Tag Archives: photography

Keeping Big Bend a secret

17 Sunday Apr 2016

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My out-of-office message on both voicemail and email said I was on vacation and “unplugged.” My boss knew how to get ahold of me in an emergency, but I warned him that I may not get his messages immediately.

Big Bend National Park is in the middle of nowhere. It’s a you-can’t-really-get-good-cell-service kind of nowhere. It’s 3G cell service in that southwest corner(ish) of Texas and even then, you’re lucky to get two, maybe three bars. And when you do, don’t be surprised when you get a text from your cell carrier saying “Welcome to Mexico where you’re going to enjoy roaming internationally!” because the only thing separating you from Mexico is the Rio Grande, which, by the way, you can easily cross on foot with the water not going past your ankles.

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Trust me, this is the Rio Grande.  (At Santa Elena Canyon, Big Bend National Park.)

So yeah, getting ahold of me on vacation was going to prove difficult because my phone was in “airplane mode” and yes, I really was unplugged.

When I say, “middle of nowhere,” I mean it.

You aren’t going to see Starbucks, McDonalds or a Subway sandwich chain anywhere around Big Bend. In fact, I hadn’t seen any of those for several days. This is Road Runner and Wyle E. Coyote country. Its palette of brown earth, cyan skies and the occasional red or yellow bloom is empty of the droves of people you find spattered over other Big Daddy national parks like Yosemite, Yellowstone, Zion, Bryce and Grand Canyon.

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Tunnel near Rio Grande Outlook (Big Bend National Park). Tell me, doesn’t this remind you of Road Runner?

We were at the park during peak season and still, there weren’t the crowds you’d find at other national parks. I remember my first trip to Yosemite back in 1995 and people were at every turn. Tent sites were staked within feet—not yards—of each other and trails were so crowded, you would bump shoulders with others on the trail. Imagine what it’s like walking around Times Square in Manhattan or along the Las Vegas strip—that’s what hiking the trails was like in Yosemite.

Even lesser-known parks, like Grand Teton National Park in Wyoming would have clusters of hikers on the popular trails, passing each other quickly whether coming or going like in an airport as people are scrambling to make their connecting flights. I remember hiking behind a man on one of the trails as he talked on his cell phone and I wondered how the hell he got any cell service in that area while also thinking, are you kidding? 

And same for those aforementioned parks, Zion, Arches, Bryce Canyon and Grand Canyon. All fantastic parks with geology that your mind has trouble taking in at first. Hoodoos, red rocks, big ass canyons in the earth, and an ominous hike called Angels Landing. These are some of my favorite places on earth, but the problem is everyone else seems to also want to see them.

What we need is a park that either people don’t know about or one that is not particularly easy to get to. That’s where Big Bend National Park comes in.

If you enter at Big Bend from the west—via the scenic FM170 highway—you’ve already been given a preview of the mountains. But that drive is only a snippet of what’s to come. That snippet, by the way is called Big Bend Ranch State Park and it has a whole bevy of activities to do for the adventurous—back packing, mountain biking, and horseback riding.

Back to Big Bend National Park, though.

Shhh. I’d rather no one else know about Big Bend.

Honestly, I’d love it, though, if you’d just keep this find between us, okay? Please don’t tell anyone about the acres of Ocotillo cactus, with its skinny tentacles reaching toward the sky. If you’re lucky like us, you will have arrived in the springtime and you’ll drive past fields of these with red flowers adorning each branch. Close up they look wonderfully delicate as they reach up to the sky in a “jazz hands” sort of way. At a distance, when you see acres and acres of them altogether it looks like a red haze laying on top of the horizon.

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Ocatillo cactus with its fiery red flowers.

Also keep it on the down low about the massive Santa Elena Canyon that’s been carved out by the Rio Grande over the course of 2 million years. The sheer, vertical walls of the mountains on each side of the gorge reach 2000 feet. Right now you can easily cross it by foot, but most people—when there’s enough water—will raft it, following it on to the nearby town of Lajitas. There’s a 1.7 mile (round trip) hike, which is mostly on paved stairs that will take you to great vistas of the Santa Elena Canyon.

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Santa Elena Canyon (Big Bend National Park)

Don’t tell your geologist friends either. They’ll start coming in droves because the geology of Big Bend is complex. It’s a mix of sedimentary basin with significant faulting and volcanic activity, which means you’re going to find elevations in the park ranging from 2,000 feet above sea level to just over 7,800 feet. And all makes for a variety of unique bio zones contained just in one park, which leads me to the next thing that is awesome about Big Bend: birding.

Big Bend contains the most species of birds than any National Park in the U.S. That would be 425 birds, making it a mecca for birders. This was really the reason why we were at Big Bend National Park on this trip. We were a few weeks too early for the elusive Colima Warbler, but we weren’t disappointed in what we saw.  (Oh, and fun fact for your next dinner party: High in the Chisos Mountains in Big Bend National Park is the only place in the U.S. where you would find the Colima Warbler.)

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Birding Chisos Basin. (Big Bend National Park)

Also, be sure to not say anything about the fantastic wildlife here at Big Bend, especially the Carmen Mountain White-tail Deer, which don’t seem to mind if you’re standing or hiking two yards away. They’re not hunted and so they’re not wary of humans.

