Archive for the 'Travel' Category

Jun 16 2010

Briefly

Published by under Bullshit,Travel

Like many/most/all? of my plans, this one kind of backfired on me.

I really wanted to get away. I haven’t had a vacation in literally years, and the last time I left the Golden State was to go to a conference in Florida two years ago, which was a fiasco all the way around. I can’t remember the last time I went anywhere just for fun.

San Francisco is the kind of place, like New York and London, where you take $100 out of the ATM and it vanishes within a few hours, even if you haven’t been shopping. So that was out, and I figured Santa Rosa might be a more reasonably-priced, yet fun alternative. It might have been, if I had stayed somewhere like the Hotel La Rose in the historic district instead of the Motel 6 in strip mall-freeway hell, but price is most definitely an object for me. An objectionable one, in fact.

At the Motel 6, there was not only no coffee maker in the room, there was none on the premises. Usually even the cheapest motels have bad coffee (and sometimes stale doughnuts, completing the free continental breakfast) in the lobby, but in this case, I’d have to drive two miles to the nearest Starbucks while uncaffeinated, a public hazard far more dangerous than talking on a cell phone while driving.

I asked for an extra pillow, the one provided being the approximate thickness and texture of twelve damp Kleenexes wadded together by an incompetent five year old, and was told that they had none. I was so stunned by this assertion that I just went back to my room, where the WiFi was once again not working. I called tech support no fewer than four times in the five hours I was there.

Being there was more depressing than being at the scene of the crime, so I packed up the car and checked out. I was able to get the WiFi charge reversed, but not the cost of the room, so that was a total waste of money as well as time. My sister thinks I should call the manager and complain, but I doubt it will do any good, and I’m willing to bet that he’s heard it all before. Multiple times.

To try and salvage something from the whole experience, I stopped off and picked up some Thai food at a place recommended by some friends. Another case of extreme take-out.

As I headed home in the setting sun, the Giants game on the radio and the rolling Sonoma hills glowing, I realized that wherever you go, you’re still there. You can’t escape your heartache with a change of scene.

4 responses so far

Aug 08 2009

The Addiction

Published by under Memories,Random Thoughts,Travel

This is my current favorite coffee cup. Isn’t it adorable? It’s less than three inches tall, and is even older than I am, and you know how I love that. Also, it’s exotic, made in Sweden. Like Ann-Margret and Pippi Longstocking.

Don’t tell the Swedish lovely, but my favorite coffee cups tend to die young and beautiful. I still miss my daisy mug from Stonehouse Pottery.

Although I am pretty much non compos mentis until I have my first few sips of coffee, lately I’ve noticed that I can’t drink much more than a thimbleful and a dash. If I do, I feel all nervous in my body but sleepy in my head, which is a truly unenjoyable sensation. I wonder if this is one of the many joys of getting older.

This summer marks the 30th anniversary of my coffee addiction. You remember Olivier and Thierry? Well, the year after I successfully brat-bashed them in Maine, their beleaguered parents paid my way to the Riviera for a repeat performance as a sort of reverse au pair (I believe that in the au pair business, it’s usually Americans importing girls from other countries instead of Americans being imported, but it was just fine with me).

I had a sitting room and bedroom in a tower in their lovely house overlooking Nice. I would have had the loan of their little white MG convertible if I’d been able to drive then, but perhaps it’s just as well. I got into enough trouble on public transit.

Every morning, the kids would jump into my bed (which had three little wooden steps to get into it and was my first encounter with a featherbed), yelling “Time to get ready! Yes, please!” We’d head down to the kitchen, where the coffee would be ready and seem like a complete necessity. I always drank it black and still do. Nothing gets between me and my caffeine.

So that’s how I started drinking coffee. And even though I can only drink it in moderation, I can’t get thinking or moving without it, so I have to admit that I am in fact an addict. I can’t imagine getting dressed and groomed and going somewhere else before having my daily dose. I’ll never understand those outside coffee drinkers.

4 responses so far

Feb 11 2009

Training

Published by under Travel,Work

I seem to have finally shaken off the cold from hell. Maybe I left it in the historic city of Sacramento, where I attended a conference earlier this week. Just another problem for the Governator to deal with. Mutant Cold Invades California’s Capital! Run for your life!

The conference was much better than these things usually are, being focused on women in the financial world (of which I am one). The keynote speaker was Madeleine Albright, and she was incredibly impressive, which I expected, and funny and charming, which I didn’t.

I took the train there, and was struck by how civilized it is compared to the horrors and indignities of air travel. I got to keep my clothes and shoes* on, for one thing. No-one groped me or peered into my fabulous mod luggage (I was unable to resist carrying a train case on the train) or repossessed my toothpaste or questioned who I was or why I was going to Sacramento. True, I or any of the other passengers could have had a bag full of bombs, but no-one did.

