Well, I think there is something about taking a flight to catch a boat that just doesn't quite work for me. Circa 2003 or 4, family cruise to Alaska departing from Vancouver. I'm grounded by the blackout back east. Yes, the very one that brought citizens of New York together, sharing bbq and icecream before they turned to spoils shut down the entire airline system based in Toronto, including the one that controlled my flight out of SFO. After hours in the lonely corridor that connects abandoned Terminal 2 to Terminal 3 with one hand cradling the too short pay phone handle to one ear, and a cell phone to the other, at least I was able to meet up with the cruise in Ketchikan. The next day.
Today, not so lucky. First, after hours of sitting bored, passing time staring out the window, since the early afternoon, before a 10:30 departure, the message comes through at 4:30 that the IAD to STT leg has been cancelled and quite possibly they've already booked me on another flight. Fat chance. Can they really cancel flights that far in advance?I look up the weather report, partially sunny skys, low 30s for sunday, what the f***? Suddenly all those happy posts on Facebook about winter whiteouts back east...not so happy. They can't get me to STT until Tuesday or Wednesday at the earliest. Not only that, but my SFO to STT flight set to depart 10:30 PM (the very one I was whittling away hours to board), has been delayed until 02:30 AM. Panic mode sets in. What the fuck am I supposed to do. Do I fly out to IAD only to arrive 4 hours later than I expected and camp out in the DC areas until Tuesday while the boat sails forth?
Hunched over the laptop, ear to the phone...trying to look on the brighter side of things. Two and half hours later...I have an extra week to workout before donning the bikini, I have an extra week to read through the bareboat cruising texts, I can go eat noodles tonight because again, I won't be wearing a swimsuit tomorrow. Stay positive...And I can sail into the new year.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
off to sea, out to see
i really should be reading my bareboat cruising texts right now but instead i'm downloading R&B hits from the 60s. so i might not know how to come about or read the navigational chart but i'll have a little otis and al to make me feel better along the way.
i can't tell if i'm the right mindframe for this trip. i really don't know where i'm going and i haven't prepared myself in the usual fashion. i guess i really will land where the wind takes me. put a globe in from of me and i would not be able to place my finger in BVI without studying the dots off Florida for a few minutes. i have no idea how many people are on this 43+' boat with me. i don't even know which city my layover is in (IAD), and i've been guessing it's DC but i couldn't even tell you why. all i know is that by sunday afternoon, if all goes smoothly, i will be sitting by the docks somewhere in the carribean, a body of water i've never seen. just me. watching the tide roll away.
i can't tell if i'm the right mindframe for this trip. i really don't know where i'm going and i haven't prepared myself in the usual fashion. i guess i really will land where the wind takes me. put a globe in from of me and i would not be able to place my finger in BVI without studying the dots off Florida for a few minutes. i have no idea how many people are on this 43+' boat with me. i don't even know which city my layover is in (IAD), and i've been guessing it's DC but i couldn't even tell you why. all i know is that by sunday afternoon, if all goes smoothly, i will be sitting by the docks somewhere in the carribean, a body of water i've never seen. just me. watching the tide roll away.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
butter. sugar. bittersweet
how am i supposed to do this?
its been hours and batches and batches of cookies since i walked in this room. and there are two dirty coffee cups still beside the bed. there is still a bottle of old spice in the cabinet. there still sits, ready for the needle, the record you last played. there is still the lingering scent of heartbreak on the sheets. lock the doors, stop the sun from rising, stop the darkness from falling. to no avail. just keep walking, don't look back.
how am i supposed to do this?
congratulations, they're engaged! to witness and celebrate what i only dreamed for us to be embraced by and for others. how could i get this so wrong? did i confuse the salt for sugar? egg white, or egg yolk? i'm just me, but how come i get to choke on tears while others savor sweet bliss. what soul can flourish on salted tears?
how will i do this?
minute by minute. song by song. glass by glass. day by day. i am downright scared. scared to forget or remember. i should be scared when my anthem is "i'm a do the things that i wanna do, i ain't got a thing to prove to you, i eat my candy with the pork and beans, excuse my manners if i make a scene". oh, weezer, how they see me through my darkest hours.
its been hours and batches and batches of cookies since i walked in this room. and there are two dirty coffee cups still beside the bed. there is still a bottle of old spice in the cabinet. there still sits, ready for the needle, the record you last played. there is still the lingering scent of heartbreak on the sheets. lock the doors, stop the sun from rising, stop the darkness from falling. to no avail. just keep walking, don't look back.
how am i supposed to do this?
congratulations, they're engaged! to witness and celebrate what i only dreamed for us to be embraced by and for others. how could i get this so wrong? did i confuse the salt for sugar? egg white, or egg yolk? i'm just me, but how come i get to choke on tears while others savor sweet bliss. what soul can flourish on salted tears?
how will i do this?
minute by minute. song by song. glass by glass. day by day. i am downright scared. scared to forget or remember. i should be scared when my anthem is "i'm a do the things that i wanna do, i ain't got a thing to prove to you, i eat my candy with the pork and beans, excuse my manners if i make a scene". oh, weezer, how they see me through my darkest hours.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
my scattered fate
from the third story window, facing the glowing yet fading east bay, i watched the magnificent crash of the bay birds diving, headfirst, like olympic highdivers, into the water. surfacing and uprighting, bobbing in the lapping waves after just a split second of being submerged. all across the shore, the most graceful and elegant kamikaze style dive bombs. amazing.
change is not meant to be hard. change is good, change is bad. change is only hard because it involves loss. the loss of the old ways, things learned, inspiration, dreams, the source of those.
the vast darkness of life rears its ugly head, pecking away at its next victim. if not within me, in others around me. time and time again. how will we ever escape.
i dreamt i was sheeting in the jib. the boom was rattling and suddenly as the boat pivoted and overturned we accidentally jibed. the boat righted and all seemed in tact until a rogue wave capsized the boat and the four of us were thrown in the blue waters. and i wasn't scared. it could have been the super buoyant life jacket and the floaty that suddenly appeared in my hands. it might has also been that the open body of water looked more like the pirate cove in the shopping mall.
a good mask for sorrow is hot sauce and a book that will make you laugh because someone else's follies are more humorous than your own. what is ironic is when the two work against you, leaving evidence with hotsauce splattered across the words that bring you to tears.
