wanderingDOT

Wandering again

2009-08-27T11:27:00.011-04:00

It's been over a year since I last posted to this blog. Since then, I've done a lot of domestic wandering, with one fantastic trip to Costa Rica with John thrown in the mix. Now that I've relocated to Southern Florida from Southern Virginia, I thought it might be fun to resurrect this forum. I'm not exactly wandering far and wide these days, but I'm learning a lot about a state I've not visited since my childhood. It's a world away from SoVA!

Earlier this week, the girls and I packed up in a 17' U-Haul truck with my Mazda Tribute in tow behind and set out on a two day journey to Palm City, FL. We landed in the seediest hotel in Jacksonville for an overnight (though this is the first time I've admitted that to anyone other than John for fear of long distance yelling). The last 4 hours into Martin County from Jacksonville were long. I didn't know it yet, but the stress of the trip was beginning to take hold in the form of infection for Ellie, and she was obviously not feeling well for this leg. I was glad to return the truck, as the "check engine" light had illuminated and I obviously was losing power.

With extremely efficient movers waiting for us, the U-Haul was unpacked in no time. I've spent the lion's share of this week unpacking, arranging furniture, hanging artwork and making the townhouse feel like home. We have ventured out a bit: mandatory trip to Publix, our new grocery of choice, where free cookies and crayons await the girls with each visit; Bathtub Beach, one of the best in the country that is only a ten minute drive from our house and where we only saw a handfull of people - a far cry from the beaches we're used to that are packed to the gills!; and several visits to our neighborhood pool, which is visible from our house. The girls have occupied themselves chasing lizards, which are as common as flies here. Several have met untimely ends as their movements are as erratic as the girls' and they succumb to a falling footstep.

The lifestyle is very gentle here and we're starting to feel at home. The neighbors all say hi, though with northern accents instead of southern. There are speed tables rather than speed bumps - a much kinder way of slowing traffic if you ask me! A short 5 mile run this morning revealed 2 parks within walking distance. The flora and fauna is still a mystery to me, with trees and birds that I have no label for...yet. The heat is constant and oppressive. I have yet to figure out how to turn off most of my ceiling fans...though I doubt I'll ever need to.

For those who have wondered which of the Florida professional football teams will earn our favor - Ellie saw a Dolphins shopping bag in Publix yesterday and remarked to the checker: why do you have this ugly Dolphin bag here? Elimination has begun!

Afternoon at Maroni's

2008-06-26T18:29:00.008-04:00

Occasionally, life just happens. Regardless of how much in control we think we are, sometimes we just have to go with the flow and experience the wonderful things that appear before us.

Four days ago, I arrived on the campus of Mary Baldwin to take a film class. Two hours later, after surrendering my library card for $4000 in equipment and with the blessing of my professor, I became an independent film maker.

Today, armed with a microphone for the first time, I set out to fulfill my last assignment: interviewing people in the community about a "current topic of interest." The exercise was more about teaching me the intricacies of sound recording than video. I schlepped my 10 pound camera bag through the streets of Staunton, VA with the intention of ending up at a gas station to discuss the gas prices, how much we all love our president, alternative energy sources, etc. etc. Little did I know that this was one of those times that the universe had other plans for me.

As I reached the street corner near the station, a portly, white-haired gentleman approached me and directed me to the BP around the corner. He further asked what I planned to do there and, when I explained my intentions to him, informed me that he couldn't think of anything more boring. "Wouldn't you rather spend the afternoon with me?" My immediate initial answer was a vehement "NO!" Curiosity, however, rose above my gut and so I agreed. "Well then, come have a beer in the oldest restaurant in Staunton!"

As he half pulled, half escorted me into the tiny, run down eatery with no exterior to speak of, I surrendered my fate. I was immediately introduced to all the patrons (subsequent introductions occurred each time a new person entered), handed a Pabst Blue Ribbon, and six hours later, had all the footage I could handle and more.

Maroni's, which has been owned by the same family since the early 1900s, is unofficially a gentleman's club. Women are welcome (though few venture), and are occasionally allowed to have opinions, but never to buy beer. If you can be classified as remotely attractive, crass comments will fly in your direction. Race and sexual preference matter not, as all are accepted if you abide by the unwritten rules of Maroni's. Non-conformance will result in being listed on the shit-list (a white board above the bar) or permanent ejection by the owner, a slight, white haired beauty in her 80s.

Maroni's customers are loyal and trustworthy, a fact proven by the tabs they meticulously keep to record the purchases that they serve themselves. They help cook and clean and, later, even provided entertainment on acoustic guitar, passed around from guest to guest. Occupations and social classes are well represented with retirees, students, construction workers, chiropractors, city council members and even the mayor in regular attendance. They all come to solve the world's problems, or forget them, for a few hours in beer and burgers.

As the sun began to set and after consuming countless PBRs, I emerged, newly inducted to the shit-list. A great honor, though I will never share my transgression. I entered this place a tired college student with some camera equipment. I left inspired, rejuvenated, and slightly drunk by the sense of community that pulses in Maroni's.

Life on Campus Day 1

2008-06-22T19:06:00.009-04:00

It's 7 PM on the East Coast and I have just settled into my first dorm room in a decade. Things are a bit different this time around. I'm ten years older, a bit wiser (hopefully), and instead of my parents and a U-Haul, I managed to move my belongings in using one small suitcase. Instead of a semester, I'll only be here a week. Phew.

