the great lake state

Michigan! There's only one thing better than visiting a friend who knows you like the back of their mitten. It's if that friend could just be right there so you wouldn't have to go so far to see them.

Despite the blizzard of the year, I was able to get to Michigan a couple weekends ago to visit. Kristen, DJ, Cora and Margot welcomed me into their warm house. Seriously, their house was 10 degrees warmer than mine ever gets, and it was freezing outside. Storm windows! They live up at the top of the mitten, near the ring finger in Traverse City. There is snow and there are bakeries and cross country skiing trails minutes from anyone's home. I was charmed.

I've been tense lately. Wedding planning and I don't get along very well. Either do design clients with unreasonably high expectations and I. I needed to go and be free, for a short time and commune with loved ones away from all my stuff. Kristen and I spent all the time we could, talking and drinking coffee (withdrawal when I got home wasn't as bad the second time). I met her newest baby, who was all smiles and faces and tiny kicking feet. Being there felt like taking a hot bath for 4 days.

We went out cross country skiing one night with Kristen's skiing group. 5 ladies that get some time away from their kids one evening a week to drink Hot Damn cinnamon schnapps, right from the bottle, and scoot around on ski trails. Luckily, one of the women loaned me her headlamp, since I've only skied a few times, and it was really dark. It was a blast! These women laugh and laugh! It was great medicine, and the schnapps were delicious also. Later in the week, we skied again in a different part of town, and we went across a frozen lake!

We drank and ate. Drove up to a lighthouse. I saw a cardinal out the front window! Made a snowman when it was warm one afternoon and spent a lot of energy knocking down icicles off the eaves. DJ resorted to hacking at the biggest icicle with a snowshovel on top of a ladder. Then the icicle almost fell on his head, and did knock him off the third rung from the top. Landed on his feet though! Cat-like, that DJ.

It was such a great time, and I was so pleased to see my friend so happy and doing well. I didn't want to leave again, but had to get back to the timesheet. Can't wait to go back though! To Michigan.
 

italia 3.1

Naples. It lives up to its reputation. Dirty, scary, dishonest taxi drivers and great pizza! We walked 30 minutes each way through the dark sketchiness to find a pizza place recommended to us by a couple of Canadian honeymooners. It was amazing. All Italian families, 5 euros for an entire pizza and 4 euro for a big beer. I had margherita pizza, and it was very, very good.

Magical.

The next morning we went to the airport, hoping by lunchtime we would be settled in Venice. I just love Venice. Yes, the streets are tiny, everything is expensive, tourists are everywhere and you never really know where you are, but it's just too amazing to hate. Water, water, everywhere! The stuff my childhood dreams were made of. Opening a hatch in the floor and being able to jump down into a warm and romantically lit water world (a la the Abyss without the scary parts). Like an M.C. Escher drawing, where all the stairs lead to somewhere neat and there are refreshing pools of water at every turn. I love boats and water, and always have. A city where all you've got is boats and water, is just the best.

Padres, enjoying a stroll.

We didn't fork out for a Gondola ride, but they are fun to look at anyway.

A wedding. How lovely.

Piazza San Marco - always romantic with the little lights.

The passeggiata. Two friends moving slow enough that they weren't blurry in my photo, even at dusk without a flash...

Our hotel, which is a convent, which is also a school, which used to be a big palace. It was right on a canal, halfway between the Rialto Bridge and San Marco. Cheap too!

One of our favorite moments was when we took a rest in a piazza way over on the side of town. A bunch of 4th grade school kids were at some kind of after school program, playing soccer and running around. The teacher would hide a little toy gnome somewhere in the plaza, then the kids would hunt for it and get a little prize. One time she hid it right on top of my dad's backpack on a bench. The kids were practically swarming around our bench, but didn't think that tourists could be part of the game. Once they realized they should examine us also, they found the toy right away, sitting in plain sight on top of his bag.

Fair Verona.

Our next stop was Verona, a place none of us had ever been to. It was a small, walkable, bike-able, charming city. The arena in the middle was very neat and there were so many great places to see Roman ruins, Renaissance buildings and a 2,000 year old fountain. I think we all really enjoyed it there. Not too slow, not too fast.

Roman Bridge, American Parents.

Afternoon latte in my favorite piazzetta.

No cars allowed in the center!