another good distraction is devouring vegetables you loathe. in this snow peas, the quintessential asian vegetable. it's sweeter, plumper cousin, the sugar snap pea is far superior and tastier was not an otpion so instead, the flattened, small pea version...well i can't underestimate the value in eating my greens. what next, undrecooked onions? yes. some opt for starvation, i am replacing my sorrow with indigestion. oh my god, someone please take it away.
as i let the hot sauce snow pea battle settle, i recognize the voice at the table next to me beloning to Angela. and one of my favorite roommate moments came rushing back to me where she recounts for me on a morning after that she overheard greg bellow for the first time, "i SO love you"and then a little more quietly, "did i just say that?". and we both laughed as i blushed recognizing how thin the walls are. eventually, i believe that was one of the reasons why she moved out. why tonight, the last days of the longest week ever, did i need to run into a roommate whom i've not seen not spoken to in over a year just to have that memory triggered? she doesn't even live in or near this neighborhood.
the air is changing. every morning when i leave the house, I think "Fall" and by the time i offboard the bus at 6th & Market, I am transported somewhere else. One day, it felt like a fall morning in Rome, instead of walking to 145 Taylor I was strolling to Palazzo Massimo. A few days later it was New York. I could close my eyes, and just listen to the quiet morning bustle, smell the cool damp air, taste the morning and I wouldn't think I was walking into the Tenderloin. For a moment, I could be somewhere else. Somewhere I've been that was still familiar to my senses.
change is not meant to be hard. change is good, change is bad. change is only hard because it involves loss. the loss of the old ways, things learned, inspiration, dreams, the source of those.
the vast darkness of life rears its ugly head, pecking away at its next victim. if not within me, in others around me. time and time again. how will we ever escape.
i dreamt i was sheeting in the jib. the boom was rattling and suddenly as the boat pivoted and overturned we accidentally jibed. the boat righted and all seemed in tact until a rogue wave capsized the boat and the four of us were thrown in the blue waters. and i wasn't scared. it could have been the super buoyant life jacket and the floaty that suddenly appeared in my hands. it might has also been that the open body of water looked more like the pirate cove in the shopping mall.
a good mask for sorrow is hot sauce and a book that will make you laugh because someone else's follies are more humorous than your own. what is ironic is when the two work against you, leaving evidence with hotsauce splattered across the words that bring you to tears.
another good distraction is devouring vegetables you loathe. in this snow peas, the quintessential asian vegetable. it's sweeter, plumper cousin, the sugar snap pea is far superior and tastier was not an otpion so instead, the flattened, small pea version...well i can't underestimate the value in eating my greens. what next, undrecooked onions? yes. some opt for starvation, i am replacing my sorrow with indigestion. oh my god, someone please take it away.
as i let the hot sauce snow pea battle settle, i recognize the voice at the table next to me beloning to Angela. and one of my favorite roommate moments came rushing back to me where she recounts for me on a morning after that she overheard greg bellow for the first time, "i SO love you"and then a little more quietly, "did i just say that?". and we both laughed as i blushed recognizing how thin the walls are. eventually, i believe that was one of the reasons why she moved out. why tonight, the last days of the longest week ever, did i need to run into a roommate whom i've not seen not spoken to in over a year just to have that memory triggered? she doesn't even live in or near this neighborhood.
the air is changing. every morning when i leave the house, I think "Fall" and by the time i offboard the bus at 6th & Market, I am transported somewhere else. One day, it felt like a fall morning in Rome, instead of walking to 145 Taylor I was strolling to Palazzo Massimo. A few days later it was New York. I could close my eyes, and just listen to the quiet morning bustle, smell the cool damp air, taste the morning and I wouldn't think I was walking into the Tenderloin. For a moment, I could be somewhere else. Somewhere I've been that was still familiar to my senses.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
33 yr old female seeking freedom
it seems like a false pursuit. i'll never really escape will i? maybe that's ok, along as i continue the pursuit with the belief that the end goal does exist. somewhere, out there. and that it exists for me.
i am one step closer to sailing in thailand. dates settled, deposit down. next, arrange travel and mentally prepare, i'm really not exactly sure where I am going. even at this point, i wonder, why the heck am i doing this? do i really, i mean, really, want to spend 2 weeks on a boat? busting my knees, destroying my hands, destroying my confidence in being a generally competent and capable person, knowing that i still get the directions of the tiller confused, all in the face of my crippling fear of drowning in the abyss of an open body of water? brilliant emily, just brilliant. this will bring me closer to ??? freedom.
free to love or loathe this endeavor, this task i decided to subject myself to in the pursuit of other seemingly pie in the sky dreams, and all without consequence to no one but myself. deja vu. odd, i seemed to have had this conversation. probably with myself.
"a boat is freedom, not just a way to reach a goal." well, i guess we'll see where i end up.
i am one step closer to sailing in thailand. dates settled, deposit down. next, arrange travel and mentally prepare, i'm really not exactly sure where I am going. even at this point, i wonder, why the heck am i doing this? do i really, i mean, really, want to spend 2 weeks on a boat? busting my knees, destroying my hands, destroying my confidence in being a generally competent and capable person, knowing that i still get the directions of the tiller confused, all in the face of my crippling fear of drowning in the abyss of an open body of water? brilliant emily, just brilliant. this will bring me closer to ??? freedom.
free to love or loathe this endeavor, this task i decided to subject myself to in the pursuit of other seemingly pie in the sky dreams, and all without consequence to no one but myself. deja vu. odd, i seemed to have had this conversation. probably with myself.
"a boat is freedom, not just a way to reach a goal." well, i guess we'll see where i end up.
