The mail was waiting for me when I came in from the garden. The usual fire-starters from Suddenlink, Geico, and BedBath&Beyond, but a letter, too, the thin paper necessary for Air Mail both attracting me and repelling me. My life here is quiet, a small pension, a garden plot, and selling eggs and vegetables to the neighbors. The drone of insects in the summer air fills my head, keeps it clear of old thoughts. I traced the fragile edge of the envelope once, twice, walk away but come back. Always, I come back.



The slides look blank to my eyes, black squares in smudged white frames. I can't read the faint cursive on the single sheet inside. Nothing else in the envelope. Now, the envelope...Cyrillic cancellation, Russian stamps, no return address. Who is Zarcagual?

The only thing I am sure of is the seal in red wax on the back of the envelope: a six-leaved palm frond under what I always thought looked like a cloche jar, and the cursive L of the Librarians.

The Librarians! I thought they were all dead. The temple blew up. Nobody could have survived that.

I throw the letter in my traveling bag.

Mariposas of Leisure

We are terrible tourists, Greg and I. In four days we have seen zero area attractions--unless you count a pet cemetary as an attraction, in which case we have seen one. And epic freeway traffic; we've seen that, too.

(The news says it's been "chilly" lately...Really? It's been mid-70s, so nice.)

Anyway, today was the best day yet. I slept in til an astonishing 7:30, had coffee and reading time with my love, then we hopped in the car and headed to the Santa Anita fashion mall to meet my grade-school friend Pam and her kids for lunch at the Cheesecake Factory. The restaurant was very accommodating as it was a four-hour lunch! We had a lot to catch up on, and I loved having time to talk with her kids, all grown now, and a real delight.

Then, as if the day could possibly get better, we headed over to Burbank to go trail-riding at Circle K Stables, nestled at the foot of Griffith Park. Since Greg starting taking lessons a year ago, we haven't ridden together. I haven't even seen him ride, so we were pretty excited to do this together.

We then ended our fabulous day with a tlayuda, a selection of Jarritos sodas, and a bottle of Lagunitas.

We might just get up tomorrow and go back to Burbank!

 

The Circle K corral.

 

I introduced myself to the horses while the wrangler matched riders with horses.

  

Greg's on! We were amazed that Circle K had a helmet big enough to fit his ginormous Stafford head.

 

Greg's riding Chief, a good ol' gelding of a roan.

 

 ...and Chief's place in the herd was up front! He and Greg took off like a shot.

 It took me some maneuvering to get around the Asteroid riders but soon it was G-man and I in front, setting the pace...And the pace we chose was, fast! I'm sure some of the asteroids behind us weren't thrilled to be cantering so much, but we didn't care. At one point, while we were waiting for the slower riders to catch up, one of the Asteroids asked us, "Are you professional riders?" Ha! But now Greg feels that he no longer needs to put "novice" on the trail-riding forms. Damn straight, G-man!

 Back at the corral with Chip. Or Snip. I'm not sure which. On our ride together I called him Beautiful Chestnut, which he was.

Estamos listos

After last night's super-feed at Guelaguetza, I was not exactly looking forward to breakfast anytime before noon. So while Greg slept, I got up on the late side--almost 6!--and went out to explore the neighborhood at my own brisk pace. By the time Greg was up at 8, I was ready for a second cup of coffee and having scouted things out I knew where to take him.

Denver isn't the only town with a Devil Animal...good thing we're packing the Power of Juquila!

After an expedition to Burbank to buy sports bras we were finally ready to eat a meal so back to Koreatown for a stop at Expresion Oaxaquena. We were now acutely aware of the need to pace ourselves so we just got a lunch plate each: enfrijoladas for me, entomatas for Greg, and two fancy horchata with nuts, cantaloupe bits, and a dollop of sandia nieves. Wow!

We still ended up stuffed, but oh my those beans and tortillas tasted good. Nothing to do, really, other than read and nap. I love vacation!

(We did better at a late dinner: two tacos and an agua fresca each and done!)

