Mexico City

It has been nearly a year since I touched my blog. One of the reasons it let it slip out of my mind is that it felt quickly like too many things had happened that were worth sharing and it would be impossible to try to keep up. So I won't go into the last year. It's been a good one. I've got a great life: great roommates, good community, fun weekends, wonderful friends and lots of adventures. 

All of this culminated in a trip with Alfred to Peru from July 3 -23. When we first began dating, we went to an adventure vacation showcase fair in Long Beach. While we wandered from booth to booth, sampling adventures I felt I could never afford on my $400 per month Episcopal Urban Intern Salary, we found ourselves talking to a man from the G Adventures booth about Peru, Machu Picchu and the Inca Trail. I decided that day I was doing it. Summer 2013. It was happening. And by God, I'm good at keeping to my plans. 

So I'm picking up again to talk about Peru for sure, hopefully more as time goes on.  

On the way down, we had a 13 hour layover in Mexico City. Not only was this one of the cheapest ways to arrive in Lima, but it seemed like being in a major metro city from 5am to 6pm wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. I was a little nervous about Mexico City, with all the horror stories and worries about the dangerousness of the city I have heard over the years. But after some research on where to go and what to watch out for, I felt pretty secure that it actually wasn't going to be all that bad. And honestly, Alfred and I both agreed, after riding the buses, trains and walking through the city, we never felt in danger, or singled out for being American tourists. We had our backpacks on, we were the only Americans in sight, and everything went well and was easy to navigate. 

The day started off early (after a few hours sleeping on the airplane and another nap in the airport while we waited for the sun to come up) and we jumped on the bus headed for the Federal District and downtown. We went to the main square at Zocalo, which is one of the largest city centers in the world, with a huge plaza in the middle of Federal buildings and the Cathedral. On one side of the square there seemed to be a soccer tournament with many corporate sponsors being set up, on the other shanties for some kind of protest. Below the cathedral was the remains of the Aztec temples and pyramids which used to stand here. The Spanish liked to destroy whatever non-Christian religions they found wherever they went and put a cathedral right on top, we found throughout South America. 

We spent a few hours wandering around this main square and the surrounding streets. They were not busy yet, but there were clearly a lot of street stalls that would appear in a few hours when the crowds of the city center would come out in full force. 

 The Mexican flag rising above Zocalo Plaza with the Cathedral behind.

A closer view of the Cathedral, with one of the many shoe shiners in the area.  

The streets surrounding Zocalo before the crowds came forth from the buildings.  

After we wandered the area around city center, we caught an hour long bus and train ride to the southernmost end of Mexico City to Xochimilco, where the last remnants of ancient canals that used to run throughout the entire Aztec capital can still be found. Hundreds of painted boats, really they are gondolas, are manned by locals with long sticks to drive them through the rivers. Apparently on Sundays this place is crawling with locals boating and celebrating with flowers and their best dress, but it was a slow Wednesday, without many crowds. We haggled around, and grabbed a boat.

One of the other gondola drivers.  

This was the food boat, which pulled up along and asked if we wanted to eat, then pulled up behind and cooked the food in a few minutes. We enjoyed tacos, rice, tacitos and plenty of sides. There were boats with mariachi bands floating by offering to play for you for a price as well. We rode along the canals for about an hour, but could have gone out for up to 4 hours if we had the time and money, out to forests and animal reserves. It was quite a cool side trip down to the edge of town. We wandered around the local markets afterwards, before making our way back north towards the airport.

When we got back to the airport, we found ourselves seeing white people for the first time all day at the gate going to Peru. It may have been the only day of the whole vacation where I truly felt like I wasn't a tourist surrounded by other tourists - more off the beaten trail, if you will. Our flight to Lima was from 6 to midnight, and I was able to grab a few more hours of sleep before we landed to meet Alfred's cousins at the airport.

