inspired adventurer

Doorways

2012-01-30T21:01:00.000-05:00

Traversing backroads paths

Solitude mocking loneliness

Searching out sunlight

I wander into him.

One big neighborhood: Raleigh, NC

2012-01-24T00:06:00.003-05:00

Traipsing along the Eastern roads this weekend led to Raleigh, NC, a meandering town which felt smaller than its stated size of 400,000. Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill form a triangle which is about 1.1 million folks. I've long wondered about this part of North Carolina, as quite a lot of arts and writing come out of the area, enough that it had burrowed a spot into my brain.

With big universities anchoring the area, it's no surprise that used books, records and excellent coffee abound. Along with Flying Caterpillers, excellent art museums (a Rembrandt exhibit at the NC Museum of Art), Raleigh was a plethora of people watching areas. I'd live here!

Home again, to Virginia. Feels good.

Outer Banks of North Carolina

2012-01-18T21:12:00.001-05:00

Orville and Wilber were from Dayton OH originally, but moved to Kitty Hawk for its ideal weather conditions to conduct experiments in flight.

A model of their plane in the visitor's center. I'm happy to be exploring the US again, being reminded of the greatness of American dreamers...

Me and Orville.

The first flights took off from here, and those two buildings were where the brothers resided during their stay.

Sunset on the Dunes of North Carolina. Otherworldly.

On the way down the Outer Banks, which is really a strip of sand off the continental US, a few lighthouses poke up into the clouds beckoning wanderers to break for a few.

The little guy is no longer of this world but I saw beauty.

Trees are wispy, wind-swept structures.

Several long bridges connect the sandbar land masses which make up the Outer Banks.

Blowing snow can confuse a midwesterner into thinking it is the real white stuff. But this can sand the paint off your car if you are not lucky. I was lucky.

Looking up. Life is good.

Adjustments.

2012-01-13T17:31:00.000-05:00

Two weeks into Virginia, I've waded through the emotions of moving. It's been a shallow wade, nothing strenuous, but the necessary steps were followed.

My succession of thoughts:
First: "I'll never stay here. No one should bother to visit."
Second: "It isn't that bad. I can handle this."
Third: "I like it here, maybe I'll stay a while."

Suffice it to say, I am doing fine.

Work:
Questioning the VA system at first, I wondered in orientation why the emphasis seemed to be on the probationary periods of employment, after which, "You cannot be fired!" I've always considered my job security as a basis of my ability, production, and attitude. So I wondered what sort of folks were looking for this type of job. I had some concerns.

After an adequate yet not excessive period of orientation to the VA and the computer system (five days), I entered the trenches of patient care. Every time I'm away from my profession, I get this feeling that I've outgrown it, that I need to find something new. Yet I find when I'm actually doing my job, thinking and working, and making connections, I'm filled up in a way that confirms this was a good choice in career for me.

The first couple days were fairly hairy, feeling overwhelmed at the complex patients and computer charting. (Every job has a different computer system, even if the last place I worked was the Army.) But it was a fairly steep learning curve. The kindness of the patients, coupled with that of my staff, has made the transition rather seamless, and fun. I've enjoyed my two weeks of service and look forward to learning more in the upcoming months.

The glitch is, I don't know where I will be come April. This is exciting and fearsome. I feel that my days of wandering aimlessly are numbered, as I wouldn't mind to be in a more settled place, both emotionally and physically. The wanderer is inside me forever, and will resurface. I am certain I'll live abroad again. (I would bet my life savings.) But I think maybe a period of contemplation, repose and reconnection is upon me.

(W)hole

2012-01-08T20:41:00.000-05:00

Rolling up and down by day

My mind wrapping around this

Most recent move

Writing expels grief

A hole where my family was

Seeking connection with the world

Reaching out

But it slips through my fingers

So I keep moving

Waiting to run into it

Perhaps an accident of fate

Will make it stick

Bound together like two cars wrecked

In love

Alone not lonely

But longing

For warmth pressed

Behind me

As close as the peel of a banana

To its fruit

Melded and almost one

But separable

Impressions & Adjustments

2012-01-07T19:07:00.002-05:00

I went out last night in downtown Virginia Beach. It's small and easy to navigate. It took about three minutes to find parking on the street. Coming home afterward, I actually felt like I was at home. A rather short period of adjustment, and I'm sure that I'll continue to have different feelings about the move. Virginia Beach is not really my style, as in, I'm a northwesterner/midwesterner at heart and the east coast is very different (as well as the south)... but I think I'll enjoy my time here.

With a high of 68 today, I headed to the coast for a run on the boardwalk. I picked up a map of the area at the info center and was directed to the lots which are free now, but $10 in the summer. I'm glad to be here in winter for so many reasons, but mostly for crowd avoidance. The boardwalk was full of people strolling and biking. Seeing the ocean on the side reminded me of my time in New Zealand when I used to run up the street and down the stairs to the oceanside promenade. I love the ocean hair, soothing and moist on my face.

Virginia Beach is lacking in hippie-type shops (no surprise there), and overloaded in strip mall Dollar stores, but there's a Trader Joe's on the way to the beach, which will have to suffice for my alternative food tastes while I'm here. It was excessively crowded, and I tried to get through the store without being nailed by a cart or having an anxiety attack from the massive quantities of fellow customers. I loaded up my cart and filled my trunk with enough food to fill my section of the fridge.

One of my friends said today, "I would imagine you both settle in easier than most.....and flee with your hair on fire sooner too!" I think he's spot on. I'm off to a hopeful start.

Pictural review of journey and arrival to Virginia

2012-01-04T18:02:00.000-05:00

FYI I HATE BLOGGER's NEW POSTING SOFTWARE.

IT IS HIDEOUS.

[Somewhere in Illinois or Ohio] It rained most of the way, the sun dampened by overcast grey, which brought me happiness, since I love grey skies, and prefer not to drive in bright sunshine.

[Charlottesville, VA] I stopped since I was starting to feel droopy and had about three hours remaining on the road. I'd seen a sign for "Historic Downtown" and decided to take my changes. It was full of cute artsy, hippie shops, a food co-op, so I felt right at home. I later found out it was a college town. I seem to have a major affinity for college towns.

[Virginia Beach] VA Clinic where I'll be flipping dials for three months. It's
a small satellite clinic from the main VA, which is massive.

After this beautiful sky, swirls of snow came down. None
sticking, of course. It was pretty but I can do without the snow.

Inaugural post from Virginia Beach

2012-01-02T23:38:00.002-05:00

After two eleven-hour drives, split by one day at my brother's house in Columbus, OH, I arrived into Virginia Beach last night just after 8PM to Walt's house (my old friend/roommate from optometry school in Oregon). Having friends and family dispersed around the world carries its advantages, as it seems I'm never too far from a friendly face.

Walt has a lovely wife, twin boys, and one more on the way. Quite the departure from the single guy with whom I shared a house, along with three other optometry student males, back in the spring of 2001. I ran into Walt at the Academy of Optometry conference in Boston this fall and he mentioned his friend needed maternity leave coverage, and that I should apply. So here I am.

Today I spent the day touring Virginia Beach. By touring, I mean inspecting places posted on Craig's list as living possibilities. I further investigated by phone and email, ruling out quite a few including one who stated, "I've got two dogs and four cats." Sounds like hell to me! The second house I visited, a toothless navy retiree answered and said he was one of the other roommates and showed me around the dark house. I knew right off I'd never eat if I lived there, which may be a great diet plan, but was not what I was looking for. Another woman showed me the room she had for rent in her house, leading me up three flights of stairs to a room where the previous tenant lived, which included a dorm fridge and microwave. I have no intention of hiding in my room.

The finale was 41 year old woman from Seattle, who was nice but seemed old for her age, a bit stodgy and jaded, and lived down an alley, which made for a quiet area, but wasn't so good for parking or lighting. I am big into lighting, and purchased both of my houses, and selected most all of my rentals based on lighting. I've been told I have a color fixation (which I do not deny), and one cannot properly nurture this without good lighting!

In the end I chose a the first place I visited- a girl who I clicked with right off the bat- who had a dual master suite condo 3.3 miles from my work, with a dedicated parking spot, bedrooms upstairs, good lighting, a spare bike she'd bought herself and never used (and said I could take it to work and whatnot). She has two tiny dogs about 10-15 lbs each who go to daycare when she is working. Both were casual and I felt affinity for them.

After seven months of visiting people's homes and living in hostels and loving the company, I wanted to stay in a roommate situation. I also think it is important to stay tolerant of other people, something that can get away from me when I've been on my own too long.

As we were parting ways, she said, "We are the same age!" I said, "You look good!" She said, "You do too!" So it will be Sara and Sandy, high school class of 1994. She is from rural Michigan, and I from North Dakota. It's nice to have found a midwesterner. It is the first time in a long time that I've met someone who is exactly my age. I'm hopeful.

Tomorrow begins orientation for my first official day as a government employee. Perhaps the start of a very long career!

Cramming the Mini Coop

2011-12-28T23:46:00.001-05:00

One more day before the aqua blue chariot takes me east to Virginia, a place I never dreamed of moving. A place I've barely visited. After spending New Year's with my brother in Ohio, I'll be landing at my friend Walt's house in Virginia Beach for a few days.

Moving to New Zealand in 2008, I went from a three bedroom home to two fifty-pound duffel bags. This move feels spacious. I have a whole car and I'm mainly bringing clothes, and not much else. However, my mom is probably right that I am overconfident of my packing abilities and the car will end up crammed to the gills.

I don't have a place set up yet, but have been searching for a room to rent on Craig's List. I've see-sawed between renting a beach house and shared housing, and decided that shared housing is probably the best option. I've been essentially living with others since leaving Germany at the end of May, whether in a hostel or visiting someone's home. I think continuing living with others will be better for my mental health.

It feels more like I'm leaving on an extended camping trip than moving. All my worldly possessions will remain in my mom's basement while I take off for a while, a temporary reprieve in unemployment. But the whole while, I'll have to look for a permanent job. This time I hope to find one and stay long term. So I've been pretty careful in my search and I think I have a good idea of where I might want to land. But only time will reveal the next destination.

