Solo Adventure in Sparkling Seattle

How do we go about turning into the people we were meant to become?”

Lucy Grealy, Autobiography of a Face

As my mom would say, I had a bee in my bonnet. A quiet, yet insistent buzzing that became impossible to ignore. Finally I verbalized it to Jason a couple of months ago: I wanted to go on a little trip by myself. Just a short, affordable getaway. The thought of heading out on my own with no ambitious itinerary and no responsibilities…an opportunity to just “be” – became a very attractive idea the more I mulled it over. Don’t misunderstand: I LOVE traveling with my family, my spouse, my sisters, my girlfriends, family friends, couple friends, etc., etc. It’s the only kind of traveling I’ve done for, oh, about my whole life. And that, it became crystal-clear, was the point. I needed to create this opportunity for myself for a multitude of reasons.

As my faithful readers know, Semester at Sea imprinted on my heart and soul an insatiable yearn to GO. In some ways I think I wanted to replicate (or at least scratch the itch) that feeling of arriving in a new place and be inside the moment – for better or worse – while the adventure unfolds.

Thankfully, I have a very understanding, capable, and supportive husband. With his blessing, it took me about one hour to fit the puzzle pieces together and devise a serendipitous plan. Window of 3 days with no deadlines? Check. Train tickets from Portland to Seattle? Check. A way to and from Union Station to home? Check. A low-cost place to stay within walking distance from the train station? Check. It was obviously meant to happen; everything fell into place easily. I reveled in delicious anticipation for the week leading up to my departure.

I was already in Portland with my mom and sisters, so it was convenient for my mom to drop me off at the train station. Do you know I had not ridden the train from Portland to Seattle since I was 10 years old?  Unfathomable, considering all the other countries I’ve ridden on trains in the past year! Anyway, I don’t plan on waiting another 30 years to ride the Amtrak Cascades again. Compared to driving or flying, the train was a piece of cake: Arrive 30 minutes early. Scan your e-ticket in the kiosk for your boarding pass. Stand in line for 5 minutes to get your seat assignment. Walk out to your train car. Stow your bag, then sit back and watch the world cruise by.

Talk about hard choices – relax and read? Journal? Or just be? I chose the latter for most of the 3 1/2 hours, writing in my notebook when the spirit led me. The most scenic portion of the ride was between Olympia and Tacoma, where the track ribbons along the shoreline. Milky sunlight danced on the placid, silvery waters of the Puget Sound while the snow-dusted Olympic Mountains loomed in the distance. It’s such a strange sensation to gaze west and see those mountains!

The train arrived in Seattle about 15 minutes late but still well before dark. I hoisted my lug of a backpack and set off for the 1.88 mile trek to the hotel. Except – I exited not according to my Mapquest directions, as I didn’t recognize any of the street names. Quickly I noticed that the main exit was closed off due to construction, so, trying to breathe easy and regain my bearings (Jason is the direction doctor whenever we travel) I rounded the block and got back on track.

View from my hotel windows.

Hoofing it at as fast a clip I could manage with my hefty pack, I was glad to be doing it in the daylight. The section next to the train station bordered on sketchy, for a single female traveler but within a mile I reached the downtown core. It was interesting to note how much more aware of my surroundings I was traveling by myself, visually and auditorally. A couple of times I stopped to snap a photo (and didn’t feel like I was holding anyone up!) – a grove of trees in a city park donned “sweaters”; the glowy sunset flaring behind the Sound…unfortunately these pics were lost when my phone spent the night in our driveway my first night back, but that’s another story!

My room on the far left, second from the top - all 6 windows!

The Camlin awaited at the end of my trek, a restored historic (1926) hotel situated on 9th and Olive, across from the Paramount Theater. Thanks to bonus time (booking a room on short notice)at Worldmark, lodging set me back only $45/night, including tax! My studio corner room on the 9th floor boasted 6 windows, a wall bed, and mini-kitchen. Once settled in (I love to unpack immediately and transfer clothes to drawers, regardless of how brief a stay is!) my rumbling stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten in several hours. Wishing that I’d made it to Trader Joe’s in Portland to pick up some provisions, I tried to figure out what to do for dinner. I recalled a conversation with my mom the day before about eating out alone.

Picture of the Camlin's original construction in my room.

My mom worked as a flight attendant in her 20’s and again in her 50’s, so has eaten in restaurants by herself lots of times. In fact, she enjoys it. I, on the other hand, tend to feel sorry for people when I see them eating by themselves. When I mentioned that I’d probably get food and bring it back to the hotel room, she declared, “Eating take-out in your hotel room is depressing!” That statement echoed in my head when I called the Dragonfish Asian Cafe (one of three restaurants listed in the room’s info binder) and asked if they did take-out. The voice on the other end replied yes, but the tone implied that it’s not the norm.

After studying the map, I headed out with the intent of finding something gluten-free to satiate me and carry it back to my adorable room and relax. And what do you know – the Dragonfish Asian Cafe was literally 2 blocks from the Camlin. I glanced at the window menu, noting the happy hour specials, and kept on strolling. Then-I heard my mom’s voice (again) and promptly turned around, thinking, why not? It is the year of the dragon, after all, so I took this to be a good sign.

My table for one was very comfortable, thank you very much. The server treated me politely, my sushi and chicken satay were scrumptious, and the whole experience bordered on the visceral. As usual, pushing myself outside my comfort zone proves to be something that I look forward to doing again.

Dinner at the Dragonfish positioned me well for an independent expedition the next day. Skimming through my “Hidden Seattle” book helped me discern which neighborhoods to traverse. As you can see from the photos, the Emerald City was blessed with a spectacular February sunburst the entire duration of my stay. Unbelievably, I even peeled off layers a couple of times under the brilliant azure sky. It was like a direct injection of vitamin D to my veins, which will hopefully tide me over for a few months!

Seattle’s downtown core provided my artery of exploration and I soon found myself melting into the shoppers and browsers at Pike’s Place Market. The soul of Seattle since 1907, more than 100 farmers and 150 craftspeople call Pike’s Place home! From the buttery warmth of a Russian bakery, and salty, briny fresh-caught seafood, to smoky coffee and crisp Jazz apples – all those aromas called up a glorious memories of Hong Kong, Shanghai, Manaus, Chennai, and Ho Chi Minh.

I wished that my getaway included a shopping budget, but it didn’t, so I was content to browse, talk to artisans, and snap some photographs. Soon it was time for a coffee break (all that hard work!) and I sipped a mocha at an outdoor table, contemplating my gift of a day. The original Starbucks is at Pike’s Place, but I think it was a block away (I just consulted a Google map to be sure.) Not surprisingly, Starbucks is EVERYWHERE in downtown Seattle.

If you don’t mind, I’d like to share a bit of relevant family history. My dear Aunt Molly (my dad’s older sister) and Uncle Harry met, married, and raised their four kids in Seattle. We spent many a memorable visit with them growing up, which is how my love affair with this city began. Sadly, both Molly and Harry passed away in the last 3 years, and I found myself missing them both as I reminisced on my wanderings. Now, my dad and mom also dated, and spent the first year and a half of their married life in Seattle. When my parents met, my dad was living in a grand lodge of a house on Queeen Anne hill, along with a group of bachelors, nicknamed Highland Hall. My Uncle Harry also lived in Highland Hall many years before my dad.

So, I wanted to try to locate this Highland Hall that I’d heard about through the years. The monorail transported me to the Seattle Center (where the Space Needle, Experience Music Project, and a myriad of museums, etc. are located) and from there I relied on my map and my feet, heading up, up, up Queen Anne hill. One of my favorite pastimes when traveling is simply to walk endlessly and see what I see. The sunshine, clear air, and steep streets invigorated me.

Queen Anne hill is a fitting name for the fanciful and stately 19th century homes that comprise “old Seattle.” Quite accidentally, Highland Drive intersected my path (I hadn’t noticed it on my map) and between consulting my handy smartphone, asking for directions, and finally getting my dad on the line, I found Highland Hall! The little victory reminded me of when I hunted down my mom’s upper west side apartment in Manhattan about 14 years ago (she lived there the year before she met my dad in Seattle!) I love imagining what my parents’ urban, carefree lives might have been like before all the family responsibilties commenced.