I'm here for "summer week," similar to other schools' J-terms, where you study really hard for a short period of time and get full credit. My class is video production and I am the only student. My professor has been a rocker for 20 years, has 2 screenplays currently being optioned in Hollywood, and mainlines coffee until well after 8 PM. This is my second class with him and I look forward to the energetic, dizzying approach he brings to learning.

The dorms are, well, dorms. They are concrete, utilitarian and barren. There is no trash can. I have no roommate (!), but do have a suite mate who brushes her teeth every ten minutes. So much for water conservation. Our suite is positioned directly across the hall from our "dorm mother." (Note to self: cancel the Tuesday night kegger!)

I am the youngest of all my classmates. Well, that's not entirely true, but I'm the youngest who isn't pregnant. Everyone is wonderful and I've made lots of friends. Well, until the "incident" at dinner. Sitting at my table were 5 girls from all over the South, all were Christians - that came up within 5 minutes of introductions. Not far into our conversation, one of the devout Baptists made made a flip, racist comment about one of her son's friends. I, without restraint (shocking, I know), expressed my offense.

It always takes me aback when people make hateful comments, especially to people they barely know. It is insulting to me that she thought I also would agree with her - I must fear, distrust and dislike people of a different color as well, right? It is unacceptable to me that others supported her so openly. Trust me, I am not delusional that there is still a lot of hate in our country, but it always disappoints me to learn that it festers just below the surface in the unlikeliest of people. Perhaps Eric Hoffer was right when he wrote "to know a person's religion we need not listen to his profession of faith but must find his brand of intolerance.”

Oh well, I never really bought into the sorority girl scene anyway. My fate this week is sealed. Off to wander about town and campus. The skies are growling persistently, so my evening could be short.

Adios Espana

2008-05-18T17:00:00.004-04:00

It doesn´t seem like 3 weeks since I last sat in the Bat Cave in Cat´s Hostel Madrid with my first blog from Spain. But, it has and it´s my last night here. Impossible. After 12 hours spent trying to get back to Madrid from Barcelona today, I am ready to come home. There have been other indicators along the way that it is time to travel home, so I´ve compiled them into a brief Top Ten list. Enjoy.

Top Ten Indicators that it´s Time To Leave Spain
10 - It´s been raining and foggy everyday for the last 10
9 - There isn´t a means of public transportation you haven´t taken, all in the same day
8 - You´ve completely cataloged all markets ending in eria: zapateria, cerveceria, lavanderia, licoreria, pasteleria, peleteria, perfumeria...
7 - You have 2000 pictures of every old building, pile of rocks and piece of art in Spain
6 - When you ask the waiter ¿Que me recomienda?, he responds vestidos limpia.
5 - You´ve had at least one attempted pickpocket for the past 2 days
4 - You spilled a glass of wine (actually this one might get you thrown out of the country)
3 - The entire country has run out of olives
2 - Your backpack outweighs you
1 - You´re so broke that your fellow hostelers are taking up a collection to pay your departure tax.

So, my journey home begins tomorrow morning. It will be a 30 hour day as we get to turn our clocks back as we fly over the Atlantic. Look forward to seeing you all soon! Hasta luego!

Montserrat

2008-05-16T11:49:00.004-04:00

Montserrat has long been linked to heaven on earth and I decided to spend this day trekking it. The universe always seems to have other plans, however, and as the train approached the base of the mountain, fog rolled in. Boarding a cable car that would take me to about 700m, I realized spectacular views were going to be nonexistent, and so resigned myself to exploring the ancient monastery that is also there.

Upon arriving, I found the Basilica at the center of the monastery, which dates to 1035ish (though most of the original structure was destroyed by Napolean´s troops), and went inside. The decorations of the building are opulent and mindboggling. Gold, silver, bronze and marble adorn floors and walls covered in ancient mosaics. Iron fixtures hang from the ceiling to light the way through small, narrow hallways. The centerpiece of the cathedral is La Moreneta, a black virgin, and I was able to admire her closely.

I moved to sit in the sanctuary to take photos and the church bells started ringing. Before I knew what was happening, the church began to fill with monks, nuns and other tourists. I was in the middle of a full blown mass. Not understanding the Latin-Spanish service, I sat quiety until communion, when I exited.

A brief visit to the monastery´s museum yielded masterpieces by Picasso, Dali, Carravaggio and more. There was an uncovered Egyptian mummy as well. Wandering a bit outside in the square, the heaving clouds finally gave way and burst open. Taking shelter once again in the Basilica, I was rewarded by a performance by the Boys Choir. There voices were ethereal. Before they sang, the visitors were asked to recite the Lord´s Prayer in their native tongue. It was truly incredible to hear it recited in no less than 5 languages in unison.

As I made my way back to the arie for a ride down the mountain, I noticed a sign post pointing me to ´Via Cruces´. The deluge was over and curiosity overcame me, so I turned left and proceeded up a wide walkway lined with crosses - thus the name. After walking for about 10 minutes, there was a staircase leading to the right up into the trees and into the mountain. No one was around. Of course, I took it.

