Welcome to the jungle

Woke up this morning in my mosquito net in Rio Dulce. Showered with a bat and was shat upon by something unidentifiable that was living in the rafters. Boarding a boat to Garifuna land of Livingston and rain seems imminent. Much more tropical here...coconuts and pescado abound (albiet caliente, not frio!). Onward...

Even cowgirls, rockstars and superheros get the blues!

I sent an email home yesterday that didn't make it as a blog post due to its negative nature. While I stand by my thoughts, I did learn a lesson in thinking before I speak and giving situations some time to settle down before I rant about how bad they are. I mean really. So I was homesick and had a bad day. We all do. The bottom line is that I'm still traveling in one of the most amazing countries in the world and my journey isn't even half done!

So, about my time in Antigua, the city in Guatemala - not the island in the Caribbean. It was a really good thing that my entry into Antigua was terrible. It forced me to seek out a Spanish school, in which I ultimately enrolled and had one of the most amazing experiences of my life! I couldn't ask for better hosts than the Ramirez family who have housed me for the past 2 days. I eat 3 meals daily with them - typical Guatemalan fare. Last night, I was given the honor of sitting at the head of the table and no one ate until I began. While the family feasted on tamales, I had sopa, pollo, arroz, frijoles and pan. I felt guilty, and secretly wished for the tamales, though the dinner was the best I've had since arriving in the country! After dinner, I insulted my hostess by offering to help clean up.

I had nearly 12 hours of Spanish lessons over 2 days. Alicia is my teacher and finds me an amusing student. We laugh loudly and often, much to the dismay of the other teacher-student pairs. I have learned a lot and now have about a 5 year old's ability to speak. I can understand much more however, and managed to understand an entire museum tour today in Spanish. Verb conjugations and infinitives escape me in English these days, so I'm not sure how I'm supposed to master them in Spanish!

The architecture in Antigua makes it very charming. Ruins are everywhere and history abounds. The city takes pride in it's appearance before and after dark - thousands of lights twinkle well into the night in the Parque Central.

I visited 2 museums in the Antiguan suburb of Jocotenango today - one for coffee and one for traditional music. The process of growing, harvesting and roasting coffee is very interesting and complicated. The most interesting thing I learned is that the most expensive coffee in the world is processed through the digestive system of the civet cat and costs nearly $100 per pound. I was able to eat a raw coffee bean today. I wonder if the biproduct will be as valuable.

Forgive me this one fleeting thought, as thoughts are very odd when traveling alone and your mind wanders to places otherwise forbidden. It has been 9 days since I heard an airplane, smelled a french fry, or gazed upon a NASCAR t-shirt. Ahhh...nirvana.

What a day in Guatemala this has been! I was sad to leave San Pedro this morning, but looked forward to being on the move again. I decided to take the long way to Antigua and was rewarded with stunning views of the Guatemalan countryside. I managed to take 5 connections (4 chicken buses and a boat) on my 3 hour journey to Antigua...surely some sort of record!

Antigua is completely different than San Pedro. I really hate to be negative, but I haven´t found many redeeming qualities here yet. Let me preface that by saying I´m tired, hungry and terribly homesick today. (A friend told me I would get to this place...she was right.) So I walked from the bus station into the city looking for a hotel. The few I found that had availability (apparently every American in Guatemala has traveled here for Christmas) were going to cost a fortune. So, I needed another plan.

Several months ago, I began corresponding with a professor in Antigua at a Spanish school. So, I decided to find Juan Carlos and see what he suggested. What ended up happening was very unexpected. I enrolled in 3 days of language class and am now staying with a Guatemalan family. I suppose this is the silver lining and will probably make my Antiguan experience much more wonderful. I have only met the family briefly and am looking forward to dinner tonight.

Alicia is my Spanish teacher. She is 22 years old and speaks about as much English as I do Spanish. She made the mistake of asking me if I missed my family and the waterworks began. But, my tears brought out her sense of humor and we both laughed more than we cried. Then we spent 3 hours practicing the difference in the verbs for "to be¨ and "to have." They are all very confusing and there´s no way 3 days are enough to master them.

¿Todo Bien?