Street view of Highland Hall

Back view of Highland Hall, including the "conservatory."

With my mission accomplished, I rested my weary feet for a bit at Kerry Park and let the postcard vistas mesmerize me. A stunning photo with views of the city and Mount Rainier, if I do say so myself!

Once back downtown, my leaden legs walked on by two street musicians jamming away on their drums. Something familiar about the rhythm and beat made me slow my gait and I listened hard….what was it?? About 20 paces past, it hit me. Ghana! I retraced my steps and dropped a fistful of change into their basket, the memory of those vibrant Ghanaian drummers resonating somewhere deep in my conscience.

The remainder of my trip allowed me two heartfelt visits. I took a cab my second night to my cousin Mark and his wife Mary’s home for dinner. They are parents to sweet Zia, age 2 1/2, and will welcome a baby in August. Mark’s parents are Molly and Harry who I mentioned earlier. Molly died one month before Mark and Mary’s wedding and Harry died when Zia was 5 months old. We had a wonderful time, and I believe Molly and Harry were there in spirit!

Mark, Zia, and Mary McGuane

On my second and final morning, I let myself wake up without an alarm. My original plan was to take the bus to the International District (similar to a Chinatown but representative of many Asian cultures). However, I found that I just wanted to savor my last precious hours of “being.” Instead, I took my time getting ready, then sipped Starbucks (of course) while I browsed at Barnes and Noble. At noon a college friend, Tanya, met me for lunch. I hadn’t seen Tanya in close to 20 years, and thanks to the beauty of Facebook, we were able to connect in person. We seem to have even more in common today than at the University of Redlands. Hopefully we’ll see each other again soon – her niece goes to college at Linfield, here in McMinnville, Oregon!

Tanya graciously dropped me off at the train station. The ride back wasn’t the least bit melancholy – on the contrary, I relished the opportunity to process the trip and reflect what I learned and how I’ll synthesize the experience with my daily life. I would like to share this poem that my daughter wrote. (It’s published on her website that she shares with her friend. How appropriate that Sunday’s train ride allowed me time to get caught up on her writing. I’m beginning to comprehend how she possesses a writer’s soul!)

The Way Life Should Be

You feel free as a bird

You can do anything

You embrace a warm hug from a friend

You spill tears of joy on the ground

You are everything you’ve longed to be

~Vivian Nice

Have you traveled independently? I’d love to share your story in a future post! Please email me or feel free to leave a comment.

525,600 minutes later

Did you know there are 525,600 minutes in a year? Exactly one year ago today our Semester at Sea adventure commenced. Naturally, I’ve been feeling a little nostalgic these days. Promise and cross-my-heart you won’t find your email inbox flooded with other “one year ago today” posts – I realize you’ve already experienced the grand voyage vicariously through Experiential Passage! But I couldn’t let January 9th fritter away without recognizing our anniversary!

As was mentioned in my last post, I’ve entered my “armchair” travel season. Instead of actually going anywhere, I read about and dream about all the places I hope to go sometime in my lifetime. Imagine my glee when I discovered a giant photo of the rooftop pool of the Marina Bay Sands hotel in Singapore in last month’s issue of National Geographic. How thrilling to see a place half-way around the world That We’ve Been To.

Singapore's Marina Bay Sands rooftop pool, aka "SkyPark"

And then on a whim I bought a copy of NG Traveler at Third Street Books last week. There’s not one but two articles in this issue of Places We’ve Been.

The penguins at Boulders Beach, South Africa.

One is about the penguins at Boulders Beach in South Africa (we took a 1 1/2 hour train ride from Cape Town to spend the afternoon there)and the other is titled “Hong Kong With Kids.” It highlights Kowloon and Victoria Parks (check), the Lei Yue Mun night market (check), and Star Ferry (check).

Hong Kong with kids article

Dang- why didn’t I query some magazines before we departed??? Anyway, these publications are timely reminders. It’s been good to fully comprehend and appreciate all the opportunities we had on our round-the-world odyssey.

So what was January 9, 2011 like? I didn’t document much of that first week on this blog because the transition was a bit staggering. We actually left our home at 8:30 a.m. on January 8th. After an overnight at the airport Comfort Suites in Charlotte, North Carolina, we boarded the plane early on Sunday, January 9th. I remember relief rinsing over me at the realization that we didn’t have to plunk down another $200 to check our bags on the technically third leg of the flight. We practically skipped off the plane at Nassau airport in The Bahamas, buoyed by the tropical warmth.

A live calypso band was jamming away, offering some entertainment as we waited in the long line to get through customs.  Then we encountered the first wrinkle of the trip. One of our bags didn’t make it. After we made the decision to wait the 2 hours at the airport until it arrived, we settled in with some fast food and tried not to let antsy-ness derail our optimism.

The cab ride was particularly distinctive. The friendly driver chit-chatted for the entire 2o minute drive, proudly recommending things to do and see and marveling at the voyage we were about to embark on. I remember thinking all the buildings were shades of tropical fruit: lemon, tangerine, mango, melon and berry. The Atlantic Ocean looked positively azure. Little did I know how that eye-candy would quickly become a view I’d take for granted.

After we made it through the Semester at Sea check-in protocol at the ship, we’d barely stumbled into our cabins and caught our breath when it was time to head out to our first round of orientation. We’d cut it close (about 30 minutes to spare) waiting at the airport for the luggage. From 4:00 -9:00 p.m. it was a blur of meetings, introductions, and the first of many attempts trying to orient ourselves on the MV Explorer. Really, the entire 3 days of orientation were stinkin’ hard and overwhelming!  Both Jason and I  had thoughts of “What did we get ourselves into?” Except for watching the BCS championship game at the Hard Rock Cafe, 2 hours one evening walking around the famed Atlantis, and one hour at a public beach walking distance from the ship, we can’t really say we experienced The Bahamas. Alas, it’s still a Place We’ve Been.

Sunrise over Nassau, Bahamas from the deck of the MV Explorer.

I wanted to share this video with you (lasts about 10 minutes.) Choreographed and filmed by SAS students this past fall, it truly captures the spirit of the whole Semester at Sea experience. We’ve watched it several times for obvious reasons and each time it makes me cry and smile at the same time! The video starts on deck 3 and works it way up to deck 8. We even recognized Captain Jeremy and some of the crew. So – if you were ever curious about what the MV Explorer really looks like, you might enjoy this video. Plus, the song is really uplifting.

Everything is going to be different; life is never going to be the same after

your passport has been stamped.

~Graham Greene

Fall in love with Leavenworth

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The Christmas merriment is fading as we’re decluttering room by room (the kids’ favorite – not) and the rain’s pouring nonstop. The longing to jump on a plane to go somewhere, ANYWHERE, is palpable….but sigh, it’s just not going to happen right now. So, it’s time to settle into what I call my “arm-chair” travel season – where I read about all the places I need to visit, make notes, add articles to my travel binders (yes, I’m a nerd that way – so far I have 7 binders full so far!) and DREAM of the next trip. The arm-chair season is also a great time to reminisce by looking at photos from past adventures and treasuring the memories.

And that’s exactly what I was doing when it gave me the idea for this post. Four years ago we visited Leavenworth, Washington the week after Christmas with Grandma and Grandpa Nice. I can’t think of a better cold-weather destination for holiday cheer and magic. Maybe this post will inspire you to plan a trip to Leavenworth next winter…

Leavenworth is nestled at the base of the Cascade mountains about 112 miles east of Seattle. Reinvented as a Bavarian village in the 1960′s to revitalize its depressed economy, it’s billed as a year-round destination for its recreation opportunities, festivals, events, and natural beauty.  But come December, this little gem sparkles its brightest. By day we spent hours sledding and cross country skiing amidst the back drop of snowy peaks reminiscent of the Alps. There are over 25 kilometers of groomed Nordic trails right in town. There’s also downhill skiing nearby, as well as snow mobiling and snow shoeing opportunities.

After thawing out by the fire we’d bundle up to stroll downtown. The frosty air, glittery holiday lights, ice skaters in the town square, and festive music truly makes it feel like a winter wonderland. Walking around, arms linked for body heat, under the mystical lights and twinkling stars was a focal point for me.

