A beautiful ceremony, heartfelt toasts, great music, and a wild party -- the wedding was a fabulous melding of Joines, Veldman, and Aquila families! Congratulations, Brian and Ashely!!
Monday, August 3, 2009
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
What a delinquent!
I have been very remiss in posting to my blog. It is hard to find time when playing with friends and creating our own Tour de France (while chasing --at high speeds -- the real one) to sit down and write something halfway interesting, much less edit pictures for posting. Good lesson!
Tomorrow is my last full day in Europe -- I have some shopping to do, but will try to put up some of the 1000+ photos!
Oh, and by the way -- Sabbaticals ROCK. Totally and completely.
Tomorrow is my last full day in Europe -- I have some shopping to do, but will try to put up some of the 1000+ photos!
Oh, and by the way -- Sabbaticals ROCK. Totally and completely.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
A different prism for the Sagrada Familia
Learning about the fundamentals of mosaic art, my trip to Sagrada Familia focused my eyes on the cathedral's elements in a different way. Instead of ogling the immensity and complexity of the structure, I looked really closely at how the mosaics were structured, how tiles (or broken plates, or bottles with the corks still in them) were placed to trick the eyes into seeing something whole, or something sparkly, or something curvy.
The cathedral has lots of trencadis (broken tile) elements throughout the structure, mostly external now. Spires with piles of trencadis-covered fruits, huge textual elements, and mosaic rays of light became even more fascinating when trying to see the techniques used to make an "S," for example, or how they used color to create the appearance of "shine." It makes me even more excited to get home and try out some of the techniques.
It remains an amazing experience to be inside a structure of this magnitude while it is being built, or rather "formed," around you. Because there are so many curves, obtuse and acute angles, and non-standard elements, it seems the workers have to move slowly, keeping close tabs on each element, ensuring the puzzle pieces are catalogued, organized, and retrievable. I watched two metal workers on the new roof drawing and measuring angles for twisted and convex structural elements, and the enormity of their task made my head hurt. In comparison, the broken tile mosaics are a snap. We'll see if I still think that when I'm working on my own little pieces.
While the cathedral is indeed an impressive display of ingenuity, art, and construction talent, it became very clear to me while looking up at the ceiling with approximates of sun rays amidst a colonnade designed to mimic towering ancient forests that his supposed love of and emulation of nature in his work is in fact counter to nature. For all Gaudi's professed admiration of the natural world, the piles of lumber, the millions of tons of cement, the enormous amounts of stone and marble, all have severe negative consequences for his object of inspiration. Nature can't be captured by man without desecrating nature itself. Give me real ancient forests with real sunlight streaming through the real canopy for my inspiration any day.
The cathedral has lots of trencadis (broken tile) elements throughout the structure, mostly external now. Spires with piles of trencadis-covered fruits, huge textual elements, and mosaic rays of light became even more fascinating when trying to see the techniques used to make an "S," for example, or how they used color to create the appearance of "shine." It makes me even more excited to get home and try out some of the techniques.
It remains an amazing experience to be inside a structure of this magnitude while it is being built, or rather "formed," around you. Because there are so many curves, obtuse and acute angles, and non-standard elements, it seems the workers have to move slowly, keeping close tabs on each element, ensuring the puzzle pieces are catalogued, organized, and retrievable. I watched two metal workers on the new roof drawing and measuring angles for twisted and convex structural elements, and the enormity of their task made my head hurt. In comparison, the broken tile mosaics are a snap. We'll see if I still think that when I'm working on my own little pieces.
While the cathedral is indeed an impressive display of ingenuity, art, and construction talent, it became very clear to me while looking up at the ceiling with approximates of sun rays amidst a colonnade designed to mimic towering ancient forests that his supposed love of and emulation of nature in his work is in fact counter to nature. For all Gaudi's professed admiration of the natural world, the piles of lumber, the millions of tons of cement, the enormous amounts of stone and marble, all have severe negative consequences for his object of inspiration. Nature can't be captured by man without desecrating nature itself. Give me real ancient forests with real sunlight streaming through the real canopy for my inspiration any day.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Pride -- In the Name of Love
Today is the 40th Anniversary of Stonewall, and as Frank Rich said in today's NYT: "Gay Americans aren’t just another political special interest group. They are Americans who are actively discriminated against by federal laws." My neighborhood was the starting point for Barcelona's Gay Pride Parade in a overwhelmingly catholic country (73%) that recognizes the Jeffersonian concept of the necessity of separation of Church and State and has legalized same-sex marriage. Last year, 3% of all marriages in Barcelona were same-sex couples. While of course discrimination and prejudice has not disappeared, the parade and party felt particularly joyful -- it was the first Pride parade in the city, and caps off a week of festivities.
