Category Archives: Rendezvous Journal

A journal of our rendezvous

When the clouds parted

31 Friday Jan 2014

Posted by in Rendezvous Journal, Trips

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

Zion National Park Rendezvous

You would have never known that 24 hours earlier you couldn’t see but five feet in front of you. But that was Bryce Canyon National Park the day before and this day we were at Zion National Park and it was a bright, warm October day.

Uh, yes. That's me in front of Bryce Canyon

The day before. What do you mean you can’t see Bryce Canyon?

And the next day there were clear skies.

The next day: Zion National Park’s clear skies show no hint of the neighboring fog.

This was day two of my third rendezvous with Steve. To recap, just six months earlier we met in Scotland, then met up again three months later in London and Bath, England, and three months after that we were rendezvousing in my home state of Utah, discovering National Parks just four hours sound of where I live.

And things were going very well.

So well that I took the clouds parting as a sign. A sign that I was officially in a long-distance relationship, which was something I swore I would never do.

I swore I would never do a lot of things.

Like date online.

Fly across the ocean to another country to meet a guy.

And, yeah, find myself in a long-distance relationship.

A long-distance affair.

A long-distance affair.

Walking the trail, hand in hand with Steve, I couldn’t feel more lucky to have ignored all my “rules.” This is perfect. Absolutely perfect. The trail ended oddly at the bank of a shallow river and as I began to turn around to walk back to the trail head I was being pulled in the opposite direction into the river.

“Wait! We’re going into the water!” I felt the water up to my calves.

“Of course,” Steve said. “Let’s hike it.”

“No we can’t,” I insisted. He still was pulling me along. Do I stop him? Do I follow him? I don’t want him to think I’m not fun.

“Sure we can. Everyone else is,” he assured me.

And that’s when I noticed that there were others hiking the river. (I later learned that this was called “Hiking the Narrows.”

Trying to look cool as I hike the Narrows.

Trying to look cool as I hike the Narrows.

The water was cold but after a few minutes I didn’t notice it any more. The bottom of the river was full of pebbles and rocks and I might as well had been walking on marbles. Everyone else made it look so easy. I was desperate not to look stupid. I wanted Steve to think this was no big deal, like I do it all the time.

Posing in a kettle during our hike.

Posing in a kettle during our hike.

After awhile I began to get the hang of it. Just walk slow and steady. Keep your balance, I kept telling myself. Just pretend you do this all the time. Because normally I would never do something like this. I never thought of myself as an adventurous person.

But getting on a plane to rendezvous with a stranger in Scotland was adventurous.

And so was repeating that in Bath, England.

Plus that whole long-distance relationship thing.

Sometimes people drag you into the river to go on an adventure and experience something new on a warm October day with cobalt blue skies.

Steve takes a break on a rock in the Narrows.

Sure, I’d follow this guy into a river. Anytime.

That time when you want to kill your traveling companion

03 Sunday Feb 2013

Posted by in Rendezvous Journal, Trips

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , ,

Don’t fall off the bridge. That’s what the handmade sign instructed.

Steve and I had jumped out of the SUV to help guide a nervous M* as she drove across the rickety bridge. Both of us didn’t need to direct her. I only joined Steve because I was about ready to strangle M. But while Steve motioned to her like an airport ground worker guiding a plane on the tarmac, I imagined that I could direct her right off the bridge. The trouble was, it wasn’t much of a drop.

Still, it was a fantastic idea.

This was my trip to Costa Rica and Steve and I were traveling with a bad traveling companion. Actually, not just a bad traveling companion but a truly awful one.

Sometimes you just want to disobey the sign

Sometimes you just want to disobey the sign

I’d heard of the bad traveling companion—the annoying person who wants to do things his or her way, all the time—but I never had experienced it until this trip. It started with M wanting to go to Costa Rica to look at property for a vacation home. She was going to be there for six weeks and suggested we join her for 10 days. It would be so much fun! Steve and I had been dating for a year now, albeit long distance, so I met with both of them in Calgary and the three of us excitedly put plans together. M would pick us up at the airport and we would spend time in Monte Verde, visit the coast and she would return us to the airport at the end of our trip. It was all set—fairly straightforward and simple.

It wasn’t.

Sometimes you can’t predict what can happen, but here are some suggestions to help you avoid a trip from hell with a bad traveling companion or what to do when you find yourself with one. It includes notes from our trip and how we handled (or didn’t handle) things.

Try to find out ahead of time who you’re traveling with. Steve knew M who was a family friend, but I failed to find out details of her personality. I think we both got caught up in the idea of going to Costa Rica and weren’t thinking about how it would be traveling with M. I had met her a couple of times but I didn’t realize that it was going to be all about M the whole time. Steve and I like to have a little structure to our travel planning and as it turns out, M only wants to do what she wants to do when she wants to do it. In retrospect, I should have pressed Steve, who knew M more, to find out a little more about M. But I didn’t and to be honest, a little women’s intuition could have circumvented the situation.