Thanks to my 4 years of German in high school, I could understand some of the basics, like “Herzliches Wilkommen zum Leavenworth” (which translates to “Warm Welcome to Leavenworth”). The Bavarian (southern German) theme is woven into the texture of the city, and while there’s no mistake it’s a tourist destination, Leavenworth’s Christmasy charm is hard to resist. The downtown core is packed with all kinds of shops, galleries, and boutiques. Definitely bring some cash for shopping and you can take care of everyone on your list. The dining options venture way beyond traditional German sausage and sauerkraut. We only ate out a couple of times, once at an Italian restaurant and once at a family-friendly brewpub, and both were simply delicious.

One of our highlights was an authentic sleigh ride. I distinctly remember William getting fussy because his 3 1/2 year old body practically froze out, but it’s one of those don’t-miss outings in Leavenworth. Red Tail Canyon Farms provides a real “over the river and through the woods” sleigh ride on their working draft horse farm. Sleigh-riders may be inspired to break out in Jingle Bells as they cruise along under pines laden with fresh snowfall. If you go, be aware the sleigh ride can be chill-to-the bone cold! So dress appropriately. Think layers, wool socks, stocking hats, mittens, etc. Afterward we warmed up in the heated tee-pee with hot cocoa.

Ahh, the memories. Anyone out there making travel memories this winter? If so, please share!

Not Home for the Holidays

As promised, this post will highlight some of my readers’ stories. Since I’ve never been away from family or home for Christmas, last month I invited you to share your “not home for the holidays” experience. Thank you to Mike, Anna, Molly, and Katie for contributing. I hope you all enjoy these stories as much as I do. Merry Christmas!

Christmas 1964

As a junior officer for the Marine Corps, my battalion landing team was in the Philippines on Christmas Eve. We were a first line of defense in the Vietnam “area” but were docked “having liberty” in Subic Bay. The plan for our off-duty holiday was to explore the small town of Olongapo and enjoy a live show by Bob Hope on Christmas Day. We were especially looking forward to Bob Hope’s performance aboard our ship, called the USS Princeton. (It was actually a World War II aircraft carrier that housed 40 helicopters along with 2,000 marines. The helicopters took off and landed from the carrier using the “quick strike” concept.)

We sauntered downtown Olongapo for dinner and drinks. My memory is that there were a lot of honky tonk bars. I think we listened to some music, too. Then we found a beautiful cathedral for midnight Mass. As we exited the cathedral the military police rounded up our battalion landing team and ordered us back to the ship. Apparently the North Vietnamese had made a move, “flapped out” and our Christmas plans abruptly changed. A heavy sense of disappointment and feeling pissed off sucked us dry of the holiday spirit. Instead of Bob Hope filling us with Christmas cheer, we sailed to Saigon on Christmas Day. After hours of meetings and trainings, and homesickness creeping in, I remember a group of 4 or 5 of us gathering on the flight deck at sunset.

As the sun dropped into the South China Sea, molten crimson, gold, and violet splintered the sky. An impromptu sing-a-long started and our group of officers belted out Christmas carols as twilight darkened to night. Talk about wild and weird….an unforgettable Christmas.

~Mike Mattecheck

Christmas 1995

Christmas 1995 outside of Lyon, France

In my undergraduate years, I had the opportunity to study abroad in Sweden for a semester. I chose to go for the fall so I could be in Europe for Christmas, even though that meant being away from home for the holidays at the age of 20. Looking back, I don’t recall being concerned about missing out on Christmas with my family. Studying in Europe was a grand adventure and I was focused on all there was to learn, see, and do. Plus, my older siblings had already missed a Christmas or two, so I’d already experienced a change in the Christmas traditions. I think I felt like this was my turn. However, as Christmas neared, it hit me that there would be no Christmas tree, no gifts, and none of my mom’s and grandma’s tasty cooking.

Some friends and I chose to travel through the holidays instead. As a Swedish-American, starting out in Sweden felt natural. The Swedish customs and traditions of Christmas were quite familiar to me and comforting. Then a couple days before Christmas, we left Sweden for France. By Christmas Eve we ended up in a small town outside of Lyon, France. (Any of the Americans in our study abroad program who were traveling in December had all decided to meet up in this little town to be a “family” together on Christmas – since we were all leagues away from our immediate families.) The hostel we stayed in was more like a small camp and we were the only guests. So we pooled our talents and resources to make it as Christmas-y as we could. It was only this night we were all together so we each chipped in for our Christmas dinner. It was basically a smorgasbord of French bread, Swedish pancakes, fruits, and veggies. We set up one long table for about a dozen of us to have our “feast.” And that was Christmas 1995…a bunch of Americans in a small town in France making memories.

~Anna Carlson

Christmas 1999

My only Christmas away from home was the year I was studying abroad in Salzburg, Austria. Brian (my husband now and boyfriend at the time) was visiting, snow blanketed the ground, and I was living in one of the most charming cities in Europe. As magical as it was, there’s nothing quite like being home with family. And being only 19 at the time, I was really homesick! There were about 20 students who were at the Center (our building where we lived and took classes) and so our group cooked a big dinner and we enjoyed our holiday as much as we could. Most of the details blur together with one exception.

We attended midnight Mass at the main cathedral in downtown Salzburg. The church was drafty and cold and the crowd stayed bundled up in their hats and gloves. The traditions and rituals of a Catholic Mass are universal no matter what country you’re in, so I was able to understand and connect with the service even though my understanding of German was poor. The most poignant and memorable moment came when two men climbed into the elevated pulpit and played “Silent Night” on their acoustic guitars.  The packed congregation completely hushed and the gentle voices of these men rang throughout the mighty church. They continued singing through every single verse and it still ended too soon. My eyes were clouded with tears as wonderment and peace filled my heart. While this moment didn’t make me miss my family any less, I knew I’d just received the most beautiful gift. We walked home that night knowing we would never forget our Christmas in Salzburg.

~Molly Schultz

Christmas 2009

The only Christmas I have spent away from home was in 2009. I was spending fall semester abroad in England and the English university system breaks for several weeks over the holiday and then resumes for final exams before the term finishes at the end of January. What this meant for us foreigners was several weeks to tour wherever our time would take us until we needed to return for finals.

My parents and younger brother came to visit and we spent a whirlwind three weeks exploring England, Spain, and France (I journeyed to Poland for the last bit of the break after they’d returned to Oregon.)  Appropriately, we found ourselves in The City of Lights, aka Paris, on Christmas Eve and Day. To give us something exciting to do on a day when most everything is closed, my mom planned an outing to Paris Disneyland! It certainly wasn’t a traditional Christmas, but I found I didn’t mind. I was with those I normally spend the holiday with anyway, so being somewhere new wasn’t a problem.

I will say, however, Christmas 2010 was that much more memorable because it had been two years since we sat at home baking cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning!

~Katie Paysinger

A Star Shines in Sunriver

November’s drawing to a close and this post is about 10 days late (my own self-imposed deadline) but there’s a viable reason, thanks to my sisters, as you’ll soon find out. On November 6th we celebrated the 70th birthday of our lovely mother, Susanne Linda Schechtel Mattecheck. In honor of this monumental milestone, we planned a long weekend in Sunriver.

The Birthday Girl

Sunriver is a sprawling, fabulous resort about 20 miles south of Bend in Central Oregon. Since The Cabin (remember September’s post?) is situated in that same vicinity, we rarely vacation in Sunriver. So this was a treat. And since it was Mom’s birthday we unanimously agreed to splurge on a nice vacation rental. My youngest sister Molly found a palatial 5,000 square foot home, which we nicknamed The Lodge, on VRBO. The Lodge, technically located in Caldera Springs boasted 6 bedrooms, uber high-end finishes, and a view of Fireglass Lake. To put it bluntly, The Lodge was the complete opposite of The Cabin and we reveled in the comfort and luxury for 3 days!

