Pondicherry

When I was younger and we traveled as a family, my father at some point on each trip would say "This is it - this is where I'm going to retire." Penang, New Zealand's North Island, Perth, etc. etc. All told, Dad must have chosen 20+ retirement spots (the irony, of course, being that he is retired now. And living in the same Northern VA house my parents have lived in for over twenty years.)

I have found my first retirement spot. I absolutely *loved* Pondicherry! It is split into two parts: the Tamil side, and the French side, with street names appropriate to each. (I imagine some "West Side Story"-esque song and dance sequences, but one can only hope.) I stayed in a cute little guest house on the French side (on Rue Francois Martin - oddly cedille-less.) The French side of town is all louvered windows, whitewashed balconies and pastel-coloured houses. In typical French style, the names of the streets are on

I went to Auroville, the Sri Aurobindo ashram just outside Pondicherry. Oddly, it reminded me of Sedona - different topography, weather, etc., but the same red earth and the same peaceful, calming energy. The Matri Mandir is oddly .... "Star Trek" (and, yes, I mean the old skool one.) Walking around the grounds is like a South Indian botany class - tamarind, cocoa, mango, etc.

For breakfast, I had a croissant, for lunch - Indo-French (Franco-Indian?) As much as I love South Indian food, it's nice to get a break from it. (If I see another vada staring at me in the morning, I may scream.) I went for a walk along the water, stopping to admire the Gandhi memorial. (As a sidenote: guys here are L.A.M.E. - but this is a surprise to no one.) I had my fortune told, not something I would have chosen to do - but the person I was with had hers done, and wanted me to get mine done as well. The person was uncannily accurate (ex. that I'm a lawyer, that I have two younger brothers), and also hit some ... obvious notes (ex. I will have a "love" marriage - I'm not married at 32, arranged is looking ... unlikely. Frankly, I'm not so into the 'marriage' idea at all, but that is a post for another time.) Apparently, people will take the things I say the wrong way for the next three months. Beautiful. (And different how, exactly?)

I think Pondicherry fits with other cities I have loved: it is on the smallish side - not so small that it's boring, not so big that you can't explore it on foot and take its pulse in a day or two. I will definitely be back.

.........

And with that, we take you back to our regularly scheduled broadcast. I am back in the US and will be once again boring you with the minutiae of my life.

Chennai

Ah, Chennai - you are as nasty, polluted, and crowded as I remember. Except, maybe more so. I will say that it was kind of a trip to be in "the city of my birth" a week before my bday.

This was supposed to be the trip where I stopped hating visiting India. Chennai didn't do very much to move me in that direction. All of my old complaints have been reawakened (and more.) I have no idea why things take so long here (example - checking out of a hotel - over 1/2 hour.) Things are so randomly officious - all kinds of stampings, and copying over, and filling out in triplicate with carbon paper (CARBON PAPER), accounts kept in ledgers, etc.

I got to speak French (a day early)! And translate! I was at the Tamil Nadu Tourism Development Corp.'s office and translated for a French tourist. I'm surprised at how words came back to me - it was definitely not thinking in French, it was sort of like a video game: conceptualizing an idea or a sentence, and having a bubble percolate up fromt eh depts, popping open to reveal the French phrase.

At the Fort St. George museum, where I paid the Indian rate (ha ha, suckers!), I was surprised by how much the portraiture of the Indian rulers from back in the day look like my friends. But, dressed up and without a Sierra Nevada in their hands.

The Government Museum had all kinds of interesting statues, etc. And no bloody explanations. I shouldn't be so sore about it, but I know that people have come and studied these sculptures and that there is a LOT to say about them. So far, besides natural beauty, nothing in any Indian tourist spot takes more than 20 minutes to see, largely because there is so little explanation. At times, I have turned to my guidebook(s) because they tell you more about the things on display than the display itself. Don't mind me - this is what happens when you grow up in the DC-area and are absolutely spoiled by the Smithsonian.

Tomorrow: Pondicherry - on y va!!

Kochi

My advice: if you come to Kochi - try to stay in the Fort Cochin area. It has loads more character than... just about everywhere else. It's also where the tourist spots are. Actually, when I get back I may write up a post about my recommendations/highlights, etc.

I had my first fight with an autorickshaw driver (conducted, of course, in two languages.) I was yelling at him that he was totally ripping me off (he was), and then I realized that I was arguing over the equivalent of less than $1 and got over it. It's weird, I don't mind paying more for things here - I'd say I'm okay with being overcharged to the tune of 20-50%. I can deal with that. But, when it seems to be getting above that, it really steams me.

Everywhere in Kerala there are political meetings conducted in the open, on the sides of roads (complete with LOUDspeakers.) The one I saw this morning on the way to the ferry - everyone on "stage" was dressed in what I now think of as Kerala white.

I have had some truly fabulous food here - appams that were perfectly light and crispy at the edges, doughy and satisfying in the middle with that slightly sweet finish, meen curry spicy enough to help you see through time.

Next stop: Chennai (or as my dad called it in an email "the city of my birth"), then a 2 day jaunt to Pondicherry and I head home late, late, late Friday night.

Munnar/Thekkady

More random observations from the road: I took a 2 day trip with people who are tangentially related to me. From The Village, we headed to Munnar to experience the fresh air, drive the winding roads through the tea estates and check out Rajmalai Park.

I once visited Minnesota in June and people, to my shock, had shorts on. For me, while it was not actively cold, it certainly wasn't warm - and it was nowhere near hot enough for shorts. Indians strike me the same way - they seemto find it much colder here than I do. People have donned "monkey caps" and sweaters. For all the care that people take while dressing, cold weather measures are apparently exempt. I have seen some truly horrifying sweater and sari combos! Wearing a cardigan on top of a sari gives aunties sliken, pleated tails.

