Australia: Diary Entry One

We start the trip with a long flight. 14 hours in a plane to New Zealand. Movies and books. Sleep.

At 5 AM we land in Auckland. Two hour layover and noodles for breakfast.

 
Come 10 AM, we finally land in Aussie. Long lines for customs, long lines for baggage, long lines, long lines. Taxi ride through the outskirts and finally, our destination.

It is 12 PM in Melbourne. Lord knows what time at home.

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Day One is for exploring.

We head out for lunch and it’s not as hot as we expected. We stroll through the European-style alley ways lined with tiny eateries. The cobbled-stoned alley itself full of intimate umbrella topped tables. Everyone chatting. Everyone nibbling. Everyone sipping on coffee. On water. On wine.

We gulp down cool glasses of water and dine on delightful focaccia sandwiches. The pesto chicken in mine pairs nicely with the added avocado. Green on green. Tasty.

We walk some more, wandering in and around the Central Business District. Watching the locals. Watching the tourists. We stop in a funny souvenir shop to look for a plug adapter. We find ourselves immersed in rows of Uggs, koala keychains, over-the-top Outback hats and even a boxing kangaroo novelty pen. I box at Josh’s arm as he pays for the adapter.

We grab groceries and toiletries at the local Cole’s. (Cole’s! Like us!) We traverse back to the homestead with bags of goodies.

After a shower and a refresh, we head out again. Bronnie and Neil, our kind AirBnB hosts, are relaxing in the living room as we don our shoes. We chat with them about this and that. What to do in Melbourne. What we both like in travel. What our various experiences are with AirBnB – both travel and hosting. I keep reaching for the door handle. I keep getting pulled back into conversation.

We walk the streets of the CBD again, this time veering East toward Fitzroy Gardens. Green grass. Tall ancient trees. Old buildings from the 1800’s. History mixed with greenery. Our wanderings lead us up to some strange sights – a miniature Tudor town replica, a Fairie tree, and random fountains.

By now, the sun is setting and our stomachs are rumbling. We jut back Westward toward the plethora of restaurants. As we find one, we also find ourselves underdressed amongst the just-out-of-work diners clad in pin-stripe button ups, slacks and fancy shoes. We eat anyway – splurging on burrata, fresh pasta and wine. Cheers to our first night in Australia.

The wine abets gravity and pulls our eyelids closed involuntarily. Between blinks and sips, we decide to meander our way back to the homestead and fall quickly and heavily into bed.

La Fortuna: Cerro Chato

Today was the day for the hike. And wow, was I not prepared for it.

2 miles, they said. 2 miles up and 2 miles back. 2 hours up and 1 hour back.
Bring water.
Bring snacks.
Prepare to get muddy.

I'm never ready for a hike, actually. I'm always apprehensive about up.
Up is not my forte. Up is my grief. Up is my kryptonite.

But push on, I do. Push on, I always do.

And so we began.

We started by signing the book. The book that you sign when you leave and when you return. The book that they check at the end of the day to make sure no one's still up there. The book with emergency contact information.

And then there was the safety talk. The route description. The reminders. The warnings about snakes. The constant repetition: "Go at your own pace."

The info guide faced us in the right direction and we headed out and up.

The first bit was dirt road. Slight incline. Shaded. We ambled upward. We took pictures of the view.  At the first Vista Point, we stopped for a drink and took panoramas.

We continued and met the first group we would ultimately pass and be passed by multiple times during the morning. Two girls from Quebec. Stopping for a drink break. A friendly hello and a wave as we started up the steep incline.

The grade began to increase. And the terrain deteriorated. The worn mud roads had eroded from the rainy season, deep ruts cutting through the dense mud. Carving like a canyon.

"Small steps" became my mantra. Small steps and little breaks.
Step step step. Stop. Breathe.
Step step step.
Stop.
Breathe.