Box-Sledding

2011-12-22T20:02:00.002-05:00

I don't think we're going to have a white Christmas this year. The grass is still green in Iowa and the temperature hovers around 36. I was worried that I was going to have a rough winter hanging out in Iowa, but it's not the case. Christmas is around the corner and I leave in eight days for Virginia.

So I will just have to imagine a white Christmas like these from year's past...

[Photos from approx 1976.] My dad hauling me through the northern Minnesota (Bemidji) white stuff, back when every winter included white-outs and blizzards. I was a snow child, and I still am, but I'm not sure what I thought about the box-sled that they had going. However, I'm impressed with their thriftiness and creativity. I think if I had a kid, I would pull them in a box-sled too. Just so I could re-enact photos like these.

Running Therapy

2011-12-20T22:00:00.000-05:00

Running clunks my brain into order. I thump around thetrack, making circles to nowhere with my tennis shoe feet. Life rocks around inmy head and resettles, making more sense. What it is about making circles thatcreates logic?

I run for stress. I run for joy. I run for health. I run forgood legs.

When it is done, I plop on the floor and push up off theground with my ape arms, over and over, feeling strong, like I am gettingready for the Army fitness test. Like I can do anything I put my mindto.

The finale is stretches and yoga and water and washing myface with a terry green washcloth, before descending the stairs to my tiny carwaiting in the lot.

How many years have I been doing this fitness regime forsanity and strength?

When I run, ideas flourish. I discover answers to life’sworries. It is like dreaming awake. It releases me from past and present pains.Anxiety dissipates. I feel used up and alive when I'm done. The runner’s highis authentic for me.

Seasonally I drop off. Running becomes a victim of a timecrunch or laziness. But it always finds its way back into my heart. Freetherapy for the soul and the body.

Reflections on higher education

2011-12-18T19:15:00.002-05:00

Thoughts after reading, "What is College For?" in the NYT:

I've heard increasingly over the years the argument that college is worthless, and that we can learn everything outside the classroom. It seems a symptom of our lazy intellectual culture, which has been exacerbated with the age of the internet where answers are a google away, so who needs to learn or retain anything?

I'm probably biased, having earned a doctorate and worked in a university setting for a short time. And I do agree my major life lessons were outside of university. But my years of education taught me to explore subjects which I knew I'd hate because they were required (and discovering I liked German, anatomy, writing, etc...). The critical thinking aspect of university and having a few years to be away from home with the security blanket of the university walls was a stepping stone to adult life and contemplation.

One of the greatest joys in life is a lifelong love and respect for learning. I am sad for those folks who think college is about memorizing facts and preparing for a job. It is about something entirely different. It is creating a foundation of learning and questioning for the rest of your life.

The Olden Days

2011-12-17T12:52:00.001-05:00

Carrie & me in Manitowoc, WI

What's important

2011-12-13T21:33:00.006-05:00

My Niece, Claire:

Christmas is around the corner. And then Virginia.

I'm ready to hit the road. This week's been encompassed with preparations: car check, packing, a physical, hunting for a beach rental. It's starting to fall into place.

I'm thankful for this in-between job. Three months to try out the VA system. Three months to re-acclimate to US life-work conditions. Returning stateside has brought a plethora of experiences. I haven't thought much about the adjustment until periodically I notice something that trips me up. Examples: ground floor vs first floor (overseas first floor is ground), portion sizes of food, airplane carry-on bags... consumerism.

Mostly, I'm thankful for my time with my family. For the career which has given me flexibility. For my mom (and everyone else) who has taken me in since I returned stateside in August. For the ability to have a full life filled with love.

I'm convinced that we are here to share ourselves and share love. I hope the holidays remind us all how lucky we are to be together in this life.

Before the sun

2011-12-12T11:22:00.006-05:00

The darkest dark
before the seeping color of dawn.

I must go a while.
To the cave of blackness
to hide
silent,
flat.
Pulling inward with all my might.

Alone. Away.
Empty. Tight.

Unknown lies ahead.
The roller coaster of life.
Plunging through darkness and light,
forever intertwined.

Shopping malls breed existential crises

2011-12-06T20:38:00.007-05:00

This week I've been trying to get myself organized to move to Virginia. I finally opened and repacked every single box in the basement and it looks like a bomb went off down there, but I found everything I want to bring along and dumped it into my room. So now I practically need to wear full body armor to safely make it to my bed which is covered as well... do not be surprised if you soon see a photo of me in a cast from self-inflicted injury.

Government Fun Take II: In the last week, I've been inundated with government forms, though not as bad as the Germany job. That, plus trying to find housing out east from here require a massive amount of time. I may end up in an extended stay for a while and then try to move into a short term roommate situation. I've emailed a lot of potential roommates but have not had much response. Maybe people from Virginia are scared of Iowans.

It snowed here. My mom and I went to the mall today. I figured it was a good idea to rest my back after the heavy labor of yesterday. (I was a little sore.) The mall sounded leisurely but for some reason, I felt like I was going insane and started having suicidal thoughts while looking at the multicolored fleeces in Scheels. Life just seemed so dumb. I know there's no sense to think of these things. I thought, good thing I'm going to work soon.

This place I'm now is a weird spot to be in. To think of starting this new job, because it is temporary, seems like it is prolonging the period of decision making. But that's not really true, since I am going to use this job to evaluate a career with the VA system.

I would like to move somewhere into my own place again with my own things, but I don't think that is going to happen anytime soon. But then I have a feeling if I were moving into a place I might feel a sense of loss at the loss of freedom. So it's better to just enjoy where I am now.

Seen in Berlin..

2011-12-05T12:04:00.000-05:00

while walking, just before I flew home to the US.

The world

2011-12-02T11:46:00.008-05:00

Bird squaking in the distance. Streaming light through lacy windows. Creaking from below. The tick of clocks, out of sequence with one another. My fingers clanking the keys.

Reclined in my bathrobe.

Life is quiet.

I wonder.

Feeling a void. The after-effects of achievement. Between relationships. Before a new job. Lacking meaning. A floorless existence.

Visions of my tiny blue car headed east. The feeling of freedom, of possibility, of exploration and new experience. The open road of life.

Time to calm, before the storm of change. December.

I long to hole up. To isolate. To silence.

Heater kicks on. They're digging a hole outside. Someone's new home.

Sunlit fingers. The world, a circle. No walls, no edges. No answers.

First snow

2011-12-01T23:05:00.006-05:00

Drizzling rain turns into an Iowa snow globe

While we sip whiskeys by the window.
Good acoustics, I said.

I judge restaurants on sound quality.
Hushed murmurs, a fuzzy welcoming blanket

Inviting conversation & calm.

Anything else, jarring & cold.

Days on the computer, digging in files.

The data needed to achieve employment.

I think, I am not going to do this again.

I hope I love the VA.

Disorganized boxes stifle me, and I think

I understand why people never move.

It is not going to get better any time soon.

But I'm home for Christmas

And that is good enough.

The Guest House - Rumi

2011-11-28T22:09:00.003-05:00

"This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond."

Midnight thoughts, and good news

2011-11-27T01:05:00.004-05:00

It's after midnight and I'm in bed. I can't stop reading the news lately.

The police violence associated with the OWS movement really bothers me deep in my heart.

It matters not that they are liberal or conservative or otherwise. It matters that they are people. Americans. Who have freedom of speech and assembly, and who should not be arrested for standing on a sidewalk. Or beaten for sitting on the grass.

For the photos are around on the internet, documenting people sleeping in tents for Black Friday or for concert tickets, or even when Apple came out with the iPhone the first time around.

I just can't get my mind around it.

I read a while back, "In the Garden of Beasts" by Erik Larson. A semi-biographical novel from the American Ambassador Dodd's perspective on the eve of WW2. I wonder what the correlations are between our time and theirs.

I wonder why we would not stand up for our fellow citizens, whether they shared our beliefs or not. I wonder how we can stand by and let things happen.

But then we have been doing this a long time. Everyone is separate in their own separate homes. Walled off with fences and curtains and security systems. Insular in our perfect families and perfect lives. Saving ourselves above all else.

When will we learn that giving is receiving? That our neighbors are ourselves? That things are not happiness. People are happiness. Life is happiness.

Security. Building up a bank account, and walls around us. When it could all go down in an instant. Just a misstep in time, place, of luck and life is forever changed. The only true sense of security is a false one.

Anyway. I just hope you can take this Thanksgiving and holiday season to look with love on everyone. To stand up for the little ones. To stand up for inequality. To stand up for your rights as Americans (or citizens of the world). For your children. And grandchildren.

My time for loafing with family and pondering the messes in the world will soon be limited. As I have good news: I was offered a job with the Virginia Beach Veterans Hospital, covering maternity leave, starting January 1st through March 31. I'll be avoiding the winters, and keeping myself busy. I welcome vistors any time. So drop me a line and drop in.

Giving Thanks

2011-11-23T00:43:00.000-05:00

Historically I've not felt much affinity for the holiday of Thanksgiving. I think it's because I had misplaced emotions about its meaning. I took the celebration of a massive dinner with a dry turkey centerpiece literally, and couldn't see beyond the festive stuffing and resultant uncomfortable sensation at being too filled up.

But, I think I was mistaken.

This year, I'm home for Thanksgiving for the first time since 2000, which was the only time in the last fifteen years that I've been home for Thanksgiving. We're headed to Minneapolis, and I'm looking forward to the mix of relatives from both sides of my family. I have a lot to be thankful for, and I feel like embracing the idea of gratitude.

So many good things... I'd like to make a list, but it would be too long. Mostly, I'm happy to be alive, to have wonderful family and friends, to have had so many opportunities, and for the goodness in the world and hope for the future.

Life is beautiful. Living is amazing.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Smearing sunsets, living life

2011-11-20T18:58:00.007-05:00

(Hiding in the trees of Colorado)

I've taken up running again, at the little community center down the street. It's free for North Liberty residents and I relish my time there, where my feet carry me in circles, untwisting the thoughts in my mind, bringing clarity to my life situation. The days smear together, one sunset to the next. Only when the Sunday New York Times headlines are delivered to my inbox am I certain of the day of the week.

I've been quietly existing since returning from Colorado: time with nieces, a craft show with Molly, and cleaning the garage with my mom. When you've been overseas, there's an interruption in normal family time. In reality, the American life is a disruptive to family time. So this time here with family is especially important.

