Hello, Ireland? It's Me Again.

In my last post, I mentioned that I've been dreaming lately of a cottage in Ireland (or something similar).  That thought eventually spiraled into me just thinking of Ireland in general, which obviously meant I then had to go through all of the pictures I've taken while there, which led to this post.

There you go.  That's how I create.  Just in case you ever wanted to know (but why would you?).

Anyway, when I was a kid, the final project for Mr. Cloud's sixth grade history class was to choose a country, any country, do some research on it at the local library--this was so way before the internet that it hurts my brain to even think about it -- and give a short presentation to the class.  I chose Ireland.  I don't know what made me choose this small spit of land halfway around the world -- I think it had something to do with a picture I saw once.  It just looked so beautiful, so far away, so green.

That assignment is when Ireland became my first Big Dream.  As far as I was concerned, Ireland (and eventually Cape Cod) was the only place I ever wanted to go.  Like, ever.

During the last semester of my freshman year in college, I noticed a study abroad opportunity in a department that I was considering majoring in.  The program, which would focus on human rights and history, would take students to Belfast, Northern Ireland, where they would stay at the local university, study The Troubles and travel around the six counties.  Quietly, without telling anyone, I applied to go on the trip.  A few weeks later, I got a phone call at work letting me know I'd been accepted.  I think I called everyone I knew and told them.

I took Nate back there a few years ago, though we spent most of our time in Dublin and County Clare.  I wanted him to see this place, knowing it would help him to understand just a bit more about me.  What that is, I can't tell you.  I still don't fully understand what draws me to this place time and time again.  But something does.  There are only a handful of places that I've traveled to so far that just fit, and Ireland is definitely one of them.  Why do some places call us more than others?  Why do we dream about them?  Think about them all the time?

If anyone has Ireland stories of their own -- or maybe places we should visit the next time we're there -- I'd love to hear them!

Please Don't Feed the Gringos

 

Thoughts on our trip to Baja...

Do You Speak My Language?

Here's a fact: I look Mexican.  

I do, and that's cool.  It's due to a mixture of my Portuguese, Native Hawaiian and Filipino heritage, and has made for many interesting interactions since I moved to California.  Once, for example, while in a gift shop at Discovery Kingdom, the cashier started speaking to me in Spanish.  When I apologized and said I didn't speak any Spanish (not even a little.  Not even the embarrassing amount of Spanish most normal people speak.), he started yelling at me for not knowing and respecting my Mexican culture.

That was fun.

So, last month when Nate suggested we take a trip to see his friend in San Diego, then head on down to Baja for a few days, I worried a little (Lie.  A lot.) about the language barrier.  While there, worry turned into a full-blown culture crisis.

Who was I to come to Mexico and not speak Spanish?  Does that make me one of those snotty American tourists who feel like the entire world over should speak English just because I do?  Does it show disrespect to Mexican people?  What do I do when someone addresses me and not Nate (who does speak Spanish, but doesn't look at all Mexican)?  Does this mean we have to stay in all-tourist areas -- where Americans are catered to -- rather than getting to know the "real" Baja?

So many questions!

And while it turns out that many/most people in Baja are bilingual (and therefore totally show me up), we were also lucky enough that our friends (one of which was from Tijuana) were able to field most questions directed at me -- like, What would you like to eat, Miss?  Can you please get out of the middle of the walkway?  No, that is not the way to the bathroom!  Still, not speaking the language and dealing with feelings of first world privilege and guilt ended up having a big impact on me.  I began avoiding eye contact with everyone.  I, who may just well be the most sickeningly polite person you know, began looking down at my feet instead of saying Thank you!, or This food is delicious!, or Yes, please hold the chiles!

My takeaway?  Learn a second language, dammit! 

Uno Mas Taco, Por Favor (see what I did there?)

My second takeaway from Baja is that the food is delicious and I thankfully have a stomach of steel.  Nate, unfortunately, did not fare as well and was sick for a week after we returned to the states.

