Let me count the ways

The blog’s been silent partly because Jackie and I can’t seem to find the right words to express each of our love for Vancouver.

It’s not precisely what I expected, but it was just as great. What stuck out to me the most is that Vancouverites really seem to love living there as much as I loved visiting.

On Wednesday night we weary travelers took a short break in the late afternoon to recharge. (It was, after all, Jackie’s birthday and our one night out in Vancouver—we had to be ready.) I went down to Jericho Beach, just a couple blocks from our hostel (about 20 min south of downtown by bus) for a brief siesta, and found myself walking past about 20 games of beach volleyball, a half dozen family picnics, two lovebirds in their 60’s playing dueling mandolins, and a host of other people playing games, enjoying an after-work beer or exercising—all before I could find a place to put down my blanket and open up my book. Out in the bay people swam and paddled, embracing the chilly Pacific water.

The sun was setting slowly but the fun was at full tilt—no one wasting a minute of the beautiful September day. There was a general air of calm but at the same time a happy franticness to get the most out of the evening.

Here’s a photo I took of the scene; it doesn’t quite capture it but you do see the beach volleyball and the dozens of sailboats that were out in the harbor. Now that is a lifestyle I could get used to.

Salmon four ways

I can’t believe we’ve gone this long without talking about the food. The food! Oh glorious West Coast food.

It’s generally agreed that almost all Atlantic salmon are farmed, whereas Pacific salmon are caught naturally. I couldn’t wait to try it, practically straight from the source, and in less than 24 hours I managed to eat salmon four ways without even trying too hard.

1. Baked salmon with spicy Thai sauce. Pretty typical.

2. Smoked salmon with poached eggs and marble rye bread. Much better than packaged lox; it was meaty and definitely tasted fresh.

3. Salmon sushi rolls. The fish was a brilliant pink color—not what you’d find in typical sushi. The man rolling the sushi said the fish was from his backyard. Not too far from the truth, I’m sure.

4. Salmon jerky. The most unexpected and totally delicious—I tried the regular and also the spicy, with red pepper flakes…but the leftovers are making my luggage smell a little funny.

Time constraints kept me from going to an actual salmon hatchery but that’s on my list for my next visit to Vancouver.

We also had Prince Edward Island mussels that were the stuff dreams are made of. The thick, smoky bacon in the garlic butter sauce didn’t hurt.

Oh, Canada!

Late Tuesday we arrived in Vancouver. Jackie and I headed straight for the Museum of Anthropology at the University of British Columbia, which is open late (and for a discount) only on Tuesdays. It’s filled with thousands of baskets and carvings and clothing and canoes from native peoples all over the world, with a focus on the Northwest and Canada. Check out this woven motorcycle! It had no plaque but the site itself was too amazing not to share. My main question: Why?!?

The Haida, an indigenous nation straddling the Canadian and American parts of the Northwest, featured prominently. Located mostly in the islands and adept at sea, the Haida were fierce warriors in defense of their land and to search for new wealth. Most interestingly, they’re generally credited with introducing totem poles, replicas of which dominated the museum.

I had actually met a man making a Haiwa totem pole while we were waiting for the ferry in Olympic. He was commissioned to do so by a pet cemetery, so he had to incorporate dogs into the design even though dogs are not part of the natives’ history. Only partially finished at that point, he showed me how the carving would weave the animals associated with Haida evolutionary theory with the animals kept as pets in modern society.

The ferry rides to get to Vancouver were one of my favorite parts of the trip so far. Alas, there were no glaciers and whales as I had hoped for, but there were eye-catching 360 degree views of the islands between Olympic and Victoria, and then between Victoria and Vancouver, with the occasional giant snowy mountain in the distance (Mt. Baker).

Landing in Victoria we felt like we’d gone ashore in London—from the architecture to the names of the streets and towns, the whole aesthetic was very Picadilly, Trafalgar and Westminster Abbey. It’s no wonder, since Victoria was one of the first cities settled by the British in the area, in 1841. Many of the original buidings are still standing, like the grandiose and well-appointed legislative building that’s located right across from the ferry landing.