Loosely translated, the phrase means is everything okay?.¨ It became the theme of my day. My morning began at 5 am when I awoke to hike Volcan San Pedro. (I spent yesterday doing absolutely nothing but visiting on the back deck of my hotel! It felt great, but I needed to be active today.) My guide, Domingo, met me in town before it was light and we began the most difficult trek ever! The hike to the top of the volcano is 5 miles...all up hill. The Guatemalans don´t believe in switchbacks, preferring to cut 15 trillion stairs (only a slight exaggeration) into the mountain where tree roots don´t provide natural stairs, forcing hikers to go straight up. This 3 mile hike would have been 20 in the US.

Domingo and I walked the first 2 miles to the national park. He passed me off to my guide Sabien, who speaks no English. Needless to say, I got quite a lesson from full immersion today and my vocabulary has greatly expanded. The next 3 miles were even harder than the first two. As we got closer to the summit, it got steeper. The last 10 steps were excruciating, but I was determined. (I met a group of 10 yesterday who didn´t make it.) The views from the top, at 3000 meters (9000 feet), were amazing. San Pedro is not an active volcano, so there was no sacrifice to the fire gods, but I could see 7 or so villages and the lake below. Talk about peaceful!

The park is full of wildlife and beautiful foliage. Sabien patiently named many of them for me in Spanish and K'iche (one of 22 Mayan languages spoken here). All of that vocabulary has already escaped me, but I was a diligent student in the process.

If the way up was difficult, the way back down was twice as painful! Talk about a slip-and-slide adventure. Your legs are screaming and the ground is moving beneath your feet. I managed to make it back down with only 1 spectacular fall and 3 or so magnificent sliding accidents. That doesn´t count the amount of times Sabien took a fall! That´s where I learned most of my new words. ¨Be careful.¨ ¨Are you okay?¨ Several other exclamations that weren´t quite expletives, but could have been! But, it was well worth it and Sabien assures me that Volcan Pacaya, an active volcano I plan to hike while in Antigua, is muy facile compared to San Pedro.

So, todo bien? Si. I had a long massage this afternoon, which helped with the soreness of the hike and folks are starting to crowd the streets for fiesta. The collective good mood is infectious. There are many solo travelers in San Pedro, so we will all celebrate Navidad together tomorrow.

I do miss you all and hope that the holidays are wonderful for you. I will probably leave San Pedro after Navidad. More adventures on la camionetas del pollo to come!!

¡Feliz Navidad! Hasta luego.

If I don´t come home, I´m in San Pedro

I hadn´t planned to write today, but the internet cafe was calling my name. They are so easy to access and cheap, so worth the 30 minutes and $.15! I left Chichicastenango early this morning to travel to Lake Atitlan. I had decided before leaving to travel to San Pedro La Lagunas and make that home base for the next 5 or so days. While waiting on the chicken bus, I met a couple from Alaska who had the same plan, so we traveled together.

(A note about traveling alone. It´s incredible and I highly recommend it!!! I have not actually been alone one moment that I didn´t want to be. There´s always someone inviting me to share a meal with them, or a seat on a bus.)

Everything that Chichi was - dirty, chaotic and loud - San Pedro is not. It is by the water...quiet and serene with Volcan San Pedro looming high above. We took the chicken bus to Panajachel and then boarded a lancha (boat) to cross the lake. When you enter San Pedro, you are in ¨Gringolandia,¨ called that because that is where many expatriates live. Lots of folks stay for long periods of time to study Spanish as well since the schools here are the cheapest in the world. Women walk the streets selling homemade banana bread and other treats. They are also allowed to sell in the restaurants, but unlike Chichi, they leave you alone after one ¨no gracias.¨ I must admit though, it is difficult to say ¨no gracias¨ to homemade banana bread, especially when drinking the best coffee I´ve ever had.

Speaking of coffee, they grow it here and dry it next to my hotel. It doesn´t smell like coffee when it´s first harvested, but rather, tobasco. The other major cash crop is marijuana. There is a large rasta scene here and many gringos have tattoos or dreads. There is a full moon party tonight. For Q25, you get on a boat to who knows where for music and dancing. Several from my hotel are going, so I think I´ll see what it´s about.

There are yoga studios, massage and holistic healing centers - I have a massage scheduled for tomorrow! Everything is very casual here and I am learning a lesson in being spontaneous. ¨Tomorrow¨ seems to be the best time to make a decision, any decision, and dinner plans were made for "after sunset.¨ It´s easy to see how people come here and never leave.

