Barcelona, Spain

You know that thing that happens after "Red punch buggy no punch back!", how suddenly you see red bugs everywhere? I wonder if this is what's going with me and Barcelona. It seems like everyone I meet: old, new, or virtual is visiting Catalonia for this city. And of course they are. Because when I finally went with my family, friend, and cousin, it made sense why I was there with everyone else's family, friend, and cousin.

Barcelona is pretty hot and sexy.

Meat market

Meat market

Staten Island, NY

When people complain, I listen. And once that last drop of whine wine has been poured and had, I, wanting to help, may suggest an alternative as a solution. Often it's from my catalog of experiences, so-and-so accounts, or 'why nots'. So when a New York City resident carped about lack of space, rising rents, and noise to me, I said,"What about Staten Island?" In response they gave me the look that yells, "Have you NOT been listening to me?!?"

"What?! The ferry is so fast! My cousin used to live there and loved it. And my old boss bought a Victorian there."

I thought for certain they would entertain the idea when I said that rare word in urban speech, 'bought', but the conversation ended. Though I'm sure the wine was poured elsewhere...

Toronto, Canada

Toronto is great. Sade is greater. I suppose this is what happens when you listen to her for three days straight, your conscious and subconscious can't think of anything else besides her lyrics. "How was your holiday?" "Every day is Christmas, and every night is New Year's Eve!" "What are you doing for New Year's?" "Oh, finding the one who rules the way I move." ("The Sweetest Taboo" and "Cherish The Day" if you're curious.) Sadly, those weren't my spoken replies because I censor this type of shit all the time -- WHY?! Something to work on in the new year? I think so. Now that we've established the higher order of my brain currently, I can finally explain what makes Toronto great. It's one of those rare cities where it doesn't feel like everyone is "sick and tired of scratchin' a livin'".

Bermuda

Well, that felt weird. Writing only one word for the title of this post. For a split second, I had a fancy to write Bermuda, Bermuda though there's no city or parish named Bermuda in Bermuda. Hold up, you say. Parish?? Yes, my fellow Americans, parish is not part of our modern geography nomenclature due to our political divisions. We have villages, towns, counties, cities, districts, and states, but no parish (unless you live in Louisiana because they're cool like that). However, we did back in "The British are coming!" days, a subtle clue about Bermuda and her nine parishes.

Nine coat of arms

Nine flowers of Bermuda

Nazaré, Portugal

When you've hiked in a rainless rainforest and rode through the rain in the desert, "truths" that have anything to do with nature are filtered through salt in your mind. Declarations like, "It's always sunny there!" are purified of hidden fallacies: "What you really mean is, 'It's usually sunny there.'" "If you're going to be all technical about it...yeah." Yes, I am going to be technical. Down to the exact foot. I wanted to know how high the waves rose in Nazaré.

"30 meters!!"
"Umm..Imma Amurican."
"About a hundred feet!"
"Holy shit?! I can't wait!!"

"Wow..."
"Is this the right beach??"
"It is...I've never seen the ocean this calm here..."

ANGLE ON: American slapping her forehead.

So explains this picture of a picture of a 100-foot wave...

Charlottesville, VA

A friend once told me, "I don't need to write down my stories, they're all in mind. By remembering them, I edit them naturally." There's greatness in his method, but also a tragedy. His stories may never materialize. As much as I love lists in my daily life, I don't go by one when deciding where to visit next. I use his method and faith. Faith that somehow, without much coercion on my part, I'll materialize there. (Looks like I should impart the same faith in him.)

I had learned of Jefferson's Monticello years before my visit and had wanted to visit with a gusto that puzzled my colleague, "You do??"
"Yeah! He's like me, an artist with a day job." Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.


"Umm...the admission is $25. I don't want to pay $25 to make a dead white slave-owner richer. You should go, you've been wanting to see his home for a while."
"My god, you're totally right. No, let's try to sneak in. Worst case, we walk around the grounds."

Monticello is up there somewhere

Washington D.C.

In roughly one month two different people jumped over the White House fence. Before you go bat shit crazy rattling off labels, let me explain why this act isn't something you or I aren't capable of. 

