You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'Travel' category.
I climb into the back of my Dad’s beloved Jeepster, ready to set off on a 4-wheelin’ adventure. Hints of summer warmth still in the air, sunscreen on, ponytale in place.
Me: Dad, where’s my seat-belt?
Dad: Oh, there isn’t one back there.
Me: What if I fall out?? I could actually die from 4-wheelin’!!
Dad: [hands me a bottle of water] Well, at least you won’t die of thirst!
This was the beginning of our day-long journey to Iron Lakes (Cali). Dad driving, stepmom in the passenger seat (both with seat-belts) and me in the back. Per the Backcountry Adventures Northern California Guide, the trail has “moguls and moderately steep grades” and is touted as “steep and rocky.” Perfect terrain to travel without something strapping me into an open-aired Jeep.
Luckily, though there was definitely a bit of grab-seat-and-hold-on-for-dear-life (clearly I’m not very dramatic), I survived.
And enjoyed every single minute of it.
It was amazing to go, over the course of a week, from this (business trip to NYC):
To this:
It was much needed, this contrast. To go from Uptown to Small Town is what this blog is all about, and let me tell you, it saves me– if I didn’t have a small town to return home to, the uptown side of things would make me one wonky woman. (well, more so than I am now!)
So the big obstacle in NYC is people. Weaving in and out (which I’ve become quite an expert in…seriously…it’s the race-car driver’s daughter in me…), anticipating movements, passing, etc. The big obstacle en route to Iron Lakes was this. And his movements were not difficult to anticipate. (He stood still and stared.)
So with Dad at the wheel, away we went, up and over steep grades, and rocky moguls. Me with water in one hand and a camera in the other, it was one of those Good Days. The kind that makes one sit back (without a seat-belt) and appreciate life. And family. And nature. And adventure.
Left or right?
4x’ing!
Iron Lakes (one of them).
See all those crazy people rushing around? Me either!
Love these Swirly Roots.
And these rocks with so much color (iron!).
And I love Nature’s Graffiti.
And the texture that surrounds stillness.
And I love this giant magical tree.
And this magical swimming nook.
And my adventurous Stepmom who decided to step in and investigate a fish.
And I love seeing how much my dad love’s nature. He’s so in his element.
And I love my dad.
Or so a friend of mine says…
Last weekend I hopped into the Jeep and headed to Tahoe to stay with my Aunt (well, one of my mom’s BFF’s) and her family in a fabulous 6 BR spread in Incline Village (complete with The Kinky Room…more on this later).
All I did was pull up in the driveway and I was met with hugs, an over-flowing glass of wine, a cheese plate, an entire salad, guacamole, hummus, thick slices of french bread, cherry tomatoes, fresh-from-the garden zucchini, stories, and laughter.
I must say, if you’re going to travel, this is the way to arrive.
Saturday morning was met with cups of coffee on the deck (with an amazing view of Lake Tahoe!), fresh blueberry pancakes for all (warm and delicious with melty butter and maple syrup), and a shower. A shower with a view of Lake Tahoe.
Then we packed ourselves into the car and headed out for a hike. And my Aunt (who I should mention here is quite crazy, quite amazing, and quite fun) took us on a winding path, up hills, down hills, over streams, etc., and lead us straight to…
A nude beach.
Where we saw a Nude Guy on a rock throne.
(And no, we did not get naked.)
Later that evening the Auntie and I ventured back to the beach (not the nude one this time) for wine and stories by the campfire.
And more wine. And more stories. And more campfire.
Then she got a text message from her daughter asking where we were and if we were coming for dinner. Dinner! Oh right! Only, Auntie’s phone is something of an antique and so she hands it to me to manipulate the thing to send a reply text.
“Tell her we’re drunk and we’re on our way!”
So I text (in caps because for some reason this is the only mode the thing will let one type in): DRUNK AND ON OUR WAY!
Then we laugh at ourselves…because that’s what we do.
We show up just in time to fling ourselves toward the spread of snacks (that we were scolded for going after…apparently they were being put away to make way for dinner) then find our seats at the long table on the deck filled with the growing number of family members. More wine, laughter, delicious food (thanks to B!), fun conversation, champagne, etc., etc., until we all found our way to our various rooms, making sure to not accidentally stumble into The Kinky Room.
So, The Kinky Room: The bottom floor (naturally) of the three story home featured a room that had glass you can see out but not in, a hidden bathroom (it matches the wall…sneaky style), and chairs all arranged around, for optimal viewing of course, ready?…
The shower.
There is no TV in The Kinky Room. Because, duh, people don’t watch TV in there. They watch the shower.
Anyway, to bring us back to a “G” Rating, we woke the next morning to light rain that made the air smell amazing, coffee that was warm and comforting, and avocado slices on french bread for breakfast.
And sighs… (on my part)… because I had to return to the city and prepare for a long work week.
But, regardless ~ any weekend spent laughing, eating, drinking, and exploring with friends/family is a good weekend. Ta-Hoe us is to love us!
