Remember how the last time I posted I made grandeous plans about making it to exercise day. That was before I knew what Saturday night had in store. There was an outdoor musical festival on one of the avenues not too far from my place featuring fantastic live music and a collection of various music fans based on the multiple state layout of the festival. I'm a sucker for live music. There's nothing like the feeling you get when the music flows through your body and the energy of the crowd is powerful enough to light up a dark night. This music festival would be the first of three live bands I'd see in the coming week. For nearly two hours we roamed the street catching a few songs of each band, making our way down to the most crowded stage on the street. The band deserved the large crowd. Check them out, they are called The Liquids.
We got back to the Posada early enough to run into our new friend from Mexico City. Marysol is a doctor and came to Guadalajara for the weekend to take her exam to become a gynocologist. She's 26. It definitely makes me think I should get going with this "what do I want to be when I grow up" thing. Anyway, we met earlier that week, and made a game plan to go out after she finished her test. Communicating with our less then stellar Spanish and her almost there English we spent the night dancing at Kronik (yes, I know the misspelling-to-be-clever nature of the name should have made me run at first site, but it was a blast). We shared a cubeta (a bucket of beers) and danced until about 4:30 in the morning. We ended the evening back at the Posada with cumbia lessons before calling it a night.
Needless to say, I missed exercise day. But did manage to enjoy a relaxing day in Guadalajara preparing for the busy week of school and teaching. The week nights have been filled with lesson planning and essay writing. I've taught five classes now, and the certification program is half way done. Thursday we managed to sneak away from school work for a bit and a bunch of my classmates came by for dinner and a few drinks, which a few of us turned into night cap at the bar a couple blocks away. The bar was unique, maybe an old government building, with tall ceilings and several rooms set up for lounging, large painings on the wall and an out of this world local band playing. In an attempt to desribe their unique sound, I will say it was a combination of traditional folk, with classical strings and edgy rock undertones. Each member of the four-person band played several instruments, and the vocalists had almost operetic qualities that added a great touch. The intensity of the violinist made me nastolgic for Tom's cello performances (Tom is an old college friend, a phenomenal musician and brand new father to an adorable baby girl).
Friday night the class went out to celebrate Shellena's 22nd birthday. A quick taxi ride to Provedencia and we were transported to a tiki bar with sand on the patio called, ironically, Wall Street. It was everything opposite that one thinks about when they hear the words Wall Street. Shellena's fiance is in Medical School here, and so our two groups came together to celebrate. The pop music was a great primer for the live bands. First an original called Purpuresuite (or something like that), and the next was a dynamic cover band that managed to play songs from The Killers, Metalica, Katy Perry and Michael Jackson in one set. Dancing was an obvious must. Time flew. It was at least four by the time the taxi brought us back, and about five by the time I fell asleep.
I was so proud of myself for making it up to go to the lake Saturday. Lake Chapala is about 45-minutes away from Guadalajara. It is the largest freshwater lake in Mexico, and like most waterfront destinations a great place to get away and clear your head as you listen to the crashing waves (even if the water has questionable toxicity levels). The hills around it and the mountains across are a lively green and the boardwalk was a great place to take in the views. After a calm sunset we took the bus back. The lack of airconditioning made my carsickness an inevidibility. It was so bad that I called it a night when we got back to town, around 9:30.
Today I got up in time to make it to Catholic mass for the first time in months. The cathedral was peacefull and beautiful. The stainglass windows were what every Catholic church strives to have, and the architecture created a feeling of stability and structure you can only find in buildings with hundred of years of history. Catholic mass is Catholic mass, whether in English or Spanish. I followed along, kneeling when appropriate and sharing the sign of peace. But, despite the overwhilemingly beautiful surroundings, and challenge of understanding mass in Spanish, I couldn't help but play scenes from Dogma over in my head. If you haven't seen Dogma, do, unless you can't laugh at yourself and get offended easily (Kevin Smith has first hand believer experience which is why it's so great).
Anyway, later I finally made it down to exercise day. The city closes down Juarez, a main street a couple blocks north of my posada, people ride bikes, rollerblade and run. There are places to play giant games of chess, checkers and dominoes. And everyone is smiling and waving at eachother. A ton of people come out to be active and interact with their neighbors. I wonder if it would work in Milwaukee. I would love to see them try. Maybe close down Water street for an afternoon. Someone should get on that (maybe I'll write a letter telling the city how awesome it is in Mexico).
After all that, it's time to get some rest before the third busy week of classes...
*As for the title, I fell in a hole. Well, I tripped into one that was half full of garbage on the sidewalk. No damage, except my ego, because the man behind me clearly saw me falling and even tried to warn me but it was too late.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Finding my way around (which way is North?)
Last night I saw Edward Scissor Hands. Not the Johnny Deep cult classic, but a man walking past me on the street dressed in head to toe costume complete with the metal scissor hands. The other day I passed a cat, an Emo teenager chose to wear kitten ears and a tail. Today, it was Little Bo Peep. After sharing these sightings, it is needless to say, Guadalajara is an eclectic city. It’s so refreshing to see people so secure in who they are free to express themselves, one might even say, inspirational. Not that I have an inner desire to dress as my favorite animal (I prefer a skirt, chunky jewelry and impractical shoes), but it’s nice to see people doing what makes them happy, not caring if strangers give them a weird look. What does it matter what they think anyway? And, it’s not just the extremes. Everyone seems to be more expressive here. Everyone is holding hands, and in the plazas couples are not shy to show their affection for one another.