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Carmen Mountain White-tail Deer

Promise me that you’ll keep Big Bend National Park a secret—especially from those in the office. The last thing you need is a Starbucks or McDonalds with WiFi out here. To unplug is to get away from the madness. Right now Big Bend is far from madness.

It’s pure happiness. Purely unplugged.

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Viewing the “The Window” from Chisos Basin in Big Bend National Park.

 

What Marfa can teach us

03 Sunday Apr 2016

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Hotel Paisano in Marfa, Texas

Upon arrival the hotel desk clerk hands me a piece of paper—a photocopy of a chart someone put together—titled, “Marfa Time.” It contained a list of the different restaurants in the area including what times they opened and closed. Some were only open Thursday – Sunday. Others showed that they were opened all week, but with different times on different days. One restaurant, the Grilled Cheese Parlour, was only open from 9:30 p.m. until whenever it decides to close.

The paper not only is a helpful guide for Type-A folks like me who rely on the regularity of structure and predictability, but the chart of inconsistent and unexpected times gives you an immediate sense of Marfa. Basically, Marfa does what it wants to do when it wants to do it.

But it wasn’t the food that brought us to Marfa, or the art scene I’d heard about or the general quirkiness of Marfa, Texas. Frankly there were two reasons we stopped over in Marfa for a couple of nights during our 11-day West Texas road trip:

  1. See the Marfa Prada art installation
  2. Experience the area where the movie, Giant, was filmed

Prada in the middle of the desert

Yes, I’ll admit it: I love shopping. But I also love irony, so when I heard about this strange art installation in the middle of the desert I had to see it with my own eyes. I won’t pretend that I know a lot about the installation. What I know is basically what I read here from Wikipedia in advance of our trip.

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Prada Marfa

It was on our way to Marfa, after visiting the Carlsbad Caverns National Park, that we finally found the Prada structure. You can’t miss it. It’s on U.S. Highway 90, and about 26 miles northwest of the city of Marfa and from a distance you might think it’s a little convenience store on the side of the road. We weren’t the only ones who pulled over on the side of the road to get a closer look. There was a woman on the opposite side of the highway, with her back facing the Prada structure and taking photos with her phone of the flat landscape that stretched for miles. When she finally turned around to take snaps of the Prada structure,  I asked her if she’d like for me to take her picture with it. I stood in the middle of the road (because no one is on this highway) to get as close as possible without losing the visual of the broad, expansive dry  desert and snapped a picture of the lone woman in front of this ironic structure.

I, of course, had done my Wikipedia search prior to our trip, so I expected to see Prada in the middle of the desert. Perhaps the woman did as well. But then a long camper pulled up and sat alongside the road for 20 minutes before a stocky couple in their 60s waddled toward the structure (waddling like all of us do after sitting for too long driving through West Texas). Did they know about this or did they just stumble upon it and thought, “What the hell? Why is this here?” I hope so. That’s what makes Prada Marfa so delicious.

Giant

Now that I could check Prada Marfa off my list, I moved on to my second and even greater love: old movies. During the rest of our drive toward Marfa I pretended to be the eyes of director George Stevens (or his location scouts) in the search for the location for Giant. It must have looked exactly like this 60 or so years ago. Where was Riata? I wondered. Where was Little Riata?

In my mind I can’t separate Rock Hudson from Bick Benedict. Liz Taylor is Leslie and James Dean will always be Jett Rink. It’s all a messy beautiful combination in my head that makes sense to me. Rock Hudson is straight and madly in love with Liz, and by the way, I swear Brad Pitt was channeling Jett Rink/James Dean in Thelma and Louise when he was leaning against an outdoor sink on the side of the road before Thelma and Louise turned around and picked him up. (So confusing my reality even more.)

I hadn’t seen the movie, Giant, until I was in my 30s. A local movie theatre would play classic movies on weekends and Giant was on my list of Top 100 films (according to the American Film Institute) that I was ticking my way through. Not surprisingly, I was the only one in the theatre. The movie, based on Edna Ferber’s book carried themes of racism and strong women—surprising themes for the 1950s, but themes that reached right into my heart.

It was late in the day when we checked into the Hotel Paisano and I was handed the “Marfa Time” piece of paper. Unless you stay in Hotel Paisana, my guess is that the deep roots of Marfa and its connection to Giant is completely lost on most visitors.This was the same hotel where most of the cast stayed for about two months during filming. Rock Hudson and Liz Taylor each rented homes in the area rather than stay at the hotel, but newcomer James Dean! Dennis Hopper! They were there.

Rather than do the normal thing and seek out live music in the area or eat grilled cheese sandwiches at 9:30 p.m., Steve and I stayed in. I downloaded from iTunes the PBS documentary, Children of Giant that aired last year and Steve and I watched it on my laptop as we laid in bed eating squares of chili dark chocolate.

Edna Feber’s book was controversial with the oil tycoons of Texas, portraying them as big wealthy controllers of power, and it called out the discrimination between Mexican-Americans and Anglo-Americans. Layer on top of these themes director George Stevens’ recent return from World War II, having just filmed many atrocities, particularly in the Nazi concentration camps once the war had ended. This combination—Stevens and Ferber—is why the themes in Giant worked well both cinematically and on a social conscious level.

