Odds

So let me ask a stupid question.  What are the odds of your dear friend Selina emailing you and saying “don’t worry, my sister in law is a doctor in the Tropical Disease Department of a large hospital in Amsterdam” ?

I don’t want you to try to calculate it – I have tried and it’s useless.  Let me just assure you that the probability is extremely small.  That’s coming from someone who got an S- in Statistics at an Ivy League that doesn’t bother giving grades because everyone there is THAT smart, so I could be wrong.  Actually, the truth is, I don’t even remember the grading system because I’m bad with numbers (err, letters) and I think the ‘S’ system might be from my 7 year old niece’s report card, which is essentially the same thing.

Bottom line is that I feel pretty gosh darned lucky.  This is about as good as good news gets.  It’s a few days after Selina’s email and the even better news is that it appears that the parasites have decided to retreat (I’m actually seriously impressed with how long they stuck with me).  And Selina’s sister in law predicted it.

The differences between the Americans and the Dutch are impressive.  I emailed a 4 sentence summary of what’s wrong with me to a Dutch doctor and her response was “there’s nothing to worry about, she’s fine” while I spent hours with doctors in America who responded with “yuck” and cut a piece out of my leg (and I’m sure charged me both an arm and a leg, I am not looking forward to receiving that bill).

I probably shouldn’t say this, but I love Dutch people.  I just do!  I love them.  The freaky deaky Dutch.  They’re made fun of for a reason – because they’re that special.  Honestly.  And it’s a good thing because I’m on the plane back to Amsterdam and it is sad.  Not a desperate “please don’t make me go back there” sad.  More of a “shit fuckballs mother fucker goddammit my traveling is over” Tourettes kind of sad. I guess at this point it doesn’t matter if I get kicked off Blogspot for excessive swearing.  

Happy New Year!

Shot, Cut and Stitched

Truth be told, I’m not digging this whole tropical skin parasite thing.  I ended up having to change my flight and am no longer visiting my friends in Connecticut as planned, but spending more time in the ER trying to identify what is eating me. 

The good news is that the latest round of nurses and doctors don’t think my parasite friends are so much disgusting as they are curious and interesting.  They got a kick out of my mystery pals.  After making a few calls to old friends who had practiced medicine in Costa Rica and even trying to track down the elusive Infectious Disease specialists (Who still haven’t reported back to work.  No surprise there.  Wankers.)  they diagnosed me with a dozen different disgusting, but not contagious (?) issues.  There is no clear winning answer, and I’m not sure how you’ve felt in this situation, but I kind of want a formal introduction to the guests dining on my legs including name, sign, and favorite toy as a kid.

To get that definitive answer I had to be shot, cut and stitched which totally freaked me out.   I tried coming up with ideas for worse things to make me feel better – like getting my legs waxed, eating lutefisk and going to a Corporate Town Hall Meeting all at one go.  But that was totally unrealistic and unconvincing.  So I cried instead. 

I think the doctor understood he was in for an experience when tears started rolling the moment he mentioned needles would be involved in the procedure.  It was an involuntary response and I shrugged my shoulders and gestured at my face like I had no control over the situation.  But when he told me it was going to hurt, and I would hate him, I didn’t bother trying to explain and just put my head down and cried.  I mean, when a doctor tells you something is going to hurt and you’ll feel hatred toward him, I figured it was something worth crying about without embarrassment. 

I was slightly hysterical when he told me I only needed to worry about one thing, and that was keeping still.  I nodded along because that sounded simple enough,  especially  since if there is one thing I’m truly good at,  it’s doing what people to tell me to do.  Unfortunately in this case, my body was shaking from head to toe which probably really annoyed the doctor.  And it pissed me off too.

The thing is, I’ve intentionally jumped out of a flying plane before (sure, with another dude and a parachute attached, but I did jump out of a plane really high up in the air). In the past two months I’ve slept with rats, cockroaches, snakes, monkeys, and Rodents of Unusual Size.  I even ate termites in the stupid rain forest (they taste like carrots.  It has crossed my mind that maybe I didn’t chew hard enough and, not being particularly bright, the termites confused my skin with tree bark, but the doctor dismissed this hypothesis).  The point is, I must have some courage somewhere, I think.

It wasn’t evident now and the poor nurse felt sorry for me and offered to hold my hand.  I ignored her invitation.  Instead I took her entire forearm into a vice grip onto my stomach, clutching her hand with one of mine and her elbow with the other until she asked for it back.  I nearly kept it, but she told me my blood was dripping everywhere.

It takes two weeks to see if they can figure out what’s wrong.  In the meantime I’m trying to forget about it.  It’s tricky since my new friends have decided to check out how my arms taste too and they have managed to steal my appetite and energy.  It says a lot for my mother’s ridiculously good cooking skills (and my Aunt Iz and Betsy’s brownies) that I’m eating 5 meals a day even though I have no interest in food.  It also says a lot for my dedication to Champagne that I’m able to give my strongest go ever at draining my father’s impressive wine cellar. There’s something about having skin parasites that makes excessive champagne drinking seem A-OK.  Not that I needed an excuse.