The job hunt is like molasses right now, sticky and slow and not much moving... I have a couple leads on temporary positions that would work well while I wait for something more permanent to come along.

In life, I've been contemplating the oddities of our existence. I know I shouldn't really waste time on this- I should really just live my life and enjoy myself, but sometimes late at night, when it is dark and quiet and I'm alone, it all seems very strange.

So I am happy for this time with my family in the quiet of Iowa. There is something about a small town with a big sky that brings mental peace. Driving down highway 965, the pleasure of no traffic hits me daily, and I think how I love Iowa and how surprising it is. Then I remember I loved the tiny village where I lived in Germany. I loved the regular people in the Army. I loved a lot of things I wouldn't have guessed: anatomy, physics... Oatie. And I've not loved a lot of things that I would have guessed. So, I guess you just have to go along through life, feeling your way, paying attention, trusting your gut instinct, and being true to yourself.

(Living out loud with Molly's girls)

Thinking about "otherness"

2011-11-09T14:10:00.004-05:00

I've been participating in a month-long discussion on race through Experimonth, which has run month-long experiments since 2009 on a variety of subjects/actions.

Discussing race is about discussing otherness. I've had a long history of friends and boyfriends who do not mirror my appearance or accent or home country, and I sometimes wonder why. I don't think it was particularly a conscious choice. As a child in Minnesota, my preferred neighbor friends were Korean and Vietnamese neighbor girls, even though there were several white neighbor girls also. After my dad died and I returned to Alexandria, I became "other" overnight, though it was not obvious from the outside to those who first met me. I am always careful to explain that my life was not a giant walk in the park and I understand being an outsider. But then I also understand that I have many inclusionary qualities. So I have the understanding of both sides of the world.

In a TED talk on otherness by Thandie Newton that I recently viewed, she discusses her otherness and how it affected her, and urges us to create a world of oneness with each other. She also points out that race is not about biology or genetics, which was something I didn't know:

By 19, I was a fully-fledged movie actor, but still searching for definition. I applied to read anthropology at university. Dr. Phyllis Lee gave me my interview, and she asked me, "How would you define race?" Well, I thought I had the answer to that one. And I said, "Skin color." "So biology, genetics?" she said. "Because, Thandie, that's not accurate.Because there's actually more genetic difference between a black Kenyan and a black Ugandan than there is between a black Kenyan and, say, a white Norwegian. Because we all stem from Africa. So in Africa, there's been more time to create genetic diversity." In other words, race has no basis in biological or scientific fact.

In this discussion of otherness, I think of the current uprisings across the world calling for change. Too long have we considered those who are different, whether better or worse off, our own neighbors or not, to be "the other," quietly walling ourselves off in our safe separate worlds. I think the movements which are going on are less about Wall Street and more about awakening. Awakening to question the separation in the world by race, and wealth, and location. In truth we are all one and interconnected. It is time to start rebuilding our connections to the earth, to our fellow beings, to the "other" inside and outside ourselves. We are all one in the same, united in our otherness, united in our time on this earth.

Denver is not that ugly

2011-11-08T13:59:00.009-05:00

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." - Oscar Wilde

Denver does not have the reputation of being a beautiful city, but I found visual pleasure in the downtown architecture and neighborhoods. Denver is the 21st largest metro area in the USA; Portland, OR is the 23rd largest, both hovering around 2.5 million people. It feels like a small town, but from high above, it looks large and sprawling. It's a manageable size.

Public transport is ok, but I think would be hard to depend on for daily use unless you had several extra hours a day to waste. Short distances take a long time, and it is relatively expensive in comparison with other large metropolitan areas. I did not notice any cyclists in Denver, as compared to Boulder, so it seems they could improve in that area as well.

Ink! Coffee was ok, not great.

I took public bus to my friend Gretchen's house (who has 4 month old twin daughters and another daughter who will be 4 this weekend). They live in a quiet residential neighborhood just a short distance from downtown in a bungalow which could be transported into any Portland neighborhood.

On the right is the Denver Art Museum which was closed when I stopped by (a Monday).

Outside the Denver Public Library. Inside was filled with residents. It always makes me happy to see people hanging out with books.

Exterior of library. Very cool. Inside was also cool, but in a more sterile way. I always think libraries should have a cozy, stay-a-while feel, which this did not have, but it was still nice.

Denver Art Museum

Downtown.

There were a lot of bums in Denver. It's pretty cold there, so hopefully they have shelters for winter.

Cute construction workers outside the art museum.

I love grey skies, and if I ever move back to the Northwest, this would be one of the top reasons-- for the drizzly weather and blankets of grey.

BACK TO BOULDER:

Excellent cappuccino at Boxcar Roasters.

Boulder Teahouse.

Poetry bookstore on Broadway in college hill area.

Excessive amounts of tasty food at the Sherpa's Restaurant, which was staffed by Nepalese.

So, I'm enjoying Colorado. It's been a contemplative trip- lots of free time to rest and wander and think, intermixed with visits to old friends and memories past. I'm not sure where I will end up in the next few months but what I have now is pretty good.

Boulder

2011-11-05T21:41:00.005-04:00

I finally found excellent coffee and superb company in a coffee shop suitable for a coffee snob like myself, Boxcar Coffee Roasters. I perched at the bar, eavesdropping and writing and reading the New Yorker in caffeine-induced splendor for at least two hours.

The Farmer's Market continues through November 19th. I am impressed at the hardy nature of Boulder residents.

During Farmer's Market days, the Boulder Museum of Contemporary Art offers free admission. It's small, but offers just enough to beg contemplation without mental overexertion.

My favorite store in town is the Boulder Army Surplus Store. On my second visit (I couldn't help myself), I discovered second-hand German goods, and someone who almost had my name.

Even though this is a very artistic sign, the goods inside the Pearl Street store did not delight my senses. Pearl Street is the main shopping pedestrian drag, and it's rather overrun with shops like this and overpriced restaurants, but I still found it enjoyable, especially with street musicians wafting through the air.

Feeling Gratefully Unemployed (in Boulder)

2011-11-03T23:46:00.010-04:00

Walking through Boulder today, I felt like a regular person. I looked like a regular person. If I saw me, I would think I had a job. I feel like I'm pretending to be a regular person. But then I start to wonder, what is a regular person anyway? I realize I'm finally starting to enjoy the freedom unemployment brings. Just walking alone with my thoughts and smiling at strangers. This is living life.

"The meaning of life is to make life meaningful." - A.C. Grayling

Wandering through Boulder's Central Park toward downtown from our retro motor inn, leaves squishing through slushy snow, I could barely open my eyes in the blinding sun. Yet I was bundled in layers with freezing ears. Winter's icy brightness. Our motel is cozied into the mountain, and its name apt: Foot of the Mountain. It feels like we're buried in, especially with heavy snow clumped all over the land.

Boulder has a reputation of high maintenance, silver-spoon hippies. The last time I was here was twenty years ago when I was fifteen and fresh out of North Dakota. It seemed like a wonderland that time and I wished I could go to college here. This time it feels more commercial and more like a regular American town. I suspect Boulder's changed, but likely I've changed more.

Boulder's predictable in many ways: the residents' appearance (dreads, earrings, messy hair), consumer possibilities (outdoor stores, orthopedic shoes, energy field readings). And not so much in other ways: boring repetitive building styles, quiet back streets, exceptionally friendly residents.

I wandered into coffee shops, searching for the perfect cup. (I'm still hunting.) Stopped into the end of the Occupy Boulder meeting and met quiet, articulate, non-violent people of all ages. On the way home, I saw art through a massive windowed building and walked up to discover it was the public library, where they also hold movie screenings, GED classes, and more. It's apparent where the values lie in this community, and I feel an affinity for its residents.

In the library, I met a poet who'd lived in San Francisco and Kalispell. She gave me her number and, feeling drawn to this kindred spirit, I promised to call her for coffee later in the week. Flushed out of the library into the brisk cold, I scurried home to our little pine-walled room, but not before a few residents arriving home could say hello to me.

Traveling and unemployment have a way of reminding me what is important: taking time to breathe in life as it is offered to me.

Eerie Similarities

2011-10-31T21:15:00.003-04:00

My dad and me about 26 years apart.

(At my mom's house in Iowa helping clean out the garage today, I found this in a box.)

Thoughtful post to share

2011-10-27T20:49:00.003-04:00

A Voice From The 1% does a good job of addressing the questions raised surrounding the Occupy Wall Street movement. I've walked by protests in action and they appeared to be quiet people, clean and tidy, but still I did not know what I thought. I have always believed that while I have made good choices in my life, there is little that separates me from someone who has much less in life but a few strokes of luck.

Our country is in a state of demise in many ways and these protests are putting the our economic inequalities into question. For this I am proud- of the American right to free speech and that we are able to effect changes in this country. No matter what happens or whose side we are on, there is success in being reminded of the democratic process, of speaking up when we believe things need to change, of starting the dialogue.

Cows

2011-10-25T10:46:00.003-04:00

Looking back to the south island of New Zealand when these guys tried to block our exit through the fence, I was with three other hostelers in a rented 1987ish manual jalopy mobile. Supposedly it was a big tourist site, but really just a few rocks in the countryside. However, we enjoyed the cow standoff. I've been enjoying the cows for years and years, since I first planted Father's Day flowers for my mom's rancher boyfriend in North Dakota, and little Henry the Calf came and ate them all. He was so cute and his mom had died... how could we get mad at him for that? These are also a few of my reasons to be vegetarian.

Boston Academy

2011-10-17T16:29:00.009-04:00

Last week, the American Academy of Optometry held their annual conference in Boston. Since I'm currently living without commitments, I decided to head east less than a week before the conference commenced. I purchased a ticket out of Chicago on Spirit Airlines (a US budget carrier) and arranged to stay with my friend Xandra (Alexandra) who I met in the south island of New Zealand and now lives in Cambridge. It's a delight and surreal to re-meet people who I met on the road in their hometowns. On the road we are sort of floating about, so seeing someone indigenously helps to complete the picture of who they are.