Friday, August 21, 2009
the sprint begins
1 funding source secured but I can't get away until the deal is closed and we start construction.
i've got some real motivation now to get this shit down and get the fuck outta here. even if just for a little bit.
i've got some real motivation now to get this shit down and get the fuck outta here. even if just for a little bit.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
year end
thailand.
it was never on the list.
then again, is it really a "list" when only one destination remains?
paris can wait.
phuket awaits.
i likely will not sail the bahamas in november.
there are building to renovate and people to house.
but december i can retreat to solitude half way around the globe. there a ship awaits for me to board and test my fortitude, my will to continue on the open water. i will sail away from this year of loss and into the new year of...
plans in the making, inspired by a dream that was only partially mine.
it was never on the list.
then again, is it really a "list" when only one destination remains?
paris can wait.
phuket awaits.
i likely will not sail the bahamas in november.
there are building to renovate and people to house.
but december i can retreat to solitude half way around the globe. there a ship awaits for me to board and test my fortitude, my will to continue on the open water. i will sail away from this year of loss and into the new year of...
plans in the making, inspired by a dream that was only partially mine.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
where the pavement ends
the confusion, the fear, the despair,
the excitement, the thought of joy, the future
so elusive
so crushing
i looked east
west would have landed me in the water
the road dipped and rose, then dipped and rose some more
then dipped beyond site
the road, if i ran
and kept running, running
where would the pavement end
when it ended, it would turn to dirt
and i would keep running
until the dirt would turn to grass
there in the grass
miles from where i started
i would be home
with you
for a moment
i believed
i knew the way home
the excitement, the thought of joy, the future
so elusive
so crushing
i looked east
west would have landed me in the water
the road dipped and rose, then dipped and rose some more
then dipped beyond site
the road, if i ran
and kept running, running
where would the pavement end
when it ended, it would turn to dirt
and i would keep running
until the dirt would turn to grass
there in the grass
miles from where i started
i would be home
with you
for a moment
i believed
i knew the way home
Sunday, August 9, 2009
My Battle with Food
As dawn broke and I cracked open my eyes, I mentally smiled seeing the fog enshrouding the city. Perhaps it would be a crappy day out, perfect for staying in under the covers and tending to things like my upset stomach, magazine and book reading, online shopping and blogging. But alas, the marine layer is burning off quickly and guilt is quickly setting in for still being in bed.
My tummy still hates me this morning. I only had a one day pass to SF Chefs Food Wine, I can't imagine how people with multi-day passes must be feeling. But I think it started the evening before with the Heirloom Tomato Dinner at Coffee Bar where every course featured tomato. Its tomato season and everywhere you look, tomatoes. Every menu or magazine you pick up tomatoes.
Under the big tent at Union Square the tasting bites, wine and cocktails were plenty. Every other vendor seemed to be serving some rendition of gazpacho. More tomato down the hatch, followed by wine and ginger liquer cocktails and backhanded comments (i.e., "If you want to go to Hollywood you have to watch what you eat" or "She's craking up, don't give her too much [booze]".) I guess thats what happens when I don't have the defense of companions. Nonetheless, Pizza Antica's Tuscan Kale bruschetta was my favorite. The brewers session was a lighthearted yet compassionate discussion about hops, malts, and local craft. All the beers were wonderful but the Smokey the Beer which tasted like bacon and a campfire was the most memorable. I heart our local brewmasters, they are truely chefs and artisans. I walked away inspired, and happily buzzed...we'll host our own Oktoberfest and I will attempt a pilsner.
With the event over, I convinced myself that I had not yet had enough food and strolled over to Katanaya for their spicey tofu ramen. As I slurped up the perfect al dente noodles, reading an article in the complimentary issue of Gourmet about a food experience steeped in tradition, red speckeled dropplets hitting the pages, I kept thinking to myself, "wow, I'm getting pretty full, but this is so enjoyable, I love the act of eating noodles". Eventually, I stopped myself, the bowl was just too big.
And while I had pushed the physical envelope, it seemed I could still handle the thought and sight of food so I went to see Julie & Julia and watched Meryl Streep do an impeccable personation of the great Julia Childs and cook through 2 hours worth of film. Part way through one of Julie Powell's meltdowns, my tummy began its own quiet meltdown. The pounds of butter in the movie, mixed with the array of bases and acids I consumed in the past 24 hours...I wished I could reach into the movie and grab some of those Tums.
On the MUNI ride home, as my friend flipped through my soup stained Gourmet, I could not look at the photos of baked tomato slices and other beautiful food. It was too much, I could not look, yet I could not turn away. I walked into the house, found the Rolaids and threw in the towel. I was done. Of course, only after having just ONE more bite of the leftover ramen. Oh why am I so weak against good food.
My tummy still hates me this morning. I only had a one day pass to SF Chefs Food Wine, I can't imagine how people with multi-day passes must be feeling. But I think it started the evening before with the Heirloom Tomato Dinner at Coffee Bar where every course featured tomato. Its tomato season and everywhere you look, tomatoes. Every menu or magazine you pick up tomatoes.
Under the big tent at Union Square the tasting bites, wine and cocktails were plenty. Every other vendor seemed to be serving some rendition of gazpacho. More tomato down the hatch, followed by wine and ginger liquer cocktails and backhanded comments (i.e., "If you want to go to Hollywood you have to watch what you eat" or "She's craking up, don't give her too much [booze]".) I guess thats what happens when I don't have the defense of companions. Nonetheless, Pizza Antica's Tuscan Kale bruschetta was my favorite. The brewers session was a lighthearted yet compassionate discussion about hops, malts, and local craft. All the beers were wonderful but the Smokey the Beer which tasted like bacon and a campfire was the most memorable. I heart our local brewmasters, they are truely chefs and artisans. I walked away inspired, and happily buzzed...we'll host our own Oktoberfest and I will attempt a pilsner.
With the event over, I convinced myself that I had not yet had enough food and strolled over to Katanaya for their spicey tofu ramen. As I slurped up the perfect al dente noodles, reading an article in the complimentary issue of Gourmet about a food experience steeped in tradition, red speckeled dropplets hitting the pages, I kept thinking to myself, "wow, I'm getting pretty full, but this is so enjoyable, I love the act of eating noodles". Eventually, I stopped myself, the bowl was just too big.
And while I had pushed the physical envelope, it seemed I could still handle the thought and sight of food so I went to see Julie & Julia and watched Meryl Streep do an impeccable personation of the great Julia Childs and cook through 2 hours worth of film. Part way through one of Julie Powell's meltdowns, my tummy began its own quiet meltdown. The pounds of butter in the movie, mixed with the array of bases and acids I consumed in the past 24 hours...I wished I could reach into the movie and grab some of those Tums.