I do have a glimmer in my eye tonight because my well traveled Uncle Bruce brought out some magic German potions to help cure me.  They’re about 75% (?) alcohol and taste like they will kill anything.  And that’s more hope than the doctors have given me so far.  I think it might work.

Jungle Love

My mother advised me not to tell anyone this much less write about it on the internet….but it kind of makes me laugh.  So I hope it will at least make you smile and not like totally gross you out.  Consider this a warning (stop reading this if you’re squeamish or have just paid in full for a Costa Rican rainforest holiday extravaganza).

So when I came home from Costa Rica I had more mosquito bites than I’ve ever had in my entire life.  Like lots and lots of them.  And they were huge (in fact I was pretty sure many of them were spider bites but I really couldn’t accept that as reality because it made me want to puke).   I told my mom and showed her an example bite…her diagnosis was swift: “Those aren't mosquito bites.  That’s jungle rot.  Your Uncle Bob had the same thing when he came back from Vietnam.  It’s disgusting. You need to take care of that ASAP.”

Which is how I ended up spending my afternoon in Urgent Care giving the Medical Professionals there (and I don’t mean to brag…) one of the more exciting days in their career, and just in time for Christmas too. 

I knew it wasn’t a good sign when the first doctor looked at my leg and said, I quote, “Yuck.”  (The distressing thing for me personally is that I really just thought these were at worst spider bites – no big deal!  Makes me wonder what other terrible things about myself I am underestimating… )

After a lot of researching and several consultations they decided I have a tropical skin parasite (don’t worry, it’s not contagious, so you can’t catch it from reading this….but that’s totally disgusting, right?)  They threatened me with skin biopsies and blood tests which I already knew would make me cry, pass out, or most likely both. 

Thankfully in the end they just made frantic phone calls to infectious disease specialists for an emergency appointment.  Shockingly, they were all booked or celebrating Christmas with their families, probably trying to forget about the fact that they have to look at disgusting skin parasite diseases on a daily basis. 

This actually pleased me because the last thing I wanted to do for Christmas was drive 4 hours to meet with an Infectious Disease specialist.  It doesn’t get more dismal than that, does it? The doctors wouldn't even prescribe me any exciting drugs because most of the ones used to treat this particular kind of ailment are most often used to treat liver failure.  Bummer.

Anyway, I’m sharing this for three reasons:

1.  To say Merry Christmas.  I really don’t have any other interesting news to share and nothing says Happy Holidays quite like a skin parasite.  I really mean it though – Merry Christmas!   Missing you and hoping you’re all having a wonderful holiday.
2. To remind you all never to go to the mother f#%$ing rainforest.  Apparently the jungle loved me so much it decided to come home with me, which just reminds me how much I hate the bastard rainforest animals.  Just stick with surfing!!
3. To prove to my boss that I’m not lying on my first day back at work when I say: “I am so glad to be back at work!  All refreshed and rip raring to go!!  Only problem is, seems as though I’ve got this tropical skin parasite disease thing and I need to find a specialist in Amsterdam pronto.  I’m sure that can’t be too difficult?  But I might need to take the afternoon off….”

Big Drop

I rode my first big wave yesterday morning.  We went out for an early morning surf (apparently surfers call these a “dawnie” which is a good illustration of what is nice about surfing terminology.  It can make some sense and is more creative then acronyms…like they don’t call it an EMS or anything.)

Ironically the big one was the first wave I caught that day and I really didn't understand what I had done until I saw the picture posted on Facebook.   Ru was teaching me some drills and then he suggested I try taking a wave.  He gave me a little push and down I went.  I was pretty surprised I actually stood up on the board and when I felt the new sensation of dropping down a wave it put a big smile on my face.  

Then the white water came and ripped me off and I got a lot of water in my nose.  But that’s not the point of the story.

If I’m going to have a little moment of surfing reflection (bear with me here folks) it reminded me that sometimes it takes someone you trust to give you a little push into something scary when you don't want to do it alone.  You might realize you've got it in you to do things you didn’t think you could do (and sometimes you fall just like you did 100 times before when you had people you trust pushing you into things you wanted to stay away from).

But really all this blah blah is just an excuse to show off the picture of me surfing.   You'll be pleased to know that in the afternoon I focused my efforts on falling because it’s probably good to be well rounded.  

Lessons Learned

I’m back at Surf Simply in Nosara.  I know this seems like a bit of a back track…It’s the last week of my adventure of a lifetime (well, 3 decades give or take, who knows how long this life will go), and I decide to go back to a place I’ve already been?  Seems a bit wimpy.  The thing is, I really, really like it here.  I probably never should have left.  But I told myself “You’ve only got a little bit of time left and you need to take advantage of it, why didn’t you book that flight to Argentina?” and “There is no way in hell your favorite surf school will be as good as it was the first week, it’s like trying to recapture your youth.  Don’t fool yourself.” So I went gallivanting off into the fricking rain forest, which was a mistake of gigantic proportions, but I’ll get to that.