On board, it wasn’t quite as delightful as the trains in “Leave Her To Heaven” or “Strangers on a Train”, but look how those stories turned out. Mine was uneventful and comfortable. I spent the two hours working, reading the New Yorker, and admiring the sunlit scenery. Much of the trip was spent passing the deltas, and it was slightly surreal to see huge container ships seeming to float on fields whose grasses hid the water behind them. Ducks and swans floated serenely on marshes beside the railroad tracks, presumably unaware of the nearby gun club.

Sacramento was the end of the line, and as I walked toward the grand old station, I heard the conductor announcing “This train is going nowhere.”

*Isn’t it amazing that just one guy had a hare-brained scheme that didn’t even work, and now it’s affecting all of us for the rest of our travelling lives?

2 responses so far

Apr 30 2008

Do Not Pass Go

Published by under Bullshit,Travel,Work

I tried to open the comments again, but not surprisingly (given my complete and total lack of any kind of techperstise whatsoever), it didn’t work. I’ll have to call Movable Type and/or find some tech savvy kindergartener to fix it for me.

I can’t stand the thought of calling MT, because I’ve spent most of the day on the phone with faceless corporations, unmaking and remaking reservations to go to Florida against my will. Against my will, because it’s for a conference, and it’s on the other side of the country. Before you get all excited about the Florida thing, remember that I already have sun and ocean, and I’d have to travel 3,500 miles for more of the same. Plus uncomfortable work clothes and, you know, work.

The whole thing started when I foolishly booked my tickets on Expedia. The confirmation I received from them showed me leaving Oakland at 2 pm on May 4, and arriving in Tampa at 12:30 AM on May 4. Not humanly possible, I think most of us would agree, unless I have secret (even to me) powers over the space-time continuum. The reservation should have been leaving May 3, arriving 4. Given that the conference starts on May 4, there’s no way I would have booked the tickets to arrive the day after it starts. Clearly, the problem here is not my lack of techpertise, but a problem with Expedia’s system, which allows hapless travellers to reserve tickets that have him/her arriving 14 hours before s/he leaves.

Quite a trick.

Another good one is the choices you get.

  1. Change ticket to the originally requested dates. This costs $150, plus a $30 Expedia-induced processing fee, plus the difference in fare, if there is any after all those fees. The value of the ticket is $295.
  2. Get a “credit” for the ticket, which must be used within one year. Oh, and when you use it, there’s a $100 fee, or approximately one third the value of the ticket.

I selected option 2 as the marginally less painful of the two screwings offered. In both scenarios, Expedia/United have been paid for a service they failed to provide, because of their error. They each blame each other, by the way. And I get to pay $100 not to go to Florida.

Or so I thought.

I cancelled everything, and the guy actually giving the conference, a Fromage Grand in this tiny business world, called me personally and begged me to come. He even said he was a close personal friend of my boss, etc., etc. and agreed to pay all expenses. Even he could do nothing about the greedheads at Expedia and United, but presumably he also suffers from being only human. In return, I have to bring him a box of See’s chocolates, specifically, “the good ones”, Nuts & Chews. I have the nuts part covered.

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Jul 24 2007

Suzy’s Roadside America

Published by under Family,Special Occasions,Travel

Well, my little muse-lette seems to have flown the coop. Knowing my muse-lette, she is currently ensconced in a luxury hotel, ordering room service, booking a mani-pedi, and not even thinking about working.

Oh, to be my muse-lette! Next to my lifetime (so far unachieved – possibly due to overwhelming sloth and lassitude, as well as the total lack of the right, millionaire-type connections) ambition of idle rich, that may be my perfect job. Or maybe dilettante. Personal shopper to the stars? I can think of few things more fun than spending other people’s money on the most fabulous things in the most fabulous stores.

A girl can dream.

While being on hiatus here, I’ve been on the road. The greatest hits of the trip were: Niagara Falls, Cleveland, and Albion.

First stop…

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Niagara Falls

It was 96 degrees when I arrived at the Falls, which made it the perfect day to go on the legendary Maid of the Mist. This something I have always wanted to do. It is a tribute to the slothfulness and lassitude listed above that I didn’t do any of these things until I was 40 or better. However, I think I appreciate the glamor and splendor of these national treasures more at this stage of my life than I would have in my careless youth.

Wearing my souvenir blue rain slicker (which was completely unequal to the mist) along with my fellow passengers, we approached the magnificent Falls. Either we actually entered the Falls or were so close it made no difference, since we were all delightfully and deliciously soaked. It was a breathtaking experience to feel part of such a powerful and magnificent force of nature. I was so moved and so delighted. If you go to Niagara Falls, you have to do this. Suzy says.