Indians don't seem to have the notion of a walk just to see the scenery, or or simply ('zimbly') the walk's sake. Like seeing some Nilgiri ibex up close wasn't enough, a man asked us if there was anythign to see up ahead. One of the uncles amusingly said "a few gods." The questioner went on to ask about number and type to see whether the gods would be sufficient motivation for his family to continue on.

So far, Munnar has been my favorite spot o the trip. The rolling sea of tea, bushes set in strips. Oddly, it reminded me of wine country (but maybe everything reminds you of home when you are away.) The views were beautiful - totally different from the Keralan coast. It was obvious where the tea money ran out - the road suddenly because dramatically worse a few miles beyond the last tea estate.

Periyar sanctuary was also beautiful. We didn't see very many animals, but the boat trip on the lake was so peaceful and serene in comparison to being on the road. While on the boat, I realized that taking photos has become like game hunting - less about the experience itself and mroe about baggin the "trophy." (Obviously, photo safaris are much better for animals!) All the people who scramble to take pictures of the animal's retreating rump - I wonder how often (if at all) they will look at their snaps.

The Village

I took the train from Thiruvananthapuram to The Village - one of my goals while in India. (And finished another goal - reading Rushdie. I read "Shalimar the Clown" - RECOMMEND!) I've started jotting down notes in my journal - no matter how shakey the handwriting - so that I have something to jog my memory. A few notes:

• Apparently, that oft-repeated saying that there are more accidents on American roads than Indian ones is pure bunk. The Indian tourists I met while on my tour of Thiruvananthapuram laid that one to rest - as it turns out, many (if not most) accidents are not reported and thus do not figure into the statistics.
• The walls of Indian homes have banks of light switches and dials, controlling lights, ceiling fans and mysteries.
• There are lots and lots of roadside signs related to driving safety and civic-mindedness. For example, 'Keep your side, save your hide" Still, being driven in India is nerve-jangling. It requires something like a zen-like detachment and a focus on the driver's head. Driving school here must be a trip, I saw 2 different students on the road. Each had a death grip on the steering wheel and ramrod-straight posture.
• Watching cricket is like watching curling - the announcer assumes you already know the ins and outs of the game and doesn't take time to explain. Sadly, my working knowledge of cricket comes from watching "Lagaan." I'm not kidding. I've watched cricket on nearly every trip to India, but never had anything explained to me. It reminds me of when I was five and asked my father how the scoring in tennis works. He told me to watch the game and figure it out. Parents and would-be parents: that is really CRAPPY advice! I mean ... love, 15, 30, 40, deuce, advantage, tiebreak, etc. - some things require an explanation.
• Ah, Kerala - where the men have more ear and facial hair than actual hair.

Here in Kerala, I'm like the Italian cousin - somehow related, but .... different and a little laughable in my cluelessness and lack of language skills. I've decided that all of the staring makes me some kind of a celebrity. Maybe I'll start wearing huge sunglasses a la Nicole Ritchie (or dressing in baglady-chi a la Marykate and Ashley.)

Thiruvananthapuram

I awoke thinking that I had injured my tongue. In my sleep-fog, I examined it in the miror. Satisfied that it was whole, I returned to bed. Now, I think that my tongue was changing configuration - hinging in the middle to pronoune the polysyllabic, metered words here. Exchanging one for the other - Thiruvananthapuram for Trivanduram, Kunyakumari for Cape Cormorin.

I don't know what people want me to be here, and the question of identity seems to be at the forfront. Like so many things, there is no proper answer. If I say that I am American, people insist that I am Indian "but settled in the U.S." If I give them that answer, they tell me that I am American. I think what people really want - what is important to them - is to place me in a category themselves, to affix the label like a "Hello, My Name is" sticker at a convention.

I went to the sea. I expected to to speak to me, but all I heard was my own voice telling it that it is not my ocean. Beofre I could really miss the Pacific, I began to feel connected to the sea, vibrations along a long, long, invisible thread.

Contradictions and ironies are everywhere. People here are modest, theoretically, yet the men show more leg than any of the styles in H&M last summer. It's all about the mini-lunghi apparently. So, the men are walking around in mini-skirts and I get looked at askance if I don't wear a duputta with my loose-ass salwar. (Duputta and backpack do NOT work well together.) It shouldn't surprise me, modesty has always been applied nearly exclusively to women.

I am over being cranky-pants (cranky-churidar?) about this trip - it's starting to find its own rhythym now. So far, this has been my best trip to India - but that is thanks to the low expectations standard.

Mysore

We hired a car and are now in Mysore. Or, as my father called it in his IM yesterday, "Mysore, city of kings."

There's so much going on, and so many funny moments. The camera is simply not fast enough to record all of the great signs, and juxtapositions (like the signs on Chamundi Hill declaring it a plastic free zone ... followed by at least 100 plastic bags lining the side of the road.) Next time, I think that I'll bring a voice recorder.

Things here just take longer. I'm learning to keep a book with me so that I have something to do. I remember this feeling from my time in Costa Rica - things take as long as they take, and feeling anxious about it (or like they should have been wrapped up by now) doesn't really change anything. People here are also more .... assertive in restaurants. At first, I thought that we were being ignored whenever we ate out, but I'm starting to think that it is just that we are not as vocal about being ready to order, wanting more water, the bill, etc.