I´m staying in Hotel Casa Elena, which is very close to the dock and definitely in Gringolandia. I had not planned to stay there, thinking I would prefer going into town instead, but a water front view with a hammock and hot water for $4-night was too much to pass up! I took a 3 hour nap in a hammock today...

Earlier today I was wandering around San Pedro looking for lake access to write a bit. Roads are not paved and foot paths are unmarked. I wandered down a path that looked heavily traveled, but was apparently private land. I didn´t know that until 4 guard dogs chased me away!!!

How I spent my 31st birthday...

I titled this such because as I reread what I´ve written, it feels very much like an elementary school paper!

¡Feliz cumpleaños a mi! What an incredible day it has been. I needed a break from the sun and so am in the internet cafe listening to the craziness on the street. My day began at 4 am when fireworks, aka small bombs, started going off in the square! Some of them sounded as if they were in the courtyard inside my hotel. I awakened again at 6 to the sounds of marimba outside my window. I decided to get up and was rewarded with a HOT shower!! What an unexpected treat. On my way out the door in search of coffee, I ran into the owner of my hotel. When he found out it was my birthday, he insisted that the festivities in the street would wait. I must accompany him upstairs for coffee. Ahh.....Guatemalan coffee. It´s the best! He buys the beans and roasts them himself (he´s promised that I can take a pound when I leave tomorrow). He also shared an anona fruit with me, which tastes much like passion fruit. We spent hours talking politics and religion (Guatemalan and American). He took me on the roof to show off his solar power system he built himself (because I raved about the hot water!) and i enjoyed an incredible view of Chichi. He gave me tea as a gift and sent me out into the morning sun.

The festival is nuts! There are fireworks and firecrackers everywhere. There is no such thing as being careful...explosions happen all around you. The sky rains ashes and smoke makes it difficult to see. Incense is burned everywhere. People crowd the streets and I always seem to be going against the flow, although turning around isn´t any easier. I´ve been trampled more than once. Everything happens at the bottom of the stairs to the church and today, there were bands and parades that escape description. You´ll have to wait for the pictures and movies.

I bought a strange fruit from a street vendor for Q5. It looked like an avocado on the outside and a cantaloupe on the inside with a large black seed. It tasted terrible! So, I gave it to a beautiful little girl on the street. She was hesitant, but accepted it with her mother´s encouragement. Her smile was the best birthday gift by far!

I visited my first ATM. It was inside a bank in a closed room with a door that you locked behind you. An armed guard stood watch outside and escorted me back into the street once I was finished. Crazy!! Even with these precautions, I have not felt unsafe since leaving Guatemala City. I stayed out after dark last night with a sweet couple from LA. Dottie and Alex are here celebrating his 70th birthday (which happens to be the same day as mine)!

One more story and then I will sign off for the day. I am clever, if I do say so myself. I had spent 30 minutes this morning trying to locate a Mayan idol, the Pascual Abuj. It is supposed to be an easy walk from the center of town. Due to my inability to follow the detailed instructions in Lonely Planet, I was unable to find it on my own and decided to give up. Here´s the clever part...I noticed 3 gringos pay a Mayan woman several quetzals and begin to walk in the direction of 9 Calle. On a hunch, I followed and, what luck! They led me straight to Pascual Abuj without paying even one centavo! I also didn´t risk going by myself, which is not advised. It was a beautiful walk on a pine tree lined path and provided a nice break to the heat. There was evidence of recent rituals, empty liquor bottles and chicken feathers. A dog hung around to clean up what was left.

Since arriving in Guate, my senses have been completely assaulted and my story telling abilities are not what they should be right now. Much of what I am experiencing will take years to fully process. It is amazing what happens here in 1 hour...every hour.

Las Camionetas del Pollo

I´ve been in Guatemala for 3 days now and think I´ve finally started to come out of culture shock a bit. While my senses are assaulted at every turn, I am better able to sort through it and write...maybe.

My best adventure so far was the chicken bus ride from Guate to Chichicastenango. I shared the trip with a French couple who stayed at my hotel the night before. The bus station was chaos, but boys directed us to the appropriate bus and we boarded. The buses themselves are retrofitted school buses from the US. They are painted bright colors and play loud music!! We spent three hours going break neck speed down mountains and then creeping back up the mountains passing anything that got in our way, regardless of what was coming in the other lane. Thus another possibility for their name. I finally stopped looking out the front window as my heart pounded each time we veered into the other lane. The side windows rewarded me with beautiful views of the countryside and waving children.