There were families, freaky people, beautiful people, non-freaky people, old, young, gay, straight, and lots of dancing! I positioned myself at the point where two streets diverged to get some good shots of the "floats" and the parade. They were supposed to go down Calle Sepulveda, but people started lining up on Sant Antonio, until there were a couple thousand people standing on the sides of the wrong street. Oh, well! So the police just changed the route, and they headed down Sant Antonio, instead. The parade scene was so wonderfully chaotic. There was really no separation between the crowd and the parade: people just filled in all the spaces between the "floats," which were basically buses and cars filled with people dancing. What a riot! It really was a party. I was standing next to three really nice guys that I started talking with, they gave me a beer, and we toasted to the beautiful day and the beautiful feeling of peace and acceptance. Visca Catalunya!
After the last float passed (amazing Brazilian samba drums), how could I not join in and follow the parade, dancing with Spaniards and Catalans in celebration of freedom and love?
There were families, freaky people, beautiful people, non-freaky people, old, young, gay, straight, and lots of dancing! I positioned myself at the point where two streets diverged to get some good shots of the "floats" and the parade. They were supposed to go down Calle Sepulveda, but people started lining up on Sant Antonio, until there were a couple thousand people standing on the sides of the wrong street. Oh, well! So the police just changed the route, and they headed down Sant Antonio, instead. The parade scene was so wonderfully chaotic. There was really no separation between the crowd and the parade: people just filled in all the spaces between the "floats," which were basically buses and cars filled with people dancing. What a riot! It really was a party. I was standing next to three really nice guys that I started talking with, they gave me a beer, and we toasted to the beautiful day and the beautiful feeling of peace and acceptance. Visca Catalunya!
After the last float passed (amazing Brazilian samba drums), how could I not join in and follow the parade, dancing with Spaniards and Catalans in celebration of freedom and love?
Saturday, June 27, 2009
The Classes Begin
My classes with mosaic artist Martin Brown are just what I was hoping for: learning the fundamentals of working with glass and tile, down to how to most efficiently hold the tools. It is both easier and much much more difficult than I imagined. I'm finding cutting the glass and tile to fit my design to be pretty easy, but then I barely know what I'm doing, so I could be completely fooling myself. The design and artistry of mosaics is still a complete mystery, however. There are so many different ways to make a shape, blend colors, form curves, fill a space, leave a space, not to mention the whole grouting mess. This is going to be fun.
The studio is in Martin's flat, with high ceilings and huge windows looking out over Calle Valencia, The "class" is Susan Stewart, an American ex-pat that came to Barcelona to teach ESL for a summer and never left, and me. Martin is a Brit that lived for years in Mexico City and fell in love with mosaic art there, and made it his artistic medium of choice. Our work table is surrounded by Martin's fabulous and intimidating works of mosaic art, which he uses frequently to illustrate concepts he's teaching, a very effective learning method for me.
The class has a nice flow of theory and practice. Writing that sentence, I just realized that the last "class" I took that involved this kind of art theory and practice was learning to weave years and years ago. I really shouldn't let so much time lapse between learning new ways of expression.
We are creating our pieces using glass, the same glass used for stained glass pieces. The design I chose is a little seascape with kelp and sea stars, with blue pieces creating a sense of water currents flowing. The sea stars have lots of tiny little fiddly bits of colored glass, so it's taking a long time to create the structure of the mosaic. But it's affording me the opportunity to use the tools a lot, to use different tools, and to think hard about how to make the puzzle pieces that fit in the puzzle of the design.
It is really really fun.
A surprising and joyful part of the class is Alfie, Martin's 7 month old Westie. Such a cutie, and such a lover. The sweet old man Bruno, a dachsund mix rescued from the streets of Mexico City, comfortably hides under a blanket, emerging a few times during the class to wag and bow with great peace and dignity. It's lovely.