A short 30 minute hike straight up the mountain took me to a small shrine near the top. The clouds and fog momentarily blew away and the views were breathtaking. I was completely alone in this paradise atop the mountain. Screaming children and puffing trains were far below me in the distance. I sat quietly watching birds build nests. Eventually, the fog began to blow back in underscoring the mysterious and haunting aura of this place.

I spent a few more hours walking on footpaths through the towering rock structures before coming back down. Montserrat is a magical place that I will not soon forget.

The rain in Spain falls mainly in the plains

2008-05-14T11:30:00.003-04:00

It´s been a whirlwind few days, though I can´t exactly pinpoint why. It´s been cold and raining since we arrived in Sevilla. We managed to shoe shop while dodging huge raindrops all the while. I entertained fellow shoppers by trudging through (okay, maybe skipping) deep puddles in my flip flops. There was no point in even trying to stay dry, so I did a bit of singin´in the rain.

Needing a bit of sun, we ditched Sevilla yesterday for a jaunt to Cadiz, a beach town on the Atlantic coast. A quick bus ride and we left the fog and rain behind for a beautiful sunny day. We wandered the city for a while, finding an extensive food market where every kind of fish was available. They were fresh too...choose yours from the pile and the fishmonger was ready to carve it up for you. I was delighted to find a spice vendor and successfully purchased two varieties of paprika. Sandra and I bought enough fresh produce for several snacks and had a great picnic on a jetty in the ocean.

Afternoon was spent enjoying the (topless) beach. We walked for miles in the sand and now have a large collection of rocks, shells and sea glass that must somehow make it home. Perhaps it is a good thing that the Spanish version of the TSA threw away my olive oil this morning upon boarding the flight to Barcelona.

We made it to Barcelona by breakfast, leaving Sevilla at 4 AM. Exhausted, we hit the city in full force, exploring legacies left behind by the art and architectural genious of Gaudi. His work is brilliant and fills the city with unique color and shape. The city is completely different than the rest of Spain we´ve seen. First of all, it´s arranged on a grid (!) so it´s relatively simple to navigate. Secondly, it´s located in the far north, and many folks speak Catalon, which is sort of like Spanish, but not really. It´s cosmopolitan like Madrid, but it´s treasures are very different. We´ve only just begun to uncover them.

There´s a wonderful pastellerie by our hostel where we had breakfast this morning. The owner speaks Catalon but only a tiny bit of Spanish and no English. He enthusiastically showed us around his shop, describing in great detail the confections he had to offer. Our mouths watered as we chose our pastries, chocolate for one and cheese for the other. He happily offered us cafe con leche as well, quickly making friends. He´s a dear sweet man that I know we will visit often during our 5 days here.

My afternoon was spent arguing, via an international (collect) conference call, with Capital One and BB&T about who was most incompetent about handling my funds. Standing on a busy street corner pay phone, I´m certain that everyone passing by received an education in the intricacies of the English language, as I found myself temporarily penniless without assistance from my ¨no-hassle¨credit card and hometown bank. When calm negotiation got me nowhere, I pleaded, then I yelled, then I cried. An old lady passing by offered me a handkerchief, a sweet gesture that made me cry harder. Michael, with Capital One, tried to soothe me. I think he cried a bit too. In the end, BB&T won the jackass award. I won the ultimate prize...cash in my pocket. Perhaps it is time to bank a bit of sleep.

Me gusta zapatos

2008-05-12T04:29:00.003-04:00

Our first few hours in Sevilla were quite unique. After traveling by bus to the city, we were tired and hot, and schlepped our packs around the confusing maze of streets for nearly 3 hours before finding an open hostel. It turned out to be an hourly hostel (I´ll leave the story there...it´s really very gruesome) and we´re both still a bit freaked out by the experience days later.

We´re now settled into a wonderful backpackers hostel filled with really wonderful people. While we´re here on the only Sunday that there´s not a bullfight, I managed a tour of the bull ring, which is amazing and dissolved my trepidation about the whole practice. Bullfighting is a part of Spanish culture that dates back hundreds of years and is really more art than sport.

Two nights ago we attended a Flamenco show, an experience we hope to repeat tonight. Tapas and rioja fill our days and nights here with many new friends from around the world. Old buildings and piles of rocks are taken very seriously here, but I´ve about reached maximum capacity at this moment for those. So, we plan to spend some time in the outdoors. But, since it has been cold and raining for the past two days, we´ve had to curtail those plans. Instead of renting bikes today for exploring the countryside, we´re going shoe shopping. Seems like a fair trade-off to me.

¿Acer sol?

2008-05-08T13:31:00.005-04:00

This day in the Sierra Nevadas has convinced me that I was in fact hexed yesterday by the angry gypsys. Oh, that´s right. I haven´t told that story. Well...Sandra and I were walking through the square when two ladies pressed rosemary into our hands and began to tell our forture. It all happened too fast to protest and we went with it. It was quite hokey, but included blessing, stamping on the ground, assurances of long life, love and happiness. Whew! All was well until the end when my lady asked for payment. I was fine with giving her a euro, so began scrounging in my pocket. Meanwhile, Sandra was feeling very generous and had given her lady 5 euro. It only took 2 seconds for my lady to start clammoring for 5 as well. She wouldn´t accept less and I wouldn´t pay more, so I broke away from her and left the square quickly with her shouting behind me.