It’s only been a week, but I think I’ve found my café. The wall leading to it is decorated with bright, detailed graffiti, inside they offer caffeinated and alcoholic beverages, free wifi, an art installation customers are welcome to contribute to, and a gallery upstairs currently housing a photo exhibit. If you’ve seen my pictures it’s the place with the Stewie paper character on the register. I see many assignments, like my recently completed essay, being worked on there.
In attempt to better familiarize myself with the city I have roamed around the last two evenings. I’ve stumbled upon at least four last public squares complete with large, historic cathedrals, couples taking dance lessons in the park, a group of people doing a traditional dance in the plaza, a Quinceañera, the fashion district (or at least that’s what I guess it was with the amount of shops selling puffy princess dresses in vibrant pinks and oranges) and the mariachi district. I must say that watching the couples learn to dance in the park made me miss my Fred Astaire friends, and contemplate yet again applying to be an instructor. Who knows what I’ll be when I grow up, hopefully this teaching adventure will help me figure it out…
Anyway, I hear tomorrow is “Exercise Day” on Juarez Street. I guess on Sundays they close down the street and people bicycle, run and play games. I’m excited to go for a run, I haven’t worked out since I got here (besides the copious amounts of walking). For now, it’s time to find out the plans for my first Saturday night in Guadalajara.
It’s only been a week, but I think I’ve found my café. The wall leading to it is decorated with bright, detailed graffiti, inside they offer caffeinated and alcoholic beverages, free wifi, an art installation customers are welcome to contribute to, and a gallery upstairs currently housing a photo exhibit. If you’ve seen my pictures it’s the place with the Stewie paper character on the register. I see many assignments, like my recently completed essay, being worked on there.
In attempt to better familiarize myself with the city I have roamed around the last two evenings. I’ve stumbled upon at least four last public squares complete with large, historic cathedrals, couples taking dance lessons in the park, a group of people doing a traditional dance in the plaza, a Quinceañera, the fashion district (or at least that’s what I guess it was with the amount of shops selling puffy princess dresses in vibrant pinks and oranges) and the mariachi district. I must say that watching the couples learn to dance in the park made me miss my Fred Astaire friends, and contemplate yet again applying to be an instructor. Who knows what I’ll be when I grow up, hopefully this teaching adventure will help me figure it out…
Anyway, I hear tomorrow is “Exercise Day” on Juarez Street. I guess on Sundays they close down the street and people bicycle, run and play games. I’m excited to go for a run, I haven’t worked out since I got here (besides the copious amounts of walking). For now, it’s time to find out the plans for my first Saturday night in Guadalajara.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
My first official Mexico post (home sweet temporary home)
Before even stepping foot on Mexican soil, a Mexican man (a Mexican-American named Rigaberto flying from Chicago to visit his family in Leon to be exact) reinforced my often ill-advised blind faith in mankind. Never has my heart sunk on an airplane as much as it did when I picked up my bag as we were about deplane in Dallas, and I get motion sickness, horrible motion sickness. I noticed that a few items had fallen out, chapstick, a granola bar. But upon further inspection I realized that not only had these trivial items fallen, but that my wallet was missing. I turned to the man sitting next to me, Rigaberto, and asked the people in front of me and the row in front of them. I got on the floor after everyone got off the plane, still no wallet. I had to catch my connector, and since I had my passport and some cash, I had decided even walletless I’d be on the plane to Guadalajara. As I was leaving my name and contact information with the flight attendant, Rigaberto walked back to the flight attendants with my wallet in hand. He had seen a man in the row ahead pick something up, and after I asked him about my wallet he had the courage to follow the other passenger, as him if he had my wallet, and retrieved it. Not only returning it, but returning it will all of my money still inside. I was speechless. I wanted to give him a hug, but didn’t. I thanked him profusely, and still in awe, rushed to my connecting flight.
At nearly 10 p.m. my flight landed in Guadalajara. I made it through the long customs and immigration lines without being recalled for random inspection. You push a button and if it’s green you’re free to go and if it’s red, they go through all your bags. I held my breath, pushed the button and walked on through when it lit up neon green. The teacher training program I’m in covered my taxi from the airport to Posada San Pablo where I’m staying, and within 40 minutes I arrived at my new temporary home. I have my own room, a room about one and a half times the size of my bedroom at home with two queen size beds in case I want to switch it up every once in a while. I share a bathroom with the other guests and have access to the kitchen. Tonight, one of my classmates, Nathan, cooked a fantastic pasta dinner after we taught our first classes. Anyway, Posada San Pablo is just one and a half blocks from the training center, and right next door to a bakery. I’ve managed to resist the sweets every day except for Tuesday. The chocolate croissant had my name on it (ok, not literally, but seriously having to pass it every day is rough).