According to the documentary, even while filming in Marfa there was a separation between Mexican-Americans and Anglo-Americans. “A literal separation by the train tracks,” the narration from the video said, and just as those words came out through my laptop’s speakers, the loud “HOOOOOT! HOOOOOT!” came as the train, only a block from our hotel, rolled down the tracks.

We looked at each other. “Whoa. That was weird.” I said.

The reality of it all set in. Just days before terrorists exploded several bombs in Brussels. The election for a U.S. president has incited both anger and separation in my country, where we act like a political election is rooting for our favorite football team. It’s “us” against “them.”

And over the past year, racial tensions appear to be on the rise in the U.S. “It’s been the year of outrage,” a friend recently said to me. Yes, we’re all outraged right now. Terrorists. Candidates. Citizens of all colors.

No one wants to listen to anyone.

I’m with Bick. There’s hope.

It was a weird time to be in Marfa and thinking about the movie, Giant.

The end of the movie is one of my favorite scenes. Bick and Leslie, both with gray hair, are slouched on the couch.  A few minutes prior you witness a major transformation in Bick when he protects, not just the honor of his Mexican-American daughter-in-law, but of some Mexican-American strangers who were refused service in a diner where they were eating. He doesn’t win the literal fight that occurred in the diner, but he did win in that he changed.

As he and Leslie are relaxed on the couch, Leslie shares that she’s never been more attracted to Bick than when he fought for what was right. (Oh, how I love that sentiment.) And then as the camera turns to the their two toddler grandchildren in the play pen in front of them—one white- and one dark-skinned, and right then you know that Bick has not just accepted how his world is changing, but that he has changed. You know this because of the affection he shows in his eyes and that the cuts and bruises he still has on his face from the diner fight were to protect everyone from racial discrimination.

There are a lot of terrible things going on in the world today. I’ve always wanted to live in a world where things got better and improved, not get worse. But Giant reminds me that we may not win, but we can change.

There is great irony found in Marfa and in the desert. Whether it’s Prada that can represent whatever you want it to represent, or if it’s Hollywood descending on the desert to make a film. Or if it’s that the Marfa cemetery still had a fence separating Anglo-Americans from Mexican-Americans even up to last year when the documentary, Children of Giant, aired. (I didn’t check to see if that was still the case in 2016.)

Do we really change? I hope for that. I really do.

 

Confronting the enemy

01 Friday Apr 2016

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This is going to suck, I thought to myself. It was time to head up out of the cavern and I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to do it. Not in the way of I thought it was going to be hard, but that I really was convinced that Steve would have to leave me for dead in the cavern. I suck at hiking and we just descended down a steep pathway for 1.25 miles and there was no way out except to walk it back up the steep climb, which–as you guessed–is the same 1.25 miles. Yes, 1.25 miles is really nothing. People in somewhat okay shape do it all the time. But I didn’t think my nearly half-century-old body was going to allow me.

We had stopped for a sandwich at the little cafe at the bottom, drank a big bottle of some green drink with electrolytes in the hopes that it would give me not just the physical, but also the mental strength to do what I needed to do. After some time I couldn’t delay the inevitable. It was time to go back up.

When Steve and I had walked down, I couldn’t take my eyes off the spectacle of stalagmites and stalactites of the Carlsbad Caverns National Park. The mythical shapes that were sometimes called whale’s mouth, lion’s tale or drapery were illuminated by up-lights like sculptures in a gallery or museum, yet the walk down into the bowels of the cavern was a walk into the absence of color–as if my life became film noir.

There were handrails all along the way, but the cavern’s temperature of 56ºF made them cold to the touch and I realized quickly that my ultra-sensitive fingers would quickly turn blue.  It’s a life hazard I’ve learned to deal with the past 10 years–fingers and toes that turn white, then blue and then eventually red–and I usually carry around gloves (oh, I have so many pairs of gloves), but this time I forgot them on this trip. Usually it’s not a problem, but without gloves deep in a cavern I could lose one or two fingers if I’m not able to get circulation to them. My solution became to just keep them in the pockets of my polar fleece jacket and occasionally Steve would take a hand and hold it tight in order to pass on the heat from his hand to mine to help my fingers thaw.

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Lion’s Tail

The path was nicely paved, making it a smooth walk down, albeit a little steep, throwing off my balance from time to time, so I’d grab on to the ice-cold handrail for a moment to steady myself. A young man in his 30s briskly trekked by with a long stride up the steep incline. He was grasping the ankles of a toddler perched on his shoulders, and at this point it didn’t register to me that the walk back up was going to be hard. But then I saw a man in his 50s who paused at one of the switchbacks. He clearly was on his way up and was clutching the handrail and he had his other hand over his chest. His breathing was loud and deep and I thought, Good Lord, someone should call someone to help this man. He’s going to have a heart attack. 

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Whale’s mouth

So at the bottom of the cavern in the little cafe all I could think about was that man who struggled for breath. I’m going to be 50 this year and I had been recently feeling my age, and while I was grateful to have survived menopause, what with it’s night sweats and sudden onset of low energy, I was not at all happy with the toll it has taken on my body. Muscles that were once there seemed to have abandoned me, while a new squishyness encircled my waistline. Something as simple as bending over to pick up something off the floor has become my own personal CrossFit challenge. My arm isn’t nearly long enough to hold a piece a paper to read. Words look like faded, blurry shapes on paper now and everything seems to hurt as I get old and I can’t turn the switch back. I am beginning to accept that aging is a cruel companion to which I’m now forever shackled.