Visiting the Tipu Summer Palace yesterday, the ticket agent spent a good, long moment looking at me before asking "You are a .... foreigner?" (there's a difference in ticket prices.) That made me smile. The travel agent, after writing my name down, asked me if I knew what my first name meant. I was not so amused.

Today, we saw Mysore Palace. Unfortunately, no photography is allowed inside. The style is, apparently, Indo-Saracenic, but at least from the outside it looks like typically Muslim architecture. Also interesting: you remove your shoes before you enter. I'm used to doing that when going to temples, so this was a little odd.

Tonight we are heading to Brindavan Gardens (and are hoping to catch the kitschy water/light show.) I'm heading back to Bangalore tomorrow and out to in Thiruvananthapuram (Trivanduram - someone needs to tell the Keralites that nothing will happen if you don't use ALL the letters in one go.)

I wish that I could write more reflective posts right now, but I feel like not all of my cylinders are firing. I'm not sleeping very well, and a lot of time each day seems to be spent in making sure that the logistics are worked out for that day and the next. I feel like I am taking in a lot right now and will process and evaluate it later.

I am missing home. Like most of my trips - after about a week, I wish that I could magically transport myself home for 2 days (water with ice! movies! driving!) and then transport myself back to my travel location.

Bangalore

Humor: The name of British Airways in-flight magazine is High Times . Really - no one saw a problem with that?

I have arrived in Bangalore. Things were so crazy, super-hectic before I left that I didn't get a chance to post. The night before I flew out I was at work until 9:30ish. Mmmyeah - and I hadn't packed. I was up most of the night - partially because I was getting things done, partially because I knew I was too excited to sleep. Sleep deprivation served me well: I slept a good part of the flight to London, and also a large chunk of the flight to Bangalore.

When we entered the airport in Bangalore, I was immediately happy. The air has a certain smell here (and for once when talking about smells in India I do not mean something noxious.) It just smelled so familiar. Another "we're not in Kansas anymore" moment: the guy in front of me at the immigration counter was totally thrown by the Indian head nod. For those unfamiliar, it's sort of a horizontal figure eight-type nod, roughly translating as "yes", "okay", or "whatever."

There's nothing like being greeted at the airport by friendly faces, even better when it's 6 am!

Adventures/misadventures in Bangalore:
- shopping on Commercial Street. At one point, I felt like a "john" - we were walking through a sort of alley/hallway of shops, being called to from both sides by vendors. The vendors were flinging open their wares so that we could see the colors, embellishments, etc. It was awesome, overwhelming and somehow tawdry.
- getting lost in an autorickshaw, made even better by the fact that (1) we had half-dry mehndi on our hands (Indian cliche alert!), and (2) I was forced to actually try out my Malayalam and hope it was close enough to Kannada to get the job done. Horrifying, but amusing.
- being absolutely, and utterly treated like family
- feeling like the biggest tourist ever for taking pictures of the food (I haven't eaten on a banana leaf in soooo long!)

Travelogue: Domenical

Living in a small beach town for a few days means that you learn the rhythm of life here. It means being pleasantly surprised at breakfast, as one of the beach dogs curls up under your table (using your shoe as a pillow.) It means watching the surfers wander in, some still wet from their morning exertions, others stumbling in bleary-eyed in pajama pants looking for coffee. It's being on a smiling (if not saying hello) basis with nearly everyone.

I've really enjoyed my time here. I can safely say my Spanish has not improved as much as it did my first week (when I was staying with a family that only spoke Spanish.) Here, I have spoken English pretty much the whole time I was not in class. But, that's okay - aside from being a learning experience, this was also my vacation. While the first week was good, the second has been a phenomenal experience. I have taken shots of guaro (SHOTS! ME!), spent hours on the beach with an Argentine looking at a billion stars, skipped on eating a termite (although a few of my companions tried it), seen scarlet macaws in the wild.

Yesterday, we took a trip to the Osa Peninsula. From Domenical, it was two hours by boat (maybe a little more - we stopped to do some whale and dolphin watching.) Once there, we hiked to a natural pool. It started raining, and I had the unique pleasure of hiking in a swimsuit (my clothes were soaked already and I was trying to protect my camera with the remnants that were only slightly damp.) By the time we reached the put-in, the wind had picked up and we were freezing. And we still had 1.5 hours to go before the boat would head back to Domenical. What did we do? We ran into the ocean and submerged ourselves up to our necks. It was bathwater warm - you just had to take care to turn your face away from the rain. We bobbed there for over an hour.

I felt heart-wrenchingly close to my companions - the people who had been at school with me. In some ways, making friends while traveling is a little rough on me: it is so easy to care about people when you've spent this much time with them. And it's hard to leave, knowing that - aside from an occasional email, if that - the friendship will not progress. Better to have had the experience, though, than to not connect with people while traveling.

On the boat ride back to Domenical, I huddled in my (DRY!) rain jacket and a towel that quickly became soaked. The water was choppy and the occasional curtain of water would hit all of us. (I learned the word from "roller coaster" in Spanish!) I should have been miserable, but I was smiling and singing (quietly.)

How long till my soul gets it right
Can any human being ever reach that kind of light?
I call on the resting soul of Galileo
King of night vision, King of insight

Ah yes, the Indigo Girls. I feel like I'm in high school again. But, somehow, their song about reincarnation embodied where I was mentally. We all get a chance to reexamine who we are, where we are, and what we want. My vacation has been absolutely phenomenal.

And, on that note, I'll be home tomorrow.

Travelogue: On the way to Domenical

The ride from La Fortuna to Quepos (a town on the Pacific coast, very near famous Manuel Antonio Park) was uneventful. When I hopped into the shuttle, I spoke with the driver briefly in Spanish. Later, I pulled out my Spanish/English dictionary to look up a few words. I was truly shocked when the woman next to me, a native Spanish speaker, asked me if I spoke English or Spanish. I guess if I keep it to 10 words or less, I can "pass."