I’ve been in class for about eight hours a day since Monday learning how to teach English as a Foreign Language. We spent three days covering techniques, classroom management, grammar, lesson planning and more. Today I taught my first class. I think there’s a phrase for that, something with a little more of a bite than “hitting the ground running.” Regardless of what we call it, at 6:15 this evening I found myself writing “Ms. Mysker” on the board with a blue dry erase marker waiting for my students to arrive. I was teaching, and will teach nine more classes, as a substitute for a teacher at the training program’s partner school. I was supposed to have eight semi-beginner students. When only two arrived I was a bit thrown off. My lesson plan and activities were all designed for a larger class. I tried to adapt the best I could. I tried to shake my nerves, and once I got rolling they all but disappeared. I hope that as I teach more classes my nerves will calm down a bit, and I’ll be more at ease. And since this was my first class, the only way I can go is up. Each of my classes will be observed, and end with a short feedback session. It was a little intimidating at first, but definitely helpful and reassuring. Who knows, I might even be good at this some day?
At nearly 10 p.m. my flight landed in Guadalajara. I made it through the long customs and immigration lines without being recalled for random inspection. You push a button and if it’s green you’re free to go and if it’s red, they go through all your bags. I held my breath, pushed the button and walked on through when it lit up neon green. The teacher training program I’m in covered my taxi from the airport to Posada San Pablo where I’m staying, and within 40 minutes I arrived at my new temporary home. I have my own room, a room about one and a half times the size of my bedroom at home with two queen size beds in case I want to switch it up every once in a while. I share a bathroom with the other guests and have access to the kitchen. Tonight, one of my classmates, Nathan, cooked a fantastic pasta dinner after we taught our first classes. Anyway, Posada San Pablo is just one and a half blocks from the training center, and right next door to a bakery. I’ve managed to resist the sweets every day except for Tuesday. The chocolate croissant had my name on it (ok, not literally, but seriously having to pass it every day is rough).
I’ve been in class for about eight hours a day since Monday learning how to teach English as a Foreign Language. We spent three days covering techniques, classroom management, grammar, lesson planning and more. Today I taught my first class. I think there’s a phrase for that, something with a little more of a bite than “hitting the ground running.” Regardless of what we call it, at 6:15 this evening I found myself writing “Ms. Mysker” on the board with a blue dry erase marker waiting for my students to arrive. I was teaching, and will teach nine more classes, as a substitute for a teacher at the training program’s partner school. I was supposed to have eight semi-beginner students. When only two arrived I was a bit thrown off. My lesson plan and activities were all designed for a larger class. I tried to adapt the best I could. I tried to shake my nerves, and once I got rolling they all but disappeared. I hope that as I teach more classes my nerves will calm down a bit, and I’ll be more at ease. And since this was my first class, the only way I can go is up. Each of my classes will be observed, and end with a short feedback session. It was a little intimidating at first, but definitely helpful and reassuring. Who knows, I might even be good at this some day?
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Down Home (a story about country living, from another country)
It's been three days since my American Airlines plane landed in Guadalajara. There is so much to tell. But, before the stories from last American adventure get pushed aside, I thought I'd write about my trip to southern Illinois before catching everyone up on my first few days in Mexico. There is much to tell, and photos will be posted soon. Promise. So, here is the tale two city kids down home on the farm.
About a week after getting home from my north woods adventure, I packed up the car and headed to the country. This time, I drove south and was flanked by rotating fields of endless corn and soybeans for nearly five hours until reaching "down home," a sleepy part of southern Illinois that many of Andrew's relatives call home. Again, the drive, like the one to the north woods, was more than worth it.
We first stopped at Aunt Martha's to say hello, greeting the free range chickens in the backyard on our way in (if only all chickens were raised like this, I might be able to be a carnivore again). Aunt Martha was sweet enough to give us a dozen eggs and make a fresh pitcher of iced tea for our visit. Sent on our way with hugs, we continued on our way to the drive in theatre. We parked the car, ordered sugary snacks and popcorn, tuned the radio to the theatre's frequency and settled in to watch Despicable Me. (If you have't seen this movie yet, please do. It's funny, charming and everything an animated feature should be). We went from chickens to the big screen all in one day, and looking back, it seems like that would be the theme of the vacation, something country-ish followed by television series dvds or Redbox movies.
My roommate, Jake, is an urban explorer. Abandoned warehouses, old factories, random spaces, you name it, he wants to sneak in and look around. I've never gotten a chance to tag along on one of these outings, however, after the exploration we did down home, I have an idea why he loves it so much. While Andrew had the keys to the buildings we ventured into, it didn't change the fact that these places haven't been hospitable in quite a while. A photographers dream, had I had the proper lighting. I did manage to snap a few shots of the hole in the ground, the abundance of office equipment, the piles of wires, the gorgeous painted tin ceiling and an old boat of a car of which I can't remember the make or model. One of the buildings had a wide open space that would make for a great roller rink, or dance floor, and both had excellent loft space I'd love to live in if the location was a few hundred miles north.
Despite climbing on old desks, looking through dirty car windows, examining old machines, it was nature, not an old nail, loose board or piece of glass, that would give me cause to find an icepack. A bee to be exact. I had managed to avoid getting stung for 27 years. When climbing around an old shed we came across what must have been a hive. I ran. That was mistake number one. Then I swung my arms around, trying to swat it away. That was mistake number two. The bee probably could sense my fear (and maybe the glass of wine), he found his way into my flannel shirt and stung me. First he stung my side, then, he moved to the crick in my elbow. I thought bees were supposed to die after they sting... Maybe this was a super bee. If anyone has any other reasons why this bee didn't die, please let me know.