Not to go too nutter over Surf Simply - you know I’m not the kind of person to be overly excited about very much outside of champagne and cheese, and those are two very special parts of life that deserve to be glorified.  Plus, of all the places I’ve gone the past couple of months, have I once mentioned a specific place to go to?  I might have recommended the Grand Canyon in general, but that’s a fricking national park.  So if you ever, ever have the chance.  Please come to Surf Simply.  And tell your friends about it, no matter age or athletic ability or even if you think surfing sounds ridiculous.  Just don’t tell any jerk face friends, because that would really suck. 

My fellow surfer Brad captured the Surf Simply experience in a more holistic and far less self absorbed way in his blog and he even has some pictures that prove that I surfed.  Here’s one too (I just can’t seem to shake this self absorption, must be the whole traveling alone for 2 months and writing about myself):

Out of self absorption and back to Surf Simply (and then back to me again) – the lovely folks here totally bailed me out of Yoga Bliss and the rain forest.   I can’t even blog much about the f___cking rain forest experience, mostly because of the aggressive cursing that it would require for an honest representation of my time there.  Also because I’m afraid I could get sued for libel or kicked off blogspot and I don’t want to invite that kind of negativity into my life.

I think Yoga Bliss could be the emotional low point of my travels so far.  Even outdoing my misery at the Genocide Museum and the Killing Fields.  But I also had an awful lot of time in the jungle to think about just how sad I was.   I realized I was coming from an unusually lovely existence to an eco lodge in a rain forest where I carefully wrapped myself in mosquito netting at night praying the snakes would get me before the yoga instructor.   And unlike the Genocide Museum and Killing Fields, I was stuck in the goddamned rain forest and had no way to leave. 

The only way to escape was a 30 minute boat ride that would cost $200 and, more importantly, involve a long, painful discussion with the manager to explain why Yoga Bliss caused me great misery.  And this is how it would go:  “I need to leave here because my yoga instructor is actually a landscape artist (he didn’t happen to mention that on his job application, did he?) and seems to think my goal of improving my balance will be achieved by jumping around like a monkey screaming Oooohh Ooooohh Aaaahhhhh Aaaaaahh and scratching my armpits.  And that makes me really uncomfortable.   I don’t care if you think that means I’m uptight - I probably am, but I’ve got bigger issues to deal with.  Plus I really hate snakes, spiders, frogs and especially the bats that were in my bathroom last night.  Did you put the Rodents of Unusual Size outside my door on purpose?  I know!  It doesn’t matter.  I should have anticipated hating the creepy animals in the rain forest, but how could I have known about the monkey yoga?  Can I please leave now?  I just want to go back to Nosara where things made sense and I was happy, even if I am a crap surfer.”

I wasn’t at the point where I was ready to support organizations that cut down rainforests and kidnapped Yogi’s, but it was touch and go there for a while.  If my pals at Surf Simply hadn’t saved me, I can’t say what would have happened.  Did I mention I was one of 3 people at the eco lodge yesterday?  One of them didn't speak English.  And the other one I didn’t want to talk to.  Try going from a crew of ridiculously smart and funny people to that and see how you handle it.  I’m relatively certain some fists would have been thrown.  I should have tried that.  Another lesson learned.

Wave Hunter

I’m very sad leaving Surf Simply.  It’s been this special sort of reality where I was surrounded by a group of incredibly funny and intelligent people (from the yoga instructor, to the surfing instructors, to the owners, and especially my fellow surfers), beautiful landscapes, lovely food and unlimited beer.  Although completely ignorant and innocent coming into the surfing experience, I am really proud to have done it.   

After my day of failure, I managed to get back on the board and had 2 great days of surfing.  When an instructor would ask “Christy, you reckon you want to try this wave?”  I fought my desire to curl into the fetal position and hide, instead immediately responding “I reckon Hell’s Yes!”   This new approach worked much better.

I’ve surfed for less than a week and have only just started to realize the enormity of the surfing world.  There have been loads of books written about surf philosophy and culture and I won’t pretend to understand or identify with most of it.   But there are definitely life lessons to be learned, and the great thing is that surfing isn’t a book, lecture or meditation.  You actually get to experiment and understand the physical and emotional impact of your surfing choices.  And here were my options:

1.  Cling to your surf board, shiver and try to decide if puking will make you feel better.  Do not bother trying to take a wave, they are all out to get you.  Think about how really stupid you are. 

2.  Sit and wait for waves to come to you, and when they look right, go for it.   If there aren’t any waves, hang back and enjoy the view, but it’s going to get a little chilly and boring.

