset.

We said goodbye to Juliana and took a bus to her hometown, Manizales, where we stayed with her family for a few days. Our first day was quite the full day at the coffee finca, which Scott already detailed. Getting to witness and participate in the entire coffee process was definitely a dream come true for me. The scenery itself from the farm was breathtaking: rolling green hills filled with coffee, platano, and banana trees as far as the eye could see. I could get used to that view as I drank my freshly grown and brewed coffee every morning!

The next day we got a marvelous tour of Manizales from Andrès (Juli's brother) and his girlfriend Adriana that included all the major city sites, a Sunday dinner reunion with the whole family, and a somewhat all-encompassing park tour that included a nature walk along mountain streams, views of rare orchids, zebras, llamas and butterflies, and best of all, a tour of the old local rum factory/museum (Ron Viejo de Caldas) that included free mini-shots of rum! God bless South America! Overall, we had quite a lovely time in Colombia with the Paz family.

We had another very long, epic journey getting from Manizales to Ecuador, but here we are, in another country, the land of the Equator. We've been shopping way too much here in Otavalo, but the town is reknowned for its enormous market, so we were planning to splurge at least a little.

Interesting observations about Ecuador thus far: plenty of signs for 'cuy asado' (roast guinea pig - yummy!), an all-middle-age-male game of volleyball (which is apparently very popular here), a plethora of Chinese restaurants, and the fact that Ecuadorans are generally very, very nice. We'll be in the Southern Hemisphere soon, which is pretty exciting for me, having never seen the Southern Cross or toilets flush the other way... so we'll update you on that soon.

Manizales, Colombia

Sun, 28 Jan 2007 00:57:17 GMT

See our myspace page for Scott's blog from our trip.

Bogotà, Colombia

Sun, 28 Jan 2007 00:53:22 GMT

See our myspace page for Scott's second blog from our trip.

Comayagua, Honduras

Sun, 28 Jan 2007 00:49:53 GMT

So, while Scott is uploading some new photos to our Snapfish page, I thought I would give a little recap of our trip since the last time Scott updated. We were way back in Guatemala then... (Insert wavy lines, harp music and flashback/dream sequence)

Panajachel was a small tourist town on the shore of Lago de Atitlan, a beautiful freshwater lake ringed by the several (dormant) volcanos that formed it. We enjoyed a lot of nice meals by the lake, sunsets, and way too much souveneir shopping. The entire main street became an enormous market during the day, and we spent far too much money on beautiful, hand-made blankets and bags. We also took a day trip across the lake (which was a gorgeous boat ride) to the town of San Pedro, which was a lot more relaxed and hippied-out than Panajachel.

From Pana we headed to the acclaimed colonial city of Antigua, which means 'old', and is indeed full of really old buildings dating back to Spanish rule. A lot of them were destroyed in a huge earthquake in the 1770s, but the ruins have been left standing for the enjoyment of any tourist with a few bucks. For the most part, though, we spent a lot more time hanging out with fellow travelers we met at our hostel. We stayed there for about a week, and made several new friends, including a Dutch couple, a Belgian couple, and a German-Nebraskan couple with whom we spent several evenings sharing dinner and cheap local rum.

We also met a Brit named Mark who told us that if we came to the hotel in Monterrico (on the Guatemalan coast) where he worked as a bartender/general manager, he could give us a special rate. We had been planning to head to El Salvador next, but all we had been planning to do there was go to beaches, and since Monterrico was on the beach, we decided to take a detour. We were glad we did. Mark was true to his word and got us a room with windows opening to the patio, and just beyond that, the Pacific Ocean. We spent several happy days there, frolicking in enormous waves, swimming in the pool, and enjoying Mark's happy hour specials. It was super relaxed and really nice to just live in our bathing suits for a few days. Also, Monterrico was a really interesting little town situated on an island. The part that wasn't bordered by the ocean had a canal cutting through to the ocean on both sides. The fantastic part is that there is no bridge whatsoever to the town. You get there by either driving or walking onto a barge ferry, then floating across the canal to the other side, where you either drive off or catch a waiting bus. The practical, American side of me wonders, why in the world doesn't the government build a bridge to this town? And the answer is, who knows? It's simply the Guatemalan way of doing things.

Once we got to El Salvador, we were really glad we had gone to Monterrico, because we had so much trouble getting money anywhere in the country that we ended up leaving as soon as we could. For a country that uses American dollars as its official currency, it is unbelievably difficult to find anyone that will cash a traveler's cheque or any ATM that will accept a VISA card. Very strange. We spent a night in San Salvador, the capital, and then three in La Libertad on the coast, stranded and frustratingly trying to get money. We ate a lot of crackers and cheese because the local supermarket was the only place that would accept our credit card. Finally we found a hotel owner who was willing to cash enough cheques for us to get out of the country, so we took it. After a couple nights in San Miguel, we crossed the border into Honduras. We had had enough of sun and sand anyway.

Back in the refreshing mountains, we spent the last two days in the pleasant little near-border town of Marcala, and arrived today in Comayagua, where we'll stay for a few days. Comayagua is another pretty colonial town, cool and lovely with its stucco roofs and public parks full of lush greenery and ancient fountains and cathedrals.