Look for signs that it might be a disaster. Our first clue was when M called from Costa Rica the day before we were to leave and said she wouldn’t be picking us up at the airport, but told us to instead catch a bus to Quepos. Her sudden diversion from the itinerary should have been our first clue. She was supposed to meet us at the airport in San Jose where we would drive to Monte Verde. Quepos was the opposite direction and on the coast.

What the what?

Once we landed, we instructed the taxi driver to take us to the bus station. “You don’t want to go there,” he kept telling us. He eventually dropped us off at the corner at the bus station and sped away, screeching tires and all.

Costa Rica

Costa Rica

I get the fact that bus stations mostly tend to be in the most dilapidated parts of town. (Same thing even in Salt Lake City, Utah.) It was nice of the taxi driver to warn us, but we weren’t rattled by the ambiance of the neighborhood. What did rattle us was the closed ticket office. Now what? We were standing in a sea of locals looking confused because we were confused.

A man in his twenties took pity on us and with good English he said we could just pay on the bus, but because we didn’t have tickets we had to stand. And stand we did. For four hours. On a bus that was making every stop from San Jose to Quepos. Normally I would look at something like this as an adventure, but it’s an adventure when it’s your idea. Not an adventure when someone else is controlling your destiny. It was our own version of The Hunger Games.

When we finally arrived at Quepos, M was there waiting, but was hysterical and mad, waving her arms as she shouted, “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting here for over an hour!”

Many hostels in Dominical, Costa Rica

One of the many hostels in Dominical, Costa Rica

Be flexible. Admittedly, sometimes the bad traveling companion might divert the plan in a different way and so rolling with it may not be a bad idea (at first). We discovered Quepos, which is a place I’d certainly visit again. M’s plan also took us to Dominical, an honest-to-goodness surf town, and we were lucky enough to find a nice property that was fairly new. It was a welcome relief because when we first arrived all we found were very–and I mean very–rustic hostels. Maybe if I was twenty, I thought. And didn’t care about getting lice. But we kept pressing M about Monte Verde. When were we going to get there? She would never answer.

Have back-up plans. At about Day 3 we realized that M had no intention of going to Monte Verde. Steve and I wanted to go there to see the birds, particularly the Resplendent Quetzal. This realization led to a blow up between Steve and M and then M locked herself in her hotel room with the keys to the SUV.

Again: Now what?

Steve and I were treated with this Sunset while M sulked in her room

Steve and I were treated with this Sunset while M sulked in her room

We were stuck at our hotel, which wasn’t convenient to any services and it was dinner time. I went to the hotel’s front desk and using my best Spanglish and sign language, asked the man to get us a taxi. For about $5 we went into town and Steve and I had a fantastic dinner with an amazing sunset. A sulking M spent the night in her hotel room without dinner just to make her point.

Try to look on the bright side. At one point M was driving so fast I was actually a little terrified. Steve kept telling her to slow down, but she wouldn’t. Oh, it was sweet justice when she got pulled over by the police. He demanded that she pay what ended up being roughly $80 before he let her go and then he pocketed it. As I sat in the back seat I had a smirk on my face. I am not ashamed.

With Steve in Monte Verde

With Steve in Monte Verde

We did eventually make it to Monte Verde, but not without a lot of arm twisting.

I kept trying to look on the bright side, which was that Steve and I were together—a precious rarity, since we had an intercontinental courtship. I wanted to befriend M, but just couldn’t on this trip. My time with Steve was valuable to me and so if I just pretended that she wasn’t with us I could truly enjoy my surroundings and my guy. We were also in Costa Rica, which was amazing. The lush green ferns and mossy trees in the cloud forest gave me my first jungle experience. It also was my first time birding abroad and it was here where I became addicted to birding.

Other cherished moments from this trip included when we saw 50 or so hummingbirds at a hummingbird garden, got peed on by a howler monkey, and saw the Resplendent Quetzel.

Zip lining in Costa Rica

Zip lining in Costa Rica

You may just have to bail. One of the things I wanted to do most in Costa Rica was zip lining. It was our last day and M didn’t want to do it, so Steve and I ditched her and went on our own. Zip lining was so fantastic. It was scary and thrilling at the same time. Best of all, there was no M.

Looking back, we should have bailed from the start. Since M wouldn’t pick us up at the airport at the beginning of our trip we should have just rented our own car and had our own trip. Every day of our 10-day rendezvous to Costa Rica was an argument and crescendoed to the final blow up when she announced to us that she didn’t want to take us to the airport for our departure flights as planned, but wanted us to take the bus. Again.

Steve and I won that argument, thankfully. She took us to the airport, but we endured about 2 1/2 hours of her whining about it. Better than three hours of a bus ride. Though now that I think about it….