Fast forward to this morning. We awoke to cool temperatures and a bit of fog (the first day it´s been less than 75 and sunny). Traveling to the bus station to buy our ticket for the short drive to the mountain was simple enough, but when we arrived, we were only allowed to buy a one way ticket. We thought it was a mistake at first, but when we returned to the counter to exchange the ticket, we were met with much resistance. I argued as best as I could in Spanish, but it was no good. There was some screaming - on my part, in frustration - and on the part of the ticket vendor that we would miss our bus - so we decided to take our chances on the return and board. Worst case, we would hitch back, or sleep under the stars.

On the bus we met a group of fellow travelers in the same situation and we commiserated for a bit. When we arrived in Sierra Nevada, we were deposited on the side of the mountain in pea soup fog so thick we couldn´t see more than 5 feet or so. The driver waved farewell and pulled away. We were stuck. It made more sense to be stuck together than stuck apart...so that is how we acquired four Islamic traveling companions who were, incidentally, dressed only in shorts and t-shirts. It was less than 50 degrees on the mountain.

A la Maria von Trapp (albeit with slightly worse weather than on a typical Hollywood set), we set off on a few short walks that were manageable. Finding a pile of snow, an innocent lob of one small ball caused a full scale snowball fight. Not smart. Now, we are cold AND wet. But, we managed to scale a few sheer cliffs with loose rocks, observe an altar to Mary on a mountain top, and climb to the top of an observatory whose door was open (or maybe there wasn´t actually a door on it). Billy goat sentries watched us from high above in their watch tower, and we were lucky enough to get fairly close to the group they were guarding. We convinced a guard to let us pass through a military zone and eventually managed to find our way back to a tiny coffee shop despite a map that was written in German and the pea soup fog.

Soon enough, pea soup fog turned into full scale downpour and we still needed to walk an hour down the mountain. We had determined that a bus would return us to Granada at 5 PM. It was noon. Bob´s ski shack was friendly enough until about 2 when Bob had had enough of entertaining our motley crew. It was still pouring, so we begged him to take us partially down the mountain where we could meet our bus.

Once there, with travel companions who were nearly frozen, we found a cafe and spent the afternoon discussing religion and politics (shocker!). It was quite eye opening to hear our Muslim friends´perspectives on the war and the state of the world. They are also Britains and are more than willing to passionately discuss many subjects. There´s nothing like opening your mind and letting a few new perspectives in!

So, perhaps the hex has been lifted. Or perhaps there never was a hex. Whether my traveling companions agree or not, it was a skipping kind of day that I would repeat many times over.

Love is my religion

2008-05-07T13:14:00.005-04:00

This has been a beautiful day. The morning and much of the afternoon were spent wandering around the Alhambra. We scaled hundreds of steps...as if our legs weren´t already protesting! The watch tower was the most impressive. Views from the top were endless. American accents are much more prevalent here than anywhere thus far, and I am forming a strong distaste for it. Generally, the Americans I´ve come in contact with exude an entitlement mentality that is completely intolerant of the culture they are visiting. It is infuriating.

The rest of the day brought some wandering alone. I found an open air market. I am such a sucker for a market. The endless maze of stalls with colorful offerings is enchanting...chatting with shop keepers...smelling, tasting, touching. I found a pair of pants I loved and the shop keep suggested I try them on. It turns out that the dressing room was nothing more than a waist-high sheet stretched across the center of the shop. No thanks! Moving on...

I also visited the cathedral...as you do. My camera is filling with photos of old buildings, so I chose a less traditional path around the city (read: no tourists!) and documented the incredible grafitti that covers every empty space. This included a visit to the University of Granada, the energy around which was intoxicating!

Much time has been spent this trip exploring other people´s religions - we´ve visited a steady stream of churches, mosques, synagoges (even was the subject of a hex by an angry spanish woman, but that´s a story for another day). It´s time to find some religion of our own. Mañana. We will explore the beauty of the Sierra Nevadas on foot.

After the mountains, we move on to Sevilla. I don´t know what´s in store, but I know it involves flamenco!

I heart Granada

2008-05-06T17:23:00.002-04:00

My girlfriends were right. Granada and I love each other. Upon very cursory inspection of this new town, I may just stay forever. It´s built in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada, making it very attractive for my hiking feet. It´s also bordered by a beautiful little river, lending cool breezes to hot days. Random staircases form pathways off major roads and what you find is always a surprise. Middle eastern fare dominates and my palate is well pleased. Spanish whisky is now a favorite, and I´ve become a pro at peeeling labels off of wine bottles. Trobadores abound, pleasing my musical ear.

Our pension is fabulous. Recommended from a friend met in Honduras. We´re on the second floor in the pension. It´s tiny, with only bunk beds, a small bench and baker´s rack for depositing clothing. But, it overlooks the Alhambra and has a window that opens it´s wrought iron gates to the open air.

Tomorrow brings a tour of the Alhambra gardens and more wandering. This seems like a great place to get lost for a while.

I feel pretty...

2008-05-06T12:35:00.003-04:00

oh so pretty. I feel pretty, and witty, and...
Okay, enough of that indulgence! My point is, it´s been all about prettiness for the past 24 hours. Though traveling frugally is still the name of the game (the dollar´s value against the euro makes me hyperventilate regularly), minor indulgences are always in order. When else will I have an opportunity to bathe in authentic Arab baths? Two hours of soaking was wonderful medicine for my aching legs.