Our most interesting dining experience was at a small trattoria just on the other side of the Roman Bridge. Our hotel person was so great and she recommended that we stop by this place for lunch - great pasta. We didn't make it there until dinner time, but of course 6:30 is too early for dinner and we had to wait an hour for the place to open. We were sure glad to get in by 7:45 though, because the place was packed! It was cute and warm but a little dusty and not fancy. There were no menus. We were used to choosing only a first or second course dish, because come on, who can afford to eat like that every night. Here though, it was not presented as an option. "Here in Italy, we have first course, and second course." Our super cute waiter, who looked like a young John Travolta, read us the selections and we just had to choose. I heard 'homemade pumpkin ravioli' and jumped at the chance - Amazing. The best.


We enjoyed our pasta while the waiter helped other tables and went back to cut more baguettes from his bread table to keep people going. For second course, he offered several steaks, then a few seafood items. Then he commented that the steaks were, "horse, which is common here in Verona." Horse! Eating horse?! Before I could get any farther with it, Mike was telling him, "I'll have the horse!" with an excited look on his face. I thought, well, when in Verona, and ordered the horse also. It came nicely sliced on a bed of flavorful greens, caramelized onions and apple slices. Delicious! It was lean, tender and flavorful. A+! I was a little creeped out as I ate, thinking about what the horse farm was like, but not as creeped out as when Mike starting telling my parents high school football stories including the one where he had to "floss his lip out of his teeth." Thanks Mike.

The team.

Sadly, we had to go home after Verona. We took the fast train and had one more day to walk about Rome before a trip back to the airport to catch a flight that was 3 hours late to leave. Something about the weather, the control tower said...I guess a few clouds are enough to make the Italians just give up and head back for another macchiato! A proper send off, I'd say.

italia 3.0

 A few days before we went to Italy, Mike needed to move. And not just from one apartment to another, from one apartment to one 25' long boat. That meant things had to go to the dump, to the Goodwill, to garage sales, to storage and into plastic bins. Sorting and deciding, moving and cleaning. Working. And, oh yeah, getting ready for a trip. On our last rainy and stormy Sunday, we sailed the Eider across Lake Washington, dodging cloudbursts as they zipped over the lake. We moved our ship from this nice spot:

To this nice spot where Mike now lives:

 

We tied the boat up, failed to get the power to the heater working, stressed out about it, and got it fixed later. So it went with most of the things we needed to do. We tried, we failed, we stressed out about it, and succeed. Finally, we left for the airport and succeeded in making our flights, grateful for being done with the move.

Arriving in Rome was surreal. Mostly because I wasn't able to sleep on the flight, but also because Mike and I had never flown anywhere together. We had been domestic, road-tripping, van sleeping, boat sailing people up until that point. But there we were, having forgotten our Italian, waiting for the train to town. We visited everything that didn't have an entrance fee. I had a whole subconscious list of places my feet wanted to wander to. We saw my old apartment:

2006

2010

We saw Mike's old apartment too. He went to school in Rome in 2004, two years after I did. It was a lot of fun and lots of walking, which is how I remember Rome best.

Next we moseyed a cool 9 hours by 2 trains and 2 buses to Ravello, to greet my family! Heidi, Mother and Father were all there, waiting for us when we arrived. We all decided it was a bear trying to get around the Amalfi Coast by bus. Then again trying to make it by car would have been a bigger challenge! We enjoyed some of our favorite gardens, ate some delicious things and took in the huge views from way up there.

Villa Ruffalo

Their good sides.

Villa Cimbrone

Villa Cimbrone

Villa Ruffalo

While we all waited for the bus to Positano, our next spot by the sea, we discussed the confusion, attitude and general unwillingness to help that we encountered in the south of Italy. I longed for lines and signs and people who at least pretended that they were glad you were there visiting. Mike pointed out though, that if an Italian stood in a line, asked politely, made room, told you when you got to the bus stop that you asked for or sold you the thing in their shop window that you wanted, they wouldn't be Italian anymore. They would be German or English. That creative, explosive, self-centered, demanding attitude is what makes them who they are, and they don't need to change that for me.

Positano! I love the beach!

A good town to take a rest in.

Pants-less fishing lessons. A rite of passage.

Waiting in Sorrento for a boat connection. For a long time.

To Be Continued...

outtie

I'm heading to Italy tomorrow with my sweetie. Whooo! Vacation. 2 weeks. Meeting up with the parents and sister.

Rome. Ravello. Venice. Verona. Pizza. Gnocchi. Gelato. Pecorino. Chianti. Oi bambino!