3.  Keep an eye out for other waves and holler to your friends when you think they could have a good one coming their way. Cheer them on and think of how fun it looks when they get up.  Wish you were there.

4.  Hunt down waves both near and far with all you’ve got, even when they appear to be impossible to reach.  You’ll miss some, you’ll get some, and sometimes you’ll ride them all the way to the beach.

Although I don’t regret it, it was a bummer to realize that my initial reaction was the first one.  I quickly got to #2 and #3 which felt great, but what I really want is to be a wave hunter.  Paddling like hell, missing a lot of waves and maybe even losing my bikini bottoms in the process (which unfortunately did happen to me on the last day), but getting the most out of surfing.

Besides the fabulous instructors, there were a couple of amazing guys that I learned a lot from here.  There’s much to say about my French friend, Incredulous Gerard, and our unending arguments about gender and discrimination after way too much wine (for me that is, Incredulous Gerard happily argues endlessly, about literally anything, sans alcohol).  But I definitely learned the most from Dominick (I’ve changed his name, not to protect his identity this time, but because he fancied the name should I ever write about him in my blog.  I didn’t argue with his choice and am still not clear on the appeal, but it does make me laugh). 

Dominick’s approach to surfing was to grab it whole heartedly and take it on with careful calculation and gusto!  Whatever the waves were like, whether it was high tide or low tide, whether it was the first day out or our final surf, he always went for as many waves as he could, trying to improve his surfing skills.  I not only admired Dominick’s determination, but also learned from him how pre-work pays off (really wish I would have at least looked at the website or watched a surfing pod cast before arriving…much less investing time in physical preparation.  Surfing is one tough workout.) and how zinc sunscreen can be used as inspirational body art.  One of Dom’s tricks was to paint his face every morning with sun screen to represent a lesson for the day, ultimately looking like a crazed surfing warrior.  Dom never got discouraged and never gave up (who knows how he really felt, but his behavior didn’t change).  He kept hunting for waves regardless of how many he ended up missing.  Dom was the fastest learner, rode the most waves and was the most successful surfer and all of his fellow surfers are pretty gosh darn proud of him.

So I’m going to keep trying to get to #4 and will be taking another surfing lesson at my next stop – The Costa Rican rain forest where I will be on a 7 day yoga retreat referred to as “Yoga Bliss”  But until then I'm feeling stoked about my surfing experience (I really just felt the need to use the word stoked).

As it should be, there is no internet or phone when experiencing Yoga Bliss so I'll be off for a while and will miss you all! The surf school got some great surfing pics that I’ll post after making it through 7 days of yoga which at this moment doesn’t sound nearly as much fun as yoga with my fellow surfers.

White Towel

I threw in the towel yesterday and surrendered to surfing.  I don’t really think of myself as the kind of person who gives up easily, but now that I’ve had time to reflect a bit, maybe I am a quitter.

The first thing to set me off was seeing myself surf on camera.  This was bad enough, but we had to watch it all together as a group with our coaches.  I saw myself on video and was horrified – I know my posture is bad, but is it really that bad?  How come everyone else looks so confident when they’re surfing?  What’s wrong with me?  Why is the new girl so much better than I am and she even missed a whole day of lessons?   And why is everyone here so goddamned chipper anyway?  Don't even get me started talking about the 10 year old kid who not only surfs circles around me, but is a more interesting conversationalist at dinner.

Of course, through all of this, I’m getting high fived and being told that I’m doing an off the charts phenomenal job by the Smiley Surfers.  To add insult to injury, people were acting like I had achieved something great, when I actually looked like a moron. 

It did not take long for this combination of things to result in total and complete paranoid self doubt.

Why did you decide to go to surfing school anyway?  To improve your balancing skills?!  Now that doesn’t even make any sense at all!  (in all honesty, it doesn’t).  Why couldn’t you have just practiced hopping on one foot up and down the beach a couple of times?   Because you like the water?  TRY SWIMMING NEXT TIME. 

Then we had to go out and practice all of the new stuff we’d learned in theory that day in the big, bad ocean.  I knew going into it that it was going to be a disaster and I would fail.  But I didn’t even fail, I just stopped trying which is even worse. 

After being completely rocked by a couple of waves while my fellow students surfed waves all the way into the beach, I decided to give up.  I ended up floating on my board in the back, white knuckled, shivering a little bit, staring at the horizon pleading with it to stop all waves.  It didn’t take long for me to start getting sea sick and between that, my nervousness, and the half jar of hot sauce at lunch, I was pretty sure I was going to throw up. 

 Instructors would come by and ask me if I wanted to try the next wave.  At first I would just act like I didn’t hear their question to stall so that by the time I answered the wave was already gone. Then my response turned to a look of incredulousness as if they had asked me to fly to the moon.  Finally I tried honesty and told them I was going to puke.  This was a stupid idea.  Response:  giant smile, thumbs up “Fish Food!  Awesome!”

