Graduation and other happenings

So my sister graduated from college on Sunday. This is simultaneously mind blowing and not a big deal (for me that is, I'm sure it's a very big deal for her). She's not that much younger than me, and now that she can legally drink all over the world and has a BA, there is literally nothing that draws attention to our age difference. In fact, most of her friends either asked who was older or specifically if I was younger. Because of this age-equivalence I feel, it seems so obvious that she should be done with college simply because I am. But several times during the ceremony (which was very long and very boring), upon hearing voracious applause for other graduates, I was suddenly struck by intense nostalgia for my own time in college and the days when I thought of her as my baby sister, and it made my heart ache for her that it was over. But that was more of a fleeting sensation - honestly, I spent the majority of the ceremony wondering when it would be over. I can only assume (and hope) that it was more meaningful to those actually graduating.

On Saturday morning, the whole family took a little trip to Italy (nbd) to a market in Ponte Tresa. Everything from the new JLo CD to red leather jackets to cured meats were on sale at this market. The pizza was absolutely delicious, and I averted a minor crisis when I dropped my scalding hot slice, tried unsuccessfully to catch it with my other hand but burned it instead on the hot cheese, and then in an amazingly lucky and determined effort caught it before it hit the ground. So, I pretty much dropped it twice then caught it. I only lost a few drops of marinara sauce! In this lovely little border town we also got some fantastic hazelnut gelatto (my all-time favorite flavor), which has led me to the conviction that it's simply not worth it to settle for ice cream when something as delightful as gelatto exists.

On the single sunny day that I enjoyed in Lugano, I walked around the lake and took in an art exhibit at a museum in the park. The artist was Tony Cragg, and his stuff seriously impressed me. The museum was practically empty and the Swiss attendants were very insistent that one follow the order of the exhibit exactly, so I was alone to enjoy the pieces in silence (apart from the very loud creaking of the floors on the upper level). There were examples of his work with many different media, but my favorite were some watercolors of landscapes, but the effect of a landscape was achieved using only 0s and 1s, like binary code. The exhibit seemed to be centered around several ideas, one of which was the creation of wholly different and very fluid things from geometric, small building blocks. The more I see of modern art, the more I "get it".

We did an awful lot of walking in Lugano, which was great. It's very hilly, so I'm considering it training for when I move to San Francisco (whenever that happens). However, some people can't (or don't want to) handle the hills, so they have a lovely little contraption called a funicular that goes between the train station and downtown/the lake. We rode it once just for fun - I probably could have walked up the hill faster, but that just wouldn't have been touristy enough for that particular moment.

There were a lot of multi-family dinners that included a lot of wine, a lot of coffee, and a LOT of pasta. Also the most deliciously light, cloud-like gnocchi I have ever tasted in my life. It was agreed that while the sauce was lacking in flavor, the delicate little potato dumplings were the pinnacle of perfection, quite literally the most apt usage of the term "melt-in-your-mouth" that I have ever experienced. These gnocchi are what little sprouting potatoes should someday aspire to be.

A lot of the celebratory activities in the week centered around food, wine, and friendly company. I met a lot of wonderful people, I wholeheartedly approve of my sister's choice of college companions. And, hopefully, friends for a lot longer than that. The hard part about going to school in another country is that when you leave, you LEAVE. Everyone goes back whence they came, and to stay in touch with everyone becomes that much harder. But these are people who love to travel, and goodness knows where they will all end up in their lives, so we can only hope for the best.

Getting to Lugano

I was lucky enough to get a flight from LA to Dusseldorf, Germany, and from there it was a short hop to Zurich. The first flight was delightfully empty - I got a pair of seats, aisle and window, all to myself. To top it off, they served wine with dinner and a digestif afterwards. It was quite luxurious.
When I arrived in Zurich I caught a train to Lugano, which was another 3 hours through BEAUTIFUL scenery. There was luscious grass, fields full of wild flowers beneath mountains covered in varying shades of green which gave way to snow-frosted pine trees. It was just breathtaking. At some point we went through a valley where it was snowing like crazy, at which point I had a minor freak out about the contents of my suitcase and the distinct lack of really warm clothes, but the weather was much warmer in Lugano. My sister met me at the station (but not before I tried, unsuccessfully, to find her dorm myself) and I will be spending the next week or so here with her doing graduation-oriented celebratory things.

