tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76674588798079187622024-03-12T17:04:21.901-07:00Dog & Pony ShowS.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-17469607221560046892013-10-16T10:37:00.001-07:002013-10-16T10:37:23.887-07:00A Day to Remember<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Today's a heavy one, folks. But, it has a happy ending so I encourage you to read on if you like that sort of thing. I haven't posted in a while. For lots of reasons but mostly because we moved back to the states and stopped traveling and I started working again and </span>then I got pregnant (three times) but more on that later. I know that October is Miscarriage Awareness Month, and specifically, October 15<sup>th</sup> is Miscarriage Remembrance Day. I know this because I’ve had two miscarriages. I’m sharing my story to honor the two babies we lost too early, but who will always be in our hearts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For those of you in the know, you also know that I am currently 25 weeks pregnant with what I already imagine to be the most beautiful and lovable and precious baby boy. This is the silver lining, people! A little something to get us all through the rest of this heaviness. I feel beyond blessed every day, every second really, to be carrying this magnificent gift. He is our special son, and we love him more than we could have ever known was possible and perhaps, even a little more than that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Though we didn’t arrive to him easily, I have never been more sure that things really do happen the way they are supposed to. Because of what we have suffered, we will love this little guy a little deeper, cherish him a little more thoughtfully, and relish in all his splendor to the last of our living days. It may seem morbid to want to focus on our past losses while we are preparing for such a wondrous event, but a funny thing happens when you carry a child you won’t get to meet. You become a mother, and even when that is taken away from you, and even when you have grieved all you can and you move on, there are still little places in your heart where a couple of little souls live on, who are very much worthy of remembrance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We lost two pregnancies, one at 9 weeks and the other at 11, within 7 months of each other. The sadness and helplessness in your heart, the guilt and grief in your bones, and the overwhelming fear of a lost future is enough to cave in your soul. It’s all so brutal and so very much to bear. I have the greatest empathy and respect for women who go through infertility. It is a lonely and often private heartbreak that isn’t discussed much, which is why I feel compelled to just put it out there. </span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This is our story and it ends with hope. I can’t tell you how many google searches I ran to find just this type of entry when I was in the thick of it. I want to let people know that there can be moments of peace and hopefulness amongst all the worry and pain. And that you should never give up, although this is not a trait that women who want to hold a baby possess. They are warriors. They take the biggest blind leaps of faith, they sacrifice their bodies, and they do so with so much love in their hearts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This day is for all of them, for all of us, who have dreamed big dreams and had to watch them shatter, incapable of changing nature’s course. And it’s for those of us who pushed our way through it all to arrive at some semblance of peace. I found mine in a group of women who came together every week to share a little bit about the tiny souls in their own hearts. Through this weekly appointment, I gathered up the courage to keep trying and before I knew it, we were blessed with another pregnancy. Nothing will prove life’s serendipitous nature more than having a dream come true, just as you have given up hope. To all my fellow warriors, your day will come too. There is no one more deserving.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">But most importantly, this day is for all those beautiful souls who never came to be. Today I remember my two sweet babes, who we loved from their very inception, and who we will love until there is no time left. You both taught me what it means to be a mother, and you paved the way for your brother, who we are ever so grateful for. Without you, we would not know him, and I promise that we will honor you all, forever.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-40839520994029443652013-10-16T10:36:00.001-07:002013-10-16T10:36:39.997-07:00Happy Two Thousand Thirteen<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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2013, I think you're going to be a good one.<br />
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As we close the book on our adventure in Asia and
pick up where it all began in San Francisco, we have so much to be
grateful for, a few things that we will be glad to leave behind, and so
very much to look forward to. I belong to two
families full of people who make my world a better place. I have friends
from every corner of the world who have made my life more rich and more fun. I
have a husband with whom I've traveled the world. Christian, you have
quite literally, given my heart wings, and for that I am eternally
grateful.<br />
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My wish for all of you who I am so blessed to know: I hope 2012 was kind to you and
yours. But more than that, I hope that whatever left you short in 2012
is what propels you to your greatest heights in the year to come.<br />
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S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-2270643964530726562013-01-05T16:30:00.002-08:002013-01-06T07:30:20.154-08:00A Very Conway Christmas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Christmas is one of my absolute favorite holidays. The onset of colder weather, the tree-picking and adorning, the lists of presents to buy for your favorite people, the peppermint tinged and cinnamon scented delights that are begging for space in your belly. But on top of the traditions and rituals, the star on the top of the tree for me, is the sense of reflection the holidays invoke. It's the time of year to think back on the year behind you and look ahead to the year before you. It's a time to feel gratitude for the wonderful bits you were witness to in the last twelve months and to let go of the not so good things that may have made your boots a bit heavy. It's a time to release and recharge, and you get to celebrate it all with good food, family, and presents. It's not hard to imagine why I love it so much.<br />
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We landed back in the states a week or so before Christmas, which meant that we were be able to spend our very first Christmas in Maine. Every time we stay with Christian's parents, we have such a great, relaxing time. They don't call it Spa Conway for nothing! We're always warm, we're always full, and we're always slightly sleepy. My mother-in-law is the ultimate hostess. I always leave in awe of her, and this time was no different. Just how does one take care of so many people all while tending to pots on TWO stove tops that are boiling and sizzling with something delicious? Don't ask me, ask Susan. Her name is synonymous with all the warm and cozy things you associate with "mom". You better believe I know how lucky I am that I have TWO ladies in my life that fit that bill. <br />
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Our days in Maine were spent visiting family, eating, playing with Phoebe in the Conway's picturesque yard, eating, and taking turns cooing at our newest family member. We enjoyed a great meal out courtesy of Christian's little brother Jamie and his wife, Lisa. Sharing a couple hours with these two was a luxury we aren't often afforded, so it was especially wonderful to have that time with them. Thanks for the lobster mashed potato experience, guys! We've got your "room" all ready for your visit to SF.<br />
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Phoebe enjoyed herself so much that she has been in a funk since we returned to California. We may have to seek professional help. During our time in Maine she had the run of the house. She was treated to constant pats and treats, training exercises with Auntie Lisa, two tufted ottomans to doze on, and a yard full of snow and deer in which to frolic. Come to think of it, Pheebs, I don't blame you. We all wish we lived at Spa Conway.<br />
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Auntie Ria and Uncle David hosted a cocktail party that included lots of sushi despite Christian's best effort to tell everyone I hate sushi (I don't!). I have a feeling that this raw fish scandal - let's just call it "sushigate" - will live on infamy and I will spend the rest of my days proving just how much I love the rice and seaweed wrapped delicacy. And all because Christian just wanted pizza!<br />
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One of the best Christmas surprises was meeting our new baby niece, Amara. Whitney and Edwin welcomed her into the family in November, so she was every bit of precious that a six week old baby is. All big eyes and sweet baby skin with a soft spot for books (she's a genius!), she is an 11 pound ball of delight. I know all babies are special, but I happen to believe that Amara was blessed with a little something extra. She is an absolute angel and we are delighted for Whitney and Edwin, and so grateful that she is here. <br />
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Christmas Eve was spent at Spa Conway. Jamie and Lisa and Susan spent several days prepping a "feast of seven fishes" that was absolutely spectacular. My job was to dress three long dinner tables for our 18 guests. With Susan's tutelage and Lisa's assistance, I was able to bust out a pretty nice spread that took me a mere four hours to perfect. Welcome to my obsessive little world, Conways! Our feast started with tuna poke and some sort of avocado salad with tuna belly a la Jamie and Lisa, both of which were absurdly delicious. Then we all sat down to a light meal of spinach florentine with haddock (or maybe it was cod?), squid linguine with tomato sauce, clam linguine with a garlic butter sauce, fried shrimp, crab cakes, stuffed lobster tails, and so much more.<br />
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Sitting there with a full belly on the eve of Christmas (also the day my sweet husband was born), I looked around the room and couldn't help but think how fantastic it was that I had landed here with all of these incredible people. I feel grateful to not only know them, but so fortunate to also call them family. Their traditions run deep and now, I have been gifted a place beside them in that history. To the Conways and everyone in between, you are just the knees on my bees. The cherry on my sundae. The icing on my cake. Thank you for one incredible Christmas.<br />
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For the whole week in pictures, head over <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/9369398@N04/sets/72157632364349445/" target="_blank">here</a>. <br />
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S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-28696650192509470162012-11-07T06:32:00.003-08:002012-11-07T06:53:29.042-08:00Hot Town, Summer in Kyoto<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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During our first trip to Tokyo, way back in August 2011, we took a bullet train to Kyoto. In a city as massive and crowded as Tokyo is, it was so refreshing to experience a mass transit system that runs with such incredible efficiency (I'm glaring at you, San Francisco). Our train pulled to a graceful stop at exactly the time it was scheduled to, to the minute. The seats were pristine and free of excrement (again, I'm looking at you San Francisco), our fellow travelers so quiet you could hear a pin drop.</div>
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I should pause here to discuss one of my favorite things about traveling. It's not the exotic locales or getting to sleep in the hotel's cozy "heavenly bed"; it's free hotel breakfast buffets. There, I said it. I am an unapologetic, over-zealous eater of food. I hate to be stuck wandering around a foreign city with no food in my belly. In our experience this doesn't end well. So, each morning of vacation, I always allow extra time to participate in the hotel's breakfast. And "participate" is the right word for it. I imbibe wholeheartedly and most times I take my share, and Christian's too. He is not a breakfast eater. We are a good team in this way. <br />
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Sometimes it's just stale bread, cereal, and cups of fruit salad. Sometimes it's a wonderland of help yourself bars of the salad, omelet, waffle, and fresh seafood variety. And the good ones always have a dessert bar. Rows and rows of pastries laid out cafeteria-style. Some of them are unidentifiable squares of pink stuff. They don't taste good; but like a school boy at his first coed dance, I am drawn to them not so much by their beauty as by their unlimited quant<span id="goog_1636385487"></span><span id="goog_1636385488"></span>ities. So, the morning we were to leave for Kyoto, I had to catch one last breakfast helping at our hotel because it was of the latter, wondrous smorgasbord variety. I chowed down on an omelet, granola, coffee, two types of juice, and stuffed a square of suspicious but delicious looking cake in my purse for later. Christian ate coffee and kept reminding me we were going to be late.<br />
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We weren't late, and Christian had a chance to score his ideal breakfast from a vending machine at the station. A box of dumpling flavored pretz, a plastic wrapped waffle, and a roll of chicken flavored potato chips. Oddly missing was a bottle of water to wash down all that sodium but who am I to nag? Back to Kyoto. We arrived at precisely the exact moment that was indicated to us on our ticket, and settled into our hotel. Kyoto used to be the capital of Japan, and is one of it's largest cities behind biggies like Tokyo and Osaka. It's also rich in cultural history and home to hundreds of beautiful temples that are nestled in the surrounding mountains. It is beautiful to behold. Kyoto is situated in a valley, so the mountainous surroundings make the giant temples seem dainty, like the whole scene belongs in a snow globe. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhf_03tE3qvPHDZe3t0jinLf04IfyinZFRO7-Ols6BjTtMY6_3DG53mBeJW1Gn_7XWKOmlzb9kktF5OU64y4FTHyArcUtS8TqNcVVyYXtjCGj3B0SwNFxOaXr6uMpavCEqhHSAYZhrzMmO/s1600/IMG_0460.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhf_03tE3qvPHDZe3t0jinLf04IfyinZFRO7-Ols6BjTtMY6_3DG53mBeJW1Gn_7XWKOmlzb9kktF5OU64y4FTHyArcUtS8TqNcVVyYXtjCGj3B0SwNFxOaXr6uMpavCEqhHSAYZhrzMmO/s640/IMG_0460.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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This was going to be a good time. But, future travelers to Kyoto, a little tip. Do not visit Kyoto in the summer. It is hot as Hades! I think I mentioned the temples nestled into the mountains? You have to walk to those. I think I mentioned that Kyoto is situated in a valley? It's a crevice of stifling humidity in 103 degree heat. We took in the fantastic temples while wiping sweat that dripped like velveeta down our faces and backs. In the searing afternoon heat we began to cast off temples that were too far away from our long list of 'temples to see'. So, we saw what we could until our legs began to feel like they were swimming in a boiling cup o' noodles. Dazzled as we were by Kyoto's sights, before we knew it, we were in a taxi heading back to the air con.<br />
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After a day of sweaty sightseeing, we decided to hit up Pontocho. For
centuries, there have been bars and restaurants along the Pontocho
nightlife drag with decks overlooking the Kamo river. This is where
geisha
would traditionally entertain their clients. Hoping to see some real
live geisha we headed out in the (thankfully) cooler evening air. Like
all things Japanese, the experience was delightful. We walked by
countless yakitori bars, stopped by a couple of whiskey joints, and
bellied up to an Italian-fusion noodle bar that was surprisingly
delicious.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1mWzZzuKvXDBNDQG-QhbiKI265wlxMKdiJE1DOsm6WhRUqlNycqA0-zVIk0I5E_1-UCvqekmSXv7rP5LU9qadkA_040NaVgZIf8PByNpC1H2vEjxkHJtf68W1H41RO4QixtRXy6o2TX2U/s1600/IMG_0496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1mWzZzuKvXDBNDQG-QhbiKI265wlxMKdiJE1DOsm6WhRUqlNycqA0-zVIk0I5E_1-UCvqekmSXv7rP5LU9qadkA_040NaVgZIf8PByNpC1H2vEjxkHJtf68W1H41RO4QixtRXy6o2TX2U/s400/IMG_0496.JPG" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLA_-dT6eG9XCfnbMHS-Ac5eX9HxREminyySQceEhv7DDVNEaGFiuYWSqeBlhHvCCiIgw9F97uwYtqHtolA52ENmdKHKQsTYcxEtrX9i5-ifUDTLnkRYUQxU1CFA7gGsCjZfeLIy0R69Ve/s1600/IMG_0486.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLA_-dT6eG9XCfnbMHS-Ac5eX9HxREminyySQceEhv7DDVNEaGFiuYWSqeBlhHvCCiIgw9F97uwYtqHtolA52ENmdKHKQsTYcxEtrX9i5-ifUDTLnkRYUQxU1CFA7gGsCjZfeLIy0R69Ve/s320/IMG_0486.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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I have never felt so far away from home than when in Japan, but I've also never felt more at home in a foreign city. In a land where it's not all that easy to get by without knowing at least some of the language (those three years of Spanish you took in high school are certainly not going to help you in Japan), we made our way around with ease and our pointing and motioning were accepted with a smile and we always got what we needed and where we needed to be. I thought Tokyo topped my favorite places list but Kyoto is right up there. I have no doubt in my mind we'll be back someday. If not to see the temples we missed because of the crippling heat, then for one more sampling of the ultimate of ultimate hotel breakfast buffets.</div>
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Kyoto: We came, we saw, we sweated.</div>
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For more shots of our trip to Kyoto, you can head on over <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/9369398@N04/sets/72157631951826646/" target="_blank">here</a>.</div>
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S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-7107340568777213092012-08-26T20:39:00.000-07:002012-08-26T20:39:06.975-07:00Tokyo : Putting the "Top" in Top Ramen<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: small;">When I was a kid growing up in the Central Valley, Top Ramen
was about as Japanese as one could get. For those of you who may have had
a more richly cultured childhood, Top
Ramen is just another brand of one of those packaged soups that come as a brick of dry noodles with a foil-wrapped package of concentrated "Oriental" (gah!) flavors that you drop
in boiling water and consume three minutes later. It contains about two times the amount of sodium that