This morning, I wandered through the gardens of a 14th century palace. It was easy to get lost in the beauty. Imagine the stories those fountains could tell. It is reputed that the discovery of America was discussed here. I´m certain that´s only the beginning.

Leaving Cordoba, I´m now in Granada, which is nestled into the base of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. They are snow-capped even though the weather below is always around 28 degrees C. Vineyards and olive tree farms surround us. Arab influence is even more prevalent here than in Cordoba.

Tastings and pigeon poo

2008-05-05T04:06:00.005-04:00

Yesterday was a day for tastings. Olive. Wine. Cordoba. After breakfast, I intentionally lost myself in the narrow, winding, and seemingly endless streets of the city. I visited the Museo Bella Artes and Museo Julio Romero de Torres, which were both interesting in very different ways. Afterwards, I continued wandering and happened into a little shop that was filled with olive oil and wine. The proprieter approached me and offered an olive oil lesson and tasting. ¡Si, por favor! But of course!

It turns out you taste olive oil in the same way you taste wine. First, you smell it. Then you swirl it around in your mouth. Finally you swallow it. It´s a wonderful experience when you´re guided by someone as knowledgeable as Pepe. I chose my favorite, which turns out to be one of the top rated oils in all of Spain and now have 20 pounds of it to tote around for 2 weeks. It´s smooth, with a fairly strong taste of green olive, followed by a little kick at the end. Then, Pepe offered me a copa de Fina, which is a very dry white wine made from grapes grown in Cordoba. Not my favorite, but good to try.

For dinner, we ended up at the Museo de la Tapas y el Vino, so of course we tasted tapas and wine. After asking the waiter ¨Que me recomienda?¨ we sat back and waited for him to choose our food. Drinking our bottle of Cermeño (tinto de Toro), which was estupendo, we wrote the following review of our dishes:
Rabo de Toro (stewed oxtail) - I threw vegetarianism to the birds and enjoyed this fabulous local dish. Didn´t know oxtail was so boney though. It was a mess to eat!
Croquetas caseras de espinicas (Spinach croquettes) - Ooey, gooey, creamed spinach with cheese wrapped in a breaded crust. Goodness from start to finish. We ordered more!
Aceitunas (olives) - Sandra found the pits problematic. I thought they were wonderful and was proud of my pit mastery. I know my monkeys are happy for me.
Asadillo de Pimientos - slimy roasted red peppers with scant tuna. Not great.
Albondigas de Bacalao en sala de tomate - fish (cod) balls in tomato sauce with hard peas. Enough said.
Pulpa a la Gallega - bland Galician octopus, which was predictably chewy

Finishing all of this, we were still hungry, so we ordered more Spinach croquettes and added Croquetas de Jamon. The jamon tasted like ooey, gooey, chipped beef in cheese. Yummy goodness. Then, we ordered postres. The waiter brought us a tower of chocolate cake and whipped cream. It was gone in a flash of dueling forks.

On the way home from dinner, after midnight, a pigeon shat upon me. I suppose it wouldn´t be an international trip without some crazy animal mistaking me for their private baño. When Sandra finished laughing, which took way too long, she handed me a tissue...and took a photo.

Rat tails, flamenco dresses and more

2008-05-04T04:17:00.008-04:00

We´ve left Madrid for the beauty of Andalusia. Traveling by bus to Cordoba was a beautiful way to see the countryside. The area around Madrid is flat, but as you get further south, the land starts to roll and olive trees and vineyards abound. It´s hot here, at least 80 every day.

Cordoba is full of wonders to explore. It´s a melting pot for Jewish, Muslim and Christian faiths. In fact, the primary attraction is the Mezquita-Catedral, which is a Mosque with a Cathedral smacked down in the center.

We found a beautiful guesthouse right by the Mezquita, which is run by a lovely fellow Sagittarian and his family. Our room is tiny, but private, a nice change from the hostel in Madrid. The bathroom is miniscule with a shower the size of a postage stamp. The whole room floods each time you shower. Sleep was impossible last night as our window opens onto the main square. We were entertained until the wee hours with passersby singing and dancing their way home. But, it is homey enough for a few days and the price was right!

There´s a festival going on whose name escapes me for the moment. It really doesn´t matter as the concept is simple. There are numerous red flowered crosses scattered around the city. After dark, the site of each becomes the location for a huge street party. It´s sort of like ¨church youth group gone bad¨as every 15 year old in Cordoba is dancing in the streets with cocktails. We found three crosses last night and began learning flamenco, which we are determined to master by our return. There are beautiful little girls (about 5 years old) who were dancing in their flamenco dresses until 2 in the morning. !

Yesterday was also the day of the wedding in Cordoba. We saw 3 and inadvertently crashed two. My traveling companion went as far as to enter the church during the ceremony and exited just behind the bride and groom. Scandalous!

The rat tail is alive and well in Cordoba. They are a status symbol, I think, though not sure exactly what status. There are long ones, short ones, dyed ones, ponytailed ones, fat ones, skinny ones. I´ve never seen that many...even as an 80s school girl!