In Quepos, I found the bus station and waited for the bus headed in my direction. I met a bunch of guys from San Luis Obispo who were headed in the same direction. It's funny how far you go sometimes and still end up meeting people from around the bend. I came very close to missing the bus. If I hadn't met the SLO guys, I would have (bad info from my contact in La Fortuna.) This was the first public bus I had taken in Costa Rica and it was quite an experience. The bus was very crowded, hot and dusty. The distance from Quepos to Domenical is only about 40 km, but took 2.5 hours (good info from my contact in La Fortuna, although I didn't believe him when he told me.)

The roads were, for the most part, unpaved. On the first stretch, the road had dried since the last rain. Dust and grit blew back from the truck in front of us and worked its way into my eyes and mouth. We soon turned off and the road became more like a child's board game - "potholes" of unknown deths, filled with water dotting thedirt and rock road. The bus driver picked his way through them with the grace, care, and concentration of a ballerina.

Somewhere in the first hour, I began really enjoying the ride. We crossed one-lane bridges. The body of the bus was wider than the wheels. The bridges were so narrow that with a window seat, looking down from the bus, one could only see water. I'm not sure why I enjoyed it so much. I think it made me feel more a part of the country. Also, I felt independent and capable - if I can ride a public bus in a country where I effectively do not speak the language, I can handle a lot. Most of all, it really amped me up to go to India.

Domenical is so small that if you blinked, you could miss it. It's not even a one stoplight town - it is one street with no stoplights. The town is centered around surfing - surfshops, reggae, and just general chillage. Someone who works at the school walked me to where I'd be living for the week. He only speaks Spanish and he was explaining something to me. I finally understood that he was saying that I was not allowed to have guys in my room. I hope that you can picture it: I have my main pack on my back, my daypack on my front. I am sweaty, dusty, and all-around dirty. I've been traveling for 7 hours, and this guy is talking about me bringing guys back to my "place?" Even better, he said (in Spanish) that someone would explain all of this to me the next day at the school. So, apparently in all my travel-worn splender, something about me made him think "seductress" and "if I don't tell her this now, we're going to have problems."

I showered and changed ready to hit the "town" and eat - I had skipped lunch to catch the bus. It started raining. I thought I'd wait it out, maybe a half an hour or so. It started pouring. I lay out in the hammock in front of my room (under the eaves of the porch.) I was incredibly relaxed (hammocks = my idea of heaven), but getting hungry. Eventually, the rain was coming down so hard that stray drops were hitting the hammock. I accepted that I'd be going to bed hungry and retreated to my room. Closing the door, I felt someone underfoot and jerked my foot up. Apparently, a small frog had decided to join me in my room. After all the traveling, the language problems, the anxiety, I was happy to have my small, silent companion join me.

Travelogue: Leaving La Fortuna

Tomorrow, I leave La Fortuna for the beach: Playa Domenical on the Pacific coast. I´ll be sad to leave - my host family has been really great and supportive of my efforts to learn Spanish. I know where everything is in this tiny town, etc. etc. etc. Having said that, I´m also ready for new pastures (or whatever the saying is.)

I´ve spent every evening watching the news with my host family. I keep my dictionary at hand and consult it often. My host father and I have bonded over our mutual love of the Brazilian soccer team. My host mother still thinks I´m a little crazy, but then again - maybe she´s right.

Honestly, in many ways, I wish I was headed home. I´m not sure why, but I often feel homesick at the one week point. I think the adventure/adrenaline/whatever is starting to wear off and I´m missing my bed, my shower, and my friends. (Possibly in that order.) I miss knowing where everything is. I miss talking to people easily. I know that I´ll rally and move on, but I still wish I could somehow just pop back for an evening and see Gia, etc.

It´s amazing how much Spanish I understand after 4 days of classes. I took a tour on the Caño Negro. The guide did the tour in Spanish and English, and I was surprised how much of the Spanish I understood. I still have major problems producing Spanish, but my comprehension is probably around 70% now. I´ll be interested to see where I am after another week of classes. (I took lots of pictures: white-faced monkeys, a ´Jesus Christ´lizard (it walks one water), etc. I will have quite the Flickr set to upload when I get back.)

So, that´s where I am. It´s like a see-saw, the more you fit into the area you´re visiting, the more you miss where you´re from.

Travelogue: La Fortuna

During a visit from a college buddy, we hit the grocery store at some obscene hour in search of ice cream. There was a display of stuffed animals featuring different "exotic" animals (part of the money went to the World Wildlife Fund, I think.) Each animal, if squeezed would make the sound the animal makes, and then give you a little background info. For example, the Florida manatee said "I am a Florida manatee - I like to eat, and sleep." (I told my friend that this described her perfectly :) ) The hammerhead shark, in comparison, didn't have a sound. It said "I am a hammerhead shark, I make NO sound."

.........

So. Here I am in La Fortuna staying with my host family. I can safely say, "I speak NO SPANISH, I make NO sound." Dude, I don't speak any Spanish - what the HELL was I thinking?? It's an odd situation all around - I can understand about 50% of what is being said, but I have no words. This is vaguely frustrating for me (understatement), but is exacerbated by my fear that it is frustrating for them. Yesterday, I went for a walk to explore "town" (i.e. all 4 blocks of it!) When I came back, my host "parents" left me in charge of two of their grandkids (the whole family lives more or less on the same street. At least I think so.) Let's go over this again: I speak no Spanish, and I'm babysitting two rambunctious kids. Good times, good times. We watched "Spiderman" and it was all good.