And onward to…

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The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Cleveland

In case you were wondering why I was going to Cleveland (the usual reaction when I told people I was going there), now you know. The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame is sited spectacularly on Lake Erie, and full of more fascinating exhibits than any one person could see in any one day, or possibly week. It is the Louvre of rock. My advice to potential visitors is to choose the exhibits which interest you most and visit them first. If your feet and mind can handle more, then check out the optionals.

My first stop was the special Beach Boys exhibit, which was small but full of gems. I’m always fascinated by hand-written notes and lyrics, since they give a little glimpse into how the artists thought and wrote, and by their clothes and instruments, as if these objects can somehow bring us closer to these remarkable people and make us understand them better.

I was horribly disappointed to learn that I had missed a lecture by David Marks, one of the original Beach Boys, by only one day. However, I was consoled by the rest of the museum, particularly the fab fashions of the great Motown era, Joey Ramone’s and Sid Vicious’ leather jackets (Sid was approximately the size of a 12 year old. His pants and t-shirts are oh so teeny!) and the exhibit on the beautiful and doomed Rick Nelson. Once again, Suzy says go there. You’ll have fun.

indians.jpg
The Indians meet the A’s at Jacobs Field

Of course, I couldn’t pass up the chance to check out the smokin’ hot Cleveland Indians on a smokin’ hot day. It was an afternoon game, but very well-attended, and the ballpark is lovely. There were a lot of families there, and it was charming to see two or three generations sharing the experience. Beside me, a grandfather with shaking hands carefully showed his engrossed young grandson the art of the boxscore. Grandpa’s hands weren’t too shaky to catch a foul ball and present it to his thrilled grandson. I was pretty thrilled myself.

And the Indians beat the A’s.

Last but not least…

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My sister’s garden

How’s this for an office? I had an early moning conference call while visiting my sister and brother, so I took my coffee and phone and sat in the garden while being really quite business-like. Other than my business blather, all that could be heard was the wind in the trees, the slowly awakening bees, and the busy hummingbirds dive bombing the fuchsias. Ideal working conditions, especially since it was over in an hour and I could go and do fun things with my family.

Among the fun things was the 46th annual BBQ to raise funds for the volunteer fire department, of which my brother is a dedicated member. I can think of at least one girl who would gladly pay the $14 admission fee to be surrounded by firemen. We had a good time and I’m glad to help such a worthy local cause.

I finally signed the divorce paperwork (which informed me in a big box in big letters on the second page that I was BEING SUED) and had it notarized. When I brought it to the Fed Ex office in my sister’s town to have it notarized and shipped to John, the woman behind the counter asked cheerfully, “And what are we notarizing today?” When I said, “Divorce papers”, her face dropped and she said she was sorry while scurrying for the notary stamp. It kind of cast a pall over the whole proceedings, if you want to know the truth. I kept telling her it was OK, but she couldn’t wait for me to get my gay divorc?e butt outta there.

John can file the papers in mid-August (there’s a 31 day waiting period, I guess in case one of us changes our minds), and then 6 months until it’s final. So in February of next year the bureaucracy will be behind us. It’s about time. And really, it’s OK.

Next on the list, next week, is Detroit, where I will enjoy the company of the delightful Kathleen, her Tigers, and the new exhibit at the Henry Ford Museum. I’m hoping for dinner at TJ’s to make the Detroit Experience complete. I might stop by our brand-new office, conveniently located near Tigers Stadium, but I’m not planning to work. How Suzy is that? Go to the office, and not work.

I may already have the perfect job.

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Mar 11 2007

You Can’t Get There from Here

Published by under City Life,Travel

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The Empire State Building

Looks a little ominous, doesn’t it?

It looked that way to me, so I spent half a day trying to change my plane reservations to leave before the storm hit. The airline told me that they could change it for me, at a cost of $294, but if I waited until 24 hours before the plane left, I could do it on line for $40.

Seemed like an easy decision.

When the appointed time arrived, I tried to change the reservation on line, but couldn’t. Called tech support. They needed the credit card used to buy the tickets, which I didn’t have, since my boss bought them. Called him in Calfornia. Got number. Called tech support again with the number, only to be told that the reservation couldn’t be changed on line because it hadn’t been made on line.

He transferred me to an agent.

This time, it was $278 to change the ticket, and I was informed that the $40 was fiction. I could go to the airport two hours before an earlier flight, and if there’s room, get a seat on that flight for $50. I decided to just stay with what I had, even though I suspected there would be problems.

There were.

The snow, drifting down picturesquely outside, was causing panic and chaos inside. When I arrived at the gate, it looked a lot like that LIRR train at rush hour. Nowhere to sit, people hollering into their phones, a feeling that there could be a riot anytime. My flight wasn’t ever listed as delayed, but considering it left over four hours late, I think we can safely say without fear of contradiction that it was.