Sandra and I have separated for the morning. She´s going to explore piles of old rocks (I´m told they are valuable architectural sites). I´m headed off to view the artwork of Cordoba´s most famous artist Julio Romero de Torres. His artwork was highly respected in his time, but has lost luster since his death. Cordoban´s still idolize him and I must see.

¡Viva España!

2008-05-02T18:01:00.006-04:00

It feels so good to be wandering internationally again - still in a Spanish speaking country, though with a friend this time. Spain is beautiful and filled with amazing things to explore. Sandra and I have been in Madrid for two days, but we´ve already acclimated to a European schedule. I have no idea what time it is at home, and I am very much enjoying eating, playing and sleeping at will.

The flight here was long. We arrived at 7 AM local time, which is around 1 AM on the East Coast. The last hour was beautiful - there was nothing but blackness until then, but at around 6, a thin line of light appeared on the horizon. It grew larger and larger and pinker and pinker until the sun popped up over the horizon, blinding us. We met a couple of guys (who were an actual couple) in the airport who turned out to be huge primadonnas and, despite many Spanish lessons, could not figure out how to change their money. I ended up being the mouthpiece for everyone (scary!) and somehow managed to get us out of the airport and into the subway station.

Our hostel is wonderful. It was rated the best hostel in the world in 2005. It is supposedly haunted, but I´ve sensed nothing yet. There´s free internet and breakfast (if you can get up before 10 AM). I´m sitting in the basement, appropriately called the Bat Cave since it´s black concrete from floor to ceiling, listening to a weird soundtrack (most recently Ghostbusters theme) as a disco ball spins.

Madrid is very cosmopolitan and very old at the same time. ¨Public art¨ fills the streets in the form of old architecture and statues. There is no shortage of things to see and I´m certain I´ve taken more photos in 2 days than I did in 3 weeks in Guatemala. We visited Museo del Prado and the Reina Sofia today, drinking in as much art as we could. The most poignant moment was when we rounded a corner at the Reina Sofia and were face to face with Guernica, Picasso´s painting telling the story of Nazi German bombing of Guernica, Spain. It was breathtaking. The painting itself is huge, but it was difficult to see because visitors were stacked 4 people deep to view it. I had to make a concerted effort to pull myself away when I finally had my turn at the front of the line.

It´s festival time here (the 200th anniversary of some really terrible things in Spain - here for more, which is rewarding and challenging all at the same time. Challenging since everything is closed - including banks, which makes withdrawing money difficult. We finally found an ATM in the Ritz and used their bathroom - I have pictures (it was worth it). Rewarding because its a party everywhere you turn. We got to see a parade at the Palacio Real today and hung out in a parque for a concert by the National Symphony.

What else? The food...oh, the food. It´s phenomenal. In addition to gazpacho, churros, and freshly baked pastries from the corner market, I ate an entire plate of olives yesterday. They were stuffed with some sort of ooey, gooey, garlic and cheesy goodness. The rijoa and sangria flows freely and it is impossible to resist.

As wonderful as Madrid is, I am ready to move on. We leave tomorrow morning to travel by bus to Cordoba. This begins our trek to the region of Andalusia in the south of Spain, where hiking, biking and flamenco are our priorities.

V is for vodka

2008-04-22T21:40:00.013-04:00

It occurs to me today that I'm actually a college student in the throes of finals week. No shit, you say. True! Beyond the fact that my Mac is permanently glued to my lap and I'm using textbooks for pillows (osmosis, anyone?!), I've consumed nothing but pizza, chocolate chip cookies, coffee and liquor for the past 72 hours (with the exception of one veggie wrap from Arts). Ugh...I've got to find some vegetables.

Coffee jitters and little old men

2008-04-22T10:08:00.014-04:00

I am mainlining coffee this morning while banging my head against the table at my favorite coffee shop (props to Arts Etc who makes the best coffee and veggie wraps - okay, hands-down, the best food - in Martinsville). I love it here - it's inspiring and comfortable. Regardless, statistics makes no sense today and I can think of hundreds of things I'd rather be doing. But Spain is calling and this project must be finished before I depart, so I press on. For a moment.

Focus not being what it should be, I am distracted by a group of men sitting to my right. This group spends every morning here, drinking Maxwell House coffee (that's made specially and only for them as they don't like the brew of the day), munching bagels and muffins, solving the problems of the world. They range in age from 60-90 and the size of their group fluctuates from 5-15. I am generally able to tune them out, though it's impossible to work when they are all here as it is a true cacophony.

My relationship with this group is complicated and ever-evolving. They tolerate my presence nearby and occasionally draw me in to conversation, but women are strictly prohibited from sitting with them. So far this morning they've sung "Happy Earth Day" (to the tune of Happy Birthday), discussed the Chicago Cubs (I know because they asked me who the manager was and were very impressed when I came up with Lou Piniella - no small thanks to Google), and scoffed my choice of shoes (flip flops - as is always).

This group is not homogeneous by any stretch of the imagination. Some are sweet, some are curmudgeons, some are Democrats, some are Republicans, some are racist, most are male chauvinists, some are quiet, some are loud, they are all religious. No topic is safe from scrutiny and I overhear the snipits: the turkey that got away, city leadership's decision-making abilities, kids/wife/family driving them crazy though they all obviously love them dearly, church politics. Sometimes they agree, other times they argue, but they always return for daily camaraderie.