an adult needs in a day, but the health risks are far surpassed by it's deliciousness when one is hungover and the fact that you can buy four of them for a dollar. When I slurped them down on a near daily basis in the summers as a child, and then again as a cash-strapped adult, it didn't feel as if I was being transported to an exotic foreign land. It felt like I was eating salty soup.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYkIcai4Dfw4lWFRncaAVcQ4tpP7Hz-2_zrNgOD9SCf62YB4TY0E7wUM0-qX1oOYZI9npzIaamJh31vtiOxYLdyz9p7QRjqa-DQJpvEAzFcZOq-3MpaYXq9zMuC554VqFE8h1RddcRlqN0/s1600/yuckramen" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYkIcai4Dfw4lWFRncaAVcQ4tpP7Hz-2_zrNgOD9SCf62YB4TY0E7wUM0-qX1oOYZI9npzIaamJh31vtiOxYLdyz9p7QRjqa-DQJpvEAzFcZOq-3MpaYXq9zMuC554VqFE8h1RddcRlqN0/s320/yuckramen" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Ramen" made from a brick of dried stuff, mixed with more dried stuff<span style="font-size: small;">.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Our trip to Tokyo was highly anticipated. (And not just because I'd finally get to sample some real ramen.) Our first visit to Japan was scheduled for early March 2011, but a few days before we were to depart for Tokyo, the big earthquake and subsequent tsunami that wiped out several Northeastern towns in Japan hit. We watched the images on TV of that horrific tidal wave and days later, heard the stories unfold about the staggering loss of life. Obviously, this wasn't the time for us to visit. Even though Tokyo was mostly unscathed, it just didn't feel right to be tourists in a city that had been touched so recently by such an awful tragedy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We finally made it to Tokyo in August 2011. When I tried to envision what we'd find there, my thoughts turned to various scenes from "Lost in Translation", odd items available for purchase from vending machines, extremely bustling and neon-ified city streets that would make Times Square look like a residential street in Missouri, girls made up like dolls in brightly colored clothes and pigtails holding stuffed animals, and oddly, tiny dogs wearing shoes. So yes, needless to say, I was excited.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We spent our first day in Tokyo roaming on foot and ended up at the Meiji Shrine in Shibuya. At this point in our travels in Asia we have seen quite a few shrines. And temples. And Buddha's. And statues. I'm happy to report that the Meiji Shrine is not just another shrine. It is located within 175 lush acres of evergreen forest. You can walk for hours and each turn you take will lead you to another spectacular landscape. Coi fish, bansai gardens, wishing wells, prayer walls, and on our visit, several live performances starring the cutest kids ever. It was beautiful and calming, even in the searing heat and suffocating humidity. And holy moly, is it ever so hot and sticky in Japan in the summer.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> Next, we headed over to Harajuku. In stark contrast to the serenity of the Meiji Shrine, things in cartoonland get weird. Harajuku is, to put it simply, a shopping district where young kids, mostly girls, hang out and mingle. It just so happens that these young people share an affinity for dress-up. Really loud and colorful dress up. It's pretty awesome to take in. There are quirky shops filled with quirky people, all of them shouting something to passers by that sounds like "Ta-tok-y-moss, Ta-tok-y-moss". I have no idea what that means, but I assume it's "Come in and buy something...look at me....I am delightful!". It's frenetic and chaotic and there's something about the atmosphere and the precious, neon-decked shopgirls that makes you want to purchase the socks that look like animals or rainbow hairclips or animal masks that most of the stores offer. It's extreme concentrated wackiness and I love every last adorable part of it.</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">On the back side of Harajuku is Omotesando, another shopping mecca, however this one is more catered to the Harajuku teen's older, more sophisticated sister. Christian loves it. High end clothing and gift shops abound and one thing is boldly clear: Japanese people are extremely fashion and trend forward. Such. Cool. Stuff. Not only does everything seem just a little more hip in Tokyo, attention to detail is everywhere. When you happen upon what you think might be the coolest thing ever and you buy it, you are surprised by how impeccably they wrap your item. Boring bags are for dummys. The tiny pocket calendar I purchased was then painstakingly wrapped in gold cellophane, and tied with a ribbon and a tiny plastic pig charm. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">This attention to detail and innate courteousness can be witnessed in all areas of daily life. Having been warned about not shutting my own door when I exit a cab, I skipped over getting chided for doing so. Instead, I slip out of each cab and watch the driver pull a lever that makes the door shut on it's own. Japanese drivers have figured out a way to be chivalrous without ever leaving the driver's seat. And one can hardly complain about the plumbing here. T</span>oilet seats are a preheated, toasty warm. A menu of warm jets of
varying intensities, direction and temperature awaits should I choose to
press one of the many buttons. (I am afraid to do so.) In public spaces, nobody seems to speak above a whisper. In this enormous and sprawling metropolitan city that can easily rival New York City in culture, food, and even shopping, you would be hard pressed to find anyone laying on their horn or flipping a bird. It is a startling (but warming) revelation, that even in a bustling city, people can manage to be respectful.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Tokyo is HUGE. Over the next couple days, we weave in and out of all the little shops and neighborhoods and in typical Conway fashion, get hungry then frazzled by the vast array of food and completely indecipherable menus, and then hungry turns to h-angry. It happens almost every trip and this is typically when we seek out the nearest Outback Steakhouse, Shakey's Pizza, or in this case a tiny little pasta shop. Italian in Tokyo? Sure, why not?<br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Mexican in Tokyo? If it exists we will find it and find it we did. Twice. We happened upon La Casita near the Daikanyama station in Shibuya during a day of meandering. Sad we found it after having just eaten, we went up and enjoyed a few margaritas and some surprisingly delicious chips and salsa. </span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrTzKv_uqJnYEsRC3cgCoqAUvyF5g2yWLXWtWB_eAw7bjxSfjb_zxHw93RFxjAK79nW2a6kgI2BirB5ybn_lgPd3hF_28jhluIeFVNGA8iPpz57h1I8z7xIVytzMzpP7IZWd5_hEAn-HqK/s1600/IMG_0401.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrTzKv_uqJnYEsRC3cgCoqAUvyF5g2yWLXWtWB_eAw7bjxSfjb_zxHw93RFxjAK79nW2a6kgI2BirB5ybn_lgPd3hF_28jhluIeFVNGA8iPpz57h1I8z7xIVytzMzpP7IZWd5_hEAn-HqK/s320/IMG_0401.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maurice!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Since we were planning to meet up with a friend who had moved to Tokyo from San Francisco that evening, we decided we'd have him join us there. Maurice is a lovely and gracious guy and we were delighted to see a familiar face, and even more delighted that he was willing to meet us for Mexican in Japan. Since our first trip to Tokyo in August, we've managed to see Maurice several more times as well as another dear friend, Kevin, who was there on business. When you decide to leave everything and everyone you know and move across the globe, being afforded the opportunity to sit with people you care about can make a regular day seem extraordinary. We're so grateful we got to share a few moments of our adventure with a couple of people we love.</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">So far in our travels Tokyo has been one of my favorite places to visit. Not only is Tokyo's shopping fantastic, the food delectable, and the city as electric and modern as it is eclectic and ancient, it's people are the real draw. Common courteousness takes on a whole new meaning in Japan. It's not something you shout at someone when they step around you and steal your taxi, or something you mutter to yourself as you narrowly miss stepping on a pile of human feces (this has happened more times than you probably want to know). In Japan, common courtesy is what it sounds like. People respect others as they respect themselves. In a city where almost nobody speaks your language, and where at 5'10" you tower over most, I have never felt more welcome or at ease. <br /><br />Oh, and about that ramen? That sad brick of noodle matter that you can buy in cellophane for a quarter? Never again. Our last supper in Tokyo was the real stuff. Before we landed in Tokyo, I read an entire book about it's origin, the painstaking process of how it's lovingly put together by blending just the right amount of fish, pork, and chicken stock, and how each bowl and it's toppings vary from town to town. Forget the nice people, I'd go back to Tokyo just for this bowl. It's that good.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"> For more pictures from our trip, head over <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/9369398@N04/sets/72157627449431233/" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div>
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S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-73961050784213805402012-05-24T23:39:00.002-07:002012-05-24T23:40:46.655-07:00Like Sands Through the Hour Glass, So Are the Meals of Our Lives<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The next stop on our Spanish roadtrip was the highly anticipated San Sebastian. A quaint seaside town for the food obsessed, San Sebastian, whose population is a mere 120,000, holds 15 coveted Michelin stars. Compare that to somewhere like London, who holds 34 stars, but with about 40 times the population and a gazillion times the visitors. This adorable Spanish town holds more Michelin stars per square foot than anywhere else in the world. We were entering foodie paradise, and we were more than ready to throw down. Over the next four days we will gaze out over the picturesque seaside, take several culinary tours throughout San Sebastian's Parte Vieja, and dine at one of the top restaurants in the <i>world</i> (8th best, to be exact). <br />
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I could go on and on about how amazingly beautiful and charming San Sebastian is. How the waves of the azure colored Bay of La Concha lazily lap the white sandy beaches that give way in all directions to a town dotted with glorious churches, incredible architecture, and a picturesque old port. I could, or I could share these pictures and get on with the good stuff. <br />
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Our time is San Sebastian can be broken into two meals. Actually, two events. The word "meal" just doesn't do
justice to eating in San Sebastian. My homemade chicken soup is a meal
- this deserves to be elevated far above that. This is the world's gastronomic
capital we're talking about. <br />
<br />
So, two events. One is taken in Michelin-star opulence,
prepared by a rock-star chef who tours the dining room at the end of the
night, shaking hands and signing menus. The other is taken in something
resembling a dive bar, prepared by some old guys stuffed into the back of tiny kitchens. One is a 12-course degustation designed by Juan Mari Arzak, the owner
and executive chef of one of the top 10 restaurants in the world. The
other is a four-course booze-up created at our leisure while walking from bar to pub in San Sebastian's Parte Vieja. One costs a month's rent. The other costs a twelve pack of beer.<br />
<br />
Arzak, the restaurant, is ridiculous and ridiculously good. As far as fine dining and molecular gastronomy go, Juan Mari Arzak has
been a real game changer. Regarded as the founding father of Modern
Basque cuisine, Arzak has held it’s 3 Michelin star status since
1989. The reigns at Arzak have since been handed over from
Juan Mari to his more than capable daughter Elena, but they both continue to roam the dining room to check in on their patrons. Every single diner, every single night of service. I had stalked this father/daughter team since learning about them from various magazine articles and several different shows on the Travel Channel and Food Network, so when Elena visited our table at the beginning of our meal, and again at the end to check in on us, this food nerd was absolutely starstruck. Concerns over the freshman 15 I had gained thus far on our honeymoon were quieted, a momentous entry on my perpetual bucket list was crossed off, and I sat back ready to be stuffed and awed. Back to the ridiculousness...<br />
<br />
The
ridiculousness comes mostly with the price tag and that awkward, shameful moment
when the bill arrives and you start to realize what else you could have
spent that money on (a week's accommodation; supermarket bought lunches
for the next couple of months; food for 500 starving children in Africa). There's ridiculousness on the plate as well: dry ice carrying the scent of Iberico ham; an oyster
that turns out to be mushroom soup; balls of things that shouldn't
physically be able to be made into balls; a plate of simple syrup that takes on the appearance of a red piece of coral; edible gold leaf draped across a fillet of fish that's
probably worth more than the edible gold leaf.<br />
<br />
The twelve courses are made up of five "'amusements", including a corn flavored veloute with black pudding and figs and some sort of tomato dish that was served enveloped in Iberico ham scented smoke. I told you. Ridiculous. Next up are three starters, served in two's for sharing. My favorite was the cromlech with onion, coffee, and tea.<b> </b>The Stonehenge-like
parcels had a crispy, light like air tapioca and squid ink
shell. The filling was some sort of foie gras and onion-flavored
mousse. We struggled to understand our Spanish waitress’ explanation of
how to eat the thing initially, but finally got the gist of it when
she mimed flipping it over and eating it as you would an ice cream cone.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGah5zg-l6Ul5Dq6epgetzsC4jGtmO0sBIXS26-sgbhg_PoFEA0MMDlvbMNrwbNqhxEAmu5sHN6f0rdAHSC0XZsmBxkg6ZwSRgM3MnD0VyzjuHJE5qhFWyGmKC7mDcC_r7fHzrFtKPBZkG/s1600/IMG_1178.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGah5zg-l6Ul5Dq6epgetzsC4jGtmO0sBIXS26-sgbhg_PoFEA0MMDlvbMNrwbNqhxEAmu5sHN6f0rdAHSC0XZsmBxkg6ZwSRgM3MnD0VyzjuHJE5qhFWyGmKC7mDcC_r7fHzrFtKPBZkG/s320/IMG_1178.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cromlech with onion, coffee, and tea</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Low-tide' monkfish</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The starters are followed by the fish course, a playful dish called 'low-tide' monkfish for me. It came served beached alongside green clams made of mussels, white crispy seashells
made of sugar, blue curacao-jellied stars, and red tempura'ed seaweed. On
top, and scattered around were little spheres of roasted red
pepper-flavored ‘caviar’.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvkDKliGYhX2BSWtB6xTPZuaMix5vfyihQSuqTahbcU2qMmguq88E1w-V7iOlCE1N9fCvRgjx3HmCZQyE7aGkhD2qBvvAg7WDnZG3I2TsNAKPOTEprnSWDKy_JpBHkn9O7HW7fCZN_pxd/s1600/IMG_1186.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvkDKliGYhX2BSWtB6xTPZuaMix5vfyihQSuqTahbcU2qMmguq88E1w-V7iOlCE1N9fCvRgjx3HmCZQyE7aGkhD2qBvvAg7WDnZG3I2TsNAKPOTEprnSWDKy_JpBHkn9O7HW7fCZN_pxd/s200/IMG_1186.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soup and chocolate between vineyards</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The last of the savory dishes included a lamb course for me and a beef dish for CC. They were both spectacular but we had food up to our eyeballs at this point, and those sneaking fears about the layer of padding I had added to my newlywed self had started to come back. And then they started the dessert course and I stopped caring again. Three desserts later, including the stand out 'Soup and Chocolate Between Vineyards', which was a play on a grapevine, where the grapes were perfect spheres of chocolate with the texture of an actual grape, and a scoop of basil ice cream (that acted as the 'stem'), all of it swimming in a soup of sweet and sour strawberry. And lastly, a tray of mini desserts shaped like tools from a workshop. Mango legos, dark chocolate bolts, fizzy cola washers, and hazelnut screws. Over-extended tummies aside, when a meal ends like that, what can you do but smile?<br />
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<br />
Next, and in stark contrast, is the other food event we experienced in San Sebastian. Every other meal during our stay was spent wandering from course to course in pub to pub in the Parte Vieja. Here, there are alleyways and crossroads overflowing with bars that are overflowing with pintxos. See it and weep, people:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAtEat3agww7uCon-TnYAfpWxKFgcoaVk-fNgOiNb_RXcQB2jjF1rbN27QbDcwyCihthANojCddxP5y2rlTOr-QMC8HCMoxzRafNQTVDJOUnP2ok5jo6QIMWnIFotbedtNznnvwZnI-XmX/s1600/IMG_1135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAtEat3agww7uCon-TnYAfpWxKFgcoaVk-fNgOiNb_RXcQB2jjF1rbN27QbDcwyCihthANojCddxP5y2rlTOr-QMC8HCMoxzRafNQTVDJOUnP2ok5jo6QIMWnIFotbedtNznnvwZnI-XmX/s320/IMG_1135.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU0aph7UqufoN_IdV7z0YDFirsijmXLr8-uJiwAV3ZJglehxa_2pKgWlbO1ItuYlw7UFQxD4NKqNaW8pPouoLLAg7PXTlvoKUQ47Pum6vzqd5hMiTAPBDC6yYcRri5AsRkKZz3Ibj-xqwI/s1600/IMG_1134.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU0aph7UqufoN_IdV7z0YDFirsijmXLr8-uJiwAV3ZJglehxa_2pKgWlbO1ItuYlw7UFQxD4NKqNaW8pPouoLLAg7PXTlvoKUQ47Pum6vzqd5hMiTAPBDC6yYcRri5AsRkKZz3Ibj-xqwI/s320/IMG_1134.jpg" width="212" /></a><br />
<br />
The ritual is easy, the ritual is awesome. Truckloads of people hit the cobblestone streets at nightfall and spill out of doorways sipping wine and eating bar snacks. When they've enjoyed their first course, they move on and dive into more deliciousness further down the street. Enter, imbibe, ingest, depart, and repeat. We find what we feel is a good place to start. Diners and drinkers
have spilled out onto the dimly lit street, laughing and yelling and
sipping wine. There's only one thing to do: head down, arms tucked in,
aim for the bar. Here you get to pick your poison, pile it onto a plate, and pay by the honor system when you're done. This system shouldn't work amongst all the chaos, but it does. And it does deliciously. Everything that is served is fresh, none of it processed. Course two is around the corner, the third course four doors down. More yelling, more crowds, more laughing, our hands dripping with olive oil, our bellies full of beer. I insist we keep going despite the growing look of fear on Christian's face as he discovers his bride's extreme love of food and the lengths at which she'll go to experience it. I'll push myself as an athlete does, only I push to sickness. I am a true Olympian.<br />
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<br />
Arzak was amazing, we agree, a once-in-a-lifetime experience. There's food there we didn't know was food.
Classic Basque dishes are paired with cutting-edge molecular gastronomy.
There's a calm, comfortable environment and impeccable service from
smiling wait staff. It's first class. But the traditional pintxos pub crawl? Being pushed around by locals indulging a
passion for food, for friends, for life. Waiting for the barman to
finish slicing up a huge leg of Iberico ham before raising a txakoli
bottle high in the air and dribbling it into a glass. Salivating at the
smells of frying meat. Helping ourselves to the huge plates of tapas strewn across the bar. Jostling. Laughing with my adorable new husband over the amount of food I can consume. Drinking.