It was actually a comfortable ride at first. There were plenty of seats to go around and my backpack fit nicely at my feet. Then, we rescued a broken down bus. So, the entire bus load of people boarded our bus. I had to fold myself into positions I didn´t know possible and we fit 4 in my seat. I had at least 1 Latino girl underneath me and one or two on top of me. This only happened for the last 30 minutes of the ride, and so wasn´t unbearable. Everyone is always in good spirits, which makes all the difference. We grouchy Americans could learn a lesson or 2 from them!

Gabrielle, Christian and myself were the only 3 to disembark in Chichi and it was interesting having to climb over everyone to get out. We managed though, with the help of many and began a long journey to find my hotel, which ended up being their hotel as well. We all travel to Lake Atitlan tomorrow.

Diary of a gal on chloroquine

After much deliberation, I succumbed to advice from the NHO, CDC and other such international health conglomerates to take preventative measures against malaria. Malaria meds have long gotten poor reviews from travelers, but I am optimistic that I will disprove them all. I, after all, never get sick or suffer the side effects listed on the patient information sheets we all get with prescriptions. So there's no reason not to take every precaution before traveling to Central America, right?

7PM Monday - ingest large, round, hot pink pill that will protect me from infectious disease caused by protozoan parasites.

11:30PM Monday - awake due to vivid nightmares and the feeling that something is crawling under my skin

6AM - 10PM Tuesday - forceful expulsion of stomach contents

4AM Wednesday to present - constant jitters, headache, skin crawling

And to think, I get to do this all over again next Monday...and the Monday after that...and the Monday after that... Can't wait.

Mr. Brown was a clown

I never know what to expect when my Grandmother pulls out her scrapbook. It is stuffed with news clippings of family members and friends and spans decades. On a recent visit, she reminded me that I became a published news correspondent at the ripe old age of nine. With no further ado, I present, for the first time since it's original publish date, an article I wrote as part of a trio of articles about my school Callaway Elementary. Entitled "Circus," it was published in the Franklin News-Post on October 18, 1985.

Mr. Derek Brown is the third and fourth grade art teacher at Callaway Elementary School. On Friday, September 27, Mr. Brown acted like he was a mime. This means there was no conversation while he acted out situations. He pretended he was stuck behind a wall and then he pretended he rode a horse. This was done with no conversation or props.

Then Mr. Brown gave us paper and he called on students in the class to come and stand a certain way. They were representing animals we might see in a circus. We had to draw them using gesture drawings. Then when he snapped his fingers we added something to our drawings. Some added the three rings you would find in a circus; some added more elephants; or maybe more trapeze acrobats doing stunts on the trapeze. The pictures turned out great.

Our favorite part was when Mr. Brown played a mime. He had music that you might hear at a circus. He was even dressed like a clown. We were kind of sad when this art class was over and Mr. Brown left.

Riveting. Watch out Katie Couric.

Treks In The City

I love the city...any city. Everything about a city makes me feel alive. My senses are assaulted. Even thick fog, which would depress me at home, is beautiful in the city as it rolls down the streets and alleys, enveloping buildings, covering them in moving gray and white clouds.

Part of really seeing and experiencing a city is exploring on foot. There's always a new smell, color or unique "situation" hanging out on a street corner that you'd miss if you were moving quickly. I walk everywhere I can, opting for subways, buses and trains only when I cannot arrive at my destination within a reasonable amount of time(an hour or so isn't unusual for me) and taking cabs only when the other transportation offerings are not an option. This is the case this evening when I hail a cab to drive me from the IO Theater near Wrigley Field, where I witnessed some of the funniest stand up comedy of my life, to my hotel near O'Hare.

The cabbie was black. African. He spoke English with a limited vocabulary and a thick accent that made it difficult for me to understand him unless I paid very close attention. He is working to improve his English skills and practiced by asking me my name, birthday, etc. Kenny - this is his American name - tells me he is 37 years old and has been in America for a year. Like so many others, he came here at the promise of great opportunity and now is working every waking moment. I tell him I'm returning to school to study communications and film. He wants to go to school next year "after my birthday on November 24," he tells me. Kenny says he was a broadcast journalist in Nigeria. I find this oddly coincidental but fitting and I choose to believe him.

