The Pillow Saga, pt. 1

It started two weeks ago.  I woke up with a backache and a pulling on my side.  At first, I think I just slept too long on one side.  But then it happens again the next night.

I have a sinking suspicion that this is pregnancy related.  But all I can think is: Are you kidding?  I'm 11 weeks along there, 11.  I can't imagine what it will be like when I'm 8 1/2 months along with a ginormous stomach to boot.

Needless to say, by the end of the week, I'm looking into maternity pillows.  Anything "maternity" seems to mean insanely expensive, so this option isn't too thrilling.

Imagine my luck when I take a trip to visit my parents and find out my brother has a body pillow...one he doesn't use.  As we're stealing his room from him while we're in town, I have the opportunity to use said pillow to my heart's content.

As sleep weighs heavy on my eyelids the first night, I crawl into bed.  Laying on my right, I snuggle into my body pillow as the Russian props an extra pillow against my back for support.  Perfect!  This should be a great night's sleep.  I don't even mind as I feel the Russian cuddling the pillow at my back.

I groggily wake up and wrestle my pillows around to face toward the Russian at some point.  (Of course, I can't spend the whole night on one side.)  A few hours later, I wake again and stumble down the hall to relieve myself.  Climbing back in bed, I realize something unfortunate - the Russian has a new best friend.  I go to grab my pillow, but it's cemented in his grasp.

Sleep slowly comes back to me, but I am devoid of my new comfort.  I wake again a few hours later, an ache slowly claiming my back.  That's it.  I grab the body pillow and pull with all my might.  The Russian finally lets go, sighs, and rolls over.

Victory at last!

(That's not to say that I didn't wake up with a backache again from spending half the night without the pillow...)

International differences

You know how they say there's no place like home?

Well, in Puerto Rico, it may seem almost like home (read: American territory), but it's scarily similar to my secondary home, Latin America.*

On one hand, you have the quintessential Latin American housing, on the other, Puerto Rico is cleaner than most countries in the Caribbean/Latin America.  Flying into San Juan might at first glance appear to be like flying into any American city:  soaring skyscrapers, highways, and parking lots.  However, upon a sight longer glance, it's like flying into Latin America: below you is chaotic traffic, rusty metal roofs, and overgrown vegetation typically around fascinating graffiti.  The metal roofs are what mainly give it away from the air.

Buildings in Puerto Rico are either stately and tall, skyscrapers that you would expect to see in New York or Seattle, or they are squat and square with rusty metal roofs; plants and laundry blowing in the wind sit half-hidden on rooftop terraces.  It's an eclectic mix, although in the older parts of town (now historic sites), colonial spanish town homes dominate the streets.

After retrieving luggage and walking into the humid afternoon air, you could be in any large city around the globe.  However, zipping down the streets, it is fast apparent that you are not.  Street signs, although identical to U.S. signs, are written in Spanish.  (Spanish and English are both national languages in Puerto Rico, although Spanish dominates.)  Approximately 85% of the advertising and stores you pass will be written in Spanish.  But that's not what sets the city apart - it is the driving conditions.  Unless you are a seasoned California driver, and maybe even not then, driving is hectic and indecipherable.  In old San Juan, the streets are cobblestone with a row of parallel parked cars lining the left side of the street.  At this point, I have flashes to the colonial part of Quito, which is the same, although the cobblestone is typical beige, not blue as it is in San Juan.  What in the States is considered one lane would be made into two, or at least one lane and a row of cars.  I can literally reach my hand out the window and touch the car next to us.  Latin American driving at it's finest.**

While staring out the windows hoping like mad that you don't die in an accident, familiar and less familiar signs pop into view.  Pizza Hut.  Pueblo.  McDonalds.  St. Germain. Bar de Tapas.  Wendy's.  Ben & Jerry's.  The island is overrun with U.S. restaurants.  Traditional comida puertoriquena is available in street kiosks as well as restaurants and identifies more with Ecuadorian cuisine than American or Mexican.  Plus, don't expect great service in a restaurant - they seem to have accepted the Spanish tendency to linger over meals.

*I know, I just married a Russian.  I should get over this whole "Latin America" fixation...***

**The worst driving I have seen in my travels is in Mexico, where it appears there are no rules when it comes to the road.  Second place is Costa Rica, with Ecuador coming up third...almost  a tie with San Juan.

***(It's not going to happen.)

Nights in the rainforest

A sunny day as I enter the Amazon basin

It is commonly accepted that the white noise of nature is soothing and helps one relax.  Many people in the world use nature sounds to lull them to sleep every night.

I decided to join their prestigious ranks.