At least it wasn’t cancelled, the doom that awaited the passengers of two other flights, who immediately stampeded the lone airline employee at the desk. I think the only person who hated his job more than that guy that day was the one driving the Crime Scene Clean Up Services van I’d seen earlier that day. I didn’t get to read everything written on the side of the van, but I did see “Homicides, Suicides, Body Decomposition” before it sped off to make the world a cleaner place.

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Jan 10 2005

En Route

Published by under Bullshit,Travel

I did get where I was going, but:

Flight One
Sailed through security, untouched by human hands. Plane allegedly on time. Got on plane, and it began to taxi after the usual warnings of the possibility of impending death and disaster.

Then it came to an unnerving halt, and the pilot cheerfully informed us that we were delayed for an hour due to air traffic control problems in Chicago.

Will I ever learn not to fly through (or attempt to fly through) Chicago? Especially in the winter?

Realize that delay, which ended up being more than an hour (are pilots really optimistic, or really afraid of passengers mutinying if they knew how long they were really going to be delayed?), meant that I would miss connecting flight.

But…

We got to Chicago 20 minutes before my plane was due to leave. I ran like hell from Gate B1 to Gate C10, racing through the tunnel of disco lights and scattering anyone who got in my way. Look out! It’s Sweaty Suzy in her sassyboots (when I dressed that morning, I didn’t expect to be sprinting).

I make it to…

Flight Number Two

…where I collapse, overheated and freaked, into the dreaded middle seat. On one side, there is a German guy who is already asleep and slept through the whole flight. The stewardess had to wake him up right before we landed to ask him to put his seat back up and his shoes on. He just went back to sleep. I told you, there’s one on every flight.

On the other side is an Italian guy who isn’t sleepy enough and keeps trying to buy me drinks and food (gone are the days of free booze and food in cattle class).

Seats are in the bulkhead row, though, so there’s no-one in front of me. But I have nowhere to put my carry on bags and have to persuade the stewardess to stow them in First Class. I wish she could have stowed me in First Class.

Flight left on time, more or less, but was an extra hour (almost 5 hours instead of almost 4) long due to headwinds. Felt a lot longer.

Get to repeat the process backwards tomorrow, arriving at the airport at 5 am. I hope. I think I hope.

I’m a big, fat liar, aren’t I? I didn’t expect to have computer access since I left mine at home, but I’m actually at the office, awaiting a meeting with a potential client who, yes, delayed the meeting. We were supposed to meet at 9 am, but he decided 3 pm was better. Wish I’d known before I got up at 6 to make the meeting on time. I really wish that one.

Oh, and you didn’t acually expect me to be working at the office, did you?

6 responses so far

Nov 13 2004

Viva Las Vegas!

Published by under Travel

Vegas Suzy

You never know what a Suzy* will get up to when you’re not looking! I will try not to lose all my money or marry an Elvis impersonator or become a showgirl, but I’m not promising anything!

It says right on it that Vegas is fabulous, and it is. Here are some fabulous things about Vegas:

– You have to love a place that’s known as Sin City. Everyone says, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” Carte blanche to do whatever your evil little heart desires. After all, it stays in Vegas and never happened in the real world!

– Despite the Sin City nickname, the town was founded by Mormons and is still a heavily Mormon town, sin and all. Are you as surprised as I am?

– When I opened the drawer in my hotel room, seeking a phone book, I found the usual bible (even in Sin City – but then, maybe they need it even more there), and right beside it, the phone book opened to what is euphemistically called “Massage Services”.

– It’s not just for weddings anymore. You can get married *and* divorced there. Just ask Nicky Hilton. It’s a full-service town. So pick your marital status and go for it.

– Bugsy Siegel did not build the first casino, according to a native Las Vegan (Las Vegans are much more fun than plain Vegans, I find). He says that there were already two others, one built in 1905, and Siegel just paid the last 10% on a project that had stalled for lack of cash, and then took it over.

– There are still actual cigarette girls! They walk around perched on hazardously high heels with little trays full of cigarettes around their necks, which are perilously poised on their cleavage, which often precedes their arrival in a room by several inches.

– The Elvis-A-Rama museum, complete with, you guessed it, Elvis impersonators.

– The Strip, where I fell and acquired an unseemly scrape on my wrist and elbow, and several rainbow colored bruises. I seem to be gravitationally challenged. Or maybe it was those $1 Margaritas.

– The Neon Museum (most signs now are electric, not neon).

– You can rent a machine gun and merrily blast away at a target, imagining it to be your boss or your obnoxious neighbor, and then take the target home. Quite the unusual souvenir.

– When playing the Butt Game, I almost always won. Pretty much everyone’s butt is bigger than mine. Or yours.

– 24 hour everything, including shops for evening dresses and shoes. No more worrying about those late night fashion emergencies. ~Whew!~

– The ATMs dispense $100 bills.

– The people watching is some of the best on earth. Don’t forget the hotel pools, where you must wear full pool makeup and jewelry, and lots of it.