Eating. Eating. Eating. This is living. And I'll take it any day. <br />
<br />
For more pic's of our time in San Sebastian, go on over to <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/9369398@N04/sets/72157627977473404/" target="_blank">flickr</a>.</div>S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-74909621965205896302012-03-21T20:49:00.002-07:002012-03-21T20:57:18.651-07:00Lovin' La Rioja<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjanaUkKI7OEPSagmuRu8hUdeNU9MAby0sucjIKOksi-CxjSPKsWmNMbYQj5gFvJbagfCNtu90dZ4MZte172pELtBNbhE5_Vu_wtAA5Xmq7KS-l9vNbr7MeWTMZEFrQ2g0kiLEHLEVBS81S/s1600/6275375400_f95ccc6204_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjanaUkKI7OEPSagmuRu8hUdeNU9MAby0sucjIKOksi-CxjSPKsWmNMbYQj5gFvJbagfCNtu90dZ4MZte172pELtBNbhE5_Vu_wtAA5Xmq7KS-l9vNbr7MeWTMZEFrQ2g0kiLEHLEVBS81S/s640/6275375400_f95ccc6204_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
After soaking up all the culture, lovely architecture, and jamon we could stomach in Barcelona we set out on our next adventure: wine country in Northern Spain. It’s no secret that Christian and I love all things wine country. We hoard our precious (and dwindling) supply of Napa Cabernet, we look back at our wedding photos with Sonoma as the backdrop and wistfully sigh, "someday". There’s just something about a countryside dotted with grapevines that beckons to both of us. The juxtaposition of all those old gnarled vines sitting in rows of natural orderliness, bearing a fruit who’s slightness yields abundance. If I could look out on that scene for the rest of my days, I’d die a happy woman.<br />
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We left Barcelona, picked up our convertible and took off to take<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7I4vOEkdMcG6NQZIQoXZcNjJe4DSOvVxwLrXS2AHH5rPQaAIv0-VMy5F5fMkcAN32sLJYOlth12NDxQ5tn0DUVx6M-i-PzOXDs__QR11yC4ny5XTuvIz8ksRlPFNyyl9PMbKIcoznLdKR/s1600/6273521223_320d7bd36d_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7I4vOEkdMcG6NQZIQoXZcNjJe4DSOvVxwLrXS2AHH5rPQaAIv0-VMy5F5fMkcAN32sLJYOlth12NDxQ5tn0DUVx6M-i-PzOXDs__QR11yC4ny5XTuvIz8ksRlPFNyyl9PMbKIcoznLdKR/s320/6273521223_320d7bd36d_o.jpg" width="213" /></a>in the countryside by way of the Pyrenees. We zigzagged along the border of France and Spain for miles and miles. The scene was a desolate desert (and freezing due to Christian’s insistence on keeping the top down), but we had our tunes, each other, and our palpable excitement to keep us occupied. As we left the rugged North we felt the temperature rise as we hit the Spanish plains south of Pamplona. We were headed to La Rioja, Spain’s own Sonoma. Although, to give credit where credit is due, La Rioja has been around for literally ages. Time to get our medieval drink on! </div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">As we drove closer to our final destination, we took in a region awash with glorious vineyards, sunburst colors, dreamy landscapes, Gothic monasteries and enticing wine towns. And finally after several twists and turns, we approached the town of Laguardia, our home base for the next three days. The teeny tiny fortress town of Laguardia is a blip in La Rioja’s wine region, but it’s a walled village dating back to the 1300’s so we decided this was the port for us. For this portion of the trip, we would call the Hotel Castillo de Collado home. Our hotel, a converted castle, sits proudly on a rocky hilltop ensuring spectacular views of the Sierra de Cantabria mountain range and miles and miles of vineyards. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2spwm7Ng9eGurX4C17BC8XzGpYxIIfk9NcxvuexUOmcMcElRybHmTgtW7MHZj0fMnVhCaMCrFNPFnLtTa-ABV4mQ7ZiGaM7i_rq4EizVc2zAtkEqTWKOkqQGwUi5sH7zpT8q05fjaadjx/s1600/6275376108_1d8f72b7c2_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2spwm7Ng9eGurX4C17BC8XzGpYxIIfk9NcxvuexUOmcMcElRybHmTgtW7MHZj0fMnVhCaMCrFNPFnLtTa-ABV4mQ7ZiGaM7i_rq4EizVc2zAtkEqTWKOkqQGwUi5sH7zpT8q05fjaadjx/s400/6275376108_1d8f72b7c2_o.jpg" width="265" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhy3Jz6WLq-9F1HCFJepjp4bL2B2a8zmuCIVVepN_CZYrNh7Pkg5tZBJWxlcCAfnOXCXLHh63Mzr0zvWIs4PvM1ov6Zuv8ZTdpOFjQNsHE3P1v3r1-eG7qj2d8GwrGF6bCJbnDfnbVhHrO/s1600/6273608185_a5288bc171_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhy3Jz6WLq-9F1HCFJepjp4bL2B2a8zmuCIVVepN_CZYrNh7Pkg5tZBJWxlcCAfnOXCXLHh63Mzr0zvWIs4PvM1ov6Zuv8ZTdpOFjQNsHE3P1v3r1-eG7qj2d8GwrGF6bCJbnDfnbVhHrO/s400/6273608185_a5288bc171_o.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
When we pulled into our temporary abode, we were greeted by Xavier, the hotel's owner (also concierge, butler, coffee-maker, housekeeper, and chef). Xavier, who had grown up in the hotel, looks like a character from a movie. Probably in his seventies, he is long and lean and full of charm and charisma. His aged face is kind and his mouth appears to be wrinkled into a grin after years of smiles. We liked him immediately and though he hardly spoke English, he'd take wonderful care of us over the next couple days. While Christian parked the car, this thin, wonderful old man carried our massive suitcases up to our suite, which happened to be up several narrow, stone spiral staircases. I never would have let him, but he waved me away with a gentle authority that I knew I shouldn't question. After that, we did whatever Xavier told us to do and he never steered us wrong.<br />
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While we got settled, Xavier brought us two glasses of Rioja (fitting) and explained by gesturing how to work the various components of our room. Next, we set off to explore the village. The town is more like a square. A walled in village with pedestrian only alleyways consisting of a handful of small hotels, restaurants, and wine and specialty shops. In the center of town is a square where people gather and socialize. Somehow there seems to be quite a few locals and tourists about, which is surprising considering we walked the entire town in about 10 minutes and there is nothing around for miles. I'm beginning to wonder how we ever even ended up here, but I'm glad we did.<br />
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Laguardia's population seems to consist mostly of old folks sitting on benches, snacking on baguettes and locally made cured meats, taking in the sunset at dusk or watching the oversized cuckoo clock in the town square strike six. During this ceremony, which we're told happens nightly, everyone gathers in the square and the kids jumprope and dance while the elders look on. The whole scene is so picturesque you can't help but imagine the scenes of prior evenings and wish so badly you could have grown up here, too.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUeJrdJV4hDTbslyzbF494oWkiBF7QQHyBxICqLRfGH0w9MgwgXjIDCI6Oyep6U0f3zTNfGhy7-sUkM67BLHObkJ0HJ3JXv7-9fk7xAuSvP4tDRzS2ByPXcJaHKGKH49QOkelbU6SyIfwE/s1600/6274784371_76180a948b_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
<img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUeJrdJV4hDTbslyzbF494oWkiBF7QQHyBxICqLRfGH0w9MgwgXjIDCI6Oyep6U0f3zTNfGhy7-sUkM67BLHObkJ0HJ3JXv7-9fk7xAuSvP4tDRzS2ByPXcJaHKGKH49QOkelbU6SyIfwE/s640/6274784371_76180a948b_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Our days in Laguardia started early. We were still a bit wonky because of the jet lag and time change, so we’d wake up in the dark and try to be quiet until we heard Xavier stir downstairs. Once we knew he was awake, we’d stumble downstairs and he would joke with us that we needed to go back to bed, that I was still sleepy. It felt as though we were kids spending the weekend with our beloved Grandfather. I wouldn't have been surprised if he started sneaking us a few Werther's Originals from the candy bowl or pulling quarters from our ears, but instead he’d make us our coffee and tell us where we should go once the village was awake. Considering we had already conquered Laguardia (in our first 30 minutes there), we spent the next couple days driving around and taking in the surrounding villages and their amazing hundreds year old churches.<br />
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And of course, no trip would be complete without us stuffing ourselves to sickness on the local cuisine. In basque country, food is quite different and more mountainous than in the more populated and coastal regions of Spain where seafood reigns supreme. Think hearty lamb stews, beef dishes from nose to tail, rich rice dishes, and a smorgasbord of small plates, like meatballs and lots of baked legumes. It was in Laguardia that we started implementing <i>txikiteo</i>, or the tapas crawl, where instead of wasting our precious stomach space on just one restaurant, we'd wander from bar to bar, nibbling on different specialities until our bellies were full. It was also around this time that we started to feel our pants tighten and our fingers swell.<br />
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Our stay in La Rioja consisted of a lot less wine sampling than I expected and a lot more driving with the top down, heading wherever the wind would take us. And with a little guidance from our friend, Xavier, we were always guided somewhere delicious. Next up, San Sebastian! Someone pass the tums.<br />
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More pics from our time in La Rioja can be viewed <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/9369398@N04/sets/72157627964248044/" target="_blank">here</a>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbQ7B1F4KED8X0IDZ9qnVut3eZx_boZRFZcygUGeOl-cJ0_sx5EU13-pvf3HpMTjCbTaKIYqouCoTTyIwG4IjG4L7kZcSHvWUSlaOWQNmGyzrdk6zEvIJ_NOYwIEl_pZ_HnjpALneHDVFq/s1600/IMG_0959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbQ7B1F4KED8X0IDZ9qnVut3eZx_boZRFZcygUGeOl-cJ0_sx5EU13-pvf3HpMTjCbTaKIYqouCoTTyIwG4IjG4L7kZcSHvWUSlaOWQNmGyzrdk6zEvIJ_NOYwIEl_pZ_HnjpALneHDVFq/s640/IMG_0959.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com1Laguardia, Spain42.5542775 -2.584237099999995742.4818335 -2.6806720999999958 42.626721499999995 -2.4878020999999957tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-16120114449884961122012-01-11T21:49:00.000-08:002012-01-11T22:02:19.125-08:00Bar-tha-low-na!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-C3Gnos45y2gKNo53VreQhrPB5KRhY187NFFWK0UfaNdsDtcbXw_7AbtZfa2lu9xsNEeLUWOUM2vQH-VahixFcMrOXKQ5gREY1eJJD6ucKt9S_TnAe-smdEPaZXfIZZ5zXaWB08hvz1iA/s1600/meccbarc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-C3Gnos45y2gKNo53VreQhrPB5KRhY187NFFWK0UfaNdsDtcbXw_7AbtZfa2lu9xsNEeLUWOUM2vQH-VahixFcMrOXKQ5gREY1eJJD6ucKt9S_TnAe-smdEPaZXfIZZ5zXaWB08hvz1iA/s400/meccbarc.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>When Christian and I started dating our conversations frequently turned to where in the world we’d like to travel next. It was and continues to be a checklist of sorts. Our common mantra, “What’s left and when can we go?". In the early days, our next up list looked like this: Greece, Spain, and some sort of tropical locale like Bali or Thailand. We managed to make it to Greece in May of 2008 and it remains the best trip either of us has ever been on. It was there we discovered that this pairing we’d been trying out was actually pretty spectacular, probably even perfect. And that coupling wasn’t just feta cheese and the tastiest tomatoes we’ve ever eaten. I left the Greek islands knowing a sense of joy that I had never before known. The only thing better than reliving that trip is reflecting on the years that have grown from it. And what a magnificent time it’s been!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When talk came around to where we’d honeymoon we decided it only made sense to refer back to our original list. We could cross off Thailand and Bali because we knew that with our new geography, we’d get those covered in the next year. That left Spain. We knew we had to pick a location in Spain that we could get to fairly easily all the way from Singapore so we honed in on Barcelona and decided that a road trip through Spain’s culinary North would suit us both just fine. For Christian, this meant lots of time on the open road in a rented convertible with music blaring and for me, well, this meant access to a smorgasbord of all the Spanish culinary delights I could stuff in my beak. We’d both be in heaven.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>BARCELONA</b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXLqjfJZp8emBQ7RueDl92p7vF0_qJKSSllREA-8lNjv52DyJ6aw6ayY3jVsEHjL7i2kG-8D4v6MJY7M4blxNM_M7GlPQHBrzlrgr_TyRHYCzjsZ9Ji4FSVcrHtixgxndVH9dTAFHb-X5G/s1600/meat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXLqjfJZp8emBQ7RueDl92p7vF0_qJKSSllREA-8lNjv52DyJ6aw6ayY3jVsEHjL7i2kG-8D4v6MJY7M4blxNM_M7GlPQHBrzlrgr_TyRHYCzjsZ9Ji4FSVcrHtixgxndVH9dTAFHb-X5G/s200/meat.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjETmL_0E7xcx0neDBSngLINN0SGu7g7591l0J8RKFI6U1TORLxK2JQBUr1NhW1eX9LVVpOsCl5KUR5s7Z798D3Ej3YwmYmmbKDMoE7tykv1uRdfjPYvO95jmJUbbC_Dh-Fhd5heHmXFvT_/s1600/food.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjETmL_0E7xcx0neDBSngLINN0SGu7g7591l0J8RKFI6U1TORLxK2JQBUr1NhW1eX9LVVpOsCl5KUR5s7Z798D3Ej3YwmYmmbKDMoE7tykv1uRdfjPYvO95jmJUbbC_Dh-Fhd5heHmXFvT_/s200/food.jpg" width="200" /></a>After a 20 hour trek, we landed in Barcelona and headed to our temporary digs. Our lodging for the next couple days is right off La Rambla, a tree-lined pedestrian mall that is pretty touristy. Men painted gold and asking for change almost outnumber the ladies painted silver asking for change. But we're also in very close proximity to the Gothic Quarter and Mercat de La Boqueria, one of the most amazingly abundant and beautiful outdoor markets in the world (and future location of our breakfasts, mid-day snacks, and sometimes even late night snacks). I believe I’ve mentioned, I really like food. Upon entering, you can grab a fresh squeezed juice, meander the rows and rows of fresh vegetables, fruit, cheese, nuts, meat, and baked goods, then sit down to a typical Barcelonian breakfast - cafe con leche and tortilla de patates, an omelette consisting of potatoes, egg, and onion - pick up some meat and produce for dinner, and top off the occasion with a beer and more pintxos (tapas). I'm certain a better day does not exist.<br />
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In Barcelona, you can walk by any bar and spy a spread of snacks so plentiful that you can almost see the marble they’re sitting on sag under their delectable weight. When you’re in Spain, gone is the notion that bar snacks need only be a bag of Lay’s or a giant dill pickle. This is the land of jamon and cava, people! Afternoons consist of bellying up, sipping a beverage, and choosing from your pick of small delights to quell your peckishness before dinner. Choose from ham and any assortment of sausage, cheese stuffed peppers, peppers stuffed with albacore, goat cheese dusted with ground walnuts, or padron peppers sprinkled with sea salt. All of it curled up on top a square of bread and doused with the best olive oil you've ever eaten and if you so desire, an anchovy. Pile them up, eat away, and when you’re finished, count up your toothpicks and pay the bill.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
We spent our days in Barcelona breakfasting at the market where we'd identify a quadrant of the city we'd like to explore that day. On our first outing, we hiked over to La Sagrada Familia, a spectacle of a church designed by Gaudi. This thing has had more facelifts than Joan Rivers. The actual construction of it, which has been ongoing for well over 100 years, is as spectacular as it's ornate carvings, which depict the life of Christ. This thing is so loaded down you're eyes just don't know where to look. We did our best to take it all in, then hopped in a cab to visit the Picasso Museum in El Born, a beautiful neighborhood full of shops and cafes. The collection is impressive, but the medieval palaces the museum is housed in are equally fascinating. You just can't beat European architecture. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdcthyoPTuW6sW5To17KIcmjkrhuR6iG9-tIRgshj3_n9oF1M69OGV2JAW4GKBtUEHid23_ZBUsfYDk8snlSsQqNhcYq-Tz9AWHEY-x76eElPzT5CrzTy2PaYX8JtndDVo5hr2hnPj4CBe/s1600/Sagrada.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdcthyoPTuW6sW5To17KIcmjkrhuR6iG9-tIRgshj3_n9oF1M69OGV2JAW4GKBtUEHid23_ZBUsfYDk8snlSsQqNhcYq-Tz9AWHEY-x76eElPzT5CrzTy2PaYX8JtndDVo5hr2hnPj4CBe/s640/Sagrada.jpg" width="425" /></a></div><br />
After we absorbed some culture, it was time to<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitcu-cUbti0ZGbK9_b2r-aBAd671g4aT2-ki4nHFXQacMhF_l4YM1qt6syBrr4tWIRkCstJrfHwLYVXep2TZfAh1lk7gIB_vmBKLMR1HMiHXlWouqmg5bvx_wpX5dbAO0fB0pgEGw2ykxC/s1600/bread.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitcu-cUbti0ZGbK9_b2r-aBAd671g4aT2-ki4nHFXQacMhF_l4YM1qt6syBrr4tWIRkCstJrfHwLYVXep2TZfAh1lk7gIB_vmBKLMR1HMiHXlWouqmg5bvx_wpX5dbAO0fB0pgEGw2ykxC/s320/bread.jpg" width="320" /></a>refuel. Amazingly, we were able to find Bar Del Pla, a restaurant that came very highly recommended, a few streets away from the museum. It's a casual joint run by two brothers; one who pours seriously good wine out the front and one who churns out simple but delicious food in the back. Our "light" meal consisted of pan con tomate (a local specialty of grilled bread rubbed with tomatoes and garlic, drizzled with olive oil), fried artichokes, padron peppers, seared tuna and figs, and tempura battered squash blossoms. Each dish was gorgeous and could easily be served in any number of fine dining establishments, but the kicker? This is bar food in Spain. Simple, humble even, food made from a handful of fresh ingredients. We spent the meal sipping wine and gushing over the food's beauty and tastiness and left only about $30 poorer. Excellent.<br />
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Over the next couple days we zigzagged through Barcelona, taking in hundreds of architectural delights, snacking and feasting on amazing food that was amazingly cheap, and walking the streets of a beautiful Gothic city. A stellar start to our stellar start. Let the honeymoonying begin! But only after we have a few more pintxo's...<br />
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To see more of our time in Barcelona, head on over to <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/9369398@N04/sets/72157627819393907/with/6265831449/" target="_blank">flickr</a>.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-76989268169457016372011-09-22T00:41:00.000-07:002011-09-22T00:50:03.594-07:00Fragrant Harbour<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRF_nA2FEHANIOIreKAaKBKPFrUpcSfaXCjLkfomQWN-QnDvY2fWf-_ENszf2gCy4UIE8Ho2ETDz73xkjXCnyS2XUunNOAE_dRFh4iJZyPAr1fSHrGWaQTiTsFNI2fpqBBblP24Vk5p6vw/s1600/IMG_0045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRF_nA2FEHANIOIreKAaKBKPFrUpcSfaXCjLkfomQWN-QnDvY2fWf-_ENszf2gCy4UIE8Ho2ETDz73xkjXCnyS2XUunNOAE_dRFh4iJZyPAr1fSHrGWaQTiTsFNI2fpqBBblP24Vk5p6vw/s320/IMG_0045.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> <br />