We were the last ones to arrive Thursday night and after about 15 minutes of unpacking and oohing and ahhing over The Lodge, Molly suggested we all discuss which weeks everyone could make it to The Cabin next summer. I thought, well it’s kind of early, but sure, okay. Then she emphatically stated she and Brian would need to sleep in the Blue Room. At that, kinetic shrieks ricocheted off those solid wood trusses since that meant she’s having a baby!!! (At The Cabin Mom and Dad always sleep in the pine paneled room and whichever family has the baby gets the second bedroom – the Blue Room.) Talk about thrilling news – I waddled down the aisle 8 months pregnant with William at Molly and Brian’s wedding, and William’s now 7 years old. So – we’ve been waiting just a little while for their big announcement!

Molly sporting her 13 week bump!

And then… without missing a beat, my middle sister Mary piped up, “Well, they’re going to have competition for the Blue Room!” Jubilant cries electrified the great room as we realized that Mary and Doug (who got married a year ago September) were also expecting a baby, just weeks after Molly and Brian. Amid the hugs and joyful banter, Doug casually mentioned they’d be arriving with two car seats. My head whipped around as I gaped at him and Mary….TWINS??!!! The kinetic energy became absolutely frenetic at this exhilarating news.

The twins are making their presence known at 9 weeks!

Talk about the best kind of birthday present for Mom, aka Mutti. (Mutti, which means “Mommy” in German, is what the grandkids call her. Her grandparents were Germans who immigrated to the U.S. from Russia in 1910. When I was pregnant with Vivian, the first grandchild, Mom wanted to thoughtfully choose her grandma name. I suggested Mutti, pronounced Moo-Tee, and she approved.)

Nobody slept much that first night. The expectant moms raided the kitchen to stave off nausea; the other moms were keyed up with excitement of welcoming babies into the family that we don’t have to raise; and the cousins woke each other up at 5:30 a.m. in their shared bunk room. We instructed the kids not to come out of their bedroom until 7:00 but unfortunately their clock had been moved an hour ahead. Molly and Brian (theirs was the only other upstairs bedroom) were none too pleased to be jerked awake by their noisy nieces and nephews at 6:00 a.m. Someday soon they’ll understand…

Sunriver is known for its close proximity to the Cascade Mountains and all sorts of outdoor recreation opportunities. Mount Bachelor’s a quick drive down the highway for skiing, tubing, and snowboarding. In the summer, you can swim, golf, hike, play tennis, and/or ride bikes on miles of paved paths. The first weekend in November served up frigid weather but no snow, so we actually did none of the above! Our plans to visit Newberry Crater(see the photo in my header) changed when Brian reported back there were lots of clouds at the summit obscuring the spectacular view. An avid cyclist, he had headed up there to mountain bike for a few hours before he got frozen out.

Teamwork - with no adult help!

The frostiness didn’t stop the kiddos from constructing a fort or the rest of us from going for bundled-up walks and runs. And the steamy hot tub provided a fun way to heat up and thaw out chilly hands and feet! The clear, austere cold turned pearl-ish on the second day as tiny snowflakes sprinkled the massive pine trees and eventually dusted the ground. Such a pristine picture sharply contrasted the indulgent warmth of the Lodge.

Hoping for snow!

Our time was spent preparing meals, eating, talking, reading and relaxing in front of the fire, and watching football. And running endless loads of dishes. A second dishwasher seemed to be the only missing amenity at The Lodge!

The cousins (ages 10, 8, 7, 6, and 3 1/2) played nonstop and delighted in conducting a poll about the babies.  Tommy and Vivian toted around a clipboard and recorded everybody’s predictions regarding gender, names, and birthdates. Since you’re probably wondering, I predicted that Molly (due date May 11th) will have a girl named Liddie on May 15th and Mary (due date June 9th) will have a girl named Maeve and a boy named Patrick on May 20th!!!

As you can see, our Sunriver weekend was all about hangin’ with the fam and of course, celebrating our beloved matriarch. We all love and admire Mom so much, not only for being a terrific mother and grandmother, but also for 70 inspirational years!

Mom has demonstrated courage, tenacity, and all-around spunk probably all her life – I just happen to notice it now that I’m all grown up and a parent myself! She’s survived breast cancer and ovarian cancer; fearlessly went back to work as a flight attendant both pre and post 9/11; traveled on outdoor adventures like kayaking and biking trips, and embraces change with gusto. She loves unconditionally, listens intently, and lives exuberantly. A quintessential hostess, it was damn near impossible to get her out of the kitchen this weekend! She can’t not help out, but that didn’t stop us from trying to pamper her. Thank you, Mom, for being our star- we love you!

Gotcha! Can't keep Mom out of the kitchen!

And now, dear readers, I need your assistance for my December post. I’m not traveling this month and never have I been away from home at Christmas! Will you please share with me your story of being away from home at the holidays?? You can either leave it in the comments section or email me. Photos are welcome, too!  I look forward to collaborating on this…thank you! Here’s a little quote to spur you on (and helped birth the name of this blog, Experiential Passage.)

An experience we shall always remember, or an experience, which alas, we shall never forget. ~Julius Gorden

Fall for Victoria

The big news of the month is I got to use my passport for the first time since Semester at Sea! That simple fact had me giddy with anticipation in the week leading up to our quick escape to Victoria, British Columbia. Adding a new category (Canada) to this blog makes my fingers fly across the keyboard! What can I say? I’m a travel junkie and not ashamed to admit my addiction…

The purpose of heading north to Canada was for Jason to run the Victoria marathon. He’s already qualified for Boston in 2012 (look for that post in about 6 months) but he wanted to improve his standing by running a faster time. His qualifying time of 3:14 at the Seattle marathon last November has been taunting him…could he get back in marathon shape after being relegated to short treadmill runs on the ship???

The Portland marathon was the same day, but why run in your own backyard when you can check out the scenery somewhere new? Our good friends Laura and Michael Hampton shared our sentiments so we planned the trip this summer. This was Michael’s first marathon and Laura and I chose to run the 8k.

Last time I’d landed in stunning Victoria was for a jazz choir trip in high school (Jason had also gone in high school for a band trip.) My only memory is singing “Canada in Springtime” – something about daffodils beneath the sun and cheer up sleepy robin ….and I’ll spare you the rest of the lyrics.

After a brief overnight sojourn at the Hamptons’ friends, the Hochsteins,  in Seattle, we boarded the ferry in Anacortes. Unfortunately, there is no quick way to get to Victoria. Between the drive, ferry ride, and wait time, it’s a good 10 hours from here. Kind of far to go for a weekend but 100% worth it! Cruising through the San Juan islands with views of Mt. Baker was breathtaking.

The travel gods smiled down on us – no mishaps or delays AND we were able to check in early to our Worldmark unit. It was located right on the waterfront with beautiful harbor views. Besides the aesthetics it was convenient. Once we arrived and parked our car, we didn’t drive it again till we checked out. Now that’s my idea of a hassle-free vay-cay. The race start/finish lines and downtown were easily accessible on foot.

We spent Saturday afternoon eating fish and chips at Fisherman’s Wharf, exploring the race expo, and meandering the heart of downtown Victoria. All the runners are required to pick up their packet the day before a race. The “packet” includes your bib number, chip to record your time, shirt, and sometimes some other swag. The place buzzed with all the vendors, exhibits, and lean, fast people as well as your Average Joes and Janes. Jason and Michael got the low-down on the course (it’s deceptively hilly) while Laura and I peeked at a hotel room at The Empress. The race expo was at the convention center right next door to The Empress. Lillian Hochstein and her friend Sharlin planned to run the half-marathon and scored a room at the renowned Empress.

British royalty regularly stay at The Empress, and afternoon tea costs about $30/person so I had high expectations for this iconic, swanky hotel. Alas, the digs are nice but nothing grand. And the new lobby is underwhelming to say the least. Laura and I noticed that it’s been taken over by the Fairmont hotel chain. Sigh. Well, we enjoyed its commanding turn-of-the- century architecture while we trekked back and forth between downtown and the waterfront.

Victoria, the capital of British Columbia is actually located on Vancouver Island. It’s kind of embarrassing how little I know about our friendly neighbors to the north. And I’ve lost my edge since Semester at Sea – I didn’t take the time to research and beef up my background knowledge. What I CAN tell you is that the Canadian dollar is equal to the U.S. dollar (and Victoria seemed a little expensive); Canada celebrates their Thanksgiving the 2nd Monday in October (yes we were there Thanksgiving weekend); and Victoria is one of the most attractive cities I’ve ever visited – a delicious blend of urban and water, European charm, and friendly sophistication.