The conference offered a wide variety of education and I surely benefited, picking up some new things and catching up on changes that have occurred in my profession during my last four years abroad. Also fun was seeing old friends and roommates from optometry school, a colleague from New Zealand, old professors, and making new friends. I was glad to go, and it's also good to be home.

Allston (below) is a suburb of Boston where Xandra and I had dinner. It's Portland-like with heaps of coffee shops, a few second hand stores, and vegetarian restaurants. I grabbed a bus there from the conference center to meet Xandra. Boston transport is very simple to figure out. I bought a one week unlimited fare pass for $15 on arrival, which covers all modes of transport in the metro area.

The last time I was here was when I was 14. My cousin Jenny and I would take the hotel shuttle down to this area, where we spent many hours shopping at Gap, which was something I did not have in North Dakota. The square looks the same but back then it seemed so amazing with possibility.

Inside Quincy Market.

Aeschylus

2011-10-14T09:07:00.001-04:00

"Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget
Falls drop by drop on the heart,
Until in our own despair,
Against our own will,
Comes wisdom
Through the awful grace of god."

Milwaukee

2011-10-10T10:34:00.010-04:00

My favorite song by the Head and the Heart:

Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Seventy-five miles south of Manitowac, where I lived from 1978-1981. Carrie was born in Two Rivers, Wisconsin because they wouldn't allow men in the delivery room in Manitowac in 1979.

Wisconsin looks like Germany. It's part of the reason I instantly adapted to German countryside; it felt like home. The hills clothed in multicolored leaves, churches peeking out above the trees, cool air swathing the hot, a premonition of winter to come. This year, the darkness of fall has stayed away.

Last weekend there was a concert by a Seattle band, the Head and the Heart at the historic Turner Ballroom in Milwaukee. We stayed at the Plaza Hotel, also a historic building, peaceful and retro, simply and accurately restored (or perhaps just very well kept up), and reasonable rates. The quiet of Milwaukee contrasts with Chicago's financial frenzied stressed population. It was a peaceful weekend.

Turner Ballroom was gorgeous and open, and the band amazing.

Resting in the grass along Milwaukee's biking and walking path. I've been so tired, and keep thinking that I'm going to have some time to rest soon. I realized that I've been on a non-stop pace since the end of March when I found out that my job was eliminated and I was on a crash course to move home. Of course, the traveling was self-inflicted pleasure & pain. Today I've been home for two months, and have not yet spent two weeks in one place. It's life on the road. I don't expect it to end anytime soon.

The Comet Cafe. Excellent food! Excellent coffee.

Surprisingly, I found tons of good tips in here. One always needs to practice self-improvement. Never stop learning! I don't intend to get old ever. (The book is The Encyclopedia of Immaturity.)

I shelled out muko bucks for new jeans. It's been about seven years since I bought a new pair of designer jeans. I like to practice delayed gratification so that I really appreciate my nice things.

Demonstrating the "mine and toss" technique. When you've bought too much ice cream and you can't eat it all, you are totally justified in mining out all the good sections and flicking the rest down the drain.

Holy Hill is a Cathedral Basilica in the countryside about 30 miles out of Milwaukee. The traffic to reach it was worse than anything I've seen in Chicago, and at the top we even sited tour buses. I tried to hide in the corner to cure my crowd phobia. But it was better just to go home!

We checked out the newly renovated Cheese Palace, after stopping last time the day before they closed for remodeling. I wanted to get one of the cheeseheads for Lily but they were not for sale, so a picture has to suffice. Next time I'll just take a picture of the Palace from the freeway and keep going. The place was swarming with people, and non-delicious samples for the second time in a row, so I'd have to rate this as a "no-go". Avoid!

Lastly, I'll mention Beans and Barley, a cafe and grocery store with hippie roots (though now very gentrified). For about a year, I've been hearing about their Tofu Scramber. I'm a big fan of tofu scramble: you can eat it alone, on top of salad, with bread, hot or cold. I like it all ways and it's quick and simple to make at home. A lot of restaurants will offer it, but drown it in oil and spices, so that later my stomach hates me. Beans and Barley makes a simple, savory version which I think would delight everyone's palate. I've found the recipe for it, so if you want to try it at home, you can savor the flavor without a trip to Milwaukee.

BEANS & BARLEY TOFU SCRAMBLER

Source: Beans & Barley Market and Cafe, 1901 E. North Avenue, Milwaukee, Wisconsin

1/4 C. tahini
1/4 C. shoyu
1 tsp. black pepper, or to taste
1 tsp. salt
2 tsp. garlic powder, or to taste
2 lb. firm tofu, drained, dried and coarsely crumbled
2 tsp. olive oil
2/3 C. sliced fresh mushrooms
2/3 C. diced tomato
2/3 C. chopped green onions
Toasted sesame seeds for garnish

Combine tahini, shoyu, pepper, salt and garlic powder. Add to crumbled tofu, being careful not to crumble tofu too fine.

Heat 12-inch nonstick or well-greased, skillet over medium heat. Add oil and sauté mushrooms until cooked, about 5 minutes. Add tomatoes and green onions and cook for 1 minute.

Add tofu mixture and cook, scrambling occasionally, until some of it begins to brown a little. Garnish with toasted sesame seeds. Makes 6 servings.

NOTE: Serve with home-fried potatoes and toast. This dish is also good with corn bread, muffins or bagels.

Interviews across America

2011-10-01T18:37:00.000-04:00

I'm back in Iowa, after a tour around the states: Portland, Chicago, Minneapolis, Southern Minnesota, New Orleans, Seattle, Tacoma... looking for jobs and visiting family and friends.

It feels good to be home. Resting while looking toward the fields. Nary a car, just a big broad sky. Riding bicycles along the bike paths through the countryside and campus. I haven't rested for a long time. This long stretch of busyness started back when I found out that my job was over while still in Germany, and has persisted until now. I'm hoping to have some time to relax finally.

In the last month, I've been to a few job interviews. One with an ophthalmologist who never washed his hands once in about twenty patients (including an intraocular injection) and told his patient that her diabetes was "from God". Another was an optical shoppe where they had no medical equipment on hand, saying they were mostly retail side, and basically referred everything disease-related out. I visited a run-down VA hospital, with greyed walls and patients devoid of happiness, and filled with windowless rooms containing run-down equipment. There were a couple places which were delightful: one who I only visited in hopes of creating contact for a future job, and another which was a small clinic with only one ophthalmologist and one optometrist on staff. Only time will tell where I go. I am patient.

New Orleans

2011-09-29T22:26:00.002-04:00

Carrie and Celeste in front of the artist market we walked to in the 90 degree heat.

Frenchmen street is where to find all the good music. Recommended by several local people, over and over.

When god is smiling down...

On Frenchmen Street.

Smoky Mary was the best draft beer we tried.

French style live music.

A sign of a good town is a good bike shop.

At the end of Frenchmen Street. All the music was free, for the most part.

Two big white horses.

The man on the right. Look.

Celeste at Mexican food, which was tasty as.

A PDX-style coffee bar.

Beignet.

At Cafe Du Monde.

The French Market.

Headed to an interview

2011-09-27T11:35:00.000-04:00

The last few weeks have been crazy and I've been neglectful. I will report in a few days on the news in my life. I've also been to New Orleans, which was an experience in itself, and made me thankful to be moving home to the midwest for a while.

Alles wird gut.

Nostalgia in the Rose City

2011-09-14T11:47:00.000-04:00

Phantom of the Opera from the grand piano, live for the pleasure of the folks streaming through security and waiting to board their planes. Wifi blankets the air. Quiet hush of people bustling but not rushed. It feels like there's sunlight streaming through the walls and ceilings of windows even though the sky is actually grey.

Leaving Portland is always hard. She smiles on you to the end, so your heart is wrenching as you walk out the door, tears streaming, wondering if you should have stayed longer, or if you should return. Emotion runs deep in the Northwest, where the multi-hued grey clouds hangs low adding depth to the sky, and the sun glows down imbuing color and contrast to the land. Even airport security was pleasant, with extra friendly folks in line, security and gate agents who were the same, plus efficient.

So here I sit, wondering what is next again, with so many possibilities on the horizon.

(Kathie & Genie at Portland International Airport)

Me & Oatie on the couch

2011-09-09T20:55:00.001-04:00

(Practicing laying down and seltzer water inebriation, Bumbershoot)

No today photo, unless you want to see a drab, dirty girl laying pathetically in her sister's bathrobe. Extended travel has caught up with me and put me in a sling. My designated spot is vertical with PJs. Oatie's kind enough to keep me company. I have the flu.

It's a bit of a damper since I have so few days in Oregon and they are packed tight with visits to friends, possible employers, and more. But one must listen to their body. I am not sickly but when I travel, it tends to come every month or two and especially when I stop. I think this is common.

(At Bumbershoot)

Last weekend, Carrie and I headed north to Seattle for Bumbershoot, a festival which contains music, visual arts, lectures, and film. We've gone in the past and last time it was glorious: full of stages and new artists, books and interesting installations, all outdoors under the Space Needle.

This year, they'd moved a couple stages indoors, cut out the literature, decreased the visual art to one room, and provided very inadequate seating for the film. By shrinking the area and decreasing the content, it felt a lot less grassy and laid back than in the past. I'd say it was a turn for the worse. However, the grand finale, Hall and Oates, brought a bitch twinkle* to our eyes. Nothing like Maneater, Rich Girl, Sara Smile, and more. Songs from 1980, when we were living in Wisconsin, and my dad was still alive. Good stuff.

*Bitch Twinkle: When you're just about to cry and your eyes sparkle from the tears.

On Choices, by CS Lewis

2011-09-06T21:43:00.005-04:00

People often think of Christian morality as a kind of bargain in which God says, "If you keep a lot of rules, I'll reward you, and if you don't, I'll do the other thing." I do not think that is the best way of looking at it. I would much rather say that every time you make a choice you are turning the central part of you, the part of you that chooses, into something a little different from what it was before. And taking your life as a whole, with all your innumerable choices, all your life long you are slowly turning this central thing either into a heavenly creature or a hellish creature: either into a creature that is in harmony with God, and with other creatures, and with itself, or else into one that is in a state of war and hatred with God, and with its fellow-creatures, and with itself. To be the one kind of creature is heaven: that is, it is joy and peace and knowledge and power. To be the other means madness, horror, idiocy, rage, impotence, and eternal loneliness. Each of us at each moment is progressing to the one state or the other?