Nooks and books

I really love to read. At the height of my reading career, probably around 10th grade, I was tearing through at least 3 books a week. Granted, these were mostly fantasy novels, but it serves to illustrate my point nonetheless.

Not only do I love to read, I love books. The smell of an ancient out-of-print volume in the public library is comparable to the smell of pine sap in the mountains in May. I could set up a cot and literally live inside of a used bookstore. I just got back from a two week trip - I left with 2 books, I came back with 8. I have more books than articles of clothing. And that statement is not qualified by how you define "article of clothing."

This passion for books causes some issues for me. First of all, I am nowhere near settled in my life, and every time I move I am struck by just HOW MANY there are, and just how much they weigh. I have sold, donated or otherwise given away dozens (possibly hundreds) of books each time I move, but they continue to accumulate. And I've decided I'm ok with this - my books are worth the extra headache on moving day.
But travel is another story. I am about to leave for a 3 month jaunt across the ocean, and of course there will be plenty of opportunity to read. Planes, trains, nights when I'm too tired to leave the hostel, cafés where I will really just be "reading" as a pretense for people watching. The idea of traveling, especially for so long, without any reading material is, in a word, unthinkable. But to carry enough books with me to last the trip is also completely ludicrous. Enter the nook. Not a book, but an acceptable replacement for the sake of lighter packing.

I'm not really sure how I feel about the kindle and the nook, the e-readers that threaten to make paper books a thing of the past. I don't truly believe this will ever happen, there are far too many individuals out there like me who see reading not just as an activity but a complete experience, one which requires the act of turning a page, the sound of the paper, the feel of it under your fingers. So, for the moment, I appreciate my nook for it's digital storage capacity, but little else.

As a true compromise, I decided to bring one paper book with me. I wondered what to bring for several weeks, polling friends, asking that English majors weigh in with their expert opinions. I finally decided on Catcher in the Rye. I read it in high school, and have wanted to revisit it for years, purely because of the almost visceral reaction it provoked in me. Although not necessarily an enjoyable reaction, I credit it to the excellence of the literature. So, when I moved after high school, Catcher was among the many books I gave to my local library.

I have been searching for a used copy of this book for the past month or so, with absolutely no success. I have a very romanticized idea in my mind of what a well-loved book looks like. Yellowed or worn with age, perhaps watermarked, dog-eared, coffee stains. Any of the above, really. And then, wonder of wonders, just such a book falls directly into my hands in Seattle. My lovely friend Blythe had a beautiful old copy of the book, and offered to lend it to me. My mind was immediately filled with visions of coffee spills, unexpected rainfall, the book leaping out of my bag to drown in the English Channel. No, no, I protested, knowing my clumsy self I would invariably lose or destroy this lovely little red book. In that case, take it as a gift, she said.

I cannot express in words how in love I am with this book. And I'm no longer afraid to dog ear it or drop it in the ocean (as long as I can fish it back out), because that will only give it more character.

the how and the where

I leave on Tuesday for Switzerland - my sister is graduating from college, which is kind of a big deal, so I'm hopping on a plane and flying over there to crash on her couch and distract her from packing for a few days.

After all the graduation hoopla is over we're doing a family vacation in Cinque Terre, after which everyone will fly back home, leaving me to start my solo adventure around Europe. This trip is really the reason I started this blog, and now it's finally here! Well, almost here. So, as I'm finishing up my last minute packing and preparations, I thought I would write a little about how I plan on traveling, and some potential locations I might visit.

THE HOW

Two words neatly sum up how I want to travel: light, spontaneous. I have a backpack (larger than a school bag but smaller than a camping pack) and a large purse, and anything that doesn't fit isn't coming. I want to be able to walk all day with my "luggage" if I need to, because who knows if I'll need to? I also don't have too much planned. As of this moment nothing is scheduled except my departing flight. That means no reservations of any kind after I leave Italy. While I do have a rough "itinerary", it's more of an idea of what could potentially happen. I want to leave everything open to spur of the moment decisions. I am also staying in hostels (dorm style) to meet interesting people and save my money for the things that I care more about, like delicious food and opera tickets.