I just received a note from a dear family friend in the hometown that is, quite truly, one of the best emails I’ve ever received (and I’m not just saying that because it’s complimentary to me! Or wait…maybe I am…). Anyway, this note is WHY I am writing this blog ~ to inspire in myself (and hopefully in others!?) an appreciation for adventure, exploration and those simple moments that make life worth living and laughing about.
With permission by the writer of this note, here it is:
Hi… I so enjoyed reading your comments about your trip. It is such a beautiful place to visit. I’ve never been to Nice, but Avignon is also in the south of France, and it was amazingly beautiful. You were very brave to go all alone, but you younger women have grown up in such a different world.
When I was your age, my “big adventure” when I separated from my husband was to go, by myself, to Monterey and check into a motel. In my whole life, I had only stayed in motels selected by my parents or my husband. My hand shook as I registered! The really funny thing was that, the next morning, there was a big earthquake centered in that area. Do you think God was displeased with me? Somehow I don’t think so, but the thought definitely crossed my mind as I held on tight to the bathroom sink! My second big adventure was to drive the “Bloody Bayshore” from Milpitas to near the SFO airport, with no mishaps! Now I want to take either a cruise by myself or maybe go to Seattle by myself. You are a model for me to emulate!
Continue to be you… we can all learn from you and live vicariously through your exciting experiences. Love, AD
Here’s to inspiring each other through our exciting experiences!
xo
Uptown Small Town
All of my grandparents passed while I was a child so, as I got older, I sort of just “adopted” new family members. Two people in particular, Jack and Jane (yes, those are their real names!), became my grandparents ~ not by blood, but by love.
Grandma Jane was a fairly prominent artist ~ she was the Artist in Residence in Yosemite, she was featured on The Today Show, etc., and when she died, Grandpa Jack invited my mom and I over to go through her paintings and pick one out. (!!!)
It was… one of those experiences I will never forget. It was like opening a book to someone’s visions and dreams, sitting on the floor with complete awe and wonderment propelling me through painting after painting after painting. Though I’d known Jane since I was a small child, I knew her better that day. And I loved her all over again.
The painting I chose is actually unfinished. She died before finishing it… but to me, it’s perfect.
It hangs in my bedroom and every night before falling asleep and every morning when the sun starts to stream in through my windows, I peek at it. And dream in it.
(Please forgive the picture of a painting!)
It’s no small wonder that I would choose the French Riviera to visit for vacation ~ I was craving what the painting was providing. Color and contrast and texture and light and shadow and history and calm confidence.
And on my first full day in France, I made it my mission to get absorbed into the feelings and rhythms ~ to find the color and contrast and texture and light and shadow and history and calm confidence of the Mediterranean city.
And find it, I did.
Though I’m not really a “leave something unfinished” sort of person (generally speaking…that’s not to say I don’t have ten books started and discarded for another day), I find beauty every day in what Grandma Jane left unfinished ~ it’s a painterly sort of unfinished. And her gift could never have been more complete.
*Disclaimer: Apologies in advance for the following post. Not my usual sort of story but fairly amusing nonetheless. Se distraire! (To amuse oneself)
A while back when I was living in NY, a friend of mine and I were at brunch and over eggs and bloody marys, she told me about her new cat.
Me: What’s her name?
Her: Well, I didn’t really know what to call her so I looked online and decided to call her Minou.
Me: That sounds cute, what does it mean?
Her: Well, that’s the thing. A friend of mine from France was over and he laughed when I told him her name. Apparently, not only is it the french word for “cat,” it also means “pussy.” So basically, I’ve named my cat after female anatomy.
Me: Hahaha.
So, now, cut to me at breakfast in France on Day 2 of my trip ~ Sitting at a lovely little garden cafe, devouring crusty bread, a delectable buttery croissant, and traditionally rich coffee with steamed milk. The adorable older French woman brought a glass of orange juice for me (she had asked if I wanted something but I couldn’t quite understand her so I just said “oui!” out of reflex as it sounds much better than “non!” so…apparently she had offered me orange juice. Thank goodness she hadn’t offered me a snail omelette or something tragic…) and while she was setting the juice on my table all of a sudden she yells out “Minou! Minou! Minou!”
And while I may wear pearls, I also seem to have a completely elementary/gutter-worthy sense of humor so I of course laughed. And assuming that I was not entirely understanding her properly (as with the orange juice), she pointed to the little black cat that had meandered into the garden, presumably looking for a handout of French pastry (smart cat), and repeated “Minou! Minou! Minou!” She smiled. “Jardin de Minou!”
First breakfast in France and I find myself in the Garden of Pussy. Terrific.
I woke after a total of 3 hours of sporadic sleep (too excited!) and headed to the SF airport to begin my 24-hour journey to Nice, France. Ahh….vacation on the horizon.
The goal of this trip was as follows: 1. Reconnect with feeling HUMAN. 2. Relax 3. Explore 4. Take pictures 5. Have my first solo journey to a foreign land and NOT get kidnapped and sold into a French Prostitution Ring (as my father was actually worried about).