This decision was mainly based upon the fact I like to listen to music to fall asleep.  However, it could possibly be said that the music that appeals to me on certain nights does not lead to restful sleep.

My solution:  Rainforest sounds.

Perfect, right?  I mean, the rainforest is my favorite place on earth (somebody should tell the fiancé before it's too late and I make him move there).  There's nothing like laying there and hearing the rainforest swelling around you, enveloping you in it's humid grasp.

So, what did I do?  I downloaded several rainforest tracks and when it came time to place my head down on feathers and let sleep claim me, I was ready.  The unmistakable rise and fall of the oropendola's call flutters to my ears and assaults me with memories of the impossible task of trying to sleep early mornings with oropendolas nesting right next to the camp.   The burping call of another feathered friend reminds me of pensive moments along the riverbank.  The intermittent rain reminds me of the sudden storms while out on multi hour treks and how we used gigantic banana leaves as makeshift umbrellas.  The soft humming of the huatzin's four stomachs reminds me of how their mismatched oddities came to be familiar with each trip to the lagoon. The cadence of various birds shifting across the background dredges up memories of early morning bird tours in tiny dug out canoes, as well as afternoons sitting at camp watching the Indigenas playing soccer.

I miss the jungle - the sights, the sounds, the smells of it.

The night track brings me back to every night I lay on my mattress, enshrouded in my mosquito net that didn't always quite keep the bugs out if the door wasn't zipped completely closed at all times.  I remember wolf spiders in the showers, cicadas of surprising size that paid a visit to our evening candlelit cuarenta games.  A bewildered marsupial who waddled into our haphazard kitchen one evening, and on another, our surprise visit from a nocturnal monkey.  There were times where I just sat and looked at the stars in the night sky.*

Night falling in la laguna after fishing, a swim, and bird watching.
After dark, we search for caiman.

Memory after memory came back to me as I lay on my bed:  The snooty German who insisted on leaving after the first intolerable night filled with insect noises.  The friendly Germans who used me as a translator when our guide spoke no English.  The American couple on their honeymoon.  The Ecuadorian couple who were newly dating.  The one man who snored so loudly no one slept at night.  Walking through the swamp and misstepping into water up to my knee.  Searching for anacondas to no avail.  Waiting for various bugs to crawl off of me (most notably the wolf spider, but there was a conga ant on a trip before that - they have a nasty bite).  Catching a blue and orange fish on accident.  Grating yucca.  Letting bright blue butterflies land in my hair.  Spotting a double rainbow twice in the same day.

Things on the verge of being forgotten seeped their way to the forefront.  This, perhaps, isn't a good way to sleep.  I have a rather active imagination and what used to be a good memory before grad school.  Laying in a dark room listening to sounds from my past transports me back to every moment I spent there.

On one hand, it makes me homesick.  But...it does bring a smile to my face.

What is not happening at night is sleep.  My mind awakens with memories of the mysterious swirling through the dark.  If I want to sleep, I might have to switch to ocean waves...or maybe just rain.

*I've done it with binoculars on several occasions.  Ever tried?  What we perceive as merely dark sky isn't, when you look through binoculars.  Instead of being covered by a blanket of stars, we are at the bottom of a million-mile-high pile of them.  It's breathtaking.

Pet peeves: Travel edition

Travel can be stressful, but some behaviors can make it even more so.  In honor of the traveling season, here are my can't-stand behaviors for air travel.

1.  Going against the flow while boarding.  It takes long enough for everyone to shove their way onto the plane and stow luggage that won't fit into itty bitty compartments.  Let's compound the issue by choosing to stall everyone while your worshipfulness decides to edge backwards in the onboard line.

2.  Arguing with the stewardess when asked to change seats.  Planes have to obey the laws of physics and gravity just like everything else.  If you are specifically asked to change seats to balance the plane, there must be a reason.  Alternatively, if you are asked to change seats so a family/friends can sit together, will it really kill you to make the trip slightly more enjoyable for someone else?  Or must we all bow down to your grace?

3.  Not being ready to unload your bags for security slows everyone down.  It's not as if you've been standing in the line for 10+ minutes listening to the voice (and the tv) drone on about what is allowed by TSA and what is not, or the procedure for removing shoes and coats and placing them in tubs as well.  Arguing with security personnel won't get you through any faster.  Do everyone a favor and remove your shoes so at the very least we can kiss your feet as you walk through the checkpoint.

4.  Ignoring onboard safety instructions.  The flight attendants are required to explain the safety procedures for a reason.  A review is always helpful.  Plus, even a queen mother explains to her child that it is rude to not listen when someone speaks to you.  (On a side note, even Alec Baldwin needs to listen to the flight attendants when they ask him to turn electronics off.  I don't want to die so your highness can be an idiot.)