But pouting wasn’t going to get me back up out of that cavern. “Let’s do this,” I said to Steve, and we began our climb up.

It wasn’t too bad at first. The way back was relatively flat and then the first steep path presented itself. Not a problem I thought to myself as I tried to mentally cheer my body. Up the path and then a switchback and then up again and switchback. Two more times and then I had to stop at the switchback and cling to the rail and I realized, I’m that man. Geez, I hope there’s a paramedic around.  “Let’s take a break,” I said to Steve after going a quarter of the way.

“We can take our time. We’re not in a hurry,” Steve kindly encouraged.

My breathing was heavy. My heart beat was a rapid staccato. “You know those people who do all that walking?” I asked Steve.

“Like the Pacific Coast Trail?” he  responded.

Still catching my breath. “Yeah. Or that pilgrimage in Spain or that walk in Scotland,” I added. “I honestly don’t understand how people do it or why people do it. I mean, I get so bored walking for so long.”

“Are you bored now?” he asked.

“No. I’m just focused on finishing.”

Drapery

Drapery

I’ve never been an athlete. Since the age of 10 I ended up in emergency rooms multiple times thanks to knee problems that led to three different knee surgeries between the age of 11 and 16. And when you have chronic knee problems you also get a special note from the doctor freeing you from all physical ed classes at junior and senior high school. I thought I had hit the jackpot–no climbing the rope, no running around a track and no horribly uncomfortable locker room showers. I was free of physical ed classes, but I also was no athlete.

I later learned no amount of Step Aerobics, Spinning or Zumba classes as an adult would make up for lost time. I’ve just never been able to catch up cardiovascularly. And now my body is turning on me and there’s not an apology in the world that it will accept. It’s my enemy now.

Back on the path my heart rate got back to normal very quickly, which was a relief, and I said, “Let’s go.”

Calf muscles were stretching like pulled taffy with each step I took. My quads. My butt. They were all working together and I kept mentally scolding myself for not taking the stairs at the office more often. You wouldn’t be having this problem if you would just take the stairs, I kept thinking.This was not uplifting me at all as I continued the climb. Walk a little. Rest a little. Get my heart rate down. This was repeated over and over as we walked the steep pathway out of the darkness. Then back to walking some more. My injured ankle from my accident in Zion National Park over five years ago was beginning to swell. I kept checking my fingers for loss of color and when I did, I reached for Steve’s hand. He knew what to do as this has been our drill since we met.

After an hour and 45 minutes of enduring the steep pathway out of the cavern I then heard voices raised in excitement. “Ah, light!” I heard someone exclaim. I could feel the muscles in my legs power up as if recharged and my pace quickened. My heart was still racing, the dampness of my t-shirt from my sweat chilled my back shoulders. I felt like a mess, but I somehow got the energy I needed to climb out of this darkness.

It was too bright. I had to squint as the light that poured in from the outside burned my eyes. A collective sense of euphoria came over those of us ascending out of the cavern. Color was back. Oh, how I had missed it these past four hours. The light was relief as it touched my skin and warmed me. My fingers thankfully turned their natural color, and my 50-ish body–this enemy of mine–managed to get me out of the darkness.

Yes, thank you body. But I’m going to start taking the stairs more back at the office, so be warned.

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When the clouds parted

31 Friday Jan 2014

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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.

I wouldn’t mind re-doing 2013 and it’s not just because of the typo

22 Sunday Dec 2013

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Curse the typo.

In the last couple of weeks I have at least three friends who posted on Facebook that after they printed their holiday cards they noticed a typo. It’s a shake-your-fist-at-the-sky moment for anyone who has done this, and I venture to guess that we’ve all done this at least once in our lives.

As I write this post there’s a present under the tree for Steve, which is a calendar I made for him using iPhoto on my Mac. I’m sure he knows it’s there because he requests this each year.

The printed calendar arrived from Apple last week and I was beaming as I opened the crisp white packaging (because it’s Apple, ya know) to check out my creativity, my work of art, my museum piece.

And then I saw it written right on the front in 60 pt. font: 2013.

%&#$@!

Thankfully, I did produce the calendar with all the proper 2014 dates and holidays. It’s just that I wrote 2013 on the front. Oh, for Pete’s sake.

And then this thought popped into my head: I’ll just tell Steve I loved 2013 so much I want to repeat it.

So yes, let’s repeat 2013 because it really was a great year!

So good that I have here the highlights in a little photo essay.

Stuff I bought at NatGeo

When in DC for business I swung by the National Geographic headquarters to visit someone I met on Twitter and also saw the Birds of Paradise exhibit. Oh, I got all this stuff, too. Oh, and called Steve and made him a little bit jealous.

My mention in Nat Geo Traveler

And what a coincidence that the day I was visiting the National Geographic HQ their latest issue of National Geographic Traveler hit the streets and I was quoted in it.

Patagonia State Park

In February Steve and I escaped our winter homes and headed south to Patagonia State Park in Arizona to do some birding.  Yes, it is just this beautiful.