So as I cozied myself into the seat of my second flight for the day that would take me from Philadelphia to Munich, a young guy– maybe early to mid 20′s– sat next to me. And almost immediately I got a strong sense of military. Not that he visibly appeared as though he were in the military– he was wearing jeans and sneakers– but there was just something about him…
Anyway, I settled in and opened up the book I’d purchased for the plane ride — Julia Child’s memoir, My Life In France,– and fell completely in love with this book. I didn’t know much about her as she was before my era of cooking show addictions, but wow… what an amazing woman. Textured, interesting, humble, enthusiastic, passionate, and someone who wove a great amount of integrity throughout her work. A delicious foray into France for me.
Then came dinner service for the flight which looked even more mundane than usual seeing that I’d been absorbed in a memoir about a woman’s love affair with fine, fresh French cooking, but it’s airplane food… it is what it is! I opened up the salad and started eating when I noticed the guy next to me again: He had such precision with his movements– the way he would unwrap butter, spread butter onto roll, eat roll. He would uncover his chicken dish, then eat chicken. He would unwrap dessert then eat the dessert. When he was finished, his tray was tidy and he’d wasted nothing.
And his manners were impeccable. He was very conscientious of his space– he was not at all sloppy with his movements, as if, along with wasting no food, he wasted no energy. And I suppose this may make him sound robotic and I don’t mean to imply that at all. Quite the contrary really. He seemed so in tune with simple life, as if he were not the kid with a jumbo box of crayons who scribbled, but rather the kid with a mere 4 colors who would draw something absolutely lovely.
Then he stood up and I saw the side of his head– there was a scar about 4 inches long, looking as though it covered something rather deep.
And I melted.
I sat there very much attempting to swallow back tears– literally melting in my seat. There was just something so human and heartbreaking about this guy… and yet, we hadn’t spoken many words to one another outside of pleasantries of “please” and “thank you.”
Any residual feelings of work/life stress disappeared in my 9-hour long journey to Germany. Sitting next to this guy, I felt so silently connected to simple humanity and purely humbled. I’m sure he had no idea what me and my admittedly sensitive, crazy self was feeling, but what a gift this guy was. It’s amazing how one person can effect another in so many ways… and most likely never even know it.
So between Julia Child’s memoir and sitting next to a German soldier (I spotted his army bag on our way off the plane), day 1 of my trip saw the reaching of goal #1: Reconnect with feeling Human. And I reconnected whole-heartedly (and managed to not actually break down crying!) to being a human with my little metaphysical box of 4 crayons.
Over the next few posts, I’ve decided to share a sort of series of travelogue entries from my trip to the South of France. I make no promises to stay in chronological order, but I’ll try!
Also good to note here that, as I’ll speak more to soon, the over-arching goal of my trip was to reconnect with the light of my simple, humble, human center that can sometimes be overshadowed by the day-to-day deadline driven, career stress most of us encounter, so my travelogue entries will be mostly feeling in nature rather than a presentation of factual travel tips. Not to imply a void of facts… but rather that my trip did not contain any contrived factual focus and instead was more of a sweeping meander along the Mediterranean at a speed determined by mood, curiosity, and the distance between gelato/sorbet shops.
Cheers to bon cote des choses! (sunny side of things)
While I take my time uploading photos of the trip to the South of France (clearly I’m still operating on vacation time), I was (perhaps because I’ve been questioning what it is I really want– a dangerous question!), thinking about what home is to me. (obviously a topic on my mind)
Home, in its ultimate sense, is in the center of me and yet paradoxically much bigger than me, but I think what I mean here is the home one builds for oneself throughout life. The center that expands as we come across new desires, “additions” if you will, and that we continue to remodel and redesign as we zoom around discovering new adventures and ways of being.
Lately, perhaps because I’ve been living in those “uptown” city apartments for so many years, I find myself really craving the manifestation of home… the home that I knew growing up with a yard and a garden and a dog and a view and a kitchen guests are welcome in and a deck that invites friends to stay in their pajamas while laughing and visiting in the sunshine well past the morning hours. Home.
A friend of mine and I actually have a code word for this: Both of us grew up in a small mountain community and both of us are living that city girl life. Whenever stress levels reach the point of ridiculousness, we say to each other “Elmo!” (If you’ve ever seen the show “Men in trees”– that’s where this is from.) To us, Elmo! is that word that means, get me back home to real life!!
So, while I’m not quite pulling the Elmo! card here (how could I? I still have vacation glow), I am saying that vacation has given me a time to think and breathe…
And for those of you who know me… this can lead to many things. (She says with a devious smile.) 
I traveled, I explored, I took pictures (coming soon!), I ate delicious food, I swam in the Mediterranean, I got lost in Monaco, I ate gelato and went on walks at dusk along the shore, I listened to little French children singing little French songs, I sipped wine from Provence, wandered through a medieval village, laid in the warm riviera sunshine, read books, drank delicious coffee, I let a bikini and sundresses be my official ensemble, I breathed in life.
But the best part? Returning Home to the Hometown.
Home to coffee in the morning on mom’s deck surrounded by grape-leaves, BBQ at dad’s, s’mores by a campfire with a friend.
As much as I love adventures, I love coming home from them even more.
Bon Voyage, my friends. I’m jetting off to the sea and the sunshine that I dream of… as depicted in this drawing I discovered in my notebook at work (thanks to LB).