Twilight Town

Do parents really allow their Labor Day vacations to be dictated by their teenage girl's book and film obsessions? I would've begged my parents for a weekend traipsing about Prince Edward Island à la Anne of Green Gables if I thought that would've worked.

Forks, WA is certainly capitalizing on the Twilight phenomenon. Wikipedia says Forks has seen a 600% increase in visitors since the books' publication – as though there were a reason to visit this timber village of 3,500 before Jacob took his shirt off here.

There are Twilight tours, several Twilight stores, a Stephanie Meyer celebration weekend, and movie props (Bella's truck!) set up at locations around the town. Restaurants serve "Edbread" and "Swansoup” with your pasta and hang quilt banners featuring graphic-T-esque cut-outs of Twilight scenes. Local motels have "Twilight rooms" where presumably you can satisfy your adolescent desire to, um, become undead.

For the record, it was just a coincidence that our Olympic National Park trip took us through Forks (thrice) but I think Rachel and I especially (Amanda has never read/watched the story) were pleasantly amused by the state of this otherwise nondescript, quaint town in the Pacific Northwest. We might have even taken some embarrassing pictures with life-sized cut-outs of the actors. Allegedly.

I'm on the edge of glory

Apologies to our throngs of fans for abandoning you for a few days. We've been in Olympic National Park exploring rainforests, beaches, and the depth of our collective patience for camping. Oh, and spending the night in one of my Happy Places.

Everything I said about Yosemite (beauty, splendor, etc.) can be re-stated for this place. I'll let the photos do the talking:

Happy Place camping: It's been six years since I've been here...hope that much time won't pass again! I didn't capture it in photo but at night there was a perfect half moon that was sort of hazy but still a brilliant yellow. The clouds whisped out from it in the shape of a lotus flower (really!) revealing thousands upon thousands of stars.

The forests are best enjoyed during the day (not in pitch black when alone...whoops).

Keep Portland...Shi Shi

After a harrowing journey across America via Minneapolis, I joined my octogenarian friends in Portland who were hobbling around the city, avoiding staircases that their Half-Dome-destroyed thigh and calf muscles could not handle. We ate from the famous(ly overpriced) street carts and visited quaint old warehouses converted to breweries, Rogue and Bridgeport.

Flights of beer never disappoint but we did fail to cross the Willamette to show Rachel a key component of Portlandia. Amanda and I had seen the hip music scene on the other side of the river last time we were here but we didn't make the jump last night. So as delightful as the sports bar and cover band bar we ended up at, we never found the bird shop or the feminist bookstore - or their real-life inspirations. People's clothes were decidedly matching and monochromatic, their jeans far too breathable. We blew it a little. But we also learned that Portland has a hidden, mainstream cache of citizens and bars.

Instead of moshing at an indie punk show, we wandered the streets complying with requests of older couples to blast country songs on our cell phones. So that's something.

A taste of wine (if not wine country)

The next major stop on our road trip is Portland, OR. We're there now, having picked up Jackie (blog post forthcoming). But first, Amanda and I had to find a place to stay last Friday night, since the journey from Yosemite to Portland is a cool 15 hours or so.

Anticipating that we'd want something relaxing to wind down from the Half Dome hike, we contacted a winery in Mt. Shasta, CA. They told us that on the day we roll through town, they'd actually be doing tastings at a wine festival in Medford, OR, just over the border. Perfect! we thought: We can take in the best of Oregon wine country in a scenic, relaxing setting, before getting up and finishing the drive to Portland.

Um, yeah.

What we had pictured would be a long wooden banquet table in the middle of a scenic valley with a view of mountains in the distance, maybe a fire pit and a nice string quartet, turned out to be a parking lot in suburban Medford with a giant event tent and a female rock band playing the best of Melissa Ethridge and the Dixie Chicks (the lead singer even had a full on mullet with about three inches in vertical height).

The crowd was...interesting...and in between bites of chicken wings and beef jerky (because those pair perfectly with a nice pinot, of course) we had to explain over and over how two women from D.C. and Chicago ended up at this Harry & David parking lot in Medford.

All together the wine was pretty good and it was a genuinely good break from the road, but not exactly the taste of Oregon wine country that we'd been seeking. On to Portland!