And now, some words of wisdom on leaving Las Vegas!

*Seen here in the indoor tropical rainforest at one of the casinos. I’m not kidding. And wearing no makeup! Very, very scary!

Note to self: Dang, girl! Do something about those roots!

6 responses so far

Aug 09 2004

Farewell to the Hamptons

Published by under Travel

Suzy’s Hamptons Diary, Part IV

All good things must come to an end. Today, we’ll say farewell to the playground of the rich and in/famous and Suzy.

Heard in the Hamptons:

WLIU, a great jazz radio station, including lots of gems and rarities and DJ’s with a passion. If you can’t make it to the Hamptons, you can listen to it (live stream button on the left of the page).

On the beach:

“So I was doing a bikini wax, and I noticed the client had a huge gold ring. Down there.” (pause) “And I don’t usually look.”

“Everyone has spray tans now. No-one has sun tans.”

Seen:

Beach Hut;

Love Shack, baby;

Boats;

Swimming pools (but no movie stars); and

The last word.

2 responses so far

Jul 24 2004

New York

Published by under Bullshit,Travel,Weather

Coming to you from New York City – the state of my birth, though not the city (that distinction belongs to the unlovely town of Syracuse, and that’s the only distinction it has). New York City has plenty of distinction, but also lots of myths and legends which are not entirely accurate.

Myth: It’s sooo easy to get a cab in New York.

Truth: It’s completely impossible. Especially on a hot, humid, and rainy Friday night after a concert in Central Park. Literally the minute the show was over, it started to pour in an epic and Biblical manner (I can’t get used to it raining in the summer – it only rains in the winter in California). It was like walking through a waterfall.

Within minutes I was soaked to the skin, and the streets became mini rivers. I made my way to Madison Avenue and tried desperately to hail a cab. You know it’s bad when a girl in a soaking wet and form-fitting shirt, transformed into a transparent shirt thanks to Mother Nature and her sick sense of humor, can’t get a cab. I walked ten blocks or so before I finally got one, and if I hadn’t been so wet and cranky, I would have been flattered by the alacrity with which the cab driver swerved through traffic to pick me up. Instead, my only thought was, “I have never been so glad to see a cab in my life.”

I ended up taking all my clothes to the hotel laundry to get them dried, including my dripping Keds. It was hard to get them to understand that I didn’t want them laundered or dry cleaned – they had been thoroughly laundered and wet cleaned by Ma Nature – I just wanted dry clothes. More than anything.

I finally got my point across, but they sure looked at me funny. Good practice for the Hamptons.

4 responses so far

Jul 07 2004

Summer wishlist

Wishlist for the summer:

The Art Institute of Chicago’s special exhibit on Seurat’s A Sunday on La Grande Jatte, put into context by paintings by his contemporaries, such as Monet, Pissaro and Renoir. Not to mention that when in Chicago, I can meet up with Colin, Chicagolimited’s very own unlimited source of knowledge about Chicago’s architecture. I might be lucky enough to take one of his personalized skyscraper tours.

Seeing Wilco while they’re on tour for their great new CD, A Ghost Is Born.

The Art Gallery of Ontario’s brilliant exhibit: Turner, Whistler, Monet. Are they the first museum to put on an exhibit which acknowledges that Turner was the first Impressionist – 50 years before the Impressionists were given that name? And to those of you who think that Whistler is just “Whistler’s Mother” (not the title of that famous painting, by the way – it’s “Arrangement in Grey and Black: Portrait of the Painter’s Mother “) – check out his Nocturnes.

Spending a few days in the Hamptons with my old friend Paul, who also hosted sis’n’Me in Florida in February. Before you start getting any ideas, he does catering for the rich folks, he ain’t one himself. And I can bring down the tone in the tony Hamptons as well as I do in tony Pacific Heights. I’ve had years of practice.

Visiting the fabulous Kathleen in Motown for her birthday!

5 responses so far

Feb 09 2004

Florida, Part II

Published by under Florida,Travel

I say adventurettes, because we really didn?t do much, if anything. It was all about escaping from reality and hanging out and enjoying the sun.

And sun there was. It was in the neighborhood of 80 to 85 degrees, and that?s a really nice neighborhood to be in. The air was all soft and tropical, and I think I may finally understand why Florida women often seem to go for the big hair: the humidity in the air just makes it big. Ain?t nothing you can do about it. Even my normally flat, straight hair got puffed up and slightly wavy. It was all part of being Florida Suzy.

Not only was it the first trip ever to Florida for my sis and me (Florida virgins!), it was our first sight of the Gulf of Mexico. Both the Atlantic and the Pacific oceans are old friends to us, but the Gulf was all new. It?s very blue in the manner of the Mediterranean, but with a more translucent quality. It?s also way more pacific than the Pacific, with about as much wave action as a lake or the bathtub when I step out of it. Surfers, go somewhere else!