THE WHERE

Since I don't know for sure where I'm going yet, I'll lay out my rough guide. First Switzerland, to see my sister in her cap and gown. Next, Cinque Terre, to spend 10 days with my family. Then it's on my own, and off to... Vienna, Slovenia, Bratislava, Budapest, Krakow, Prague, Cesky Krumlov, Salzburg, Munich, Berlin, Copenhagen (?), Amsterdam, Brussels, Paris, and a big finish in the UK. I plan on WWOOFing for about 4 weeks at the end of the trip because it's an inexpensive way to extend my time abroad, not to mention an amazing experience all on its own.
The only certainty is that I'll stay in Europe and the UK the entire time, and that I am ending up in either England, Scotland or Ireland. Everything in the middle has yet to be decided, and you will find out as I do.

Whimsy in Seattle

I met Blythe (codename usage will commence now) back in elementary school. She lived in Colorado for a year and a bit, and we had grand times together. We belted out musical numbers (Fiddler on the Roof was a favorite). We stained the fence in her backyard, along with ourselves, which led to a long time spent scrubbing our skin with turpentine. We had a "glamour day" when we dressed up in our fanciest clothes and took photos. We generally just had a lot of fun.

Then she moved to Taiwan.

Skip ahead 12 years. Thanks to facebook and a mutual certainty that we would still like each other, I find myself in the Seattle airport, hugging someone who is most definitely not in elementary school any more. We didn't really stay in touch over all those years, so we had the fun of getting to know each other all over again - and it was just wonderful!

I am not the type of person who has oodles of friends - I have a smaller number of people who I really adore, and I like it that way. I am lucky enough to have the most wonderful individuals in my life, and they have set the bar very high, so I rarely add anyone to my list of close friends. Blythe, however, has found a permanent home on that list. We got along swimmingly - in fact, we have so much in common that we began exclaiming loudly over any differences we happened upon. It was the most marvelous thing, we had the kind of engrossing conversations that you stay up late and lose sleep for, and not just about what we had missed in each others lives, but the kind of conversation you have with people you've known for years, the people who already know all about your life but you still find things to talk about anyways.

Now, let me regale you with tales of our exploits in Seattle (of which there were many), and pictures to prove it.

First of all, I was awoken my first morning by the delicious smell of coffee wafting into my room. That isn't the kind of thing I experience every day, so it was all the more delightful. Then, I got to drink this delicious coffee while we chatted over breakfast. This may seem like a little thing - and I suppose it is. But don't underestimate the amount of enjoyment I (and Blythe) get from little things, because then this story won't be any fun at all.

Our first stop was the Pike Place Market. I was enthralled with the idea of an indoor farmers market, and was walking around with my camera glued to my hand. We visited Rachel the piggy bank, a very accommodating and cold brass hog on whom we sat.

We got macaroons at a bakery filled with the most heavenly scents I could conjure, cheese curds at a shop down the street, and a cup of coffee at the original Starbucks. I very quickly realized the need to pay attention to how much coffee I was drinking, otherwise I would probably drown in the stuff. Ridiculous though this may be, something about being in Seattle made coffee more enjoyable. Perhaps it was the rain.

Then we went to the gum wall. I had never heard of this place before, never even imagined that such a place existed. But it does, and I have now contributed a wad of green, minty gum to the riot of spit-coated color. I will consider it to be my Seattle right-of-passage.

For dinner, we went to a restaurant that serves sushi on a conveyor belt! If I need to explain why this is exciting, perhaps this is not the blog for you.

The next day was even BETTER, if that's at all possible.
We began with more chatting and coffee. Let me reiterate just how lovely this is. Then we went to see the Fremont Troll, a huge troll statue under a bridge that is simultaneously imposing and strangely friendly. I had a lovely time patting his hair and looking up his nose.

Then we went to a delightful toy store called Archie McPhee's, where we spent a long time taking silly pictures and playing with finger puppets while simultaneously deciding how we would decorate our pizzas at lunch.