Our plan, food-wise, was to sort of do Baja the way Anthony Bourdain did, and add in some extra stops along the way.  So here are some places to check out if you're heading down south:

• Mercado Hidalgo, Tijuana (right after you cross the border): Really cool market with lots of yummy fruits, veggies, tejuino (fermented corn drink), and household goodies.
• Dandy del Sur, Tijuana (near Revolucion Ave.): One of the bars Bourdain went to; a quiet, cool place to get a drink.
• Mariscos Chavez, Tijuana: A food cart that served me that delicious fish taco pictured above.
• Mariscos, Playas (on Avenida Del Pacifico, near The Wall): Get a seat on the balcony overlooking the beach and order a seafood coctel.  Die happy.
• Tacos de Frances, Playas: Good late-night al pastor taco spot.
• L.A. Cetto Winery, Valle de Guadalupe: Free wine tour.  Pretty setting.  In Baja's wine country.
• Hussong's Cantina, Ensenada: Do yourself a favor and don't go to Papas y Beer.  Go here instead.  There are peanut shells on the floor and live music.  There's also a Pink Floyd cover band on some nights.
• La Guerrerense, Ensenada: Famous and seemingly delicious to everyone who ate it.  I didn't partake because these seafood tostadas are SPICY.  Another Boudain stop.

We also had the best tortas I've even eaten, but I have no way of directing you to them other than to tell you the shop was in Tijuana, next to a liquor store.  I'm sorry.

So Close and Yet, So Far Away

Though I've lived in California for about six years now, this summer was the first time I'd ever visited Mexico.  While in college in Washington state (and still now when I visit), my friends and I regularly made the trek up to Vancouver, BC for shopping, that one time for the Olympics, and most often because we're craving all-you-can-eat sushi.  But going south of the border?  Nope.

I'd like to say it's because of the distance, but that's not it.  After all, you can stand on the outskirts of San Diego and actually see Tijuana.  It's that close.  And, okay, maybe it's eight hours from where I physically live in California, but that didn't really factor in either.  The truth is that the thought of going made me nervous.  The thought of crossing the border -- that border in particular -- gave me so much anxiety it's just stupid.  I don't know why.  I'm an American citizen.  I don't traffic drugs, weapons or women.  I really had nothing to be afraid of.  

So, maybe I was apprehensive because crossing the border, seeing how our nation has so completely barricaded ourselves in (lest the terrifying invasion of Mexican immigrants happen!  Gasp!), would force me to acknowledge my privileged place in the world, and my shame at the extents to which my country will go to keep that place.  Because let's face the facts here: That wall?  You know the one I'm talking about.  It's absolutely ridiculous.  It's racist and cruel and obvious and shortsighted.  And reading the things that people have written on the posts of that wall made me -- as an American -- feel like the biggest hypocritical asshole in the known world.

Or maybe I was apprehensive because being in Tijuana would point out to me how wrong I've been about the city itself.  Because in my head, Tijuana was a John Wayne western.  In my head, Tijuana was a gang fight on the cusp of getting really bad.  In my head, Tijuana was what they still show us on the news.  But in reality, it's just a city like any other.  It's one that's struggling to come back from years of narco-terrorism, drug wars and the American recession.  It's one that's reclaiming its identity and seems to be in a constant state of reconstruction.

I'm excited to see what it turns itself into.

A Love Affair with the PNW

My love affair with the Pacific Northwest, and Seattle in particular, is pretty easy to explain.  Seattle was the first place I moved to after leaving Hawaii.  It's where I went to college (go huskies!).  It's where I found my independence and, in a very real sense, myself.  It's where I was able to be selfish for the first time -- with my time, my dreams, my future -- and have that be perfectly okay.  It's where I fell in love.  And it's where, when I look back, I remember being really deep-down in-the-gut happy.