Those of you who’ve read this blog know that I love going to grocery stores in foreign cities. We stumbled onto Thrifty Foods to stock up on essentials for a carbo-loaded dinner. But where was the wine? After inquiring we learned that they don’t sell any alcohol in grocery stores. Fortunately, we found our wine at Spinnaker’s, practically next door, a decidedly upscale liquor shop.

Sunday morning dawned cold and clear – and dark. The daybreak sun finally poked through as Laura and I approached the start about 7:15. Isn’t that the coolest starting line with all the flags?

The 8k route led us through a leafy residential neighborhood, then propelled us along the waterfront. Deja Vu swept over me – it reminded me so much of running along the waterfront in Cape Town. All that reminiscing and endless ocean vistas kept my mind off how tired I was – but really, compared to the half marathon or a marathon, it was over before I knew it! We connected with Jason and Michael in the 45 minute break after the 8k and marathon start. Yes, that is the parliament building in the backdrop!

After shower and breakfast, Laura and I had an important To Do list: 1. Find a good place for coffee. 2. Drink that good coffee. And we managed to accomplish our objectives in time to cheer Jason on to his photo finish of 3:03! He shaved 11 minutes of his previous best! I was so proud of him. And Michael finished in 3:50, a terrific time for a first marathon.

So with all we achieved in the morning, it didn’t take long to discern that a relaxing afternoon was in order. I know, it totally goes against my traveler’s grain to not maximize my time in a new city. Ah well, the Royal BC Museum and Butchart Gardens will be there next time.

Glorious autumnal sun shimmered on the water and warmed up the balcony just perfectly to unwind and rest our spent legs.

The hours winked away while we watched the sea planes land, sipped our wine, and contemplated life’s tougher questions, like where to have dinner. Talk about the life!

My dear readers, you know how much intense family time we’ve had over the past year. And as much as I love my children, Victoria was an idyllic and overdue getaway.

We dined at Pescatore’s, thanks to a recommendation from a bellhop at The Empress. Jason and Michael had the pleasure of meeting the winner of the marathon, a runner from Kenya, while they were inquiring about restaurants. He concurred what they and other runners concluded: the course was challenging due to all the inclines.

Pescatore’s reminded me of a 1950′s supper club – crimson accents, dim lighting with squatty candles, luxe booths. Our server impressed us with her graceful handling of a 3 foot tall pepper grinder! I’ll let you guess who ordered the steak, the fish, and the traditional Thanksgiving dinners.  And we all saved room for white, milk, and dark chocolate fondue with fresh fruit for dessert -sweet!

We capped off the evening with a restorative soak in the hot tub back at Worldmark, along with a few other runners looking to soothe stiff muscles. I think we all slept well that night! And then it was time to “hurry up and wait” – the next morning we sat in the car for an hour before we boarded the ferry.

Instead of taking a Washington state ferry back to Anacortes, we rode on Blackball, a privately owned ferry to Port Angeles. It resembled a ship more than a ferry, aptly named the MV Coho. In fact, the “feel” of this ferry/ship and the magnetic draw of the water compelled me to spend the entire 90 minute ride on deck. For the second time that weekend, a sense of deja vu flooded over me. Leaving Victoria harbor recalled all our other port departures. I gazed out at the infinite Pacific, mesmerized. Jason pointed out the whales fluking (for the record,we never saw fluking whales on Semester at Sea, only dolphins).

I mean, don’t you just feel nostalgic looking at these photos?! You lived my ocean adventure vicariously. And no worries – the irony is not lost on me. Rarely did I reflect on and fully appreciate that communion with the water when we called the MV Explorer our home. And yet, those 90 minutes on the MV Coho squeezed my heart.

Until next month…

The Cabin

Well, the kids have just knocked out their second week of school and for the first time in 35 years, I did NOT go back to school. And you know, it feels okay. Actually, pretty darn good. Seasons change and this new season I’ve dipped into feels like the direction I’m meant to go. Today I’m taking a break from finalizing my business website to write about The Cabin.

The Cabin

A little back story is in order: The Cabin was constructed around 1950 by my paternal grandfather, Bob Mattecheck and a couple of amateur builders. I don’t know how many nails my granddad actually hammered, but that’s beside the point. The Cabin was erected as a small rustic (it didn’t get indoor plumbing till the late 1960’s) structure on the banks of the Metolius River in Central Oregon. The mysterious Metolius originates from a bubbly, pure spring at the base of Black Butte, just about a mile upstream from The Cabin. It riffles by tranquilly just steps from our porch.

The kids love to wade in the shallow, easy current or throw rocks or feed the fish in the “blue hole” with bits of bread or stone flies. This summer Uncle Matt plunged in as a river guide for the kiddos! Us big kids grab our moments to just sit, relax, or read in a camp chair by the river’s edge. The spirit of the Metolius is just so calming….and restorative.

The Cabin sits on U.S. Forest land in the tiny hamlet of Camp Sherman, which we lease and will never own. Details of this lease are a whole separate blog post, but hopefully our family can lease the land forever. Majestic ponderosa pine trees dominate the landscape and provide loads of simple entertainment: building forts, scampering over fallen logs, and peeling off the jigsaw shaped bark just for the hell of it.

Camp Sherman consists of a general store, post office, and a two room school house. The Store supplies basic groceries, some gifty items and renowned fly shop in the back. Like The Cabin, The Store’s timelessness is a great comfort.

Warren Snyder, expert fly fisherman

Even though we never buy much, it’s a destination in itself. Situated about a mile and a half upstream, we love walking to The Store along the river. This summer a mini farmer’s market set up camp on a Saturday morning.

Like Camp Sherman, The Cabin’s tiny. With only two bedrooms and one small bathroom, the property ends up looking like a shanty town.

Three tents get pitched, the porch overflows with clothes, shoes, and toys, and the yard’s littered with magazines, newspapers, books (my family loves to read), balls, bats, and bikes. This year 16 (my parents, my siblings, spouses, their kids, and the Nice family) of us holidayed at The Cabin for the weekend! And my two younger sisters and their hubbies don’t have kids yet….it’s only going to get merrier as the years clip by!

Depending on my life stage, The Cabin has meant different things to me. As a kid I anticipated that week all year long. No surprise – most kids thrive on tradition and repetition. I loved exploring nature and the freedom from routine. We spent hours doing all kinds of imaginative play and found a lot of joy in simple things. Chasing chipmunks, walking to the rock fort, feeding the fish at the blue hole, riding bikes to the bridge or the horse stables.

As a teenager and college student, my interest at The Cabin shifted to all the outdoor and recreational pursuits like hiking, biking, lake swimming, playing tennis and pingpong. I also loved sharing The Cabin with friends, and knowing they enjoyed it filled me with a sense of pride and happiness. When Jason and I dated and then married, we continued to seize all the outdoor opportunities (he fell under the spell of the Metolius for its world-class fly fishing) but used The Cabin more as a pause in our summer travels. I don’t recall ever staying more than a few days during those years.

Playing bocce ball with Aunt Mary

And then, we became parents. As my mom says sagely, The Cabin is hard on babies and toddlers. Well, yeah, ‘cause it’s basically glorified camping. Those years, albeit precious, loped by in a blur of bumps and scrapes (stumbling off the porch steps), smudgy faces, baths in the pea-green plastic tub, and attempted naps so mom and dad could get a break. At the time it felt like more work than being at home! I remember all too clearly Jason and I asking each other, “Will going to The Cabin ever feel like a vacation again??”

Uncle Brian warms up for the campfire.

And now, we’re enjoying prime golden years with the kids. The Cabin, once again, feeds all of us. Nowadays the kids hop on their bikes and cruise to the bridge or the horse stable. The kids are drawn to explore the woods and the river just like I was as a kid. They play endlessly when the cousins join us and I can actually read a chapter of my book uninterrupted.We can hike to the mountaintop with only minimal whining. This year we crested to the summit of Black Butte and were rewarded with breathtaking 360 degree views. Eight Cascade peaks glimmered in the summer sky.