The first time I went to Rome, I was using a 35mm camera. The second time, I walked all over town until 2am, too excited to sleep. This time?

hola

I sit writing this from my new office. At 8:18pm. By choice. Who am I and what have I done with myself? I'm sure this will all wear off soon and I will be as eager to get out of here at I always was with any job I've ever had. For now though, I will bask in the magic. After my billable work is done, I am actually excited to think about marketing and websites and quick books. I really feel like a part of things here. I get the sense that all the work I am doing, will eventually pay off for me, not for a group of people above me who take home big bonus checks and then tell me there won't be any left for the rest of us. I know, I know the relationship is new and I can't bet all my chips yet. I am just thankful that it has started off so well. One can only hope that it will continue on as such.

 













This time last week I was deplaning in Seattle, my skin protesting the temperature and humidity that greeted me on the jet way. It is always an awful and terrible thing when one has to return from a warm climate to the Pacific Northwest in the winter. The waves continue to roll in without you where you just left. The trailer park continues get up early for yoga and the fish truck goes right on blaring advertisements from the street at 7:30am. But you aren't there and no one misses you. It's only you missing it. Mexico was good this year, our third year. Each year is different, but always lovely. Melissa had to stay home, so Claire and I were left to make our own fun this time. A few of the highlights were:

1. The evening after our first day, Claire and I enjoyed some margaritas of her mixing, which are always very good. We enjoyed a couple before dinner, then a couple after dinner. Then we decided to take a walk down the beach with our glasses to enjoy the moonlight on the waves. We were talking and laughing and I was rubbernecking at a building, not watching where my feet were headed. I easily tripped on a large sand volcano that some kids must have built. With one swift motion, I was laying on my stomach on top of the volcano. The amazing and hilarious part was that somehow I had negotiated my glass through the fall as to not lose a drop of my delicious treat. We about peed laughing so hard. 

2. On the trip to our 'private' beach, a spot down the road with rarely anyone around, we had company. We were chilling out on our towels in the shade and a young man with long, curly hair carrying a plastic soprano recorder walked past us looking for his own piece of sand. We had to snicker a little, due to the recorder and the giant hairdo. He plopped down under the next tree and striped down to his black underwear before laying down. I alerted Claire to the incident and instructed her to look the other way. A minute later, she alerted me to the fact that he had also lost his shorts. I swung my head around to see the side of his rear end sticking up in the air, and I just about choked from restraining my giggles when he fired up the recorder and starting playing a little naked tune. It was hideous, but not as hideous as it must have been for the group of teenage boys that walked by as the man swung around to sit with his knees pulled up.

3. One evening we noticed a sort of brass band rehearsing down the street from the trailer park where we stay. It was very charming. The next night, I awoke from my sleep to hear the same brass band plus a few dozen more musicians, playing at a volume that even my earplugs and the fans couldn't begin to drown out. It was like having the entire Husky marching band playing across the street from your house. I dozed off between sets, and woke up again when they got going. When the brass band degraded into various instruments accompanying karaoke singers around midnight, I contemplated getting up to join their party. Finally around 2am or so, things broke up and the amps were turned off. It's a different world down there, devoid of noise ordinances. I was glad that I had no reason to get up the next morning and hopeful that everyone at the party had a good time.

 

sayulita, mi amor

I lay in bed the other night, listening to the whirring fan in my room, trying to imagine that it was the sound of a ceiling fan. A ceiling fan, gently moving cool evening air over my skin as I slept off all the tiredness that sun, sand and strangely, relaxation, brings. But the fan noise was that of my space heater that runs periodically in my room to keep it up to a robust 60 degrees while I huddle under 3 heavy blankets trying to get my feet to warm up. I am mourning the loss of the warm sun.

Mexico, this year, was perfect. We did very little. I began with reading books, taking walks and setting life goals and slowly evolved to just laying still and doing nothing, sometimes without even leaving the apartment. We even preferred the ease and deliciousness of our favorite burrito counter instead of the commitment and effort it took to go to a restaurant. Claire's margaritas were more delicious than anything we could find in town, so that simplified the cocktail hour as well.

It was also a nice break from pants. I made it my short term goal to wear pants as little as possible. Not on the beach, not in the apartment and sometimes not in town (skirts don't count as pants, although are also desirable to take a break from). It went well. You can do a lot with towels and staying away from open windows. Socks were obviously not permitted on the trip outside the airplane.

This is the view from our apartment at the fabulous Sayulita Trailer Park. We reserved the same room as last year, it was that good. We got to enjoy the music from the garden restaurant below, and spy on the customers and listen to their dinner conversations.