Sure, Seattle has its pitfalls: it really does rain for 10 straight months of the year.  I never realized how many different shades of gray there are until I lived under the clouds of this city for an extended amount of time.  There isn't as much diversity in the northwest as there is, say, in the San Francisco Bay Area -- but really, that's to be expected, isn't it?  It's cold there in the winter.  A biting, stinging cold that, coming from Hawaii, was hard to bear sometimes.  I remember thinking by the time December came around that I was just about 100% over the cold.  

But none of that really matters to me when it comes down to it.  I love this city, with its mountains and bays and bridges.  And I love who I am in this city.

So in case any of you are planning a trip up north in the near future, here are some things to do and check out:

Take a ferry to the Olympic Peninsula.  Even if you have no idea what to do once you arrive in Bremerton or Bainbridge Island (hint: drive until you get to Port Townsend or the Olympic National Forest or the coast near La Push and Cape Flattery -- all are incredibly beautiful and wild places).  The bonus here is that the ferry leaving from or arriving back to Seattle offers you the best possible views of the city you'll ever get (see the second to the last picture above).  On a clear day, you'll even be able to see the Cascades and the Olympic mountain ranges.  It's breathtaking.  If you want a longer ferry ride, head to the San Juans and Orcas Island.

Visit Kerry Park. That's where I took the first picture featured above.  It's another great view of the city (and yet another can be seen from the free observation deck of the Columbia Tower downtown or Gasworks Park near Wallingford) and the Space Needle in particular.

Go on a tasting at Theo Chocolates in Fremont.  It's chocolate.  It's delicious.  And it's in quirky Fremont.  While you're there wandering through antique malls, used bookstores, and clothing boutiques, check out the statue of Lenin (yes, that Lenin) or the famous Fremont Troll that lives under the bridge (pictured above).

Walk around the University of Washington.  Because, really, why not?  If you're there in the spring, you may even catch the cherry blossoms in full bloom.  There are some good, cheap eats along The Ave which borders campus too.

Go to Pike's Place Market because you have to.  It's a great photo opportunity, but don't buy anything there since things are way overpriced.  Make sure you ask someone to point you towards the gum wall.  I know it sounds awful, but do it anyway.  And if you're in the mood for coffee, steer clear of the first ever Starbucks -- why go there when there are Starbucks on every corner these days? -- and instead head to La Panier and order sables.  Trust me. 

Play whirlyball.  Think basketball, lacrosse and bumper cars.  Now add beer.  Oh, yeah.  When you're done, head to Dick's and get a burger.

Take a tour at Red Hook Brewery if you're into beer and laughs.  It's only a dollar and the tour guides are hilarious.  They also let you sample enough beer to make you feel just fine.  If you need to soak up some of that alcohol before getting behind the wheel, there's an restaurant on-site too.

Check out the nightlife in Ballard.  Sure, there's Belltown, Capital Hill and Pioneer Square, but since we went to Ballard on this visit, that's what I'm going to suggest.  The Matador has a pretty good happy hour.  And speaking of happy hour...if that's your thing, download The Strangers Happy Hour iPhone app before going out.  It's amazing.  Ivar's Salmon House also has a good happy hour and outdoor seating right on Lake Union.

There are obviously other typical spots to check out (the Experience Music Project, the Space Needle, Kurt Cobain's house...), but these are just a few ideas to get you started.

Seattle, I love you.

The Last Few Weeks: Part Deux

There's little in the world that's more important to me than my sisters.  They are my best friends, my favorite people, a constant source of fun, support and worry.  I'm the middle child, smack dab in between a sister three years older and another three years younger.  Our big sister is a rock.  She's someone I know I can count on to take care of something if I can't do it.  I can just lay whatever burden I have down at her feet and she'll handle it, no question about it, no problem.  Our little sister is our baby.  She's young and funny (she's always making me laugh) and it's been this insane privilege watching her grow into this responsible young woman who doesn't need us to baby her as much as, perhaps, we need to.

But, of course, we still do.