I finished the day pretty miserable and it was all my own doing.  Giving up is a really crappy thing to do.  Would I have felt better if I kept trying to get waves and crashed every time?  I’ve spent the past 24 hours trying to convince myself the answer to this question is a resounding yes. 

So tomorrow is a new day, and I’m in 100%.  I would have liked to say today was a new day too, but it was our day off, and I even gave up on the afternoon of kayaking I was supposed to do.  But I’m going to go for it tomorrow no matter how truly horrible I am at this mind boggling sport.

I do have to say, I haven't laughed as hard as l've laughed the past couple of days with my fellow surfing students in a very, very long time.  Which sort of makes up for all the failure stuff.

On another positive note, it’s a good thing to experience complete failure now and again and reminded me I want to do it more often.  If anyone has any other suggestions besides surfing, don’t be shy.  I’ve got 10 unplanned days after surf school available that I want to fill with more life lessons and I'm thinking public humiliation could be a nice follow up.

Finally a picture of the beach.  Nice,right?

Sausage, the wonderful and well adjusted dog, despite being surrounded by unexplained exuberance on a daily basis.

Cirque du Soleil

I just finished my third rubbing alcohol sponge bath of the day and I am really hoping this recommended treatment isn’t a painful prank by the instructors.  I’m pretty sure it’s not a prank, and just effective torture, because the instructors here are seriously awesome.

There are 9 students at the school and I have 6 instructors for my class, which makes for a pretty good ratio.  And we sort of need them.  I’ve already talked about Calvin and the power of positive thinking.  How “hard” and “difficult” shouldn’t be in our vocabularies.  Well the fact is, surfing is both fricking hard and difficult.  It is hands down the most complicated sport I’ve ever tried (second most difficult is playing catch, mostly because I can’t throw or stop balls from hitting me when aimed at my face). 

So my morning was spent experiencing a whole new, and less expensive, method of colonic hydrotherapy.  It involved a lot of trying to trudge through big waves with a giant surfboard in tow, getting thrown back and dunked by the waves (or worse), finally fighting through the ocean enough to make it to a place where I could attempt to catch a wave.  When I finally decided on a wave after a lot of indecision, I'd heave my stomach and legs on the board, start paddling like the world depended on it and force myself to stand up on a giant surf board balanced on a wave.  Inevitably this resulted in me eating it big time, tumbling backwards into the ocean and being tossed into a summersault, forcing water into crevices I didn’t know existed.  Once I gained my senses again, I would start spitting out water and swearing.

This is about when I would notice one of my instructors standing there with a giant grin on his face and two big thumbs up.  “Nice one Christy!  You’re doing so well!  I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone at your level do something like that.  The only thing I would focus on is keeping your head up and making sure you have a smile on your face.”  Then two more thumbs up and even larger smile.

Seriously.

But then there was more.  In fact, I not only needed to stop looking at my feet, but I needed to focus on bringing my entire body up so that my left leg is magically lifted to the front of the board with my right one following perfectly in back while landing gracefully with my knees bent low, my butt out and my hips forward with my arms out at my sides (a guy in my class calls it the Circque du Soleil move which is perfect, because it feels like we should all qualify).  On top of it, I was supposed to smile through the entire process.

Oh yeah, and you really need to relax, Christy.  You’re so intense!  Just take it slow and chill.

The point is, I love American optimism, but surfing optimism almost outdoes it.  I have never received so much support and reinforcement for kicking my own ass.  And I honestly think the instructors mean ever positive word.

The good news is that in the afternoon session things started to click which was relatively amazing.  One of the coaches has it all on video and I’m looking forward to seeing my enthusiastic Cheerleader Gone Wrong surfing stance.  I think it might catch on and I plan on submitting it for my Cirque du Soleil try-out this winter.  I'm going to practice up some cheers tonight which are sure to impress.

Woman of the Waves

Had a 7 hour drive through the Costa Rican country side to a tiny town somewhere outside of Nosara.  Was a great ride and I had a charismatic taxi driver Eduardo who didn’t speak any English but took me out for a great lunch of seafood, beer and ice covered in red syrup, condensed milk, caramel and marshmallows (it was better than it sounds).

There was so much seafood, there was no way I could finish it, but it gave Joe's some serious competition.

I don’t even know the name of the town I’m in, but this is a serious little slice of heaven.  I’ll get some photos of the beach, but right now all I’m trying to do is stay on my surf board.

We’ve had a day and a half of lessons and I am pretty sure I’m the worst student in surfing school.  I can’t even figure out which leg to lead with because both feel equally wrong.  And unfortunately I’m not ambidextrous.  I had these dreams that maybe I would be a natural surfer, but I could not be a more unnatural surfer – I look something like a cheerleader gone wrong if I ever can stand up on the board.  The good news is that I get extra special attention from the adorable surfing instructors.  I still can’t figure out why surfers always seem to be good looking … but I do understand why they’re so short.  I wish I was about 5 feet tall at this point because then maybe I could stand on the board.