The Trailer Park was mostly unchanged and still provided the same beachfront location, outdoor shower, ping pong table, communal open air television area and lovely service.

This year's surfing portion of the trip went wildly better than last. I rented a board for one day when the afternoon's tides and weather looked to be shaping up just right. A layer of clouds came up as I was preparing to go out, which helps with glare and sunburn. I scanned the left and right breaks, and miraculously the main break down the beach, usually littered with 30 or so people fighting for the same wave, only had 3 other people out. Perhaps the possibility of rain scared everyone else in.

I carefully checked the beach for giant breaking waves that would smash me into the sand and then headed straight out past the beginners to the big girl wave. I relished the calm wait as I sat on my board and waited for swells, like a proper surfer. I caught several gentle, rolling, slow friends and enjoyed the reality of unbroken waves and seeing straight to the rocky bottom, zooming beneath me as I stood. What a difference! Compared to Sayulita, Westport, WA makes you feel like you've gone to surfing hell - an endless barrage of messy, broken, powerful waves that knock you around and refuse to give you a clean ride. I had a great time in the water. I gathered a handful of bruises and sore ribs that always come with warm water surfing for me, but I was glad to have gotten a great session in without major disaster.

The week was just what I needed. We roommates got all caught up with each other. We laughed and ate and danced Salsa Night, all together. I couldn't help but feel blessed that instead of wanting a vacation away from my roommates, I wanted to spend the week with them, and got to do just that. Not everyone has such nice people to keep house with. Viva la trifecta! And Viva Sayulita.

mexico, my precious

Spring Break for Adults, Part II has begun. I fly to Sayulita in the morning. I hope this year there is less of this and more of this. One week off from work to sleep, eat, walk, read, swim, surf, dance and rest. Let the good times roll! Whooo!

mexico, part dos

Rule number one (of one): Never turn your back on the ocean. When you are on a wave, you watch it. When you aren't on a wave, you watch for the next one and the one after that. This way, you are never surprised. If you are going to get pummeled anyway, at least you know what's coming and you can cover your head.

One way to break the rule is to take your sweet time, sloppily getting out of the ocean, hoping to impress the crowds as you exit the water at dusk during the biggest swell of the month at high tide. Looking landward for just that long and POW! That one really big one is on top of you, who are in turn on top of your board, which is in turn on top of the sand.

The waves were perfect. Rolling, peeling, waist high, predictable, consistent waves. A dream come true for a rookie surfer who idolizes long boarders. I crept slowly towards the line up, trying to get up the courage to place myself in just the right place for the first point break wave that I ever surfed. From the shoulder, I had a great vantage point to see the local guys running down these perfect waves, longboards flipping in circles and upside down. Showboating at its best. I caught some smaller waves, relishing the deep, warm water and feeling so pleased to begin this week of surfing bliss. Eventually I tired from the short, easy paddle outs and tried to go in. And turned my back on the ocean. And got creamed. I broke a fin off my board and banged up my thigh so hard, a bruise the size of my hand and a 1" high welt reside there to this day, one week later. I limped home and prepared myself to humbly take the broken board back the next day to the beautiful man that could dance while he surfed (and coincidentally could also salsa dance like a pro in the bar the next Monday night).

Hay dos problemas... He shook his head at my sorry situation and told me how much the bill would be for the broken fin. I took this as a negotiating point and went to discuss it with his boss. She was acting all difficult and asking me to pay a whole bunch more money for this board which had previously been broken in two, patched in ten places and was currently leaking out of two other dings. I explained how my unused rental fees should be credited towards the damage and with a few sincere tears and a broken Spanish oration about how my vacation was to be ruined now that my leg was blown up and I couldn't surf, she saw it my way and sent me along without paying another peso.

Now that the business of surfing was out of the question, I took to icing my leg and learning how to relax, fully, on the beach. The fresh copy of People magazine I snagged out of the seat back pocket on the flight down needed to be read and then a stack of books after that. I took to the life of the hippies living in their RVs, passing each day slowly and peacefully under canopies of christmas lights and on woven outdoor mats. The natural, spicy, brown bar of soap I was using only helped me feel more the part. A couple sticks of incense, and you may have not seen me for months.