It took me months to talk about this trip with any kind of fondness once I had returned. I was so angry at what had happened. I usually try to navigate these situations with some sort of grace or even capitulation, but M made it difficult.

There’s a lot I wish we would have done when I think back on this trip. But I’ve also learned a lot from this trip. Hopefully I’m not a bad traveling companion and since this trip I’m careful who I choose to travel with. Not all personalities travel well together. But more importantly, I’ve also tried to keep in mind what others want to get out of a trip. Tavel is expensive and for many there’s only one big trip in their life.

The other thing I’ve learned? If you delete M from all your photos, it never happened.

*= I’m calling her “M” to, er, protect her. Or protect me.

Photos from our trip. Notice that she’s not in a single one. (Click on any of them to enlarge and it will take you to a slideshow.)

Winter Holiday at the Grand Canyon

27 Thursday Dec 2012

Posted by in Rendezvous Journal, Trips

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

Grand Canyon Rendezvous

I didn’t expect snow at the Grand Canyon. All I could remember from my first visit 30 years prior was the scorching Arizona heat of 103° F, and add about 10 degrees to that and you get what the temperature was in our non air conditioned family van. My brother, sister and I were passing ice cubes to each other—ice we grabbed from our Coleman water chest—and rubbing it on our faces and necks as my baby sister was bawling because she found the heat unbearable too. It was so damn hot. That’s what I remember from my first trip to the Grand Canyon.

But this time was different. It was my first Christmas with my boyfriend, Steve, who was visiting from Toronto. After our courtship blossomed in Scotland, then grew in England, Steve and I found ourselves in a long-distance romance that was taking us to the Grand Canyon in the winter.

We took our time driving the 500-mile journey from Salt Lake City, stopping in Las Vegas for a night and exploring sites like Utah’s Bonneville Salt Flats and Hoover Dam along the way.

We pass the Bonneville Salt Flats of Utah

The Bonneville Salt Flats of Utah (or what I like to refer to as the Devil’s Ice Skating Rink)

It’s a different road trip when it’s not over 100° F. There was no crying baby sister, no suffering in a van with my brother and sisters. Just a quiet ride with a fella I met nine months earlier. This time I could really pay attention to the landscape. And it helps when you’re traveling with a geologist. I learned more from Steve than I ever did in my college geology course. (Even more helpful is an instructor makes you swoon.)

Hoover Dam on the border of Nevada and Arizona

Hoover Dam on the border of Nevada and Arizona

As we approachedt the Grand Canyon it was dark and snowy and I couldn’t see a thing. I hate driving in the snow and so I pulled over and had Steve drive into the park.

Snow in Arizona. I couldn’t quite make sense of that. Arizona is supposed to be freaking hot, not wintry.

We stayed in the park at the Yavapai Lodge, which had painted cinder blocks for walls. resembling a college dormitory and a toilet that ran all night. The accommodations weren’t lush, but they were practical and we got a good night’s sleep. After a full hot breakfast in the cafeteria we made our way to the rim of the canyon. 100_0824Tourists filled the pathways near the edge, just like they did when I was nine, except people were in parkas, scarves and wool caps, not t-shirts and shorts.

Snow was falling and my fingers could barely stand the icy chill as I snapped photos with my little Kodak camera. This is not the same Grand Canyon I saw when I was nine.

I looked over the edge to look down in the canyon–the Grand Canyon–to see that it wasn’t the hot, scorching beast I remembered, but it looked like a grand dessert with layer upon layer of oranges and browns and golds with a dusting of powdered sugar on top. A geological Mille-feuille.

IMG_0462

A Grand Canyon Mille-feuille

I’m not a fan of winter or snow, which I know is weird because I live in Utah where most people really like the stuff. But to see snow blanketed over the Grand Canyon is a spectacular treat, which most people never get to see. So, you think you’ve seen the Grand Canyon? Sure, maybe you’ve seen it in summer when it’s blowing its hot breath at you, but try seeing it dressed with snow. It’s a much kinder and sweeter Grand Canyon. It will blow you a snowflake kiss.

Click on any photo below and it will enlarge and take you to a slide show. Much better way to view these.

The disappearance and reappearance of Bryce Canyon

11 Sunday Nov 2012

Posted by in Rendezvous Journal, Trips

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

Bryce Canyon National Park Rendezvous

“It’s here, I’m sure it is,” I said. “I mean, it’s a big ass canyon. Where could it have gone?” It was an October morning and we had just walked on the paved trail from our cabin, following the signs to view Bryce Canyon. The fog was so dense I couldn’t see more than five feet in front of me and the colors that would have been there—the red rocks, the green sage—had been washed away as if we were catapulted into a black and white movie from the forties. And the canyon. It was gone.

It’s as if it were Brigadoon.

That’s me in front of Bryce Canyon. Yes, really.