The sun was out in full force. We were passed by a red-haired freckle-faced girl from Germany. She hiked with determination. Large forceful steps. Sure-footed gait.

At a little past the halfway point there was a tree. (Oh, sweet respite!) We all ended up gathered there for a snack break. The Canadians chomped apples. The German, a protein bar. Josh and I noshed on dry dry cereal bars. We inhaled. We spoke of our separate journeys - what brought us here, where we'd been before. We shaded ourselves from the heat. We exhaled.

And then, we trudged on.
Step step step. Stop. Breathe.

Here began the jungle. Shielding us from the sun, the canopy enveloped us in its lush greenery. Trapping us in the humidity.

The path became stairs. Stairs carved in mud. Stairs formed from roots. Stairs unevenly spaced. Little stairs for munchkins. "Giant stairs for giant people!" I'd exclaim from time to time. And we took them one by one. Alternating dominant legs. Using arms as simple machines. Distributing weight. Spreading out the work on what would ultimately be sore muscles the next morning.

Slip sliding in the mud. Josh extending a hand from time to time. Giving me a boost on the occasional mammoth stairs for mammoth people. Near the top, we finally started seeing people on their way down.

"You're almost there," is one of the most patronizing things you can say to a hiker going up.
"Just twenty more minutes," is both devastating in how long that seems. Is cruel in the fact that, in truth, it's gonna be way more than that.

But we made it. And at the top, we were treated with a picturesque view of the volcano, peaking shyly out behind a screen of gentle clouds. We ate it in. We drank in our surroundings as we simultaneously gulped the air-temperature water our bodies craved.

But were we done? No, no. For there was the lagoon to reach. The lagoon nestled in the crater of Cerro Chato. And from the looks of the folks returning from that direction, it was gonna get muddy.

We began the climb down an almost vertical grade. It was slick with mud. The trees we used as handholds wet as if rain was pouring that very moment. We slipped. We slid. We clambered down and under branches, roots, and rocks.

But we made it again. This time to the tiny shores of the lagoon. Surrounded on all sides by deep green rainforest. Steep sides framed the aquamarine lake. Josh jumped in the crisp chilly water and I waded. Taking it in. Savoring in the serenity.

When we finally had our share -- rested up, filled our bellies, quenched our thirst -- we commenced the journey back. Up and up the lagoon's sheltering walls. Then down, down, down the same erratic stairs was had trudged up.

"You're almost there," we tried to encourage the few we met almost at the top. The irony didn't even phase me.

Our knees ached at the downward trek. But it was faster. And we were pulled by gravity toward the bottom. Back toward our temporary home.

When we finally reached the cool tile of the tiki bar, I shed my wet shoes and walked barefoot to the room. With a quick rinse, I re-donned my swimsuit and we both jumped joyfully into the pool. Where we waded. Floated. And rested.

We had made it.

La Fortuna: Dancing on Tables

We spent our weekdays at the Lodge. Josh working; conference calls, spreadsheets, meetings. I used the internet to connect with friends. I started (and finished) reading the graphic novel series, Runaways. We lazed in the sun. And, on rainy days, we hid in our room with Netflix.

On Thursday, we decided to grab a drink at the tiki bar. We sat by the barfly nestled on his corner stool. He was from Atlanta, he told us. But that was merely where he got his mail. He chuckled. He was on the road ten months of the year. This winter, Costa Rica. Next Spring, unknown. 

The bartender got us a couple cold beers.

"Plus two shots of rum," Josh smiled. So we shot them. And chased them with the ice cold bubbly Imperial. The carbonation tickled down my throat. 

"And we heard that you could get us pizza," he added. As if this was a feat. ...but, as we were an $8 taxi ride from town, it was sort of a big deal.

"Si," he confirmed and got out his cell. He asked us what toppings and we struggled for a bit trying to convey we wanted sausage. He thought we meant pepperoni. Nope. Hamburger? No, not that either. We settled on what we thought was cheese, pepperoni and hamburger. He called it in and we began the wait.