So, here we are in our fourth country in six weeks or so. We are starting to see plastic Christmas trees and hear holiday music everywhere (albeit in Spanish), so keep us in your thoughts and write us a lot as we're getting homesick. *Grin*

Panajachel, Guatemala

Sun, 28 Jan 2007 00:45:15 GMT

See our myspace page for Scott's first blog from our trip.

Crouching Tiger, Mooing Dog

Fri, 27 Oct 2006 22:44:48 GMT

So I'm sitting in the computer room of Scott's parents' house, home alone for once and trying to catch up on internet business, which officially means things like paying bills (or rather, sending loan companies paperwork explaining why I can't pay bills right now) and updating contact lists, but in reality means cruising mySpace and writing silly blogs. I realize I haven't written a blog in quite some time, which is perhaps the result of being out living life rather than writing about it at a computer at work all day. I apologize for the delinquincy, but overall I like it better this way.

Scott did an excellent job updating you on our recent activities on that other page, so I can stick to what I do best: rambling about nonsense. Moses, the family lab and my best bud when I am here, is lying on the floor next to my chair, alternately growling at passersby out the window, mooing when he has to switch positions (he is the only dog I know that moos; it's quite incredible), and convulsing in his sleep as he chases something in his dreams. When the family is around, the TV is always on, which I really don't mind, but I took advantage of the afternoon alone to blare some music through the house. Scott had taken the iPod with him on his errands, so I busted out some old Cat Stevens records. My favorite songs to listen to on vinyl (I can't explain why it's different, it just is) are "Rubylove", "Tuesday's Dead", "Miles from Nowhere" and "Tea for the Tillerman". It's cool and windy today, much unlike yesterday's stifling mugginess and heat. I much prefer October Texas to April Texas, when we were here last. It's cooler and there are no bugs, which really eliminates two of the top three things I dislike about Texas. The third one is rampant patriotism, which never goes away, but which I can deal with when I am about to leave the country for a considerable length of time.

I am greatly concerned about the Detroit Tigers. Now, I'll admit that I didn't have much interest in the Tigers until their recent post-season success (and even declined to go on a fifth grade field trip to one of their games), but it's really because I only became a baseball fan a few years ago, and really only a Cubs fan at that (and what heartache to be only a Cubs fan!). But if I can support any other team, it would be my hometown team, the Tigers, because I am still a Michigan girl at heart and because Pudge Rodriguez is one of the coolest guys ever in baseball. So I took interest just in time to follow their playoffs progress, and to be terribly disappointed if they lose the World Series, especially to the St. Louis Cardinals (I'd say it's not because the Cardinals are the Cubs' mortal enemy, but I'd be lying). Now the reason I'm concerned is that the Cardinals are winning the series 3-1, and the Tigers will have to win all of the remaining 3 games to take the series. You probably know this, and if you don't, you don't care, but if you do care, keep D-Town in your thoughts tonight.

Reflections on Life in Alaska

Thu, 22 Jun 2006 00:39:07 GMT

Things here have finally settled into some sort of pattern of what ‘normal’ life will be this summer. Scott and I had both been apprehensive about starting to work again, mostly because we were just having a lot of fun being our own bosses for the past few months. It’s the first time in a long time, however, that I really enjoy my job, and I know that Scott likes his as well. There are things about it that are annoying, like with any job, but it really surprised me just how much I love talking to the locals and tourists who come in, making good coffee, and working alongside beautiful people. Most of you don’t know this, but I’m normally a bit shy. *Grin* Something about this job and this place and these people has really pulled me out of my shell more so than I have been in a long time. Alaska is an empowering place as well, and I feel a sense of strength and determination being poured back into me. This place has a beautiful, independent and unique energy about it. I can sincerely say that I enjoy my life very much right now, not just enjoy it more than I expected to enjoy being stationary and working for awhile, but I enjoy it inherently, and nearly every aspect of it. That’s an amazing place to be.

In addition to getting to spend time with Becki, my other Chicago girls Beth and Britta have arrived, and it’s wonderful to have more familiar faces/kindred spirits around. We’re all excited about doing more reading and writing and art this summer, and they’re fellow coffee fiends who make me feel like less of a dork for getting excited about learning to make espresso drinks. *Grin* And Beth of course is a dear old friend that I haven’t seen at all in a year and hardly at all for two, so we’ve had some obligatory hours-long catch-up conversations, with many more to come. It’s been cathartic.

Sunday was Scott and my first wedding anniversary, and we had a lovely and relaxing day. We hiked down a nearby creek that turns into a waterfall as it descends into the river valley. It was not only a beautiful waterfall, but an amazing view of the mountains, the Nenana River (the Mississippi of Denali), and the 4:00 train passing by. After that we had dinner at the restaurant in the Grand Denali, a local hotel that is built high over the canyon and has even more breathtaking views. This is a very nice place to celebrate special occasions. Today is the summer solstice, and the longest day of the year is a pretty big deal here in Alaska where the days are already so long. Starting tomorrow we will get a little more darkness every night, but from what I hear there won’t be much real night until August.