Our trip to Hong Kong was a major success, even if after visiting, I still don't get exactly what it is. So it's a division (if you will) of China but what does that mean exactly? I know I don't have to visit the Chinese embassy to get a visa before traveling like I do when I go elsewhere in China, so I guess I get it? But it also gets a little hazy when navigating around. So there's Hong Kong island, then across the bay is Kowloon, and then you have something called the new territories. Isn't it all Hong Kong? (I probably shouldn't skip over the history and geography sections of our travel books.) Regardless, the things I am sure of are: Hong Kong is pretty awesome and it's a great place to buy a camera, take in an underwhelming light show on a junk boat, and break your toe. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2A8afX1A0HnBzyyL9lk8V3XfxLj761hEsBSfklPynjboPPcwC2cho-PbnHGxzXkLyILNqDvkYFNsmKPW3fG9J-xQFbn2kXaYTOhMveHKni4IDCYqy6nV6uyp8_uGkrAL4tGskCwKwhamq/s1600/IMG_0030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2A8afX1A0HnBzyyL9lk8V3XfxLj761hEsBSfklPynjboPPcwC2cho-PbnHGxzXkLyILNqDvkYFNsmKPW3fG9J-xQFbn2kXaYTOhMveHKni4IDCYqy6nV6uyp8_uGkrAL4tGskCwKwhamq/s200/IMG_0030.JPG" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doesn't Christian look thrilled?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Our hotel arranged a free shuttle from the airport and as we were driving into the city we took in the lush green scenery. With all the hills and waterways, we couldn't help comparing it to San Francisco. This is going to be good, I thought, as I tucked into my newly purchased chewy candy (the pack that made us nearly miss our shuttle). Once we got settled into our hotel (on the Kowloon side, if that means anything to you), we grabbed some lunch and started plotting our day. I was anxious because our only working camera had been lost in Melbourne a few weeks before and I hated being somewhere new without a camera to capture our every move. I had done a little research and found to my great surprise that the lowest cost and most highly respected camera shop (insert Christian's eye rolling here) I'd narrowed in on was right around the corner (another eye roll). Thirty minutes later, we set off to shop, me with my shiny new Canon around my neck. The touring can commence! <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Something actually fits!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>As we scooted off to find our first shopping destination (after all, we are who we are), I continued to pretend that the fancy new - and entirely clunky - DSLR camera we just got wasn't weighing me down immensely (it was) for fear of hearing Christian's first "told you so" of the trip. We entered the crowded MTR station and navigated around surprisingly well for two directionally challenged individuals. Our first stops were several menswear shops for Christian. He has a real knack for finding such awesome men's stores everywhere we go that even I enjoy the time (countless hours) we spend in them. I don't have the same luck finding women's threads. Not surprisingly, clothes made for Asian women just don't work for me. Hmm, most likely the 5 foot 10 inch body with very broad shoulders, long monkey arms, and extremely big hands. Nonetheless, the strolling, the window shopping, and trying on the occasional stuffed bear head work for me. I just like to take it all in. <br />
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Aside from being a pretty great shopping destination, Hong Kong also boasts one of the loveliest skylines I've ever seen. It's so spectacular, Christian suggested we take it in in two ways. A duo of total tourist-ness. We joined hundreds of others, who I was delighted to see were also lugging around ginormous cameras, on a crowded tram to the top of a very large peak to peer out over Hong Kong. <br />
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<div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh91lGdtweD0kRTOi18bqOEkqkxk9MQMHK4gG7kkASFwyAzfXMT_g0vdP3kpBsAVtCnXWdRjkEaaet9pd6qZN8x4jgs4mV9AD1IwoGByg_vJo-3WX5TWXkGU_UDXiVb00OGu9GCYpHn-QM/s1600/IMG_0108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh91lGdtweD0kRTOi18bqOEkqkxk9MQMHK4gG7kkASFwyAzfXMT_g0vdP3kpBsAVtCnXWdRjkEaaet9pd6qZN8x4jgs4mV9AD1IwoGByg_vJo-3WX5TWXkGU_UDXiVb00OGu9GCYpHn-QM/s640/IMG_0108.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Later that afternoon, we signed up for yet another tourist trap - a junkboat tour of Victoria Harbor to see the light show. At 8pm every evening, the buildings on both the Hong Kong and Kowloon side light up to the tunes of very bad music, complete with lasers. Think 80's Tron, on water. You get on this boat made to look like an old junkboat, cash your drink coupon in for a beverage of your choosing, they sail you out to the middle of the harbor, and you sit back and wait for sundown. Once it's dark, the pre-recorded play-by-play begins and you sit back and enjoy the show. It as about as ridiculous as one might expect, which made for a pretty fun evening and one spectacular view.<br />
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After the laser-fest, we headed back to Kowloon to check out the Temple Street Night Market. A series of streets and alleyways that are full of food stalls, fortune tellers, and stall after stall of cheap crap that for some reason always looks deceptively cool and necessary to have in the moment. <br />
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I had almost talked myself into a set of silk pajamas and a sign reading "No smoking I will crazy" but hunger set in so we set off to find some streetfood. It was a little overwhelming with so many options. We finally settled on a kebab joint. It was only when we walked up to it that we noticed some drunk man left his sick all over the entry way. Hunger quelled. So we ended up at Outback Steakhouse. Don't knock it 'til you reintroduce yourself to the rib platter. Sweet BBQ sauce deliciousness.<br />
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Seeing Hong Kong was every bit as cool as we thought it would be. There's a grit and dirtiness to it that is just so much fun to visit, especially when you reside in Singapore. Hong Kong is The Fonz to Singapore's Richie Cunningham. It's a city that caters to many cultures. It's both old and modern, but it doesn't try too hard. There are places to go and people to see (a TON of people - over 7 million people reside there) and we both left hoping we'd come back. One more stop on this journey down, two more satisfied travelers.<br />
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To check out all our Hong Kong pics, head on over to <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/9369398@N04/sets/72157627281839657/">flickr</a>!<br />
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</div>S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-62047009267393674852011-08-15T18:19:00.000-07:002011-09-05T19:12:31.637-07:00Holy Matrimony!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1lVYmlKMcpCXSikbSc5QCFQVj1XRcnEF4vtAKufQn6PKyu4jdWvlRrBDNXVD6W1HBAWPkTPQ6Mlxr2P3qC8Qrg21-Fm7ZVSiCsK275830KGrFrAkfu4iWUm4ZwOZ1BL1GUKhEaIOtca3Z/s1600/sarah-cc-vines.png"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643557741714876626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1lVYmlKMcpCXSikbSc5QCFQVj1XRcnEF4vtAKufQn6PKyu4jdWvlRrBDNXVD6W1HBAWPkTPQ6Mlxr2P3qC8Qrg21-Fm7ZVSiCsK275830KGrFrAkfu4iWUm4ZwOZ1BL1GUKhEaIOtca3Z/s320/sarah-cc-vines.png" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 214px;" /></a> <br />
Here we are, almost two months after the wedding and we've settled back into life in Singapore as a husband and a wife. Which, truthfully, feels pretty much like life before except now when we see people out, we introduce each other as "wife" and "husband" and typically the one of us being referred to looks around bewildered for a moment. And, Christian has accepted that married life means a lifetime of hitting his head on the kitchen cabinets that no matter how clean and organized I really am, I always forget to close. And I've realized that I can look forward to a life of picking up the popcorn kernels that don't make their way into Christian's mouth during a post-dinner popcorn session (which occur at a shockingly high rate for a man with such a svelte figure) so Phoebe won't choke on them. But in addition to marriage meaning true acceptance of each other's idiosyncrasies it also means that we've each not only gained a new family, but we've become one. We're Christian, Sarah, and Phoebe and we're the Conway's. <br />
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Nothing spells wedding more than the realization of how your life and family will change when you say "I do". It feels amazing to know that this California girl has a whole other league of people in the Northeastern U.S. that are not only pulling for us, but for me. A new set of parents, a brother, a couple of sister's and countless aunts and uncles and cousins. For those of you who know me, you know this has been a lifelong dream. Coming from a somewhat small family who'd have holiday dinners that never consisted of having to add an extra leaf to the table, I'm thrilled by the idea of big family dinners and a kid's table (for Christian). Not that I don't love my tiny family. These folks are my people. Being able to watch my family grow into a new generation with the addition of my beloved niece, nephews, and soon-to-be-born niece has been amazing. Age has given me clarity about who each and every one of them are and where I fit in and I feel nothing short of blessed to have such stellar people in my corner. <br />
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So for us, this wedding wasn't just an event to have people share in our love, it became a moment in time to celebrate who we both are, where we came from, and who we want to be together. This couldn't happen without including a nod to our past and getting everyone involved and this proved to be the easiest task. The realization that our loved ones didn't feel compelled to help, but grateful to was nothing short of astounding for a person who likes to do it all herself. You mean you WANT to talk to me about floral arrangements? You WANT to collect over 100 vintage hankies for me? You're WILLING to go through all your old photo's to track down wedding pictures of every single couple in your family since, well, forever? <br />
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The two weeks I spent in San Francisco prior to the wedding were an exhausting and exhilarating whirlwind of errands, ribbon tying, hand-stamping, and the search for the perfect pair of wedding shoes. My troops and I moved between last minute runs to the craft store, dress fittings, phone calls with vendors, late night table assignment do-overs, and bleary-eyed sessions of laughter, tears, and something I'll coin "laughter-tears". I can't count how many times I wondered why I was putting myself through all of this (but I'm so glad I did). I'll never forget the three days I spent with my mom where I demanded we hit every Kate Spade store in the greater Northern California area to find the exact pair of heels I wanted (no, NEEDED) for the wedding. The fits I had over finding the EXACT color, shape, and width of ribbon for the girl's bouquets. The days I insisted we devote to finding the perfect font for the welcome packets so it would match our invitations. The hours long search for the perfect baby photo that yielded a walk down memory lane with a 2am review of my baby book. The thing I will never forget aside from all the aforementioned lunacy I put my mom through, was her smile through every insane moment of it. <br />
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We spent the evening before our wedding at a beautiful spot under the stars in one of our favorite places on earth. We heard our nearest and dearest share stories of our lives together and we feasted on the local food we had missed so much during our time in Asia. I got to watch my pregnant sister playing barrel of monkeys with my six year old niece and spend time with my childhood friend who had travelled from China to be there with us. I got to meet all the fantastic people who knew Christian before I did. I watched my parents and siblings mingle with my new parents and siblings. And I got to walk around in all of this hand in hand with a person I know will be by my side for the rest of my life. Life. Is. Splendid. <br />
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Wedding day started early with a hair and make-up-a-thon like I've never seen. By 9am all of my besties were seated at different make-shift stations getting primped and prodded for my big day. I felt unusually calm. I had spent the last 9 months of our engagement worried not about how I was going to plan this thing from Singapore but how I would manage to get through it all without bawling and sweating my way through the ceremony. I can't get through an entire episode of that "move that bus!" show without nearing total breakdown. Follow that up with a show about abused dogs and I'm not leaving the house 'til I get all the sadness out. There was no way I was going to wake up on my wedding day and be able to hold it together. But, here I was, taking it all in like a pro. <br />
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When we got to the venue and saw all the work that was going into making my vision for the day a reality, excitement hit and left the door cracked open for a little nervousness to sneak in. By the time my sister and mom got me into that beautiful white gown, all I could think of was seeing Christian. I'll never forget being led to the vine covered archway to enjoy our last moment together before we were to be married. He was standing with his back to me and when he turned around with tears in his eyes, it was all I could do to blink away my own. This was it. This was our beginning, and it was just the first of so many moments that I will never forget. <br />
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Walking down the aisle on the arm of my dad, seeing Christian's mom's face full of joy at the end of the aisle, looking beyond her to see my husband and alongside him our favorite people. Sharing our first moment together as husband and wife with Christian's dad. All of the incredible toasts delivered with love by the people we love. Our first dance, however awkward and bumbling. Dancing in the arms of my beloved pops. Seeing my friends twirl my niece around and around the dance floor, knowing this would be a moment she'd remember when she was old. Walking barefoot but still in our wedding clothes to our rental home at the end of the night. Waking up with my husband, exhausted but still giddy, at 5am the next morning and recounting all the glorious moments from the days before. <br />
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It would take at least 100 more paragraphs to truly convey the gratitude we feel in our hearts toward the people that helped make our day the heartfelt event that it was but I will say this: Our wedding - this supposed celebration of OUR love - turned out to be a celebration of all the love that had been shown to us in our lifetime. The honor and pride and gratitude we feel are emotions that we are so thankful to have been given and ones that we will never forget. So, thank you to all of our family and friends, and not just the ones that were there to celebrate with us, but to everyone who has touched our lives. We feel truly blessed. <br />
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Photographer's photos are here! View the gallery <a href="http://smu.gs/qqlNBE">here</a>. (password is: moore)<br />
<a href="http://christianandsarahgethitched.shutterfly.com/"> <br />
http://christianandsarahgethitched.shutterfly.com/</a> <br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/9369398@N04/sets/72157627157126156/">http://www.flickr.com/photos/9369398@N04/sets/72157627157126156/</a> <br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/10064690@N00/sets/72157627302722024/with/5985420076/">http://www.flickr.com/photos/10064690@N00/sets/72157627302722024/</a> <br />
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</div>S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-56227651753479241882011-05-14T20:53:00.000-07:002011-05-16T07:48:38.129-07:00Down with Ko Phi Phi<span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNWAmYoILkLfQowIi12DGGbcATCSsq43YtY_ABiVEglyk4Jjvi-f4ub6PJnWo1fWzG7mex3RUmS7dfROetxgKYX_QH0OmLbF7khgG7EN5wgYPn0sO7vVLMNIxfGvOjnnufC4xSiiOrN-RD/s1600/IMG_5983_1.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNWAmYoILkLfQowIi12DGGbcATCSsq43YtY_ABiVEglyk4Jjvi-f4ub6PJnWo1fWzG7mex3RUmS7dfROetxgKYX_QH0OmLbF7khgG7EN5wgYPn0sO7vVLMNIxfGvOjnnufC4xSiiOrN-RD/s400/IMG_5983_1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607304065516766434" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">I try to glean as much as possible from the experiences we've been given through this relocation. I know how much we’ve sacrificed to be here and I also know how lucky we are to have these opportunities. I’m learning that my usual self, the one who is a little bit control freak and slightly (charmingly!) obsessive about planning, tends to jam as much experience, manufactured or otherwise, into these adventures so we don’t miss out on anything.</span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">This has a tendency to backfire. So, going forward, I’m going to employ a fresh new outlook to our travels.</span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">A little something I’m going to call W.W.T.B.D. (or, What Would Tony Bourdain Do?). Now that’s a guy who can navigate the globe and experience each new place just like a local would. He’s relaxed about it, eats good food, doesn’t ask too many questions, and he would never, ever pay to ride an elephant.</span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><br /><br />We chose to break into Thailand by visiting Krabi, a region south of Phuket, known for spectacular beaches surrounded by massive limestone formations. We arrived in Krabi on a Friday morning. It was overcast, wickedly hot and humid, and because of the onset of rainy season, a virtual ghost town. Our first rookie move was to head to the spa and feel justified <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTr4DUDUSsyYvw0vo5MyeCKj9dQW-1QhnqrvjWm29PTs1-8QAJJKvIj3itWsdm9rMEUznKI_cmdj9dsJUAihrfUZQTO76y5SHzDOqIGyzp_bM_-RKLEn5jveRjdI7QB_gm4gUlA2G5TP9y/s1600/IMG_1169.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 327px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTr4DUDUSsyYvw0vo5MyeCKj9dQW-1QhnqrvjWm29PTs1-8QAJJKvIj3itWsdm9rMEUznKI_cmdj9dsJUAihrfUZQTO76y5SHzDOqIGyzp_bM_-RKLEn5jveRjdI7QB_gm4gUlA2G5TP9y/s320/IMG_1169.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607296271466203906" border="0" /></a>spending way too many baht on spa treatments, because what else were we going to do?</span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">It was practically raining outside. We were rubbed and scrubbed and masked for two hours, only to find out that while we were lounging inside the sun was shining and sleepy little Krabi was alive and well. We hightailed it to the pool, grabbed a beer from the swim up bar and watched the sun go down. </span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">(Lesson #1: Never stay at a hotel with perks like a swim up bar. It always sounds like a great idea but you quickly learn that it’s no longer fun to be in Cancun over Spring Break. You end up sipping a syrupy mai tai next to some hairy backed fat man who’s avoiding his children. The ones who are yipping and splashing at the other end of the pool.)<br /><br /></span><p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Our next venture into naiveté happened when we booked a morning shuttle to a group boat tour to Ko Phi Phi (pronounced Ko Pee Pee), a rumored “heaven on earth” landscaped with white sand and turquoise water). Think Leo DeCaprio in The Beach. Literally. </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;">It was filmed there. We woke up at the crack of dawn, met up with the rest of the group and shuttled off at 8am only to drive 20 miles and sit at the dock waiting for our boat until they decided to tell us the trip had been cancelled due to weather. Of course it was. (Lesson #2: Never sign up for group tours. They’re for the people who think visiting San Francisco includes a stop at Fisherman’s Wharf.) This idle time led us to our (my) next hair-brained scheme – an elephant safari. A one hour ride atop a gentle giant? How can this be bad?