The studio is in Martin's flat, with high ceilings and huge windows looking out over Calle Valencia, The "class" is Susan Stewart, an American ex-pat that came to Barcelona to teach ESL for a summer and never left, and me. Martin is a Brit that lived for years in Mexico City and fell in love with mosaic art there, and made it his artistic medium of choice. Our work table is surrounded by Martin's fabulous and intimidating works of mosaic art, which he uses frequently to illustrate concepts he's teaching, a very effective learning method for me.
 |
| From barcelona 6.09 |
The class has a nice flow of theory and practice. Writing that sentence, I just realized that the last "class" I took that involved this kind of art theory and practice was learning to weave years and years ago. I really shouldn't let so much time lapse between learning new ways of expression.
We are creating our pieces using glass, the same glass used for stained glass pieces. The design I chose is a little seascape with kelp and sea stars, with blue pieces creating a sense of water currents flowing. The sea stars have lots of tiny little fiddly bits of colored glass, so it's taking a long time to create the structure of the mosaic. But it's affording me the opportunity to use the tools a lot, to use different tools, and to think hard about how to make the puzzle pieces that fit in the puzzle of the design.
It is really really fun.
A surprising and joyful part of the class is Alfie, Martin's 7 month old Westie. Such a cutie, and such a lover. The sweet old man Bruno, a dachsund mix rescued from the streets of Mexico City, comfortably hides under a blanket, emerging a few times during the class to wag and bow with great peace and dignity. It's lovely.
 |
| From barcelona 6.09 |
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Park Guell and trencadis tiles
The tile work at Park Guell (and at Casa Battlo' and the Sagrada Familia) is why I'm here studying this art form.
The best laid plans......Part Two
Another lesson in adaptation. This one a little more difficult to absorb than the change of plans in Hawaii. (Wait-what? I was in Hawaii?!)
Two days before my scheduled arrival in Barcelona, Mark, my agent, sent an email saying the flat I spent literally months searching for that had the particular and peculiar elements of amenities and location I wanted, and had reserved and paid for in JANUARY had suffered a major water pipe break, and the living room and kitchen were flooded. Uninhabitable. Didn't know when it will be fixed. So Mark had found me another flat on Aribau, a few blocks away in the middle in the Eixample Esquerra.
I lost it.
I was angry, in complete disbelief, and not a little scared that I'd been duped and taken, and would arrive in Barcelona to find my money gone, with no place to stay. That's when Virginie and I went to the beach, took that quiet, long walk, and I thought about what her parents and others in France had been through in WWII, what the Spanish and Catalans had suffered through in the city I love, and what Iranians were braving right at this moment, and I calmed down. A lot. I wrote an email to Mark, deleted it, rewrote it so it wasn't quite so angry, but expressed my extreme displeasure and discomfort, and hit Send.
The next day, Mark responded with effusive apologies, and I felt a little better. Being in Port Lligat didn't hurt. I returned my car at the airport, hopped the train to town, and wheeled my red bag down Aribau to see what the fates had in store for me.
What awaited me was the wonderful Eduardo, a 72 year old Argentinian transplant that manages the flat I'm now in for the Ferrars, who live downstairs. While waiting for Mark to arrive, we had a spirited conversation about politics, fleeing Argentina, tango, George Bush and Barack Obama, and what it's like to live in Barcelona. The flat is really quite wonderful: it's a penthouse with a nice deck. It was built in the 20s, but looks like it has never been inhabited -- the woodwork and floors are gleaming, and the place is immaculate. Eduardo took me downstairs to meet the Ferrars, an elderly Catalan couple who immediately invited me to lunch, and whose warmth completely and wonderfully enveloped me. The perfect salve.
When Mark arrived, he offered to refund his fee AND give me a week at a beach-front apartment in Sitges. I declined his refund offer, but was happy to accept the week in Sitges. I think I'll have it during the week Liz and Steve are here, so we'll have both our town house and our beach house to play with.