Brazilian travels

I'm watching Globetrekker. Tonight it's a peppy British woman who overreacts to everything she puts in her mouth, which is a lot, being that the show is featuring traditional food of Brazil.

Not surprisingly, she loves the vast majority of the food. The main exception is the really dumb things, like randomly grabbing a fruit from the Amazon and shoving it in her mouth. Of course, it turns out that that is the bitter one that needs to first be cooked.

I really shouldn't watch traveling shows. It makes me crave traveling yet again...and reminds me of my mouthwatering exploits. (There's a triangular, cotton candy-y white fruit on the ecuadorian coast that's unlike anything I've ever tried...and don't get me started on passionfruit...or mora ice cream.)

The biggest distraction - this lady should really add a bra to her ensemble.

But really, my advice: pass on the fresh coconut on the beach. It's bitter and smelly, and not in a good way. I will take one of those hot Brazilian men strutting by on the sand, though. Oh wait, did I say that?

Where am I?

With it still being dark at six in the morning when I return from the gym, the world seems different.

Take this morning, for example.  The moon is behind clouds and there's not a star in the sky.  My yard seems dark, being that the porch lights are dim.  It's not too late in the year for the sprinklers to be running, though.

I walk up to the door, and it's mostly quiet...but the sprinklers are going in the garden pressed against the porch.  The garden features fat, red blossoms and large, dark green leaves.  It's dark.  It smells like water.  I see plants and tropical flowers.  I hear water.

For a split second I feel like I'm in the rain forest.

Okay, maybe my imagination is too quick at inventing new adventures.  (It takes about 0.00000001 second before it's veering off in a new direction.)  But I had the weird feeling I was there.  Perhaps the jungle is calling me back.  Maybe it's my longing to go to the rain forest again... to see the monkeys, walk for hours among millions of trees, catch a piranha or two...

Maybe I'd even see a pink dolphin again.  They only live in the Amazon, you know.  Or perhaps I could encounter another anaconda sunning himself in a tree.

Close, but not too close, to a lovely little big friend

I quickly shook off the moment and stepped through the door.  I know I'm not near any tropical forests.  I just want to go back.  (Who's with me?)

Learning something new

The sun is outside to play, clouds are sulking around the corner, and the day sparkles with adventure.  Brilliant blue beckons at the soul to come out and play.

After a late, lazy morning, filled with huckleberries and pancakes, one can only hope to partake in the something new that twinkles on the horizon.  The air is warm and softly teases pink cheeks as the sun laughs down.

It's a lovely day to be alive, to breathe in the scent of pine as you manage yard work.  Today is warmer than the past few, more lively, and happy to see you.  Fall is on it's way, but summer has yet to bid it's final farewell.  Once again you can leave the house clad in shorts.  Tonight will be warm enough to enjoy a picnic in the serenity of the backyard with the company of friends or a good book.

And so today, before the evening warmth comes, it is time to meander along the river and let peace flow over you.  Of course, if you should happen to wander off the Centennial Trail and climb on the rocks along the shore, new items will delight you.

Grasshoppers jump hurriedly away from you...bugs swirl on top of the water...mini waterfalls spread around you as water cascades between rocks...and if you look over toward your companion, you might happen to notice a reddish tint in the water.  Peering a little closer from your perch on top of a boulder, you notice it looks a bit like a lobster.  Curiously (yet gently) poking at it with a stick to 1) see what it really is and 2) show your friend where you're looking, it darts down.

It is a lobster!

Okay, well, technically a crawdad/crayfish/crawfish.  It's surprising how red his body is, as he stumbles along the murky rocks.  After a few minutes he disappears from your view on your vantage point.  Who knew there were crawfish in the Spokane River?  Kind of neat, actually, although surprising, given how contaminated the Spokane River is.

They do say you learn something new every day.

There's Machu Picchu, now turning...turning...

Image:  Arvind Balaraman/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Just kidding!  I haven't been to Machu Picchu...

Yet.

The travel section is, was, and always will be where you can find me in a book store.  Walking into Barnes and Noble, I instinctually know where my books are, as if the wild aroma of adventure wafts over to me from the small section marked travel essays.

With a quick wave to my companion, I veer off in the direction of my books.  If the manfriend is lucky, I'll order a drink before disappearing into the books.