The Harry & David parking lot, of course:

Day Five: The one in which Amanda spills water on her pants and the driver’s seat of our hot rod

Let me explain…

Sometime in the middle of our 10-hour journey from Yosemite to Nowhere Medford, OR, Amanda and I came up with our next million-dollar idea. It’s going to revolutionize the way you stay hydrated on the go. Always getting lightheaded after too many hours on the road? Having trouble opening water bottles while holding the steering wheel and keeping your eye on the road? We’ve got the solution. (etc…you can hear the infomercial now). Okay, so what is it?

Camelbacks attached to the driver’s and passenger’s seat, with the tube straws that come around the front. WHY HAS NO ONE ELSE THOUGHT OF THIS?? It would look something like this:

Side effects may include having to pee a lot, giggling uncontrollably, and yes, spilling on yourself.

Note: When we tried to refill the Camelbacks at lunch, we learned that it’s best to do so outside the car, and preferably not over your own lap. Soggy jeans = NO FUN.

Oh, and for those wondering what kind of fine vehicle we picked up at SFO to take us on this magical journey, behold Chevy's version of the PT Cruiser. I'll never understand why Chevy felt the need to compete with the PT Cruiser, but there you have it.

Half dome: The splendor, the pain, and the lesson

• 14.2 miles roundtrip.

• 4800 feet elevation gain (8,800 at the top).

• At least 2000 stairs.

• 2 majestic waterfalls.

• 3 pounds of trail mix.

• 10 painkillers consumed on the trail.

• 7 walking sticks picked up on the trail.

• Three knees in utter pain.

• 100 meters (or so) straight up a granite sheet.

• One really strong forearm muscle.

• Countless (truly) amazing views: towering redwoods, layered rock faces, snow-covered peaks, animals scrounging, hawks watching, green valleys below and a steady line of intrepid hikers above.

Yosemite is a true splendor and one of the most divinely natural places (even with all the humans) that I’ve ever been.

But the lesson was, perhaps, most important: Everyone has his or her limits, and we should know and respect them.

For those who haven’t been to Yosemite, or climbed Half Dome, or even heard of it, let me tell you. It’s not the 14 miles that are intimidating. It’s the ascent up to Sub Dome, which is about 300 meters up stone steps on the edge of a cliff, and then the 100 or so extra meters up the granite face with nothing but a couple of thick cables keeping you up there. (At that point the lesson was summed up as “Don’t look down.”)

It’s called Half Dome because it literally looks like someone took a dome and chopped half of it off vertically. The truly crazy people rock climb up the 90-degree face. The slightly less crazy use the cables to go up the “curved” side (in quotes because, honestly, there’s not much of a curve). That's the view from the top of Sub Dome, looking with awe at Half Dome.

Amanda and I hiked with a friend from the DOJ, Nicolle, and her boyfriend, Alan. Along the way each of the four of us found our limits and stopped where we needed. So did the other hundred or so people we came across on Sub Dome and Half Dome. We decided that the reason there aren’t more accidents on Half Dome (and really, there aren’t that many) is because people self-select—they find their own limits and they listen to that inner voice. Some may call it chicken, but as the gentlemen who welcomed me back to horizontal ground at the bottom of the cables said, others will call it smart decision-making. Survival instincts.

Whatever you choose to call it, or however much you choose to push yourself, climbing Half Dome is an experience of a lifetime. I’ve done some really memorable hikes, and this one is right up there with the snowy slide down Pucón, the Chilean volcano, and crawling along Katahdin’s knife edge in a hail storm.

Here's the view from the night before, looking off of Glacier Point at the next day's adventure:

Mavericks

Just a quick post to say that Rachel is a trooper. If she had told me that one of her friends was going to hurtle us through the air in a plane the size of a Disney ride and would take our lives into his hands flying low over cities, then over open water, and plunk us down on the landing strip, I might not have okayed that. Obviously, I know and trust Dan, so the only thing I was worried about was the landing (j/k, Dan!), but kudos to Rachel, who went all in on blind faith.