</span></p><p style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">Christian was skeptical from the onset. I was seduced by the prospect of encountering a magnificent beast with sweetly flapping ears, long curly eyelashes, and a trunk that she’d extend out toward me for a nuzzle or perhaps a peanut. I’d hop onto her trunk and she’d sit me gently on her back and we’d set off for a jungle tour where we’d encounter some of her furry friends.</span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">When she finished showing me her happy home, we’d head back and I would feed her bananas and wash her with a long scrubby brush. We’d promise to write and she’d paint me a picture and we’d part ways, both enriched by the experience. </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes;font-size:100%;" > </span> </p><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The fact that we were the only people who signed up for the tour should have been enough to encourage the cancelling of this plan but I still clung to my dream of frolicking with a wild animal so we went with it. We arrived at Nosey Parker, the elephant safari where all the posters reminded us that they “treated their animals like royalty”! Once our girl was herded toward us and we climbed the tower to deposit our extra 300+ combined pounds onto the strange rattan seat that was PVC piped to her back, reality came rushing at me. </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">We were perched up there like the Beverly Hillbillies, my extra large bag of beach items squished in between us, our ignorance shining for all the world to see.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlqfNlDmZ-ct_BAGhxcwyO7YoT40_N23nvaM-SJ1tuan08rjTF2cOev6JjrlotLOlFjBZmJqh_m_MiE-zAXOp8JJ3NmTIk291gj_moi8wL4Olno5-aqyrV9LD_ItVgHoBvxrWnNL2lyELi/s1600/IMG_6048.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlqfNlDmZ-ct_BAGhxcwyO7YoT40_N23nvaM-SJ1tuan08rjTF2cOev6JjrlotLOlFjBZmJqh_m_MiE-zAXOp8JJ3NmTIk291gj_moi8wL4Olno5-aqyrV9LD_ItVgHoBvxrWnNL2lyELi/s400/IMG_6048.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607297713615531986" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><br />It became very clear, very quickly that this was not going to be the experience I dreamed up in my head. You could feel the poor gal struggling to carry us, my cargo, the guide, and his evil metal tipped instrument over rocky, uneven terrain. There was no path unless you count a large creek and extremely narrow pathways better suited for an animal with the same girth as a cat. Our elephant would let out the most heartbreaking moan and refuse to budge until coerced by the aforementioned wooden instrument. One heavy whack to her head by the guide and I lost it, tears streaming down my face, as I realized my own involvement in this awfulness. This was five minutes into the hour long tour. We carried on (we had no choice, really, we were in the middle of a jungle and atop a very tall animal), posed for uncomfortable pictures and continued to witness this mighty beast struggle and moan her way through our safari adventure.</span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;">The one we paid money to experience. At least my outburst stopped the mahout from openly whacking her again.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">At the end of the trek, we tried to communicate our sincerest </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" style="font-family: georgia;" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0qKYynoP2HmnjjvIgaEWVeOT6AFisoMFa0WhBw_UDtYthu5a5P5PeVskG4DtsvVbW20XycehAaOHHwIzqGMQwsS9vozspSsob_saWYXqsVHM9VOLeIqiZGZzM8xMo9ac7y_r-StgAvTL/s1600/IMG_6072.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0qKYynoP2HmnjjvIgaEWVeOT6AFisoMFa0WhBw_UDtYthu5a5P5PeVskG4DtsvVbW20XycehAaOHHwIzqGMQwsS9vozspSsob_saWYXqsVHM9VOLeIqiZGZzM8xMo9ac7y_r-StgAvTL/s200/IMG_6072.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607292207953478210" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;">apologies to the sweet girl by stuffing as many pineapples as we could into her trunk and I vowed to never ever solicit wildlife for entertainment again. </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Christian, who was never all that psyched about the adventure in the first place and who like me, was visibly shaken by the awfulness of it all, perked right up. His travel-mate had just been cured of her incessant need to experience a new country by doing all the things that the internet tells her to do. You know, all the things the locals never, ever do. He’ll never again be subjected to a dolphin ride (but it’ll be just like Flipper!), a zoological night tour (you get to see monkeys IN THE DARK!), or a sign language course with an orangutan (although this I could be talked into). </span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">And this leads us to Lesson #3: Don’t be me on vacation.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">After a solemn car trip back to the hotel, we got gussied up for our big trek into Krabi Town. We took a shuttle with several other hotel guests and drove for about 45 minutes, stopping along the way at Ao Nang , a quaint little seaside community with loads of restaurants and shops. Under my tutelage, we skipped over that tourist trap to reach our final destination, Krabi Town. This was the spot to be. I read it on the internet and the hotel staff backed me up! (Lesson #4: Never listen to hotel staff. They’re paid to make you feel like you know what you’re doing.) We left the shuttle, took two steps, and realized we had a made a huge mistake. We were plopped right into an average, random neighborhood in Krabi. Imagine visiting San Francisco as a tourist and being dropped off in a strip mall in Daly City. No café’s, no photo opp’s, just an old music store where they were still making a go of it slinging tapes (you know, the rectangular thingies you’d stick into decks and music would play?), and a night market consisting of a bouncy house, an entire booth devoted to croc's, and a place to buy deep fried potatoes on a stick. As redeeming as a fried food item on a stick can be, it didn’t make up for the rain that started to fall. Another day bites the dust.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_gAn8kx9AqK-eKQs7loUrcLIq2wYtZyl12pQJ6LBjYc7AqNp3q5JK6YuapSWBHt1Bd8PAqMRsAo2wZfr8kmfNWe-Yu1eo89NVkeXgWMRqBarXLZT9n2JGE3OV40KkDPPm4PXrEebInvzB/s1600/IMG_6106.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_gAn8kx9AqK-eKQs7loUrcLIq2wYtZyl12pQJ6LBjYc7AqNp3q5JK6YuapSWBHt1Bd8PAqMRsAo2wZfr8kmfNWe-Yu1eo89NVkeXgWMRqBarXLZT9n2JGE3OV40KkDPPm4PXrEebInvzB/s200/IMG_6106.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607293884051605106" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC1qz1ilwHLGoLJK3H5DxpQZDVz0eEtw6de5XD1BOe6M4mSPYYJO5kKyJ-TPpHCOmj-UTPC34eizYyQp8JhyphenhyphenmFQT16yyp88wnK5gZ07tjbO8DJOvev-Qcx8wS5Bhcc9BrW6BExin9_JNUG/s1600/IMG_6105.JPG"> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyz770Z3g0gdc3bF1cC65pYmjZ5gxnCw-OFWyZlO-rZdhvCBuR2H4IsrcjXjVRcfYk0rj3o9Or4yZmISBVSgnmXamATSHDMQ36KsiBf35Rh37s1Px2Bh_Sn9J7JD_4C7e1sX3OEvMTdQDW/s1600/IMG_6090.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyz770Z3g0gdc3bF1cC65pYmjZ5gxnCw-OFWyZlO-rZdhvCBuR2H4IsrcjXjVRcfYk0rj3o9Or4yZmISBVSgnmXamATSHDMQ36KsiBf35Rh37s1Px2Bh_Sn9J7JD_4C7e1sX3OEvMTdQDW/s200/IMG_6090.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607293870579160530" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdMF8UCkoPAF8a2BATjwvKDhGzP3UdVOZOxnAFZknuhwYOmuhq5ovEpEk-TqimotmogvTGq0deVZ9dnDWHx1CCkb1VKaCk-PQxjzk7dk81B8oHLJThOo9oy7bnlo3qjcvjFwmCciUhZM0H/s1600/IMG_6093.JPG"> <img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdMF8UCkoPAF8a2BATjwvKDhGzP3UdVOZOxnAFZknuhwYOmuhq5ovEpEk-TqimotmogvTGq0deVZ9dnDWHx1CCkb1VKaCk-PQxjzk7dk81B8oHLJThOo9oy7bnlo3qjcvjFwmCciUhZM0H/s200/IMG_6093.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607293880228072322" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3MoRNLSOMzDh_i42pw_wQPaFhlW4nSDlAqVptQ38zcW83_aJ3T3upSSiKK6faotGK0dNaBknF4MFSfC3U4SyUyPJKkXlJF9-WLe972AjHBWqc1ia51ECK4RomTHLQBf__dnBZc3Z3fRe/s1600/IMG_6105.JPG"> <img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3MoRNLSOMzDh_i42pw_wQPaFhlW4nSDlAqVptQ38zcW83_aJ3T3upSSiKK6faotGK0dNaBknF4MFSfC3U4SyUyPJKkXlJF9-WLe972AjHBWqc1ia51ECK4RomTHLQBf__dnBZc3Z3fRe/s200/IMG_6105.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607294636702899218" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Our last day in Thailand, we were determined to seek redemption. While we waited out the rain in Krabi Town the night before, we met a fellow American who had been in Thailand for the last six months. </span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Nevermind what he was probably doing there (alone, so far from home), he gave us a few tips and we headed back to Ao Nang, the picturesque town we had passed up the night before. From there we took a longboat to Railay Beach. As soon as we hit the shores of Railay, we knew we had found Thailand. The beauty of the shoreline was breathtaking. Aqua colored water, white sand, a plethora of shops and café’s that didn’t appear to be modeled after a set at Universal Studios. We enjoyed a simple but enjoyable day of hanging on the beach, swimming in the ocean, and relaxing at a seaside café.</span><span style="font-family: georgia;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Turns out you don’t have to Frommer your way through a vacation to find the good stuff.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO2VdVKXD5MVb8Ga0GBnEAhCqi-h4pZrgXFGuile6vts1Tbczvs3RWPEAOjnoOnHe_jNr-FiwpMZnUzBnbatX6hgSiOHHm2_6L-YmkTCM_WyCJbu9mSe4AecAMXNfLUr4gFFKmWV5nArAo/s1600/IMG_6147.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO2VdVKXD5MVb8Ga0GBnEAhCqi-h4pZrgXFGuile6vts1Tbczvs3RWPEAOjnoOnHe_jNr-FiwpMZnUzBnbatX6hgSiOHHm2_6L-YmkTCM_WyCJbu9mSe4AecAMXNfLUr4gFFKmWV5nArAo/s400/IMG_6147.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607298876221919010" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfEnDIi-vw7sLaEIFO0rNjMPtXG5j-1gPGN937g33JFLjMKrLpCLkM8vlnisx0nay1h7MIxbuW0aK1GYLPim4U_vhw9aVx423u7w4I81UgOqy7z6Pearxlra3xlg6EYZtdiUYfy58rZnL4/s1600/IMG_6146.JPG"> <img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfEnDIi-vw7sLaEIFO0rNjMPtXG5j-1gPGN937g33JFLjMKrLpCLkM8vlnisx0nay1h7MIxbuW0aK1GYLPim4U_vhw9aVx423u7w4I81UgOqy7z6Pearxlra3xlg6EYZtdiUYfy58rZnL4/s200/IMG_6146.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607300227097353170" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBW9xNDM57iY4bL5-FXsOdm-Z0aNivfKAa3gF9gf95i-xx98mf9_Rvd6tajy-b07aLiQJ-gGyQNyl2PNm5kArBiC8r-CZPooG4Ly9w3L6i7VmGfdnYVnJXkwlL3qHLCIjJaRADNGa8Cg2Z/s1600/IMG_6139.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBW9xNDM57iY4bL5-FXsOdm-Z0aNivfKAa3gF9gf95i-xx98mf9_Rvd6tajy-b07aLiQJ-gGyQNyl2PNm5kArBiC8r-CZPooG4Ly9w3L6i7VmGfdnYVnJXkwlL3qHLCIjJaRADNGa8Cg2Z/s200/IMG_6139.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607300223821092738" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpaiAWyOFglyrccjOPZrMvKV_U6hJM9JwYYw5B8QQhA4coNqmZ2idmkeGYx-SjzIQkLohnxoZhjMWY0eLdlTEeNTyjgeaXSRW2lR24kZSRKSsJ-viQH-QVaPZpuG6SPiHC5Af2XcnBn-Jl/s1600/IMG_6120.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpaiAWyOFglyrccjOPZrMvKV_U6hJM9JwYYw5B8QQhA4coNqmZ2idmkeGYx-SjzIQkLohnxoZhjMWY0eLdlTEeNTyjgeaXSRW2lR24kZSRKSsJ-viQH-QVaPZpuG6SPiHC5Af2XcnBn-Jl/s200/IMG_6120.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607300218467235810" border="0" /> </a><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Thailand is a beautiful place. The ocean is warm. The sand is soft and white. The food is every bit as delicious as you'd imagine it would be. The people who live there are incredibly gracious and welcoming (not counting the few who need a lesson or two on the magnificence of the mighty elephant). Mishaps aside, we were treated to a view of a spectacular corner of the world and we returned home feeling grateful we had another tale to tell. Life is pretty sweet!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">To check out the rest of our pictures from Thailand, head </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/9369398@N04/sets/72157626563788125/">here</a><span style="font-family:georgia;">.</span><br /><br /></span><br /><p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-1827600907321195492011-02-27T05:25:00.000-08:002011-03-03T23:49:32.676-08:00Beijing: So Much More Than Hanging Duck Carcasses<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRQbZlvnxXKG6w7uTdPDFuPVXGZjj4XO-gHzIAdRY5c9BERV-moA3t_odIlvcBEaspjB6m3YTevafIjrR8Dr2VBqg4FhDjLoWnu8Ofef-NNBE9Ssj1SFeqFvTNiLP3JyymvjfqBXL4RifK/s1600/IMG_5774.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRQbZlvnxXKG6w7uTdPDFuPVXGZjj4XO-gHzIAdRY5c9BERV-moA3t_odIlvcBEaspjB6m3YTevafIjrR8Dr2VBqg4FhDjLoWnu8Ofef-NNBE9Ssj1SFeqFvTNiLP3JyymvjfqBXL4RifK/s400/IMG_5774.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580106289420207122" border="0" /></a>China was never very high on my "places to go" list. I can say that easily, without fear of exposing my complete and utter ignorance, because I've just returned from Beijing and I'm happy to admit how I wrong I have been. My previous view of China was based on, rather pathetically, my experiences in San Francisco's Chinatown. Images of overly crowded streets, foreign smells, and hanging duck carcasses left me preferring to spend my precious vacation time in places like Greece or Europe before I ever stepped foot in Asia. It's amazing what taking a leap of faith can do. In four months I will have covered more of Asia than I ever thought possible and enjoyed every minute of it, proving that change can sometimes be very rewarding. (Don't read too much into that, mom, no Thanksgiving will ever be complete without regular old, no frills stuffing.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I landed in Beijing on Friday evening. Christian had already been there for a couple days at a conference. The ride from the airport was uneventful and Beijing, from the taxi window and in the evening light, looked like it could be anywhere else in the world. Aside, I guess, from the illegible street and highway signs. I was looking forward to seeing Christian, but a little apprehensive about how this trip would go, and most importantly, how we'd ever find something not scary to eat. At this point I was armed with my preconceived notions and the fact that Christian had been served cow lung and duck tongue. Once, about ten years ago, I acquired a duckling. It was only for a few days, until we turned it over to a local wildlife reserve, but "Mabel" had peeped and pecked and preened her way into my heart. After a baby duck the size of a hamster nestles into your sweater to keep warm, feasting on a member if it's family, however far removed, is not an option. I don't care how "peking" it is. Trying to look at the bright side, I told myself this would be the perfect opportunity to start that wedding diet.<br /><br />Christian had arranged for our tour of the Great Wall of China first thing that first morning and when we woke up at the crack of dawn, we were delighted to see a light blanket of snow on the ground. Being from California, and the Central part at that, I still thrill at the sight of the clean white cold stuff that makes everything look like it's covered in marshmallow fluff. Yum. As we headed out, the lovely dusting had turned into a heavier coating and as we got closer to the Wall, our decision to forgo the over-crowded tourist section for the more scenic yet more steep and more remote location in Mutianyu started to seem like a very, very bad one. It wasn't exactly a blizzard but considering our past travel luck, I couldn't help but take stock of what we had in the way of provisions: about 1/3 of one pint of water, 13 almonds, and an oat and honey granola bar. For five of us.<br /><br />Our rickety little caravan consisted of us, our tour guide, Lin, our driver, and Mark, one of Christian's friends and co-workers. By the time we got to Mutianyu and helped the one other tour bus that was there by pushing it up the snow-covered hill before it slid down it, my converse and Christian's black patent leather Jack Purcell's were soaked. Totally charmed by the snow and picturesque scenery, the prospect of hiking one hour up a steep slope in our ridiculous city clothes seemed like a good idea, so we decided against the gondola and bounced off in the direction of the Wall, snow falling like bits of confetti around our widely smiling faces.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBNSnGFlFfQ_c3u2l_81Dchs0rJi6TYCtVUxOrXbjmIwn1OEPgHzORpzZyMnDijwYYuPaN03SeBS_dpVoTNTylJYc_C2QYXKEvnpw46mYqNJYsfYEKktTGKmeZCWd08u4aFIH-Uruwll21/s1600/IMG_5751.JPG"> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjc_4W0bwhVmn_juITryHzNCBD0-ddQv2ZELWUQ2ow9GjFKX9CEAWHcgiiC0j7pcKXEu4b0EA5KyJBuGIHhw8zX760jYc2hdVoBFnldSHXL1jZYKr_SgSu0DbQco3uyCBpR9rQW0we5W3/s1600/IMG_5750.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjc_4W0bwhVmn_juITryHzNCBD0-ddQv2ZELWUQ2ow9GjFKX9CEAWHcgiiC0j7pcKXEu4b0EA5KyJBuGIHhw8zX760jYc2hdVoBFnldSHXL1jZYKr_SgSu0DbQco3uyCBpR9rQW0we5W3/s200/IMG_5750.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580109761978828066" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5V9w0Y2g14xXHFsIL1hqfNxjoy2c02ofuveM8gbtGLJWvPDszyD4jeButOMvrSDpnx-AaZL9wnhAbqOh-qhj2k0P02me-ADDO6RpiYA3eGogfH7wd9c149LMrCduEPtNtAimJpI5wG1D2/s1600/IMG_5755.JPG"> </a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBNSnGFlFfQ_c3u2l_81Dchs0rJi6TYCtVUxOrXbjmIwn1OEPgHzORpzZyMnDijwYYuPaN03SeBS_dpVoTNTylJYc_C2QYXKEvnpw46mYqNJYsfYEKktTGKmeZCWd08u4aFIH-Uruwll21/s1600/IMG_5751.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 217px; height: 162px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBNSnGFlFfQ_c3u2l_81Dchs0rJi6TYCtVUxOrXbjmIwn1OEPgHzORpzZyMnDijwYYuPaN03SeBS_dpVoTNTylJYc_C2QYXKEvnpw46mYqNJYsfYEKktTGKmeZCWd08u4aFIH-Uruwll21/s200/IMG_5751.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580109238868145714" border="0" /></a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOeFZULRuVdlbHf9mAK6HTiUS3al2ME_NTAsCaPNLZ694I7Fnz2iUNwkdGIe5DZsq2OI6eNVvPzApdJ1I7hLxE09bv-ekTAMWzLZPsP5lYloZ2lEY8OMiNJ6TIxdGNfzbCKys1aJ_BaltL/s1600/IMG_5755.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOeFZULRuVdlbHf9mAK6HTiUS3al2ME_NTAsCaPNLZ694I7Fnz2iUNwkdGIe5DZsq2OI6eNVvPzApdJ1I7hLxE09bv-ekTAMWzLZPsP5lYloZ2lEY8OMiNJ6TIxdGNfzbCKys1aJ_BaltL/s200/IMG_5755.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580110874482425202" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The ascent up the slope was so tiring that it cancelled out the cold on most my person, except for my toes, which were numb about five minutes in. Luckily, when it really got bad, we reached a peak where you could see the first section of wall, and wonder and awe took over. The overwhelming feeling of gratitude and amazement that I was where I was trumped all thoughts of losing a toe to hypothermia. What a wonder the Wall truly is. You can't help but think of the 1000's of people across history who lost their lives to build it, the people who were saved by it's existence, and the people who have stood in wonder, just like I did, at it's magnificence. In case you didn't know (I didn't), parts of this wall, in some form, have been around since 200 BC and some estimates put the current standing, fully man-made wall at over 8,000 km long. So. Utterly. Cool.