Portland!

2011-09-01T01:19:00.003-04:00

There she lies, Mount Hood, my gleaming goalpost for ten years, peeking through the clouds, waving, "Welcome to Portland, you're home, my little one!" My face smashed against the plane window wasn't enough to see through the white fuzz. Not until we descended below did the greenery of the Northwest appear, squared and peaceful streets and homes. I am from Portland, this I know.

Kathy & Sara test out Chicago's "Fun Pass"

2011-08-30T14:44:00.008-04:00

Chicago public transport has a one day (24 hr) "Fun Pass" for only $5.75 each. We each got a pass and quickly headed out to test out the fun!

Riding the Brown Line...

Kathy was a natural. Sara had some trouble with inside voice and maintaining composure while riding. At times the two of them bursting into uncontrollable laughter nearly knocked themselves on the ground with mirth.

One street was bursting with second hand stores. Both Sara and Kathy had trouble breathing they were so excited. But no one fainted. That was a good thing.

In Chicago they pronounce it "day-men" but Sara thinks it should be "da-men," as in German for ladies. She is going to try to teach the Chicagoans the correct pronunciation. But she does not know if this will work since she has heard they are a bit stuck in their ways.

They watched as a wedding photographer destroyed the bride's and bridesmaids' hairdos with their group photos on the 30MPH wind Lake Michigan waterfront. Kathy said, "Weddings make people act like fools." Sara agreed. One bridesmaid's shoes were an inch too big.

Sara was goaded into buying the orange 1970s sweater. But she was secretly happy. She is a child of the 70s after all. Which is demonstrated in this photo.

They went to the top of a building on West Wacker drive. To the 36th floor. And there they discovered the meaning of life. But it is a secret. I am sorry.

Consensus: The "Fun Pass" was indeed fun, and a good value. And despite rumors that Chicago people are assholes, Kathy and Sara found them to be very nice instead. How refreshing. And fun.

Discovery: Job hunting is like trip planning!

2011-08-26T17:05:00.005-04:00

In the past few weeks, I've scoured the internet, skimming and diving into websites posting possible future employment. In the beginning I had to get my bearings, discovering which sites held truly viable leads versus those which were only trying to sneak my from my pocket for a glimpse at their listings. It felt overwhelming at times, but I carried on.

Like planning a trip, choosing a job and new locale involves planning and adjustment on a multitude of levels until the details gel into a vision that becomes reality. Of course, it'll be a reality that's different from the one imagined, but nonetheless, the planning gets you there.

I noticed growing excitement and anticipation as I conducted my job search, wondering where I might end up. What type of practice and mixes of personalities and specialties? It felt like I was in university again, perusing my college catalog, figuring which classes were needed for each major, dreaming of the possibilities, which felt endless and breathtaking. To re-evoke those feelings is a gift and a surprise, hopefully again ending in a situation which provides challenges and new experiences.

Cycling Iowa with a 1979er

2011-08-22T10:38:00.005-04:00

The last two weeks, I've spent reorienting myself with the U.S. and my family in rural Iowa, which is reminiscent of Germany and North Dakota in its quietude and simple beauty. Riding through the sherbet-lit landscape, I pump and glide and feel alive, yet in an alternate universe. Transitioning is as strange as travel itself- waking up unsure of surroundings and not knowing what's next. Anxiety rears its head, but I calm it down by hopping on my wheels and breathing deeply.

I make lists and check things off. Search the internet for jobs, not finding much out there, expanding my searches to more and more states, at the same time thankful for this time with my family and friends. I've barely written since returning, not for lack of thoughts, but mostly to allow myself some time to settle.

Riding the Bicycle Trail

Location: North Liberty & Coralville, IA (semi-suburbs of Iowa City)

In case you're thinking of cycling like a bat out of hell...

All I can figure is Iowa must have extra 20MPH speed limit signs sitting around, because they don't mark the trails (or roads) properly otherwise (so you lose the bike trail all the time at T-intersections). Iowa is a bit speed camera crazy, so next time out, I'm gonna see if they speed camera cyclists too. I wouldn't be surprised.

The bicycle is at least as old as my sister Carrie. That makes me happy.

I found this on Craig's List and didn't notice until I was riding around that it was a "World Tourist" which makes me like her even better.

I've never owned a Schwinn before. It's kind of fun. And I like recycling by buying used things.

Just off the bicycle trail. Every night here the sky enchants before it blacks for the night.

Midwestern Interludes

2011-08-17T22:54:00.005-04:00

In a coffee shop in Chicago, I eavesdropped on these ladies. On the left, she told her story of the failed youth, and on the right, the woman was opinionated strongly that things had always been messed up. If only I could have taped the conversation, it would be hours of fun now.

Public train Chicago

Headed deeper into the Midwest, I'm jumping ahead a bit to show you my new license plate.

Hanging out with my nieces in the car.

Downtown Iowa City had a sand sculpture day so we wandered down.

Everyone on the porch of my mom's house. It feels like North Dakota and that is a good thing. Only my sister Carrie (in Portland for now) is missing.

Crossing the waters- flying home to family

2011-08-10T18:10:00.014-04:00

Flying home. First glimpse of North America in six months. Serene, gray-green waterline with a layer of clouds obscuring the landscape like crumble on top of apple crisp, bits of my homeland peeking out between the cotton. I wonder what I’m feeling. This time it’s rather blank. I can’t gather why, but I think it’s because I’ve moved home once before, when I returned from New Zealand. Then it was an event- a breathless return to my old home of Portland. Today I fly into Chicago. I’m entering the city on public transport (the CTA), planning to glide downtown. It feels more like I’m a tourist in my own country. I intend to treat Chicago like any foreign city, and see if I can get a grasp of it, covering the urban sprawl by bicycle, foot and metro.

My first welcome back to the states was in Amsterdam, with the strange coincidence that I was flying through Schipol Airport at the same time as Doug & Phyllis Benson, my mom’s cousins and close family. They were returning to Jamestown, ND via Minneapolis from Olso, and me from Berlin to Chicago. I had a scant sixty minutes between flights, and they had about ninety. We thought perhaps we’d run into each other. On arrival in Amsterdam, I checked the monitors for my departure gate, and our flights were only three gates apart. So it was possible.

After speedwalking the airport halls, zipping through passport control (no questions, even though it would show that I’ve been in Europe for almost two years straight, minus seven days or so), I hurried to my gate, haggard a bit but hopeful that I might see them, watching in case they were walking too.

I neared their gate- passengers were lined up to enter the closed-off secured area. I scoured the line, and just before the gate, spotted Doug and Phyllis! We had less than five minutes, but it was still amazing to see them and take a picture- hard to believe that we managed to meet up. Somehow that made me feel like I really was going home, and I’m glad. Family is important.

Doug and Phyllis first came to visit us in Alexandria, Minnesota after my dad died. They came in a camper with their kids, and brought me along to Doug’s barbershop singing event. I still remember hearing Doug's group sing “Bridge over Troubled Water”… perhaps significant forever. And so, I go home.

(Doug and Phyllis and Sara's Amsterdam Airport Reunion)

The eve of departure

2011-08-09T10:05:00.008-04:00

(Location: Cafe Mokofuk in Berlin, contemplating the surreal nature of life)

This morning I awoke in mass confusion to my cell phone alarm at 7.30AM. "Time to wake up!" It speaks. Not quite springing out of bed but moving, I got myself dressed in my travel outfit and headed downstairs for coffee and breakfast.

Matuesz's brother, Mikel, was already in the kitchen, making coffee and arranging bread, cheese, meats and lettuce for breakfast and lunch sandwiches. The bread was freshly made by their father last night (in the bread machine, but still good). We sat at the table and chatted. Their mom came down, snapping photos and generally happy.

The sunlight streamed in the kitchen. My day of departure.

I'd arrived three days prior, and taken part in a family wedding reception, a name-day party and a day of sight-seeing in Poznan. All delightful. Just over two years ago, I'd met Mateusz on a minibus in Malaysia, the first Polish person who I'd interacted with. When I realised I was going to be going through his town, I emailed him. He invited me to stay with them and thoughtfully invited me to really be part of their family for a few days.

I'll have to reflect and write more, but suffice to say, I felt like family, and it was a perfect ending to my time in Europe. Poland reminds me of my roots, with the farmland and lakes, and people who are just regular nice folks. I mean that in the best way possible.

We drove to the train station this morning, Matuesz hopping out to make sure I went to the right track, and I waved him goodbye in his lime-green auto. Until we meet again.

(If you read the link to Mateusz's name, you can see how we ran into each other in Kuala Lumpur accidentally after our first meeting on the bus, something that occurred again yesterday when I was wandering around Poznan. I came up a street, and looked up and there he was saying, "Dr. Schultz!" We are not sure why we keep running into each other. It does not make sense. I am supposed to try to figure this out, but I think the chances of my enlightenment on this topic are slim. And no, my friends don't call me Dr. Schultz, only when they are harassing Polish guys.)

Sometimes the best places are right under your nose.

2011-08-07T14:05:00.001-04:00

For my last day in Gdansk, I'd planned to hang out near to my hostel, in the park and the art museum.

Polish toilet sign. I have never thought of myself as a circle, but I guess I will start now.

In Olwia park. Which also housed the modern art museum, which is free on Fridays. Yay.

Inside the modern art museum.

I love these colors, and I think I would like to paint my doors aqua too.

Sometimes you find beautiful things in the bathroom.

Cafe Delfin. I sat here and got buzzed off my one glass of red wine.

Lunch/dessert. It was caramel-something and really tasty.

Cafe Delfin, Gdansk

2011-08-05T14:27:00.004-04:00

Trucks huffing outside. The swish of the swinging door to the bar. Clicking. Unintelligible language. Light wafting from the picture window inscribed Café Delfin. A moth who can’t find her way out running over and over into the clear barricade. A film projector, cord cut, now decoration- seems perfect design with the moth flitting about. I think of movies in elementary school - the dust in the projector light. Six blush brown-edged roses perched in a clear vase, beckoning romantic dreams. Two waitresses: one young, one old. The clank of a glass. Roughing of chair legs across the tiles. Electronic ambience drops from the corner speaker. A phone song rings, interrupting my reverie.