Birding at Whitewater Draw

We are smiling because we’re at Whitewater Draw, AZ and just saw a gazillion Sand Hill Cranes. Oh, and there’s sun on our faces and we’re not wearing winter coats. Yeah, that.

On the canopy walkway at Sacha Lodge

In March we headed really south to Ecuador where we climbed towers and canopy walkways in the Amazon…

Custom boots made in Quito

…got me some custom boots made in Quito….

holding a hummingbird

…held a beautiful hummingbird in my hand in the Andes…

kissing across hemispheres

…and kissed across hemispheres (Steve never crossed over to the south. Okay, he did. But barely.)

SL birding festiva

In May I went on my first birding field trip without Steve. This was the Salt Lake Bird Festival and these Yellow-headed blackbirds were at Bear River National Wildlife Refuge. Yeah, I was pretty proud of myself that day. 

Canadian Parliament building

This is the Canadian Parliament building in Ottawa where Steve and I visited late May as I toured the area where he spent a lot of his childhood. I have to say I’m rather fond of Ottawa. In the summer, of course.

TBEX writing workshop

Hey guess what, I want to be a better writer! So I went to TBEX (Travel Bloggers Exchange) in Toronto and I learned from these great writers. I have more to learn, but this was a big milestone for me. No more throwing up adverbs all over my posts. Promise.

mom and me with makeovers

During the summer I invited my mom to move in with me while Steve is in Canada. It’s been loads of fun. We go to Las Vegas, get makeovers at Nordstrom and probably shop a little too much on QVC.

Jasper National Park

In the cold months Steve comes south to Utah to visit me, but during the summers I go North and this is why. This is Jasper National Park in Alberta and it’s what heaven is going to be. If not, I’m going to change my ways.

Buffalo at Antelope Island

This is what buffalo look like when they’re trying to look pretty. It’s why Steve and I visit Antelope Island State Park in Utah during October. It’s not so birdy at this time of year but the yellow salt bush makes up for that.

On the Continental Divide in Panama

Why, of COURSE we went back to Panama in November This is me standing on the Continental Divide at La Fortuna. Steve and our guide are looking at a hawk and what do I do? Well, I take a selfie because I have no idea what kind of hawk it is.

Rufous Motmot

But when birds in Panama are this gorgeous (like this Rufous Motmot), you don’t take selfies. You pay attention.

So, let’s do 2013 over again, shall we? Really, I wouldn’t mind.

Jamming Sydney into five days

03 Sunday Nov 2013

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I only had five days for a trip to Australia.  I know, crazy right? But it’s all the vacation time I had stored up at work. Plus, it makes me sound so spontaneous, which I’m totally not.

After recovering from my stupidity in not knowing one needed a travel visa to get to Australia, and watching all sorts of Australia-related movies on my flight over (including Cry in the Dark a.k.a THE DINGO ATE MY BAAHHBEE!) I met my mother at the Sydney airport where we caught our taxi to our hotel in The Rocks neighborhood in Sydney.

Day 1: Hanging out at The Rocks

Surprisingly, the Holiday Inn at The Rocks is a fantastic find. You get these views from the rooftop:

Sydney Harbor Bridge as seen from the rooftop of the Holiday Inn.

Sydney Harbour Bridge as seen from the rooftop of the Holiday Inn.

Sydney Opera House gives crazy poses in the morning from the Holiday Inn rooftop.

Sydney Opera House gives crazy poses in the morning from the Holiday Inn rooftop.

The hotel is also nearby this great aptly-named restaurant, which we visited more than once:

The Rocks Cafe in The Rocks 'hood in Sydney.

The Rocks Cafe in The Rocks ‘hood in Sydney.

But it was mostly so we could eat this chocolate merengue thing. (Confession: on more than one night.)

This chocolate merengue torte from The Rocks Cafe has some sort of addicted substance in it, I'm certain.

This chocolate merengue torte from The Rocks Cafe has some sort of addicted substance in it, I’m certain.

From our pad in The Rocks we also could spot people who were actually climbing on top of the Harbour Bridge. Mom and I tossed around the idea of doing the Harbour Bridge walk/climb thing and it boiled down to the fact that the idea of it freaked out both of us. It was less dangerous to go back the The Rocks Cafe and eat more of that chocolate merengue thing. Totally safe.

Walking on the Sydney Harbour Bridge

Really? Walking over the bridge? Who does that?

 

Day 2: Don’t judge me

Now before you get all judgey about Double Decker busses let me remind you that the best travel advice anyone has ever given me (which, of course, does not include that valuable piece of information about getting a travel visa to Australia), has been to take the Double Decker bus when visiting a city. Your tickets are generally good for 48 hours and you can get on and off at your leisure. Mostly, though, it gives you a good overview of the city, which is terrific news to me because I suck at reading a map.

Yes. I have no pride. I'm aboard the Double Decker bus in Sydney.

Yes. I have no pride. I’m aboard the Double Decker bus in Sydney.

Had we not taken the Double Decker bus we wouldn’t have stumbled upon the most gorgeous shopping mall on the planet: The Queen Victoria Building, a.k.a. QVB. (Why? Because clearly I hadn’t read my travel guide before I went and would have missed it altogether.) So here we hopped off the bus.