My Arribau attico is only a block and a half from my mosaic class studio, a perfect commute. It is a minimum of an 8 minute walk to the nearest metro station, but there are 6 buses that go to practically every point in the city that stop on Aribau. It takes 20 minutes to walk to Plaza Catalunya and the old town. There are bars and restaurants on every corner and lining every block. It is a "locals" residential area, so I'm feeling more a part of the place than in any of the places I've stayed here in the past few years. It is also known as the "Gayxample,", and while Barcelona is a truly tolerant and welcoming town to all the freaky people of the world, it's nice to be in the center of a pretty exciting barrio.
In my four days here, I've put in about 25 miles of walking the neighborhoods (thanks, Google Walking Maps!), been to the beach, walked up Mont Juich, and wandered the Gothic Quarter. But more about those adventures later.
Now, I'm watching the sun set on the longest day of my sabbatical year. A seagull of chattering away on the roof next to me, and I'm feeling really good.
Two days before my scheduled arrival in Barcelona, Mark, my agent, sent an email saying the flat I spent literally months searching for that had the particular and peculiar elements of amenities and location I wanted, and had reserved and paid for in JANUARY had suffered a major water pipe break, and the living room and kitchen were flooded. Uninhabitable. Didn't know when it will be fixed. So Mark had found me another flat on Aribau, a few blocks away in the middle in the Eixample Esquerra.
I lost it.
I was angry, in complete disbelief, and not a little scared that I'd been duped and taken, and would arrive in Barcelona to find my money gone, with no place to stay. That's when Virginie and I went to the beach, took that quiet, long walk, and I thought about what her parents and others in France had been through in WWII, what the Spanish and Catalans had suffered through in the city I love, and what Iranians were braving right at this moment, and I calmed down. A lot. I wrote an email to Mark, deleted it, rewrote it so it wasn't quite so angry, but expressed my extreme displeasure and discomfort, and hit Send.
The next day, Mark responded with effusive apologies, and I felt a little better. Being in Port Lligat didn't hurt. I returned my car at the airport, hopped the train to town, and wheeled my red bag down Aribau to see what the fates had in store for me.
What awaited me was the wonderful Eduardo, a 72 year old Argentinian transplant that manages the flat I'm now in for the Ferrars, who live downstairs. While waiting for Mark to arrive, we had a spirited conversation about politics, fleeing Argentina, tango, George Bush and Barack Obama, and what it's like to live in Barcelona. The flat is really quite wonderful: it's a penthouse with a nice deck. It was built in the 20s, but looks like it has never been inhabited -- the woodwork and floors are gleaming, and the place is immaculate. Eduardo took me downstairs to meet the Ferrars, an elderly Catalan couple who immediately invited me to lunch, and whose warmth completely and wonderfully enveloped me. The perfect salve.
When Mark arrived, he offered to refund his fee AND give me a week at a beach-front apartment in Sitges. I declined his refund offer, but was happy to accept the week in Sitges. I think I'll have it during the week Liz and Steve are here, so we'll have both our town house and our beach house to play with.
My Arribau attico is only a block and a half from my mosaic class studio, a perfect commute. It is a minimum of an 8 minute walk to the nearest metro station, but there are 6 buses that go to practically every point in the city that stop on Aribau. It takes 20 minutes to walk to Plaza Catalunya and the old town. There are bars and restaurants on every corner and lining every block. It is a "locals" residential area, so I'm feeling more a part of the place than in any of the places I've stayed here in the past few years. It is also known as the "Gayxample,", and while Barcelona is a truly tolerant and welcoming town to all the freaky people of the world, it's nice to be in the center of a pretty exciting barrio.
In my four days here, I've put in about 25 miles of walking the neighborhoods (thanks, Google Walking Maps!), been to the beach, walked up Mont Juich, and wandered the Gothic Quarter. But more about those adventures later.
Now, I'm watching the sun set on the longest day of my sabbatical year. A seagull of chattering away on the roof next to me, and I'm feeling really good.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Chez Virginie
A thirty-year gap melted into a dew when I saw my dear friend Virginie Noel standing at her door in Talence, France. What a gift to see her, meet her daughters Gaetana and Eleanor, and share both memories and life stories with my oldest of friends.
I arrived during Gaetana's 12th birthday party, so I also got to meet her friends, her frends' parents, and hear Happy Birthday in French, which sounds pretty sweet.
Virginie popped some bubbly, and we had a lovely dinner under the grape arbor in her garden. We found we hadn't lost the common language and understanding we had when we were teenagers. How amazing to finally have Virginie's spirit back in my life.