Old cranberry colored theatre seats lining the wall match my dry red, which is making me dizzy at two in the afternoon. I finish a pen off. Satisfaction. The swinging door again. Paying at the counter, an old man in a vest, greenish khakis, and a plaid shirt, all hanging loosely off him, slides his wallet in his back pocket and shuffles to the bathroom.

No English. I’m alone in my thoughts, alone at my table, alone in my worry for the moth who is resting on the window sill barricaded by glass. I want to move her, but I am scared to touch her. She rests, waiting to garner the energy to bang the glass again.

Gdansk: where all the tourists go

2011-08-04T15:20:00.000-04:00

I'm having a little trouble finding inspiration in Gdansk and surrounding area. Which is ok. Sometimes places are like that, and it's the contrast that makes other places feel special.

There were so many souvenirs for sale, and the crowds so heavy that it felt like Munich in summer. After the last few months of sparse tourists, I felt claustrophobic navigating the hoards of people moving in slow motion en masse like half-frozen Heinz ketchup. To get away, to breathe, was mostly what I was thinking.

Not that there weren't some pretty sights...

The central train station is one of the most beautiful in Europe.

Yesterday I took a water tram to Hel peninsula. I went an hour early to buy tickets in Sopot but they were already sold out, so I took a train to Gdynia and tried again, and ended up not going to Hel town, but to a neighboring town of Jastarnia. Everyone wanted to go to Hel, and the tickets were again sold out.

The ferry was crowded with screaming and running kids, and I couldn't help but feel happy I didn't have one of my own. I sat and wrote and stared at the sea. Arrival on Hel, I expected it to be tourist central, but I was surprised to find it felt quiet and peaceful. So I continued my pilgrimage to Hel, walking to the tip of the Hel peninsula and then catching a train back to my hostel later in the day. The price to go to Hel and Back: 45zl (approx 11 Euros).

There were multiple bunkers on the Hel peninsula, installed mostly by the Germans. Poland gets the award for most bunkers seen after Albania on this trip.

The Hel peninsula was aptly named, covered in billboards (WTF?) and sun-worshipers.

Wolf's Lair, Poland

2011-08-03T02:01:00.013-04:00

My long-haul bus riding days are over (I hope). Yesterday I caught a bus to town and a second bus to Gdansk. It was supposed to be 4.5 hours, and it was about five. Near the end, I felt like crawling out of my skin. I'm traditionally a good bus rider, but after over two months of public transport, I'm not enjoying it as much as the first week. No surprise there.

On Monday, I made a pilgrimage to Wolf's Lair. Hitler lived here mostly from 1941-45, and chose the area as a good location to plan and execute the invasion of the Soviet Union. In 1944, many of Hitler's high ranking German officers tried to assassinate him here. Obviously failed. When the war was over in 1945 as the Red Army was approaching, the Germans blew up most of the bunkers.

The woods are like Northern Minnesota. I found it surreal to feel so at home in a place where so many evil things were planned, but the idea that there were still people trying to stop him made me feel good about humanity. If this were in Germany, it would be crawling with tourists, but often I found myself walking among the ruins and the woods alone. I heard no English and the staff at Wolf's Lair barely spoke any either, which sort of added to the experience making it less like a tourist attraction and more like walk through the woods of history past.

Here is the cute bus driver on the way to Gierloz (where Wolf's Lair is located). Even though it was only 40km from the town I was last in, it took from 10.50 until about 14.15 to get there. This is why I will be happy to not be so reliant on public transport pretty damn soon.

So in Wolf's Lair, Hitler's top generals tried to assassinate him, (unsuccessfully, damn it) and when they were unsuccessful, Hitler and Co. executed about 5000 people who might have been related to the plot. Others were taken into "kinship custody" and some survived the war. There was a building with an exhibit and photos in the complex. Sadly the movie was in Polish but the signboards were all also in English and Deutsch.

The ruins are in a beautiful location, like northern Minnesota. Even with mosquitoes. At one point there were 2,000 people living here, but only 20 women. They even had a cinema, sauna, etc.

Hitler's personal bunker. The signs say no entry to the ruins, but no one is monitoring and everyone was going in. I walked through Hilter's bunker. It was dark.

It is not Minnesota.

I'd wondered if it would be worth it to go out of my way to get to Wolf's Lair, but it was certainly worth it.

You could pay 5Zl and practice shooting but I don't really like to even look at guns let alone shoot them. In my world they would not exist. But it is not my world.

It is pretty though. And the bottles look tempting.

The person who was given credit for the main part of the assassination attempt (he carried the briefcase in) was Claus von Stauffenberg. They blew up the building that Hilter was in, but unfortunately Hitler was only mildly hurt and one person was killed. This plaque says approx: Here stand the barracks where Claus von Stauffenberg, an assoc of Hitler's, and many others went against the nationalism/socialism/dictator and they paid with their lives.

My hotel 70zl ($25). It is simple and comes with breakfast and was a former barracks. I would recommend staying here. It's really peaceful after the tourists leave. And it also includes entry to the ruins. (Which is normally 12zl). So, quite handy.

They have decked out Hitler's headquarters into an inexpensive beautiful restaurant with good food.

I was obsessed with the similarity to Minnesota. Even the ground looks like Bemidji to me. The wet sandy dirt. The road that gradually slopes into the edge. The sparse grass.

I think there are blueberries and black bears in there.

The sign gives away that it is not Minnesota but without that, I'm sure you would not know the difference. To me this was lovely.

Waiting at the bus station to head to Gdansk.

Ok so then Poland morphed into North Dakota...

Here is North Dakota, taken as I came in on the Amtrak from Portland, OR in 2009.

Poland, from the bus 2011... slightly better camera.

So maybe Poland was the perfect place to end. With its similarities to North Dakota and Minnesota, I can almost taste the Midwestern air. It's only seven days away from being real. It's not that I want to get out of here, but the transition is as important as the change itself. These two plus months have been the transition from Germany to the States. To end here is to go home, in more ways than one.

After Gdansk I'll be staying with friends in Poznan and Berlin, so it's also my last bit in hostels, which is a nice thought too. There comes a time when you want to wake up and walk around in your underwear, throw laundry in when you feel like it, open the fridge to things that are yours, go to bed when you like without others coming and going all night. Not that they are big issues, but when they are gone, I won't miss them. Until the urge comes for the next trip, that is.

This fall I'll be making a USA tour: Chicago, the Midwest (Iowa, MN, ND), Portland & Seattle, New Orleans, New York City. So the adventure is not over- just changing. Besides, there is the adventure of a new hometown and new way of life... with fresh roasted coffee beans around the corner, black bicycle rides, arts and culture, and family a day's drive away. Let the stories continue...

I love Libraries & Art: Warsaw's back streets

2011-07-31T12:28:00.014-04:00

My final day in Warsaw. (I almost just wrote Berlin! They are similar.) Wandering libraries and art museums. But first thing was to bus to the bus station and buy my ticket for the following day. I'd built it up to a long nightmare with an unsmiling attendant in the midst of confusion and suffering and it ended up being a five minute simple experience ending in a smile- one of the easiest encounters of my trip. After that was out of the way, I was off to my greatest loves, art and books.

The Modern Art Museum, which is in a temporary location, small, beautiful and free. Simple in it's B&W display, with a tiny cafe at the entrance where I topped off my visit with an espresso.

So true and yet, I can't help but think money is freedom. It is.

So similar, it's shocking.

The artistic metro station, Plac Wilsona. It was nice but I was underwhelmed. But with a 16zl (4Euro) 3-day transport pass, it was not a waste of much time and no money.

Poland's symbol, on the side of an old bank which survived WW2.

I love the layers.

The opera house.

Old town

Old town market square.

Kafka Kafe. Excellent salad, coffee and interesting people watching.

The most beautiful library in the world.

The ceiling of the most beautiful library.

They have a garden atop.

Warsaw from the roof.

Inside the library from the roof

Ok so I was thinking that the people in the library could probably see up my skirt since it is all windows but hopefully it was kind of far away and they really couldn't see anything but if they did see something I hope it made them happy at least.

Rooftop Garden (another one!)

I went to see the Polish Little Mermaid who is supposed to have muscles but then this was there instead. So I took a picture. You can just imagine the muscular little mermaid. I hope you can imagine it.

The stadium and a tram. I rode a tram over that bridge too.

Obi Cafe

They were having a bike scavenger hunt and most of the teams were all dressed up in their spandex.

But this team was normal and laid back. I wanted to be on their team. If I were in the race.

Warsaw: Visit. But be strong. It is not for the weak. It is worth your efforts. Fearlessly attempt public transport. Polish people are nice and helpful but speak mostly Polish. Not so much English or German, but you will get by. I did. Anyway. It's a very interesting, very large town. Go!

Pay Less, More Adventure! (Walking to Poland)

2011-07-29T13:54:00.004-04:00

While in Lviv, I met a hyper, green-eyed Polish guy (Mikel) who found amusement in my use of “anal”. He took a Dutch guy and me out for beers to a bar where we had to knock on a window, give a secret password and play along on the charade that is still WW2 when everyone was busy hating the Russians. We gained entry after Mikel gave a few answers in Ukrainian. A massive uniformed guard poured us each a shot of red vodka and then opened the secret bookcase to the basement cellar, to safely party without the Russians finding us. Downstairs and through various rooms, we followed Mikel in search of a table. In the far back room, only one was open, as if reserved for us. He ordered us each a shot of vodka, a beer, and garlic lard with bread. Yes, garlic lard. I was internally debating vegetarian status of lard but then decided it was close enough to butter and I was not going to ruin the fun that had begun. It was not bad. I wouldn't get it again, but mostly garlic overpowered the lard. Of course I could not help but remember my horrification at the discovery that lard was sold on the shelf at the grocery store when I was 16, but I did not share that.
After sitting an hour or so, the lights all went out and an emergency light came on. It seemed a bit odd, though we’d been having a lot of storms and flickering power before so it was hard to know if it was real or staged. Everyone else was still laughing and talking and unconcerned, so I figured it was not the night I was going to die in a Ukrainian pub. I hoped anyway. 
In the corner was a guy slouching with sunglasses on. 
We kept talking and drinking beers. I was persistent in saying that I was a cheap drunk and insisted on sharing my vodka shot. I realized that I am actually afraid of shots, as in my heart races when I take them, because I know my tolerance, and it is not good. 
A shot rang out. 