Politics doesn't have to be your cup of tea for D.C. to charge you right on up like a unidirectional flow of electric charge produced by batteries. (Yes, some read DC and they think of the band. Some actually read it as District of Columbia. And some socially hapless fools, think of batteries.) While the rest of the country reads, watches, or listens to the morning news as the inanimate objects which distribute it, in D.C. you are a person with a voice and don't give a damn if the only one to hear it 7 o'clock in the morning is a thing. So when you step out into the world emblazoned and happen to walk by the White House with an easily surmountable fence, that 7 o'clock rabble-rouser is yelling, "Jump over it! And ask the President what the hell is going on?!?" But, you don't. Suddenly something catches your eye...

Nashville, TN

Once upon a time, we travelled through a city called Nashville.

We walked around the Parthenon, and thought, in Nashville?!

Nara, Japan

One of the largest Daibutsus in Japan and I were going to have a heart to heart today, this much I was willing to bet. It was Tuesday, cloudy, the tail end of the tourist season, and 8 am. Most likely the UNESCO sites wouldn't be mine all mine, yet probabilities reassured me that my odds were better than luck.

Alas, the world continues to guarantee why I'd rather spend a dollar on a Taco Bell bean burrito instead of a Power Ball (current jackpot if you're curious) Quick Pick. This was the crowd at 9 am folks, 9 am?! Little girl, you seem as perplexed as I. Are you too wondering why your parents aren't at work?

Athens, Greece

UPDATE: Athens has officially redeemed itself ten times over. Not only did the state department returned my pickpocketed wallet after three years, they contacted me for my current mailing address when it was returned to them the first time around. Who does this during austerity measures?! Wow, simply wow. Of course, this necessitates an edit to my rating of three anchors to five.

Dear Athens,

I write you a letter because I care. Okay, I'll admit, a part of me wants to complain, how though when you have bigger problems to worry about. As your lives are whittled away, it's understandable why I met stone faces and saw what you really thought of my like. I too would tell a lost tourist "I don't know" and turn around when I no longer recognize my city as my own. But how I silently wept when I saw your frustrations scrawled on prized relics. Is your anger that dispassionate? Perhaps not because thankfully the Parthenon hasn't been vilified yet -- wait a minute -- yet?? I'm worried, aren't you? 

Then again, I reminiscence of fig gelatos, verdant olive oil, and of course, feta. Oh, feta. A love for their city and its splendors can't be too far behind as long as Athenians take pride in their cuisine. So dear Athens, please don't bury Athena. More for your sake and less for mine.

Sincerely,

A typically hopeful American tourist

Kalaat M'Gouna, Morocco

The chap who painted "Kalaat M'Gouna Valley of Roses" on the tin shutter barely lit by a dangling bulb near our bus drop-off, knew exactly what he was doing. Though we arrived in the middle of the night, it was clear that few locals spoke French let alone English. Yet, there it was, "Valley of Roses" in English. Courting the hearts of every American female raised on Disney and Valentine's. No matter how often I hear "Valentine's is so commercial" or "Disney is so sexist", mention roses to such a gal and she turns into putty even if she doth protest the rose. Give her a bouquet and you'll never have to wonder the difference between happy and slaphappy.

The town was a rest-stop rather than a destination for us, once I read that ad however, Valley of Roses?? I have to come back. (I'm sure you can surmise why... )

Selçuk, Turkey

As the day of love nears, I feel like professing my love for the Japanese Tour Group wouldn't be misplaced. Oh, Japanese Tour Group, I love how in your own country you're a reserved bunch, yet so unabashed with your curiosity and antiseptic accessories everywhere else. Those times we lock eyes on a sardined New York City subway, I'm reminded how brilliant you really are, I wish I had some surgical white gloves on right about now. And the time I longingly looked at you from afar in Ephesus, You guys would have umbrellas in this god awful I'm-about-to-faint heat. So Japanese Tour Group, one day I will join one of your tours even if the only phrases I know in Japanese are "Excuse me" and "Water please". I love you!

Santorini, Greece

So last week I celebrated my blogging anniversary (first one!) by not writing a single word. Even after 41 posts, it still takes me days to write three or four paragraphs. Oh, fear not, I too wonder if keeping this thing alive is a good idea, but fortunately (or unfortunately), I'm old enough to know that often the journey for a love has some grit. Making every milestone feels like Oz.

I suppose this is why I have yet to set foot on a cruise ship*. The journey is too perfect, robbing the destination of its charming idiosyncrasies in my opinion. Any port-of-call town will have lamentable customer service if Celebrity Cruises is giving you "The Celebrity Treatment" day and night. Still, if you find something to carp about Santorini, well then, you're just a stodgy Scrooge I'm sorry to say. The only thing you should be complaining about are your moored eyes...