I’d be lying if I declared The Cabin was perfect. Huh-uh. In fact, I’ve been known to gripe about its lack of amenities in recent years. Guess I’m getting soft and my creature comforts mean more now that I’m, ahem, more mature! Yes, we’ve got running water and carpet in the bedrooms (except 90%  of the time we sleep in the tent or on the porch) but there’s no dishwasher, washing machine, dryer, TV, or electric heat. The wood fireplace did get upgraded to propane about a decade ago, and around that same time we added a landline (no cell service unless we drive about 8 miles up the highway!) But the luxury stops there.

It's Molly and Brian's turn to whip up dinner for 16.

A revelation occured to me this summer. Blame it on my sharpened perspective from Semester at Sea. It dawned on me with the clarity of a Metolius sunrise: The Cabin stands as a constant. A true sense of place. Despite all the places I’ve lived in and places I’ve visited, The Cabin never, ever changes.

The dining room table has seen a few poker games over the years!

It’s been the same forever: the same round dining room table, the same checkered wallpaper in the blue bedroom, the same leaky faucet in the bathroom, the same pine paneling on the walls. I realized what a huge comfort this is to me at transitions in my life. A gift.

Instead of bemoaning the hour it takes to wash dishes after a meal, this summer I focused on how I love eating on those sturdy plastic plates. Those “unchippable” Brookpark dishes are the same dishes my grandmother, Mary Mattecheck, bought for The Cabin some 60 years ago. I never knew Grammy Mary and it’s so not fair. She was tragically killed in a car accident (my granddad and she were driving to The Cabin) just a few months after my parents were married. Those dishes, and every item in The Cabin, are a tangible link to my heritage.

Along those same lines, The Shed stands on the exact spot where the outhouse once stood. The Shed stores everything from old blankets and rusty tools to Louis Lamour paperbacks and an old croquet set. There’s also a four-legged refrigerator, circa 1955, that keeps our beverages cool, if not totally cold. You have to really slam the door to make sure it latches and keep the arctic air in. A newer fridge would be so much more practical!

My grandparents' names, Bob and Mary Mattecheck, on a plaque near the Camp Sherman store.

But this summer reminded me how, just like the dishes, that decrepit fridge connects me to my roots in ways that can’t be quantified. The Cabin was a labor of love for my grandparents and endures today as a tribute to their spirit.

Oftentimes our weather is less than stellar even in the middle of August. But this summer the sun scorched through the shady pines, forcing us to cool off in the river and  seek patches of shade. Heat has a way of slowing life way down, even when you’re on vacation. Everybody takes their turn on the hammock!

One of our favorite things is eating outside with the view of Black Butte looming to the south. Everybody takes turns cooking dinner and the privilege of kitchen clean-up duty.

One evening the temperature dropped and sky darkened in less than a half hour. We brought in the table settings, ripped the cushions off the outdoor furniture and moved the picnic table onto the cluttered porch. After we’d dished up a scrumptious meal (courtesy of Molly and Brian) and settled in on the porch, the curtain raised for a brilliant thunderstorm. Lightning flashed and cracked and the thunder drum-rolled temptuously. Talk about a show for the ages! The kids shrieked in delight and we all reminisced about The Cabin thunderstorms from our childhoods. What a night.

Mutti (what the grandkids call my mom) and my niece, Rachel.

As you can tell, The Cabin has been my (our) summer haven every year of my life. I take it for granted most of the time but thankfully this summer I could be mindful of what a gift it is. I remember similar feelings after the college semester I studied abroad in Europe. It seems the more places I experience, the more I appreciate The Cabin and what it symbolizes.

Hiking to the rock fort!

Next time you’re cruising east on Highway 20, take the Camp Sherman exit. Motor down the road about five miles, then turn onto the gravel road at the Tract C sign. You’ll find The Cabin around a few dusty bends, nestled among the Ponderosa pines. Stop by and say hello – friends are always welcome at The Cabin!

Mutti and Granddad with their grandkids - this has become an annual photo!

One-Oh-Eight

What’s in a number? How do you measure time? 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year. Ever seen the musical Rent? It’s my second all-time favorite Broadway show (behind Wicked). There’s a song titled “525,600 minutes – how do you measure a year?” It’s been spinning through my mind as I compose this post.

Care to guess what the big whoop is about 108? Ah-ha – I knew one of my sharp readers might nail it….we’ve been home for 108 days today. (with one caveat: not as I publish this post, rather when I wrote it originally last week!) And, that’s precisely how long we were gone on our voyage. Those of you who know me well remember that I am a”dates” person. Usually my date recall is spot-on…truly it’s a gift that probably makes you green with envy. Alas, I’ve found myself doing a fair amount of reminiscing these days.

And I’m not the only one. No kidding, Vivian started rummaging around her immaculate (not) room, plucking various mementos from the voyage one morning recently. She’s the one who actually gave me the idea for this post. Before I knew it, she had assembled a little shrine to showcase memories from Semester at Sea. Naturally I had to snap a photo to share with y’all.

Truth be told, time passed at a snail’s pace when we were on the ship. The quick days in each port gave me whiplash, but life at sea was another matter. Writhing on your cabin bed from seasickness I guess will do that to the average person. So will heading to the dining room for your three squares a day, which aren’t so appetizing after a few short weeks. Or attempting to convince your children to do more than 20 minutes of school work a day ( my knowledge and experience as a teacher meant nada to Vivian and William!) Ahh, those were the days…

William still doesn't cooperate for photos!

But, like pregnancy and childbirth….the more distance that separates us makes the experience that much sweeter. As overjoyed as I was to arrive back home, I’m already missing what I can’t have back as a land lubber. Our recent beach trip and hike out to the tip of Cape Lookout reminded me of those infinite ocean vistas that I took for granted.

I’ve always been a view junkie, but really, I didn’t GET how spectacular those ocean views were when I had them 24-7. Check out how the panorama ocean backdropped my everyday life: Outdoor dining on deck 6 at the Garden Lounge.  P.E. with the kids on the deck 7 Miller Court. Yoga on B days on deck 5 aft. Sunrise through the faculty lounge windows when I stumbled in, bleary-eyed at 6 a.m. to pour my coffee and head to the computer lab to upload my blog posts. Trying to check my e-mail at the pool deck in the afternoons(because the server shut down on me that morning), when I wasn’t supervising “P.E.”  Jogging back and forth on deck 7 (opposite Miller Court) when I couldn’t score one of the two treadmills….the oceans of the world kept me in a bear hug for almost 4 months and I didn’t appreciate them a lot of the time.

This shot is at the tip of Cape Lookout...and a ringer for the ocean views we enjoyed everyday aboard the MV Explorer!

After experiencing the Caribbean Sea, the Amazon River, Atlantic Ocean, Indian Ocean, South China Sea, and the southern-ish Pacific, I’ve gained a different perspective on the Oregon coast. The Oregon coast distinguishes itself from stereotypical west coast beaches due to its abundance of rugged beauty. I have to admit there are plenty of other beaches I’d choose for a vay-cay over the Oregon coast. Why? I like to be warm.  However, it’s hard to surpass nature’s aesthetics here in the Northwest. Verdant stands of timber literally roll into the coast line and wide, mellow beaches link the mighty Pacific with the mountains. No doubt, we’re talking gorgeous scenery with a capital G.  But….it’s usually cold. Frequently windy. Often rainy or misty.

The kids and their granddad soaking up typical Oregon coast weather!

On our summer trip to the coast (thanks to my sister Mary and her new hubby Doug who graciously let us stay in their beach house while they honeymooned in Ireland!) the majestic Pacific bowled me over in the auditory sense.  I never, ever recall being aware of how LOUD the ocean is here in Oregon. Breakers as deep as a football field thundered so loud you’ve got to practically yell to be heard .The rumbly waves dwarfed my kids’ shrieks of delight as they pranced in the liquid ice. If I couldn’t see their joyful smiles I’d have had no way of knowing they were lovin’ every minute.