My host family is really treating me like family: my first conversation with my host mother began with her asking me if I was single. The follow-up was "Don't you WANT to get married??" I think she went on to tell me that I just hadn't met the right person, but Im not sure. As if that wasn't classic enough, the next day on a walk through town with my host mother, I saw two of the guys I shared a van with from San Jose. I introduced my host mother. As we walked away she told me "Your friends are cute." When I was noncommital, she said "Did you hear me?? Did you understand me??" I was impressed - usually my "I don't understand what you're getting at" schtick works.

When I am in a non-English speaking country, I always start to lose my English about two days in. This is particularly aggravating because there is not a concomittant gain of the local language. However, not speaking the language is oddly like being a child again - I can let conversations just wash over me and not pay attention at all.

.........

La Fortuna is a fairly small town centered around the tourist industry (mainly related to the nearby Arenal volcano.) Having said that, I have had a few unusual moments. I can safely say that I've never been hit on by a guy twirling a lovely purple parasol, nor have I had a guy ride by on horseback in full-on cowboy gear and tip his hat.

I went on a zipline tour Monday morning. It was fantastic, with view of the volcano and Lake Arenal (the largest man-made lake in Central America.) So far, everything I've done here, I'd do again. Yesterday, we went on a hike incorporating many of the hanging bridges in the area. The rainforest is surprisingly loud, full of cicada sounds and water rushing somewhere. It is so lush and verdant, it is hard to remember that it's all based on competition - for light, for water, for soil and nutrients.

.........

School has started and (shock of shocks) I am in the absolute beginner class. Speaking French, so far, seems to be pretty helpful in understanding the vocabulary we are learning. The real problem is that I need time to study everything we are learning. I have 4 hours of class a day, and maybe half an hour to an hour to study. I could skip some of the activities (for example, today we have dance class), but that seems like an unhappy compromise. I think I have resolved myself to having a lot of material to work through once I am home.

Travelogue: San Jose

Even at 1:30 in the morning, my fellow flighmates believed in cologne. And, apparently, a lot of it. I sat in the departure lounge and tried to rest my nose after the olfactory overload of the security checkpoint. Surprisingly, five different passengers came up to ask me questions .... in Spanish. Somehow, my telling them that I didn´t speak Spanish didn´t phase them at all. They continued in Spanish.

A guy from my school met me at the airport. I walked out of customs to find him with a piece of paper with my name pressed up against the glass. I felt like such a big wig! Of course, a big wig would never use the word "big wig."

Carlos drove me to the guest house and passed on safety tips ... which were all tips anyone who has traveled before, or frankly anyone who has lived in a city before, would know. But it was kind of sweet, kind of like having a local father. Driving from Alajuela (where the airport is) to San Jose proper, I was shocked by how much the area reminds me of Malaysia, and to a lesser extent India. The flora, the smells, the architecture, the "style of driving" etc.

San Jose does not have a lot going for it - it is a crowded city with absolutely no street signs. The address of my guest house? "Near the Pizza Hut, Paseo Colone" Not that you'd ever know it was the Paseo Colone. Not exactly tourist friendly.

I'm very glad I did the welcome package offered by my school. My first full day in Costa Rica, I went on a highlight tour with two other women staying at the guest house and some other tourists. We saw a coffee plantation, the Poas Volcano, La Paz waterfall, had lunch in a rainforest lodge (complete with tree frog sightings!) and took a boat down the Sarapiqui river. On the Sarapiqui, our guide would hightail it near shore everytime he spotted fauna he thought we should check out. So we saw big-ass iguanas, caimans (!), a crocodile (!!), bats, howler monkeys, etc. The animals here are a little unbelievable. For example, the tree frogs look like toys - teeny tiny and so brightly colored. I knew that they would be, but it's still difficult to look at one and think "You're so cute. When you are stressed you sweat out a deadly neurotoxin that can be absorbed by skin." Caimans and crocodiles? Yeah, that's Discovery Channel/Nature special type stuff. Logically, I always knew that they really existed, but coming face to face with it is a different story.

On Saturday, I went river rafting on the Rio Pacuare. Class III and IV rapids. Um, I've never been river rafting before. Why did I only realize that this could be an issue when our van was bumping down towards the boat put-in?? The road is on private property and was so steep dropping down to the river that it had switchbacks. Our guide was telling some apparently riveting story to the driver, who kept half an eye on him. I watched the drop, inches away from our tires, and wished that I could say "eyes on the road, buddy!" Of course, he's absolutely used to the drive (at least that's what I kept telling myself.)

Our group consisted of a bunch of American girls, and French guys. Not sure how it worked out that way (none of the Americans were traveling together.) The guides split us up into two groups. Not surprisingly, the girls got the male guide (the captain of the Costa Rican rafting team, I'll have you know.) The guys had the female guide (a member of the Costa Rican women's rafting team.) With about 5 minutes of explanations (NOT ENOUGH), we were on our way. Manuel was an awesome guide and gave us a really good ride - whenever we went through some really great rapids, we'd turn to watch the French guys. It always seemed like they were having a tamer time.

There was a slight mishap after lunch, our "safety kayak"er had his paddle break while he was in the middle of an eskimo roll, while he was stuck under he struck a rock really hard. With his chin. He came up bleeding, but with his teeth intact, thankfully. The kayak was stored on the French boat, and he hopped in with us (and yes, more than one person ribbed him by saying that if he wanted to paddle with the girls, he could have just asked.)