So, after the bee fiasco, we went to the small lake a few steps from the house we were staying at on the farm. Trees were reflected beautifully in the clear water, fish jumped out of the water and dragonflies searched for their partners as I nursed my arm back to health. The icing continued as we watched "Youth in Revolt" (another Michael Cera must see).
Down home also has some fabulous mom and pop restaurants. We visited a few, the greasy spoon and the pizza place were the best. Even though all eyes were on us when we walked into the greasy spoon for breakfast, they all smiled as we sat down. And, to me, there's not much better than homemade pizza. The pizza was only rivaled by the great company we happened to run into before ordering dinner. Oh, and there was also the place where old school photos of Andrew's grandparents and other relatives adorn the walls. Grilled cheese is always a gold star offering in my book.
Last but not least, no trip down home is complete without guns, or so I'm told. I still haven't shot one. And, to be honest, don't think I ever will. Watching as the guys shot AK-47s in the yard was enough for me. Although I wish I would have had one of them take a photo of me holding the gun with my favorite peace ring that I was wearing that day. Oh well, maybe next time...
Reminder: Check back often for Mexico updates. I'm in class all day, but will be trying to start updating more regularly while I'm here. Also, become a follower and you won't have to rely on my fb status to prompt you to visit my blog.
About a week after getting home from my north woods adventure, I packed up the car and headed to the country. This time, I drove south and was flanked by rotating fields of endless corn and soybeans for nearly five hours until reaching "down home," a sleepy part of southern Illinois that many of Andrew's relatives call home. Again, the drive, like the one to the north woods, was more than worth it.
We first stopped at Aunt Martha's to say hello, greeting the free range chickens in the backyard on our way in (if only all chickens were raised like this, I might be able to be a carnivore again). Aunt Martha was sweet enough to give us a dozen eggs and make a fresh pitcher of iced tea for our visit. Sent on our way with hugs, we continued on our way to the drive in theatre. We parked the car, ordered sugary snacks and popcorn, tuned the radio to the theatre's frequency and settled in to watch Despicable Me. (If you have't seen this movie yet, please do. It's funny, charming and everything an animated feature should be). We went from chickens to the big screen all in one day, and looking back, it seems like that would be the theme of the vacation, something country-ish followed by television series dvds or Redbox movies.
My roommate, Jake, is an urban explorer. Abandoned warehouses, old factories, random spaces, you name it, he wants to sneak in and look around. I've never gotten a chance to tag along on one of these outings, however, after the exploration we did down home, I have an idea why he loves it so much. While Andrew had the keys to the buildings we ventured into, it didn't change the fact that these places haven't been hospitable in quite a while. A photographers dream, had I had the proper lighting. I did manage to snap a few shots of the hole in the ground, the abundance of office equipment, the piles of wires, the gorgeous painted tin ceiling and an old boat of a car of which I can't remember the make or model. One of the buildings had a wide open space that would make for a great roller rink, or dance floor, and both had excellent loft space I'd love to live in if the location was a few hundred miles north.
Despite climbing on old desks, looking through dirty car windows, examining old machines, it was nature, not an old nail, loose board or piece of glass, that would give me cause to find an icepack. A bee to be exact. I had managed to avoid getting stung for 27 years. When climbing around an old shed we came across what must have been a hive. I ran. That was mistake number one. Then I swung my arms around, trying to swat it away. That was mistake number two. The bee probably could sense my fear (and maybe the glass of wine), he found his way into my flannel shirt and stung me. First he stung my side, then, he moved to the crick in my elbow. I thought bees were supposed to die after they sting... Maybe this was a super bee. If anyone has any other reasons why this bee didn't die, please let me know.
So, after the bee fiasco, we went to the small lake a few steps from the house we were staying at on the farm. Trees were reflected beautifully in the clear water, fish jumped out of the water and dragonflies searched for their partners as I nursed my arm back to health. The icing continued as we watched "Youth in Revolt" (another Michael Cera must see).
Down home also has some fabulous mom and pop restaurants. We visited a few, the greasy spoon and the pizza place were the best. Even though all eyes were on us when we walked into the greasy spoon for breakfast, they all smiled as we sat down. And, to me, there's not much better than homemade pizza. The pizza was only rivaled by the great company we happened to run into before ordering dinner. Oh, and there was also the place where old school photos of Andrew's grandparents and other relatives adorn the walls. Grilled cheese is always a gold star offering in my book.
Last but not least, no trip down home is complete without guns, or so I'm told. I still haven't shot one. And, to be honest, don't think I ever will. Watching as the guys shot AK-47s in the yard was enough for me. Although I wish I would have had one of them take a photo of me holding the gun with my favorite peace ring that I was wearing that day. Oh well, maybe next time...