On the MUNI ride home, as my friend flipped through my soup stained Gourmet, I could not look at the photos of baked tomato slices and other beautiful food. It was too much, I could not look, yet I could not turn away. I walked into the house, found the Rolaids and threw in the towel. I was done. Of course, only after having just ONE more bite of the leftover ramen. Oh why am I so weak against good food.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Day 2
We all return for Day 2 of the first weekend. As you can see, we're all still smiles and it's another gorgeous day. What the photo doesn't show is that the wind today is a couple of knots greater than the first day.We spent the morning casting off, maneurvering out of the slip and around the marina and docking. Having a lot of rather large and expensive boats that close to you while you're trying to do figure eights in the marina is a little nerve wracking but we all managed successfully.
After lunch, we hit the water again and for the following 3 hours, the water hit us back. Those two additional knots in windspeed resulted in much choppier waters. When you see that wave coming, there's really not much you can do but hold on and take it. And take it. And just when you started drying of, have some more. I actually did bring my rain gear. It just happened to be below in the cabin. And really, there was NO way I was getting up to go down to the cabin at this point.
At my turn at the helm, I focused intently on "to head up, move the tiller toward the main. to bear away, move the tiller away from the main." It generally served me well, better than the day before, until we start heading downwind. I just can't seem to hold the course and complete the jibe without sending us all over the place. I leave my turn at the helm a little deflated. And after getting another dousing of bay water, my focus and interest was lost. I really just wanted to head back and take off my 20 pound jeans (yes, that was sheer stupidity on my part to wear jeans). But we stay on for another hour or so. I wouldn't say it got better for me, but I learned to just tough through the discomfort and look on the brighter, albeit, wetter, side of things. I was still learning to sail and I was still having fun.
Basic Keelboat 1
I'm fairly certain now that had either of the two times I went sailing in the past couple of years been anything like this past weekend, I wouldn't have considered taking sailing lessons. There was no throwing back beers while cruising towards Alcatraz. It was all I could do to keep myself inside Mr. Squiggley.
Day 1
"CNB, CNB, CNB. This is Mr. Squiggley calling in for radio check. Over."
As we pre-cruised the 26' boat, it all started coming together for me. Oh, "sheets" are lines, and the "halyard" pulls the main up, and right, there are no "ropes" on a boat. Back in the classroom, "tacking" and "jibing" seemed clear as mud. After lunch, we hit the water and as we left the marina, it was hard to contain our excitement, the sun was shining for us and it was one of those amazing weather days we always pine for in the bay area. As I had been seated at the front of the boat, I was in position to lift the main sail and unfurl the jib. As the sails start billowing and slapping against the wind...points of sail, into the wind, closed hauled, tacking, jibing, oh boy, how is this all going to come together? We each have a turn at the helm and I wish Captain Doug would just tell me what to do instead of just telling me to stop the turn cause as far as I'm concerned, I'm not doing ANYTHING! Oh, that's the problem, I am not controlling the boat. I send my fellow shipmates scrammbling for the highside as I try to tack and end up turning us in complete circles. Oh boy. Luckily we're all in this together and I did my fair share of scrambling and holding on for dear life as well. I'm thinking there were some moments we were nearly standing on the water, although it was probably more like a 45 degree heel. By my second turn at the helm, it starts to sink it a little more and I'm holding my course a little more steady, that is until we start heading downwind and need to start jibing. It's comical. And harrowing. And stressful.
As I guide us back into the marina, and oh shit those rocks look awfully close because I can't tell which way the wind is, I can't help but feel extremely gratified. I think I just learned to sail. I don't know if I'll remember any of this tomorrow but my gosh, what a day.
Day 1
"CNB, CNB, CNB. This is Mr. Squiggley calling in for radio check. Over."
As we pre-cruised the 26' boat, it all started coming together for me. Oh, "sheets" are lines, and the "halyard" pulls the main up, and right, there are no "ropes" on a boat. Back in the classroom, "tacking" and "jibing" seemed clear as mud. After lunch, we hit the water and as we left the marina, it was hard to contain our excitement, the sun was shining for us and it was one of those amazing weather days we always pine for in the bay area. As I had been seated at the front of the boat, I was in position to lift the main sail and unfurl the jib. As the sails start billowing and slapping against the wind...points of sail, into the wind, closed hauled, tacking, jibing, oh boy, how is this all going to come together? We each have a turn at the helm and I wish Captain Doug would just tell me what to do instead of just telling me to stop the turn cause as far as I'm concerned, I'm not doing ANYTHING! Oh, that's the problem, I am not controlling the boat. I send my fellow shipmates scrammbling for the highside as I try to tack and end up turning us in complete circles. Oh boy. Luckily we're all in this together and I did my fair share of scrambling and holding on for dear life as well. I'm thinking there were some moments we were nearly standing on the water, although it was probably more like a 45 degree heel. By my second turn at the helm, it starts to sink it a little more and I'm holding my course a little more steady, that is until we start heading downwind and need to start jibing. It's comical. And harrowing. And stressful.
As I guide us back into the marina, and oh shit those rocks look awfully close because I can't tell which way the wind is, I can't help but feel extremely gratified. I think I just learned to sail. I don't know if I'll remember any of this tomorrow but my gosh, what a day.
Monday, May 25, 2009
On the Sound
Seattle. I looked forward to this trip for weeks, for the sights and sounds. It all started with Lucero playing at the Tractor in Ballard, May 22. Sure, we could have seen them in San Francisco the week before, but it seemed like a perfect excuse for a quick trip up north.
I woke up in Capital Hill, The Maple Apt E. Cute 1-bedroom apartment with a deep bathtub perfect for soaking in. Walking around in Capitol Hill is like walking around in Jersey, lush plants, tress, flowers and shrubs everywhere. Community gardens in every neighorbood. Old brick apartment buildings. And of course the views of the Sound, the Space Needle and the mountains in the distance. Yes, I could live here.
Friday, 7:30 a.m., the air is fresh, the sky is blue, and we can't find a place to have breakfast up the hill so we start heading back down the hill. 8:00 a.m. still can't find anything open so we have to go further down the hill until we end up at Glo's. Mental note for next time, eat a bigger dinner so you're good till 9:00 a.m., at least.
I woke up in Capital Hill, The Maple Apt E. Cute 1-bedroom apartment with a deep bathtub perfect for soaking in. Walking around in Capitol Hill is like walking around in Jersey, lush plants, tress, flowers and shrubs everywhere. Community gardens in every neighorbood. Old brick apartment buildings. And of course the views of the Sound, the Space Needle and the mountains in the distance. Yes, I could live here.