I am glad that I got over my prejudice towards Mexico. I mean, Mexico? Every retiree south of the arctic goes there. 16 year old kids get flown down by their parents and waste themselves away at Sr. Frogs on high school spring break. What could possibly be there for me, a snobby adventure traveler with only two weeks vacation? In Sayulita, there is just enough fishing left there to make it feel quaint. There are only as many hotels for as many people that can fit comfortably on the beach. There are enough dogs, dust and traditional Mexican pastry cabinets to let you know where you are. And there was apparently just the right amount of everything else to make me extremely happy for 9 epic days, once again as a traveler.

mexico, part uno

"My worries that I didn't have today, are melting away," said Claire as we sat under a thatched roof and sipped margaritas. Big margaritas. And nibbled on quesedillas. "Mmm," I replied, sipping the icy slurry through two straws. In fact, I couldn't even think of what the worries I didn't have, used to be. Nomally, I relish any opportunity to reflect on life, love, purpose and the future. You can't get me to stop reflecting. Somehow in Mexico though, I just didn't. I didn't think about my job. I didn't think about guys or moving to a far-off place to escape reality. My mind was blank. Open. Devoid of stress and incapable of considering anything more than a 4 hour period in the future. I can't remember the last time I was so thoroughly relaxed.

Melissa, Claire and my lives were temporarily based from our 2 bedroom apartment in the Sayulita Trailer Park at the north end of a town that took 10 minutes to saunter across. (Uncle) Ramone was the park's manager, forever walking quickly here and there in cowboy boots, long pants, an open, short-sleeved button down and an undershirt. He carried his stout, compact self like he was 7 feet tall and never failed to greet us with a million dollar smile and thoughtfully slow, simple Spanish on his way to fix something or show a room. Our 2nd floor, sunny, yellow digs were just up from the RV slots, which were just up from the beach. We could carry our coffee cups from the kitchen down to the beach without spilling more than a few drops. We would wake, go to the beach and read, come back and eat lunch, read, take a swim, read and then play table tennis in the courtyard before showering and heading out (or in) to dinner. Sometimes we would walk to the other beach that we had all to ourselves and once we even hiked up to the next town. Mostly though, we read and played cards and sought out the best burrito in town.

We arrived in Sayulita via the local bus caught right outside the airport. We piled in with the rush hour crowd and settled down for a 1 hour trip north with Michael Jackson's Thriller cassette blaring and the warm sun dropping behind the hills. After settling into a different cute hotel for the first night (which happened to have their cheapest room available), we were pleased to find a complimentary fresh fruit basket and bottle of tequila on the well-pillowed and well-shaded rooftop communal living room. We were not pleased, however, to find that we didn't know how to get the bottle open (those tricky Mexican plastic deals that you have to take apart and flip over and all that). Nothing could bring us down though and we traipsed happily off into the evening as we would do for many evenings to come in this cozy and refreshing town.

flashback

Here I go again, playing the "where was I two years ago, back when I was interesting" game. As I get my bag out and start to lay out the things I want to take to Mexico, I just had to go back and read about where I was on my trip at this time of year. I had just arrived in Athens, perfectly happy to be in Europe where things were more familiar. I was about to come down with the shingles, as a result of overwhelming stress while traveling the Kenyan countryside. I was feeling and doing great, having long since forgotten what working in an American office was like. There were so many landmarks and so many new memories forming all the time when I was on the trip. I can't help but compare my current situation and feel a little empty.

Looking over my baggage locks, my immunization card, my sarong and all the rest of my travel relics, they are worn. Dirty, smudged, scratched and threadbare. I worked that stuff hard. Blew it to bits. I'm surprised how much of it I even came back with.

When you travel, you have no control. You could lose the whole deal any minute. You are always lost and wearing the same pair of jeans. You would think that being home, re-rooted and relocated would provide a great sense of relief and security. Surrounded by all your familiar things and people, you know what is going to happen next. In this, however, I feel even more out of control. The things I feel that I should be able to make happen, I can't. I have all this structure around me, and I feel smothered and locked in. I think not having control over anything is more freeing than having control over half of things. Who would've thought?

I am thrilled to be getting away. So far I have packed 3 bikinis, 2 rash guards, warm water surf wax, three books, two pairs of shorts, sandals and my sudoku book. I like where this is all going. The routine is killing me lately. Plus, I just got dissed by a man, again, and can't wait to forget all about him, about my projects, my to do lists and perhaps my own name. Just for a little while. Ole!

restless mind syndrome

At a time when I haven't taken more than two days off since I started working at my job 14 months ago (except the week of face smashing), I feel annoyed at being here. Melissa, who knows best, says that when your job annoys you for a while, but you normally like it, it's not that you need a new job, you just need a vacation. So I'm taking one. With Melissa. For 9 days. I'm going to get flying again after 16 grounded months.