Reminder: Check back often for Mexico updates. I'm in class all day, but will be trying to start updating more regularly while I'm here. Also, become a follower and you won't have to rely on my fb status to prompt you to visit my blog.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Up Nort Der Hay
As promised, here's the recall (or at least a cloudy rendition of events that unfolded with the crazy group of people I'm lucky enough to call friends) of Athelstane. Dennis and Erin have spent the past few years planning an annual semi-outdoor adventure in the North Woods. I only say semi because we have stayed in cabins beautiful enough for me to consider giving up the city life and moving into a log cabin in the woods. For the past two years I've packed my hiking shoes, kayaking gear (which, to be honest, is just my bathing suit and workout clothes since) and favorite beverages, jumped in my car and drove north to meet the group at the Wildman Whitewater Ranch. The promise, and follow through, of a fantastic time made the 4 hour drive north more than worth it.
The long weekend began Thursday evening with a tasty cookout, brats for the masses and grilled veggies for me. Despite the heat, we built a cozy fire, had a couple drinks, even more laughs and roasted golden burnt marshmallows for s'mores. Oh, and tried to relive the previous years shenanigans by searching for an unlocked bus to pretend to steal and climbing to the top of the "lookout" tower. It's strange how one minute you're looking up at the serene starry sky reminded of how small you are, and the next minute you can be swept up in the hilarity around you. To me, that's uniquely north woods. Being surrounded by the peacefulness of nature, connected to the sounds and sights, but for as breathtaking the surroundings, the vast openness of it all calls for the bonding of friendships through questionable decision making.
The next morning, or was it technically afternoon, we put on our life jackets and helmets and boarded our kayaks for a run down the Menomonee River (all hopeful the water would be higher than last years "rock avoiding" kayaking run). The water was much higher, and made it much easier to maneuver. The Menomonee is has category four rapids, and it's awesome, but just because you make it through the first rapid without falling out, don't get too greedy. I made it through the first rapid, and it was so much fun I thought I'd try again. Mistake. The second run wasn't as successful; it was, in fact, the complete opposite. And scary. I don't think I got enough momentum, and tipped out half way down the rapid. They say to keep your feet up. Easier said than done, especially when a guide from a different tour group is screaming at you not to let go of your paddle and to swim toward the group (as if that wasn't what I was trying to do). The current was strong, and I had gone under a couple times before grabbing hold of and climbing atop a rock. One of our guides grabbed my boat, brought it over, and waited for me to regain my composure before continuing down the river. The rest of the run was a little less nerve wracking, and I made it the rest of the way without tipping again. Success.
The sunny afternoon led to another warm evening around the fire. More s'mores, even more laughs and a new way to make root beer floats. Our "relaxing" evening lasted until early morning. After a quick cat nap, part of the group opted for golf, some, like me, opted for leisurely walks around the grounds, falling asleep while reading outside on the balcony and a sunset bike ride. In true north woods fashion, riding along the winding road, I came across a bear cub sifting through someone's trash. I pedaled quickly past mentally crossing my fingers that the garbage would keep him distracted and prevent him from chasing me up a tree. Thankfully, that little cub was far more interested in the discarded banana's and grandma's meatloaf than biting my right leg. I made it back to the cabin in time for the last night of camaraderie, found myself a comfy spot on a futon nearly six hours after the sun went down, and woke up early enough to make it to Marisa's bridal shower.
The long weekend began Thursday evening with a tasty cookout, brats for the masses and grilled veggies for me. Despite the heat, we built a cozy fire, had a couple drinks, even more laughs and roasted golden burnt marshmallows for s'mores. Oh, and tried to relive the previous years shenanigans by searching for an unlocked bus to pretend to steal and climbing to the top of the "lookout" tower. It's strange how one minute you're looking up at the serene starry sky reminded of how small you are, and the next minute you can be swept up in the hilarity around you. To me, that's uniquely north woods. Being surrounded by the peacefulness of nature, connected to the sounds and sights, but for as breathtaking the surroundings, the vast openness of it all calls for the bonding of friendships through questionable decision making.
The next morning, or was it technically afternoon, we put on our life jackets and helmets and boarded our kayaks for a run down the Menomonee River (all hopeful the water would be higher than last years "rock avoiding" kayaking run). The water was much higher, and made it much easier to maneuver. The Menomonee is has category four rapids, and it's awesome, but just because you make it through the first rapid without falling out, don't get too greedy. I made it through the first rapid, and it was so much fun I thought I'd try again. Mistake. The second run wasn't as successful; it was, in fact, the complete opposite. And scary. I don't think I got enough momentum, and tipped out half way down the rapid. They say to keep your feet up. Easier said than done, especially when a guide from a different tour group is screaming at you not to let go of your paddle and to swim toward the group (as if that wasn't what I was trying to do). The current was strong, and I had gone under a couple times before grabbing hold of and climbing atop a rock. One of our guides grabbed my boat, brought it over, and waited for me to regain my composure before continuing down the river. The rest of the run was a little less nerve wracking, and I made it the rest of the way without tipping again. Success.