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV-G2uBBujwUvXfAQgA_Mj6mEfU2Ep3uQjkxFhcCR8ycWxQoqAw_5Vd9hSIvzczkdPcaHXUJbh9LuOQvS2G8jExFOjM1BtLoBV3DUEUCuOyUI-9_cN2h7V8msgFrzyUXxUh2fKic4-TFv7/s1600/IMG_5786.JPG"> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJKJ7QsjluzvwIs1kB7a5pppnr-rlX0FFEMRuz7OQqsiOSjHEK5X2rctbTgIiJNKqwSVCwN9m6HSpqf4mMKv2tmepTIQ990Xi6vjVZU1gENal54jeoBQfMbEO4z-_fOcin2LXAF62fZv-u/s1600/IMG_5782.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJKJ7QsjluzvwIs1kB7a5pppnr-rlX0FFEMRuz7OQqsiOSjHEK5X2rctbTgIiJNKqwSVCwN9m6HSpqf4mMKv2tmepTIQ990Xi6vjVZU1gENal54jeoBQfMbEO4z-_fOcin2LXAF62fZv-u/s200/IMG_5782.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580112405969732338" border="0" /> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV-G2uBBujwUvXfAQgA_Mj6mEfU2Ep3uQjkxFhcCR8ycWxQoqAw_5Vd9hSIvzczkdPcaHXUJbh9LuOQvS2G8jExFOjM1BtLoBV3DUEUCuOyUI-9_cN2h7V8msgFrzyUXxUh2fKic4-TFv7/s1600/IMG_5786.JPG"> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV-G2uBBujwUvXfAQgA_Mj6mEfU2Ep3uQjkxFhcCR8ycWxQoqAw_5Vd9hSIvzczkdPcaHXUJbh9LuOQvS2G8jExFOjM1BtLoBV3DUEUCuOyUI-9_cN2h7V8msgFrzyUXxUh2fKic4-TFv7/s1600/IMG_5786.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV-G2uBBujwUvXfAQgA_Mj6mEfU2Ep3uQjkxFhcCR8ycWxQoqAw_5Vd9hSIvzczkdPcaHXUJbh9LuOQvS2G8jExFOjM1BtLoBV3DUEUCuOyUI-9_cN2h7V8msgFrzyUXxUh2fKic4-TFv7/s200/IMG_5786.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580112410961278130" border="0" /> </a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV-G2uBBujwUvXfAQgA_Mj6mEfU2Ep3uQjkxFhcCR8ycWxQoqAw_5Vd9hSIvzczkdPcaHXUJbh9LuOQvS2G8jExFOjM1BtLoBV3DUEUCuOyUI-9_cN2h7V8msgFrzyUXxUh2fKic4-TFv7/s1600/IMG_5786.JPG"> </a> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwRL18RDvjpCfAkexVdkCj5KAgj_izXeHI-aw_brfgFi9IMnBe0CY6Bk_JZ0R0BPmu5WctAqlBv9m7m9Ef-gfQArgLSLFAlUJJcUQ1ypqOgNGAUFapC6Ei_hSSGcjkte3yIb-jQ_NOXwFJ/s1600/IMG_5787.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwRL18RDvjpCfAkexVdkCj5KAgj_izXeHI-aw_brfgFi9IMnBe0CY6Bk_JZ0R0BPmu5WctAqlBv9m7m9Ef-gfQArgLSLFAlUJJcUQ1ypqOgNGAUFapC6Ei_hSSGcjkte3yIb-jQ_NOXwFJ/s200/IMG_5787.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580114093692633362" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Next, our guide took us to a restaurant serving up the local cuisine. Uh-oh. Another review of my remaining provisions yielded eight almonds and one half of the granola bar. I'd be fine. Entering the restaurant, we were met with a surprisingly pleasant aroma and eight baby food jars sitting atop a cabinet near the hostess stand, each one with it's own large insect tenant. A cricket, to be exact. After nervously staring at the critters, we asked our guide as nonchalantly as we could muster, if they were to be part of our lunch. She looked at us as if we were crazy and explained to us that they keep them around to hear the cricket's sing, going so far as to carry the jar's with them in their coat pockets. How...strangely beautiful. I decided at this point to set my perceptions aside and just go with it, and it worked out in my favor. We left lunch with bellies full of noodles, pork, and only one odd dish of some starchy substance that we dipped fried strips of something in. Ignorance <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> bliss.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqOyPGAyPjMJUiNN1R209muUh8AMx4BApOg18DdUQbPHisgYQrmICCKivprD9T7cLRwKyP73RsPkrkS66iJ9AoRn1LJJv2_Lo1M3A40d7suOh8bp1Yfml0_r6adM6WCaeh2E3WX_UxCIE0/s1600/IMG_5827.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqOyPGAyPjMJUiNN1R209muUh8AMx4BApOg18DdUQbPHisgYQrmICCKivprD9T7cLRwKyP73RsPkrkS66iJ9AoRn1LJJv2_Lo1M3A40d7suOh8bp1Yfml0_r6adM6WCaeh2E3WX_UxCIE0/s400/IMG_5827.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580117418676173826" border="0" /></a><br />Next up was Tienanmen Square and the Forbidden City. The square is huge, much larger than I expected, and full of visitors who come to take their picture next to the huge portrait of Mao that is hanging near the entrance to the Forbidden City. The Emperor's old digs were equally large but heaps more fascinating. It was so cool to step into a piece of ancient history, and I eagerly listened to Lin describe all the structural detail, while Christian and Mark tried to keep their ears warm and counted the minutes 'til we were back in the car. My excitement, even in 20 degree weather, was slightly disturbing as I realized how much closer I've become to turning into my mother (love you, mom).<br /><br />The next day, Christian and I took to the streets and headed to an area of town called Dashanzi Art District, or 798 for short. It's a thriving artistic community nestled inside 50-year old decommissioned military factory buildings built by the Germans. When the factory zone was abandoned in the early 80's, the University of Fine Art bought the buildings to use as workspace for their art students. Then, about ten years ago, a Texan strolled into town and bought one of the spots to open Timezone 8 Bookshop and Cafe (which is where we lunched). An employee of his, who was also a designer, started helping her artist friends secure their own studio's and it all blossomed from there. There are now literally 100's of studios and gallery spaces and every street is lined with incredibly large art installations. Another point for Beijing!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8GQp0rdIxsi5H2fhcUk023rTATvfdNCVv5oMY6ekkb-j_3y39leeT9NW6QatOGyV5bLvu45IPdiY2b0pJpmJXbbJr5v-gRu30-Ah8-i1bMsgu2x0vCF8lgeadDgy7uB38XNVuiJVrlWE8/s1600/IMG_5864.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8GQp0rdIxsi5H2fhcUk023rTATvfdNCVv5oMY6ekkb-j_3y39leeT9NW6QatOGyV5bLvu45IPdiY2b0pJpmJXbbJr5v-gRu30-Ah8-i1bMsgu2x0vCF8lgeadDgy7uB38XNVuiJVrlWE8/s200/IMG_5864.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580118712779287186" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif1XDNHCEH_ruDhzxiqpWhH5JRHN8pKO2NXEXzh3ggQ8g-2lyeKUpXRMztGgH59bfaz3Ujc4RvdKMhLZsZnTd4wqADwVXf66OmKfd9aMCClT6eH2yyXB45ZbAGJR0SrLE5ltsPRSlqgT9h/s1600/IMG_5866.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif1XDNHCEH_ruDhzxiqpWhH5JRHN8pKO2NXEXzh3ggQ8g-2lyeKUpXRMztGgH59bfaz3Ujc4RvdKMhLZsZnTd4wqADwVXf66OmKfd9aMCClT6eH2yyXB45ZbAGJR0SrLE5ltsPRSlqgT9h/s200/IMG_5866.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580118717293028882" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHE5yW12fKENXEX_hUkvGHscIhYP4STSmh0nHuBftd3gUYH-UR1Y3SSQiyrCgGPMq10hmeti4Q3aJwOQOSF5DdIWOVkSQ6IW9NlKpVEgQ4_c1HK9OkUsxtHo5LZZ6Dzm238rMnKEzVjYm7/s1600/IMG_5862.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHE5yW12fKENXEX_hUkvGHscIhYP4STSmh0nHuBftd3gUYH-UR1Y3SSQiyrCgGPMq10hmeti4Q3aJwOQOSF5DdIWOVkSQ6IW9NlKpVEgQ4_c1HK9OkUsxtHo5LZZ6Dzm238rMnKEzVjYm7/s200/IMG_5862.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580119066667715986" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqYCalzl9UFv_FZnnxPVigEbJ7j6HIDu_2TCnRSJS7yBpi1sGqhOXO6PFAAR_iYHHIFRHlf_42uiTh2rUsi8SHOer6AQ80UDWE6wmrwIjU9xJ8HvzI6KIthrdvCP5TCyFC3EzPlCoURrVV/s1600/IMG_5854.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqYCalzl9UFv_FZnnxPVigEbJ7j6HIDu_2TCnRSJS7yBpi1sGqhOXO6PFAAR_iYHHIFRHlf_42uiTh2rUsi8SHOer6AQ80UDWE6wmrwIjU9xJ8HvzI6KIthrdvCP5TCyFC3EzPlCoURrVV/s200/IMG_5854.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580118698586565394" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Another memorable Beijing experience took place on one of our last evenings, in an area of town nestled around Hoi Hai Lake. The lake itself was carved out in the 12th century, but the banks are now dotted with <span class="body">alfresco bars, cafes, and the odd curio shop. The bars are mostly filled with locals singing bad renditions of Bryan Adams songs, but the backalleys behind the shops and the ancient bridges and temples that are sprinkled throughout are worth exploring. We had several ice-less "whiskey colas" and ended up at a great restaurant called "Cafe Sambal", a delightful gem of a restaurant, which was in the middle of an old run down neighborhood. The delicious Maylasian food they served was a perfect night cap to our fantastic and fascinating trip.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX9Ytp1_BjHF0fC_h6ldn8ZAmklh7WTvyPBezjXB-Lm26Cc0z67itLKmwV_48SBY0-Qui9Tray3KKyd1B5GZrabSklGSoMSAY54oJvKMaGPJgC6twNWq2uvV0jxIscPQUcpzpYtQtlQw_s/s1600/IMG_5899.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX9Ytp1_BjHF0fC_h6ldn8ZAmklh7WTvyPBezjXB-Lm26Cc0z67itLKmwV_48SBY0-Qui9Tray3KKyd1B5GZrabSklGSoMSAY54oJvKMaGPJgC6twNWq2uvV0jxIscPQUcpzpYtQtlQw_s/s400/IMG_5899.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580120867891894098" border="0" /></a><br />China, your land and your people have captured my heart and piqued my interest. I can't wait to start planning for Hong Kong, then Shanghai, and beyond!<br /><br />YOU'LL FIND ALL OUR PHOTOS FROM BEIJING <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/9369398@N04/sets/72157626185305368/">HERE</a>.<br /></span><br /><br /><br /></div>S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-1295990514642535272011-02-10T19:37:00.000-08:002011-02-27T05:21:10.277-08:00Just come from a land down under...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6Pi2eiUkAPVTHcFhgwR7P3feF4JOK041XVtkQOFv-Yuh5zPFSCBOYd3JAg2qf4ZHr1wnyW7hLDMaZCHWSPT3fl4Fex1sTAEUUW8TXY4xMRytQjF5N8Pjs7fN-kiTosSH20o2YoICWEvT/s1600/IMG_1090_1.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576537077210233010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6Pi2eiUkAPVTHcFhgwR7P3feF4JOK041XVtkQOFv-Yuh5zPFSCBOYd3JAg2qf4ZHr1wnyW7hLDMaZCHWSPT3fl4Fex1sTAEUUW8TXY4xMRytQjF5N8Pjs7fN-kiTosSH20o2YoICWEvT/s400/IMG_1090_1.JPG" /></a><br />Four months into our adventure overseas and already another continent down, another pushpin in the world map! I prepared for our trip down under by spending $60 on travel guides and not cracking a single one of them. Typically, I like to have tour books dog-eared and our days road-mapped before we depart but I headed to Australia a mere 36 hours after I touched down in Singapore from my San Francisco trip, where I jammed four weeks worth of activities, eating, and wedding planning into 8 days.<br /><br />I returned to the airport feeling as if I'd never left. The only thing I could focus on was how amazing my family and friends are for throwing me such a sweet bridal shower and whether or not I chose the right food and floral arrangements for the wedding. I could hardly wrap my head around the fact that I was headed to an entirely new-to-me continent. I know next to nothing about Australia aside from the fact that they talk funny and like to play boomerang so when we touched down in Melbourne, I fully expected to peer out the window and see a vast continent of flat land and a mob of roo's hopping around under a pack of eucalyptus trees. You know, for the koala bears.<br /><br />We were to hit up both Melbourne and Sydney this go round, starting with Melbourne, where Christian would be participating in a three day work conference. Motorola set us up in the Crowne Metropol, a hotel near Melbourne's Central Business District. Our room was lovely but the hotel itself was nestled in a mega-casino and shopping complex, complete with a food court and movie theater. It was one of those Vegas type monstrosities that span several city blocks, where you only have to feel the outside air if you want to. Weird. We landed on a Friday and took the weekend to check out town. We were pleased to find Melbourne a lot like SF. A great mix of old architecture and modern galleries, indie boutiques, and no shortage of hip new restaurant's and bars. I guess the pre-wedding slim down is just going to have to wait.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKkEa3d7Nl5SMaQLiCj0w9D84n7X6GCJJd67vD83Qs8bCpaBB1X2ks0kl8uhFVjo6B4WGNlrihH4bbCl8txIRjxkDBkzaKG-ngMPsvkAWcYFG3jnUA59WrR1XuAzcyAVZr18XFneyLvRNJ/s1600/IMG_5572.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 191px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576545457423886066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKkEa3d7Nl5SMaQLiCj0w9D84n7X6GCJJd67vD83Qs8bCpaBB1X2ks0kl8uhFVjo6B4WGNlrihH4bbCl8txIRjxkDBkzaKG-ngMPsvkAWcYFG3jnUA59WrR1XuAzcyAVZr18XFneyLvRNJ/s200/IMG_5572.JPG" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi732LLPrqTYNAb3O0wHqqlKgR84gpxt1fSS1oL68SLZS_Cxg6EagrP58sZRY8IPWLLci-dcQ41nx25hjsL08Czwokyyk-jJg4m93rmL7ExB38pJQJSbQKg7VTps3uQ4Az4MYKtFv3kl3ke/s1600/IMG_5556.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 196px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576545110433484674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi732LLPrqTYNAb3O0wHqqlKgR84gpxt1fSS1oL68SLZS_Cxg6EagrP58sZRY8IPWLLci-dcQ41nx25hjsL08Czwokyyk-jJg4m93rmL7ExB38pJQJSbQKg7VTps3uQ4Az4MYKtFv3kl3ke/s200/IMG_5556.JPG" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKFbICbFvOgbhG0FtIehKzwn8U2DY6forRo3Xl8pfqleffYH_7VnQzZByKi46qUwa3LZ8DLVGSWgHRydVbhLTTRbclmenTa7bKMdIGvysht223W70m3ZHRzT4LoXkZP0xUcV9NdD5X7J0/s1600/IMG_1001.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 190px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576544409302838114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKFbICbFvOgbhG0FtIehKzwn8U2DY6forRo3Xl8pfqleffYH_7VnQzZByKi46qUwa3LZ8DLVGSWgHRydVbhLTTRbclmenTa7bKMdIGvysht223W70m3ZHRzT4LoXkZP0xUcV9NdD5X7J0/s200/IMG_1001.JPG" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbe-AoZ6ICO8VZxF6JGJXbOdsPShTKKvW6Hf_hTuMLmoZbjzhiQpScsyhi1ZpUTeZJ_JuZ-K9d65p7_l9qIoslylcScGZ1x-pLH87Y5GChSmNOS6fJ_ql74VjKMOeahZ33X3RfHQ_gS1Pb/s1600/IMG_5530.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 191px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576544765929367218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbe-AoZ6ICO8VZxF6JGJXbOdsPShTKKvW6Hf_hTuMLmoZbjzhiQpScsyhi1ZpUTeZJ_JuZ-K9d65p7_l9qIoslylcScGZ1x-pLH87Y5GChSmNOS6fJ_ql74VjKMOeahZ33X3RfHQ_gS1Pb/s200/IMG_5530.JPG" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSInz61UF8SbC2wQ-fmtOq6QbcckM06TaN-ShD6GzpwfG6s3srgJrmkAZFos5uFt6BeAdmm14IjnivtcXPgVYHGV8bxJCrwI9P3BsdzX7j99PTCfg96D625Atxkuvsfo4BPsKzMEv0jEKy/s1600/IMG_1027.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 194px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576544606196118738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSInz61UF8SbC2wQ-fmtOq6QbcckM06TaN-ShD6GzpwfG6s3srgJrmkAZFos5uFt6BeAdmm14IjnivtcXPgVYHGV8bxJCrwI9P3BsdzX7j99PTCfg96D625Atxkuvsfo4BPsKzMEv0jEKy/s200/IMG_1027.JPG" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhujBC2IUbq9C-IQioGjlkAhNKCdnP2OcGVoJ2vHt9gDp7-7Uvcpxs-LlaaEf1X4efiA3zJfG-6_0HlAc7r6Quh3vbDUh6wdpf_cgPAYScV3WCAVEI-1o5QEiepkluGuLxxdo6pdFNH-9M0/s1600/IMG_5557.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 191px; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576545279176644402" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhujBC2IUbq9C-IQioGjlkAhNKCdnP2OcGVoJ2vHt9gDp7-7Uvcpxs-LlaaEf1X4efiA3zJfG-6_0HlAc7r6Quh3vbDUh6wdpf_cgPAYScV3WCAVEI-1o5QEiepkluGuLxxdo6pdFNH-9M0/s200/IMG_5557.JPG" /></a><br /><br />Whenever we head to some place new, our agenda usually centers around finding the best places to eat with some shopping and a smidge of sightseeing thrown in (mostly for the picture's). As we started to explore Melbourne, I knew that our waistlines were in trouble. It was refreshing to find many different ethnic options, a ton of cafe's focused around sustainability and fresh ingredients, and very few fast food chains (so basically, nothing like Singapore). Our first lunch was at a very small wine and tapas bar called Movida that we stumbled into from an alley made colorful with tons of graffiti. One thing we discovered about Australia is that there is a thriving art scene. There are art walks aplenty with a plethora of museums for every taste. This artist's culture is also manifested in the streets. Street art of every kind is encouraged and appreciated<br />and because it's so revered, it's sprinkled throughout the city, making everything look like it's got a little more flair.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijGfupZ2prXwRs6K8LnDFCRL6IEkJo7VNEP3M7rifgYWbLSnzIb_L5XSXjC8TxtYCYapdm5dRM3pIxIqmqA6DLue9g6KBwj2VP5ZRlKRPwK4UMWmJhj5AYsqAB0Xkaou_3ycrIBslHzTl-/s1600/IMG_5503.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 150px; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576542496102313730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijGfupZ2prXwRs6K8LnDFCRL6IEkJo7VNEP3M7rifgYWbLSnzIb_L5XSXjC8TxtYCYapdm5dRM3pIxIqmqA6DLue9g6KBwj2VP5ZRlKRPwK4UMWmJhj5AYsqAB0Xkaou_3ycrIBslHzTl-/s200/IMG_5503.JPG" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQ7gXf27wvgyHPEjxF5o2wS_09QKkkBitPmL_A8CgFUshKRPFfYLfO_tiy7yDYE1N8Vy6rz7uQ9TCNsJWj7Ea0JRzLoJZXfqIwMWPnbNK_TCe-_EezcWyGjAHPzBI93OT28n0odk3t2st/s1600/IMG_5540.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 150px; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576540299769361842" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcQ7gXf27wvgyHPEjxF5o2wS_09QKkkBitPmL_A8CgFUshKRPFfYLfO_tiy7yDYE1N8Vy6rz7uQ9TCNsJWj7Ea0JRzLoJZXfqIwMWPnbNK_TCe-_EezcWyGjAHPzBI93OT28n0odk3t2st/s200/IMG_5540.JPG" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcgF_oxfsmMceDmJ3rpSImolIKhDmfF66Ses-sVCSR4QavYiq0LXShTBYUrn01A26Ft1b9sgG3yVbLhyzhOYAfE3eo9gdHHk9rJSxMyVw8d_xXjvv83vHdypv0fzskSJ_F431WEQIsJwe6/s1600/IMG_0993.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 150px; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576542040794269314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcgF_oxfsmMceDmJ3rpSImolIKhDmfF66Ses-sVCSR4QavYiq0LXShTBYUrn01A26Ft1b9sgG3yVbLhyzhOYAfE3eo9gdHHk9rJSxMyVw8d_xXjvv83vHdypv0fzskSJ_F431WEQIsJwe6/s200/IMG_0993.JPG" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8IHAf5AV_cGfYuvfHrNzeq6d87HWm7pbtFkljGHpIA31Q8-Haomyzzl6oDoTIPElBTrw_VzdZIWgqBXJE8SLbaxEqy2x-uPoEFDHPMXwu4OQmpADhgTFJ_9XbS_NdcV38vVcH_5DOIUWZ/s1600/IMG_5527.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 150px; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576539021573830034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8IHAf5AV_cGfYuvfHrNzeq6d87HWm7pbtFkljGHpIA31Q8-Haomyzzl6oDoTIPElBTrw_VzdZIWgqBXJE8SLbaxEqy2x-uPoEFDHPMXwu4OQmpADhgTFJ_9XbS_NdcV38vVcH_5DOIUWZ/s200/IMG_5527.JPG" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijGfupZ2prXwRs6K8LnDFCRL6IEkJo7VNEP3M7rifgYWbLSnzIb_L5XSXjC8TxtYCYapdm5dRM3pIxIqmqA6DLue9g6KBwj2VP5ZRlKRPwK4UMWmJhj5AYsqAB0Xkaou_3ycrIBslHzTl-/s1600/IMG_5503.JPG"> </a><br /><br />Movida turned out to be a fantastic choice and a memorable meal, so memorable in fact, I tracked down the chef's cookbook a few days later and took it home with me as a souvenir, thus beginning my new tradition: picking up a cookbook from a local chef or one that showcases the local cuisine from every stop in our world trek. But back to Melbourne, and specifically, Movida. There's something about the Spanish way of eating - small plates meant to be mulled over lazily with friends and copious amounts of wine - that I just adore. We had an assortment of delicious nibbles, from fresh olive oil rolls to sea scallops with crispy pancetta, mushroom croquettes, an ahi salad, and fried potato bombas filled with chorizo. We washed it all down with plenty of tipple - two glasses of wine and a boozy dessert of lemon sorbet with cava macerated strawberries. Ahh, vacation.<br /><br />There weren't a ton of landmarks we needed to check off the list, so we spent the rest of our time in Melbourne doing what the locals do - walking around, scouting places to eat our next meal, and shopping. Four months before the nuptials, and it turns out we've embarked on a quest for the world's most elusive man's suit. Although it's a city filled with an incredible array of shopping, Melbourne left us empty-handed. Something tells me this is going to be an ordeal. I feel for Christian (but I'm secretly relieved that my gown has been selected, paid for, and is currently being fitted). It's amazing how many of our days are filled with handling the details of the wedding, thinking about some aspect of it, chasing down items for it, and most recently, having recurring nightmares about flubbing some part of it. Here we are, literally continents away, and the majority of our conversations and at the top of our every to do list, is the wedding. Is this normal? Here I go again....