Have I painted a picture for you of Alaskan life yet? Where we live and work and everything in between, it is impossible to be anywhere outside where you can’t see mountains. If you need anything, you have to drive two hours to Fairbanks to get to a real store, and you might get stuck at a gas station for four hours because the only road between your home and Fairbanks is blocked off due to a forest fire. It’s never dark; the closest it comes is a sort of dusk around 3 a.m., and the sunsets and sunrises take about three hours each, so it’s very hard to miss them. You often see moose by the road, or more rarely, fifteen feet from the cook shack, as we witnessed a few days ago. I didn’t get to see it, but apparently there was a grizzly on our runway a couple weeks ago. We live next to an airstrip, so the take-off crescendo of a Navajo plane can be heard every couple hours. If you want a beer, you go to the Salmon Bake, the local bar, and if you want coffee, you come to us at the Black Bear Coffee House, and since nearly everyone needs coffee, we meet everyone. The Denali Air and Black Bear employees live together at the airstrip in a little community of tiny cozy cabins, a single bath-house, and the social center of the cook shack, where everyone eats, drinks, and comes to find anybody else. It’s a rustic set-up for the most part. You have to put shoes and a jacket on to go to the bathroom, but there is premium cable and wireless internet in the cook shack. It’s a strange contrast, but it’s a good life. I was hoping and expecting to love it in Alaska, and I have not been disappointed.

Mountains, mountains everywhere!

Sun, 21 May 2006 17:32:40 GMT

All right, technology has been a bit limited lately, so I apologize for posting this all at once, and much later then when I wrote it. But here it is, and hopefully a new update will be soon…

That’s pretty much the one feature that can describe everything from New Mexico to Alaska: mountains. Did you know the entire western end of North America is covered in them? I guess I knew about, you know, the Rockies, and their satellites, and that the Rockies extended far into Canada, making up the backbone of the continent. Yet I was not prepared for their sheer number, and neither was our car. The poor little thing huffed and puffed (without third gear, mind you) to get up those never-ending peaks, but I was delighted. I love mountains, you see, and I was excited for all of them. I would have to say so far that my favorite would be the Saint Elias Mountains in Canada. I can’t exactly explain what makes certain mountains my favorite, but it’s true. Maybe my tech-savvy husband can put up a picture of them so you can see just what I mean.

Anyway, last you heard from me we were in Texas, and now we’re in Alaska. Obviously, there is much in between. I think Scott covered the Texas to California stint, but I’ll put in my two cents as well, and then some.

Our time in Texas came to a close, and had been a pleasant (and warm!) stay, but we were both ready to hit the road again. It took FOREVER to drive across Texas, mammoth as it is. (It’s hard for a non-Texan to grasp just how huge Texas is, but you understand it in practical terms when it takes you an entire day to get across it.) In the north, approaching places like Lubbock and Amarillo, we started to enter the ‘plateau region’, which was strange and fascinating. We tried to figure out just what would cause such bizarre land formations, and the most logical answer seemed to be that giants (ala Paul Bunyon) had come and stomped on mountains to flatten their tops. Once we got into New Mexico we could feel ourselves climbing higher and higher into the mountains, although we couldn’t see them because it was getting dark. We got to Evangeline’s (friend of Scott’s from Moody) house late and the mountains were surprisingly close in the morning sunlight – all the more wonderful because they were our first mountains on this stretch. We spent a couple nights in Albuquerque, eating good food and watching movies with Evangeline. She gave us a mini-tour of the city, which I liked quite a bit. It was just one of those places you don’t expect a lot from, and then you’re like “Oh, wow, Albuquerque is cool.” *Grin*

Even better, though, was northern New Mexico and the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. This was by far the most pleasant surprise thus far on our trip. It’s wooded more than I ever would have expected in a state known for desert, and the little mountain towns are still homey and quaint and nearly absent of franchises. We camped one night in Cimarron Canyon State Park; our campsite was beautiful and right next to a babbling river with the mountains all around. We were freezing and scared of bears all night (yes, they do have bears in New Mexico), but we made it. The next day we took a nearly four-mile hike along Goose Creek (a tributary of the Red River), up the mountain and back. It was strenuous but gorgeous. We made it high enough to clear a lot of the forest and see the highest peaks. The winding creek was also very picturesque, as we explored and crossed it a few times along the way. By the time we got back from our hike we were exhausted, and since we had already broken camp, decided to splurge on a cozy (and cheap because it was the off season in Red River, usually a ski town) motel room for the night. Even driving downstate the next day, rain clouds blending into grey mountaintops, it was a beautiful land. Silver ridgelines in the distance. The breathtaking, should-be-famous Rio Grande Gorge. I never expected to like New Mexico so much, but as it’s license plates claim, it’s the “Land of Enchantment”. Usually I don’t much understand state mottos or why they’re flattering or even true, but this one is entirely a propos.

We had a brief but nice visit with my friend Rachael and her husband Ed in Tucson, Arizona (yet another surprisingly wooded, mountainous state where we were expecting mostly sand and cacti), after which we balled the jack to California, where, as soon you cross the border, you feel both the pleasant anything-goes vibe on the air, and the horror of suddenly paying a dollar more a gallon for gas. It’s another monster of a state, but much different than Texas, both in the layout of their enormous geography and in their respective attitudes. I found Los Angeles to be a place of conflicting worlds – the carefree surfer mentality pushing up full force against a colossal immigrant community that is currently in a tumultuous struggle with the nation’s lawmakers regarding its status. (We were in LA during the nation-wide boycott dubbed “A Day Without Immigrants”.) Also interesting to me was the seeming conflict of a state that is so environmentally conscious having as its epicenter mammoth, smog-shrouded LA, where there is barely a public transit system and everyone drives everywhere. It’s insane. “Traffic” always applies, because it’s always horrible. I’m sure I would understand why people love it so much if I spent more time there, but from a cursory visit, it was much less appealing to me than most cities are, even though I am a lover of cities.