At one point, Manuel and Luis stood up on the edge of the raft to look at something down river. This, of course made us really nervous. When asked, Manuel said "well, there'a class V rapid that I think you could do." Uh, WHAT?!?!?! Yeah, well we did it. Later on, we went through a potentially dramatic situation. Somehow, we got stuck on a rock - you could hear the rubber squealing. Time slowed down - the woman sitting in front of me turned to look at me, and said "Oh shit" as the front of the boat went underwater. Somehow, we all got through that with everyone in the boat!

I was pleasantly exhausted after rafting. It really was a lot of fun, and it gave me a much better impression of how lush the area is. I've been meaning to go rafting in California, and now I'm more motivated to make that happen.

The next day, I headed to La Fortuna - near the Arenal volcano.

Jinx

Dateline: Miami

I was swirling a glass of shiraz at dinner when I jokingly said, "I'm making it an early night - I'll go to one bar, but I'm not coming home at 4 am wearing someone else's shoes." Famous last words. I know better than to make simple, declarative statements challenging the universe to prove me wrong.

After dinner (and drama)en famille with the rest of the firm's litigators, some of the cool kids hopped over to the Hotel Delano. A lot of people had noted that South Beach reminded them of L.A. in terms of the vacuous pandering to appearance. I don't think I really understood what they meant until we hit the Delano. I saw people (I'd say "women", but I'm not sure) in shapes, sizes, and colors not known to Nature. There was one woman who, I swear, was the exact shade of Crayola Crayon's Burnt Sienna.

We settled around a table near the gorgeous pool. The weather was perfect, the conversation was kickin' and before you know it the lights went on, the international symbol for "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here." We headed across the street to the 24-hour Cuban food joint. Trust me when I say that it was the best food I had during my entire trip to Miami. We hailed two cabs and headed back to the hotel.

And here's where the misadventure starts.

Our cabbie was .... a little odd. He didn't pull over to the curb when we hailed him, and then quietly admonished us that he could get in trouble for stopping in the middle of the street. This was a bad sign, but one we didn't really notice at the time. Hint 2 might have been when he ran the red light and nearly T-boned another car. I'll let that sink in. The best part was that he started questioning us as to what had happened. Each of us said some version of "dude, YOU had the red." At this point, he had slowed down to about 15 mph, and was sort of clutching at his chest/feeling his forehead. (He was a young guy, so no real worry of a coronary.) I realized that the situation was getting desperate, so I tried to console him and said that running reds happens to everyone at some point, etc. How insane is that? But I just wanted to get back to the hotel and get in bed.

Driving, driving, driving.....slowly realizing that the guy doesn't know where the hotel is. And that he didn't/wouldn't radio to find out where it is. Finally, the associate from NY took charge and declared that we were close enough. We piled out of the cab and started walking. Walking. Our faithful 'Papa Smurf' led us in the direction and everything was going fine until we ran smack into a fence. Ladies and gentlemen, we had to hop the fence. In my case (and Amiga's) this meant hopping a fence in a dress and heels. I hate hopping fences in the best of circumstances, and this certainly wasn't ideal.

On the beach, it was magically quiet. The ocean, the stars, the stacked beach chairs....everything just seemed still, suspended. We set up some beach chairs, and the Parisian associate stripped down to his boxers to take a swim. It turned into a game of Marco Polo, every few minutes, one of us would raise our head off of our chaise lounge and call out "Antoine?" and he'd respond from the water. The insects started biting and we gathered ourselves for the home stretch.

Finally, finally in our hotel! Amiga and I shared the elevator. When she fumbled for her room key, I told her she should just sleep on the other bed in my room - it was 6 am for pete's sake. As she pulled the key from her purse, she said that she would have just gone down to the front desk for a new one if she hadn't been able to find it. We parted ways and I sauntered down my hallway, feeling the carpet underneath my toes, dangling my heels in my left hand. I slid the key card in, and .... nothing.

So, I headed back to the elevator, down to the reception desk. I used my best model walk (head high! shoulders back!) to glide across the lobby. I imagine I was a bit of a sight: dress, heels, full makeup, sand clinging to my ankles. Not surprisingly, the desk clerk asked for picture ID. I floated back to the elevator knowing full well that I looked like a "Walk of Shame." The whipped cream with cherry on top, for me, was calling back down to the same desk clerk to schedule a wake-up call and having him say "Have a good night." We both knew it was 6:15 am!!

The next day, we found out that the other cab was back at the hotel by 4:30 am. Nice.

So what happened? I joked about not coming home at 4 am wearing someone else's shoes, and I ended up coming home at 6 am wearing no shoes at all. Lesson learned: do not thumb your nose at the universe, because it will thumb right back.

Oceanic

Amsterdam is one of my favorite cities in the world. On my last trip there, I memorialized it by taking a picture on the street I stay on, Kloveniersburgwaal Straat (along the Kloveniersburgwaal Grachten - the Cavalier's canal.) In it, I can see a few bicyclists (cars are verboten in the city center), two of which are riding and holding hands. The street is lined with amsterdamers - knee-high metal posts designed for colliding with tourists. The picturesque bridge, and the canal itself complete the picture.

I used to keep that photo on my desk before law school (and, I might add, before the advent of digital photography.) Whenever I was stressed, I would pick up the picture. I would meditate on it until I could place myself on the street, feel the weight of my backpack, hear the guttural Dutch being spoken around me, smell the Bloomenmarket around the corner.

