Friday the 13th...

Not all Friday the 13th's are bad. I didn't get affected by the giant power outage across LA and it's the eve of my big trip! After an exhausting week of work, prepping for my trip, and endless errands, I managed to deliver two projects this week, finish almost all my packing, and even had time for a massage and hanging with Wavy today when she visited my work for our bi-monthly friends and family lunch.

Of course, physically I am a mess. Exhausted from stress and lack of sleep, pale and unhealthy, and scatter-brained. This must be the worst I've ever been in terms of not returning calls and emails. If you don't hear from me for awhile, hopefully it's not because I've been gored by a rhino. I'm leaving Sat evening for Africa and France. Not sure how the internet will be out on safari or whether I'll have time to blog here, but hopefully I will be reading all three of my books, writing in my journal and seeing lots of amazing things. Till Cinco de Mayo...

An Anniversary of Sorts

A ten year anniversary - since I got my first adult passport and started traveling on my own! Dingbat me, I just realized yesterday that my passport expired last month, a day after I bought my trip tickets for April. Thank goodness they can expedite those suckers in 2 weeks, though for double the price.

Ten years ago, I saw Paris for the first time with my best friend. Ten years later, I'll be going again alone, after I hit South Africa with my new friend, Clancy, one of my more inspirational friends who motivated me to run the half marathon. I can't wait. Maybe I'll even climb the Eiffel Tower and Arc de Triomphe again just for old times sake.

Bye Bye Love...

I never thought it would happen, but I've fallen out of love. It took me awhile to understand why this last visit felt different but then I realized I'm no longer infatuated with the city of San Francisco.

It was a long affair that lasted over a decade. From the time I was 19, I've migrated up north at least once a year, always visiting friends and trying to see something new in the city every time. I had pipe dreams of uprooting myself to live in the city and work for Pixar or ILM. My closest friends from nearly every stage of life lived up there and I would take turns staying with different ones on each visit.

I've helped various friends move up there in a UHaul, helped them move back years later, taken a certain redheaded boy up there for the first time and walked across the Golden Gate Bridge together, realized months later none of it meant a thing, watched the seals at Pier 39 half a dozen times, got dressed up to go dancing with friends, cried in Marin County when a friend scolded me, snapped foggy panoramic pictures of the whole city from Alcatraz (still taped together on my wall today), screamed in the city streets when Turtle finally waved her engagement ring in my face, went to a spa for the first time with girl friends, enjoyed Napa Valley many times, met many friends' boyfriends, only half of which became their future husbands, and finally endured each friend, one by one, moving out of the city and into the suburbs as they got married, bought homes, had kids and said goodbye to the past.

San Francisco makes me sad now, like watching Peter Pan trying to coax a maturing Wendy back to Neverland. I guess I missed the boat in living up there in my twenties. I can't go back to those fun days - it's actually an endeavor to drive into the city from any of their homes - and I feel childish and resentful that I'm too old to play and enjoy the city like I used to. Yet, I feel too young to settle down like everyone else. So instead, I blame the city for my anguish and associate the hazy nostalgic memories with a place. I've lost the never ending urge to see and be with the city and wonder how long I'll manage the avoidance. Good bye San Francisco, at least for now. We had some great times and I sure will miss you. But until I make peace with myself, it's definitely not you, it's me.

Vegas, Baby, Vegas

This is the only picture I took in Vegas this weekend, sunset outside the Primm outlet mall, as the cars from Los Angeles crossed the Nevada border.

It was a low key, yet interesting trip to visit a couple friend of mine. The husband was a trusted work friend, my daily coffee buddy and work confidante. His wife was a cool girl friend I could watch chick flicks with. We barely had anything in common with completely opposite upbringings and personalities, but we complemented each other and shared the same sense of loyalty and stubborn dislike of injustices, being Libras and all. She was the one that would try to get me drunk every time, but also the one that would always keep an eye on me, keep me safe, ward off any strange men, and make sure I had a good time without getting too sick by the time they dropped me off at home.

They lived a block away and often invited me over for dinner and a movie. He called me his stunt double when I'd go out with his wife to attend all the free ballets she scored from work. It was almost what you'd call a perfect relationship amongst the three of us. So when they broke the news to me last year that they were moving to Vegas for her job, she asked "Are you mad at us? Will you ever talk to us again?"

The first thing they hit me with after flying in Friday night was "we have something to tell you." For the past few years whenever anyone says that to me, my first response is always "You're engaged." or "You're pregnant." Because really, what other big news in our age group warrants such an anticipatory announcement? But then she threw me off and stood up, as if she were going to walk off and fetch something to show me. So I said nothing. Then she unbuttoned her jeans and showed me her flat little tummy. Still I said nothing. (Trust me, you don't want to err on these assumptions.)

I looked back at her, thinking "well, my unpregnant stomach looks a hell of a lot bigger than her allegedly pregnant one. This sucks." I looked at the smiling couple again and said "No. No way." They kept beaming. And I was floored. Only a few months ago, she had confided that she was fairly confident they weren't going to have kids. And she responded "well, it was always going to be zero or two."

After luxuriously sleeping in till 11 the next morning (though waking up in the middle of the night anyway), we hit the outlet mall to buy her some new clothes. How surreal is it to help your friend buy tops that could work as regular tops and maternity wear? Especially when you're wearing those same types of tops because they're in style AND they hide that extra ice cream sundae or burger you've been eating. Another humbling moment.