Three guys rushed in with guns and shouting… in Ukrainian, so it was a bit of a mystery. One little boy about four was answering some of their questions and appeared scared. I was a bit scared. Of course having no idea what is really happening is a curiousity itself.

The guards approached the man in the corner and dragged him out. I think leaving bruises on the way. 
We stayed out til 2am, which Mikel said was crazy that we went to bed at respectable hours. 
So that is Mikel. 

He is the one who suggested I do the Polish Border Crossing. Now you know the back story.

The Polish Border Crossing Plan:
Take bus to train station.
Take bus (from train station) to the Ukrainian-Poland border.
Walk across.
Catch bus to train station.
Catch train to Warsaw.

Since the entry into Ukraine from Poland took nearly four hours at the border, I was willing to try for an adventure and see if I could save a little time, or at least spend less time sitting. I call it, “Pay Less for More Adventure.”

Mikel wrote the instructions in the back of my journal, with the town names and the train I would catch to Warsaw. He said, “Leave at noon, that should be early enough, well, maybe eleven.”

I left at 9AM. 
The woman at the hostel pointed out on the map where to find bus 66 to the train station for 2HUT (20 cents), so I set off walking. I almost got there when the streets started turning around on me, and I could not find the place I was to go. I saw a bus 66 but it was going the wrong way. I tried to ask directions but no one understood English or German or knew where the street was that I was looking for. After several attempts (and kicking myself for not taking a taxi), I found a businessman who knew where I needed to go, though again did not speak any of my languages. He realized I was not going to find it and so walked me up the street and pointed. I was dubious, because I felt so swished up and nothing seemed like the right direction, even though I’d felt pretty comfortable with the city, but I did what he said.
I saw a bus 66 and I thought it was going the right way, so I flagged it down. I had no idea where the bus stop was and just hoped the driver would pity me. It worked and I crammed myself into the already full bus, seeing a younger blond girl and asking,”Train station?” She seemed to be answering in the affirmative even though in another language, so I stayed hoping it was right.  
We didn’t appear to be going to city center, which seemed good. 
Finally a large station appeared, and I’d looked up in my book how to say train station in Russian, and got another yes. The girl who I’d asked when I first got on happened to still be on the bus (the blonde bus angel). She saw my handwritten directions from Mikel and knew where I was going. She needed to change money so I followed her and then she walked me to my bus stop. It wasn’t there but showed up a few minutes later, with the town name on the front. I got on. 22HUT and 15 minutes later, we were off for the border. On the bus, I spoke to a 12 year old girl, asking a few questions and she would ask her mom, and then translate for me. She said it was two hours to the border.
We arrived at the border 2 hours to the minute from when we left Lviv. 
I followed the other passengers who were walking towards the border patrols, along sidewalks and behind buildings. It was pretty easy. The Ukranian side took about 3 minutes. He asked where I went, I said Lviv, and then I got my second orange passport stamp. 
I walked on, to the Polish side where it did not look so friendly. There was a crowd, crammed in to a carrel-like area, smashed in there like they were trying to touch a rock star on a concert stage. 
Inside there was a chute, where people were standing in line. No one appeared to be moving. After 20 minutes there was still no movement. I was wondering if four hours would be enough to catch my train. 
I tried to sneak up on the side a bit and get in, trying to act like I didn’t realize what I was doing. I stood there a bit, and a woman asked if I had cigarettes with me. I said yes. (I didn’t.)
I looked back and people were feeding bags back and forth through the fence (from the Ukrainian to the Polish side). About ten bags went through and people were coming and going and acting all nonchalant until finally a Polish border guard came running and some people were yelled at and tracked down and carried away. 
The line in the chute had cleared. A female guard was poised to open the gate and refill the chute. Everyone waited in anticipation. The gate opened and people rushed forward, like a river nearing a narrow spot. People yelling, getting forced off into the mud, and general fun. I managed to secure a spot on the sidewalk near the entry to the corral, hoping I might get in the next time. 
The border line picked up and they were soon letting a second group in. 
I got squeezed into the corral but not through the gate, nearly leaving my right arm behind me along with my messenger bag. Advice: Hold on tight to your belongings and keep your arms next to your body. No floating arms!

Smashed between a fat lady with red hair and an old man of about 70, I started to laugh at the disorder, the smuggling through the wall, the cigarettes and all. Then I started to sing myself Radiohead’s”High and Dry,” which is always the song that enters my mind when things are tense.

Shortly after the gate opened again, and we entered the chute. She let everyone enter this time, and they crammed in like sardines. I kind of missed the orderly German lines, but this was entertaining. 
Inside, I got a green-eyed customs guy, who saw my surname and asked if I spoke German. He had me open my bags but I don’t think he really cared, and then spoke German to me, saying Gute Reisen and Tschus and more… I sort of knew he was going to be like that when I saw him. 
The border agent asked a few more questions but I got my passport stamped and walked out after a few minutes.
The whole border crossing took about one hour and fifteen minutes, almost three hours less than on the bus. 
I changed money just a ways down the road before the bus for the train station, which was very easy to find. I boarded after getting the nod from the driver, and immediately saw two boys who walked through the border with me. I said, “You guys are here too!” I had not spoken to them before but it just came out, like we were old friends. They were college students and the one with green eyes was very kind and good with English. It was their first trip to Lviv. He was studying Economics and his friend, History. 
He said, “We wanted to talk to you all along because we knew you didn’t know what was going on.” I had wondered why this woman had pushed them to the front and gotten them through the border. They had smuggled some cigarettes for her. 
They chatted with me all the way to the station, which took about 30 minutes.Then showed me the way to the train and wished me luck. 
I saw a schedule on the wall and it looked like the Warsaw train was leaving in only seven minutes so I hurried to find a ticket counter. There was a white wooden booth which looked like it might be a ticket booth. I tried to ask for a ticket to Warsaw but the two ladies didn’t understand. I asked, “Kannst du Deutsch?” No. “Warshawa?” Light turns on! She writes down the time and price (52Zl). I say yes and nod. And then today’s date. Yes and nod. I show my Visa card. That was ok too. So I get the ticket. I had time to spare! And then discovered there was a one hour time difference, so I even had more time. If I would have been 15 minutes earlier I could have caught the 1:07 train instead of the 15:43 train, but it was not a problem. I was just happy it all went so well.
Optometrist thought: I can’t help but wonder what the incidence of green eyes is in Poland. 

End of Lviv, Introducing Warsaw!

2011-07-28T13:17:00.013-04:00

I have had a technical failure since arriving in Warsaw, and my netbook no longer attaches to the internet, so I am back to paying for online time and transferring files via flashdrive. Not so fun, but it frees up a lot of time otherwise. I have also become dependent on the hostel reception to look up travel information, like bus schedules and whatnot. That is actually an improvement.

End of Lviv:

She was singing opera in Rynok Square. It's the first time I have heard a street performer do opera. It was really beautiful.

Taking the train to WARSAW!

(Unlike Copenhagen, their lightboards work and are accurate, and the trains were even on time.)

It really was non smoking. (Unlike Denmark also.)

Dinner. Yum. I did not finish the beer or I would have passed out and missed my station even though it was nearly an 8 hour ride. It was 8.3% beer.

This kid was eating the whole train ride, and opening and closing the door like he was five. His grandmother didn't say one thing to him. The lady who was sitting across from me kept making faces at me, so at least i had a partner in my judgement and annoyance.

First thing I saw in Warsaw (almost).

Central train station

Cafe inside Warsaw Rising museum

Remnants of WW2

Palace of Culture. It was all lit up in blue when I first got off the train. I thought I died and went to heaven. Warsaw was so peaceful and quiet and blue, and I was surprised. But then it was nearly midnight on a weekday. It is different during the day.

I would like to study here too

Marie Curie was from Warsaw

Cinnamon honey latte. Sounds better than it was. I would rather have had an espresso. But I am a snot like that.

This was a bar/cafe like in the middle of an intersection. And they had a pool. How Polish! Crazy Polish.

In the contemp art museum. I liked it. And they were free on Thursdays.

Fin means End.

More WW2 leftovers

I really liked this door

Warsaw is quite the city to visit. It's hard. I mean, you need to be a bit intrepid to get around. There's not a lot of English. It's really spread out. Even with a transport pass, my legs are aching from all the walking. I felt I liked it the first day, but I think that I would not want to live here, it is a difficult city, and I think a bit dark. But then that is true.

I took the tram to the ghetto area, which is still poor and kind of in ruins. And it was quite ghetto. I got back on the tram and decided I would leave the area.

The population is 1.7million, but I wonder what the land size is--- it is very spread out.

I will be here 2 more days, and then to the lakes region where I can canoe and look at Hilter's Wolf's Lair (where one of his people tried to assassinate him, unsucessfully).

A taste of Ukraine: Lviv

2011-07-25T10:27:00.015-04:00

The city feels like Prague with way less tourists. I have heard that so many places are called, "The Next Prague," but so far none of them matched up with the title. I have not heard that Lviv is The Next Prague but I think perhaps it is.

Quiet, calm, cafes. Colorful, intricate buildings. Cheap, tasty food. Coffee. Underground bars. A massive cemetary. Former USSR, but feels quite Western.

The Transport To Lviv: I took the overnight bus. I was a bit nervous and could not eat the whole day. I packed an Ativan, earplugs, eyemask, music, etc and hoped for the best. They said the bus was full and I got an aisle seat, so I figured I'd be up most of the night. Instead, the bus had a lot of empty seats, I'd been given a window anyway, and I slept more hours than I do in a hostel. Yaya!

It was damn cold on the bus as there was some crazy A/C freak in charge of the controls so I put everything on that I could find in my bag, including my trusty handsocks, and wool slippers I'd bought in Lithuania.

Just in case I wanted to remember the time.

The Polish border. We arrived at 5:30 and did not pass through the Ukranian side until almost 4 hours later. I was pretty patient, but that was a long time.