But that’s no reflection of LA’s inhabitants, of course. We had a wonderful visit with my cousins Erica and Shannon. Erica and I took a trip to Escondido, where we visited a festival being thrown by a fascinating community called Twelve Tribes, which I don’t have the energy to delve into right now, but suffice it to say it was a nice visit of spiritual discussion, Jewish folk music and dancing, and yerba maté all the way from their community in Argentina. Erica also took us to Venice Beach, a wonderfully Bohemian boardwalk of jewelry and trinket shops, tattoo parlors, and delicious, humungous slices of garlic pizza (mmm) right along the ocean - definitely one of our more enjoyable stops. We also had an impromptu visit with Scott’s friend Dwight over burgers at Mel’s Diner in Hollywood and then took a trip up Mulholland Drive for a scenic view of the city.

Our last night in LA we visited my Uncle Paul and Aunt Karina in Woodland Hills, where we had a lovely visit eating Chinese and talking philosophy. I hadn’t seen them in a long time, and it was wonderful to catch up, and also remember their house I had last visited when I was 10. When we explained the nature of our trip to Aunt Karina, and that we were currently homeless, her eyes widened and she squealed with delight “Gypsies?!” She understood completely.

Then we were in the final stretch, and what a stretch it was! Having realized after looking more carefully at driving times that we had no more time for social stops, we bolted out of LA, just made it to Oregon at sunset of that day (as I said, California is huger than I realized!), Seattle by the time we stopped to sleep, and the next three days were never-ending countryside sweeping by. If anything can put California and Texas to shame when it comes to sheer enormity, it’s Canada. Now, I did realize it was a huge country sharing the entire northern US border and more, but nothing quite prepares you for driving three days and STILL being in Canada. I will say this, though, in a brief moment of American humility when it comes to our northern neighbors: Western Canada is phenomenal. It may lack much civilization (although the brilliance and size of Vancouver was incredible), but what it lacks in cities it makes up for by far with never-ending snowcapped mountain ranges and sweeping vistas of lush river valleys. And the lack of population is made up for by the caribou/elk/moose population, which, judging by the number we saw on or near the road, outnumber Canadians by about ten to one. (Oh, and we saw about eight black bears! They’re amazing, and while I completely respect their danger, they’re quite adorable.) While the lack of towns (many were 200 miles in between) can leave you feeling desolate if you have to use the bathroom or are running out of gas at 4 a.m., the remoteness can also be a wonderfully fresh experience. I actually felt like a pioneer knowing that there wouldn’t be another town for hours, and breathing a sigh of relief and deliverance when we made it there. It’s impossible to feel like you’re pioneering on an American highway (at least none that I’ve found yet), but this area is a real frontier. It’s frightening and exhilarating all at once. We even saw the Northern Lights while we were driving. They were faint and not as breathtaking as when I saw them in Michigan years ago, but they were beautiful nevertheless and, considering they were on our second night in the wild north, seemed to promise of more to come.

After four days of driving, we finally made it to Denali. I’ve heard about it for so long that I can’t believe we’re actually here. It’s only dark from about midnight to 3 a.m., which is bizarre but kind of fun. I wasn’t prepared for how cold it was; what I hear is that spring and then summer will come very suddenly in the next two weeks or so, and I’m counting on it. We arrived in the middle of the night and had to traipse through the snow looking for our cabin, then shivered through the night since our heat hadn’t been turned on yet. We’ve felt like pioneers again for the first few days, since much of the summer crew wasn’t here yet, the water in the bathrooms wasn’t hooked up yet, the heat took awhile to get set up, the phones and internet weren’t in place, and our cell phone doesn’t get a signal, leaving us with no connection to the outside world…etc. Having committed the next four months of our lives to this place, on top of being sad about starting to work again in the first place, we were beginning to wonder what we had gotten ourselves into. But it’s starting to warm up and more people are arriving and setting things up, and I think everything will come together fairly soon. My dear friend Becks arrived a few days after we did – she’s the one who made this whole Alaskan adventure possible - and it’s been wonderful to see her again and catch up and know that we’re going to have an entire summer together for once, rather than a whirlwind day-long visit in Chicago, which is how it usually is with us. Also, there’s this cute little cat that has taken to following me around the property and meowing at the door of our cabin, so I’m happy to say I’ve already made a friend. *Grin*

(Wendi)

Fri, 21 Apr 2006 00:04:17 GMT

Well, I've been chided by interested individuals for not writing anything lately, so here I am. I have been mulling some things over in my head, but waiting to put them down for no particular reason. Here in Austin it's been a day of glorious thunderstorms, which are always refreshing to a melancholy soul like me, but even more so after weeks of hot sun. Conducive to writing as rainy days are, I have spent the afternoon editing and submitting entries to this year's Writer's Digest contest. Last year I received honorable mention for a couple poems I submitted (Did I ever share those poems here? I'll have to do that) and I'm hoping to have the same or better luck this time. I also ventured out of my comfort zone a bit and submitted a non-poetry entry, a personal essay that I feel pretty good about. I won't post any of that now until I know whether I won or not. Stay tuned...although I won't find out anything until this fall.