Friday, 7:30 a.m., the air is fresh, the sky is blue, and we can't find a place to have breakfast up the hill so we start heading back down the hill. 8:00 a.m. still can't find anything open so we have to go further down the hill until we end up at Glo's. Mental note for next time, eat a bigger dinner so you're good till 9:00 a.m., at least.
Elliot's Oyster House supposedly has a progressive happy hour where starting at 3:00, oysters start at $0.50 and go up $0.25 every half hour. I think though, the trick would be get there at 2:00 along with all the other tourists and not 3:30. Luckily, Elliot's isn't the only spot on the wharf to serve up oysters.
Lucero at the Tractor rocked!
After packing up the car Saturday morning, we head down to Juanita's for breakfast at a respectable hour of 11:30. Veggie omelette with half cooked veggies wasn't quite the culinary delight I hoped by the shot of Bailey's in my coffee was just what I needed.
The drive through Whibey Island was spectacular. And although the saloon in Langely was not open (until Summer!?) lunch on the rooftop and shopping in the Star Store was a perfect stop as we continued towards Coupeville. It probably had a lot to do with the weather but Coupeville was the idealic waterfront town with its historic homes, fresh cut grass, and everyone walking around with ice cream cones. And the best part, our spacious studio with views of the sunset over Penn Cove ...yeah, I could live here. We strolled into town for a few cold ones and rather mediocre food at Toby's Tavern. Well, we certainly had to treat ourselves to some rockie road ice cream after that at Kapaw's Iskreme. Savoring each lick on the walk home, it's so obvious why people live here.
Sunday morning began with a basket of goodies Charlotte left outside the door which we took to the patio overlooking the cove to feast on, baked eggs, bagels, yogurt with granola and fruit. We headed out after noon and hopped the ferry over to Port Townsend, another quaint historic port town. After lunch, we began the long return back to Seattle, heading over Deception Pass.
We rolled up to the Fairmont tired, thirsty and hungry. We took Julie's recommendation and headed back up to Capitol Hill to Oddfellows. With tall boys and a full bar, this was just the place we needed. Mac and cheese, steak, pork chop and greens, we were stuffed. It was until after we asked for the check that we realized our fatal error, we hadn't left any room for homemade chocolate pudding. We contemplated sitting there until space became avaibable but we would have been sitting a very long time. After a stroll down the hill back to the Fairmont, we slept well our last night in Seattle.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Stage 1 - There are no more Wacky Wednesdays
Dear Chris,
Just yesterday, I was in a workshop on "Change". They talked about approaching change, as one might approach mourning, in stages. Stage 1 was to beging with the end, the processing on the inevitable, the change. Stage 2, the nuetral zone where acceptance of change has been tranformed into anxiety progressing to discovery once the danger zne of choice is passed. Stage 3 is where we find peace, we are on the road to new beginnings.
During the lunch break, I received word you were missing. You were on the road but no one knew where or where to. By evening we learned you were headed west, putting miles between you and your life. You covered quite a distance from DC to Missouri. You were headed west. I hoped and prayed you would keep driving until you reached San Francisco, I hoped I was your destination. I was told that the outlook was not good but I held faith that the roads were clear, the ocean air would call to you, that the outcome I was told to expect was not you. I waited for you in Stage 1 while you drove on through Stage 2.
You ended the road in Colorado. Had I known, I would have asked you to wait for me, I'll be there in less than 3 weeks. We could have talked about new beginnings. I would have come sooner. You made the choice, you ended the road, is that Stage 3? Is it peaceful where you are?
It's Wednesday. It will always be Wednesday and my heart is breaking right now. I'm at Stage 1 and you're no longer here.
Forever yours,
emily
Just yesterday, I was in a workshop on "Change". They talked about approaching change, as one might approach mourning, in stages. Stage 1 was to beging with the end, the processing on the inevitable, the change. Stage 2, the nuetral zone where acceptance of change has been tranformed into anxiety progressing to discovery once the danger zne of choice is passed. Stage 3 is where we find peace, we are on the road to new beginnings.
During the lunch break, I received word you were missing. You were on the road but no one knew where or where to. By evening we learned you were headed west, putting miles between you and your life. You covered quite a distance from DC to Missouri. You were headed west. I hoped and prayed you would keep driving until you reached San Francisco, I hoped I was your destination. I was told that the outlook was not good but I held faith that the roads were clear, the ocean air would call to you, that the outcome I was told to expect was not you. I waited for you in Stage 1 while you drove on through Stage 2.
You ended the road in Colorado. Had I known, I would have asked you to wait for me, I'll be there in less than 3 weeks. We could have talked about new beginnings. I would have come sooner. You made the choice, you ended the road, is that Stage 3? Is it peaceful where you are?
It's Wednesday. It will always be Wednesday and my heart is breaking right now. I'm at Stage 1 and you're no longer here.
Forever yours,
emily
Thursday, January 29, 2009
this i know, this i am
on the road to puerto natales. December 30...
a void willed with motion
pushing the earth to the sky
bending the grass forward and backward
skipping the stream over the river rocks
a blanket of vapor suspended
pierced by lofty jagged rocks
watching my shadow form and shape below
tumulting over myself
this i know.
this i was.
a void willed with motion
pushing the earth to the sky
bending the grass forward and backward
skipping the stream over the river rocks
a blanket of vapor suspended
pierced by lofty jagged rocks
watching my shadow form and shape below
tumulting over myself
this i know.
this i was.
Friday, January 9, 2009
is it time?
how do you know when it´s time to go? how do you know when you´re ready to leave? how do you leave? the itinerary on the board says the shuttle leaves at 8:00 am tomorrow. the trek home is a 30+ hour, 3 airport endeavor. i´m sure at some point during that period i will cross that threshold of just wanting to get home. tonight, i get to sleep one more night and awake one more day in patagonia. that is not departure, nor is it denial, it´s just what i´ve easily become accustomed to.
I questioned whether today´s excursion was a sign of overstaying a welcome. A 3 hour trek that began with a walk along the mosquito infested shoreline of the fjord that our guide then decided we could escape if we went up the hill and slaughtered our legs against millions of thorns of the el calafate bushes (um, really, is this the trail? no, really, cause I´m thinking I´d rather be down there with the mosquitoes than up here walking through bushes of razors) to then just climb back down to the swarming shoreline (hmm, guess that wasn´t such a good idea was it Jose Tomas?). Somewhere along the way, the bushes ate my camera lense cap and I had no interest in trying to retrieve it. Where is the Patagonia wind when you really need it? But we prevailed along the Picada de Nalcas and the views of the fjord and gateway to the ocean were lovely. Especially after couple of pisco sours, which I´m convinced worked as a decent alternative to Citronella.