And this is Steve in front of Bryce Canyon

This was our third rendezvous. We were now on the same continent, which was progress, I thought. It had been two and a half months since our rendezvous in England and six months since we first met in Scotland where Steve had been living. I was so excited to take Steve to see Bryce Canyon. I actually hadn’t been since I was a kid on a family vacation but I remembered the orangey red clayish rock and the hoodoos that pointed up to the sky like a million little fingers. This time was different. I had a geologist with me (Steve) and he narrated our five hour drive from Salt Lake City to Bryce Canyon with explanations about the different color of rock, the strata and iron.

Alas, my excitement and anticipation of experiencing Bryce Canyon with Steve unravelled like an old sweater. I was bummed. I really wanted Steve to see this beautiful part of Utah and the weather ruined it. It’s like traveling a long distance and finding that the museum you wanted to visit is closed. Or that all the tickets to a tour are sold out. Just as we were beginning to turn around on the path back to our cabin a couple emerged out of the fog. Really. Like right out of the fog. They could tell that we were a bit disappointed as we were snapping pictures of each other in front of a backdrop of white and as they approached us one of them said, “You have to take the trail down. It’s beautiful down there and the fog is beginning to lift. You see more at the bottom.”

No convincing needed. Off we went down the trail.

We walked down, down, down and we began to see the red rock. Fog curled around the hoodoos and the more we walked down the less fog we saw. It was quiet—there weren’t very many people around, but what I thought at first to be a disappointment ended up being an extraordinarily unique experience in one of the most popular National Parks in the U.S.

Bryce Canyon, alone, is a spectacle to behold, but without all the summer tourists and with curling, swirling fog, it’s a whole different experience. Not many people get to experience Bryce Canyon this way:

I imagined that maybe I was on another planet. Is this what people mean when they say,”Out of this world?” If so, I totally get it now.

Four years later we visited Bryce Canyon National Park and as we walked down the same path on a warm September day we saw the hoodoos standing upright without the curtain of fog, and in unison we said, “So this is what it looks like!”

A picture perfect Bryce Canyon (sans fog)

For more pictures of Bryce Canyon National Park check out the photos in the slide show.

Channeling Sting’s Fields of Gold

28 Tuesday Aug 2012

Posted by in Rendezvous Journal, Trips

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , ,

English Rendezvous – Final Chapter

Fields of barley. They were all around us as we made our way to the little civil parish of Hannington, Hampshire England. (If you have Sting’s song, Fields of Gold, I recommend turning it on right now as you read this post. You can find Sting’s version of Fields of Gold on iTunes. I also recommend this other lovely cover version by Eva Cassidy.)

You’ll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You’ll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we walk in the fields of gold

Two days earlier we were in Bath and the Cotswolds and the previous day we spent at Oxford where we picnicked on the lawn overlooking the River Thames and watched people punting. As we wandered around the campus we walked by a group of students playing cricket—my first real-live experience watching cricket, even if just for a few minutes. “They could be there for days,” Steve explained. Apparently cricket is a long, arduous sport. Where you wear sweaters.

But the barley in Hampshire—the Fields of Gold, Sting wrote about as a love song—caused me to take it all as a sign that there was something indeed magical happening right at that moment. (Some people call it falling madly in love, I suppose.) It was the perfect way to wrap up my two weeks in England: the solo week I had in London, the wonderful days in Bath, the “I Love Yous” the grief, the joy, the perfect photo together. That’s a lot to pack into travel. You don’t get all that backstory when you see the stamp in my passport unless, well, you’ve read this blog, I suppose.

So she took her love
For to gaze awhile
Upon the fields of barley
In his arms she fell as her hair came down
Among the fields of gold

We were in Hannington because Steve Hannington is the man I was with and his family settled this part of the English county of Hampshire back before the 11th Century. I had never met anyone who hailed from a namesake town, so if Steve’s gallant nature from the previous days wasn’t enough to impress me, being a Hannington in Hannington sealed the deal for me.

Steve Hannington in Hannington, Hampshire England

Will you stay with me, will you be my love
Among the fields of barley
We’ll forget the sun in his jealous sky
As we lie in the fields of gold

It didn’t take long to walk around Hannington. There is a little square in the middle of the town—more of a park—right next to the ancient All Saints’ Church. I found a post box right at the side of the lane and dropped in my postcards, though all except one, which I had intended for Jessica before I knew she had passed away. I still have that postcard and today it is pinned to my bulletin board in my home office, right above my desk.

Hannington, Hampshire England

See the west wind move like a lover so
Upon the fields of barley
Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth
Among the fields of gold
I never made promises lightly
And there have been some that I’ve broken
But I swear in the days still left
We’ll walk in the fields of gold

This was our last day together before I flew back to the U.S. Last time I left Steve it was Scotland and I cried—no, I sobbed. But I was out of tears this trip. I spent the last two days grieving the loss of my friend, Jessica and now all I had left were dry eyes and this soundtrack of Sting’s Fields of Gold playing in my mind. We took time to have dinner at the one restaurant in Hannington—a little pub called The Vine and we had fish out on the patio as we watched a dog play on the lawn, performing for all who were dining.