Last summer I wrote about Rita Gelman and her travel book "Tales of a Female Nomad". I was able to contact her and tell her how much her book inspired me, that I was planning to travel myself, and that she could feel free to visit me anytime and anywhere. (She has taken many people up on these offers, since she floats around quite a bit, so it wasn't too crazy of me to ask.) She wrote me back and told me she would be interested in coming to Alaska this summer, so last week I followed up by letting her know that we had indeed quit our jobs and left on our travels, and that we would be in Alaska if she wanted to look us up. Again, she wrote me back and thanked me for the offer, but said she was on her way to Africa for the very first time. Maybe another time... If any of you travelers (or would-be travelers) out there still haven't read her book, I still highly recommend it. Beth, I have it with me, so you can borrow it this summer if you want. *grin*

Texas is an interesting place. I didn't expect to like it very much when I came here, and there are certainly undesirable aspects about it, but the fact that Texans love Texas so much, and the shear enormity of both the physical state and its impact on the country's culture, has kept me from dismissing it entirely. As Steinbeck said in "Travels With Charley", he didn't want to take on Texas but knew he couldn't really accomplish a descriptive journey of America while leaving out Texas. It is a strange place of contrasts and irregularities, where you're hard-pressed to find a restaurant that doesn't specialize in Mexican or barbeque, it's legal to drive on the shoulder to let someone pass you on the highway, and there are bugs nearly the size of the state itself. There are huge cities that feel like small towns. Here near Austin, everything is suburbs, yet you can still see longhorns and cattle in fields by the highways that used to be farm roads. The suburbs are full of rampant patriotism, but Austin proper is a stronghold of liberalism. It's very very hot. There are cacti with bright yellow blossoms and wildflowers everywhere. People are generally hospitable and there is less Southern drawl than you might imagine. It's rather difficult to sum up something so immense as Texas, so please excuse the meandering observations.

It's always fascinating to travel different regions and find out what stereotypes are true and what's surprising about local cultures. So far, I have found to be true many of the generalities I've heard about certain areas and their inhabitants. New Englanders are indeed taciturn and concise, Southerners warm and rambling. Everywhere, accents are intriguing. I love to see which kind of stores and brands occur most often in different states. Scott and I both have an almost sick fascination wandering through gas stations and seeing what they have to offer. It's always some kind of reflection of the local culture. We stopped at one the other day that was fully stocked with sombreros, Mexican blankets, and "Don't Mess With Texas" bumper stickers. The same names of gas stations, restaurants and stores may be spreading across the nation, but I think local identity will always find a way to represent itself somehow.

Snippits

Mon, 03 Apr 2006 05:59:27 GMT

And now for something a bit more frivolous and disjointed, my true nature...

One of the more entertaining aspects of our trip so far is just how many bumper stickers we've collected. Scott is on a bumper sticker rampage, and our little Saturn looks like a complete dead-head car by now. Lots of hippie stickers, sarcastic stickers, "I Heart Insert-Your-State" stickers, and flags from all over the world. On the road, we observe glances in the rearview mirror of people behind us either laughing or looking angry (it's kind of dangerous to drive around with liberal political stickers on your car in Texas). We're not going to have any room left for more stickers later in our trip, but I have a feeling we're going to get more anyway.

I've been waiting for years to make a New Orleans compilation CD/playlist to listen to on my way back to that lovely city. I finally got to make it and play it this last trip. Here it is:

The New Orleans Playlist (in no particular order):

Ramblin' Man - Allman Brothers Band
Basin Street Blues - Ella Fitzgerald
Basin Street Blues - Harrick Connick, Jr.
The Saints Go Marching In - Louis Armstrong
Miami - Counting Crows
Goodnight Elisabeth - Counting Crows
The House of the Rising Sun - The Animals
Born on the Bayou - Credence Clearwater Revival
Louisiana Bayou - Dave Matthews Band
Mud Slide Slim - James Taylor
Me & Bobby McGee - Janis Joplin
Truckin' - Grateful Dead
Take Me to the Mardi Gras - Paul Simon
That Was Your Mother - Paul Simon
City of New Orleans - Arlo Guthrie
Tangled Up in Blue - Bob Dylan

They're all pretty great songs. The only one I really wanted on there that we didn't have on our iPod was Harry Connick's version of "Do You Know What It Means (To Miss New Orleans)?" Wonderfully enough, an old blues hound covered it (sang and played his trumpet while his buddy played the banjo) right next to us on the street while we sat at Cafe du Monde having our last chicory coffee before departing.

I also made a playlist for our travels that's kind of a best of scream-along-to songs, or my verson of a "Get Psyched" mix. It's called "Wendi's Musical Crack", and it's pretty frickin' awesome:

Baby O'Riley - The Who
Dreams - The Cranberries
Sitting - Cat Stevens
Down to the Wire - Neil Young
Grace - Jeff Buckley
Miami - Counting Crows
Under Pressure - Queen & David Bowie
Come Sail Away - Styx
Feel Like Making Love - Bad Company
While My Guitar Gently Weeps - The Beatles
Tiny Dancer - Elton John
Piece of My Heart - Janis Joplin
Won't Get Fooled Again - The Who
Analyse - The Cranberries
Cinnamon Girl - Neil Young
Lover, You Should Have Come Over - Jeff Buckley
Layla - Derek & The Dominoes
Across the Universe - Rufus Wainwright
A Murder of One - Counting Crows

You'll notice (or maybe you won't) that both this and my soundtrack to life that I made ages ago both begin with Baba O'Riley and end with A Murder of One. This is because that is how the universe wants a great mix to begin and end.