He asks me why I'm not married. Not knowing how to explain my newly single status to him, I simply answer that I do not want to be. He is taken aback. In his culture, he explains, marriage is highly regarded and sought after. It is insulting to your family to not marry at your earliest opportunity. He explains to me that marriage is about showing respect to your family, your community and yourself. I ask Kenny why he is not married yet at 37.

He tells me stories of his future wife who is still in Nigeria. He spins tales of life in Africa and war and poverty and beauty. He talks about being an African man in America and not feeling like he is a part of any culture here, white or black. He makes phone calls to his kinfolk and I listen to the beauty of his native tongue. Time passes.

The cab ride should have taken 25 minutes. It is dark and Kenny is lost. I gave him very careful directions in the beginning, but he did not understand me and now I do not know where we are either. He pleads with me to help. I ask for directions several times and then navigate from the backseat. Kenny disregards me and we tunnel deeper into the city and further away from my destination. We drive for more than an hour and finally find a Marriott who will take me via shuttle to my hotel. Kenny does not sense, or maybe just doesn't acknowledge, my frustration. I try to keep it at bay as this ride was slightly amusing and maybe just what I needed on this mild night in Chicago. As I depart the taxi, he hands me a note that reads:
Kenny
773-555-5555
a cab man (Nigerian)

He asks me to call him the next day so he can drive me around. I think I'll pass...my feet are more reliable, thank you very much.

You put your left foot in...

I'm positive that I do not possess words to adequately describe this image. Normally, I would change the names of the innocent, but since there were no innocents involved, I won't. Holly and Walt - my crazy friends who are so ridiculously happy together that it's impossible not to get caught up and surrender yourself to their infectious joy - let me accompany them to the VT v. Florida State game. 50,000 fun stories that could make this blog drag on for days. Crazy tailgating before game. Cherry Coke. Bubble-like apparel to battle the brutal Blacksburg cold. Marching Penguins (slow moving geriatrics). 65,000 person mosh pit. 65,000 person hokie pokie mass. Marching Virginians. Highty Tighties, oh my. Dragging drink boys (not drunk boys!) against traffic during halftime. Abundant touchdowns. Ultimate win. Rushing field. Crazy tailgating after game. Skippage. Official launch of the "Crystalline" years. Old friendships renewed. New friendships begun.

Thanks you guys! I love ya!

No hablo espanol

40 days. Only 40 days until I fly off into the sunset, headed for parts unknown. Well, that's not entirely true, but it sounds good if not more than a little cliche. I actually have a morning flight, so technically I'll be flying into the sunrise...a much more optimistic direction, I think. And, since my ticket says Guatemala City, "parts unknown" becomes 20 days in Central America.

In anticipation of my trip, I have spent every waking moment of late trying to learn Spanish. Before I go any further, let me officially declare that I am not naive. I completely understand that many folks I encounter will speak English. More realistically, many won't speak English or Spanish as there are 40 different Mayan languages whose usage prevails in the small, rural towns where I will spend most of my time. Even so, I'm using this trip as an opportunity to learn another language and I'll do it if it kills me!

I have used dictionaries and CDs and DVDs and online learning tools...none of which have taught me anything. I failed terribly at making a hotel reservation for my first night in the country, even after employing my Spanish-English dictionary. The simplest of phrases eluded me until I discovered a wonderful podcast called Coffee Break Spanish. It declares to "bring language learning with your latte." Perfect! Kara and Mark are wonderful hosts with thick Scottish accents who patiently teach me and hundreds of other listeners Spanish in 15 minute increments. All is going very well.
Mark asks me how to say "I have two sisters." I can squawk: "Tengo dos hermanas."
Where are you from: De donde eres?
I am hungry: Tengo hambre
Where is the cathedral: Donde esta la catedral?
Is there a bar nearby: Hay un barre cerca de aqui?
I need another beer please: Quisiera una cerveza por favor.
Uno, dos, tres, hola, como estas, hasta luego...and on and on. All useful phrases, which I confidently speak (though I realize my spelling has a long way to go).