Sea Creatures

One thing I've learned in California: I am not a sea creature. Rather, I am a fresh water mammal. There was always a mystique about running and diving into the ocean and swimming like one does in a lake, slowly and calmly, but this is much harder than it sounds, especially for a woman who was raised in fresh water lakes and swims with her mouth slightly opened, spitting out water as she resurfaces. This is not possible with sea water. Plus, you can't really just dive in, you have to focus on the waves, when they are coming, how big they are, will they crash against your head, pull your swimming suit off, knock you against the ocean floor or pull you off your feet during the rip tide? Plus the Pacific Ocean is cold. At least in Venezuela it was the Caribbean ocean. That was better.

Ok. I'm being melodramatic. Living near the ocean is great. I realize I have no place to complain. Maybe I just make myself hate it a little because since it takes so long to get out there from Pasadena, I don't get out to the beach enough. Between the traffic, parking, hot sun and impending drive back home, I've found better ways to pass beautiful summer weekends. But this summer I have not gone to the beach as much as I should. End of story.

I was actually complaining about this today with my coworkers, saying I wished I had made an effort to get to the ocean more often this summer. I mean, it has been a very busy one so I have a whole summer full of weekends of excuses, but still. When my friend Lauren was in town we spent the day in Malibu, and I swam in Minnesota a few weeks ago, but come on, I live in southern California, NOT that far from the beach! As my coworkers and I are finishing up this discussion, the fire alarms go off yet again in our office. The school I now work at is doing construction in a new wing before students come back and today the internet, phones and network were down, then the fire alarms started going off randomly. It was around this time that the Head of School alerted us that we should just go home for the day. It was 10:30, and I decided not to think too hard about it and drove straight to Santa Monica after grabbing my bathing suit from home. As far as I saw it, I had the whole day, a book to finish and lunch already packed.

And it was the prefect day at the beach. Traffic getting to the beach was not awful, it took me no time to find parking, there were not many people on the beach because LA school districts have started school now and the CRAZY heat wave we've been in has kind of broken. It was sunny but not hot, warm enough to get into the water and swim. And the waves were manageable. I could swim and ride them and didn't feel nauseous from the brine when I got out of the water!

So does this mean I'm getting used to the briny salt water? Becoming a new kind of mammal? I know that I have not yet gotten used to the heat here, that's for sure. I'll keep you posted on the ocean, as I make an effort to go more often.

The Birthday

Most people don't want to talk about how old they are on their birthdays because they don't like to admit how many years they've lived. I am actually the opposite. I don't like talking about how young I am. For a while now I've had friends who are all older than me. At the University of Minnesota, the people who I was most likely to spend some significant time with were people who would look at me curiously when I said "I have to go write a paper now." Suddenly they would say "OH right! You're still in college." Once again, I find myself becoming good friends with people who are old enough to say "Oh wow" and look wistful when I tell them my age. There is nothing exactly wrong with this, but it makes me feel like I have to prove myself somehow - like show that even though I'm younger I deserve to run in their crowd. I feel like I fit in just fine. I was telling a friend the other night that I think I hit my hay-day when I was 13 and 14 the staying up till 4AM writing every night. Now that most of the people my age are up clubbing and dancing till 4AM, I've passed that prime and just go to bed at 11 like a normal person. Anyway my birthday can be weird in that respect: I don't like admitting my age just as much as the next girl, but for completely different reasons.

This year, there was a lovely birthday party outside with fresh food and wine with some good friends, which was perfect. I also learned recently that on your birthday, you can go to Catalina Island for free. This is a tourist haven on the chain of Channel Islands about 20 miles off the coast of LA, where you can camp, swim, shop, boat and stay in luxury hotels. Whatever floats your particular boat/budget. Also on Catalina Island is Two Harbors, California, which, having the same name as my hometown in Minnesota, is a place I feel I should take a picture of myself. Typically the ferry ride is $72 a person both ways, so getting one of the tickets for free is really what made the whole trip affordable. Because of the crazy cost, though I would have loved to take all my friends and spend the day running around together, it was only Alfred and I, which was also really great. 

When we arrived in the morning, there was a bit of marine layer of fog and clouds, but we could see the sun starting to burn it off in the distance, so we decided to get a huge breakfast and waste a little time.