I believe that's a chicken tinga (front) and a mole poblano taco, which is what Greg had.

And on the other side of the table, a cochinita pibil (front) and hongo & cilantro taco, which is what I had. They were delicious.

 Heh.

Smart phone, dumb car

Even though we're taking this trip in order to attend my 30th high school reunion, I don't usually feel old but for some reason, technology was against us today. It started in the Southwest terminal, when we had to ask a young man in line at the baggage check-in counter how to have the machine scan our boarding passes--we could NOT figure it out from the video directions. Climbing in our rental car was worse. I always get the smallest car they offer, because not only am I used to driving a very small car, but economy cars have a minimum of fancy shit on the dash to confuse me--again, much like the car I already drive.

 

This car confuses me.

But we found someone's wallet at the rental terminal, and for being so nice in turning it in with all its credit cards and cash (three whole bucks!), the nice lady at the Budget counter upgraded us for free to a Ford Fusion. A nice car, but loaded with buttons and screens and who knows what. We had to ask how to turn on the A/C, then we had to pull over and figure out how to turn it down, or off. The rear window wipers we've given up on--we've pushed every button there is and they won't turn off. Driving through the depressing, endless-seeming miles of suburban tract housing and malls just about finished us off.

But as we got closer to downtown L.A. we started to relax. Our natural environment is downtown: the last three places we've lived, the last ten years, have all been in city center.

No, the cat did not come with us. I was dinking around with my iPad and Blogger, trying to see if I could get photos from the iPad into Blogger, when I found something that asked me if I wanted photos from my phone...And this photo of a very young Vivani popped up, as did a bunch of photos of our trip to Egypt. Weird.

And as we drove up Normandie Ave and crossed Olympic Blvd, Greg swiveled his head around and said, "I think Guelaguetza is...there!" Maybe half a mile from our hotel? So we dropped our bags, placed the Wishfrog and Amusement Owl on the dash, and drove over for some Oaxacan food.

We sensibly knew not to order two tlayudas, but with chips and a botana to share and a tamarindo agua fresca for the man and a limonada mineral (slap! slap!) AND a michalada for me--I was thirsty after the plane/airport ordeal--it was still a lot of food. Lunch and dinner combined into one meal!

I'm happy to be in the land of racial confetti, happy to be on vacation with my hubs, and happy to be full of Oaxacan food, even though my stomach hurts!

 

Our crash pad for the next four nights, the Shelter Hotel.

Strolling the two blocks back from the coffee shop on Wilshire toward the hotel.

 We're here!

Amusement Owl

We told our house-sitter that we'd leave early, but of course the post office left me no time during the week to prepare. I didn't even have time to blame procrastination! Though I did read the Sunday paper, watered the plants, put some art up on the wall...then I started cleaning and packing. We left at 2:00 p.m. Add sandwiches and the bank and it was 2:30 before we got through most of Eureka.

Our car's dashboard shrine: that's Wishfrog, our parking deity, hanging from the rearview mirror, with Our Lady of Juquila clipped to the dash mat, our keyring wishfrog, and the Amusement Owl tucked up by the windshield.

Since we got such a late start, we skipped crashing at my daughter-in-law's place in favor of finding a random hotel at the airport and calling it a day. I am so fortunate that not only does my husband thrive on spur-of-the-moment travel decisions, so does the rest of his family! We are always dropping in with minimal lead time. Even so, coming in for a visit, maybe some dinner and Oh can we stay the night and can you drop us off at BART the next morning? Monday morning? A bit much. Then Greg says, Well, maybe I can stay a few days to visit after we fly back next week. Which is a big deal when you're talking lots of animals and a wife who works lots of hours. But it's a good idea: unrushed family time, see some friends...it'll be a good opportunity to share some time with our grandson and allay his fears about Da's surgery. Well, I say "we," but it'll not include me. Same old song!

So we decide, yeah, no crazy rushing around trying to hook up with family on the way down. Instead, we will just find a room at the airport.