<br /><br />Next up was Sydney. If Melbourne is San Francisco's hipster cousin, Sydney is definitely SF's beefed up big brother. The city is SF on steroids. It's big, it's beautiful, and the food and art scene's are a melting pot of flavors and cultures. We immediately love it here, and I'm struck with wondering whether everyone compares where they come from with their new surroundings o<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC0gdc4sU21xhiPSYnDyLuyy-4tYl77CjmKbpufCwFkIxoXQyvcAZvhdzYapl5WQrnaWFKCWRExW0KIJiEzE5j7NosavU36eQtIdFWaqc6WvyWpU3uDPmmx5GuW4eWVwWqmBDxaCiu3KDx/s1600/IMG_5669.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576548163020437938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC0gdc4sU21xhiPSYnDyLuyy-4tYl77CjmKbpufCwFkIxoXQyvcAZvhdzYapl5WQrnaWFKCWRExW0KIJiEzE5j7NosavU36eQtIdFWaqc6WvyWpU3uDPmmx5GuW4eWVwWqmBDxaCiu3KDx/s200/IMG_5669.JPG" /></a>r whether it's only something we do because we so desperately miss our city, our family and friends, and our old way of life. As we enjoy the southeastern coast of Australia, the comparison's don't stop. Our ferry trip to Manly Harbor for dinner one evening takes us through small seaside towns off the coast of Sydney that could easily be somewhere in Maine. Our walk through a hip shop and gallery lined street called Chapel in South Yarra, Melbourne, may as well have been Mission Street in San Francisco. As I have the opportunity to travel more and more I realize that wherever I am in the world, "home" and the people that I'm so lucky to have inhabit my life are always close by in my heart. I see them in everything we do and everywhere we go. And that, loved ones, is what I learned in Australia. (Note: Somebody may need to remind me of this revelation when we start our travels in China.)<br /><br />If you like great food, fantastic shopping, art, culture, and a seriously beautiful coastline, New South Wales and Victoria, Australia are outstanding places to visit. During our trip, the Queensland area experienced devastating floods and destruction due to a cyclone and Egypt was suffering from a frightening and violent (yet somehow still hopeful) uprising. We watched it all unfold on TV while we escaped the heatwave that hit Sydney and there's nothing like witnessing hardship to remind you just how lucky you are. I still can't believe I'm getting married in less than four months. It still hasn't even sunk in that I get to share my life with a person and a pup who fill my days and nights with laughter and happiness. The fact that we're getting to see the world together while we build and create all the details of what will be the beginning of our future, is just the icing on this incredibly huge cake that I feel so, so fortunate to have been given.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_qQI9t456c_6bYO3-0j6tdRE4RVqw85QqYgNviIqjAkAnzuX6dAdIg5qd_67Qg4f413cpi9MK-FLoBFKK_JqNT4VWjHPtFjLaNIEtpDQA_5IUyKgD36fFACfHAlG9Rnh2ucM8qi54w6_Z/s1600/IMG_5676.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576548984961852178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_qQI9t456c_6bYO3-0j6tdRE4RVqw85QqYgNviIqjAkAnzuX6dAdIg5qd_67Qg4f413cpi9MK-FLoBFKK_JqNT4VWjHPtFjLaNIEtpDQA_5IUyKgD36fFACfHAlG9Rnh2ucM8qi54w6_Z/s400/IMG_5676.JPG" /></a><br />Check out more photo's from our trip down under <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/9369398@N04/collections/72157625985247965/">here</a>.S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-20056434493318572912010-12-30T17:53:00.001-08:002011-01-01T04:30:13.599-08:00National Lampoon's Communist Vacation<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM8iaXEHE9PKzC1FcU5NjM2AR-FIVlXvsryOY19H-qiOklqG_3iffIoo8QZGnkbn4VXyG3mDpf-oqM17dTZf2jekP_G21yxx9ntKzTvc8MoaPc_xBdTP8uAOaiSZRay2cWVFdCmruD_8Nl/s1600/IMG_5209.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM8iaXEHE9PKzC1FcU5NjM2AR-FIVlXvsryOY19H-qiOklqG_3iffIoo8QZGnkbn4VXyG3mDpf-oqM17dTZf2jekP_G21yxx9ntKzTvc8MoaPc_xBdTP8uAOaiSZRay2cWVFdCmruD_8Nl/s400/IMG_5209.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557123710215275458" border="0" /></a><br />Nothing says Christmas like a trip to Communist Vietnam. Christian and I arrived at the decision to spend the holidays in Hanoi much like we arrived at the decision to get a french bulldog - spontaneously and without doing much research. Our hour-long commute from the airport to the old quarter where we'd be staying for the next four days while celebrating the birth of baby Jesus and CC, should have tipped us off. We spent the duration of the ride holding our breath, white knuckling the seat in front of us, and suffering shell shock from all the incessant honking, which we learn is the Vietnamese equivalent of using a blinker. Why let the old lady on the bike who's balancing a soup pot on her back while cycling through traffic know that you're about to turn with a blinking light when you can just lay on the horn?<br /><br />The first couple days consisted of sightseeing, dodging mopeds, avoiding the old tourist trap of walking too slow and suddenly finding yourself balancing two baskets of fruit with a woven hat<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitOSPbTP2ZpZH3hm2IhVPMwVORhTR2g3vO_a3Zpl4nObRBCAvJmPbzIdw_PMXxRAY7VE1gyhpxzVZIAgER8o-5_Kbp6dd4IEtMlHyKnp5KFD0Dh65rkT4ndk8crVKVEv7vF37hR73DfdyU/s1600/IMG_5243.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 201px; height: 163px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitOSPbTP2ZpZH3hm2IhVPMwVORhTR2g3vO_a3Zpl4nObRBCAvJmPbzIdw_PMXxRAY7VE1gyhpxzVZIAgER8o-5_Kbp6dd4IEtMlHyKnp5KFD0Dh65rkT4ndk8crVKVEv7vF37hR73DfdyU/s200/IMG_5243.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557118227033875826" border="0" /></a> thrown on your head and then paying for a photo opp you never even knew you wanted. Ducking into galleries and discovering a really cool artist and then leaving that gallery to flee from the old woman who's insisting that you need a new pair of nail clippers or a lighter. Finally locating what appears to be a delicious bahn mi stand only to find out that the sandwich you're given is actually filled with all the things you never want to eat. Ever. Walking into a boutique and scoring five new dresses for 1,925,000 dong (about $100 US dollars) and having your fiance realize how many jokes he can and will make about "dong" for the entirety of the trip.<br /><br />On our third day, Christmas, we decided to take a guided boat tour of Halong Bay. We'd heard <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQqTvNbPwizdUfSTKPiBVTfTVeKS62WoFZrvOqtJumsoMq0KaJjPvdUlrr93VLmIbBDNs_cN-CZ3sAUzdM9mSHbCFcgUnn-YMBACPE73Njf_OoCeKlm_1tyvO7P5yrTiZWPNlEwTHL07-5/s1600/IMG_5316.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 161px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQqTvNbPwizdUfSTKPiBVTfTVeKS62WoFZrvOqtJumsoMq0KaJjPvdUlrr93VLmIbBDNs_cN-CZ3sAUzdM9mSHbCFcgUnn-YMBACPE73Njf_OoCeKlm_1tyvO7P5yrTiZWPNlEwTHL07-5/s200/IMG_5316.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557120051522328338" border="0" /></a>wonderful things about this 1500 km strip in the sea that is home to nearly 2000 limestone islets. A system that was formed over 20 million years by rainfall and weather and apparently, according to our tour guide, dragons. We started our journey by boarding a bus crammed with 16 starry eyed tourists, all ready to be amazed by this natural wonder. I lost CC when the tour guide told us it would be a 3 1/2 hour drive to the bay. And 20 minutes into the trip, when the couple who brought along their baby decided the trip wasn't for them and asked to be let off the bus, I had to hold onto Christian's belt loops to stop him from joining them.<br /><br />Luckily for CC, our tour guide wasn't much of a talker. He taught us that the famous Vietnamese noodle soup, pho, was created as a dish to help men recover from a night of boozing and then he talked on his cell phone for the duration of the trip. This proved to be a bad idea, when at the end of the day we found that the bus driver and our vehicle to get home were missing and our guide's cell phone with the driver's number in it was dead. But I digress. Left on our own to gaze out the windows and guess where we were, we settled in for the long drive. About mid-way through we stopped at what can only be described as the Vietnamese version of Costco. A warehouse full of machine made crafts and scarves and snacks sold in bulk to busloads of naive tourists being shuttled through on their way to the bay. We'd had about enough of having things that were likely made in China shoved down our throats, so we left with a tube of Pringles and waited for everyone else on the bus.<br /><br />We arrived at Halong Bay and were met with much colder weather than we were prepared for. We brought jackets but we had a dude in a tank top and flip flops, his girlfriend in cut-off's, and two teen's traveling with their mother who were wearing t-shirts on our boat. If you know Christian at all, you know that his knowing people are cold is something he's unable to tolerate. He gave up his jacket to the young girl and let the dude who was stupid enough to ever wear a tank top suffer. That's my guy! Although the surroundings were incredibly beautiful and the lunch they served us onboard was edible, the weather and the less than enthusiastic boat crew left a bad taste in our mouths. We left the boat and kayaked around a bit, then eagerly re-boarded so we could head to the caves (which is the only thing the guide seemed truly excited about).<br /><br />We arrived at what appeared to be a big mountain, took some photos, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfLAzhm5IVpao9ctR1F6NAfFz-qa1YfgCCGv9iWr9YtP1aP9KWm4fQDI83k7jFSfk-BKjZ4rQ3HnixvDeMibPnipQkDIPiRQCCtPYK_AlGYBQVKHskv4eWeIS5j2dW5QFSNOGe6t7dH9JO/s1600/IMG_5398.JPG"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 159px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfLAzhm5IVpao9ctR1F6NAfFz-qa1YfgCCGv9iWr9YtP1aP9KWm4fQDI83k7jFSfk-BKjZ4rQ3HnixvDeMibPnipQkDIPiRQCCtPYK_AlGYBQVKHskv4eWeIS5j2dW5QFSNOGe6t7dH9JO/s200/IMG_5398.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557122100836792722" border="0" /></a><br />and climbed inside to view what was indeed a magnificent and massive water-formed cave. Only problem is somebody decided to light all the formations with different colored lights so that the awe-inspiring natural wonder was lit up like the inside of Saturday Night Fever. To further the effect, Kenny G was being pumped in as background music. WHY? After the assault on our senses, we were more eager than ever to get back to the hotel. After offering up our cell phone and locating the missing bus driver, we made it back by 10pm and nursed ourselves back to happy by devouring enough room service to feed 18 people.<br /><br />Our (supposed) last day was spent checking out even more pagoda's, this time in the Ba Dinh area of town. This section of Hanoi is clearly devoted to Uncle Ho. Museums, mausoleum's, and monuments abound. We skipped checking out the museum's and decided to just hoof around and check stuff out. It paid off and we covered several miles of Hanoi and got to see some gorgeous architecture and the beautiful and serene Temple of Literature, which was built to honor Confucius over 15o years ago. After exiting the Temple, we ran into a friend from Singapore, proving that it is indeed a very small world. He and his sister were a sight for sore eyes and we made a date to meet for beers and tapas later that evening. We enjoyed the meal and the company and went to sleep that night feeling like we could leave Hanoi knowing we had seen everything we wanted to, with minimal grumbling and negativity. A real feat!<br /><br />The next morning is when the entire trip really became a parody of itself. After packing our bags and eagerly anticipating seeing Phoebe in just a few short hours, we realized that the file where we kept our passports and visas (the one that we moronically carried with us in a backpack for the duration of the trip), was gone. And so began a slew of panicked phone calls, then several trips back and forth to the US Embassy, then a visit to a ramshackle photo booth/mechanic garage to get new passport photos, then to the "police department", which was really a room where the only officer was about 16 and watching Billy Madison, to file a police report, then back to the Embassy, and finally a failed trip to the Vietnam Embassy (which had closed 15 minutes before our arrival). Wearily, we headed back to our hotel and booked another night.<br /><br />We woke up at the crack of dawn, headed to the Embassy and begged them to let us go home as soon as possible. Without giving anything away, they told us it could be a possibility if we booked a flight for the next day and brought back proof. We were off and running, using only an iPhone and our last shred of hope to lead us to the closest Singapore Airlines office. Once we were booked, we ran back to the Embassy and the paperwork was handed over. We spent that night trying to make the best of our hopefully last day in Vietnam and managed to find a delightful spot to have our last night's meal. We ate well, headed to our hotel, and I promptly got violently ill - a special little sickness that stayed with me the whole night through. Not one to be outdone, Christian managed to jam all the toes on one foot into the strangely massive concrete floor divide between the hotel main room and bathroom. That night we drifted in and out of painful sleep wishing for a real live Christmas miracle. Low and behold, the next morning we were given our passports and kindly asked to leave Vietnam. We replied with "happily".<br /><br />Don't get me wrong. There are lot of wonderful things about this country and the prospect of discovering those gems was the true reason we visited. The way everything in Hanoi is mixed together indiscriminately is exciting and interesting. You have beautiful colonial architecture and hundreds year old pagodas nestled in amongst alleys filled with garbage, cool galleries and hip boutiques with old ladies slinging soup from vats of chicken fat and pigs feet out front, vivid colors and terrible smells, incredible gardens and grimy buildings. Vietnam is fascinating because of it's beautiful resilience AND ugly decay.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg28i7be6phv4F3iatBGSU1FljXTf0NSWqj9SgXEjao9a9nByO2UcUikPXm8zQHSABuetvWXtZHzox__NSe-jAQWA64tip2Q_a36PXD4PQ2up-U8fAMgkroSvyCo9eQDaQ38Go34q58WHtz/s1600/IMG_5161.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg28i7be6phv4F3iatBGSU1FljXTf0NSWqj9SgXEjao9a9nByO2UcUikPXm8zQHSABuetvWXtZHzox__NSe-jAQWA64tip2Q_a36PXD4PQ2up-U8fAMgkroSvyCo9eQDaQ38Go34q58WHtz/s200/IMG_5161.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557126698520523618" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5rBU22c8ILLEDjJhKqsa8z1pU8WrwCB1UtphgAQGNG88I6NDGhbzpBd7wcBtF_D7evEVlkP7fDOlKVNq16e7JoocsG1tyw-hlNZ8PdAPYRV_g9swLi5YbQRwmkVM5L0Q1he8qJV1N4GQh/s1600/IMG_0811.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5rBU22c8ILLEDjJhKqsa8z1pU8WrwCB1UtphgAQGNG88I6NDGhbzpBd7wcBtF_D7evEVlkP7fDOlKVNq16e7JoocsG1tyw-hlNZ8PdAPYRV_g9swLi5YbQRwmkVM5L0Q1he8qJV1N4GQh/s200/IMG_0811.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557125969086185666" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBhyXOaBDJLlwA_54yd2n9Q9by-U0cUL0bP7MJJZpIHVp4gjySMVf0PpfhOdb7h3RINcXwvRaS7LqO0PM3QZljXRBIGDl3xAa38u0puN4rVddxVD66y0H06HmmUWxfzgpaOz0eRDGioXYD/s1600/IMG_5170.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBhyXOaBDJLlwA_54yd2n9Q9by-U0cUL0bP7MJJZpIHVp4gjySMVf0PpfhOdb7h3RINcXwvRaS7LqO0PM3QZljXRBIGDl3xAa38u0puN4rVddxVD66y0H06HmmUWxfzgpaOz0eRDGioXYD/s200/IMG_5170.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557127481332818370" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnfd2Lq8RbNjIWyVeqJvBDbI1l0iX9Q1IF_aAJYrPRG_V5IPSBTCK2IXa-VA-WpRXKsZGVlyyDzomq7RzZiSQYFwDP1uxmdRJLr4zyO6fSm0_vtMV3rq9J4OySZXj1LHgkvKzVYn7j9Fqn/s1600/IMG_0799.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnfd2Lq8RbNjIWyVeqJvBDbI1l0iX9Q1IF_aAJYrPRG_V5IPSBTCK2IXa-VA-WpRXKsZGVlyyDzomq7RzZiSQYFwDP1uxmdRJLr4zyO6fSm0_vtMV3rq9J4OySZXj1LHgkvKzVYn7j9Fqn/s200/IMG_0799.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557125164956661042" border="0" /></a><br /><br />In the overcrowded and smoggy streets, you see daughters holding the hands of their old and ailing mothers and smartly dressed old men cradling their grandchildren with pride and adoration. This sense of respect is instilled in Vietnam's people and replicated in the ancient architecture that is lovingly preserved throughout the city. Though we suffered some goofs, mostly due to our own idiocy and clumsiness, we got to visit a country that for our parents generation represented something altogether different than what it stands for now. I think Christian's Aunt Maria put it well. When we told her we'd be spending the holidays there, she commented, "Oh, the beauty of the world: things can, and will, always change".<br /><br />For more photo's from our adventure, head <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/9369398@N04/collections/72157625719349610/">HERE</a>.S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-6812373323877063962010-11-24T06:44:00.000-08:002010-11-25T18:11:18.848-08:00Cold Storage, Cooking School, Culture ShockTo stave off the onset of boredom and fully settle into my new role as "lady of the house", I signed up for several local cooking classes. After all, Motorola is footing the bill and perhaps learning the local cuisines will help me navigate the anxiety-inducing hell that is the grocery store in Singapore. I'm sorry, the "cold storage" or I mean "wet market". Even the names sound unpleasant and confusing.<br /><br />One of my favorite things to do (since childhood, mind you) is go to the grocery store. Second only to doing laundry. I know...I was born a 1950's housewife. I love every aspect of it. The list making, all the shiny new things, bringing home ingredients that will be turned into something nourishing and delicious, and the best part of it all, organizing the cupboards and the fridge to fit in all the new goods - with all the shiny new labels facing out and organized by type of course!<br /><br />Singapore has stolen this joy from me. The store's are chock full of stuff - too much stuff strewn about in the most counter intuitive way and too little of the stuff you'd think are pretty basic. They carry 18 flavors of Pringles and they have an entire aisle devoted to sugar - white, raw, palm, Indian - but they don't carry brown sugar. ANYWHERE. When I asked a clerk if they carried it, he just looked at me like, "of course we don't". All this while stocking shelf after shelf with Doritos. How foolish of me to assume you'd carry such an outlandish product as I direct my line of sight to the bakery, where they sell all sorts of gooey, brown sugar-y confections.<br /><br />This is not to say that I don't blame my own ignorance. My new geography is not lost on me and it's certainly not Singapore's fault that I can't locate a good that may or may not be used here. I appreciate that I can still get most of my comfort products just about anywhere even though I'm so far from home. I even kind of understand why all those products are 60% more expensive than if I bought them in the U.S. ($17 for one pound of sandwich turkey, people). And I'm sure that I'll learn to really enjoy all those prickly, misshapen, even stinky fruits and vegetables I've never seen before but right now, it's Thanksgiving darn it and all I want to do is make this brown sugar and pecan topped pumpkin pie.