But Megan had a great time scuba diving in the Gulf, where she met dolphins, giant turtles, and manatees. She is now totally in love with manatees. I think she snuck one home in her suitcase. Lazy Me just swam in the fabulous pool under the bright blue sky and palm trees, and when I got slightly chilled, like a bottle of white wine, I hung out in the hot tub beside the pool. Repeat as needed. You gotta love swimming outside in February. Not to mention having your morning coffee outside under the orange tree and your dinner on the patio under the stars. At one dinner, we were even serenaded by an acapella men?s chorus, who happen to adjourn to that particular restaurant on Monday evenings following their practice. They drink beer, talk about the rehearsal, and practice a little more. They are something like a barbershop quartet, only there were about 10 of them. It was a pleasure to hear them, and it must be a dying, or at least declining, art, so it was a privilege, too.

Florida, at least the little I saw of it, is (look out, you know what?s coming next!) what the French would call jolie-laide (roughly translated, “ugly-beautiful”). It has great natural beauty: the blue waters of the Gulf; the beaches with sand like white sugar, scattered with exotic shells; tropical trees and flowers (in the dead of winter!), but all this is tempered considerably by endless strip malls (which, oddly, often seemed to contain both churches and porn emporia), billboards, and thousands of trailer parks. Pretty much the epitome of that part of Florida for me was when we went to a beautiful beach near St. Petersburg (quite unlike the Russian one, I can tell you from personal experience) and watched the sun set. Right across the road from the beach was, yes, you guessed it, a strip mall. There you have it. And it didn?t make the beach any less beautiful.

Next time, I?ll venture over to Colin?s and Aim&eacutee?s coast, check that out, and of course, give an Oscar-worthy performance in my teeny part in their next film. If I?m really good, I might get a line or two instead of just a walk-on part.

8 responses so far

Jan 22 2003

Trip Report Part 1

Published by under Travel

There are just so many laws of physics that I really, really hate, even though I am the daughter of a scientist. Gravity springs to mind, at least as far as its effects on one’s shell as time progresses. Another one is for every action, there is a reaction, meaning: if you take an extra day off from work to play in Chicago, you will have to somehow make up all that work in the few days remaining in the self-shortened week.

So I got home on Monday night, went to work first thing on Tuesday morning, when even the sun, who couldn’t complain about jet lag, was still in bed. I worked like mad all day, went to the gym, went home and did all those domestic chores, including calling my mother, and now I’m back at work again, and I’m still not caught up or close to it. But I’m going to sneak a few minutes to tell you about my trip anyway. So there. Still the faux grown-up.

Chicago is a completely fabulous city. I believe that San Francisco, where I live, is one of the most beautiful cities in the world, so I know what I’m talking. Chicago is full of beautiful, beautiful buildings, both old and new. The trees lining the main streets were wrapped in tiny white lights, and with the effect of the wind, the movement and sparkle at night was spectacular. You have to know a carbon junkie like me would just love that effect.

The Art Institute is world class. The building is, of course, lovely – the walls around the grand main staircase are hung with architectural details rescued from destroyed Chicago buildings, including some by the great Wright himself – and so is the collection. It was wonderful to see some paintings I have loved for years in real life (Caillebotte’s Paris Street, Rainy Day; Seurat’s A Sunday on La Grande Jatte, among others), and the lighting was perfect. That doesn’t sound like much, but trust me, it’s essential. The lighting in the Hermitage, which also has a world-class collection, is so bad that you have to be a contortionist to get a good look at anything. But not in Chicago. It was pure pleasure. And how often does one get the chance to say that about anything?

4 responses so far

Oct 19 2002

Trip to Europe

Published by under Travel

Here, at last, photos from my trip to Europe last month. I know you have been waiting anxiously to see them, and at last, the suspense is over.

One warning: since I’ve been to England and Amsterdam so many times, I take fewer and fewer pictures, so now I only take pictures of what I haven’t seen before.

So, without further ado, here you go! Enjoy!

1. The view from my friend Colin’s patio. No, not that Colin, a different one, who lives in a pretty little village called Colyton, in Devon. Aren’t I lucky to have two Colins in my life? Some people don’t even have one.

2. An old mill near Exeter, in Devon. It is now used as a crafts center, selling handmade items by local artists.

3. Old oak tree, Widecombe-in-the-Moor (pronounced “Widdicom”). Probably ancient. The Other Colin thinks it’s hundreds of years old. I think it looks cool.

4. St. Pancras Church in Widecombe, known as “The Cathedral of the Moor”. Built in the 1400’s. The first vicar on record is John Andrewe, in 1449. The church is made of local granite and has withstood centuries of wild weather very well. I think it has a certain austere grandeur.