We took an hour-long drive out to Lacanau the next day, where Viriginie has an apartment. I'd never been on the Atlantic Coast in SW France, and so was really surprised to see how little development there is, and how wild the coast remains. Miles and miles and miles of white-sand beach, dunes, and grasses. It felt like you could walk for days on the beach. We only walked for hours, but it was just the tonic for the days I spent in the car to get here. Lacanau is a popular surfing spot, and is packed in August. But in mid-June, it was quiet and lovely.
There are relics of WWII on the beach, though: concrete German bunkers built into the dunes. It was sobering to sit in front of a bunker, thinking about what the French endured during the occupation, and hear stories about Virginie's parents and grandparents' experiences and ordeals during both WWI and WWII. It brought a touch of the horror and fear they experienced into a sharper focus than I'd ever experienced. War really does suck.
It was hard to say goodbye, but knowing I'll see her again in July at Can Cornes made it a sweet farewell. Thanks, Viriginie, for everything...
I arrived during Gaetana's 12th birthday party, so I also got to meet her friends, her frends' parents, and hear Happy Birthday in French, which sounds pretty sweet.
Virginie popped some bubbly, and we had a lovely dinner under the grape arbor in her garden. We found we hadn't lost the common language and understanding we had when we were teenagers. How amazing to finally have Virginie's spirit back in my life.
We took an hour-long drive out to Lacanau the next day, where Viriginie has an apartment. I'd never been on the Atlantic Coast in SW France, and so was really surprised to see how little development there is, and how wild the coast remains. Miles and miles and miles of white-sand beach, dunes, and grasses. It felt like you could walk for days on the beach. We only walked for hours, but it was just the tonic for the days I spent in the car to get here. Lacanau is a popular surfing spot, and is packed in August. But in mid-June, it was quiet and lovely.
There are relics of WWII on the beach, though: concrete German bunkers built into the dunes. It was sobering to sit in front of a bunker, thinking about what the French endured during the occupation, and hear stories about Virginie's parents and grandparents' experiences and ordeals during both WWI and WWII. It brought a touch of the horror and fear they experienced into a sharper focus than I'd ever experienced. War really does suck.
It was hard to say goodbye, but knowing I'll see her again in July at Can Cornes made it a sweet farewell. Thanks, Viriginie, for everything...
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Pau and Bordeaux
After my day touring the HC climbs in the Pyrenees, I stayed in Pau, where we've seen several Tour stages finish over the years. I think Phil Liggett always talks about the "nasty little climb" into the town. Indeed, there is a really steep road into town that would be incredibly hard to ascend after a long long long day riding across Bordeaux.
Pau's a really sweet little town, lots of twisty, narrow pedestrian streets, a beautiful Chateau, flowers everywhere. There are also lots of plaques memorializing Portuguese, Spanish Resistance, and American fighters who died in WWI, fighting and dying for France. It was the first time the *fact* of the German occupation of France and almost all of the rest of Europe hit home.
My hotel sits on the Place du Garamond, in the heart of the city. My room had a little balcony overlooking the square, and across the way, a really good singer/guitarist (American) and a bassist sang and played for almost hours at an outdoor cafe. I sat on my balcony, listened to the show, ate my peanut butter, crackers, and banana dinner, and drank a beer.
I took small roads from Pau to Bordeaux, winding through tiny villages, all with their own characters, rivers, flowers, and festivals. A nice, relaxing day.
Pau's a really sweet little town, lots of twisty, narrow pedestrian streets, a beautiful Chateau, flowers everywhere. There are also lots of plaques memorializing Portuguese, Spanish Resistance, and American fighters who died in WWI, fighting and dying for France. It was the first time the *fact* of the German occupation of France and almost all of the rest of Europe hit home.
My hotel sits on the Place du Garamond, in the heart of the city. My room had a little balcony overlooking the square, and across the way, a really good singer/guitarist (American) and a bassist sang and played for almost hours at an outdoor cafe. I sat on my balcony, listened to the show, ate my peanut butter, crackers, and banana dinner, and drank a beer.
I took small roads from Pau to Bordeaux, winding through tiny villages, all with their own characters, rivers, flowers, and festivals. A nice, relaxing day.