The sunny afternoon led to another warm evening around the fire. More s'mores, even more laughs and a new way to make root beer floats. Our "relaxing" evening lasted until early morning. After a quick cat nap, part of the group opted for golf, some, like me, opted for leisurely walks around the grounds, falling asleep while reading outside on the balcony and a sunset bike ride. In true north woods fashion, riding along the winding road, I came across a bear cub sifting through someone's trash. I pedaled quickly past mentally crossing my fingers that the garbage would keep him distracted and prevent him from chasing me up a tree. Thankfully, that little cub was far more interested in the discarded banana's and grandma's meatloaf than biting my right leg. I made it back to the cabin in time for the last night of camaraderie, found myself a comfy spot on a futon nearly six hours after the sun went down, and woke up early enough to make it to Marisa's bridal shower.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Gnome, sweet gnome
In the eighth grade along with 20 or so of my Catholic school classmates from the Chicago suburbs boarded a bus for our class trip to Little Norway, House on the Rock and Cave of the Mounds in southwestern Wisconsin. These intriguing Wisconsin visitor must-sees have yet to lose their appeal, even after living in Wisconsin for nearly 10 years. I was drawn back recently and was even more excited than I remember being as a 12 year old. Andrew and I drove from Milwaukee a few hours west with the intention of seeing making it to The Cave on the Mounds the first day of our two day adventure.
I had forgotten all about Little Norway until I was reminded by a billboard featuring a smiling nisse (elf). Luckily I was able to convince Andrew of the fun that awaited us inside the grounds that resemble the hilly Norwegian countryside settled by Norwegian immigrants Osten and Birgit Haugen in 1865. Touring the old homes, we saw vintage farm tools, drinking bowls and pieces of a Viking ship now housed in chapel built for the Chicago World's Fair.
The next attraction was a little more than vintage, it began to take shape in a limestone rock millions of years ago. Following the cavers motto, "Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints, kill nothing but time," we followed the guide eyes wide open, hands in our pockets, as we began our spelunking trip into the Cave of the Mounds. We came across hundreds, probably thousands, of stalagmites and stalactites sprouting from the floor and ceiling, in some places forming columns, in others taking the shape of bacon, ribbons or bee hives. In true "the more you know" fashion, the tour guide dropped a few knowledge bombs along the path carved our by the discoverers more than 60 years ago. For instance, it takes approximately 100 years for cave onyx (or calcite) to grow 1 inch and the cave has a 6-foot fossil of a giant cephalopod, a relative of the squid.
Continuing on the visiting sites of my childhood, we drove to Governor Dodge State Park to set up camp. Some of my best summer vacation memories took place at Governor Dodge. Hiking (including my favorite trail to the waterfall), fishing, cooking S’mores and hotdogs around the campfire, horseback riding, swimming in the lake and playing board games in the screen tent when it inevitably would rain. I wish I would have remembered that screen tent, because the rain made a guest appearance that evening, but it did give Andrew a chance to use his boyscout skills. He made a makeshift tarp awning, and built a fire with birch kindling gathered on the way into the park from dinner at the pub down the road.
Early the next morning we packed up camp (wet tent, tarp and all) and headed to House on the Rock, the last of the Southwestern tourist attractions on the list. House on the Rock is a quirkey house built, you guessed it, on a rock, filled with awesome eccentric collections (minus the doll carosel, dolls are creepy). My favorite has always been the infinity room, a hallway with floor to ceiling windows that juts out past the rock the original house. It gets smaller as it goes out, giving a very Willy Wonka-esk feeling to the space. The original house is a perfect 1970s party house. Plenty of seating and gathering space, shag carpeting and "love pit" style living areas. The chotchkies that pepper the space are interesting and surprisingly not cumbersome like some knick knacks can be. The second best room in the three-story nautical space with a huge sperm whale sculpture filling the center of the three story space top to bottom. There is a ramp that spirals up the three levels around the whale giving visitors a chance to admire all of the maritime paraphernalia House on the Rock visionary and creator Alex Jordan acquired. Another great feature of House on the Rock is the carousel, all exotic and hybrid animals, no horses. There is also a fantastic Rube Goldburg machine sharing a space with a 1950s style soda shop complete with realistic, yet harsh, roadside Burma Shave billboard ads. We made our way through all three of the tour areas, awed around every corner by oddity after oddity on display. Like every good attraction you can't leave House on the Rock without going through a gift shop, but, I resisted the urge to purchase fudge on the way out, and after a day in the bizarre world of Alex Jordan we were headed back to Milwaukee, proving you don't always have to leave Wisconsin for adventure. I would learn this lesson again the next weekend up in Athelstane. More on that soon...
I had forgotten all about Little Norway until I was reminded by a billboard featuring a smiling nisse (elf). Luckily I was able to convince Andrew of the fun that awaited us inside the grounds that resemble the hilly Norwegian countryside settled by Norwegian immigrants Osten and Birgit Haugen in 1865. Touring the old homes, we saw vintage farm tools, drinking bowls and pieces of a Viking ship now housed in chapel built for the Chicago World's Fair.
The next attraction was a little more than vintage, it began to take shape in a limestone rock millions of years ago. Following the cavers motto, "Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints, kill nothing but time," we followed the guide eyes wide open, hands in our pockets, as we began our spelunking trip into the Cave of the Mounds. We came across hundreds, probably thousands, of stalagmites and stalactites sprouting from the floor and ceiling, in some places forming columns, in others taking the shape of bacon, ribbons or bee hives. In true "the more you know" fashion, the tour guide dropped a few knowledge bombs along the path carved our by the discoverers more than 60 years ago. For instance, it takes approximately 100 years for cave onyx (or calcite) to grow 1 inch and the cave has a 6-foot fossil of a giant cephalopod, a relative of the squid.