I’m here with a much different and exponentially more likable group than my cycling crew – 9 married guys who have escaped their families to have a week in Costa Rica to recognize their dream of becoming  Surfer Dudes. 

This place is serious about surfing.  When we are not surfing, we are in surfing theory class, watching surfing movies or doing yoga.  There’s no way I could ever match the passion of the guys I’m here with, but I have to say, this is a pretty cool experience.  Love being in the ocean (even though the ocean has seriously pummeled me around and knocked me upside down over and over and over) and the weather couldn’t be better.  Plus I’ve learned a lot about other many other new topics including guitars, rock music, cars and beer.

I am bruised all over and my feet are really cut up.  Even my jaw hurts from clenching it trying to get up on my surf board (I wish I was like Betsy and just stuck my tongue out when deep in concentration).  The best part is that the instructors tell you to pour alcohol on your painful spots which nearly makes me scream in pain.  But apparently it toughens you up somehow.  I might be showering in it by the end of this.

the pool at surfing school...nice, but the beach is better!

me bored in long car ride...

view along the way...

American Pie

Another 4 AM wakeup call and I made it to the Miami airport on time for my flight to Costa Rica.  

I’ve only been to Miami once before and it was about a decade ago when I was assigned to Ethnic Marketing by General Mills.  In this role, I was responsible for targeting Hispanics and African Americans with specially created marketing lingo to speak to these fast growing and important target markets.  

The General was pretty sure this new role would be an ideal “developmental opportunity” for me, and in that respect, He was right.  A seriously white girl from small town Northern Wisconsin who doesn’t speak Spanish could stand to learn an awful lot from Ethnic Marketing.  And so I found myself in Miami for a Hispanic trade show all by my lonesome.  

As memory serves, I struggled a bit considering I didn’t speak a word of Spanish which ultimately resulted in a mad rush of consumers tearing my booth apart, taking free samples of Cheerios.  I'm not sure where the miscommunication was, but I'm pretty sure it was my fault.  Note to The General:  This wasn’t so much a great learning experience as it was frightening.

I wasn’t really thinking about my previous experiences in Miami, but during this trip it did strike me that I really miss our Melting Pot of America.  In particular, being in Miami made me realize how much I miss Jewish and African Americans.  And I don’t even miss them a little, I miss them a lot.

I started off my day in Miami at the famous Joe’s Stone Crab which is my Aunt Kay and Uncle Joe’s fave.  I got there when they opened to avoid the lines and landed a table right next to a group of NYC friends who happened to be Jewish.  I had the most delightful lunch – not only because of the great crab claws and keylime pie, but also from hearing these velour jump-suited, diamond covered ladies exclaim about their bona fide Israeli pottery.  They also talked a lot about how wonderful Southwest airlines is. The food was good too.

I got the Blaster Lunch (or something like that) to sample everything from Joe's.  I tried to get a healthier option than creamed spinach, but they substituted a grilled tomato covered in cheese instead.  Note:  Their cole slaw is really good - not like normal, icky cole slaw.  This is slightly reminiscent of sauerkraut.

I also loved Joe’s because of the incredible service.  I experienced some of the most horrid and snotty service ever in Miami while I was there, but Joe’s was an exception, with good reason. 

It started when I sat down and my waiter looked at me with a big smile and said “you look like a writer!” which surprised me a little because I don't know what a writer looks like.  I responded “well, I guess today I am…”  - which was true, on that day, I had no other job for myself except to explore and write about Miami.   This seemed like the wrong answer.  He asked with a little concern “well, what do you write about?” 

Wow.  What a good question.  “Uh, myself.  I’m travelling, and I sort of just write about myself.”

I wasn’t feeling so good about my answer, but then I reminded myself I was in America and selfishness was a virtue.

Following this exchange, my waiter was on me like glue.  When I struggled with the crab (one of the things I LOVE about eating crab is that it is a challenge) I could feel my waiter holding himself back from grabbing my little fork and helping me out.  I’m pretty sure he watched my every move throughout lunch, and then it occurred to me that he thought I was a restaurant critic.  Sure enough, when he served up my keylime pie he asked point blank “are you a food critic?”

Seriously.

“God no!  But I’ll be saying great things about you in my emails to friends and family”

He ignored me from that point forward.

The only other good service I had in Miami was when I checked into my hotel.  The kid at the front desk asked me where I was from and so I felt like I had to ask him the same.  He proudly said he was born and raised in Miami.  So of course I asked him where he would recommend I visit.  He cut me off quickly and said “Ma’am, there’s the concierge desk here around the corner and I’m sure he would be more than happy to help you.  Personnally I think that Miami is totally over rated so I’m the wrong person to ask”

He was right.

Anyway, back to the Melting Pot.  Miami was worth visiting mostly because I got to fly back to Atlanta next to Calvin Tucker.  He is like my new Spiritual Guru except he didn’t charge a thing and drank a bloody mary with me.  Plus he never made me feel like a loser, in fact, 'loser' is not in Calvin's vocabulary.