<br /><br />But I digress; the cooking class. First up, Vietnamese. The class was held at a restaurant/cooking school that can seat about 10 students. It wasn't one of those hand's on classes, more like a live demo of several courses while you nosh away on each serving. Then the main's and dessert are served up at a big communal table and you can yak it up with the fellow student's and teacher - who happens to be somewhat of a local celebrity who has her own cookbook. Our agenda for the day began with prawn and jicama spring rolls with peanut dipping sauce, calamari and fennel salad, curried chicken and coconut noodle soup, shaking beef and mushroom and asparagus stir fry, and creme caramel for dessert. Each course was delectable and I truly learned a lot. Who knew coriander and cilantro were basically the same thing? Not me! One less puzzle next time I visit cold storage. Success! I've been here long enough to know it's the little things.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjwYvi7SMetJm1kMnavuE-bW41FdUI6fgGOliYy3AeliEz3IXyQCWYkkLYTxq11manECTc_a3LubPIL3kL_S6QtDm9BKr1x7rrn8Npmg3PcY_Tjg3AaQRUZ5Z0flnOUBWtoOVEtcszZwkU/s1600/photo-1.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 149px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjwYvi7SMetJm1kMnavuE-bW41FdUI6fgGOliYy3AeliEz3IXyQCWYkkLYTxq11manECTc_a3LubPIL3kL_S6QtDm9BKr1x7rrn8Npmg3PcY_Tjg3AaQRUZ5Z0flnOUBWtoOVEtcszZwkU/s200/photo-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543660174741609250" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKc1dzPiBxh-M-fNRzSL45fFe6UrgViHFvhMY9lJKh8XzESS8MO5TOdCXNH1-pq2E5S_yJcKKXhfSJRKJ_ODVPczyEAGUhDeshY6ADhx8dVFG0BEhr8BDYGCrGoRWSrRCVj5YFEj9YwRLh/s1600/photo-3.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 149px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKc1dzPiBxh-M-fNRzSL45fFe6UrgViHFvhMY9lJKh8XzESS8MO5TOdCXNH1-pq2E5S_yJcKKXhfSJRKJ_ODVPczyEAGUhDeshY6ADhx8dVFG0BEhr8BDYGCrGoRWSrRCVj5YFEj9YwRLh/s200/photo-3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543141283229193986" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVtMPgEPuFp-d1BU6omlbpHn47xucO8WUtS65AEIrAyjs-Mt8Q122If18DSh-vPRzoHl0iWthbBHFP6QMbr2Sgaqh2R7ggBKggZ6GBAjLL7xCkxEia7TmHLjS6jR59P1Pp4zq6ivd07MPg/s1600/photo-5.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 149px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVtMPgEPuFp-d1BU6omlbpHn47xucO8WUtS65AEIrAyjs-Mt8Q122If18DSh-vPRzoHl0iWthbBHFP6QMbr2Sgaqh2R7ggBKggZ6GBAjLL7xCkxEia7TmHLjS6jR59P1Pp4zq6ivd07MPg/s200/photo-5.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543141690715947618" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx9HYygm97TfGFfC05VivLwmsjYEgnkntajRmLK1Ca2zMm1KThJ2UJWVRs4L4VVXy07QOjUR06XPv9wx27vWENs7uqCRuqtPBeHdvYtZxE18lOPzLL_AbQjxuWcvU4fR6ahrs9AjRjpjAV/s1600/photo-2.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 149px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx9HYygm97TfGFfC05VivLwmsjYEgnkntajRmLK1Ca2zMm1KThJ2UJWVRs4L4VVXy07QOjUR06XPv9wx27vWENs7uqCRuqtPBeHdvYtZxE18lOPzLL_AbQjxuWcvU4fR6ahrs9AjRjpjAV/s200/photo-2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543140873362161218" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I was so inspired after the class, I made the curried chicken and coconut soup for dinner. I even added my own flair - sliced red onions I soaked in lime juice to get rid of some of their royal onion-ness. It added color and another dimension of flavor, which I learned was the essence of Vietnamese cooking. I think Chef Samia would have been proud. Next up, a hands-on course on petite cakes!<br /><br />See my own version of Curried Chicken Coconut Noodle Soup below.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPuVIGXpeotievnz4ZhThWgkW1c3IXQF50ZmBgmitR8_9YvKFoigDhenP9XdGkzQA9T8X7p7JH3fA78LklsUMSCiUr8QLPMCBfpDdQn1eVKjIwbXsZCHkiNQMPBecobCV6gEzLnzXgWnyv/s1600/soup+ingredients.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 149px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPuVIGXpeotievnz4ZhThWgkW1c3IXQF50ZmBgmitR8_9YvKFoigDhenP9XdGkzQA9T8X7p7JH3fA78LklsUMSCiUr8QLPMCBfpDdQn1eVKjIwbXsZCHkiNQMPBecobCV6gEzLnzXgWnyv/s200/soup+ingredients.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543664517094690434" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGarSMqVcYuy8rswiSaqntaROTn_-MsWtPj0uxq9_5JhZYvCYwMGPeVb0A49_hA9v1-lqdjVkQEN-3SordXqlsg3omSl1xPaoCz5xyha3H-2K7mZP_JgbToMdpuff4-G5pDhVT6n1fPy6Z/s1600/soup+on+stove.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 149px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGarSMqVcYuy8rswiSaqntaROTn_-MsWtPj0uxq9_5JhZYvCYwMGPeVb0A49_hA9v1-lqdjVkQEN-3SordXqlsg3omSl1xPaoCz5xyha3H-2K7mZP_JgbToMdpuff4-G5pDhVT6n1fPy6Z/s200/soup+on+stove.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543664843061683554" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEEg5m1os4e9E2EljyNLrGmKiayDXtIcAFTnf3rHd_lWVns-FlAKeisv1sQfaAByuUeJWFkL54C-DUNU-mUCwzMt8B8d7DvJBvEW9bRw5dAekWgckjRWi5Wf_kmOCtNM1G1cnPm3VVXyJR/s1600/soup+toppings.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 149px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEEg5m1os4e9E2EljyNLrGmKiayDXtIcAFTnf3rHd_lWVns-FlAKeisv1sQfaAByuUeJWFkL54C-DUNU-mUCwzMt8B8d7DvJBvEW9bRw5dAekWgckjRWi5Wf_kmOCtNM1G1cnPm3VVXyJR/s200/soup+toppings.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543665543474697474" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyWibeSxY1-VPbzgD9cayth032WLetIJa4CiTGR8h-eRWD4vdFoVXnrNDek_a1TX28wOt7_jdsGlrdfGToZYqbyqYSoztyadZeJDmM5GPz4Eq1v9vLum6sEluUgB6Q3_MpOk_RD9af6Al/s1600/finished+soup.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 149px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSyWibeSxY1-VPbzgD9cayth032WLetIJa4CiTGR8h-eRWD4vdFoVXnrNDek_a1TX28wOt7_jdsGlrdfGToZYqbyqYSoztyadZeJDmM5GPz4Eq1v9vLum6sEluUgB6Q3_MpOk_RD9af6Al/s200/finished+soup.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543665276737559602" border="0" /></a>S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-64566285167434873802010-11-07T19:26:00.000-08:002010-11-07T21:56:10.006-08:00Happy Deepavali<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxRE8rbOqwA7m_yRqoO5PuCMWWHl8Mz7HmBpE179d4KMWDIyfdJdA_bojlmrdfOWASjaAPmorurWXuqxUmnRkmkzE-gv_TyWehHe5Dp36Zq1BxJFf35KjmH0fMqyNBSU29lS9uLk5QiOl6/s1600/43mustafa_jpg.gif"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxRE8rbOqwA7m_yRqoO5PuCMWWHl8Mz7HmBpE179d4KMWDIyfdJdA_bojlmrdfOWASjaAPmorurWXuqxUmnRkmkzE-gv_TyWehHe5Dp36Zq1BxJFf35KjmH0fMqyNBSU29lS9uLk5QiOl6/s200/43mustafa_jpg.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537041401118314322" border="0" /></a>My third day in Singapore, Christian and I took a trip over to Little India to explore and visit what was rumored to be the biggest one-stop shop ever. Mustafa didn't disappoint. Four expansive floors filled with everything from household appliances, team jerseys, luggage, sunglasses, food stuffs, and three aisles of deodorant. They're open 24 hours a day and employ over 1200 staff to keep it running. I expected to round a corner and find an aisle full of live goats or perhaps a post office. I thought a trip to Costco on a Saturday morning required special breathing techniques to navigate, but this was just crazy. The over-the-topness almost scared the sense right out of me and I attempted to buy a pair of bright green crocs. Don't judge - the floor of our condo is cold, hard marble and my poor dogs ache.<br /><br />In the end, we <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUWg38Lhc9dZbReadnLgEDeHOrX_tkT_Dmu0fR0PVbAxZHORCCq9hfStRQOZphsetJDGMvmh1-Dy8QMqU9VX_HkZmw0gYu1NgIdiITm8n4R4ZjFPhscYOdOXS8iwoyKIDVibZMhyh2juz4/s1600/IMG_5005.JPG"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 215px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUWg38Lhc9dZbReadnLgEDeHOrX_tkT_Dmu0fR0PVbAxZHORCCq9hfStRQOZphsetJDGMvmh1-Dy8QMqU9VX_HkZmw0gYu1NgIdiITm8n4R4ZjFPhscYOdOXS8iwoyKIDVibZMhyh2juz4/s320/IMG_5005.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537040809177706754" border="0" /></a>bought a package of sponges, some outlet converters, a box of sandwich baggies, and a mop that I think was made for hobbits as it's about 2 feet long and makes sweeping for this 5 foot 10 girl a real hunched pleasure. Aside from learning that Little India's megalo-mart can be thrown over on the "done and never needs to be done again" list, we did make it out of there with the knowledge that the Indian community was preparing for Deepavali (or Diwali). Celebrated in the Hindu community, Deepavali is known as the "festival of lights" and from what I understand, it's a pretty major celebration. One important and admirable practice that Hindus follow during the festival is to light oil lamps in their homes on Deepavali morning. By lighting the lamps, Hindus are thanking the gods for the happiness, knowledge, peace and wealth that they have received. See how much I'm learning?<br /><br />As luck would have it, a co-worker friend of Christian's invited us over to his home (which happens to be in our building) to help he and his wife kick-off what was to be a whole weekend of festivities for them, their family, and friends. It was also going to be our first dinner out with people who weren't each other. I love spending time with Christian but needless to say, I was pretty psyched to have this to look forward to.<br /><br />Shankar and Raka had also invited two other couples from the building. Andrew and Steph, a couple from Australia who are expecting their first baby next Spring, and Christie and Simon. Christie just moved here from oddly, San Francisco, and her boyfriend Simon is British. Shankar and Raka were amazing hosts. Their home is just like ours, only with real extravagances like actual furniture and real live serving dishes and floor pillows. Their home is gorgeous and filled with all sorts of antique delights from their travels across India, China, and the rest of Asia. If we were impressed by their pad, it only deepened when they began serving us food. Delicious homemade Indian food - little fried balls of minced meat (pork? chicken?), braised lamb, fresh naan, curried potatoes, and the best yogurt sauce ever. Add to that wine glasses that never seemed to stay empty, good conversation among a group of strangers who seemed that night to have known each other for years, and a warm, cozy setting and Christian and I not only experienced our very first Deepavali, but a night out with folks who I can only imagine we'll be seeing a lot of.<br /><br />One of my biggest fears coming here was whether or not we'd be able to make friends. With our um, quirky, sense of humor and the fact that we've managed to never really need to make "new" friends, I was a bit worried it would be hard for us to get out and meet like-minded people. We have between us such a fantastic troupe of besties who we've been lucky enough to know for most our lives. We've never really had to <span style="font-style: italic;">try</span> and meet new people. But all those fears diminished that evening - the eve of Deepavali. In one evening, four couples, all from very different parts of the world, shared delicious food, some great laughs, and a warm home. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we left feeling very grateful and happy for the "wealth" that was shared with us. Happy Deepavali everyone!S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-78291610183093712582010-10-28T00:13:00.000-07:002010-10-28T09:18:59.628-07:00Arrival<div>After months of preparation and packing, piles of paperwork whose teetering heights rivaled the highest peeks of Kilimanjaro, a wretched handing over of our beloved dog-baby to menacing strangers at a cargo station at SFO, and bidding farewell to the people I love most in the world; I arrived. Stepping out of the airport after twenty hours of air travel, I was a little loopy and more than a lot sweaty but I gathered my overstuffed luggage and teetered out to find Christian.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPtVgKU67QleKusu3g8u5yyitpvwYnXvIme4uaSkipzmmpgW3oLSOYvnJg261DPZEj3s-541fSZSXto2GQaWMkBk8Jojh20K8vnuXJ4gu59BSCJ5fw250oVft7ttnbAk0xDwqnUIy3xsnJ/s1600/reunited.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 150px; float: left; height: 186px; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5530386295362338098" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPtVgKU67QleKusu3g8u5yyitpvwYnXvIme4uaSkipzmmpgW3oLSOYvnJg261DPZEj3s-541fSZSXto2GQaWMkBk8Jojh20K8vnuXJ4gu59BSCJ5fw250oVft7ttnbAk0xDwqnUIy3xsnJ/s200/reunited.jpg" border="0" /></a>I'd imagined the reunion so many times over the last month and it was every bit as as sweet as I'd hoped. I spotted him immediately (after all, we are in Asia). Giddy like school children, we zigzagged our way through the airport grounds to check on Phoebe's arrival. Holy bureaucracy! After jumping through several hoops, we arrived at the quarantine center and immediately spotted her crate. She saw me first, but the mere sound of Christian's voice sent her into the most adorably sweet fit. The meeting was bittersweet because she still has ten days of lonely quarantine to go but we left relieved that she had made it safe and the worst part was behind us. Just a few more days, little girl!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM9Hby5u1otZmL7fHszclBNgkW-LPypnTRyDgb8YwXfOcxul6ssOKS_W5AK3CHi8LdJYrN1rhuecDR8CL7moQRxlT22BG7pwdkSf8gd_sFGh8fbMlQ15dwtJh9BwmMUNA1mLWV-YwWzu4r/s1600/singapore+056.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 150px; float: right; height: 179px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532922105410977810" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM9Hby5u1otZmL7fHszclBNgkW-LPypnTRyDgb8YwXfOcxul6ssOKS_W5AK3CHi8LdJYrN1rhuecDR8CL7moQRxlT22BG7pwdkSf8gd_sFGh8fbMlQ15dwtJh9BwmMUNA1mLWV-YwWzu4r/s200/singapore+056.jpg" border="0" /></a>Our new digs are modern, spacious and roomy (plenty of space for visitors!) with a large deck off the living room that faces the wraparound pool. Every window in the joint has a view of the Singapore skyline. It feels particularly grand at night when we're serenaded by the piano playing at the hotel across the way. The complex is large, clean and well-kept (and yes, it's totally safe, mom). The best part is we live within walking distance of an area called Robertson Quay. It's a little community alongside a river that is overflowing with shops and restaurants for every taste and desire. My welcome dinner was a selection of cheeses and antipasti and a bottle of wine at a wine bar. I guess old habits die hard.<br /><br />We're allowed to visit Phoebe from 4-6pm every day. The facility is wonderfully clean and spacious. Each dog has their own air conditioned room and when their owners get there they can be let outside to play and stretch. All the people there are friendly and they all seem eager to get to know us and Phoebe. Who can blame them? She IS pretty adorable. I think she's going to be just fine and that is just the biggest relief.<br /><br />Putting their propensity towards order and cleanliness aside (which is an automatic win in my book), Singaporean people are also courteous, friendly, and welcoming. While looking a little lost in the street while we tried to figure out the MRT (subway system), a man stopped what he was doing and asked if we needed help. Taxi drivers are not only patient while we try to pronounce where it is we need to be shuttled, but they're happy to share with us a bit of Singapore history and seem genuinely interested in what brought us here, where we're from, and how we like their city so far. It's impossible to be skeptical of their generosity and kindness, even for surly old me.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxKquX_xi24qs8q8EPjhV-04416Se5c65OHzmBwrvMHL9dF4EOaEvYxiLHUzsfOlPAGXUyGV0k2JFuG23-28ci_UpNzQJFmH7J0Uc6OyRLyR7sXsUgxO_NQj6-4tG_vZht3Vwke8MdMU3I/s1600/singapore+033.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 200px; float: right; height: 138px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532927647969840562" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxKquX_xi24qs8q8EPjhV-04416Se5c65OHzmBwrvMHL9dF4EOaEvYxiLHUzsfOlPAGXUyGV0k2JFuG23-28ci_UpNzQJFmH7J0Uc6OyRLyR7sXsUgxO_NQj6-4tG_vZht3Vwke8MdMU3I/s200/singapore+033.jpg" border="0" /></a>My first days in Southeast Asia have been full and exciting. Being away from Christian for a whole month not only taught me that I could fix our perpetually broken dishwasher myself but most importantly, that his mere presence no matter where we are in the world plays a huge role in my happiness. It's more than terrific to be back alongside my partner-in-crime. I've never been so sure that we made the right move. Now if I can only figure out how to work this oven...</div><br /><div> </div><strong><em>For more pictures of our first week together in Singapore, go <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/9369398@N04/sets/72157625258900686/">here</a>.</em></strong>S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7667458879807918762.post-35145369893842719232010-09-23T16:01:00.000-07:002010-10-20T22:51:16.272-07:00Countdown<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Wikipedia</span> describes the term "Dog and Pony Show" as referring to small traveling circuses that tour through small towns and rural areas.<br /><br />When I try to imagine what life way over there in Singapore is going to be like, I can't help but picture Christian, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Pheebs</span>, and I weaving through tiny foreign streets on a bicycle made for three, all of us with our own bag fashioned out of a red handkerchief tied to a stick, bobbing and doping our way through mishap after misfire. One of us will undoubtedly get busted for gum (probably Phoebe). Locals looking to haze the new guys will serve us chicken feet and laughter will ensue when we end up licking our plates clean. I'll get lost but end up finding the perfect mom and pop shop where I'll return week after week and learn Malay in exchange for sharing our stash of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Sonoma</span> wine.<br /><br />Even with all this newness ahead of me, even knowing how great a sacrifice leaving our beloved family and fabulous friends is truly going to be, and even fully realizing that this excursion will indeed include some culture shock; I still can't wait to get this whole shebang started. I'm sitting here at the tail end of September and I can already visualize December. Maybe we'll be in Bali. Perhaps <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Hong</span> Kong. Hell, let's just call it Goa. And then I see past that into the Spring and on into the Summer when we're getting married. I'M GETTING MARRIED! I will become my best friend's wife. Is it even fair to feel so lucky?<br /><br />There will no doubt be hardship. There will no doubt be tears. But there will also be stories to fill a lifetime and experiences that only come from taking a risk and sharing your life with people you never would have known had you not put yourself in a position to be vulnerable. If you're reading this, you're probably wondering what in the world we've been thinking. Well, we wonder too, but I hope you also know that we made this decision to not only better ourselves, but better ourselves for each other and for all of you.<br /><br />I hope you'll come back here often and share in the stories of our own little traveling circus. The worse that can happen is adventures!S.A.C.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13016646631998637424noreply@blogger.com0