God's Middle Finger:  Into the Lawless Heart of the Sierra Madre.  I'm going to have to read more of that, but let's see what else.  Too Much Tuscan Sun.  Hmmm...maybe.  Into Thin Air.  I dunno.  I'll Never Be French.  That's for sure.  Turn Right at Machu Picchu.  What's this?  Machu Picchu? The book brazenly demands of you before it is even opened.  I...just...might...  I glance at the back.  Alright, I will turn at Machu Pichhu.  That is, if I ever get there.

I stride back to the table reserved by the manfriend and remaining "half" of a tiramisu parfait, my eyes too busy scanning the first pages of the text to notice the missing part of my dessert.  The  next hour escapes my notice as Mark Adams guides me through his background.

Manfriend:  Ready to go?

Me:  blank stare

Manfriend:  Ready?

Me:  You're buying me this book?

Manfriend:  Can't you get it from PaperBack Swap*?

Me: Not available... You're buying me this book?

Manfriend:  How much?

Me:  (glancing around) Uhhh, $27?

Manfriend:  Isn't it cheaper online?

Me:  You're buying me this book now, or I'm buying it online.  Today.

Manfriend:  How much online?

Me: $17.

Manfriend:  pointed look

Me:  Fiiiiiiine.

I don't know that he believed me, but by the time we walked through the front door, the book was bought and paid for online.  It's addicting, both funny and interesting.  Mr. Adams manages to wind his story of adventure traipsing around in the Amazon with that of the Inca and how Machu Picchu came to be discovered after so many years by Hiram Bingham.

The Amazon.  The Inca.  Rainforest.  The Andes.  Discovery.  History.  Latin America.  It reminds me of all that time I spent in Ecuador, yet with my favorite learning thrown in.  When will this book get here?

I pace around the house, count the days.  Hellooooo, universe, (or Amazon), I'm waiting!

Finally!  Finally.  At long last, it's here!

I might be MIA for the next few days as I get lost in the world of books, but it'll be worth it.  Feel free to entertain yourself in this lull by buying your own copy of the book here.

All anyone's going to see of me in the next few days

*PaperBackSwap is a free online book trading community that mails requested books between members, which is a great way to recycle books and make them more affordable.  Go check it out!

The French

Some things we assume are too fantastical for real life. You know, the man cruising down the street, head protruding from the sunroof as he thrusts flowers in the air and declares "I love you" for all the world to hear. Or the man showing up at the airport as the woman's plane departs, only to turn around and have her standing behind him saying "I couldn't go."

The man so smitten by love (after staring at a woman for 5 minutes), that he's willing to do anything to make her happy. The woman so beautiful traffic comes to a stop as she walks down the street.

Scratch that. I've seen that one.

She was gorgeous, to be honest. Beautiful, with an almost universal appeal (only one of my guy friends could resist her charm blasting from a photo). A Frenchwoman with some Spanish mixed in, with large ember eyes and a mass of jet black hair, the professors at Academia Latinoamerica called her a gypsy*.

Being one of the few students at the superior level of classes lumped this Frenchwoman and me together for the bulk of her stay in Ecuador. We traveled together and whiled away time in Quito.

One afternoon we decided to book a trip to the rain forest. Walking down the street in La Mariscal (the tourist section of the city), traffic stopped. On her account. She was merely strolling down the dirty street with me a couple of paces behind.

It started with one car. Then two.  Traffic literally stopped to watch her walk.

In a country where blonde hair and blue eyes are prized, she stopped traffic with long black hair and flirtatious eyes. Yes, she was beautiful. With a look, she could promise a man forever and merely a moment. She had the art of seduction down to an art.

But stopping traffic? I'm impressed. It's certainly never happened to me before.

*much to her consternation. In France, it seems, being a gypsy has negative connotations, whereas in Latin America, gypsies are though of as exotic and beautiful.

Since I started the theme...

Spiders. Yes, they are much hated and feared. I'm truly sorry if you have to quickly click past this post for fear a spider will come to life from your screen and attack you.

I figured that since I had been posting about eight legged creatures I should share something I'm sure most of you have never seen or heard of.

A scorpion spider.

I thought it was a joke when the then-manfriend pointed him out while walking in the rain forest.

Manfriend: (up ahead and halfway behind a tree) "Ven aca! Check this out, friends."

Me: "What am I looking for?"

Manfriend: "Aquí. A scorpion spider!" he gestures toward the ground about a foot from the tree.

Me: "Scorpion spider? I don't believe you. I've never heard of a scorpion spider...(he must be joking)...and all I see is a black stick."

Manfriend: "Sí. Es the spider."

Me: "Uhm, what?" I peer harder at the stick.