Shopping wiped us out. And the way the desert that is Las Vegas saps every ounce of moisture from your body is unnerving. We were constantly drinking water and going to the bathroom every hour. We managed to see a very Vegas like musical comedy show Saturday night - Gordy Brown at the Venetian hotel. (Yay, it was free!) And we squeezed in the movie Pan's Labyrinth this afternoon. (What a beautiful, unique, creepy, and sad movie all in one! A must see.)

The best part of the weekend was knowing that these two are the only people who will give me no pressure to wake up by a certain time on the weekend nor stick to a strict schedule. We lounged, they cooked delicious meals for me like the good old days, and we sipped lattes from their fancy schmancy espresso machine that puts Starbucks and Coffee Bean to shame.

The bad part? Seeing how I was bigger than the pregnant woman, hungering every two hours like the pregnant woman, running to the bathroom and waking up during the night as much as the pregnant woman and often tired in between going out like the pregnant woman. Sympathy symptoms?

This trip will always be exciting and fun - going to Vegas and not spending the whole time on the strip for the first time, being one of the first few friends to know their secret and having to keep quiet to our mutual friends about it for another 6-8 weeks. BUT it's also the trip that marks the beginning of my first ever diet. A sad resignation to age and slowing metabolism, cutting back on my great love of SUGAR.

To put it into perspective of how difficult this is going to be, as a child, a relative once told me (incorrectly) that if I kept eating so much sugary things, I'd get diabetes and never be able to eat sugar again. And I stubbornly responded "I will die without sugar. I guess I'll just have to die then." Ironically, the fear isn't so much of death. It's the fear of being alive but constantly unhappy with myself that's going to drive me.

Where To Go... Where To Go...

Last week, I reminded my boss once again "I'm taking a vacation in spring!" No less than 3 weeks. It's the minimum to feel like you really shook off the work dust. Of course last time I traveled for 3 weeks, I gave a year's notice and reminded him every month - he still gave me flack about it when I got back.

Anyway, two different travel opportunities have been presented to me and I am torn where I want to go. One of them is a 9 day hike to Machu Pichu, leaving early April. The link is a sample itinerary but I'm guessing it approximates the amount of hiking and roughing it this trip will entail. Though you spend half the time in nice hotels and the other half in "full service camping" type haciendas, my idea of a vacation usually does not involve "5-6 hours of daily strenuous hiking." This trip would be with some friends from my running group (very appropriate) and the idea of possibly losing weight on such an active vacation is somewhat enticing. On the same masochistic level of running. Did I mention we might get a discount from a friend of a friend?

On the other hand, my Bourgeoisy friend is planning a Caribbean cruise for May. This would be the polar opposite of the Machu Pichu trek. 9 days of wining and dining, sleeping and relaxing, reading, writing, shuffleboarding, gambling, snorkeling, and whatever other hedonistic things cruise goers do on the giant ship. Normally all of this would sound pretty nice but I'm wondering if I'll get bored. And claustrophobic. And above all, very very fat. But did I mention there is also a family and friend's discount on this one too?

Machu Pichu was one of the places on my list of places to go. But my idea of a vacation is still a mix of relaxing and eating while also walking around a city and exploring all day. I'm still keen on Spain and Portugal, dropping by Paris again. Or braving it to South Africa before the friends I met from there years ago forget me and I feel too inconsiderate to ask to stay with them.

Both trips are only 9 days long which means I have 12 extra days to go somewhere else before or after those trips, or split up the vacation days to go on a separate trip in the fall. My dilemma also lies in going on trips that aren't my first choices but with companions. Or going to places I really want to go and when I want to go but by myself. I haven't traveled with anyone in years. I miss having people to share those experiences with but wonder if I've gotten too independent. Either way, I'll have to decide soon!

My Favorite San Francisco Day

As much as I love my attentive friend in SF, my favorite time during the holiday visit was the morning they left me to wander the city alone for a few hours. Nothing feels more like a vacation than wandering around a city center, visiting museums and snapping pictures. They dropped me off at the San Francisco Shopping Center (above picture) before heading to church. I walked through the Yerba Buena Gardens where I saw this funny sculpture of a downed boat.


With the hour and a half I had before meeting up with another friend for lunch, I hit the MOMA the way I always do. I took the elevator to the top floor, starting with the feature exhibit of Anselm Kiefer and, and slowly made my way down. I passed through the Edward Weston and Tina Modotti photography exhibit, finishing down in the modern collections from the early 1900's. Sprinklings of Picasso, Matisse, Pollack and others I haven't heard of wrapped up the 2nd floor.


My only complaint - blank canvases passing as contemporary art. I may not understand all contemporary art, but I'd like to think I'm more openminded than most. I often get bored at art films in museums, but I understand what the artists aspire to convey. However, when an artist just paints a canvas all white, all blue, all whatever color they choose, that's just plain lazy. Anything that requires paragraphs of explanation and interpretation from the curator is trying too hard. I've seen various blank canvases in contemporary museums around the world and every time, I think "they've gotten so lazy or egotistical they think 'yup, this is enough.'" At least paint a circle in the middle of it. Or add some stripes. Anything.

This is the entrance to Macy's. To me, this is a cooler piece of art than any blank canvas.

Day 1 - Kona

As I flew in to Kona, the first thing I saw out the window was... Maui, which is only 30 miles away.

















As we were about to land, most of us thought, "where the hell are we going to land? It all looks like this. Volcanic crusty stuff." Then a road appeared. And a runway. Whew...