The Delta of the Ebro
I spent a morning wandering around the dunes, grasses and lagoons of the delta of the Ebro River (riu ebre in catalan). A lot of the delta is planted with rice (arborio for paella?!), but the end of the peninsula created by the sediment the Ebro brings to the Mediterranean in its journey from the Pyrenees is wild and rich with flora and fauna.
A highlight: as I was walking among the dunes and grasses, I looked up and saw a hiking stick with wings flying through the air. My binoculars told me it was a pink flamingo -- I couldn't believe it. Then I walked to the closest lagoon and saw flocks of them swishing their beaks back and forth in the water, filtering out their breakfast. SO exciting!!
The reeds were great at hiding the ducks and geese and herons, but it was fun to sit by the lagoon and listen to the chorus of honks and quacks and squeaks and whistles of unseen birds. A dream morning for a bird geek.
Friday, June 12, 2009
A day in the Pyrenees
A fantastic day of exploring in Catalunya, and then driving some of the hardest Tour de France climbs in the Pyrenees. It was so cool to be on those roads we've watched our Tour heros (and not) climb, crack, and summon unbelievable strength on.
The roads are much more difficult that they even look on TV -- rough, uneven surfaces, grit on the roadway, no shoulders or guardrails, and incredibly steep. And that's without the crazy fans screaming at them, running next to them waving flags or shirts or devil's tridents, throwing water or whatever on them -- how do they even stay upright, much less triumph and make it to the top of the climb? I respect them now more than ever.
Sweet Sitges
What a nice way to start my Eurovision Vacation Fest. It was so nice to land softly in familiar Sitges, making my jet lag a little easier to tend to. I walked and walked and walked, on the beach, through the town, staying out as late as I could so the fresh air and sunshine would scrub away my cotton-filled head. It seems to have worked.
It is odd to plunk myself into another culture so quickly. It took a day for me to come out of my shell a bit (afraid to speak spanish, nervous about asking for anything, generally feeling turtle-y), but probably thanks to how international Sitges is, I'm OK now.
The town is pretty much the same, but the beaches have eroded so much, that some of them have no sand at all, just rocks the city must have placed to try to keep the breakwater intact. Don't think this problem will get any better for about 100 years or so.
I woke up both mornings early, to a symphony of birdsong (like Hawaii!). My little hotel room had a nice balcony, so I could leave the doors open at night to listen to the sea at night, and then birds in the morning. My dream come true!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Hike to Monte Cristo
Ripple and I tried to hike to Monte Cristo yesterday, but the river and the mountain have decided to take out the road (not a problem) and the bridges (a problem). You can still cross on a huge fallen log, but the river was running really high and fast, so discretion took the better part of valor, and we hiked up the Gothic Basin trail until snow stopped us. It was lovely!
Gardening Chez Ripple
With almost all details of my upcoming trip settled, I'm spending lots of time in the garden, doing the kind of work I've never had the time and/or energy to tackle: pruning overgrown shrubs in the back 40, deep weeding, and even edging! It's really fun to see the flowers and shrubs flourish.
The garden Kylie helped make year before last is doing great this year. The nootka roses are filling out nicely, and it's wonderful to sit on the huge cedar "seats" and smell their lovely perfume in the morning (evening, afternoon, etc). Nice work, Kylie!
We like our dog "sculpture" we put in our "Kylie Garden" last year.Bought it at a street fair in Ballard from a young woman who loves to weld. Gotta like that!
The garden Kylie helped make year before last is doing great this year. The nootka roses are filling out nicely, and it's wonderful to sit on the huge cedar "seats" and smell their lovely perfume in the morning (evening, afternoon, etc). Nice work, Kylie!Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Hawaii Delivers
I think I got just what I wanted and needed from my trip to Maui -- a slow-down, walking at a relaxed pace, spending time just gazing, bobbing in perfect waters, napping in the sun. I read a couple of books, walked a lot, met some very nice people, and generally spun down. I bought my fruit (OMG the bananas!!) from roadside stands with "honor" cash boxes, wore plumeria flowers behind my ear every day, and breathed, in and out. Heavenly.