Besides the idea of shopping, I was drooling over the Victorian Romanesque style and all the stained glass windows and the light, bright interior. Didn’t buy anything, though. I mean, look at me in the picture above. I didn’t look so approachable. I looked more like I was getting ready to go camping, so I kept a low profile. Everyone else seemed much more fancy than I, which is generally the case when I travel. I’m not a fancy traveler.

The beautiful glass dome at the Queen Victoria Building. I think I hurt my neck because I was looking up at it so much.

The beautiful glass dome at the Queen Victoria Building. I think I hurt my neck because I was looking up at it so much.

The QVB otally looks like a museum and not a shopping mall.

The QVB totally looks like a museum and not a shopping mall.

Shops at the QVB. See, kinda fancy.

Shops at the QVB. See, kinda fancy.

I also noticed the signs around Sydney. Some had a certain poetic wit about them…

I love rhymes.

I love rhymes.

While others seemed just a bit judgey…

What did heels and stilettos ever do to them?

What did heels and stilettos ever do to them?

 

Day 3: Manly and Darling

Since I was reading my guide as we go I noticed there were several mentions of Manly Beach, so we took the ferry, which was so convenient since the ferries were only a short walk from where we were staying. (See? Our lodging location at The Rocks was totally the best place to stay.)

I loved Manly Beach. Having grown up in Oregon my family always took trips to the beach and I fell in love with the constant rhythm of the waves coming in. So here I was in the Southern Hemisphere and the waves were doing the same thing. There were also new birds for me to see and I knew husband, Steve, would be envious.

Yeah, I could totally do that. Show off.

Yeah, I could totally do that. Show off.

Mom totally chilling at Manly Beach.

Mom totally chilling at Manly Beach.

After our jaunt to Manly Beach we headed over to Darling Harbour and watched the Hubble movie in 3D on the IMAX screen, wandered around the shops, loaded up on chocolates at the Lindt chocolate store (natch) and had a very nice dinner at a lovely restaurant called Ice Cube, though they brought the shrimp out with eyes and everything. New country, new experiences, no?

Now I know why it's nice to have your shrimp all prepped for you before they bring it out to your table. It was a teaching moment.

Now I know why it’s nice to have your shrimp all prepped for you before they bring it out to your table. It was a teaching moment.

Trying to darling.

Trying to look darling. (Oh yeah, and see that bag of Lindt chocolates? Not sure how many actually made it home.)

 Day 4: Field trip

Any number of tour companies will offer you a day trip to the Blue Mountains. We chose basically by looking at brochures to see which one didn’t make us get up too crazy early and would get us back in time so we could visit The Rocks Cafe and stuff more of the chocolate merengue torte into our mouths.

On the way to the mountains we stopped at a zoo and saw Australian wildlife, including this cute fella:

Koala Bear

Awfully cute, but I think those claws of his are kind of scary.

And then we stopped at some random park where a fella attempted to teach us how to throw a boomerang, but neither my mom nor I could do it. It’s actually harder than you think, and since neither of us are very athletic we completely failed at it. There was a nine-year-old who did it, though. Show off.

Aww, a rainbow at Wentworth Falls in the Blue Mountains.

Aww, a rainbow at Wentworth Falls in the Blue Mountains.

 

Day 5: Zoo

Last day and we actually had no idea what to do. Yeah, really. We’re in Sydney and mom isn’t really much of a museum person and I wasn’t really wanting to make this a shopping vacation, so we got on a ferry and headed over to the Taronga Zoo.

Aww, how cute! Giraffes with Sydney skyline in the background.

Aww, how cute! Giraffes with Sydney skyline in the background. (Yeah, I know. Giraffes aren’t Australian.)

There's nothing Australian here. Just a couple of cute Meerkats.

There’s nothing Australian here. Just a couple of cute Meerkats.

The best view of the Sydney skyline is from Taronga Zoo. Totally.

The best view of the Sydney skyline is from Taronga Zoo. Totally.

And then when we got back to The Rocks neighborhood that evening we had some more of that chocolate merengue torte. Duh.

Don't judge.

Chocolate merengue crack.

See, taste and experience Otavalo Market

17 Saturday Aug 2013

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Mom and baby at Otavalo

Though our trip to Ecuador was all about birding, every guide book (yes, I still read those) and online resource indicated that the Otavalo Market in the indigenous town of Otavalo was a must-see. So after two weeks of chasing birds it was time to relax (birding is exhausting!) and just take in some of the culture. And do some shopping (natch). It’s only a two-hour drive from Quito and if you drive 15 minutes further you can also visit the town of Cotacachi, which is famous for its leather goods.

What you will see

You will see Panama hats. “What?” you ask. “In Ecuador?” Yep. In fact, they are made in Ecuador, not Panama. So now that you know, this little piece of knowledge could potentially make you the smartest person at a dinner party should the subject of Panama hats come up. (Oh, and by the way, Cuenca, I hear is the best place to find the finest made. More bonus points for dinner party conversation.)

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They’re made in Ecuador. Now you know.

You will see electric colors all around you. Expect happy, happy colors on all of the tables. How can you not be happy? They are woven in the wool cloth, strung as beads and painted as smiling masks all laid out on a table as though a crowd of jesters are laughing along with you. If you have the time, make sure you do a quick walk-through of the tables first before you begin buying/negotiating. There is a lot to see and happening upon all that color is a lot to take in at first. You might miss something the first time around.