Yes, you read that right. We created scenes with plastic toys on our pizzas. It was fantastic.

Blythe had a parmesan pathway where a garden gnome was lovingly pushing a pram with rubber chickens and walking his pet skunk.

My pizza featured dinosaurs passed out under palm trees, windsurfing, playing badminton and wearing tophats, all while avoiding the sea monster trying to eat them all.

We also drank out of silly straws shaped like spectacles.
This was pretty much the most fun I've ever had playing with my food.




Dinner that night was even more exciting than the sushi conveyor belt. How is this possible? One might ask. Well, let me tell you. The most exciting dinner of all is when it consists entirely of dessert. Apple crisp and bread pudding, pretty much two of the most delicious things ever created.

We did many other wonderful things, including smelling lilacs, ascending the space needle, eating delicious tiny egg rolls and pad thai, going to an INSECT ZOO (yeah, that was pretty exciting for me), and generally enjoying our life filled with whimsy.

In conclusion: Seattle rocked my socks off.

“If you’re alive, you can’t be bored in San Francisco. If you’re not alive, San Francisco will bring you to life.” W. Saroyan

Last week I took a trip to San Francisco. It was a really wonderful time, seeing an old friend and meeting new people. I had been to the city before, but never really experienced it the way I did this time around. Of course I did some of the traditional tourist-y things like ride the cable car and eat chowder at Fisherman’s Wharf, but I also got a peek at the real city, the place people live their day-to-day lives. And I fell madly in love with it.

It’s a funny thing, the idea of a hometown. For some people it’s very clear, the place where you were born and grew up and still live is and always will be your hometown. For some people it’s very clear because they’ve never lived any one place long enough to have a hometown. Then there are people like me. People who don’t know where to call home but there’s no good reason why. I lived in Southern California for a good chunk of my childhood. Then I moved to Colorado, and lived there for most of my formative years (High School, College). For a while after we moved, I was “from California”. After about a decade, I was “from Colorado”. Then, I “moved” back to SoCal, and proceeded to live in other places for months at a time. When people would ask me where I was from, I would get confused. Sometimes I would say “LA”. Sometimes I would say “Boulder” or “Denver” or “Colorado”. Sometimes I would say “well, I live in California right now, but really I’m from Colorado”.

Seriously?

Clearly, I have felt the need for a hometown for several years now. At some point I decided not to worry about it. I’m young, I want to see the world, I can just live in different places until I find out where home is going to be. This is what I figured. Well, things don’t always happen according to plan. Last week, way ahead of schedule, I realized that San Francisco is the place for me. I can't really explain what happened, except to say that the city literally hooked me, like Santiago and the marlin, and it is not letting go come hell or high water.

the what

trav·el [ˈtravəl]
v. make a journey, typically of some length or abroad.
v. go or be moved from place to place

Beyond the multiple dictionary definitions of the word travel, we each have our own perception of the word - what it means in practice, experience, and how one views the world.

For many years I believed all “real” travel to be international. This seems to be a fairly pervasive assumption, given the presence of the qualifying term “abroad” in the dictionary definition. I have since realized how ridiculous that notion is. Being a resident of the United States, one of the larger countries in the world (geographically speaking), I not only have a wide variety of cities and natural vistas to appreciate, but also a plethora of sub-cultures with which I have absolutely no experience. Each region, state, city, or neighborhood within a city, can have its own distinctive flavor. And this is, of course, true in most every country, regardless of its size.

Another opinion I had about travel centers around the second definition – physically moving yourself from one country to another. If you did that, you were traveling. You were getting all the mind-opening benefits of travel, learning about other people and how they live, seeing that we are not all the same and that’s what makes the world such an interesting place. To me, these were the most important components of travel, and they happened automatically when you left home. I have discarded that belief as well. It’s completely possible to travel all the way to the other side of the world and not really change how you perceive or think about anything. I know, because I’ve done it. It all depends on the individual and how they choose to experience the fact that they are physically located in a new and different place. Just being there isn’t enough. It’s far too easy to allow your views to shape the world around you instead of really experiencing it.