The picture above is of sunrise as seen from the beach on Key Biscayne. It was my last day in Miami, and I spent it doing "the circuit": ocean, pool, hot tub. The "photo op" found me curled up on a chaise lounge, wrapped up in a fluffy terry robe, and thinking deep thoughts. I've always had a thing for the beach, but not in that tan-tastic way. The ocean humbles me in an oddly comforting way. It existed before me, and will continue after me. My problems, fears, insecurities, anxieties, hang-ups, concerns, etc are but a drop in the ocean. With my feet firmly planted on the beach, I still feel absolved.

I think this picture may be my new Amsterdam

Stay on These Roads

Two good friends are considering a joint trip to l'Espagne (which I recommend to anyone, by the way.) As part of their negotiation process, they have been revealing neurosis in a game of bizarro one-upsmanship.

Recently, I spoke to my favorite Good Ole Boy and encouraged him to come to Ireland with me in August (a law school friend is getting married there.) As much as I'd love to hear the Southern drawl meet the Irish lilt, my spontaneous offer has caused me to think about the things that make me a, um, "more challenging" person to travel with. In no particular order, here's the list:

• I am not a morning person, but I come off like I am. I can't really interact with people in the first 20-30 minutes that I am up (and woe be unto you if you try.) That is very much me time, and I like to spend it quietly. After that, I can be pretty gregarious. Because I tend to wake up way early, things are out of synch: I'm superchatty while the other person is still hatching. Not pretty.
• I am, in some ways, more of a vacationer than a traveler. My father is of the school of thought that if there are 10 things to see in a city and you are there for 1 day, by God(s), you will see them all. I, on the other hand, would rather see 2 in the morning and spend the afternoon in a cafe watching people walk by. This is one reason why I like traveling alone - I went to Paris and skipped the Louvre because the line was too damn long, but spent 5 hours in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. When it's just you, you're all you have to think about.
• I'm randomly neurotic at meals. I can't sit with my back to an open room. I can't stand it when a table is covered in eaten dishes - I have to stack them. Both of these things are true right here at home, and don't change when I'm on the road.
• I'm very laidback, but that can make me resentful. Generally, if someone else has a strong preference for where they want to go for dinner etc., I'll go along with it because it's usually not a big thing for me. BUT, when I'm traveling with someone who is pickier than me, I eventually reach a point where I become enraged. Why should I, by dint of the fact that I'm not that picky, always have to cede? And it's entirely my fault. It's my fault because, of course, I don't have to. If when I push back, the person resists, I really seethe. All me, all me. I know.
• I'm a brazen hussy. Okay, not really - but I am much more forward about meeting people when I'm abroad. If you're a fellow traveller, or staying at the same hostel, or look like you speak English - I'll invite you along. (This isn't so different from what I am like State-side, just ... more so.)
• "Turning Japanese"(as one travel friend calls it. And, yes, I do know what the song is actually about.) I take a lot of pictures, and it's not always obvious what I'm snapping away at. I have a penchant for metalwork, flowers, and food. I have entire trips where I have no pictures of the actual people involved.

Um, so who's up for a road trip????

Lisboa

I say Lisbon

When I arrive from the south and cross the river

And the city opens up as if born from its name

It opens and rises in its nocturnal vastness

In its long shimmering of blue and of river

In its rugged body of hills

...

Lisbon, with its name of being and nonbeing

With its meanders of astonshment, insomnia, and shacks

And its secret theatre sparkle

Its masklike smile of intrigue and complicity

While the wide sea stretches westward

Lisbon swaying like a sailing ship

Lisbon, cruelly built next to its own absence

- Sophie de Mello Bremner

I took this photo in Lisbon (in Portugese, it`s spelled Lisboa and pronounced more like LEASH-boa, but don`t take it from me - my Portguese is somewhere between nonexistent and horrendous.)

I spent last New Year's in Lisbon. The old ladies running our pensão (i.e. pension) in the Alfama exhorted us in sign language to, apparently, wear skimpy clothing and go out and shake our booties. My Portugese is awful, but I'm not half bad at charades. Around 11 pm, we bundled up and headed down to the Praça do Comercio - Lisbon's big square on the water.

They had been building a huge stage in the square for a few days, and mounting enough lights and pyrotechnics for a Pink Floyd show. When we arrived in the square, some Portugese group was totally rocking out. Clearly, the audience knew and loved them. I was amazed by the audience: there were infants in strollers, kids running around, parents, and grandparents. We walked around, weaving between the families and young couples velcroed together (if you didn't know, Europe is the Land of PDA.)

Shortly before midnight, we headed up to the Barrio Alto, on one of Lisbon's seven hills, to a little spot we had found the night before overlooking the square. We played a little elbow hockey along the railing with other people who had had the same idea, and then watched the fireworks in amicable silence. Having been raised in D.C., I wasn't transfixed by the fireworks - but how can I complain? I was in Lisbon!

The Barrio Alto has a thriving bar scene, and we definitely took part. The area is full of narrow, hilly streets, and after midnight - they were thronging with revelers. In one bar, I saw the fado student we'd watched sing in a hole-in-the-wall two nights before. I kept running into the same couple and, after hearing me speak English, they introduced themselves. (They turned out to be an English couple working in Portugal.) We chatted with some guy from Cape Verde who had lots of questions about how Americans see Portugal. (I used to get the analagous quesiton a lot when I lived in Canada.)

Our walk "home" was punctuated by shouts of "Bom Ano!" and we replied with the same.

Bom Ano, y'all!

.........

The photo is a view of the Discoverers` Monument, which is designed to look like a sailing shop from the so-called "Age of Discovery." In the background, you can see the suspension bridge that brought us into and out of Lisbon. The little teeny looking tower next to the bird is actually "Cristo Rei" - the statute of Christ with his arms outstretched (a larger version stands in Rio de Janeiro.)