Alone, each might be a little scary, but all together it's like a friendly choir. Almost.

Alone, each might be a little scary, but all together it’s like a friendly choir. Almost.

I'll take one of each, please.

I’ll take one of each, please.

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The indigenous women of Otavalo wear these beads–one for every child they have. Young girls wear the tiny beads you see in the back.

What the Otavalo people are known for: their beautiful, bright woven woolen fabric.

What the Otavalo people are known for: their beautiful, bright woven woolen fabric.

What you can taste

You should eat. Really. Because there’s a lot of food. If you’re not in the mood to buy a Panama hat or buy something colorful you definitely should try the food. You can either hand-pick fruits and vegetables from the tables for purchase or buy a quick meal.

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Panella, a type of brown sugar (In Asia it’s also known as jagery)

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Penino dulce, which is a sweet cucumber

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Achotillo or Lychee

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I also had never seen so many grains and flours before.

You will likely run into my all-time favorite tomato on the planet. My favorite is the Tomates del arbol, also known as sweet tomatoes. It’s what we had as juice on our first morning in Ecuador, served as a salsa over chicken at a restaurant and when we were Tandayapa Lodge, the cook served it as dessert–baked with a sugar sauce. I think I’ve dreamed every night of that dessert since I’ve been back.

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Tomates del arbol–one of my favorite discoveries in Ecuador

You will be able to try a traditional Ecuadorian dish. Best of all, is the Hornado and Llapingachos, a traditional Ecuadorian dish in this region. The aroma of this dish is what makes the market so wonderful. I didn’t get dizzy from all the colors, but from the food.

The meat the lady has in her hands in the hornado (roasted pork). The small yellow balls are mashed potatoes that are the Llapingachos.

The meat the lady has in her hands in the hornado (roasted pork). The small yellow balls are mashed potatoes that are the Llapingachos.

If you don’t believe me that this dish is important, here’s proof. In a nearby town there’s a monument in honor of the dish.

A monument celebrating food. I tell ya, there's not enough of them.

A monument celebrating food. I tell ya, there’s not enough of them.

What you will experience

Yes, there’s colorful things to buy. Yes, there’s loads of food to taste. But even if you do none of those (buy, eat), go to Otavalo market just for the experience and for the people watching.

You can practice your negotiation skills. Steve, who was being a great husband by coming along (did he have a choice?) hates shopping and browsing. Plus, too much stimuli makes him dizzy, but he was a trooper and even though he swore he wasn’t going to buy anything, an enterprising man with leather belts was persistent with Steve. Enterprising man won and Steve walked away with a new belt. (Can a man have too many belts? I say no. It’s my same argument with shoes.)

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I think Steve is trying to get him down to $8.

You can also join a local game of…I don’t know what. We happened to see a group of men huddled over and yelling and cheering. I got a look at what they were doing and a man said, “Casino! Want to play?” I thanked him kindly for his offer. I so would lose my shirt.

Casino!

Casino!

A tip you should know

When I had booked our Andes birding adventure with Tropical Birding I asked them if they could also arrange for us a guide for Otavalo Market, and they hooked us up with the most delightful woman, Desiree, from their office who was full of so much history and knowledge about the area. Most people don’t think to ask the tour company to arrange other activities for them, but you should.  Of course, you can easily get to Otavalo on your own. Even though it’s only a two-hour drive from Quito, we like private guides who give us so much more information about the area. Besides, Desiree was so completely wonderful and engaging I can’t imagine having done the trip without her.

Tropical Birding not only helped us arrange our guide, Desiree, but also arranged a private guide for us when we had a day in Quito and also helped us book our week at Sacha Lodge. It was so much easier working with boots-on-the-ground people in the country who know much more about who to contact and how to make the arrangements, because my Spanish is crummy and if I tried to do it myself I’m certain we’d end up in some other country.

Otavalo Market

I have not been paid or compensated for anything on this trip. My gushing is authentic and genuine and on my own dime.

Picturing Quito

05 Sunday May 2013

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It is big. It is colorful. It is busy. And it is full of children on this particular day. It must be the day for field trips to Quito. Children, led by a leader, form a long chain as they hold hands through the busy streets and sidewalks. They are here to learn about Old Town in Quito like me.

Children on a field trip to the "White House," where their country's president resides.

Children on a field trip to the Palacio de Gobbierno or Presidential Palace

School children navigate Old Town Quito

School children navigate Old Town Quito

Quito was really a pause between adventures.  We had just spent a week in the Amazon in Ecuador and we had two nights in Quito before we were headed to the Andes. I had seen pictures of Quito and read my travel guide. There is plenty to find out on this UNESCO World Heritage Site. But one day wasn’t enough to take it all in. Oh to be a student again and I would spend a semester here and become part of the cement or the cobblestone or the walls. I’d be able to learn more about the religious history of this area and the struggle to hang on to one’s beliefs. That struggle has been there for centuries and continues. Quito is evident of that both historically and today.

Madonna statue atop El Panecillo

Madonna statue atop El Panecillo (the tallest Virgin Mary statue in the world and only one, it seems, with wings.)