Ultimately, it was the hotel driveway that got me, that told me my feet and legs can go no further as I slipped on the gravel. I completed the W and Fitz Roy without incident, even against prevailing winds, but the driveway was simply too much.
good night.
I questioned whether today´s excursion was a sign of overstaying a welcome. A 3 hour trek that began with a walk along the mosquito infested shoreline of the fjord that our guide then decided we could escape if we went up the hill and slaughtered our legs against millions of thorns of the el calafate bushes (um, really, is this the trail? no, really, cause I´m thinking I´d rather be down there with the mosquitoes than up here walking through bushes of razors) to then just climb back down to the swarming shoreline (hmm, guess that wasn´t such a good idea was it Jose Tomas?). Somewhere along the way, the bushes ate my camera lense cap and I had no interest in trying to retrieve it. Where is the Patagonia wind when you really need it? But we prevailed along the Picada de Nalcas and the views of the fjord and gateway to the ocean were lovely. Especially after couple of pisco sours, which I´m convinced worked as a decent alternative to Citronella.
Ultimately, it was the hotel driveway that got me, that told me my feet and legs can go no further as I slipped on the gravel. I completed the W and Fitz Roy without incident, even against prevailing winds, but the driveway was simply too much.
good night.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
empty handed, full hearted
To my friends,
I would like to apologize in advance for returning to you empty handed. I have searched every town for souvenirs to bring to you but have found nothing fitting, or packable AND fitting, to express what I treasure most here and think you would treasure equally. I wish I could bottle the air for you to breath, harness the wind for you to feel in your hair, box the sunrises to wake you each day. I can´t find these in the local shops. Lots of lapiz, copper and silver, cute t-shirts and itchy woolen things, stickers and posters and mate gourds and silver straws which while lovely, I don´t feel mean much. The wine is worth bringing but not at all packable. I wish I could carry 10 lbs of beef like Katie and Doug but I don´t think I would ever get out of customs. Please don´t believe I don´t think of you, I am always thinking of you. I promise you this, I will leave a part of me here so that we can visit together, or you on your own, sometime in the future.
Emily
I would like to apologize in advance for returning to you empty handed. I have searched every town for souvenirs to bring to you but have found nothing fitting, or packable AND fitting, to express what I treasure most here and think you would treasure equally. I wish I could bottle the air for you to breath, harness the wind for you to feel in your hair, box the sunrises to wake you each day. I can´t find these in the local shops. Lots of lapiz, copper and silver, cute t-shirts and itchy woolen things, stickers and posters and mate gourds and silver straws which while lovely, I don´t feel mean much. The wine is worth bringing but not at all packable. I wish I could carry 10 lbs of beef like Katie and Doug but I don´t think I would ever get out of customs. Please don´t believe I don´t think of you, I am always thinking of you. I promise you this, I will leave a part of me here so that we can visit together, or you on your own, sometime in the future.
Emily
what are the odds
300+ kids in a graduating class
all the continents in the world
all the countries in the southern hemisphere
all the regions that patagonia encompasses
all the hotels in puerto natales
365 days out of the year
3 excursions to choose from
that i end up riding horses along side a fellow classmate from high school. hello, small world.
really, can someone calculate those odds? fascinating.
tody, we were like cowboys, gauchos, riding along the perimeter of the 300 hectare spread, riding high, riding low, across and above the land far below, with the dogs at the horses hooves, chasing the cattle back in line. from above, we watched the plane take off, and the condor soar. hmm, is this the good life, the life of the cowboy?
all the continents in the world
all the countries in the southern hemisphere
all the regions that patagonia encompasses
all the hotels in puerto natales
365 days out of the year
3 excursions to choose from
that i end up riding horses along side a fellow classmate from high school. hello, small world.
really, can someone calculate those odds? fascinating.
tody, we were like cowboys, gauchos, riding along the perimeter of the 300 hectare spread, riding high, riding low, across and above the land far below, with the dogs at the horses hooves, chasing the cattle back in line. from above, we watched the plane take off, and the condor soar. hmm, is this the good life, the life of the cowboy?
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Inside Out
After 6 hours on the bus (including the 2 hours at the border control stations, that's right, one in Argentina and further down the road, one in Chile), I have departed Argentina and am now back in Puerto Natales, Chile. This is the last portion of my trip, the present to my self for having come this far, (see www. remota.cl ). I don't normally play like this, this is far grander than a beach house for a birthday weekend. I could celebrate my birthday 4 times here.
Remota is a concept hotel at its best, with lake and mountain views, gourmet meals and endless copa de vino. and excursions included. The building, at least in my interpretation, with its rhythmic, angular floor to ceiling windows, segmented by black timber, resembles a glacier crushing upon itself towards the lake. Grass covered rooftops and rough hewn wood timbers suggest a green element to the design. But sitting at lunch, admiring the view of Torres del Paine across the lake, watching the grass bend and shudder in the wind, and the lake peaking white caps, what struck me was the silence. After a week out there, here I am inside, in the comforts of luxury and I can no longer hear or feel the Patagonia wind I've become accustomed to. The roof isn't going to fly off, the walls don't amplify the weather outside. It is as though I've suddendly become deaf. And can no longer breath. The air inside has no scent, no temperature, no humidity. No movement. All the movement is out there. And out there is where I prefer to be.
Remota is a concept hotel at its best, with lake and mountain views, gourmet meals and endless copa de vino. and excursions included. The building, at least in my interpretation, with its rhythmic, angular floor to ceiling windows, segmented by black timber, resembles a glacier crushing upon itself towards the lake. Grass covered rooftops and rough hewn wood timbers suggest a green element to the design. But sitting at lunch, admiring the view of Torres del Paine across the lake, watching the grass bend and shudder in the wind, and the lake peaking white caps, what struck me was the silence. After a week out there, here I am inside, in the comforts of luxury and I can no longer hear or feel the Patagonia wind I've become accustomed to. The roof isn't going to fly off, the walls don't amplify the weather outside. It is as though I've suddendly become deaf. And can no longer breath. The air inside has no scent, no temperature, no humidity. No movement. All the movement is out there. And out there is where I prefer to be.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
hablo ingles?