Okay, a few good quotes and I will end the insane pot-of-coffee-at-11:00-pm-induced ramblings.

"For, to adopt that maxim of Ezra Pound, it seems that poetry is more often than not bad news that stays news. The loss of love is almost always more engaging than the finding of it, death almost always more engaging than birth, ugliness almost always more engaging than beauty."

-Paul Muldoon

"...sorrow
is a liqueur. Drink deep.
We will all be consumed."

-Rosanna Warren, from the poem "From the Notebooks of Anne Vereine"

Pflugerville, Texas (Part 3: The Big Easy)

Sat, 01 Apr 2006 19:52:03 GMT

Our last stop was New Orleans. I have a lot to say about New Orleans because it is a very multi-faceted place right now, and because it has had a special place in my heart for the past few years, since I took a road trip there with my girls our senior year. It has always felt like it could be home, which is why I was so devastated to hear about Katrina last fall. I’ve always thought that New Orleans was a city magnificently full of contrasts: For example, St. Louis Cathedral is on the edge of the French Quarter, and I always have amusing thoughts about revelers binging on Bourbon Street on Saturday night, then going to mass on Sunday morning at the cathedral. You can wander from drinking a rum-drenched Hurricane at Pat O’Briens to listening to old Dixieland jazz hounds play “The Saints go marching in” next door at Preservation Hall. And where else in the U.S. do people so enthusiastically celebrate Mardi Gras, the entire point of which is to be as gluttonous and drunk as possible before a forty-day religious fast starting the next morning? This is what is so fascinating about New Orleans: the charm of Old World France meeting the ravenous, opportunistic spirit of America. This was true even before Katrina, and now (as far as I can tell from a two-day visit), the Crescent City is as conflicted as ever. On Bourbon Street, the party life has returned, if slightly more subdued than it was previously, though still much more raucous than any other party scene I’ve ever witnessed. You could wander around the French Quarter and never know that a natural disaster had hit. But then you see some of the neighborhoods with flood damage and dramatic waterlines. Then, if you go out of your way to see it, as we did, the Lower 9th Ward is a wasteland. This was the hardest hit area, where the canal levee breached and a tidal wave pulverized whole square miles and knocked houses off their foundations and blocks back from their original position. It was sobering to walk around in the rubble and see clothes, old records, dishes, twisted bikes and power lines wrapped around uprooted trees. It was even more tragic to know that this was one of New Orleans’ poorest neighborhoods, and even if it is ever rebuilt, most of its former residents would never be able to afford to come back. This is mostly likely true all over the city, where any repairs made will increase properties values so much that only the rich former residents will be able to return. This could have frightening and sad ramifications for the future of the city’s make-up. But we will just have to wait and see how it all turns out… In the meantime, it is immensely sad to see the reality of the destruction for oneself.

But in the vein of the previously stated contrast, the city does feel alive again in many ways. There is the feeling of hope and determination (almost) everywhere. Some might say that people are foolish to come back, but when you go there, you understand. The city has such a vibrant culture, and it’s their home. When “you know what it means to miss New Orleans”, you know why it is a city that can’t be abandoned. We wandered around doing the traditional things – Pat O’Brien’s, Café du Monde, the French Market – it was good to know that come hell or high water (literally), some things never change. The only major disappointment was when we tried to go back to my favorite po-boy place (seriously, the best sandwiches in the world) and it was closed – boarded up, I assume since the hurricane. *Sniff* But we did manage to find some good food, and also ate a couple great meals at my friend Whitney’s, who was a gracious host. It was wonderful to see her again.

We left New Orleans on a sunny day, driving along the bayou and Lake Pontchartrain, for the first time headed straight west, and the first part of our journey came to a close.

Pflugerville, Texas (Part 2: Somewhere in Middle America)

Sat, 01 Apr 2006 19:50:30 GMT

After New Hampshire, we drove down through New York and met Kate in Newark. She recently became a flight attendant and is stationed out of Newark along with four other flight attendant roommates. Must be an interesting life. We only got a short evening with her because (as Scott mentioned, I believe), she found out right after we got there that she had a flight early in the morning. So we left almost as early as she did, went to the bakery next door at the crack of dawn for coffee and pastries (some of the best éclairs I’ve had outside of France!), and drove the New Jersey turnpike to Philadelphia for a whirlwind breakfast with my friend Bethany, then hit the road again by mid-morning when she had to go to work. We made our way down the coast and to North Carolina by suppertime. Finally, it was sunny and warm, and I can’t tell you how much of a difference it makes in my morale. We were passing the D.C. area when I first started to see daffodils and the sun shone consistently for the first time in ages. I finally got to bust out my flip-flops, and that in itself somehow manages to make me giddy with joy.