Time to leave. We left Hannington and the sun was beginning to set as we made our way toward Gatwick airport where we would find accommodations one last time in England.

Fields of Gold

Barley is simple and rather plain looking when you look at it individually. But all laid out in a field it takes on a collective sense of golden-ness. As we departed, going down a narrow lane toward London, we had the fields on both sides of us. Like when I walked through those doors at immigration and customs in Scotland and felt my life about to change, driving through the Fields of Gold also felt a little baptismal. This entire journey to England was a collection of individual experiences (exploring London solo for a week, the death of a friend, saying, I Love You) that combined, had cast a golden hue on my future, which I saw in those fields.

Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
You’ll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in the fields of gold

Fields of Gold, lyrics and music by Sting.

Find out where we meet up again.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

It’s about travel, saying “I love you,” and death

16 Thursday Aug 2012

Posted by in Rendezvous Journal, Trips

≈ 133 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

England Rendezvous, Chapter 3

My phone displayed that I had a voicemail. Normally I don’t bother with my phone while I’m traveling abroad, and I figure that I’ll listen to voicemail when I get back to the U.S. Besides, anyone important who needed to reach me while I was on holiday in Bath, England knew to just text me.

Castle Comb in the Cotswolds

It was day three of my epic romantic rendezvous in Bath, England with my long-distance suitor I met in Scotland just eight weeks prior. No distractions. No phones. Just the two us to discover Bath, the Cotswolds, and to see if I could muster the courage to say, “I love you.”

But the phone. There was a message on it and I had this feeling I needed to listen to this voicemail.

“Hi Lisa,” the voice said. “This is Jana, Jessica’s sister. I’m sorry to have to tell you, but Jessica passed away and I know you two were close and I found your phone number in her address book. I wanted to let you know when the funeral will be, so call me at….”

I just stood there looking at the stupid phone in my hand. Tears welled up in my eyes so fast that it felt like they were coming like a big wave that crashes on the shore. I inhaled and then crash! I couldn’t stop them.

Jessica and I worked together in Menlo Park, California back in the 90s. When I moved away we phoned each other weekly and wrote long epistles back and forth to each other over email where we lamented about men, our jobs, men, our coworkers, men. You get the picture. We would even watch the Oscars together over the phone and make snarky comments throughout the show. (This is what we did before Twitter, my friends.) We went to Giants games when I would come to town and traded books through the mail.

She also had lupus and had contracted an infection from a pedicure she received from a salon in her neighborhood. The infection was so bad she was hospitalized the last several months of her life and I frequently called her at El Camino Hospital in Mountain View, knowing I could be easily directed to her room where I would update her on what happened in Scotland and this fantastic guy I had just met.

But she died.

Steve walked in the room and I looked up at him and he had that look on his face—the “Oh crap, she’s crying. What do I do?” look. I blurted out the words, “My friend.” Tears not just rolling but pouring down my face. “She’s dead,” I continued. “Her sister. She left me a message.” I couldn’t breath and pressed my face into his chest and sobbed. I sobbed big heavy, almost-hyperventalating tears.

The “I love yous” and the never-ending tears

I’m in Bath. Just the night before I said, “I love you” and he said it back (thank goodness). Big moment. Colossal moment. This is the desired outcome Jane Austen writes about, but I was grieving. I pulled myself together and we went downstairs to breakfast where our Bed and Breakfast host served us breakfast while I gave up trying to control the tears that seemed to never ever stop. I was sure that the other guests and the host thought we had been fighting.

A church in Castle Comb in the Cotswolds

Move on with our day’s plans. That was the only thing that we could really do. This was the day we were going to discover the Cotswold region. Every guidebook seemed to write lovingly of the romantic quaint region with its stone homes, thatched roofs and cream teas. I studied the region ahead of time. I was prepared to get wrapped up in it, but I was sad. So very sad.

The verdant landscape of the Cotswolds was like looking at a poem. There is a cadence to the hills and each little village was like hitting upon the rhyme at the end of a line. They all looked similar, but they had their own character, like words that sound the same but aren’t. It wasn’t a sad poem and it wasn’t a happy poem, but it was a comforting one.

Bourton on the Water

We held hands as we walked along the pathway at Bourton on the Water, and we would have moments of silence and then I would start talking about Jessica. Then I would tear up again and return back to silence. I didn’t quite know how to feel. My heart hung heavy with grief, but was also bursting out of my chest with spectacular joy and the feeling of being in love. I couldn’t have been in a more bifurcated moment in my entire life. Or is it possible to have two hearts in this kind of experience?