They tell me jokes. Today, as is true most days, chauvinistic in nature. In short: Man robs bank. Asks guy if he saw him rob bank. Guy says yes, man shoots guy. Man turns and asks another guy same question. Answer, "no but my wife did." Sometimes the jokes are both religious and chauvinistic in nature (I think they get bonus points for these) - predictably some variation of God messing with Adam's rib to the detriment of the world. The occasional poke at themselves: "when you're as old as I am, your memory is the second thing to go." So I hear.

They tell me these jokes and I laugh, at the delivery rather than the message, but they don't know that. There's really no point in explaining it to them. They come from a world where women cater to their every whim even when those whims require them to wear high heels to clean the house (true story). To them, women exist to feed them, dress them, drool over them. Now, they are old enough to flirt with young women and not be threatening - in fact, they are adorable and endearing (if not just a tiny bit infuriating) and I'm quite lucky that they enjoy entertaining me so much.

"To be seventy years young is sometimes far more cheerful and hopeful than to be forty years old." ~Oliver Wendell Holmes

Southern Traditions and Double Standards

2008-03-14T13:23:00.004-04:00

There are many things I love about living in the South. There are just as many things that I hate about living in the South. Curiously, some things fall into both categories.

Take, for example, manners. The importance of manners should never be underestimated and they are spoonfed to native Southerners from the time of conception. This goes beyond the usual niceties of "please" and "thank you," extending to "sir" and "ma'am" at the least. I won't bore you with all the other tenets of Southern manners - everything you've heard is true.

While I see the value in being polite and showing respect, I absolutely detest being called ma'am. The word makes me feel old and matronly and can raise my blood pressure like nothing else. I realize how completely irrational this is, especially since the terms roll off my own tongue without second thought.

Regardless, that's how I feel...well, that's how I felt, until today. I was 5 miles into my daily run and met a man who was out for a walk. I was jamming to Gnarls Barkley so loud that I barely heard it - "Ma'am." I turned my head - eyes flashing, biting my tongue to avoid spraying venom - only to see this dear man with his hat off his head, clutching his cane, bending at the waist, wishing me a good day and a safe run. You'll be hard pressed to find a sweeter scene anywhere, and I'm quite sure I fell a little in love.

Everybody wants to be a dot

2008-02-27T10:15:00.001-05:00

The wandering dot is alive and well in the form of a Guinness commercial. If my likeness must be used, I can think of worse brands! =)

Chapulines...they're what's for lunch

2008-02-15T18:28:00.004-05:00

Go to Central America and you'll find lots of unique things to eat everywhere you turn. Finding similar foods in the US is a little more complicated. So, when I found Chapulines on the menu in a D.C. restaurant, I had to try them. Grasshoppers on a taco...I was intrigued. And not disappointed.

A Mexican delicacy, Chapulines are tiny, marinated fried grasshopper carcases. Delivered in handmade corn tortillas on a bed of avocado, they are slightly spicy, slightly sweet, very crunchy, and really wonderful! I highly recommend them, especially since there is no longer concern of lead poisoning from consumption. At the very least, it is good to know that I will never go hungry!

The Great Potomac Primary

2008-02-12T08:19:00.002-05:00

Today, I voted in my first Presidential primary - an event dubbed "The Potomac Primary" by the media. I love voting. I always leave the precinct walking a little taller, feeling like I have performed my civic duty and contributed a bit to the betterment of our world. I feel no different this morning, but it was a long road here. I have friends who have firmly supported Barack Obama since the beginning. I have friends who supported Hillary all along. I know even more people who have struggled with their decision for the past 18 months. I fall into the latter category.

Many people, especially women and African Americans, feel pressure to vote for one candidate or the other simply because they are female or black. That is absurd, though I admit I felt the pressure to support Hill for that very reason. Ultimately, we have to look beyond this as we cast our votes. Aren't we teaching our children that color doesn't matter? And - if girls can do anything boys can do, they should earn it and not be handed it by default, simply because of their gender.

In the end, I am proud of my Democratic party for presenting two minorities for Presidential Candidate. Either of them is a far better choice for the future of our country than any of the Republican candidates. In November, I will vote for whichever Democrat is on the ballot. Today - and without hesitation - I cast my vote for Barack Obama based on the changes I believe he can make for our country and for the rights I believe he will protect. Visit www.barackobama.com for specifics.

Adios Central America

2008-01-08T08:17:00.001-05:00

I awoke this morning and was momentarily confused about where I was. There were no new bed bug bites, no black flies swarming, no firecrackers and bombs sounding, no fresh coffee brewing. Then, the realization - I am home.

After leaving Utila, I decided to make a quick visit to the Honduran town of Copan Ruinas, which is located near Mayan ruins of the same name. The town itself is very charming, with trademark cobblestone streets and Mayan Artisan Centers lining them. Linka Indians, in particular, have a very distinct style of pottery and I made a significant financial contribution to their people.

The ruins themselves are very beautiful. Experts put them in the same category as Chichen Itza in Mexico and Tikal in Guatemala, which are supposedly the best. Not having visited the others, I can't be sure, but they were incredible. I spent the day wandering through this ancient city envisioning what life must have been like for the people who lived there. Every rock and tree root had a story to tell.