Arrival in Lviv... we sat in the coffee shop in Rynok Square. Coffees are about 1 Euro.

There were bride everywhere in princess dresses and with so much make up their mothers would not recognise them. Most looked to be around 20 years old, and the size I was in about 4th grade.

Cabinet Cafe where I had a coffee with rum, coca-cola, ice cream and cinnamon. It was good.

The Ukrainian stamp is orange. I wonder if it is after the Orange Revolution?

There was a band playing here -- a great spot for people watching until they took a break and I was starting to fear lung cancer from the second hand smoke.

Dinner. Yum. The Vino was good.

I bought these sunglasses and I think they will match my car. Yay.

The view from my hostel balcony where I sit and drink coffee in the morning. That's Rynok Square.

I like this car.

University.

Visit Lviv! It's lovely.

Taking the overnight bus towards home

2011-07-22T06:15:00.012-04:00

[Top Gun's playing in the other room, as rain plunks down outside.

Take My Breath Away. It is strangely comforting.]

I've revised my schedule over and over but I think I finally worked out something that's logical and can stick for the last twenty days of my holiday. Traveling long term is like an art project, always a work in progress, but you have to know when to quit before it gets ugly.

Tonight I have an overnight bus to Lviv, where I plan to spend at least three nights, then will catch a train to Warsaw, where I'll have four nights. I'd gotten a Belarus visa but then got nervous about visiting Minsk (political unrest), and decided that Brest was probably the best option since it is five miles from the border of Poland and the EU and only an eighteen minute train ride. Brest will either be a day trip or just overnight couch-surfing.

After Warsaw, I head to the Masurian Lake district of Poland (three nights in fancier lodgings), then to Gdansk for five nights, then down through Torun or Poznan before heading back to Berlin, where I'll stay with my friend Ruth the night before I catch a flight back to Chicago August 10th. It's an apt send-off from Germany, leaving from the city I love most with a good friend who I met on the road.

So figuring out a schedule and the ensuing lodging reservations frees me to wander with mind and foot through the rest of my days here. It's like being in the clouds for a while, drifting from place to place, knowing soon I will be landing in the USA, dropping into the country which was home for thirty-one years.

People back home fear that I'm going to be bored or regret returning, but I feel the time is right, and I'm ready. I read somewhere that home is where people accept you. Or home is where people miss you when you are gone. In that case, I am headed home, to family, friends and my country.

This last day in Lithuania, the sky is falling again. Hopefully there's a break in the clouds so I can make it to the station without a free shower. If not, I have a raincoat and waterproof backpack, so I am prepared for anything (I hope). Next report from the Ukraine...

Remote Lithuania: The Hill of Crosses and Curonian Spit

2011-07-20T09:53:00.009-04:00

This morning, I woke up at a moderate hour (9am-ish) with the plan to rent a bicycle and ride out to the Hill of Crosses, which is a place about 10km out of Siaulai, Lithuania. Lithuanians have been erecting crosses since about 1831 to remember loved ones and as a symbol of their resistance against occupying regimes. The Soviets bulldozed the hill three times, but the Lithuanians continued to sneak up in the night and stick crosses in the ground. Today there are over 100,000 crosses.

Three little guys in the town of Siaulai.

Much of Lithuania is non-smoking. All bars and restaurants. This park. Ferries. It makes me very happy. The same in Latvia. This is in Klaipeda in the sculpture park.

I was just in the Curonian Spit area, the town of Nida. The Curonian Spit is a sandbar extending off Kalingrad (a part of Russia). Half of it is owned by Lithuania, so you can walk down and look at Russia. You have to actually take a ferry to get to this part of Lithuania.

That's Russia- in the black in the background. Now I can prove that I have the proper foreign experience to run for president.

The town of Nida from the dunes.

I was quite happy, not many people there.

The fisherman had to mark their ships, because they were only allowed to fish in certain areas. So they used elaborately painted weather vanes as markings. It's something that was done only in this area.

Kaunas, Lithuania (a former capitol city)

2011-07-18T14:09:00.011-04:00

My feelings about Kaunas:

The wall outside my hostel (which was lovely as):

Their main pedestrian walking way:

This man appeared to harassing the girl and then her boyfriend showed up. I later saw the man in the hat at the grocery store looking hazy, having purchased a large bottle of alcohol to continue the haze. Sad.

The Church in the square:

On the wall in my hostel:

They put nipples on this lady, the freedom monument:

If that does not look like an old commie building. It's now the War Museum. I did not go.

War memorial.

And this is what baby devils look like. (At the Devil Museum!)

The Hitler and Stalin Devils, made in 1975. With skulls beneath them.

Vilnius street.

A stag party. I would wear that apron.

I'd seen this red car earlier when I was at the devil museum.

Their fort.

Looking at the skate park.

I kept running into them. On the river this time.

Where I had a beer. The Blue & Orange bar.

That is one cool building.

Kaunas is about one hour from Vilnius by train or bur. I took a snazzy new train- ala Northern Europe years ago when their trains were new and on time and the monitors and clocks worked at their stations, not so much the case anymore. So Lithuania was a major improvement over Denmark in the train station department.

Entry into Lithuania: Vilnius

2011-07-17T02:47:00.012-04:00

Vilnius, the capitol of Lithuania. It's a nice town but sort of unremarkable. It's an interesting town but lacked heart. That was my sense of the city.

(excellent salad)

(spooky eyes)

(whoa red hair)

(sideways retro drainpipe)

(KGB Museum with the prison intact in the basement)

(a strait jacket in solitary confinement)

(view from the basement guard station)

(water torture- inmate stood on round circle in ice water in winter)

(They have an area called Uzupis which is a separate nation sort of)

(Lithuanian/Russian wedding lock tradition again)

Riga: The blue city.

2011-07-13T14:00:00.015-04:00

Coming off about two weeks in the company of others, Riga was a good first stop. Quiet avenues intermixed with busy streets, aqua and royal streetcars, art deco facades, pink yogurt soup, compact and simple for walking, and a welcoming hostel all made it an easy transition to solo travels. Last time I met up with Carrie for a month in SE Asia, it took me about two weeks to recover, but then I think that I was more isolated there because the lodging was often single rooms. Dorms are much better for my mental health as a solo traveler.

I’ve been spending the last few days also researching the Belarus visa, which appears to be a scheme to extract as much money as possible from people wishing to enter their country. That combined with the bureaucracy causes me to entertain skipping the country all together, but today I will see the people in Vilnius about the visa and make a decision. Really, transport-wise, it makes more sense to go through Belarus. And I am intrigued by Minsk.

(parks everywhere and no garbage anywhere)

(city hall)

(had a delightful salad here)

(I love cute old ladies with white fuzzy hair drinking milkshakes)

(the freedom monument)

(fresh clothes, hand washed)

(I have a love affair with hanging laundry- it looks so pretty and feels so good)

(there's a wheelchair next to that girl that she was sitting in for a while and I was wondering if she was really handicapped, but she wasn't)

(old city walls)

(how I looked when I couldn't find my lunch)

(this was the secret hideout restaurant that I accidentally found in the basement of a nondescript building, with only Latvians and the lady only spoke Latvian as well)

(best soup ever- beets, radishes, cukes, spring onions, yogurt, and it's flaming pink!)

(the lady on the left had lived in the states for a while and started talking to me and thought I was a long way from home to be alone)

(this is the front of the restaurant. guardian angels must have directed me there because I was getting desperate to eat)

(central market, dead animals. gross.)

(my fav colors)

(one of the first wheelchair ramps)

(I have no idea what this is about)

(artist rendering of the a crumbling wall to represent the Jews who pushed back to save fellow Jews sometimes with success sometimes without)

I LOVED RIGA.

Hamburg I

2011-07-10T10:57:00.001-04:00

HAMBURG: the city I’ve heard Americans love. This made me wary and nearly avoidant of the city. But with the cheapest direct flights for our respective onward journeys, after the rescheduling of plans due to my job loss, we decided to come here for a couple days.

There’s no way to define the city, except that it is “non-sequitur”- or that was what Joon said. But he is right. The fishmarkt & docks, old town, St. Pauli & the hippies, Reeperbahn’s sex, drugs & rock’n’roll, modern areas intermixed with old, and nothing that flows. Add some tourists (no real English heard despite the aforementioned rumors) and you have a real circus. Plus more homeless people than I’ve seen in all of Germany and folks who generally look like their life is headed in the wrong direction.

We stayed in the Reeperbahn area of Hamburg, where the Beatles went from boyz2men in the 1960s with the help of poverty, music, drugs, and hookers. It seems the street is much the same as back then, complete with broken glass, naked sex shows, shit and vomit smeared on the sidewalk and a general sense of ill ease. With near dry-heaves, we traversed the chaos this morning at half past six to catch the S-bahn to the airport. The party was still going on the street and the subways filled with those just on their way home. I thought, I don’t think I ever wanted or want that life…

It is not without worthy stops. St. Pauli, for instance, invoked a feeling of the Portland Eastside scene (mildly gentrified hippie-ish-ness), where we had the best cappuccino of the whole trip, and I would daresay in Europe altogether. Simple small stores with second hand furniture and tasty soups, walking with beer down the street, in and out of the sunlight. It was a good feeling.

Hamburg is worth a shout if you are in the area (though I don’t think I would go out of your way…) and we only really covered a small section of the town, so don’t take my word for it.

(Note: there are 3 posts of pictures because picasa would only load 20 images at a time.)

(Japanese to German translation)

(right outside our doorstep)

(dinner the last night here was lovely.)

Hamburg 2

2011-07-10T10:45:00.002-04:00

(one of my favorite numbers)

(I like this word. It means "offer.")

(thinking about applying for a job as a "nice girl")

(Beatles memory platz)

(closed opera house)

(sat here drinking beer)

(it smelled a little like pee so we didn't stay too long)

Hamburg 3

2011-07-10T10:44:00.001-04:00

(perhaps more rellies?)

(note the sign)

(ok-cheesecake cafe)

(my kinda love poem)

(locking up for love)

(I'm confused!)

(the train in at 6.30AM to the airport)

(cute old couple)

(this couple was sent to the concentration camp)