One of the first questions he asked me was “what is your long term goal anyway?”  This was after he told me about his life, which was a bit spellbinding.  A cop in Atlanta for two decades, head of the board of directors for a bank board, and new entrepreneur, he had a lot of interesting things to say.

He proceeded to tell me that I was “a winner” and to take “hard” out of my vocabulary.  That “fear” is the only thing stopping me and that I need to set my goals high and achieve them.  I will fail, but I’ve got a great family and education to fall back on (Mom and Dad, I might have given him the impression that you would bail me out if I totally screw up.  Please don’t let Calvin down).  He reminded me why I love America so much.  And he told me I was a very kind person, and honestly, he was right after experiencing the people of Miami.  I am pretty gosh darned nice!

I ask you, where else, but in America, do you get such optimism?  I have to give a shout out for Calvin's new place and “That Rice” which sounds awesome.  By the end of our conversation I was ready for wings and rice for breakfast.  Check it out at. http://shortyandbusters.com/

Side comment for Ali:  Calvin’s wife is Dr. Patty Tucker and she’s worked at the CDC for nearly 20 years.  You should look her up, and by all means, please go to his restaurant and spread the word.

I guess the point is, I love America.  But don’t bother wasting your time going to Miami unless you have to.  There are way better places to visit!  The beach is nice though.

I did a lot of great things for my sister while in Miami.  1.  Eating Key Lime Pie:  This is one of Betsy's favorites.  I didn't realize how much I loved it until now.  2.  Going to this overrated hotel.  The Betsy does my sister a disservice and I will write it on Trip Advisor.  They are jerks there!  And it is overpriced.  If there is one thing I truly, truly hate, it is snottiness.  I have had my fair share in Miami Beach.  The Betsy deserves better!

Later Gator

My flight and luggage were late, leaving me precious time to get to the Everglades.  This pressure, on top of the complications of driving a car all by my lonesome, kept me awake after what felt like endless travel.

The drive to the Everglades is harmless – or was until I realized I was no longer in Miami, but in the Deep South.  I hadn’t really considered the fact that I was driving into a Southern Swampland.  Appropriately, this realization occurred at a McDonald’s drive through where I was getting a 64 ounce diet coke to keep me company on my drive.  I ended up being sandwiched between a giant pick up and suburban with huge American flags and pictures of guns all over them.  I would have taken photos but I was afraid to.  Instead I laid low, grabbed my drink and went much more cautiously on my way to the River of Grass (Side note:  This would make a great name for a coffee shop in AMS).

It didn’t take too long to get there and my first stop was Shark Valley.  They have a nice 20 mile bike ride through the swamp.  My latest Buddy was a piece of crap but we made it through without being eaten by a gator.  Didn't take me long to figure out that gators are allowed to roam free in this park which was a bit shocking.  So I just kept peddling until the end - no need to stop and get to know the locals!

When I first saw the gators, I thought they were fake.  They didn't move at all and I could walk up and touch them if I wanted to.  Apparently there are signs warning you to avoid touching the live animals, but I missed that.

This park was empty.  Usually I love this!  I hate crowds.  But with wild animals everywhere, I was wishing there was more prey around besides just me.

Lots of big birds around.

I finished that up and tried to find an airboat ride that was still open.  Wasn’t easy, but I settled on this one.  Not because they had a Gator Platter featuring fried alligator, frog legs, and roadkill for only $20, which was tempting.  It was actually a great time to be on the water.

I learned how to wrestle gators which, like meditation, may come in handy some day.

I really didn't want to do this, but it was like a requirement of the tour.

This is Ed, he's my airboat captain.  He was really nice, but reminded me that I needed to leave.

Driving out of the swamp at night was not one of my favorite travel activities.  There have been few, if any, times traveling alone when I have been scared, but being in the Florida swamp with a bunch of big dudes with guns and gators did not make me feel comfortable and I was bummed I had to stop for gas.  It didn’t help that I was missing my family and wishing they had been with me on my Everglades visit.

After more than 36 hours, I made it to my hotel and then slept for 11 hours.  The gators wore me out.

They Love LA!

OK, so some people apparently love LA - an overly enthusiastic song was written about it and everything.  I might not have mentioned it before, but I really am not a fan. And Terminal 5 has not improved my opinion.  I've actually been in this terminal more than once before and I am sorry to return.  Spending 8 hours is a challenge! Makes me think Cambodia ain't that bad.  

The good news is that Americans love to improve things and LAX has so much room to grow!  The bad news is that I have 3 hours left here and I don't foresee much change.  So I'm going to eat a giant American salad and eat a smooshy American cookie and go to my happy place in Pakistan.

Living Desert

I can walk again, which is a great feeling.  Sometimes you don’t know how good you’ve got it until it’s gone, and I definitely was not appreciative enough of being able to move my lower body without excruciating pain.  Lesson learned. 