By eleven thirty the sun had worn off and we spent the day walking around Avalon, the main town, kayaking and snorkeling. I have never been ocean kayaking, and the water and waves and sun were prefect. The water was a deep sapphire blue and from the surface you could see the massive kelp forests and rocks below. I did go snorkeling in Cancun a few years ago, but this time was so much better. There were more fish, an amazing kelp forest to explore and a ton of brightly colored and hungry fish who were getting fed by more of the other snorkelers and there very friendly because of this. Of course the Pacific is much cooler than the Gulf, so the water was not bath-warm, but having grown up swimming in Lake Superior, I could handle just about anything for 20 minutes.

 There are no cars allowed on Catalina, apparently, so all of the people drive golf carts. And live in tiny houses, I guess. 

Catalina is a place I've been meaning to get to  (partly because they mention it in Arrested Development) so this was a great way to spend my 23rd birthday (there you go - now you know how old I am).

Creating A Home In Tinsel Town

I have lived in Los Angeles for nearly a year now, and have yet to see a "real" celebrity out and about. I guess I'm not going to the right places. However, I may have one-upped that experience when on Monday I was having my usual Monday night dinner, wine, ice cream and The Bachelorette-watching party with lady friends. Suddenly, this commercial came on:

And I sat up, looked closer and said "I know her! I know that girl!" Well, know may be a strong word. She is a friend of a friend who I met at a film opening this month. The chances of her seeing me on the street or... in a commercial, I guess... and saying "I know her!" are not high. But, I have met her, so I went with it.

This week I was having happy hour cocktails with a friend (the same one who knows the woman in the commercial above - her husband is a TV writer and he was in an independent film with the actress in said commercial, so they are in this world) and some friends of her's were sitting a few tables down. We chatted for a little bit. After we walked away, I asked Whitney why they looked so familiar and she said they were in some commercials together and that the husband was a walk-on in The Office from time to time.

So, there you go. Those are the sorts of people I've been meeting on Wednesday afternoon happy hours.

I had a moment of finally feeling that I have a home here the other day: for the first time since moving here I was out in the neighborhood, having breakfast with Alfred at one of my favorite breakfast joints, and we ran into friends, totally unplanned. Our paths crossed as Alfred and I were leaving and Megan and James were coming in. I felt a wash of joy. I know people here! We go to the same places! To another person here I am not just another random person in the room! I remember one day just a few months before I left Minneapolis, I ran into professors at Target, friends at a bar, classmates on the bus. I felt so connected to the community and the other people who loved the city. I wondered how I could leave that for a city as huge and notorious as Los Angeles.

To be honest, LA is just a mega-conglomeration of small neighborhoods and especially now that I have a car, I'm getting used to the nuances. There is a place for everyone here, full of people like you. You just need to find them and an apartment you can afford to rent. There are about 4 "hipster" neighborhoods with subtle differences between the types (for example, do they ride bikes or mopeds?). There are 10ish beach cities full of different types of surfers and vagabonds and girls in heels and long skirts. There's Beverly Hills and Compton. A hundred ethnic enclaves. I seem to have located a place in the midst of this, or at least I've begun to.

So here I am. Staying. Who would'a thought?

California Central Coast

When Alfred and I were driving up towards Big Sur in January, we cut across the state towards the coast about halfway between LA and San Francisco. It was cloudy and wet. The two lane highway was curving between hills we could hardly see and the lack of housing was stark compared to the millions in LA. Suddenly, all around us, there were vineyards and wineries. When I think of California wine country I think of Sonoma and Napa Valleys, greenery and lush hills. These wineries are in the middle, drier part of the state, clustered around the city of Paso Robles. (For the record there are also several wineries in Temecula, which is even farther south and even drier.) We reached the sea shore without even realizing it that January day - the fog was so thick. 

We decided to make a quick stop at Hearst Castle to see if a quick tour is possible, but thank god we didn't go that day! Not only were there not tours available that rainy morning, it would not have been worth the money to drive up the hill and not get the views. Plus we were trying to get to San Francisco up the 1 and we had a long way to go that day. We decided to return some day soon. 

Memorial weekend opened itself up as a good opportunity. The first goal was Hearst Castle, but the wineries were a close second. We found a little B&B in Cambira, the little sea-side town just down the road from Hearst, booked the last room available and spent a really nice weekend wandering the two sides of the village, perusing shops, eating good food and smelling the ocean. It was a warm, sunny weekend with hardly a cloud in the sky. 