All of a sudden I see it. It is a spider! With long, long legs. And claws. Long, scary looking claws, that he can apparently use to reach out and catch prey. Its like a daddy long legs on crack. With claws. And a disproportionately large body. And have I mentioned the claws? With teeth?  (Look closely.)  Kinda cool, but most definitely weird.

I'm just glad I'm a human and not whatever it is that they eat.  That would be a horrible, ugly death.

On the topic of spiders...

Spiders don't really bother me.  I generally leave them alone unless they are invading my space bubble (read: touching me).  Out in nature, they play their role and are good for the environment.  But once they are on my turf, it's action time, which I've said before.

I am, after all, a spider murderer. I don't require someone else to do my dirty work or a man to come save the day. I am my own hero. Plus, if I'm invading their space, I acknowledge that and sidestep out of their way.

Not much frightens me, truth be told. (Now, jumping tarantulas that can also "walk" on water due to their furriness, that's another thing...) As a result, I can very happily be found trekking through the rain forest ahead of the other tourists with no hesitation.

Spiders? Who cares. Snakes? Not a problem, we'd catch them as kids. Millipedes?  Gross, but whatever.  Piranhas? (Okay, only in the water, but still...) Bring it on*. Conga ants who's bite will hurt for weeks? Just don't touch anything.  Poisonous frogs?  Cool, can I have one?

On one night walk in the jungle, our group of international tourists came across a wolf spider. My manfriend at the time generally felt the urge to provoke these arachnids into a defensive position for "more interesting" pictures. He was out of his mind. This time, though, he knew better.

Manfriend: "Alright, folks, everyone see the wolf spider?" aiming his flashlight at a branch ahead of us.

Illuminated on a branch 6 inches above our heads and two feet in front of me, a lone wolf spider waits for his prey.

Tourists: "Oh wow." (gasping and murmuring)

Manfriend: "Be careful walking under it. Don't bother him."

Alright, I'm off.

Tourists: "oh. Uhm..." (more gasping and murmuring)

Fearless, I walk on.  Honestly, he's not going to jump on you, people.  Just walk.

The Lucys (two tourists with the same name): "I'm scared." (whimpering)

Somehow, we all manage to walk on by the spider and continue our evening walk... for about 7 more minutes.  At one point, each person turns off their flashlight and we are consumed by the black of the rain forest as the songs of the insects creep steadily toward us. It is unnerving, this absence of visual stimulation, and overwhelming perception of sound and the sudden awareness of the aroma of damp earth and fresh rain.

Night walks are a unique experience that one rarely gets to glimpse on a quick tour to Cuyabeno.

Yet the spider appears to be too much for the Lucys. Among some tears and handholding, we turn back.  10 minutes?  Shortest jungle walk ever.  (They usually last hours.) In my head I'm screaming...not only for their inability to deal with a spider, but because they apparently need to be comforted with a hug or two, from my manfriend.

*Piranhas have an eerily aggressive reputation, but won't actually attack a human (because of our size) unless blood thirsty...meaning there are too many of them in too small a space because it's the dry season - in which case, they become cannibalistic.  If those are the conditions and you are bleeding, then they might attack.

Hearing things

Do you ever hear things? No, not voices in your head that tell you to do creepy things like stalk someone or bomb a building. Just, things.

Like right now, I swear I heard a panpipe. What do you mean "what are panpipes?" Panpipes, you know, the bunch of different lengths of tubes tied together. You blow into the end...It's a musical instrument from the Andes...

photo from brittanica.com

There is no music playing, no radio on. The neighbor's band does not feature a panpipe solo (although if it did, I might have to re-think my opinion of the band).

I'm just sitting outside, and suddenly I heard a few lilting notes, like a shaman was calling me back to Ecuador. It was real, I tell you. It did not sound like it was in my head. I didn't see anything strange, no twirling of brightly colored cloth, no dancing Andean singers began to bark (they do that in many traditional songs), I just heard it.

Dancer in Otavalo, Ecuador

A real noise.

Like panpipes.

But apparently not panpipes.

And no, before you ask, it wasn't the ice cream truck that stalks the neighborhood with odd songs.

I wonder what it was, apart from my overactive imagination coming back to life again. Does this happen to you, or am I really just that odd?

Everybody needs a monkey

A hug is like a strange you haven't finished yet. - Copernicus

The Bloggess recently posted about buying herself a stuffed monkey.  It's an awesome post, and if you don't read it, you really are missing out.  So go read it, and come back here.  I'll wait.

All of this talk about monkeys makes me miss one that I befriended in Ecuador.  (They're so cute!)  Picture this:  The year is 2008, you're in a damp rainforest miles away from any kind of road or town.  Civilization is long gone, a day up the river by canoe, and the plants slowly creep towards you.  The sounds are rain and insects and the deep drone of bees.