Thanks goodness for editing on the internet. my spanish has not improved but my english seems to deteriorated. In case you didn´t catch it, I don´t think ¨ravished¨ is an english word. It sounded and looked right at the time.
I´m also thankful to have something to look forward to return to. Camryn´s 3rd birthday party is coming up and Kerry has asked me to be the face painting lady. That makes me happy to think about rather than lamenting over leaving.
I´m also thankful to have something to look forward to return to. Camryn´s 3rd birthday party is coming up and Kerry has asked me to be the face painting lady. That makes me happy to think about rather than lamenting over leaving.
Fitz Roy
I am now back in El Calafate. One might think this shuttling back and forth via bus would get old but truthfully, it seems to be the most effective way for me to get some shut eye.
Fitz Roy really deserves its own paragraph. It was truely magnificent to see the towers jutting up high above the landscape below, and the other snow covered peaks that look prime for carving a few turns in the distance (well, maybe with a heli and a few more feet of snow). Round trip, it was about a 25k hike. The top portion, much like Torres del Paine, required climbing up rocks the size of pets and small children. At some point, I did not want to go on. As is stopped to snap some photos and watched others continue further up to the top, the aching in my feet said, ¨ahh the view is good from here, no need to go further, Laguna de Los Tres, it´s just another lake...¨. But my heart said, ¨go on, you know there´s a reward for you up there¨. And so I pushed on. Part way, I saw Ian and Dave make their way down from the top, we exchanged a few words and they assured me it was only another 2 minutes.
The wind picked up as I approached the top but sure enough, the glory of the towers and the turquoise colored laguna at the base were more impressive than I could have imagined. The wind was pushing the snow from the steeps down creating a mysticism. The sky was still blue but large clouds began to close in around the tower. Moments after I snapped my last photo and packed up to head down, the wind slammed down from the top sending everyone to find a boulder to grab onto. Then the snow began to whip around. It became imperative to get down the trail as quickly as possible. As I pounded my way back down, I was giddy with disbelief in the good fortune I had to have approached Fitz Roy moments before the weather ravaged it from view. I felt sorry for everyone I passed on my way down who were making their way up. I turned around near the first lookout I ran up to earlier that morning, and could find no sign of the towers.
I met up with Dave and Ian for dinner. Over gigantic Argentinian steaks we were all still glowing from the fantastic day we had at Fitz Roy. They were impressed with my self-motivation to arise early enough to get a start on the trail as early as I did. I nodded and gave myself the proverbial pat on the back.
Fitz Roy really deserves its own paragraph. It was truely magnificent to see the towers jutting up high above the landscape below, and the other snow covered peaks that look prime for carving a few turns in the distance (well, maybe with a heli and a few more feet of snow). Round trip, it was about a 25k hike. The top portion, much like Torres del Paine, required climbing up rocks the size of pets and small children. At some point, I did not want to go on. As is stopped to snap some photos and watched others continue further up to the top, the aching in my feet said, ¨ahh the view is good from here, no need to go further, Laguna de Los Tres, it´s just another lake...¨. But my heart said, ¨go on, you know there´s a reward for you up there¨. And so I pushed on. Part way, I saw Ian and Dave make their way down from the top, we exchanged a few words and they assured me it was only another 2 minutes.
The wind picked up as I approached the top but sure enough, the glory of the towers and the turquoise colored laguna at the base were more impressive than I could have imagined. The wind was pushing the snow from the steeps down creating a mysticism. The sky was still blue but large clouds began to close in around the tower. Moments after I snapped my last photo and packed up to head down, the wind slammed down from the top sending everyone to find a boulder to grab onto. Then the snow began to whip around. It became imperative to get down the trail as quickly as possible. As I pounded my way back down, I was giddy with disbelief in the good fortune I had to have approached Fitz Roy moments before the weather ravaged it from view. I felt sorry for everyone I passed on my way down who were making their way up. I turned around near the first lookout I ran up to earlier that morning, and could find no sign of the towers.
I met up with Dave and Ian for dinner. Over gigantic Argentinian steaks we were all still glowing from the fantastic day we had at Fitz Roy. They were impressed with my self-motivation to arise early enough to get a start on the trail as early as I did. I nodded and gave myself the proverbial pat on the back.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Patagonia trekking
There´s something peculiar when you find exactly what you´ve been looking for. The emotions are really overwhelming.
Today, I hiked alone to Fitz Roy in El Chalten. In hindsight, the week in Torres del Paine was in someway just preparing me for this.
Day 1: Eco Camp to Los Cuernos, 11+K, approx 5 hours. This is one of the most amaxing trails I´ve ever walked on. Every turn affords you a spectacular view of the glacier formed massifs and Lago Nordenskjold. The color of the lakes is unreal. How could such a trail exist? How could every single view be so beholding? Our stay at Refugio Los Cuernos sets us up in cabins that face the lake, a waterfall beside the cabins and the Cuernos massifs in the background with their shear granite faces rising 2000+ meters before being capped off with the jagged peaks that form the horns.
Day 2: Los Cuernos to Valle de Frances to Refugio Pehoe Grand, 16K, approx 8 hours. The Patagonia wind blew heavily all through the night. I wondered if the roof of the cabin might just fly off at some point. The hike was long, but the scenery amazing. It´s the last day of 2008 and here is where I am. To celebrate, the refugio threw a festive party for all. We even all managed to stay up past midnight.
Day 3: Pehoe Grande to Glacier Grey to Eco Camp, 11K, approx 4 hours. It may have been the 4.5 hours of sleep, or maybe a few too many new year´s drinks, but this day was challenging, despite it being an easier day. The best part of this day was the boat ride across Lago Grey where we pass the glaciers. They are tremendous and the depths of blues within these walls of ice is fascinating. A pisco sour with glacier ice was a great way to take off the dragging feeling of the day.