Yesterday, I left Guatemala at sun rise with Volcan Fuego belching smoke and lava in the distance. It was very beautiful and sums up everything that I've come to love about Central America in three short weeks - it's beauty and volatility. There is so much I didn't see, and I was sad to leave, but emotion overwhelmed me when the US customs agent in Miami welcomed me "home."

Under the Sea

2008-01-04T14:48:00.000-05:00

Winter in the Caribbean, in general, and the Bay Islands, specifically, can be terrible. Relentless rain covers the islands for days on end making it impossible to stay dry. My time in Utila has proven typical of January and, with the exception of 2 sunny days, it has been cloudy and rainy all week. I keep expecting to see fish swimming in the deep puddles.

It seems that the best solution to avoiding the rain is to get in the water! Utila is the perfect place for this as there's not much other reason to be on this island unless you plan to scuba. Despite very rough seas, which have stranded many on the island as the ferry cannot travel, I was able to complete 7 dives over 3 days. What I saw was spectacular! (Pictured is one of my favorite dive sites from land, Lighthouse Reef.)

Getting under the water was challenging as waves crashed over our heads, tossing the boat unpredictably around, making it nearly impossible to hold onto the guide line attached to the boat for our safety. However, once we descended into the depths of the ocean, things calmed considerably and opened up a whole new world to explore. With few exceptions, visibility was great at 30 meters and I marveled at this wonderland. Diving is so peaceful...a group sport though you feel largely isolated, hearing only the sound of air rushing through the hoses into your mouth and the bubbles as you exhale.

Hand signals between buddies provide communication and we all marveled at beautiful fish and reefs together. My efforts were rewarded with two sightings of Hawkbill turtles, which are so graceful. It was nearly a spiritual experience to watch them effortlessly glide through the water, turning to watch us with mild curiosity. I saw small rays, lobster, horseshoe crabs, jellyfish *OUCH!* and more fish than I can name.

My favorite dive was, surprisingly, the night dive. Boarding the boat at 5 PM, I was anxious about diving in pitch black. I tend to be a little uneasy in familiar surroundings when it's dark, so my apprehension was heightened. Once you descend, it's amazing how the collective lights of the group's torches illuminate life not present in the day time. Vivid reds gleamed in our lights and we saw not one but two octopus, octopi?. We all turned off our torches at the end and were able to see bioluminescent plankton glowing blue and white through our masks. The dive was over all too soon and we surfaced to torrential rain that made us all wish we could sink back down into the inky blackness.

The only disappointment was the lack of whale sharks. They have been spotted regularly on the north side of the island. But, the seas were too rough for the captains to pilot boats to that side, so searches were impossible. I leave this beautiful island tomorrow, already making plans for a return trip and more underwater exploration.

Honduran Wonderland

2008-01-02T12:09:00.000-05:00

It's been quite a while since my last post and so much has happened that I'm not sure a post can do it justice. I left Rio Dulce last Sunday on a boat headed towards Livingston. The river itself is a tropical paradise and there was much to see on the two hour journey. The boat made a stop at a natural hot spring in the middle of the river and I was able to swim for the first time on my trip. We saw children paddling in kayaks, a fort built to control river access and am iguana spotted from an impossible distance by our boat driver.

Arriving in Livingston, I no longer felt like I was in Guatemala. It's on the Caribbean coast and feels as such. The people, called Garifuna, are beautiful. They have very dark skin and speak their own language, which is a combination of Spanish and others. It was quite challenging for this Spanish novice to decode! After one night in Livingston, which included the elusive Coco Loco and high intensity punta dancing, it was time to surrender to the call of the islands.

Utila is one of 3 Bay Islands off the Honduran coast. It was an excruciatingly difficult journey to get here, which included a boat, van, shuttle, 2 buses and another boat over 18 hours, but entirely worth it. I arrived too late on New Years Eve to dive, so this afternoon is my first opportunity. I have 7 dives scheduled over the next 3 days, including one tomorrow to the North side of the island where whale sharks have been frequently spotted very recently. I'll also dive tonight in an attempt to overcome my fear of the dark!

New Years was wonderful and spent with an international group of new friends/fellow divers. Australia, Holland, Germany, America and England were well represented in the motley crew that spent the evening together, creating wonderful memories.

Honduras is so different from Guatemala. There is no trash, the trees are lush and the landscape green. The people mostly speak English as tourism is very prevalent here. I love it here and yet the mystic beauty of Guatemala is calling to me. Part of my heart will forever remain in that incredible country.

I am also beginning to feel the call of home. I'll leave this beautiful island paradise on Saturday to begin the journey back. What an amazing trip this has been...one that has renewed my spirit and given me so many other gifts along the way.

Welcome to the jungle

2007-12-29T13:19:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-12-27T18:59:00.000-05:00

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.

2007-12-26T17:37:00.000-05:00

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?

2007-12-24T17:35:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-24T17:32:00.000-05:00

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...

2007-12-24T17:29:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-21T14:38:00.000-05:00

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

2007-12-12T17:19:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-18T21:20:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-14T11:54:00.000-05:00

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...

2007-11-10T23:20:00.000-05:00

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

2007-11-07T23:34:00.001-05:00

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...

2007-10-30T11:39:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-22T20:12:00.000-04:00

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.

2007-10-12T09:14:00.000-04:00

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...

2007-10-09T23:44:00.000-04:00

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.