In other news, I was a little bummed that we didn't get to pick our own call sign. I was under the impression that we could tell the tower that we'd like to be 'Maverick' today, a la Top Gun. I know that it's a little cliche to go the Tom Cruise route, but Goose and Icegirl did not seem like appropriate choices. But Dan told us that we had already been assigned "SKyHawk 2750 November" and we should listen carefully for the tower in case we were about to bump into the many jetliners or helicopters trolling around SFO airspace. You can imagine that the cockpit got very quiet anytime 'November' came up-- Rachel and I were taking no chances. I really wish we could have recorded the chatter over the radio--- hearing Dan say that he was requesting clearance to "taxi with Charlie" or "clear the option" was mystifying and impressive all at once. You might actually think he was experienced at this or something.

Anyway, we survived our first adventure. There's more risky business ahead.

Up In The Air

Somehow Amanda and I have spent a day and a half in the Bay Area without seeing the Golden Gate Bridge, Fisherman's Warf--any of it. But we did get a view of the Bay Area that almost no one else experiences.

A good friend of Pens', Dan, learned how to fly small planes, just for fun, and his training base is the Palo Alto airfield. It's a tiny strip of land sandwiched between San Francisco Bay and a whole lot of golf courses. He took us up in a Cessna Skyhawk that's no bigger than a car (I thought often of Harry Potter's flying car and that tree they landed in...).

(Yes, Amanda's wearing aviator sunglasses)

For about an hour we flew over Stanford U. (it's amazing how many people in Palo Alto have their own tennis courts, next to their own swimming pools), north over the 101 to San Francisco, then circled over the city, lower and lower, until it seemed like we could easily land on a skyscraper.

Then we flew over the Bay Bridge to Oakland and back across the bay to Palo Alto, landing again on that narrow strip of land, safe and sound.

Check out this photo from above the City by the Bay: I used to think Coit Tower was a great vantage point to see San Fran. Then I got that vantage point on Coit Tower.

We also took video and audio but are having trouble uploading...there may be an update tomorrow...

Observations from a day of traveling:

Some people just need someone to talk to. The man next to me on my second flight started a conversation by telling me that he'd never been apart from his wife for more than a night since they got married. Later in the conversation he tried to convert me to Christianity.

Southwest Airlines is not quite as perfect as I thought: The free peanut packet? It only had four peanuts in it. Four. That's, like, peanuts! In general their whole snack system is toootally quantity over quality.

Looking classy while traveling is harder than it looks. Amanda's blistery feet and my inexplicable black-ish leggings are testament to that. Hats off to you, ladies in high heels and men in suits. I can't say I remember the time when people dressed up to fly, but I am nostalgic for it.

And last but not least, you can see half dome from the airplane (at least according to my evangelist). Amanda and I will be attempting the ascent on Thursday! More on that later...for now, check out this photo:

Amanda is trip MVP (before it even starts!)

"everyone remember your passport!!!"

That e-mail was a gift from the heavens, saving a crucial part of the trip for me, and presumably for the others, as well. Like Amanda had included one exclamation point for each of the three of us.

Vancouver is actually the place I'm most excited to experience; I've only been to the airport there--never into town--and it's not a place I anticipate visiting again soon. And since we live in a post-9/11 world, the border would've been closed without that little blue book.

So, now that my passport is packed, I'm nearly ready to go. Adventure starts tomorrow!!!

p.s. If anyone can recommend good books to read while traveling, hit up the comments section.

Every Woman for Herself

There are worse ways to go, I suppose, than to be gored by such a furry creature. Thank goodness you can carry guns in National Parks these days.

The Route /raʊt/

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San Francisco

Palo Alto

Yosemite

Mount Shasta

Portland

Olympic National Park

Vancouver

Seattle

West Coast Bound

And some time make the time to drive out west

Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,

In September or October, when the wind

And the light are working off each other

So that the ocean on one side is wild

With foam and glitter, and inland among stones

The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit

By the earthed lightening of a flock of swans,

Their feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white,

Their fully grown headstrong-looking heads

Tucked or cresting or busy underwater.

Useless to think you'll park and capture it

More thoroughly. You are neither here nor there,

A hurry through which known and strange things pass

As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways

And catch the heart off guard and blow it open

-"Postscript"

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Seamus Heaney probably meant a different west coast than the one we'll be traveling along but nevertheless we are taking heed.