Out of the green that invades the air, a shot of black appears and launches itself at you.  Say hello to Pancha.

Pancha

Pancha is a monkey saved from poachers in Cuyabeno rainforest.  She lives at the Samoa camp ground with the guides who saved her.  Because she has spent so much time with people, she has become tame...

She eats with the tourists (sometimes off your plate if you're not careful), plays with the tourists, and even drinks from the sink.

Seeking refuge under the table...for the moment

And guess where her favorite place to sit is....that's it, on your shoulder, with her tail wrapped around your neck.  From this position, she will launch herself towards different items that interest her.  Of course, she holds on...with her tail.  It actually feels like the tail is stronger than her arms, which it might be...I'll have to google that at some point.  At first it's really odd to feel her holding on with her extra appendage, but you get used to it the longer she plays with you.

Do you see how the tail wraps around the neck?

The person who loved her the most is very likely my nephew.  They became close friends while we visited the jungle.  When we'd get back to camp every afternoon, she'd eventually make her way onto his shoulder.

Anyway, the point is, if you read The Bloggess's article, that a monkey really could strangle you, even a really cute one like Pancha.  She will, however, probably use her tail, and you wouldn't know until it was too late.

Fortunately for Pancha, she is not a homicidal monkey.  Nor is she being sold in a store.  (Nor is she a klepto like the monkeys I ran across in Costa Rica...they'll swing down and grab your hat off your head, or try to take your backpack).  She is living free and happy in her home.

A car's personality

Cruising down the road, it's not road rage or idiot drivers that catch my attention.  Well, sometimes I mutter under my breath at people that aren't driving very well.  What I really notice are the cars themselves...cars have faces (and personalities) they do.

Haven't you ever seen Herbie?  Or Cars?  C'mon now.  I'm not the only one that sees faces.  Geez.  You're the weird one, not me.

See?  It's a bunny!

You don't see it?  Well look here...(the ears are kinda hard to see at this angle, but trust me, they're there)

Now do you see it?  If you don't, look harder. Use a little imagination!

Alright, you found it.  *applause* Good.  Moving on... here's another one.  This time it's an embarrassed Asian...

No?  You don't believe me?  Look again.

Still no?  One last time...(I took the liberty of adding on hair)...

You finally saw it?  Oh good.  Let's find another, shall we?  This one is a manly car...

How do I know, you ask?  Well, keep looking...I forgot to label the large (wise?) forehead.  You do see it, don't you?

You still don't believe me, do you?  Let me draw you a picture...

There!  Got it...even though I picture the logo to be his nose, which is a bit too high on his face.  Oh well.  Plus, all the angles of the car make him seem manly...and for some reason I get the vibe that he's an older man, not as young as my drawing makes him seem...more mature, wise...

I hope you can now go out and find your own car faces.  Let me know what you come across...or what the car you drive looks like.  I mean, we do name our cars, don't we?  (I know a Lola, a Hilary, a Svetlana, and a Godzilla...)

Disclaimer:  It is not my intention to offend or harm anyone.  Every intent has been made to conceal the identity of the car owners.  If you feel that I have misused a picture of your car and would like it taken off my site, please feel free to contact me and request it's removal.

San Francisco touring

The one thing you cannot do as a tourist in San Francisco is avoid tours.  Well, you could, but then you'd miss half of the fun.

One of the places I wanted to see was the Rock.  Yes, Alcatraz.  Tickets were sold out for the next week, so there was no hope of me hopping on a tour to the infamous prison.  However, I was able to catch a bay cruise that motored me around the island and then on to other highlights in the bay.

The boat meandered under the Golden Gate Bridge, which was shyly hiding behind fog.  I have one thing to say about the bridge:  it's huge!  I find it interesting that it's so iconic of San Francisco that it is constantly being painted to keep it beautiful (and because it needs it with the salty sea air).

After walking back onto solid land, hunger descended upon me.  Hillstone, a restaurant just across the street from pier 33, looked pretty appetizing.  Of course, in order to get to the restaurant, you have to walk a block to a stoplight, then cross the street and walk back.  But it was worth it.

Hillstone was probably the best food in my entire San Francisco journey.  I got nervous approaching the door that exclaimed "proper attire required."  Does that mean dressy?  Who knows.  They let us in.  Waitstaff decked head to toe in black, and a too-happy hostess attempting a 70s look fit in with the dark wooden decor.