There is a mix of the traditional and the modern here in Quito

There is a mix of the traditional and the modern here in Quito

It was the day before Good Friday in Quito and the city was preparing for the big celebration the following day. Churches were mostly closed and benches were being set up to prepare for the procession Jesus del Gran Poder, one of the biggest processions in South America for the Easter holiday.

One of the many churches in Old Town Quito

One of the many churches in Old Town Quito

A man sings in the streets.

A man sings in the streets.

View of Quito from El Panecillo

View of Quito from El Panecillo

Looking at Quito through the “retro lens of Instagram” helps me keep Quito preserved in the past. I think I like it that way and hope that all the little children who walk through Quito hand in hand will remember it that way too.

Old Town Quito (Instagram)

Old Town Quito (Instagram)

My favorite photo of Quito that I took looks just like an old postcard. (Instagram)

My favorite photo of Quito that I took looks just like an old postcard. (Instagram)

A couple tips for traveling with electronics

17 Sunday Mar 2013

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You’d think I was some great photographer. Or a very popular blogger or tweeter.

Not really any of those.

But if you were to open my travel bags, you’d say, “My goodness, who is this person?”

I tend to travel with so many electronics and cameras that I realize it’s probably impractical. Especially since I’m a novice photographer and just do it for fun, and when I blog from the road it’s just more of the hobby thing. This week we leave on another adventure—to Ecuador—and this time it’s no different. When you have a camera bag as hefty as mine with two DLSRs, an underwater point and shoot, and a Go-Pro-like camera all the cords get mixed up. I don’t have a problem with my white Apple cords (for iPhone and iPad), but it’s all those black cords that cause me great consternation.

And who wants to be consternated on vacation?

Solution: Colorful electrical tape!

The solution to my troubles exists in 3M’s Scotch electrical tape, which I found in the hardware section of a Kmart where they had all these colors conveniently in one package. (Hey, full disclosure here: I actually work for 3M, but I bought these and paid full price for them, just so’s ya know. Plus, I don’t even work in that division, so I’m not doing a shameless promo here.)

Colorful Electrical Tape

Colorful Electrical Tape

With the tape you can color-code your cords. For my Nikon D7000 I use red for the battery charger and for the USB cord. For my other Nikon I use white for both its USB and battery cords. For my Olympus underwater camera I use blue.  You get the picture. Now you don’t have to figure out which cord goes to what gadget.

My color-coded cords

My color-coded cords

Pack a power strip. Trust me, you’ll thank me.

Also, I wouldn’t dream of traveling without a power strip. I have too many electronics and can’t rely on just one or two outlets, which often seems to be the case. Besides lack of outlets in some hotels or other lodging (especially cruise ships), my travel guidebook warned that in Ecuador there are often power outages resulting in power surges, so traveling with a power strip with surge protection can also help with some added insurance.

My one essential travel item

My one essential travel item

Perhaps one day there will truly be one device that can do everything I want it to do, but so far that hasn’t happened. Let’s be honest, I’m just not going to be one of those people taking a photo with my iPad in the jungle.

I admit it. I shoot in Auto mode.

03 Sunday Mar 2013

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It’s a dirty little secret. I shoot in Auto mode. It’s not like I’m a great photographer. I don’t sell photos and it’s not my livelihood. I just enjoy it as a hobby. But I’ve got a bad-ass camera (Nikon D7000) and several lenses and if the dial on my camera isn’t set to the green Auto button I panic.

I'm so in love with the Auto mode.

I’m so in love with the Auto mode. (And even this picture isn’t sharp, though I took it with my phone and probably got a little too close.)

But I’ve resolved to change that this year. It’s my New Year’s Resolution to start learning how to use my camera in a manual mode. I’m determined to understand ISO, Aperture and Shutter speed even though it terrifies me like math terrifies me. Plus, I need to make sure I’m worthy enough to carry this guy around with me:

This is my D7000 bad-ass set up with the awesome AF-S TC-20E III lens.

This is my D7000 bad-ass set up with the awesome AF-S TC-20E III lens. (And I don’t even know what all that stuff means)

So, I took yet another photography class, this time at local shop, Pictureline and I think as long as I try to practice in Manual mode I think I might have a shot at this whole manual thing. (Sorry, didn’t mean for the pun.)

After class it was kind of warmish outside (it was only 48° Fahrenheit outside—it’s all relative folks) and so I thought I might try to get some shots of backyard birds and wouldn’t you know it, I think I just might be getting the hang of this.

Okay, don't count this shot. I'm just getting started.

Okay, don’t count this shot. I’m just getting started.

And this one sucks too. Ignore this.

And this one sucks too. Ignore this.

Awww, nuts!

Awww, nuts!

Hey, not so bad! Hello Scrub Jay.

Hey, not so bad! Hello Scrub Jay.

And hello to you too, Mr. Downy Woodpecker. I don't seem to suck as this so much.

And hello to you too, Mr. Downy Woodpecker. I don’t seem to suck at this so much.

So there you go. My first attempt at trying to shoot in Manual. To be honest, I think I’ve shot in Manual before, but I’m sure it was an accident. I think my finger inadvertently turned the dial to manual.

I’ll report more on my progress as time goes. I’ve got another class in a couple of weeks. We’re going to be talking histograms. Scary!