There was one "Portugese in translation" phrase that I *LOVED*. In our pensão, there was a sign that reminded us that, "Please, you must pay in the moment." When we went for Goan food, the waiter told us the vegetable curry was taking longer because it was "being made in the moment." "In the moment" - how very zen.

Issue 7: Nuestra Senora la Reyna de Los Angeles de Porciuncula

For those who don’t make it all the way through my posts, I’ll open up with the two highlights of my trip to LA. The first occurred before I even left the airport! Some guys who were on the flight with me were picked up by their friends in what can only be described as a home-made limousine. From what I saw, I think that they took some beat-up Lincolns, cut them apart, and welded them together. Not to worry, they didn’t mask their handiwork by painting their creation – it rolled by in all of its glory. It was unexpected, tacky, ostentatious and utterly LA.

The second highlight: Fourth of July. After a few beers, my friend’s partner’s brother (did you follow that?) asked me if I was a Hari Krishna. The evidence: I don’t eat red meat, and I was wearing a purple scarf. (This reminded me of being asked by a good friend (you know who you are!) whether I was a lesbian. Evidence: I had lesbian friends in college, and I used to have short hair.) Friend’s partner was sort of embarrassed, but I thought it was hilarious. But it’s a good thing that he said it to me at this point in my life – if someone had asked me that in college, I would have flipped out.

We watched the fireworks from the street – we could see a number of "official" shows, and more than a few "amateur" shows. Not so amateur, really. While we had the legal kind, a lot of people in the neighborhood had bought fireworks from Tijuana – to my eye, exactly like the professional kind. It’s a little unnerving looking up at big (DRY) palm trees, and watching fireworks burst just above them.

It was weird to be in LA for the fireworks – I missed DC: the warm wet blanket of humidity, the monuments. Maybe you just want holidays the way they were while you were growing up. Somehow, I’ve managed to spend the big holidays away from home recently. Christmas in Granada, New Year’s in London, the 4th of July in LA. I love travelling, but in some ways – I want to wake up Christmas morning in the uncomfortable twin bed in my parents’ house, spend New Year’s with the ever-youthful Dick Clarke, etc.

I came down to LA to visit my college friend ILTSAE. Saturday, I spent going on a cheesy bus tour of LA – the Hollywood Bowl, Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, Rodeo Drive, you name it. I need to do cheesy tourist stuff more often. Sunday, I went to ILTSAE’s softball tournament, and Monday (after recovering from July 4th) – we spent at the mall! We saw "Spiderman 2" in the nicest theater I’ve ever been in (and I’m picky), and spent an inordinate amount of time in Borders (another of my favorite things – although I’m enough of a snob to prefer independent book stores.) At dinner, I saw my high school friend Scarlet who is moving to New York later in the week. I have the best timing. Overall, a weekend with old friends. I’ve been developing a new theory on friendship – I think the friends who knew you during certain critical phases of your life, such as high school & college, have deeper insight into you than people you meet at other (happier?) times in your life.

I can’t believe the summer is half over…before I know it, I’ll be back in DC complaining about school and missing the people here.

Issue 5: Sin City

This past weekend was my best friend Pat’s bachelorette party – in Vegas! My luck began on the flight out to Vegas. I was seated in the back of the plane, along with 25 Irish guys on their way to a bachelor party. The drink cart never made it past our section. As the flight attendant would try to move forward, someone she had served three rows back would order another round. They insisted on buying me drinks. Thus, at the end of the 1.5 hour flight, I was 1.5 sheets to the wind.

Las Vegas is over 100 degrees during the day – it felt just like DC! We headed down to Freemont St. Now, earlier in the week, my officemate Mike taught me how to play blackjack. Apparently, this is something everyone knows how to do, another hole in my basic knowledge. BUT, I’ll be honest, I didn’t gamble – I’m not ready for that yet.

Saturday night we went to see …."The Thunder from Down Under!!" That’s right – a "male revue." I’m not really allowed to talk about the show because of that famous adage "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas", but I think that I can talk about what I did. I touched a stripper!! He had a very firm…handshake. I’ll be honest, I was scared of the women at the show. We spent the rest of the evening checking out some of the casinos on the strip.

Vegas, and the Strip in particular, are unimaginable if you haven’t been here. It’s all about OVER THE TOP! Lights! Neon! Immense Scale! The buffet tables are longer, everything stays open late, late, late etc. etc. It’s like an adult (and I do mean "adult") version of Chuck E. Cheese. And I didn’t like it. I should have been dazzled by everything, and on some level I was, but mostly I was thinking, "Fall of Rome…Fall of Rome!" Surprisingly, Vegas brought out my granola side: I couldn’t stop thinking that all the time, energy, and money that went into the edifices on the Strip could have been used for good. While the girls gambled, I went and bought a book at one of the Mandalay Bay stores. So, I found my own perfect little experience in Vegas: reading "Madame Bovary" at midnight, watching the casino-goers float by. There’s nothing funnier than seeing a bride (full-on big, white, "I am a cake" dress, etc.) playing a slot machine.

The next night, I took Pat to see "Zumanity", the Cirque du Soleil show at New York, New York. I’ve been a huge Cirque fan for years, so going to one of the shows resident in Vegas was a goal. (The other ones are O (aka the one in water), and Mystere.) When a Vegas ticket office warns you repeatedly about the adult content of a show, you know it’s going to be "interesting." And it was. I probably would have been shocked by some of the content at the beginning of my Vegas adventure, but that didn’t occur to me until later.

Vegas was eye-opening, thrilling, frightening, and thought-provoking… and I was thankful to get back to the Bay.