So when her life took an unexpected turn and she needed to move from Texas to Hawaii earlier this month, I hopped a flight over to San Antonio to take on the first leg of the trip with her.  Our route:  San Antonio, up through El Paso, stop in Albuquerque, head over to the Grand Canyon, stop a night in Lake Havasu City, drive through the endlessly boring Central Valley (I'm sorry if you're from the Central Valley, but you have to know what I mean, amiright?) and end back here in the Bay Area.  At that point, my older sister would fly in and spend a few days with us as we went sight-seeing around Big Sur, and tried to sort out sister, dog and car, then they would all take the next trip -- sans me -- back to Hawaii.

This all happened in a week.  A week of subsisting off of M&M's, Chex Mix, sodas and fast food.  A week of rest stops and driving in a straight line for hours.  A week of realizing my baby sister is all grown up.  And a week of incredible country, most of which I've never seen before.

The thing about the desert is that you think it's all the same.  You do.  I mean, it's brown, right?  Dirt and sand with small shrubbery?  That's it, isn't it?  That's what I thought until I spent so much time staring at it, and until I drove through four states' worth of desert.  As it turns out, it isn't just brown.  It's a million shades of brown and tan and red and orange and white.  It's different in Texas, in New Mexico, in Arizona and California.  And it's beautiful.  I wish I took more pictures, of the desert, the trains, the red rocks in Arizona, the hot air balloons rising above Albuquerque in the early morning light, the Sierra Nevada's.  Of everything.

And the Grand Canyon is...well, humongous.  It's wide and deep and unlike whatever I thought it was going to be in my mind.  It was one of those moments in my life where I felt small, but not in a bad way. I felt small in a kind of awestruck way that was sort of...humbling, and definitely comforting.  It reinforced for me that life is so much bigger than me and whatever I was thinking was a huge deal at the moment (i.e. the fact that I was hungry, that I had to pee, that my legs were cramped in the car, or that I was tired).  No, life is BIG.  So much bigger than me.  And I should try to live it as big is I can as well.

We also saw wolves while at the Grand Canyon.  It made my day.

Adventurous Spirit FTW

Have you ever met someone who just exudes adventure?  They've got that sort of take-life-by-the-balls personality where one minute they're working in D.C. on a political campaign, and the next minute they're taking a year off in Belize, the next working at an orphanage in Cambodia, and the next exploring glaciers in the arcitic?  They seem to be on no one else's calendar, following no one else's plan, living by no one else's rules?

My friend B. is one of those people. 

B., Nate, me.  Jan. 25, 2012.

That's us above, after stuffing our faces full of some yummy BBQ goodness at Oakland's Everett & Jones.

Nate and I hadn't seen B. in about 7 years, not since graduating from college and leaving Seattle, and it was so nice to catch up, especially since you never really know what stories are going to come out of B.'s mouth at any given time!  He's done a roadtrip from Cairo to Cape Town, worked at a cheetah conservation organization in Namibia, studied in Cuba, South Africa, New Zealand (the same program which Nate and I met on), Guatemala and Morocco, worked in Zimbabwe and the Congo, and is preparing to embark on a PhD program during which he'll study lying.

And that's not even touching on the expat-hippies, near death experiences, and party pills.

But what's maybe the most inspiring thing about B. is his commitment to service.  He genuinely wants to make the world better and has dedicated his life to seeing that happen.  He has an incredible and contagious passion that bridges the divide between a lust for adventure and a need for social justice so beautifully.

The conversations shared with him made me realize how very much I miss travel.  I miss the unexpected and new, the adventure, the culture of it.  I miss narrow paths down winding streets, bazaars and night markets, backpacking, trains, strangers and stories.  I miss the anticipation and planning of it all.  And I miss service.  A romantic view?  Yes, definitely.  But not an inexperienced one.  Travel has always been romantic to me, even with all it's pitfalls and pick-pockets, lost luggage and tourist traps.  That's part of it, you know?  It rounds out the experience, makes it even more special.

After our talk, I found myself, like so many other times in my life, wishing for the new.  And hoping that, by not jumping out of my comfort zone this very second, I'm not watching missed opportunities pass me by.