Being next to the water, many of the menu items were seafood.  I settled on a Chicken and Friends Sandwich.  (Not seafood)  It had chicken, it had ham, it had avocado.  Sold!  I didn't know it until my first bite, but it  had a house bbq sauce as well.  Scrumptious!  If you're in San Francisco, eat there.  Eat that.

Service was prompt, the food was delectable... though I think the waitress was in training.  When asked to repeat something or questioned about the one of the items she listed off, it was a blank stare for about 30 seconds before a very hesitant response.

The famous "Painted Ladies"

Moving along, after lunch was another walk along the piers to look for San Francisco bus tours.  An Australian teenager sold us on a hop-on hop-off bus tour.  We stayed on the bus through most of the route, given the hour (hopped on at 4:30 and most places closed around 5).  We saw the Painted Ladies (very cool), dropped off some Germans to "shop" on Haight and Ashbury, cruised by city hall with it's beautiful dome...

Did you know that George Lucas rents out a building on the Palacidio for $5 million a month?  Or that there's a Disney museum?

The one area I wanted to see was Golden Gate Park with the Modern Arts Museum, flower conservatory, and Japanese Tea Gardens.  Alas, it was too late on Friday...I consoled myself with the thought that maybe on Saturday we could go with the bbf (and pass on Ghirardelli Square?  I don't think so).

A day of eating in San Francisco

San Francisco is known for good great things.  One of those things is food.  High quality food is definitely on the to-do list while on vacation.  Not that I don't love the Lake, but I'm the one cooking the entire time.  San Francisco, on the other hand...I don't have to touch a pan.

Hopping off the plane at nearly 10:30 at night, I gave up hope on a nice dinner out.  The bbf not only managed to get out of work early enough to avoid the stress of hunting down the shuttle, she had ideas for dinner.  She hadn't had time to go out in San Francisco yet, having just moved and working 12 or 14 hour days.  Crazy.  I don't think I'd have the stamina to be a doctor.

In all of her amazingness, she had wanted to make a surprise dinner: Zuppa Toscana.  Mmmm.  So good.  However, with her long schedule and a crock pot that doesn't stay on for the requisite 14 hours, it wasn't to be.  Spaghetti with homemade sauce and some bread, that's what dinner morphed into.  Hey, we don't know where to eat at 11:30pm on a Wednesday... Kudos to her cooking, though.

I take it back, I did touch a pan.  Breakfast!  I can make it myself, so I did so.  The first day I opted to spend in the Exploratorium, which, while it has many interesting things to do, does not have a very thrilling food court.  I did have some quinoa salad that was pretty tasty, but that's about all I can say about lunch.

Walking around San Francisco for the remainder of the day worked up my appetite.  Dinner was going to be at a restaurant with the bbf.  However, she recommended we try an In and Out fast food joint, so, after a few hours of walking, the manfriend and I stumbled into one.  Not wanting to ruin a much tastier dinner, the we split a combo.

Photo from The Cheesecake Factory

Eventually, after looking in store after store around Union Square, we found a sweater to keep the manfriend somewhat warm in the windy city.  A bench in Union Square finally gave my feet a reprieve, where I happened to become very aware of The Cheesecake Factory.  Who can resist that?  Mango Key Lime?  Reese's Peanut Butter Chocolate?  Vanilla Bean?  Red Velvet? Triple Chocolate?  Too many options...I wanted to try one of each!  Alas, we settled on one per person...only three... (not that we didn't split every piece between the three of us).

Due to high demands at work, the bbf didn't get off until 10pm.  Our choice for dinner was a quaint thai restaurant, Them Phanom.  Only one problem - they close at 10:30.  By the time we arrive, they graciously tell us that they are already closed.  It's 10:15, of course they don't want to seat us.  Alright.  Walking back to the car, we spot a hole in the very dirty wall: Chili Cha Cha.  Okay, we'll give that a try.  It's still food.

Best choice ever.

The curry is amazing - the perfect blend of spice and creaminess.  The cashew chicken is delicious.  I hear the pad thai is pretty awesome as well.  And best info ever for the bbf: they deliver!  The negative thing is that we requested to sit in the restaurant, and they ended up bringing us our food for take out.  Whatever.  We piled into the car and ate in the comfort of the kitchen.

And had cheesecake for dessert.

Exploratorium

Hands on science:  having fun while learning.  Thus is the idea behind the Exploratorium.  It may be directed at kids, but aren't we all kids at heart, even if we have a bit bigger body to experiment with?

The Exploratorium is located at the Palace of the Arts, which happens to be an incredible building.

Yes, I'm slouching. But look how big the urn is!