This picture with smiles and a sad heart

I wanted a photo of us in this lovely place. I asked a man if he could take our photo and Steve and I sat on a bench. “No, no,” the man said as he pointed to another bench. “Sit over here. It’s much better.” We moved to the other bench and the man, who turned out to be a photographer, took this photo with my little Kodak point-and-shoot camera. This beautifully, perfectly angled photo.

I feel like I’m spoiling the ending here but you know already that I married that man. Fast forward almost two years later and as a wedding gift, the women at my church had an artist paint a portrait based on this photo. When they revealed it to me I wept again. This photo took me back to that time when I was swept up in love in England, where “I Love Yous” were exchanged, and if you look really closely you’ll notice that in my heart I’m grieving the loss of my friend, Jessica.

Continue to next chapter.

 

Bath, England: An aphrodisiac for my long-distance love affair

12 Sunday Aug 2012

Posted by in Rendezvous Journal, Trips

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

England Rendezvous, Chapter 2

London is where we met for our second rendezvous and then drove to Bath, England for the next chapter in our epic romance. (I know, “epic” is overused. Just indulge me for a little while on this.) Only a few knew of my long-distance romance with Steve, which began in Scotland eight weeks earlier. Most people probably wouldn’t have believed it. I barely believed it myself.

We arrived at the Marlborough House—a lovely bed and breakfast in a stone Victorian house just a few blocks away from the famous Royal Crescent—and after our host drew us a map of the highlights of Bath, we made our way to the Roman Baths and Pump Room for a candlelight tour in the evening. “Oh it would be very romantic!” our host urged us. Romantic, of course! That’s why we were here—it was all for the romance.

A visit to the Roman Baths

Roman Baths

When this all came upon me–this falling in love–I wasn’t prepared to take copious notes on Bath. I didn’t go to Bath to learn of the Victoria Art Gallery or the Holburne Museum of Art. No, I was there to fall further in love–to somehow channel Jane Austen and all her heroines so that I could use Bath as some sort of aphrodisiac for my long-distance love affair.

It’s not like we needed any help. We were completely smitten in Scotland and nothing indicated that it wouldn’t continue that way, though because this was so out of the ordinary I thought that I would actually wake up and none of this had happened. So, if you’re going to dream, I thought, why not dream with Bath as the backdrop.

Evensong at Bath Abbey

Bath Abbey

Our second day in Bath, a Sunday, we visited the Bath Abbey for an Evensong presentation. If the backdrop of Bath wasn’t enough, now I had a soundtrack. Being musically trained myself, I was swept up by the acoustics of the building and prayed to God that this whole thing wouldn’t slip through my fingers.

Jane Austen, of course

We visited the Jane Austen Centre where we moved from room to room to see how Jane Austen lived, learned more about her family, looked at some of the film costumes as well as various framed letters on the walls from celebrities (notably Emma Thompson, that goddess of wit who wrote the film adaptation of Sense and Sensibility). I was surprised as to how simple and quaint the Centre was, given the massive following of Jane Austen. I suppose that’s how she would have wanted it, as she really seemed a modest person. It was almost a little odd to be in the Jane Austen Centre where I was learning about this woman who wrote fiction that were turned into movies–all about being independent and falling in love with the right person at the right time. At the same time I was living this and thought, it doesn’t have to be fiction. It feels like fiction but it doesn’t have to be.

The healing waters of Bath

There’s a lot said about the healing waters of Bath.  Historically, many went to Bath to cure themselves of their ills. Perhaps something in Bath washed over me too as well as Steve.

That rendezvous that started in Scotland? It still was alive and well in Bath too. Little did I know, I was going to soon need the healing of Bath to soothe my soul more than I could imagine.

Continue to next chapter.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

This is how I ended up in London

27 Friday Jul 2012

Posted by in Rendezvous Journal, Trips

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

England Rendezvous, Chapter 1

I wanted to do something spectacular for my 40th birthday and things got interesting when a friend suggested I join her and some other gals to hike the Swiss Alps that year. I was so onboard! How many people can say they’ve hiked the Swiss Alps?

Well, not me, it turns out.

It had been two months since I rendezvoused with the man in Scotland. After that trip that sent my heart soaring and my tears flowing as goodbyes were exchanged at the end of our six days together, we phoned, we emailed and I hoped we would see each other again. The closer it got to the Swiss Alps trip the more I realized that given limited vacation time at work and limited funds for a long-distance courtship, I had to make a choice: Hike the Alps with some fun women or take another chance to see if what happened in Scotland had any sticking power.

So I didn’t hike the Alps. I bailed and decided to go to London instead–by myself, actually. Turns out, it’s also rather convenient for Steve (the man I met in Scotland) to rendezvous again with me. Once I let Steve know about my plans to go to London he immediately jumped at the chance to meet me there, but only met me for week two of my trip since I wanted to have some time to myself in London.