Continuing on the visiting sites of my childhood, we drove to Governor Dodge State Park to set up camp. Some of my best summer vacation memories took place at Governor Dodge. Hiking (including my favorite trail to the waterfall), fishing, cooking S’mores and hotdogs around the campfire, horseback riding, swimming in the lake and playing board games in the screen tent when it inevitably would rain. I wish I would have remembered that screen tent, because the rain made a guest appearance that evening, but it did give Andrew a chance to use his boyscout skills. He made a makeshift tarp awning, and built a fire with birch kindling gathered on the way into the park from dinner at the pub down the road.
Early the next morning we packed up camp (wet tent, tarp and all) and headed to House on the Rock, the last of the Southwestern tourist attractions on the list. House on the Rock is a quirkey house built, you guessed it, on a rock, filled with awesome eccentric collections (minus the doll carosel, dolls are creepy). My favorite has always been the infinity room, a hallway with floor to ceiling windows that juts out past the rock the original house. It gets smaller as it goes out, giving a very Willy Wonka-esk feeling to the space. The original house is a perfect 1970s party house. Plenty of seating and gathering space, shag carpeting and "love pit" style living areas. The chotchkies that pepper the space are interesting and surprisingly not cumbersome like some knick knacks can be. The second best room in the three-story nautical space with a huge sperm whale sculpture filling the center of the three story space top to bottom. There is a ramp that spirals up the three levels around the whale giving visitors a chance to admire all of the maritime paraphernalia House on the Rock visionary and creator Alex Jordan acquired. Another great feature of House on the Rock is the carousel, all exotic and hybrid animals, no horses. There is also a fantastic Rube Goldburg machine sharing a space with a 1950s style soda shop complete with realistic, yet harsh, roadside Burma Shave billboard ads. We made our way through all three of the tour areas, awed around every corner by oddity after oddity on display. Like every good attraction you can't leave House on the Rock without going through a gift shop, but, I resisted the urge to purchase fudge on the way out, and after a day in the bizarre world of Alex Jordan we were headed back to Milwaukee, proving you don't always have to leave Wisconsin for adventure. I would learn this lesson again the next weekend up in Athelstane. More on that soon...
Friday, July 9, 2010
The Big Apple
I’ve been back in Wisconsin for about a week. So, I thought I’d catch up on documenting my travels. My last, semi-impromptu adventure led me to New York City to see an extremely talented ballroom couple compete. I got into the city Thursday afternoon and began my first city bus experience. The bus got me to the subway, which took me to Times Square, and from there I walked a quick two blocks to the hotel. A little past its heyday, Hotel Carter was the perfect place for someone intending to spend less than 10 hours in their hotel room. About a step up from a hostel, the slightly dodgy room was the perfect place to keep my luggage while I explored the city and a safe place (complete with three deadbolt locks) to rest my head for a few hours a night.
Before the competition I scoped out Times Square, found a delicious vegetarian restaurant for lunch, ordered to go and enjoyed my falafel salad at the red tables in the middle of Times Square across from the NASDAQ. From there I shopped at Forever 21, each of the three levels making me feel forever older than 21, and checked out Sephora to I reapply my makeup, test two nail polishes (blue and light purple), and realize the only thing that could make this Sephora experience complete was if Anna Stanley was with me. I grabbed a slice of New York Style slice pizza, and then it was off to watch my favorite ballroom couple compete in Brooklyn. They stole the show, winning second place, although I think they should have gotten first. Watching the competitors gracefully glide across the floor I couldn’t help by think how lucky I was to have been introduced to the world of ballroom dance. It was also a great motivator to get working on my dances for Dance-a-Thon in August.
My second and last full day in New York was a tourists’ typical day. It began with a highly caffeinated beverage (to kick start my day despite only having four hours of sleep) in Bryant Park, which led to few hours at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Despite the temptation to spend the entire day at the Museum, in my limited time there I made it to the Picasso special exhibit, which was at last three rooms with works that spanned his long career including early drawings and famous paintings. To be in the presence of such great art, spawned from great turmoil and great love honed by classic schooling, was inspiring and breathtaking. I also was able to see Hipsters, Hustlers, and Handball Players: Leon Levinstein's New York Photographs, 1950–1980. Levinstein took the kind of photos I am enamored with that capture everyday moments of everyday people (including quirky up-close and personal shots). American Woman: Fashioning a National Identity was surprisingly fantastic, and possibly my favorite exhibit that day. In addition to tugging at my fondness for fashion, color and texture, it also reignited my desire to have lived as a flapper in the 20s.
Central Park was next. A different part of the park than the last time I visiting NYC, an area with a man-made pond for people to sail remote control boats and enjoy pierogi. Excited to see potato pierogi on the menu, I anxiously awaited my lunch and was super excited to try them. Unfortunately they weren’t potato, but ground beef. I hate being the kind of person to bring back food, and never do it unless my vegetarian dish is no longer vegetarian, but this was a happy accident for someone in line because since they said they would just toss them, I asked if anyone in line would care for some free pierogi for lunch. An eager New Yorker jumped at the opportunity, and for him, that day, there was such a thing as a free lunch.