Anyway, Scott already told a bit about staying on the Marine base with his cousin, Brandon, and his family. I had never been on a military base before, so it was an interesting experience, but (once you got past the checkpoint) really just felt like any other community. We had a nice visit with their family and headed to Georgia the next day, and it was surreal to go from a military base to a pacifistic Christian community in one day. We had a fantastic visit with Amber and Ben, with plenty of shisha-smoking and good conversation. It was fascinating to observe life on a commune; I have once or twice before, but in very different circumstances (like an Israeli kibbutz). We had fun walking around the property, finding the chickens and the dairy cow, seeing volunteers and community members participate in the different jobs that are divvied up.

After Georgia we made our way to Nashville to stay with Scott’s high school friend Jason, and his girlfriend Emily, who are both amazing musicians. We had a great time hanging out with them, seeing the sights of Music City, eating sushi and lots of Mexican food, walking the parks, going to CD release parties…and shelling out a lot of dough to get our brakes fixed. *Frowny face* Better than not having brakes, I suppose…

Pflugerville, Texas (Part 1: New England)

Sat, 01 Apr 2006 19:49:08 GMT

All right, Scott informs me that no one is going to read a post as long as the one I’ve just written, so I’m breaking it up into three different parts for your reading pleasure….

Well, it’s amazing how fast time flies when you’re on the road, and yet when you think back over all the places you’ve been, it seems like it’s been ages since you were stationary. I want to recap what we’ve been up to since Massachusetts.

Maine hadn’t been in our plan, but when we realized we had a day of no plans before meeting our friend Lesley, we drove up to Portland for the day to see the lighthouse. I had been there once before on a beautiful summer day, but this time it was nearly dark and raining when we finally found it, and made for a much spookier and more quintessential lighthouse experience. The horn sounded periodically and the beacon rotated around and around to guide the ships going by around the dangerous rocks. This was the kind of weather lighthouses were made for. It was deserted and perfect. We had some clam chowder and crab cakes at a little seafood shack and that was our afternoon in Maine. (Later we crossed into the west part of Maine from the White Mountains, so I could see the town of Gilead where one of my favorite movies, “The Spitfire Grill”, took place. Unfortunately, the real town looked nothing like the film town, alas.)

As Scott mentioned, we spent a few days in Laconia, New Hampshire, with our friend Lesley and her family. We got to make a few jaunts into the White Mountains, which were a pleasant surprise to me a few years back when Amy and Beth and I were driving through the night to get to Maine. I had done the graveyard shift, having driven since midnight while the girls slept, and was aware that we were driving at higher altitudes, but it wasn’t until the blue-grey dawn crept in that I started to see the beautiful peaks all around me. From that brief experience, I was excited to go back and spend more time there, and was still impressed. While we were there this time, we drove the Kangamagus Highway through the range and stopped at peaks and white-water rivers and frozen lakes. That, coupled with the time we got to spend with Lesley and the fact that her family generously gave us a very nice suite in their hotel all to ourselves, made for a pleasant New Hampshire experience.

Newburyport, Massachusetts

Sun, 12 Mar 2006 17:10:49 GMT

Well, as far as trips go, this one started out amazingly smoothly. On Wednesday we made the drive from Michigan to Massachusetts in less time than we were expecting, for once. It was about a 14 hour drive across southern Ontario, upstate New York, and Massachusetts. We arrived at Amy and Steve's (good friends from North Park days) apartment in Newburyport (a lovely little town near the New Hampshire border) late Wednesday evening and have been here since.

Friday Scott and I took a drive around the bay area, down to a few sights that I had seen briefly six years ago on a road trip with my girls and wanted to revisit. We drove through the port town of Gloucester, which is lovely with its myriad boats and panoramic view of the silver sheet of Atlantic Ocean. This was on our way down to Hammond Castle Museum, a wonderfully anachronistic "medieval castle" on the cliffs above the ocean. The girls and I had come here six years ago upon recommendation from my sister Angie, only to find that there was a wedding taking place and the castle was closed. We managed to weasel our way in by telling some groomsmen in the parking lot that we had come a long way to see the castle (Michigan and Minnesota; with raised eyebrows, they said, "Oh, well why don't you just go in and look around?" - We didn't bother to tell them that the castle wasn't the only reason we had come to New England). This time, Scott and I found that the castle was still closed for the winter season, and the parking lot was chained off. Not easily thwarted, we parked in the private drive and poked around a little bit, and no one bothered us. It seems I'm destined not to see the castle under honest circumstances... Nevertheless, it is a beautiful location from which to see the ocean, with ornate arches framing the sea, where waves crashed loudly onto the rocks below.

After this we met up with Scott's friend Drew from Moody, who took us to lunch in Beverly at an Irish pub where we had Newcastles and listened to "The Unicorn Song" about 5 times. Irish pubs seem more authentic in Boston than they do in Chicago.

Yesterday we went with Amy into Boston, which was a treat and a challenge, as is most of New England. The scenery and the people are charming, but the road signs (or lack thereof) are exasperating. We let Scott be the frustrated navigator while Amy and I enjoyed the sights. We spent most of the afternoon trying to track down a mysterious Italian restaurant where, years ago on our last visit, I had had the best chicken in my entire life. I just had to find out if it still was, or if it was just the combination of being hopelessly lost and exhaustion (from walking around hopelessly lost) that made it taste so good. After several hours of searching (as a result of being completely misled by an erroneous map), we finally found it, and my chicken was on the menu, and it was still the best I had ever tasted. It was also, however, about twice as much as I remembered it being last time, so at the rate of inflation, I'll never be able to afford to eat it again. *Sigh* But for anyone who is near Boston and can splurge a little, order the Chicken Margarita at Lo Conte on Salem Street. And don't trust the online map to find it!