I think at that point many people would pull out their smartphones and head to Yelp, TripAdvisor, Hotels.com, something. We just drove to Hegenberger. Only I got off an exit too soon. Then we changed our minds and said, Well how about those motels near 23rd? Oh, there's a detour...and so on.

But Greg and I have our system down, and whoever is driving does what the navigator says. So when he said Turn! I turned and voila, a row of three executive traveler hotels. Which one, Navigator? ... Best Western it is!

All this room for little ol' us?

We waltz in and five minutes later we have a shuttle arranged to take us downtown to Everette & Jones BBQ and are wandering around a hotel room that is almost the size of our tiny mansion--700 sq. ft! It even has its own porch, which I am using now.

We had our own porch! And it came not only with a view of the estuary but a goose promenade.

...and foggy, just like home!

Tomorrow, Adventures in Airport Parking (did we make advanced plans? No!) and Los Angeles.

States of Matter

Our friend Dale is in town from Belize for the summer. He brought us habanero pepper sauces, and coconut oil. He brought the traditional kind of oil, too, sold in a reused rum bottle. Only what is a liquid in the tropical Belize winter...

 ...is a solid in the frigid Humboldt summer.

 So while it's no longer in its cool rum bottle, at least I can dig it out with a spoon now!

A message

The Castle of Butter? ...

Mmm, whatever that was, it was good!

 Oh, the message!

Held prisoner by k richard's men
See facebook for detAils
I am working on an escape

Ahh, coffee!

Somebody's having fun in France...

Iceland: Arctic Circle

Once I'd booked my flight to Iceland, I spent a fair amount of time deciding what I would do for the other week I was there. Thingvellir? Rent a car and tour the Ring Road? Backpack the Westfjords or the Langidalur track? Go Saga-touring? Decisions, decisions.

Being by myself, I decided that rather than deal with the crazy glacial rivers along the Langidalur track or the empty wastes of the Westfjords, I would fly to Akuryeri and take a short trip to Grímsey and the Arctic Circle.

That's A-town along the shores of the fjord. The hills on other side of the fjord were snow-topped, even in July. Also, despite what Wikipedia says about the moderate climate, it was cold, 9-11 degrees C. That's a "moderate" 48 to 52 degrees Fahrenheit, folks. The second thing I did when I got to town was buy a thick, Icelandic wool sweater. The first thing was figure out how to get from the rinky-dink airport to my guesthouse in town. Because by the time I landed, that arctic wind was whipping down the fjord and I was freezing...and that's when I realized the local bus did not come down to the airport. I went outside to start walking with my thumb out when a car pulled up—Jon from the guesthouse! Saved!

I had the next morning to explore the town—Iceland's second biggest, and about the size of Arcata, where I live—before catching my flight to Grímsey. I've got a lot of good to say about Akureyri. Not only is the setting picturesque, but how cool of the town to put the public swimming pool across the street from the campground, both right in the middle of town?

I also have a lot of good to say about Nonni Travel, the company that hooked me up with my excellent Arctic adventure. When I got to my guesthouse, Jon said I had a packet waiting for me in my room. It was my tickets, my itinerary, and some brochures for Nonni's other trips. (If I had known early enough, I would have taken them up on one of their daytrips to Greenland...!) The whole day went super-smooth. I walked down to the airport (in the morning and without that awful wind I realized it wasn't even two miles from my guesthouse to the airport—chump change!), rolled onto a tiny plane and had a pretty flight up the fjord, over the North Atlantic Sea and into tiny little Grímsey. The other dozen people on the flight disappeared while I lingered, using the bathroom, looking at the photos on the wall, and talking to the single airport attendant, a happy woman named Gagga. While Gagga arranged a return flight for some very green tourists, I stepped outside and sized up the weather. Chilly, but not too bad. And, like I said, suddenly the little airport was empty.