5. One of Dartmoor’s famous tors, outcroppings of rough grey granite.

6. Dartmoor, the setting for “Hound of the Baskervilles”. Hard to feel the horror on such a gorgeous day!

7. Close-up of two different kinds of heather and the brilliant yellow gorse that cover Dartmoor.

8. View from the window of my room at the Nobody Inn, looking over the ancient churchyard of St. Michael’s Church. What a peaceful and beautiful place to rest! Unlike many very old graveyards, this one is still in use, the new tombs mingling with the old.

9. The Manor House, where my room was. The original house dates from 1241, though this part is from 1604. Formerly the home of Sir Ralph de Doddiscomb, who gave his name to the village, Doddiscombsleigh.

10. Exeter Cathedral. One of the most beautiful and imposing churches in England, it retains its Norman (1114) towers, but was mostly re-built in 1270. The site itself has been used for Christian worship since the 5th century.

11. The burial mound of King R?dwald, one of the earliest English Kings (599-625), at Sutton Hoo in East Anglia. R?dwald was buried in a ship, along with marvellous artifacts. The mound was discovered in the 1930’s by an amateur local archeologist, Basil Brown.

12. The burial mounds of a young warrior and his faithful horse at Sutton Hoo, dating from King R?dwald’s time. The warrior’s presence in the royal graveyard suggests that he was either royal himself, or a favorite of the King.

13. New housing development in the Docklands of Amsterdam. Believe it or not, this is partly council housing or projects. In Amsterdam, low-income housing is mixed in with other housing, to avoid ghettos.

14. Rainbow over a canal in Amsterdam.

15. The wealthiest area of the new docklands development. No council housing here. I love the boats being drawn up to the houses – it reminds me of Venice.

16. Wild bridge in Amsterdam. Crossing it, with its sinuous shape and mesh floor, made me feel like I was on an acid trip. Very weird. Yet it looks so normal from a distance. Kind of like me.

17. And finally: is this the perfect poster for my niece’s first University dorm room, or what?

3 responses so far

Sep 29 2002

Nearly Over

Published by under Family,Travel

Well, the trip is pretty much over. Tomorrow I go to a hotel near Heathrow to spend the night, since I have to be at the airport at 6 am on Tuesday morning and to do this from Wimbledon, I’d have to be out the door by 4:30 am and I’m just not man enough for that. I almost certainly never will be.

Time itself has blurred by weirdly these past three weeks. I feel like I’ve been here forever, but I haven’t stayed in one place for more than 3 or 4 days, so I’ve been living out of a suitcase, which is always slightly unsettling. And I always seem to be waiting for or on a plane or train or sitting in traffic. I feel like that line from the Talking Heads song “The Big Country”: “I’m tired of traveling/I want to be somewhere.”

I’m mostly packed. I had to borrow a garment bag and an extra suitcase to bring back all of Dad’s things, including awkward stuff like paintings. Went through an entire roll of bubble wrap and had to buy more to finish insulating everything. About the only thing not in my bags is the 250 year old, 7 foot tall grandfather clock, which will be crated up and shipped to me. Couldn’t find a bag big enough for that one.

There are compensations to having all this baggage. I used to do it with one carry-on bag, but knowing that I have bags to check and room to spare have given me carte blanche with respect to shopping, so I have been as acquisitive as a magpie all over Europe. Today, I spent the sabbath worshipping Suzy style at the shops in Kingston on Thames, where Kings were crowned in ancient days (and when they say ancient around here, they mean it: these were Kings in the year 900). Now it’s the best place for retail therapy near Wimbledon.

So that’s pretty much it. At the tail end of a long and exhausting trip, both emotionally and physically. My bags are in the hall, the essence of my father distilled down to a few beautiful objects, my mind looking forward to getting home and back to the halcyon days when Dad and I would have been making a special dinner and breaking out the really good wines, planning our next visit together. I think he would be pleased with the things I have done on this trip and how I did it. I just wish he was here to tell me himself.

One response so far

Sep 21 2002

Planes, trains & automobiles

Published by under Friends,Travel

Did I mention that my stepmother and I took the train down to visit our friends in Suffolk? We were both completely fed up with driving, on motorways and country lanes and anything else in between. The train was definitely less annoying than driving – I do think travelling by train is about the most pleasant way to go anywhere. But (I have one for almost every occasion) it took 3 hours. It seems it takes 3 hours to get just about anywhere. In this case, we took the Underground to the end of the line, changed to a different line, got on one train and then, yes, changed and got on another one. However, I wasn’t homicidal at the end or scared during the process.

Today, it’s more planes, trains & automobiles. Hired car to Gatwick, terrifying plane ride to Amsterdam, train into the actual city, where we (me, my niece Cat, and her friend Claudia) will be met by my old friend Alice. Friend from high school days, former model, and current math PhD. What’s not to love? Oh, and the whole thing will take, yeah, about 3 hours.