Day 4: Eco Camp to Torres del Paine, approx 20K, 8+ hours. I can not believe our fortune as the day began with a rainbow and warm morning air. The hike to view the towers is grueling, the last 800 meters taking over an hour both up and down as we clamber over boulders, and brace ourselves against gusts that pin you to the rocks. The climb up seems endless from the moment we started, and just punishment as we approached the top. But then suddenly, there they are. And what a fantastic day for view them. I had no idea there was a lake at the base of the towers. On the return, my knees screamed at me, my ankles threatened to twist and my feet protested every movement. I promised my feet I would spend the extra money on the orange insoles if they would just get me to the top of the hill where camp was. There was beer there, I was told. That´s all we needed to know to make it home. A beer in the sun after a specatular day at the towers...
Day 5: Eastern Lakes, 11k, approx 4.5 hours. The women getting ready in the morning were all trying to find a way to not have to make the climb to the towers that morning, the rain and the wind that blew in overnight did not let up in the morning. Our group spent the less than ideal day on a nice drive out to the eastern lakes. The bumps and dips in the road rocked me to sleep as I dreamed of the wooly sheep and wind that passed just outside the windows of the van. The weather was bad enough to break out the rain pants, hood pulled up, the constant rain was a little damper on our spirits but the view at the top was a nice reward.
Yesterday, one could consider it a day of rest if 8+ hours on 3 busses is restful.
Today, setting out from the hostel just before 9, I made my way to the other side of town to the trail head. The morning sky was clear and I knew it would be a great day. Fitz Roy called to me. As I approached about an hour in the hike up, I saw the towers rise above everything else, their energy drew me and I ran up the hill the the lookout. I could not believe what I was seeing. I wanted to cry. What is it but just rock and snow and crumbled rocks! I don´t know, but they drew me nearer and further and harder up the climb than anything else.
Today, I hiked alone to Fitz Roy in El Chalten. In hindsight, the week in Torres del Paine was in someway just preparing me for this.
Day 1: Eco Camp to Los Cuernos, 11+K, approx 5 hours. This is one of the most amaxing trails I´ve ever walked on. Every turn affords you a spectacular view of the glacier formed massifs and Lago Nordenskjold. The color of the lakes is unreal. How could such a trail exist? How could every single view be so beholding? Our stay at Refugio Los Cuernos sets us up in cabins that face the lake, a waterfall beside the cabins and the Cuernos massifs in the background with their shear granite faces rising 2000+ meters before being capped off with the jagged peaks that form the horns.
Day 2: Los Cuernos to Valle de Frances to Refugio Pehoe Grand, 16K, approx 8 hours. The Patagonia wind blew heavily all through the night. I wondered if the roof of the cabin might just fly off at some point. The hike was long, but the scenery amazing. It´s the last day of 2008 and here is where I am. To celebrate, the refugio threw a festive party for all. We even all managed to stay up past midnight.
Day 3: Pehoe Grande to Glacier Grey to Eco Camp, 11K, approx 4 hours. It may have been the 4.5 hours of sleep, or maybe a few too many new year´s drinks, but this day was challenging, despite it being an easier day. The best part of this day was the boat ride across Lago Grey where we pass the glaciers. They are tremendous and the depths of blues within these walls of ice is fascinating. A pisco sour with glacier ice was a great way to take off the dragging feeling of the day.
Day 4: Eco Camp to Torres del Paine, approx 20K, 8+ hours. I can not believe our fortune as the day began with a rainbow and warm morning air. The hike to view the towers is grueling, the last 800 meters taking over an hour both up and down as we clamber over boulders, and brace ourselves against gusts that pin you to the rocks. The climb up seems endless from the moment we started, and just punishment as we approached the top. But then suddenly, there they are. And what a fantastic day for view them. I had no idea there was a lake at the base of the towers. On the return, my knees screamed at me, my ankles threatened to twist and my feet protested every movement. I promised my feet I would spend the extra money on the orange insoles if they would just get me to the top of the hill where camp was. There was beer there, I was told. That´s all we needed to know to make it home. A beer in the sun after a specatular day at the towers...
Day 5: Eastern Lakes, 11k, approx 4.5 hours. The women getting ready in the morning were all trying to find a way to not have to make the climb to the towers that morning, the rain and the wind that blew in overnight did not let up in the morning. Our group spent the less than ideal day on a nice drive out to the eastern lakes. The bumps and dips in the road rocked me to sleep as I dreamed of the wooly sheep and wind that passed just outside the windows of the van. The weather was bad enough to break out the rain pants, hood pulled up, the constant rain was a little damper on our spirits but the view at the top was a nice reward.
Yesterday, one could consider it a day of rest if 8+ hours on 3 busses is restful.
Today, setting out from the hostel just before 9, I made my way to the other side of town to the trail head. The morning sky was clear and I knew it would be a great day. Fitz Roy called to me. As I approached about an hour in the hike up, I saw the towers rise above everything else, their energy drew me and I ran up the hill the the lookout. I could not believe what I was seeing. I wanted to cry. What is it but just rock and snow and crumbled rocks! I don´t know, but they drew me nearer and further and harder up the climb than anything else.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Long bus rides, typing fast, counting pesos
What a luxury is has been to be able to hike for 5 consecutive days in this amazing landscape, and yes, we lucked out, we had sun everyday except for the last. Torres del Paine was spectacular every single day. The glacier fed lakes and rivers, the cerros and massifs. The air, the trees. Ah and we can´t forget the new years party at Refugio Paine Grande!
I am now in El Calafate, waiting for the 18:30 bus to El Chalten. I have a slight problem, rather, every tourist here has a slight problem today. It is Sunday and as it would be, every single ATM in town in out of cash. I´m counting both my Argentinian and Chilean pesos along with my US dollars and hoping I have enough cash combined to pay for my accomdations in El Chalten. Right, and there are no ATMs in El Chalten. So I must type quickly as every 15 minutes here is another 2.50 pesos.
It is my last week here in Patagonia, it has been so easy to be here. I will save my pesos now and go sit at the bus station for the remaining 3 hours.
I am now in El Calafate, waiting for the 18:30 bus to El Chalten. I have a slight problem, rather, every tourist here has a slight problem today. It is Sunday and as it would be, every single ATM in town in out of cash. I´m counting both my Argentinian and Chilean pesos along with my US dollars and hoping I have enough cash combined to pay for my accomdations in El Chalten. Right, and there are no ATMs in El Chalten. So I must type quickly as every 15 minutes here is another 2.50 pesos.
It is my last week here in Patagonia, it has been so easy to be here. I will save my pesos now and go sit at the bus station for the remaining 3 hours.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)