I am certain that I have begun the process of mastery...that is until tonight when I visit my favorite sushi restaurant. The chef - who, ironically, is not from Japan but Honduras - puts my knowledge to the test by speaking to me only in Spanish. I fail miserably. While I can generally understand him, answering his questions proves impossible. I totally freeze. I even forget the phrases I've practiced the most: "I'm sorry, I don't understand" and "Please speak more slowly." When the conversation deviates from my comfortable and structured digital lessons my mind goes blank. While I feel very confident belting out Spanish phrases within the safety of my car with Mark and Kara, everything sounds strange when verbalized in a public setting.

I'm making my peace with the fact that the most I'm learning from Coffee Break Spanish is how to speak English with a Scottish accent! While this will be very useful in hiding my status as an American, it's not going to get me very far when asking for a table at a restaurant, trying to find a bank, or bartering in the centro commercial.

40 days. 40 days! Perhaps I need a new plan...at least I'll play a mean game of charades when I return.

"When one jumps over the edge...

One is bound to land somewhere."
D.H. Lawrence

These words fill my head these days. While not overly optimistic, it is nice that they have replaced another phrase full of expletives, which has pulsed in my head every waking moment and marched through my dreams at night for the past two weeks since I made the decision to quit my job and return to school.

It's time. I've been postponing it for ages now, but it's finally time. I wasn't quite prepared to quit my very stable, well paying job that I love, but ultimately it was the right decision. No matter that the idea of not having a full-time job, for the first time since I was 16, terrifies me! Thankfully, feelings of fear and uncertainty are offset by the excitement and anticipation of taking on a new challenge.

This 30th year of mine has been all about change, personal redefinition and flying by the seat of my pants. It's appropriate, I think, to end this year by making a huge leap...I hope the landing is gentle.

Feeding my need for speed

I am utterly exhausted. This is a bone deep kind of tired. It's the kind of tired that is the mark of a prodigious weekend. I had every intention of coming home and crashing hard for the night, but after a shower and a dinner of fried rice, I find myself firmly planted on my couch with my computer, a Harp lager and the Steelers v Broncos game. My mind still hasn't figured out that the weekend is over.

Twice each year, the population of my sleepy little town in Southwest Virginia doubles for 48-72 hours. How exactly does that work? Simple. The NASCAR circus comes to town. My job requires me to attend the race and so this weekend I was a special guest, albeit a hardworking one, of the Martinsville Speedway.

I am not a NASCAR fan. While this is not my first race, I don't know the names of the team owners or their sponsors or the entire history of racing as many fans do. (Thankfully, the drivers have their names embroidered on their belts, so if you're comfortable staring really hard at their midsections, you can figure out who they are.) I don't even have a favorite driver. Well, I didn't...

So, I spent the last 3 days wandering around a half mile paper clip in wonderment. My pass allowed me to access the pits, garage areas, media centers and suites. It's a buffet for all the senses - watching drivers and crews prepare for race day; rubbing elbows with the Mooresville pit box babes, with their identical hair, nose, teeth, lips and breasts; smelling burning oil/gas, grilled chicken and the world famous Mart-dog; listening to the air tools at work; testosterone. I even got to shake a driver's hand just before he took to the track. Never mind that he crashed and burned 15 laps later.

**writer's break for food poisoning. Damn fried rice. TMI?**

I imagine a weekend with this kind of behind-the-scenes access could turn anyone into a fan, if even just for a few days. I was standing 5 feet from the cars when Jared of Subway said "Gentleman start your engines." 65,000 people cheered from the stands as drivers were announced and I stood on the start/finish line. Even better than being on the track is retiring to an air conditioned suite stocked with all the bean dip you can eat and beer from around the world for the duration of the race.

A few other random notes from the weekend:

• Watch out for the drips of, ummm, beer while walking under the grandstands
• Award for biggest cahones - Reed Sorenson in the pepto bismol pink Target car
• Award for worst marketing campaign - Combos and the man-mom car (truly scary!)
  

Who is my new favorite driver? That would be Juan Pablo Montoya. Why? For the same reasons he has zero fans...he's pretty, he's a good driver and he's not from the South. While these may be deal breakers for the typical NASCAR fan, they are firm checks in the "si" column for me.

For photos, click here and here.

No wonder I'm dizzy. Everything's spinning.