Now where was I? Oh yeah, swept up in my ocean dreams….let’s get back on track. At 108 days out, what else do I miss? Well, the people. It took a little while to get used to the social dynamic on the ship, but the friendships we made I think will last. I feel fortunate I get to talk with a couple friends regularly and Facebook makes it easy to keep in touch with many more. On some levels I miss the sense of community that ship life afforded. Such an intense shared adventure will never be duplicated.

I miss that nervous, excited feeling of anticipation that filled me every time before we docked at a new port. That adrenalin buzz fueled me each instance as we wondered about the new country. After “surface research” using guide books checked out 2 hours at a time from the MV Explorer’s library, hit-and-miss Internet searches, perusing my binder of Semester at Sea sponsored field trips (which we didn’t do many of), and LOTS of talking to other shipmates, we’d have our game plan mapped out.

The Pre-Port lecture the night before arrival would arm us with the most up-to-date info regarding money, language, transportation, and necessary cultural insight. Then the morning of…slathering on sunscreen, often bug repellant, stuffing the backpack and money belt with all the essentials, waiting to get cleared from immigration (that process varied dramatically from country to country), and then finally….walking down the gangway. Relief (to be on land) and trepidation (how would we find our way?), mixed with the thrill of exploration produced the ultimate rush for me. Now, those WERE the days…

What I’m about to reveal to you is a little bit surprising to me. I didn’t think I’d need to scratch that itch so soon. The yearning to GO is alive and kicking inside me. Like an addict, travel is my drug and I need my fix. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a blast on our camping trips and local excursions this summer. I love where I live – somebody should pay me to be the poster child for Oregon tourism (oh wait they used to – but that’s another post)! But the desire to explore new and faraway places is burning through my fingertips as I type this. We live on a wild and wonderful planet and I got to take a bite of it on Semester at Sea! But there’s no going back for seconds at my table for now. Sigh. Financially we’ve got to take care of some other priorities and since I quit my J-O-B to try this writing gig full time, well….now’s the time to be prudent.

So, dear readers, thanks for sticking with me all these months. I’ll still keep prattling away on this Experiential Passage. Share with me your travel aspirations and adventures! I love that. Reading around the world is the next best thing. Can I get an Amen?!

Endless skies, mosquitos, Cottonwoods, and a tepee

At the end of June, the Nice family headed out for our first camping trip of the season; our first adventure since arriving back on land two months prior. We’d made the reservations back before Christmas and invited Jason’s parents to join us. Our destination: a tepee at Clyde Holliday State Park in Eastern Oregon.

I’ll be honest (like I usually am on this blog): I have a love/hate relationship with camping.

LOVE  - connecting with nature, the simplicity, starry nights, campfire time (especially the s’mores), watching the kids have fun, the affordability, camp cooking….

DON’T LOVE – packing and unpacking the gear and all the cleaning and organizing that goes along with that, trying to keep food cold and dry in the ice chest, washing dishes, cold mornings, a faraway toilet (why is it that nature calls in the middle of the night on a camping trip but not at home?), and the shower factor (I can’t go more than 2 days without a shower, but often the showers are kind of gross.)

We are a tent camping family, which translates into 1-2 short camping trips per year considering the above category. So, I had high hopes for our tepee. The luxury! The novelty! The experience!

Trekking east of the mountain was symbolic for us on a few levels. First of all for Jason, who’s a country boy at heart, visiting Eastern Oregon borders on a spiritual experience. When we first started dating, he had interviewed for a teaching job in Long Creek and almost moved there. Lucky for me, love won out over the open skies, but suffice to say, Eastern Oregon is his favorite place on the planet. I hadn’t ventured over there in 10+ years (pre-kids – seems like I measure a lot of experiences on this timeline). Heck, we have sailed around the world, but we haven’t exposed our kids to the “Other Oregon.” The timing was right.

I really believe that any Oregonian who lives west of the Cascades owes it to themselves to hop in their car and journey to Eastern Oregon. To fully comprehend who we are as a state, you need to experience the Other Oregon. Words can’t do justice, but that won’t stop me from trying.

Rugged. Desolate. Infinite skies. Quiet. The unspoiled wildness is literally a feast for the eyes, from the craggy Picture Gorge and verdant John Day river valley to the squatty juniper trees and snow-dusted Strawberry Mountain.

(When we drove through Picture Gorge, William looked up from the portable DVD player long enough to exclaim, “That’s like the canyon that Road Runner and Coyote run up. Beep-beep! Varoom!”)

The panorama dominates; it’s like the lifestyle conforms to the landscape. Indeed, it’s a common to sight cattle lumbering on public range land. I was amazed at how healty the livestock looks. The horses’ coats absolutely gleam!

We rolled into camp after about a 6 1/2 hour drive. We actually weren’t that far east to look at the map. Oregon’s a pretty vast state! The campground was situated about 4 miles from John Day, which is near Whiskey Gulch, site of the biggest gold strike in Oregon (Jason is a walking encyclopedia of Eastern Oregon, thanks to all the books he’s read!) It turned out to be an ideal location for us. We used it as a jumping off point to explore points of interest and everything turned out to be a minimum one hour drive away.

As we unloaded the truck and set up camp, Clyde Holliday State Park immediately impressed us. Our riverfront tepee let us listen to the riffling of the John Day river. At only 31 sites, it’s smaller and thus quieter than a typical state park, but boasts amenities like showers, ice, wood, and maintenance. I’d even say the park was manicured – green, mowed grass, lots of shady Cottonwood trees, really clean.

There was a trail along the river that led to a pond with gobs of brilliant poppies and other wildflowers. We tooled around the campground loop and trail on our bikes. There were just two tepees, and they must have been added later because they were actually next to the day-use area. William instigated several soccer, football, and baseball games in the grassy area right next to our abode.

Vivian and Jason set about getting dinner ready while William and I went to the ranger talk right next door and examined the fossils.

Compared to our tent, the tepee was a definite step up in the camping world. You could stand upright and there was room for 6 cots. Instead of a thin tarp between you and the earth, the tepee sported painted concrete. There was one electrical outlet which we used for plugging in the griddle, charging our phone, and powering the space heater. Yep, the tepee came with a heater that warmed up chilly mornings! Plus the site came with two picnic tables and lots of concrete and grass, cutting down on the dirt and dust.

The resident squirrels persisted their way with our food. Until we got smart and crammed all the dry food in the plastic tub, the varmints broke into a box and ate a whole package of bagels one day!

Unfortunately, the tepee couldn’t keep out the mosquitos or cotton. With such a cool spring and slow start to summer, cotton wafted through the campground like snow and wrecked havoc on my allergies. And go figure – our 34.34% DEET purchased especially to protect us against malaria in Brazil, Ghana, India, and Vietnam – could not armor us from the Eastern Oregon mosquitos! Most of us got bit just a couple times, but poor Vivian got eaten alive. By the end of our four days, the mosquitos had feasted on her sweet skin, 30 bites worth, including several on her face! Not fun.

Our “make the most of every port” mentality from Semester at Sea must still be lingering because we definitely seized each day. There was no bumming around the campsite, no relaxation. Everyday we ventured out, starting with a fishing trip. We’d hauled over Jason’s drift boat with the intention of floating down the John Day River. When Jason saw how high and muddy it was, he talked to the camp host and revised our plan. Magone Lake would be our new destination, and according to the camp host, wasn’t too far.

“Not too far” has a different meaning in Eastern Oregon. After heading into Prairie City and realizing we’d missed the turn, we backtracked and found the lake, close to 1 1/2 hours after we left the tepee. Magone Lake was a pristine, high alpine lake tucked away in the Malheur National Forest. Imagine our disappointment when the boat launch was closed because a couple USFS workers were painting a retaining wall. They wouldn’t make an exception but suggested we launch the boat on the shallow beach beyond the parking lot.

Um, okay. Thank goodness Jason has such a nice way about him. He had to interrupt a small group of worshippers from Mt. Vernon Community Church to ask one of them to move their car! Well, determination pays off. We finally floated out to the middle of the lake and within minutes William caught the first fish. A couple hours later we had 6 nice brook and rainbow trout (William caught 3, Vivian caught 2, Jason caught 3 but kept just 1. I’m the photographer and support person!) When Grandma and Grandpa Nice joined us for dinner that night we ate fresh trout, mashed potatoes, and cabbage salad. Ah, the camping life!