Gagga explained that it's better to fly onto the island and take the ferry back rather than vice versa, as the boat trip back to the mainland runs with the wind instead of against it. She also said the Arctic Circle was just past the end of the runway, and was marked, and pointed out where the cafe and handicrafts store was in Sandvik, the tiny town on tiny Grímsey. I thanked her for her time, bundled up and set off north!

OMG—puffins! Lots and lots of puffins. And terns. And gulls. And skuas. And...well, a lot of birds. The whole island smelled of the poop of birds that eat only oily fish.

Puffins look like bumble bees when they fly. They're often on the menu in Iceland, but I didn't manage to sample any...I did, however, eat guillemot. Mmm, good!

I looked, but did not see the Arctic Circle indicator as Gagga had said, so I hoofed it to the end of the island, just to make sure. See that little bulge in the middle of the photo? That's the end of the island, here:

Once I was past the end of the runway, where the rest of my flight gathered in a tight knot of misery, I saw no one. Only birds. It was fabulous!

D'oh! You mean this marker? Yeah, walked right past that...but there it is: the Arctic Circle marker on Grímsey.

I had to hustle back into town so I wouldn't miss the ferry back to the mainland. Not much happening in the cafe or handicrafts shop, but the harbor was bustling with action from a fishing tournament.

That's Sandvik, the town on the island, with about 100 residents. I popped my motion-sickness pill, got on the ferry, and we set off on the four hour ride back to Dalvik, the little port just north of Akureyri.

Entering the fjord. The sun's come out, but the wind's come up. too. Brr.

I am wearing a t-shirt, a long-sleeved thermal shirt, a thick wool sweater, and my raincoat, and I am just comfortable. Once we docked in Dalvik and I started looking for my bus back to Akureyri (all arranged by Nonni Travel), I was terribly cold. Good thing that bus was there pronto. And again, I was all by myself—everyone else on the ferry took cars. So since it was just me, the bus driver said he'd drop me off wherever I wanted, instead of at the bus station. Thanks, dude!

It was an awesome, awesome trip.

People (and guidebooks) warned that the constant daylight would be hard to deal with, especially since most guest lodgings don't have light-proof window coverings. I managed by telling myself every evening, "Okay, time for a nap." That made all the difference in the world. I expect it to be light out when I take a nap, so I wasn't discombobulated. Oh, and this picture? Taken out my guesthouse window at 3 a.m. It's a little on the dark side because it was raining at the time. But it never got dark enough to not be able to read.

Iceland: Thórsmörk

While we were in Thórsmörk, we took several short rides throughout the day, but on the last afternoon we were left to our own devices. I had already taught the 10-year-old girls in the group how to play Slapjack and Crazy 8s, so I left them my playing cards, grabbed a beer and a pocketful of cookies, and headed out on a stroll through the park.

On the ridge above Husdalur. Too cold to sit and enjoy the ashy view with my beer, so I kept on truckin'.

Langidalur is the usual starting point for the Langidalur trek, a 50km jaunt over the mountains and between the glaciers. During the course of my afternoon stroll I kept running into groups of trekkers, all serious with their GoreTex and hiking poles and big-ass backpacks...and me, in my Crocs, beer in hand to say "Howdy!"

I wandered over to Langidalur, dropped off my empty in the recycling bin, and enjoyed the scenery for a bit before heading back. Because it was always daylight and the sun did not make its usual arc across the sky, and because I had no watch or functioning cell phone, I never knew what time it was. Gudmund had said, "Dinner at 7:30," and I had an idea of the time from my internal clock...I came strolling back onto the grounds of Husdalur about 8pm and passed Gudmund at the grill, poking some lamb steaks. "They said you went hiking over by the river."

I stopped to eye the lamb meat. "Yeah, but it was too windy on the ridge, so I walked through the woods to Langidalur."

"So, you didn't fall in or get lost." He's keeping his cards close to his chest.

"No, I like to walk. I usually turn up."

He eyes me, then says, "Well, go get a plate and get some lamb."

I strolled into the kitchen/common room and everybody in our riding group said practically at once, "Where were you?! You're alive!" Uh, yeah.

"Any potatoes left?"