After the sun dipped below the horizon and the darkness crept in, the man at the end of the bar retreated. "Back to the Rancho," he waved as he left. 

On the next set of beers, a group joined the bar. Three women to our left, one replacing the still warm stool of the Georgian. Two men to our right. 

The two women on the right, a couple from Minnesota. One of the men on the left, their friend from (school? work?). The other woman on the left, his sister. And the last man on the right, a friend from Minnesota. 

After more beers and more shots, the bartender let us play DJ and we started queuing up funny YouTube sensations. Psy was there. What Does the Fox Say? You name it. And just when I had forgotten we were even having pizza for dinner, it arrived.  Still warm, thin crust, and delicious smelling. We opened the box for the surprise of the night. Ham and mushrooms! Ha! No hamburger, no pepperonis..but ham and mushrooms. Famished, we wolfed it down, sharing a slice or two with the bartender and his girlfriend.

Their shifts were over so they packed up and wished us good night, leaving us full reign of the stereo. We brought out the wine and liquor we had in our rooms and continued our own bar. 

Our Tica contingency added 80's Costa Rican pop to the mix. She showed us the steps and we line danced to some of the hits. Then came Journey. The Kareoke video version with the words highlighted as if we didn't know every last one of them.

The boy from Minnesota started taping us for a video he was compiling. Josh was up on the bar. Laughing. Dancing.

And when the last of our box wine had been drunk, we headed back to the room. Bid adios to our Midwestern friends and slept. 

Cool Breeze

The sun was high. Hot. The cloudless day teased us with its lack of shade.

We both were wet with sweat. Backs warm with the reminder of the packs we had just shouldered on the long uphill climb. Our skin covered in a thin layer of dust. Attempts to wipe it off resulted in small dark smears.

In the distance, we could hear a vehicle approaching. The crunch of the gravel road. The low sound of the motor. I squinted in anticipation at the spot where the car would soon appear.  We stuck our thumbs out in tandem.

The silver mud-covered SUV crested the hill and rolled into sight, rocking like a boat on choppy water, avoiding the many potholes marking the road. We donned our friendliest smiles. Slid our sunglasses over our eyes to shield us from the upcoming mini dust storm to be kicked up by the vehicle that ultimately, like the last one, would pass us by.

The driver peered at us through his windshield. His passenger gave a flick-of-the-wrist wave. And they drove on.

The heat enveloped us. The humidity like a blanket.

Two German Shepard pups -- brothers -- noisily hopped out of the nearby riverbed, splashing, biting each other in play. Both covered in water. Mud.

He glanced at his watch to check the time. The sun reflected brightly off its face.

I sighed. Defeated. Waiting.

Then.. We heard it before we felt it.
The trees in the distance hinted with their rustling leaves. Their swaying promised respite.

It was slow at first. A slight breeze that barely cooled the neck beneath my hair. And it stopped after barely a few seconds. I sighed, resigned to heat.

But, lo. It blessed us again with its glorious presence. More prolonged. Invigorating.

It brushed our skin with its coolness. It blew strands of hair from my sweltering forehead. Like that first refreshing sip of ice cold water after a long thirst. The kind you can feel as you drink it. The way you can follow its chill as it hits your mouth, slowly melts down your quenched throat and then settles, happy, in your contented belly.

It covered us head to toe. Like a new blanket. A blanket of relief. Soothing. Cool.

And suddenly, for just those few minutes I wasn't even aware of the road. The ride we needed. The sun. The dust. The sweat.

Suddenly, for that brief moment, I took the time to appreciate a cool summer breeze.

Walking.

Walking, to me, is reflecting.
Exercising.
Exploring.

Gaining a new vantage.
Getting a new perspective.

Finding greenery in the midst of the concrete jungle.

Finding beauty in the everyday.