One response so far

Jul 22 2002

Country Weekend, Part I

Published by under Country Life,Family,Travel

And here’s the story.

A few years ago, I was coming home from visiting my brother and sister, and actually on the Golden Gate Bridge before I started looking for the $3 for the toll (you have to pay to get into the city, but not to leave it). Uh-oh. No money at all in my wallet. You would think I would have noticed when I spent my last dime, but apparently my thoughts were elsewhere, since this was the first time I had noticed my complete and utter brokeitude.

All the time I was waiting to get to the tollbooth, I wondered what would happen. When I finally got there, the bored County employee called the business office (located on the ocean side of the bridge) and gave them my license plate number, and told me to go over there and wrote them a check. So I did, feeling like a complete idiot.

I never forgot to have toll money again.

But I didn’t have to worry about the toll since I was heading out of the city on Friday. It was a very foggy day. So foggy that the towers of the bridge vanished into the mist, you couldn’t see Alcatraz, and you couldn’t tell where the water ended and the sky began. It was all grey and misty and dreamlike, except for a mystery spot of golden sunlight where a lone, white-sailed boat floated.

With the wonder of micro-climates, though, it was sunny across the bridge in Sausalito and close to 90 in Santa Rosa, where my brother picked me up. We drove through beautiful Anderson Valley – I love the look of the rolling, golden hills with the dark green live oaks making deep pools of shade – stopping as usual at Gowan’s, where we got corn, peaches, and cider. I’m always amused by their sign, “Please park OFF highway”, because you just know someone actually parked ON the highway, at least once.

When we got to Albion, the town my brother and sister live near, I noticed that the flag at the post office was at half-mast. Turned out that the owner of the Albion Grocery, known locally as “the Gro”, had died of cancer on Thursday and the flag was lowered in her honor. Her birthday had been two days before, and the store had closed and her many admirers brought the party to her in the hospice.

In happier small town news, a family of barn swallows have built a nest right over the door to the post office. The nest is now full of peeping, adorable babies!

And at my sister Megan’s house, the sun was shining and the garden was blooming.

That night, we had dinner at the wonderful Ledford House restaurant, just across the road from the Gro, to celebrate Megan’s new EMT job. Our friend Mark was bartending that night, and the owners of the restaurant are good friends of my brother’s and sister’s. It’s an elegant, yet comfortable place, and attracts locals as well as tourists. The sunset was spectacular, as was the food and wine. It was the perfect way to start the weekend.

One response so far

Jul 16 2002

Line dynamics

Published by under City Life,Random Thoughts,Travel

I will never understand line dynamics. Not the math kind, or the geometry kind, or the late unlamented dance craze now moldering wherever dance crazes du jour go before being recycled into yet another one, but why lines of people are the way they are.

When we were in line to get tickets for “Road to Perdition” on Saturday, there were only 4 or 5 people ahead of us in line, but it took nearly 15 minutes for us to get to the window, where we paid with exact change and were out of there in seconds. Why does it take other people 10 times as long to buy a movie ticket?

I have observed the same thing in post offices, grocery stores, and airports. In the post office, you wait in line while time seems to stop, as the people ahead of you mail large, untidily wrapped packages of what appear to be body parts to countries with unpronounceable names, and without the correct paperwork or actual money.

The use of actual money is so unusual in this country that I wonder if they aren’t going to do away with it altogether and just implant chips in our hands to access our bank accounts and credit cards. A couple of weeks ago, I let a guy go ahead of me in the express line at the grocery store, because he only had one item. He thanked me and said, “And I’m even going to pay cash.” I joked, “Isn’t that positively un-American?” His response: “I’m Canadian, so I think it’s OK.”

Honestly, though, non-Canadians seem to think nothing of writing checks for $5 or using their ATM card for amounts almost as small. And in the express line, too. If you know you’re going grocery shopping – and how many of us do so on an impulse? – get the money first. Or get it at the ATM with which nearly every store is equipped. Your fellow Americans will thank you. Or at least not openly glare at you while cursing you and generations of your family.

As for airports, even if I’m going to Europe for three weeks, I never have more than carry-on. Bring outfits you like, about 5, and mix and match, doing laundry where necessary. Wear the one good outfit, fit for going out to dinner or to the theater. Bonus: airline staff, on the ground and on the plane, tend to be nicer to you if you’re dressed well, even if you’re flying cattle class. By limiting your baggage to carry-on, it’s a faster check-in. I also always book my seat ahead, which not only makes sure I get what I want (my main goal in life), but also makes check-in faster. But even assuming you haven’t done these things, why does it seem to take so long for people to check in? I’m not talking post-9/11 security measures, I’m talking standing at the counter for 15 or 20 minutes before finally finishing the checking in process. What could possibly take so long? Enquiring minds want to know. Well, not really. I just don’t want you ahead of me in line.

4 responses so far

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