Arfoud, Morocco

It's here folks, a new year. In light of my teenage sister telling me "Leave your opportunities open!", I was reminded of a line from a Shel Silverstein poem, "Anything can happen, child, anything can be". That's the beauty of beginnings, they herald hope, chance, and moments that make you say or write, "Holy shit!!"

Riding on top of this fellow, it was more of a Holy. Effin'. Shit. like moment because I was freezing my ass off. You read that right, I was freezing in the Sahara Desert. It was pouring, it was gusty, and I was cold as hell. I was so cold I yelled to my friend, "I think I have frostbite!" Bless her. What I should've yelled was "It's raining in the Sahara Desert?!? ... It's raining in the Sahara Desert -- holy shit!!"

He sounded like Scobby

Storm clouds above water logged dunes...

Bodrum, Turkey

Oh, the fun we'll have tonight*. A post on Turkey a day before Thanksgiving -- the innumerable puns! As much as I love a good 'ole word play, I didn't notice the stars aligning when I was deciding which city to write about last week. And somehow I also failed to notice the stars for this year's alignment of Thanksgivukkah. Latkes instead of mashed potatoes? How I wish I was dating a nice Jewish boy right about now. But forget wishes, this holiday is about thanks. So with that: thanks to the heavens which orchestrated our detour; thanks to the ill-fated events leading up to our detour; and above all, thanks to my friend who continually feeds my curiosity with crazy detours in numerous ways.

See, we were supposed to spend two weeks in Greece. After a week, we found ourselves headed towards Bodrum, Turkey. 

Delphi, Greece

I hate packing. After the first half an hour you'll find yourself wondering why you have a certain item to begin with. An hour later you're sitting on a heap of clothes tearing up over old letters. Disgusted by the time you've wasted, you vow to be more efficient and aim to finish packing before midnight-- but it's 11pm and you just started cleansing your chakras (or insert the latest New Age term for getting rid of old shit here)! There are people who can pack for an entire family in a couple of hours (e.g. my mom, I have to observe her more closely), but I know they're not the majority. Now, what gets me really riled about my packing equation? I don't even have a lot shit in the first place. My entire set of things does not equal to universal set. Ooph, I need to stop this rant. I'm beginning to reference Set Theory from Math...

So naturally, instead of packing the night before my flight to Greece, I spent most of my time looking for an old freshman history notebook where I had written, "Visit here one day!" in the margin of my notes on Delphi. A vagrant thought given my circumstances then, and consequently, it held no expectations. I wrote it to laugh, and I did. Especially with that dorky exclamation mark.

Delphi still didn't seem possible upon arriving, especially the way our first stop, Athens, was wringing us. But when we finally made it, the happiness I felt came from the bowels of being. Holy freakin' shit, I can't believe I'm here. 

National Parks, NM

Yes, you're noticing a pattern. I resort to my National Park posts when life is obstinate, forgive me. I can't believe I only wrote two posts last month. Two! That's pathetic. I'm trying to make up for it like my sleep. And to continue the candid nature of this conversation I'm having with myself*, I'll tell you how I learned of White Sands National Monument. Umm... I was kind of obsessed with this song when I was fourteen. Oh yes, a lifelong Boyz II Men fan up in this joint.

National Parks, WY

Nearly 50% of Wyoming is owned by the federal government. Learning this new piece of information, I wondered, who can be a Republican after visiting Wyoming? Big government can't be all that bad if a small portion of our landscape still looks and feels like a sepia-tinted photograph.

Grand Teton National Park

Port-au-Prince, Haiti

Awww, they're sharing the same twig. Sweet, no? I chose this picture as my first picture for a reason. I'm hoping it supplants the preconditioned images you might have of Port-au-Prince.

National Parks, TN

Sometimes I wonder if my aura is a vagrant cloud influencing the climate around me. When I went to the Sahara desert, it rained. When I went to the Hoh rainforest, it was dusty. And when I went to the Smoky Mountains National Park, I was tempted to light up a cigarette to capture the quintessential Smoky Mountain picture. You know the one, with sinuous fog and mirage-like mountains. I suppose this picture will do until another visit...

Of course, I'm being sarcastic. I was ecstatic the jeweled leaves weren't shrouded in the usual mist. The prismatic fall light of the northeast is incomparable.