We are going to Mexico. It may be more of a vacation and less 'traveling', but I imagine there will be some of both. I have already read about this coastal town Mexcaltitan that you get to by three buses and a boat, which has no cars and periodically floods like Venice. They also have a lot of shrimp and mangrove swamps. That's not going to be an umbrella-drink-on-the-beach to get to, but it sounds exciting, yes?

I also know that I will spend another handful of days reading, swimming and surfing in a town called Sayulita. There is a wagon that serves the best fish tacos ever, apparently. I believe that if I had to stay there and eat tacos, avocados and light beer with lime for 9 days straight, that would be okay with me too.

So here's to me being proactive about my needs, instead of hemming and hawing about having to go into work everyday, when most people, in most places have to do the exact same thing. Or maybe I'll find a gigantic sailboat to work on and not come back for awhile. Slim chance, but it's not like me to give up hope for such miracles.

P.S. I said a few days ago that I had made peace with my hair. Turns out it was just a couple good days, that have come and now gone. It's just a bad haircut.

vocational options and opportunities

Today I was playing my game "Where were you at this time last year?", a game I started playing a while ago to ease the weirdness of being back and disconnected from my dream trip. I have to look in my second trip journal for the second half of the trip to find May 28. What I found was some quality introspection that I remember writing on the train on the way from Grenoble, France to Barcelona, Spain. I must have been facing the reality that the endless trip was actually starting to wane. Within a drivel of personal reflection, I made a list called 'Every job I have EVER considered.' I included everything I have seriously considered from the time I realized that people have to be something when they grow up. Here's the list:

archaeologist (first occupation I was interested in due to King Tut flip book found in school library)
greenhouse owner
judge
forest ranger
surgeon
historian
train engineer (still a top choice in my eyes)
civil engineer
cafe owner
farmer
landscape architect
grocery store owner
soil scientist
hydrologist
surf instructor
hiking guide/hiking hostel (yes, I think this would really work out well)
coffee shop owner
writer (all you have to do to be a writer is write...)
illustrator
life coach/organizer
wedding coordinator
caterer
children's nature guide
professor
garden writer
car restorer
REI backpack sales
travel writer
adventure resort owner
surf shop
baker
graphic designer
industrial designer
florist
pizza shop/pub
juice hut
non-profit urban designer
accountant
track coach
CAD teacher for high school (in my future, seriously. imagine the summer vacations)
architect
recycling program director
compost advocate (must create this job first)
arborist
gardening teacher

That pretty much covers it. I am still interested in most of these things with the exception of wedding coordinator and car restorer. I hope I can fit at least a few of these into this lifetime. There are just too many good things a person can spend their time doing. Note the small number of office jobs... I think I missed something back in high school career counseling when they told me I should work outside.

Here's a dreamy photo from a hike I took this long weekend.

livin in the past

I sometimes like to play a little game with myself called, 'Where were you at this time last year?' For most people, my trip is now a thing of the past. It came and went and I am now a normal person again. It's over. Not for me though. I am still trying to figure out how to cope with it all. The trip has become the life event upon which my adult life now revolves around. For some it is marriage, buying the house, having the baby. For me, it is pre-trip and post-trip. I want to remain connected to it, but can't think about it too much for risk of getting depressed. A lot of my thoughts relate back to the places I visited and situations I found myself in, but I can't really just talk about that or bring it up. It's too weird. Even writing this blog feels a little pathetic.

The game though, which I sometimes play with Melissa, is a great way for me to continue loving my trip in a healthy way. I can reminisce, look at photos, remember the tastes and taxis, and not annoy anyone with, 'Back when I was in Cambodia...' stories.

Today, maybe you would like to play along with me from home. 23 Febrero 2006. I recently arrived in Buenos Aires from hiking in the Andes mountains. Walked home after a movie in the evening to see garbage and rats populating the streets. I saw colonial ceilings, balconies, and plazas in this European annex of a city. Mexican food for dinner and shopping down Florida Avenue. The joy of a metropolis! The subway! The boulevards! The food! The exploring! A rush of commerce and culture of which 80% was similar to my own. A nice 'upper' experience before all that was scary, chaotic and alive in Africa. What a great day that was. I love the trip.


Last Year's Blog with photos.