So those are our New England adventures so far. It's wonderful to spend time with Amy and Steve, and also to remember Amy's legendary talents as a chef. Today she's making pot roast and lemon merengue pie. Mmmmm.

(You can see photos of our adventures at the photo sharing page Scott just set up at http://www.flickr.com/photos/acgypsies.)

"Oh, I'm on my way, I know I am..."

Wed, 08 Mar 2006 05:28:13 GMT

Well, it's just after midnight, which means that today we are leaving on our road trip. It also means I should be sleeping, since we're supposed to be hitting the road about eight hours from now, and are planning to do a 14 hour trip straight through Canada to the coastal edge of Massachusetts. I will be sleeping soon enough, but I just wanted to take a moment to ponder our upcoming journey. The car is pretty much loaded up and everything that's left is packed. I feel scatterbrained, like I'm forgetting something, but I've checked my multiple lists multiple times and I think we've got everything and done everything we need to. It's just inevitable at such departures to feel like you can't possibly be prepared enough. I also have to keep reminding myself that in the terrible event that we do forget something, they have stores in most other parts of the country and even the world. It's strange to be leaving for such a long time; My family is pretty close-knit and I've often made the 6-hour trip up here to see everyone fairly regularly. We won't be back in these parts until about six months from now, and that may not seem long to some people, but, as my mom pointed out yesterday, it's the longest that any of our family members have been apart. At least they understand that the separation is worth it to set out and realize some of our dreams. And so we go...

Lists of lists

Thu, 02 Mar 2006 05:37:56 GMT

Scott and I were down at my sister and brother-in-law's place over the weekend, and in conversation they said they had learned that Nesto's coping mechanism when he felt like his life was out of control was to take rooms apart and massively reorganize them. Pondering this tonight, I realized that making lists is my coping mechanism. When I feel overwhelmed and disorganized, I make all kinds of lists, often of the same thing, over and over again. Sometimes I think of a better way to write the list, or I take an item or two off and want to re-make the list to reflect this, or in my mildly obsessive-compulsive way, I decide the handwriting could be neater. Just tonight I made fresh new copies of lists I've made at least four times in the last two weeks. In preparations for our road trip, they are lists of what we need to do, buy and pack before we leave. I guess I was feeling a little overwhelmed about just having come back from a trip around Michigan and having only a week to prepare for hitting the road for good, so the need for some organization came into play. It seems contrary to the gypsy spirit to be worried about preparations, but I can't help it. I am a quarter German, after all, and I can't escape it.

Despite the lists, I am still feeling a bit of an vague funk. Gasp! Is it possible that taking an hour to write down the same thing I've already written down four times before might not always make me feel better? For once it feels like a lesson in futility, as it probably should to sane people. I don't know what it is, but I guess I just feel discouraged sometimes, when it seems like I have no reason in the world to be. This mood feels like a paradoxical mix of restlessness and lethargy, along with the obligatory,ever-present melancholy. A lot of big words to say I should probably just go to bed. Many troubles disappear with sleep. A favorite Hugo quote has stuck with me ever since I read "Les Miserables" a few years back. He wasn't talking about sleep, but it always seems to apply to me, when he spoke of "drowning grief in oblivion". So goodnight, world.

In case you were wondering what book I've read three times and am about to read again...

Wed, 22 Feb 2006 16:31:50 GMT

From the Opening to 'Travels With Charley' by John Steinbeck:

"When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured by mature people than maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job. Nothing has worked. Four hoarse blasts of a ship's whistle still raise the hair on my neck and set my feet to tapping. The sound of a jet, an engine warming up, even the clopping of shod hooves on pavement brings on the ancient shudder, the dry mouth and vacant eye, the hot palms and the churn of stomach high up under the rib cage. In other words, I don't improve; in further words, once a bum always a bum. I fear the disease is incurable. I set this matter down not to instruct others but to inform myself.

"When the virus of restlessness begins to take possession of a wayward man, and the road away from Here seems broad and straight and sweet, the victim must first find in himself a good and sufficient reason for going. This to the practical bum is not difficult. He has a built-in garden of reasons to choose from. Next he must plan his trip in time and space, choose a direction and a destination. And last he must implement the journey. How to go, what to take, how long to stay. This part of the process is invariable and immortal. I set it down only so that newcomers to bumdom, like teen-agers in new-hatched sin, will not think they invented it.

"Once a journey is designed, equipped, and put in process; a new factor enters and takes over. A trip, a safari, an exploration, is an entity, different from all other journeys. It has personality, temperament, individuality, uniqueness. A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us. Tour masters, schedules, reservations, brass-bound and inevitable, dash themselves to wreckage on the personality of the trip. Only when this is recognized can the blown-in-the-glass bum relax and go along with it. Only then do the frustrations fall away. In this a journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it. I feel better now, having said this, although only those who have experienced it will understand it."