I’d been seeing rickshaws all over town, and couldn’t help but want to go for a ride. Next time you’re in New York, and want to experience the pedicab, be sure to ask your driver how long he’s been biking in New York. I made the mistake of getting in a rickshaw with a first-day-on-the-job driver. Luckily we were just in Central Park with no real traffic because we went the wrong way on a one-way and took a while to figure out exactly how to get to where I wanted to go. He kept asking me if I knew where to turn, which, having only been to New York twice, I didn’t. A unique, heart-rate increasing, carbon footprint reducing experience for sure, one that I’d definitely try again, but maybe with a more experienced driver next time.
Fifth Avenue was calling my name. It is fun to play rich. My favorite necklace in Tiffany’s was more than the cost of my car. Needless to say, I made it back to the hotel empty handed and ready to go to a show. I got tickets with a friend to see Come Fly Away, a fabulously choreographed musical of all Frank Sinatra music. I could listen to Frank all day, and paired with talented dancers, it made for a remarkable Broadway experience. From there we walked down restaurant row and tried our hand at some Thai. Yum Yum was exactly as you may have guessed, yummy. I would have been content to end my New York experience with the Basil Noodles and edamame, but my friend, a bit obsessed with the Twilight series, was anxious to see Eclipse. There was a 12:30 a.m. showing in Times Square, and after dinner we made our way to the theater. I have yet to see the first two movies in the series, and probably never will, but the crowd was fun, and the movie entertaining in a ridiculous high school drama sort of way. The mindless movie was a great way to end the trip, and the beautiful landscapes made me long for another escape to the Pacific Northwest.
Before the competition I scoped out Times Square, found a delicious vegetarian restaurant for lunch, ordered to go and enjoyed my falafel salad at the red tables in the middle of Times Square across from the NASDAQ. From there I shopped at Forever 21, each of the three levels making me feel forever older than 21, and checked out Sephora to I reapply my makeup, test two nail polishes (blue and light purple), and realize the only thing that could make this Sephora experience complete was if Anna Stanley was with me. I grabbed a slice of New York Style slice pizza, and then it was off to watch my favorite ballroom couple compete in Brooklyn. They stole the show, winning second place, although I think they should have gotten first. Watching the competitors gracefully glide across the floor I couldn’t help by think how lucky I was to have been introduced to the world of ballroom dance. It was also a great motivator to get working on my dances for Dance-a-Thon in August.
My second and last full day in New York was a tourists’ typical day. It began with a highly caffeinated beverage (to kick start my day despite only having four hours of sleep) in Bryant Park, which led to few hours at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Despite the temptation to spend the entire day at the Museum, in my limited time there I made it to the Picasso special exhibit, which was at last three rooms with works that spanned his long career including early drawings and famous paintings. To be in the presence of such great art, spawned from great turmoil and great love honed by classic schooling, was inspiring and breathtaking. I also was able to see Hipsters, Hustlers, and Handball Players: Leon Levinstein's New York Photographs, 1950–1980. Levinstein took the kind of photos I am enamored with that capture everyday moments of everyday people (including quirky up-close and personal shots). American Woman: Fashioning a National Identity was surprisingly fantastic, and possibly my favorite exhibit that day. In addition to tugging at my fondness for fashion, color and texture, it also reignited my desire to have lived as a flapper in the 20s.
Central Park was next. A different part of the park than the last time I visiting NYC, an area with a man-made pond for people to sail remote control boats and enjoy pierogi. Excited to see potato pierogi on the menu, I anxiously awaited my lunch and was super excited to try them. Unfortunately they weren’t potato, but ground beef. I hate being the kind of person to bring back food, and never do it unless my vegetarian dish is no longer vegetarian, but this was a happy accident for someone in line because since they said they would just toss them, I asked if anyone in line would care for some free pierogi for lunch. An eager New Yorker jumped at the opportunity, and for him, that day, there was such a thing as a free lunch.
I’d been seeing rickshaws all over town, and couldn’t help but want to go for a ride. Next time you’re in New York, and want to experience the pedicab, be sure to ask your driver how long he’s been biking in New York. I made the mistake of getting in a rickshaw with a first-day-on-the-job driver. Luckily we were just in Central Park with no real traffic because we went the wrong way on a one-way and took a while to figure out exactly how to get to where I wanted to go. He kept asking me if I knew where to turn, which, having only been to New York twice, I didn’t. A unique, heart-rate increasing, carbon footprint reducing experience for sure, one that I’d definitely try again, but maybe with a more experienced driver next time.
Fifth Avenue was calling my name. It is fun to play rich. My favorite necklace in Tiffany’s was more than the cost of my car. Needless to say, I made it back to the hotel empty handed and ready to go to a show. I got tickets with a friend to see Come Fly Away, a fabulously choreographed musical of all Frank Sinatra music. I could listen to Frank all day, and paired with talented dancers, it made for a remarkable Broadway experience. From there we walked down restaurant row and tried our hand at some Thai. Yum Yum was exactly as you may have guessed, yummy. I would have been content to end my New York experience with the Basil Noodles and edamame, but my friend, a bit obsessed with the Twilight series, was anxious to see Eclipse. There was a 12:30 a.m. showing in Times Square, and after dinner we made our way to the theater. I have yet to see the first two movies in the series, and probably never will, but the crowd was fun, and the movie entertaining in a ridiculous high school drama sort of way. The mindless movie was a great way to end the trip, and the beautiful landscapes made me long for another escape to the Pacific Northwest.
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