There are more experiments to play with than you could imagine.  One area is dedicated to magnetic fields, another to biological science, yet another area deals with sound, space, etc.  The current exhibit at the Exploratorium is Color.  It was fun to play with light and how colors change (and do everything you can imagine with color).

A modified polygraph was interesting.  It measured excitement levels in the body.  What's the most embarrassing thing I can ask you about in front of this crowd of people...?  I also talked to a computer program (Daisy) that was just learning language... it wasn't too thrilling.  I think she could have been programmed better.  She liked to repeat herself.   There was also a special activity of dissecting a cow's eye.  How cool is that?  And creating a functioning motor.  And a forever walking slinky.  And...and... I managed to take pictures of a few stations.

Ever thought about how different colors change your mood?  Let's find out...

Blue (becoming purple) is soothing

Red makes you anxious/excited

Purple!..I dunno...

Let's create a magnetic field and project it on a screen, shall we?

Can you tell I'm attempting to take a picture?

How about making different colors with light?

Oooh, special disappearing tubes...

And my personal favorite:  The unattainable spring.  There is a light that shines in this little box in the wall.  Okay, what's so cool about that, you say.  Well, try to grab it.  It looks like it's right there in front of you.  But it's not.  Your hand goes right through it.  No, no, it's not a ghost.  This is a science museum, after all.  Not the unexplainable.  Geez.  It's just a trick!

Hint:  If you walk around the corner and look into the other window, you can see where the spring is located...and the concave mirror that reflects it to look like it's right in front of you.

Space-y type stuff was towards the end.  There was a satellite orbit simulation, which is cool, until you jet off into space or crash into earth, (zero gravity?  I didn't hit the zero gravity button...).  To further explore, dry ice demonstrates the way asteroids move...

Pretty, isn't it?  All the twirling...

Anyway, to sum it up, the Exploratorium was fun.  Definitely something to do with the kids that's educational as well as time consuming, but fun for adults, too.

Deadly Attacking Fish!

I just so happen to worship the sun.  Yes, I sprawl on a towel and roast myself.  I hardly ever burn, so that's my excuse to everyone who's screaming what about cancer?!?! to their computer screens.  And yes, sunscreen is my friend.

Anyways, for a few days this July one could find me out on the dock bombarding my skin with sun rays.  The problem with this is that it gets hot.  Now, typically, when I get hot, the solution is to go for a quick dip in the water.

Side note:  I should have been born with gills.  I was raised with a pool and spent summers at the Lake... swimming has always been a natural part of my life, and my parents yelling at me to get out of the water already has always punctured my summers.

I very much enjoy being in the water...even 56 degree water.  I have a couple of pictures (somewhere) of me swimming in said water.  While I was at the Lake this summer, the water was around 56...perfectly acceptable for me to climb in.

So, day one, I'm out on the dock and beginning to roast.  Time to cool off I think as I crawl over to the metal ladder. 

It looks inconspicuous enough, right?

I'm about halfway into the water when something sharp strikes my foot.  What the... I glance toward my foot just in time to see a fish darting back towards the dock.  Uhm, that's new.  This occurrence urges me out of the water.  As kids how many times did we imagine fish that would eat us?  All the time.

Or what about that time J. was screaming that the minnows were going to eat him as he floated on the inner tube...?  ...That's another story...

I content myself with having been halfway in the water.  Oh well.  So there I lay, reading and sleeping until the sun goads me into the water again.  Alright, well, the fish is probably gone by now.  I get down to the second rung again, and feel a sharp strike on my foot again. Grrr.  Stupid fish!

The psycho attacking fish!

I'm not getting in the water.  The manfriend went to wash his face and the fish came to attack. Uh, hello... Not safe...the little bugger.  I don't think so, we're not getting in that water.  As I contemplate my options, I watch him chase off a few other fish that swim by.  One fish he manages to scare off is at least 1 1/2 feet long.

No matter what, this little guy is not leaving his territory right beneath the ladder.  Too bad I don't own a fishing license so I could catch a nice little dinner. Who am I kidding?  I won't eat him.  I just want him to let me swim.

Why did he have to choose under the dock for his nest (or whatever his reason for being there)?  Why not here?

It looks perfectly nice to me.  Or what about over there?

Or even that way?

Anywhere that would allow me to swim...

Ah well.  I'll make up for my inability to swim by roasting marshmallows over the fire.  The big ones. You know, the ones that are the size of your fist to begin with and swell up to the size of your head.  Those.

After note:  Upon returning from the Lake, I talked to my brother about the fish.  Apparently they're rampant up there this year.  A lot of deck owners are pestered by little mighty fish of their own.