My travel journal for the England rendezvous

I just adore London and I’m so glad I made the decision to do the first half of the trip by myself. Here’s what I learned:

  • You actually don’t have to take the Tube everywhere because most of the time a lovely walk through Hyde Park will get you to where you need to be. (This was a big “duh!” moment for me.)

London’s Hyde Park

Hyde Park, London

  • I arrived the week London was having a heat wave. Londoners took this opportunity to sunbathe at Hyde Park and I thought I was pasty white!

Londoners enjoying the high temps at Hyde Park

  • They have Subway sandwich shops in London–same menu and about the same prices in the U.S., which totally saved me loads of money on food.
  • Other great food options for lunch include Pret a Manger and Marks and Spencer. I discovered this when I watched where the locals were eating.
  • Best view of London is not the pricey “Eye,” but take the stairs clear to the top of St. Paul’s Cathedral–completely breathtaking and an awesome workout.

View of London from atop St. Paul’s Cathedral

  • You don’t get ice in your water at dinner. They like to serve it room temperature, so you gotta ask for ice, ice baby.
  • They have potato chips of every flavor imaginable.
  • A co-worker from England convinced me before my trip that I should take the double decker bus tour to get the lay of the land during my first couple of days and you know what? Best. Advice. Ever. (Yes, snobs, she was right.)
  • Edinburgh is only a 5 and 1/2 hour train ride from London and that’s how close I was to Steve.
  • Sometimes it’s okay to walk away from previous travel plans. Sure, I didn’t hike the Alps, but if I did, I would have missed London as well as a big part in the next chapter of my life.

London

London

Tower Bridge in London

Find out what happens in the next chapter.

Thank you, Scotland

22 Sunday Jul 2012

Posted by in Rendezvous Journal, Trips

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , ,

A Scotland Rendezvous, Chapter 5 (Final Chapter)

There’s an advantage to going to a place you never dreamed of going to before. You have absolutely no expectations, really. You never imagined yourself there so it lets you experience and feel everything and lets you be open to it.

What I needed to be open to was this idea of love.

After our quick journey through the Highlands of Scotland, we returned to Dundee. There was one more day before I had to return to the U.S. Steve planned a day trip to St. Andrews. We walked around the campus of the University of St. Andrews (the third oldest university in the English-speaking world, by the way) and when the bell rang, students poured out into the courtyard where we sat and I told Steve, “They all sound like they’re from Harry Potter.”

“That’s because they come from predominantly upper class families,” he explained.

That made sense.  To be honest, I didn’t know a thing about St. Andrews University except that Prince William was enrolled there, and wouldn’t that be cool if I saw him? I scanned the group of students and alas, no Prince William.

We also visited the Old Course at St. Andrews. I know just as much about golf as I know about Scotland. Steve informed me that it was one of the oldest golf courses in the world. “Do you play golf,” I asked him, wondering if this relationship progressed if I was going to be getting involved with a golfer.

“Not really,” he said. “I’ve played, but it doesn’t interest me.”

For some reason, I felt relief.  I have nothing against golf, but already we’ve established that he likes to look at birds and I don’t have experience with that. If we add golf to the mix, I wasn’t quite sure how I would fit in.

We returned to Dundee where Steve had a phone meeting and suggested that I spend some time walking around the town. Super idea! I thought. I wanted to go get my hair blowed out straight so it would make the long flight back easier on me.  (Really, it makes a big difference when you’ve got hair like mine.) I was to leave the next morning and so today was the day to take care of this.  Plus, it would give Steve a chance to see me with straight hair, which to be honest with you, I look pretty damn good with straight hair.  (All women with curly hair say that, you know.)

After a little bit of shopping in the department store in town, picking up only a few things, I found a hair salon and asked if they would blow out my hair straight. A very cute quintessentially Scottish girl with bright red curly hair (she understands!) sat me down in the chair, put the black plastic cape over me and then off to the sinks I went to get a nice shampoo and condition.

While back in the chair she asks, “Are you here on business or holiday?”

All of a sudden I started to feel. I could tell that water was wanting to push out from my eyes and I wasn’t going to have it.  Be strong, for crying out loud my inner voice told me.

“Holiday,” I said with barely enough sound for her to hear.

“Oh!” she chirped. “Are you visiting family or friends?”

Holy cow. Here it comes. I STARTED TO CRY.

“Um, I met this guy online and we’ve spent the week together touring the highlands,” I said, choking out the words.

“Awww, sweetie, are you going to see him again?”

More tears.

“I don’t know,” I said with enough courage to look up at the mirror and noticed that my eyes were red.

“Just a minute,” she said.  “I need to go grab something.”

She walked away and I was there in the chair.  In a hair salon. In Dundee, Scotland. BAWLING MY EYES OUT. Oh, for Pete’s sake.