Since it's been three weeks since my sabbatical began, a good lesson is that taking three weeks of vacation is a really good thing. I should do it more often. But this feels different. Tim G. said that, at about three weeks into the sabbatical, you'll start to feel how different it is. He was right. In other vacations, it takes a few days to start to wind down, then there's a couple of weeks of relaxing. Then a few days before the end of vacation, I start thinking about work, what's awaiting me, starting to organize and boot up my energy. But not this time. After three weeks, i still have over two months left, and my biggest adventures are yet to come.
Sabbaticals ROCK.
I'll post some pictures with general impressions of Maui in a little bit. If you're looking for a sweet slice of Hawaii, without the massively euro-americanized golf courses, hotels, condos, and chlorinated pools, come to Hamoa in East Maui. It truly is a paradise.
Since it's been three weeks since my sabbatical began, a good lesson is that taking three weeks of vacation is a really good thing. I should do it more often. But this feels different. Tim G. said that, at about three weeks into the sabbatical, you'll start to feel how different it is. He was right. In other vacations, it takes a few days to start to wind down, then there's a couple of weeks of relaxing. Then a few days before the end of vacation, I start thinking about work, what's awaiting me, starting to organize and boot up my energy. But not this time. After three weeks, i still have over two months left, and my biggest adventures are yet to come.
Sabbaticals ROCK.
I'll post some pictures with general impressions of Maui in a little bit. If you're looking for a sweet slice of Hawaii, without the massively euro-americanized golf courses, hotels, condos, and chlorinated pools, come to Hamoa in East Maui. It truly is a paradise.
Hiking the ancient King's Highway to Hana
From my campsite in Waianapanapa, I walked the four miles of the old King's Highway to Hana. The foot trail follows the first path constructed around the island, hundreds of years ago, right along the lava cliffs' edges. I walked through lovely Hala forests, past the Ohala Heiau, old burial grounds, blowholes, and scary, sketchy bits of trail, all under the bright sun above truly pounding surf.
While most of the trail is on sharp lava (don't let Pele bite you!), some of the original surf-smoothed rocks are still in place. There were a couple of native Hawaiian fishermen climbing around barefoot on the lava, which would have torn my little city feet to shreds, but even I could walk the trail barefoot on these big smooth stones. I met no one else on the trail that day. It was a wonderful transportation back in time -- just surf, stones, and lava.
The trail ends abruptly at a big boulder beach -- where to go now?! I winded my way on a little road, past a burned-out BMW and other trashed areas, taking what felt like the right forks in the road, passing little homesteads with gardens and chickens, junkie cars and ATVs, until I got to the main road into Hana -- the same road Liz, Steve, Kenny and I stayed on a couple years ago. Phew!
Walking into Hana, I was greeted by one of those amazing, unexpected treats of travel, a big Party! This time, it was the Hana Canoe Club's annual weekend regatta -- dozens of brightly colored hawaiian ocean-going canoes, paddlers from all over the islands, families, vendors, music -- general festivities and celebration of native hawaiian culture. Treat! The diversity of the paddlers and the the community was beautiful, the energy was at once relaxed and powerful.
My hike back was fueled by the visions of those paddlers and of native Hawaiian culture continuing to thrive.
While most of the trail is on sharp lava (don't let Pele bite you!), some of the original surf-smoothed rocks are still in place. There were a couple of native Hawaiian fishermen climbing around barefoot on the lava, which would have torn my little city feet to shreds, but even I could walk the trail barefoot on these big smooth stones. I met no one else on the trail that day. It was a wonderful transportation back in time -- just surf, stones, and lava.
The trail ends abruptly at a big boulder beach -- where to go now?! I winded my way on a little road, past a burned-out BMW and other trashed areas, taking what felt like the right forks in the road, passing little homesteads with gardens and chickens, junkie cars and ATVs, until I got to the main road into Hana -- the same road Liz, Steve, Kenny and I stayed on a couple years ago. Phew!
Walking into Hana, I was greeted by one of those amazing, unexpected treats of travel, a big Party! This time, it was the Hana Canoe Club's annual weekend regatta -- dozens of brightly colored hawaiian ocean-going canoes, paddlers from all over the islands, families, vendors, music -- general festivities and celebration of native hawaiian culture. Treat! The diversity of the paddlers and the the community was beautiful, the energy was at once relaxed and powerful.