On one side of Cambira is the ocean

And on the other are rolling hills

We stopped by a beach where Elephant Seals beach throughout the year. We were there during the molting and resting period of their cycles. Apparently all year long there are at leas some seals on this beach, resting just below the boardwalk.

Sunday afternoon we went Eastward, towards Paso Robles, where the wineries and vineyards are. It was my first time exploring a tasting room and doing any real "wine tasting", though I have been enjoying wine for a few years now. All the folks who worked in the tasting rooms were very friendly and opened about their wines, not acting like we were too naive (which we may have been). It was warm and sunny and the ground was drier than I somehow imagined it would be in a vineyard. Apparently, wines from the Rhone region of France grow best in this part of California, where the climate is nearly the same. We had several red blends that were really great. One of the folks told us that the best time of the year to come is September and October, when all the grapes are ripe and the hills look like fall leaves from other parts of the country.

One of my favorite parts of this area was the old growth oak trees that vineyard growers are not allowed to cut down. They add an ancient feel to the area.

Minnesota Reminders in Hollywood

I brag about this all the time, especially to people who have just discovered the band, but if you have not heard, my parents live next door to the mandolin player from the band Trampled by Turtles. Eric and his wife moved in a few years ago and my sister babysits their kids from time to time. Of course I am not at home nearly as much as I would like so I can't claim to know him well but there have been many Clover Valley gatherings where we've chatted over a beer. Trampled by Turtles has gained their small spot in the national spotlight. They've been to LA twice since I moved here - the first time colliding with my trip to Portland - and their shows in Minneapolis are always sold-out hits. Since I live far away from a lot of their die-hard MN fans and I've got an "in" with the band, I got into their Hollywood show for free on the VIP list on Tuesday, which was fantastic!

I'm pretty sure nearly every Minnesota transplant who has found themselves in LA was at this show. All around me I heard people chatting about popular Minneapolis places like First Ave and Lake Calhoun and they called the band members by name, talking like they knew them. Alfred came with me and at one point mentioned everyone seemed to have a very particular "look" at the concert, which I'm pretty sure is just Minnesotans.

Of course it was hard to forget we were in Hollywood. Stepping outside onto the rooftop terrace you get the view down Hollywood blvd to the busy downtown area that somehow I am becoming familiar with. I'm getting to the point where I know neighborhoods and slowly I'm beginning to trace fingers on the map between places, learning how to get around and know more parts of this huge city.

Across the board, I've been doing a lot and keeping myself busy. Things are going very very well, though the stress level in my life steadily shifts and changes, waves up and down. I've begun to apply to new jobs for August, have some leads on housing and am planning my trip back to Minnesota in early August. Too early to know anything and I don't function well in not knowing. But this is a good lesson for me, I'm sure. Being present and grateful for what I've got as well as keeping things in perspective. It will all work out. It always has, one way or another, even if its not what I've planned. I'm trying to remember how much I like the way things have turned out in the past out when all doesn't go according to plan, since there really is no plan as of today.

What To Remember When Waking

In that first
hardly noticed
moment
to which you wake,
coming back
to this life
from the other
more secret,
moveable
and frighteningly
honest
world
where everything
began,
there is a small
opening
into the new day
which closes
the moment
you begin
your plans.

What you can plan
is too small
for you to live.

What you can live
wholeheartedly
will make plans
enough
for the vitality
hidden in your sleep.

To be human
is to become visible
while carrying
what is hidden
as a gift to others.

To remember
the other world
in this world
is to live in your
true inheritance.

You are not
a troubled guest
on this earth,
you are not
an accident
amidst other accidents
you were invited
from another and greater
night
than the one
from which
you have just emerged.

Now, looking through
the slanting light
of the morning
window toward
the mountain
presence
of everything
that can be,
what urgency
calls you to your
one love?  What shape
waits in the seed
of you to grow
and spread
its branches
against a future sky?

Is it waiting
in the fertile sea?
In the trees
beyond the house?
In the life
you can imagine
for yourself?
In the open
and lovely
white page
on the waiting desk?

- David Whyte