I didn’t know the answer to her question. I didn’t know if I’d ever seem him again.  I wasn’t even sure if this was a fling or the beginning of something fantastic. I looked in the mirror again and could see the hair stylist whispering to another stylist and they both looked over at me. Oh geez, I’m the big story in the salon today, I suppose.

Eventually I got a grip on things and there were no more tears. My hair was straightened beautifully, I paid and tipped (quite well, for the awkwardness she had to endure) and then made my way back to Steve’s flat.

“You look fantastic!” he said when he saw me. Big grin and all.

We made dinner together, went to a movie and I spent the rest of our time together in tears. The poor guy didn’t quite know what to do.

We drove to the airport in silence and then said our goodbye.

Scotland, you were the place I never dreamed of going to before.  I had no expectations. I never imagined myself there, but there I had been.

I experienced everything, felt everything, and as a result, opened myself to finding love. Thank you Scotland.

Find out when and where we meet again.

 

Falling in love with a geologist and the geological wonders of Scotland

15 Sunday Jul 2012

Posted by in Rendezvous Journal, Trips

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , ,

A Scotland Rendezvous, Chapter 4

The geology of Scotland is very complex, I learned, and this complexity manifests itself in the Highlands.

The highlands of Scotland

It’s all because of Continental Drift, which through the aeons of time created this composite of various land masses that have been grafted on to it.

There was also an extensive period of volcanism (lava flows and plutonic uplift), which produced such geologic wonders like the promontory upon which sits Edinburgh Castle. Want more proof? Take the famous 10,000+ year old Loch Ness, for example. It’s a long, deep lake, which is part of a rift valley system. It’s all this complex geology that gives Scotland its rugged appearance with many hills, valleys and lochs. So geology is the bedrock (so to speak) of Scotland’s rugged landscape.

All this gets geologists giddy, and guess who I was spending the week with–a geologist. (So don’t think I managed those first few paragraphs here without any help. )

Among the many things I learned about this man I was with for the week (what I call the world’s longest first date), was that he knew gobs about geology, and as I learned more about him I also became more schooled about Scotland. I had never met this man before and I had never met Scotland before, so both were blind dates. It’s no wonder that as we journeyed through the Highlands, my fascination of Scotland grew while my heart grew fonder of my geologist tour guide.

Loch Ness. So why can’t there be a monster?

Steve at Loch Ness

Standing next to Loch Ness

When I met the Loch Ness for the first time I couldn’t resist tapping into the childish part of me, where I thought, “Wouldn’t it be cool if I saw the Loch Ness Monster here too!” There is no such thing, I know, but I couldn’t help thinking of it, because why not? The whole idea of rendezvousing with a man in a foreign country is also the stuff fairy tales are made of and I was walking around in that dream too, so of course there’s the possibility of seeing the Loch Ness Monster.

And I’m sure the little hamlet of Brigadoon was around somewhere too.

Ullapool, Scotland

We eventually made our next stop in the little town of Ullapool, which has a strong gaelic influence. We checked in to a bed and breakfast that overlooked a lake and walked around the town, and we soon learned had a reputation for being a center for music and the arts. Even on TV (I’m always fascinated by what’s on the television when I visit a new country) had a Gaelic channel. I couldn’t understand a thing anyone was saying, but then again, if someone from Scotland starts to speak English to me in their native accent too fast I might as well be listening to Latin. I’m completely lost.

Where we stayed in Ullapool

We found a pub where we ordered fish, of course, since it was a fishing village and afterward, we walked along a pathway near the water as we tossed out more questions to each other. There was a sense of urgency for the week–in getting to know as much about each other as we could. “Where’s your favorite place you’ve traveled to?” “How many brothers and sisters do you have?” “What’s your favorite food?” “What was your most embarrassing moment?”

Stoer Head Lighthouse

Visiting the Stoer Head Lighthouse on the Stoer Peninsula in Scotland was a true highlight. This lighthouse was built by David and Thomas Stevenson—of the Stevenson dynasty—who were responsible for building most of Scotland’s lighthouses.

Stoer Head Lighthouse on the Stoer Peninsula in Scotland

Safe and sound in the Highlands

We spent our time in the highlands driving around the more rugged terrain, taking roads that were only wide enough to fit a small compact car. I must admit that I was impressed as Steve navigated the winding road, especially as an oncoming car approached. Why do things like that make a woman swoon? No accidents. No collisions. This man kept me safe.

This beginning of falling in love with a geologist opened a whole new perspective for me. It wasn’t just about castles and lighthouses or a famous loch, but learning about the geology, expanding my vision of the land. As we journeyed through the highlands, the part of Scotland that was the cliche–the rolling green hills lined with sheep–turned into something that resembled a moon scape, and I wondered if I would ever come back to earth again.

To get perspective, look at the tiny trailer/camper (the white speck) in the photo.

Go on to the next chapter.