The Grand Canyon was 110% worth the hobbling around.  In fact, if I had to rank my travel experiences so far I would say Super Weird Spa #1 and Grand Canyon #2.   I will be going back to both, no question about it.

I'm currently at the San Diego airport and have a good 36 hours of travel in front of me.  That might be an exaggeration, but I’ve been away from work long enough that my quantification skills are rusty.  

There is a reason for such a long period of travelling, but it is kind of disappointing.  Essentially, I will do just about anything for frequent flier miles (including allowing myself to be employed).  With a balance of 3,000 miles on my round the world ticket left…I had to fly them.  I left this planning to the very last minute and, between the severe restrictions on RTW tickets and the number of miles, my options were seriously limited. That’s when my smart sister came in for assistance – she is a much better planner than I am, and it’s not just because she’s an accountant.  It is because I have no talent for planning.

Accountants know their rules and so Betsy immediately consulted my astrological map to determine where I should go.  To our dismay, she discovered that the #1 spot for my cosmic soul to be at peace is Pakistan, and I couldn’t get there with only 3,000 miles.  This was a real let down. 

There were several other really bad options and it became clear that although the planets are aligned for 2011 to be the year of Christy Mommsen, I apparently drew the short straw when it comes to livable geographies.  And when I say I drew a short straw, I mean that the only good spot for me to be at peace within my mile limit was Cleveland. 

Thankfully, my positive and optimistic sister was able to take a step back and summarize the situation with “you need to go East” which is very true.  According to my map, there are few places in the world more detrimental to my well being than Southern California  (Side note:  The prospect of spending an entire day waiting in So CA airports today makes me slightly uneasy.  My Venus and Jupiter are barking!  And don't get me started about Uranus.)

So I’m going to Miami and the Everglades.  I tried Charlotte and Raleigh-Durham but no dice.  It was my only option, and not a particularly convenient one with a series of flights from San Diego to LAX to Detroit to Miami.   But I am now officially in the running for Diamond status in 2011, and what could be more important than that?

I know you think this is the end of the story, when it has only just begun.  In fact, none of this has anything to do with the point of my tale today, which is about the Anza-Borrego desert. 

The Anza-Borrego National Park is the largest state park in the US of A.  It has like 500 miles of hiking trails and I think my father has finished 80% of them (give or take 36 miles).   It is the best desert hiking in the US and probably the world (I made that up).  So with that in our back yard, the Grand Canyon was only the beginning of the hiking we did this week.  Thankfully this meant we did not have to go golfing.  Instead, my dad took us on several great hikes (some better than others, but I’ll get to that).  


The first hike was with my favorite cousin Katy and her family which was super fun.  Here are some highlights from the visit:

  

Downhill was the best part.

Katy, me and my dad.  I think everyone reading this blog has either heard stories about Cousin Katy or met her.  And it is her birthday today!  HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATTTYYYYYYY!!!!!!  We always have fun and this was no exception.  Was a treat to be able to see her and her entire fam for TG!

Katy and Nathan having a laugh.

Sophia and Katy seriously engaged in coloring.

Then we got to go for a Family Fun Hike in Palm Canyon which is one of the most famous hikes in the park.  This was a neat one because it felt just like the 7 hour Grand Canyon hike, when in reality it was 3 miles round trip and we only gained about 500 feet.  And it took like 2 hours.  Sometimes family fun hikes are like that.  I will say that my nephew Nathan and niece Sophia were serious troopers and did a great job.  Auntie Chris was just a little ornery that day and it was Southern California’s fault.

My Mom and Dad waiting for us to catch up.  They did this for approximately 1 hour and 55 minutes.

Our fearless leaders!  They were total troopers and really enjoyed the hike.

I kind of wanted my dad to carry me over this part too.

We saw loads of big horn sheep which is really unusual (Borrego means big horn sheep in some other language).  Their eyes are yellow like crocodile eyes!

The final hike was really cool and also not what I would define as a hike.  Personally, I call activities where you have to pull yourself up with your arms a ‘climb’ and not a ‘hike’ but this is where the JW Mommsen definition of hiking and mine don’t match up.  It was a really fun climb though with some great views.

I'm wondering how I'm going to make it up there.

But I made it!

Pretty view from the top.

The Anza-Borrego park is really amazing and if you like hiking, a great stop.  Plus the sun shines all the time.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention a very special re-discovery I made while with my family.  It’s called 70’s music and I love it.  My sister and I have always had a soft spot for Hall and Oates and I am not ashamed to say that we even went to a concert as adults.   But I have a new found love of Donna Summers, Kenny Loggins and even Stevie Wonder.  Should anyone want my parent’s hot list of 70’s favorites, please let me know.   No party is complete without it.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do now to get myself through a whole day in Southern CA airports.  Let's just hope I avoid any and all astrological disasters.