OK, I know I began this blog under the guise of a wandering dot, so it's reasonable for you to expect great stories of travel. The truth is I'm not doing much actual wandering these days. Sure, I've had some great adventures this year, but there's no fun for you in my rehashing those trips now. I do have several exciting trips planned in the near future, but for the moment my mind is all that can wander to Guatemala and Spain. In the meantime, I'm finding great adventure just wandering around my existing space.

Last night, I attended my first contradance in the town of Floyd, Virginia. If you Google Floyd (and you should, it's worth reading about), you'll find that the town itself has less than 500 residents. Don't let its size fool you. Located just off the Blue Ridge Parkway, this burg is a growing haven for artists, writers and musicians and culture oozes from its pores.

The Sun Music Hall's website promised a lesson for first-timers before the dance began, so my friend Sandra and I arrived in time for instruction. Prior to two days ago, I'd never even heard of contradance, and so went forth with no expectations. At 7:45, our "caller," Adina stepped to the center of the room and began our lesson. She walked us through a series of steps and threw lots of technical jargon our way such as partner, neighbor, courtesy turn, circle, allemande, cross over, right hand through, spin, and on and on and on.

After 10 minutes, it was announced that we had all the knowledge necessary to begin dancing. I was dubious. So, what is contradancing? It's nearly impossible to describe - you just have to try it. To say there's a lot of spinning is an understatement. Adina warned us about getting dizzy. Some dancers find Dramamine helpful, she announces.

WHOA! Wait just a minute. Everyone who has ever danced with me will attest that I am a hopelessly terrible dancer! I have no rhythm and I do not "follow." Shocking, I know. So, I did not just sign up for an evening of being spun all over the dance floor, did I? Not to mention having to memorize a series of intricate steps that should be performed in the right order to avoid crashing into others who are in the "line of indefinite length." Talk about things that scare me!

Our lesson concluded after a few generalities from Adina:

• Contradancing is a team sport, so don't expect to dance with the one who brung ya all night.
• Whether you're a lady or a gent, remember that the lady is always right. (I knew this, but it takes on a different meaning when you're in mid swing and can't remember where to stop!)
• Try it...you'll like it. (Famous last words...)

With that, we formed 2 lines, the Bubbatones began the live music, and away we went. I lost track of Sandra after a while as the dances take you up and down the dance floor numerous times. My dance partners were plentiful and patient. Experienced dancers take first-timers under their wing willingly at these dances. They gave gentle feedback even as I laughed at my egregious errors! One suggested making eye contact during the spins, which helped with the dizziness. One taught me that the best spin is executed by keeping one foot in place and pulling against your partner - he was right...we flew!

The more I danced, the more I amazed myself. I was getting it! I was kind of...good! As the evening progressed, my partners began adding their own flair to the dances, spinning me and tossing me where they desired and, by the end, I was dizzy again from all the spinning.

In three hours of contradancing, I never sat out a song, nor did I stop laughing. I think I danced with everyone in the hall - some really good, some first-timers like me. I participated in and caused a few train wrecks with my novice. While my body is protesting today, last night I only felt exhilarated! I am hooked on this wondrous form of English folk dancing.

The next time you find yourself in Floyd on the 2nd Saturday night of the month, drop in and have a tofu chimichanga at OddFellas and then join me at the Sun Music Hall. I'll be there...spinning!

"And if you can't be with the one you love, honey, love the one you're with, love the one you're with." Thank you Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and AM for this valuable lesson!

The scary part is crashing...

Fear, according to wikipedia, is an emotional response to impending danger, that is tied to anxiety. I suppose fear is a response by our bodies to stop us from doing something that could potentially hurt us...it’s that little quiver in the bottom of our bellies that whispers (or, more often than not, screams) STOP just before we put ourselves in harm's way.

And yet, some of us find that the subsequent adrenaline rush makes it worthwhile to press on even as our head warns us otherwise! In fact, I have a pact with a friend to try one thing that scares me everyday. So, what are those daily activities that frighten? They range from the very serious to the very silly. Anything counts as long as you feel that little twinge of nervousness in your center. Things that make me know I am alive: jumping out of a plane, especially since my horoscope specifically warned against it; driving a stick shift through the 'big city' of Roanoke during rush hour traffic (in a borrowed car belonging to a very brave friend); ice skating for the first time at age 30; standing on a racetrack with cars speeding on either side of me; blogging.