My hike back was fueled by the visions of those paddlers and of native Hawaiian culture continuing to thrive.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Soccer Practice, Maui Style
These kids played hard in the sand, then jumped in the surf to cool off. What could be more perfect?
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Hamoa Beach may be the most beautiful beach...
...in the very early dawn morning hours. In my week in Hana, both in Hamoa and camping at Waianapanapa State Park, I spent every morning at Hamoa Beach, watching the sun rise, little crabs excavating, waves, birds, clouds... all while feeling those warm tradewinds I dreamed about.
I spent hours just bobbing in the surf, feeling the pull of the ocean. The currents from the waves are strong, and go in multiple directions, all the time. I was a little worried about this at first, thinking I could get pulled out to sea, caught in a rip. But there wasn't any danger -- I could just hang in the waves, in a spot just before they broke, feeling like I was weightless and on a roller coaster at the same time.
It'll be good to know, when I'm back in Seattle, that Hamoa Beach is always there.
Friday, May 15, 2009
One of the surprising things I'm finding in purposefully and intentionally removing my thoughts from day to day "work" is the diminishing chatter, a quieting of the constant stream of voices and conversations I usually live with. The result, so far, is sleeping through the night, something I haven't experienced in a few years. It is a gift. I hope I can hold onto it.
I got my camping permits at the state parks office in Wailuku this morning, aided by a lovely state DNR staffer whose gentle hawaiian energy and sweet humor was a salve. So -- I'm on my way back to Hana. Just the thought makes me breathe deeply!
I'm camping at Wainapanapa State Park, lovely black sand beach, a couple minutes from Hana town.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
The Best Laid Plans...
I'll post pictures soon, but my first sabbatical adventure has been a study in adaptation -- both for unexpected good and for unexpected challenges.
The good: The trip started off right, with an upgrade to first class for the 6 hour flight to Kahalui, Maui. Yes!
The challenge: First Class on Alaska provides you with one of their "digi-players," allowing you to watch movies the whole way. That may seem good, but the movie I chose to watch was "Marley and Me." I was crying so hard I made a spectacle of myself there in seat 1F. I'm such a sap.
The good: My little place in Hamoa - just past Hana (seen only in pictures on the Interwebs) was surprisingly wonderful. It was so quiet, very sweet, and only a little funky (tropics-affected bathroom fixtures, mostly). I could hear the constant surf from my bed all night, and then was awakened by melodious birdsong in the morning. It was also a 2 1/2 minute was to Hamoa Beach, where I went both mornings to watch the sunrise. I had the place all to myself (save the crabs and birds and waves and plumeria flowers).
The challenge: I didn't know, until I was driving out to Oheo Gulch to camp at Haleakala NP that recent rains had washed out a bridge, closing the road completely, and totally preventing any access to the Park. I then entered a vortex of Hawaiian State and County Park bureaucracy that ended up with me driving all the way back to Kahalui. I thought I could camp at Hosmer Grove campground in the NP, but when I got there (it's at 7000 feet on the side of the volcano), it was cold and rainy. I came to Hawaii to camp where it was warm! I could have camped in the cold and rain at home. So I ended up getting a room at the Maui Seaside Inn, owned by a native Hawaiian family.
The good: Because I'm staying in town, I got to have a fabulous Hot Pot at Fresh Mint in Paia. YUM. And now I'm sitting in the Green Banana Cafe drinking a Wild Coconut Chai, listening to an unbelievably good young flamenco guitarist -- self taught. What a treat.
The challenge: I think I'm done with challenges for today.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Cinco de Mayo!
I'm finding that I can get a lot of chores done, and at a relaxed pace, when I don't feel the pressure of an impending "back to work in a couple of days" deadline. So I'm spending time doing things I've had on my list for a good long while: going through old letters and postcards (I've saved every letter, card, or postcard I've received since I was 11), looking at old pictures, reading newspaper articles from the Greenpeace years.
here's one taken after sailing across the Bering Sea in the 90s:
Friday, May 1, 2009
Day One -- May Day! Workers of the World Unite.
The garden's flowers are a lovely welcome on my first day of sabbatical. It's so quiet, save the Cooper's hawks kik-kiking away in the cedar. I think I can stand three months of this.
And then a spring wind came and blew my list of things to do......away.......
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)