Appreciating the warmth in the fog that envelopes me.

Stairs.

Yesterday began with a disastrous potato salad.

Josh, Goober and I sat on the porch with the sun on our backs and a smoothie between us, when suddenly, I realized the potatoes had been boiling too long. A salvage attempt was made but my mood was still sour.

To remedy this, a destination was picked and a walk began.
Objective: Golden Gate Heights. 4 miles and 760 feet elevation gain.
Strapped on a new pair of shoes to break in, grabbed water and a sweater. And we were off!

I guess I should have guessed by the MapMyWalk that I was going to be headed uphill. .. But, as we walked up 24th, the grade of the street kept catching me off guard. By the last block before we reached Market, I had to stop twice within a block to catch my breath and take in the views.

The walk took a twist. We snaked under, around and up to get to Market.

Market morphed to Portola and we followed them both, mirroring traffic, gaining elevation. Step after step, we traversed the saddle of Twin Peaks.

We left Sutro Tower behind us.

Above this crest, we were treated to a whole new section of the city. Everything got a little more suburban. There was space. There were driveways. There were yards.  Hell, we even saw this place that looked straight out of a movie -- discarded play bike turned over and left on the grass.

More steps, more incline, more up.

We made it now to a beautiful wooded area of SF. I marveled over and over that we were still in the city limits. The trees were large, old and looming. The streets winding. I got lost in the getting lost.

Then, as we turned a corner, we were greeted by a man and his Labrador. The pup was too excited to be there, tugging and pulling at his leash. Dog controlling owner. 

And we were there.

Beautiful, forested. Full of great vistas, shady benches and friendly dogs.

With a stop for a little bit of swinging, we pushed on a bit farther to what we learned was Grand View Park.  They weren't kidding when they named it!

And, as we descended the hill, we were treated to one final surprise. From our vantage, we saw many people taking photos on the stairs we were descending. It seemed curious, but not unusual.

Only when we turned around, did we discover the city's last present to us.

All in all, I am once again thankful that I live in a city that surprises me on a daily basis.

Thank you, San Francisco!

SLO.

I am becoming more and more enamored of San Luis Obispo.

Last weekend, Josh and I had a rare 3 days off together.  We decided to pack up and get out of the city for a while.

SLO was the perfect destination -- only 3 to 4 hours south, sunny and chock-full of beaches, wineries and fun distractions!

First stop: Avila Beach! Sunny and beautiful little town by the water. Of course, being from SF, we neglected to pack sandals.. Oops. :)

Spent the night at Morro Bay Campsite.  Kind of crazy car camping experience.  Lots of loud children and lost elderly people.  We were also treated to a heated argument in the early morning.

And, because they are so plentiful in the area, we winery hopped throughout the weekend.  Beautiful views, lovely service and tasty wines!!

Foreigner in Your Own Land.

(Day 25: Something Someone Told You About Yourself That You'll Never Forget - Good or Bad)

Mine was more of a question.

So.. to set the stage: We were in the Philippines. Josh and I were both four years younger than we are today. We were both unemployed. Both devoid of possessions. Both halfway around the world from "home."

We had been traveling in Southeast Asia for the past three or so months. We were getting weary. We were getting tired.

This particular morning, we were on the island of Guimaras and we were in search of a waterfall. Directions were scarce and confusing and we found ourselves miles in the wrong direction. Exhausted and defeated, we caught a trike back to town. The trike was already occupied by the principal of the local school and we shared the ride with her.

As we rode, the inevitable question of my heritage came up. I explained the tried-and-true story: born in Manila, adopted at four days old, moved to the States when I was two and bunny-hopped around the U.S. all throughout childhood. She asked about our visit to my homeland and I described my desire to at least see, to explore, to feel the land where I was born. I relayed how this was my first "true" visit back. 

"So you're a foreigner in your own land?" she inquired.

And that phrase has stuck with me forever. I feel like it describes me to a T. Somehow part and not part of a place I call "home."

A foreigner in my own land.

Exploring.

(Day 6: Without answering with your job, how would you answer the question, "What do you do?")

What do I do? ..  
Hmm.. What do I do..?

I'd like to say .. I explore.

I try to do this as often as possible.. Though, maybe, some weeks are less exploratory than others.

While I haven't been out of the country in quite some time.. and, to be honest, only out of California a few times in the last a year .. my goal lately has been to explore our City as much as possible in the free time that I have. 

With the weather turning, Josh and I have taken to the heights of SF. There are so many untouched hills around us that have been preserved as parks which we can hike to the top of and soak in the Bay area. 

Take such examples:

Haight to Heights -- 5.5 miles, two peaks: Buena Vista (575 ft) and Corona Heights (520 ft)
A pretty walk with a nice stop in Hayes Valley for brunch and then two peaks I had never previously known of before. Lovely views of the city.

Almost to Twin Peaks -- 3.8 miles, two peaks: Tank Hill (650 ft) and Kite Hill (unknown height)
Feel like you might want to almost hike Twin Peaks but want to avoid tourists and cars and whatnot?  Great vista points and no bumping elbows!

Trusty Bernal -- 3.8 miles, 1.5 peaks: Holly Park (274 ft) and Bernal Heights (433 ft)
This is the standard everyday hill hike. The most bang for your buck: close and pretty steep. Plus, the most amazing views of everywhere in the city. Adding in Holly Hill adds distance and a new vantage. Worth it.

So.. I strive to explore not only my own city as the year slips by.. but hopefully more of the country and eventually (please sooner rather than later) more outside our borders.

long time, no update

yesterday was another beautiful example of why i love living in this city.

started the day off visiting fort point with vanessa. it's one of those random places that you wouldn't normally think of visiting.. but is really nice to check out once you're there. also, as a random bonus, there was a band dressed up in old military uniforms playing music in the middle of the fort.

the weather was sunny and pleasant all day.

saturday was also the brides of march. a conglomerate of men and women dressed in bridal attire hitting up stores and bars.

"BEWARE THE BRIDES OF MARCH!"

by the bay...

josh met up with me downtown this week after an early interview and we headed to embarcadero to check out the ferry building and some random sculpture i'd always driven by but never explored.

the city is so full of random things to see and do and i wonder why so many people that have lived here all their lives never take advantage of it.

what is the word for when you live somewhere so long that you take it for granted?
i wanted to say 'complacency' .. but that doesn't mean what i thought it meant.

i really hope to take this city in to its fullest.
and i hope that if i end up living here for a long time, i don't forget that.

we went to the golden gate bridge with a friend from madison after hitting up the embarcadero and he remarked quite a few times,
"it's a beautiful city."

and all i could do was just smile and agree.

adventures in the east bay.

one sunny saturday afternoon, beth and i decided to take a trip to the east bay to attend an event where we got to be the judges for a cupcake bake off! we visited this lovely place called rock, paper, scissors and ate some delicious cupcakes (my favorite -- the vegan lemon strawberry one -- ended up winning too!).

after, we decided to make most of our day on the other side of the bridge, so we had lunch in berkely as this vegetarian chinese place (the fake-chicken sesame was decidedly good). in addition, we went to this converted landfill which is now a lovely park with old art sculptures littered around the many random pathways. beth and her old band, acne attack!, actually played a show there a year or so ago and i was amazed that they lugged all their equipment on the long narrow rocky paths. we found a weird castle, some cool sculptures and even their old graffiti!















from here, across the water we could see these massive kites and we went on a mission to find out what they were. dodging traffic and navigating only by the tails of these kites, we finally made it to the marina where we got to witness the large squid kites up close and personal. the weather was perfect, sunny and very conducive to a lawnfull of kite flyers. we sat and watched before it was time to head home.







all in all, an afternoon well spent.