Day 2 dawned with Vivian complaining about her mosquito bites. I think she had about 8 by then. My Zyrtec didn’t seem to be helping my allergies a lick, so it was good we’d planned to drive to Baker City. What a spectacular drive over Dixie Pass. We spotted 3 antelope (one of the top 5 fastest animals in the world, according to Jason).

We stopped in Sumpter to look at the gold dredge. Unfortunately we missed taking a train ride by a day. All the soil is still mounded into piles of gravel from the gold rush 150 years ago!

Cruising into Baker City, the Wallowa mountains rose majestically in the distance. We ate lunch at a little cafe downtown, and except for the historic Geiser Hotel,

downtown Baker City is pretty mellow. The main attraction for us was to visit the Oregon Trail Interpretive Center, perched on the plains way on the edge of town.

Believe it or not, the terrain and vegetation is virtually identical to how it was in the 19th century. Gazing at the extraordinary vastness, you could sense the magnetic pull of the west, just like the pioneers did. It’s really humbling to imagine the hardships the Oregon trail pioneers endured on their 180 day journey. 1,924 miles of epic wilderness! If you are ever in this part of the state, I highly recommend the interpretive center. The kids loved it, too, especially Vivian, since the 4th graders studied the Oregon Trail (and thankfully it was at the end of the school year so she didn’t miss out!)

The hour and 45 minute drive back to Clyde Holliday became extremely tiresome with the kids’ whining and bickering. And on this trip they got tired of me reminding them “compared to _____(fill in any 3rd world country)____on Semester at Sea, this is not hard….” About this time I found myself mentally planning a trip for Jason and I, sans children, to a cush hotel somewhere, anywhere…..

The next day we drove an hour the opposite direction to hike Field’s Peak. Luckily there was a bit of a cloud cover because most of the hike was pretty exposed. We didn’t encounter one other hiker – just lots of wildflowers and endless mountain and timber vistas. It’s unclear (and doubtful) that we made it to the actual summit, but we scrambled up our own rocky peak after 90 minutes of hiking. And that was accomplishment enough! My theory: small doses are usually optimal before somebody melts down.

Grandma and Grandpa bought some gold pans the day before in Baker City so after our picnic lunch we waded into Tex Creek to pan for gold. I learned that black sand is your best bet to try to find a little glimmer. “Showed a little color” is how the experts describe it. The outing was worthwhile – Jason dredged up one tiny, although legitimate, fleck of gold!

By now we’d made an executive decision to try to get a hotel room in John Day. Vivian woke up with several mosquito bites on her face and literally, was NOT a happy camper. It was wearing on everyone. So after dinner, we left Grandma and Grandpa to enjoy a peaceful night and bunked at the Little Dive Inn. Oops, I mean the Little Pine Inn. It was cheap and the bathroom was pretty clean, but the carpets had not been vacuumed. After showers and applying a baking soda paste to all Viv’s bites, we threw our sleeping bags on top of the beds and tried to get some rest.

Finally, it was going home day. But not yet. Oh no- we had to maximize our time in Eastern Oregon! Since we were all the way over there, we arranged to spend some time at the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument. There are three fossil beds; we went to the Sheep Rock unit next to the Thomas Condon Paleontology Center. It was terrific: free admission, hands-on exhibits, interesting ranger talk. I wish we’d had the time to see the Painted Hills or actually go dig for fossils in the town of Fossil. Another time….(I’m actually hoping to go back in August for a full moon hike, one of their night sky programs!)

We sputtered into our driveway about 6:00. Unloaded the truck, washed and stored away the camping gear, started the laundry, drew baking soda bath for Vivian…and finally fell into my comfy bed, so relieved to be home. If you’ve stuck with me till now, dear readers, does any of this resonate with you? Tell me your thoughts on camping!

Hangin’ in Hood River: Girls’ Getaway

Today is Father’s Day. My wonderful hubby and father of our children, drove off bright and early this morning for a 7:40 tee time. My brother invited him to join a foursome for 18 holes of golf at his favorite local course. He whispered something about being home around 1:00 into my sleepy ear before he left. Apparently our original plans of going fishing with the kids at Hagg Lake can wait for another day. As he told me yesterday, the weather would be too cool and cloudy. Perfect golfing weather!

Lest you think my sarcastic tone belies any resentment, I assure you it doesn’t! Maybe (okay, probably) five years ago and more, when the kiddos were young, I didn’t relish these days, but thankfully I’ve come to realize how important it is for both of us to get quality time away from the family. And after all our togetherness on the ship (108 days of family time, 24-7, to be precise, but who’s counting?), we talked about how both of us needed some time to ourselves. Isn’t it refreshing when you come to a mutual understanding so easily with a spouse?!

So what does all this have to do with Hood River? Plenty. Two weeks ago I gallivanted off to Hood River with my mom and two (younger, hip) sisters for our annual girls’ weekend. Yep, I got my turn and I soaked up every fabulous minute. (For the record, Jason also went away that weekend to Eastern Oregon for fishing and golfing and the kids stayed with his parents!)

This was our fourth annual Mattecheck girls’ getaway. Usually we make our escape in February to combat the winter doldrums, but since I was in Ghana and South Africa that month, wasn’t it sweet of them to wait for me to come home? Here’s a recap on where we’ve been so far: Wheeler, Eugene, Pacific City (note to my out of state readers- these places are all in Oregon.) We take turns choosing our location, but it’s always a place that’s accessible by car for a two night stay. When we started, the plan was to go somewhere “big” every 5 years. Which is next year! In case you’re wondering, Santa Fe, San Francisco and Palm Springs are all destination ideas we’re kicking around for 2012.

This year it was Molly’s turn. She found us a gorgeous and comfortable condo on www.vrbo.com (Vacation Rental By Owner – one of my faves. I can wile away the hours on that website and dream of cool places to stay!) We all noticed how the condo was way nicer than any of our homes (“I’m sure the owner hired an interior decorator,” asserted my mom) and the deck sported a breathtaking view of Mt. Adams and the Columbia Gorge. It was also within walking distance to downtown Hood River.

Our getaway is defined by some great traditions: I overpack like I’m going away for a week, prepared to dress to impress. The Mattecheck girls love to ooh and ahh over each other’s clothes. And we always have a really ambitious agenda: 1.) Eat. 2.) Shop. 3.) Talk. Sounds like a killer, I know. But somebody’s got to do it. And you could, too, if you really tried.

Dining on the patio at Full Sail.

So, I may as well follow the agenda, being the linear writer I am. 1) Eat….Hood River boasts lots of memorable restaurants, and it’s hard to know where to start. None of us are comfortable spending a wad on a fancy meal, so that helped to narrow our choices. We had a few recommendations from locals, too. Since Mary and Molly arrived Friday about 6, we had to make a snap decision because Mary gets cranky in a hurry when she’s hungry! We ended up at the Full Sail Brew Pub, (a one minute drive from the condo; like I said, we don’t mess around when Mary’s running on empty) on their outdoor patio with a view of the river.

For a view junkie like me, I love how Hood River’s nestled on a hillside, affording peek-a-boo views of the gorge just about anywhere in town. Full Sail, one of the original microbreweries in Oregon, serves up elevated pub fare. It earned 4 thumbs up from our group. We cooked both breakfasts and Saturday night’s dinner (thanks, Mom!) in the condo. Saturday lunch found us at 6th Street Bistro and we liked it so much we returned 3 hours later for Happy Hour on the patio.

Sixth Street Bistro

On Sunday we lazed around, finally got our day going by noon. We decided to do a short hike up the Hood River Mountain trail (stick with me – I’m still going to talk about a meal!) Another thing I love about Hood River is its close proximity to all kinds of outdoor recreation. It was only a 15 minute drive to the trail head!

The 2 mile hike led us to (no surprise) mountain and valley views. Mt. Hood and Mt. Adams regally flanked the Hood River valley’s verdant patchwork of orchards and vineyards. Mt. St. Helens glimmered in the distance while Monarch butterflies flitted among wildflowers. Brilliant splashes of purple lupine, orange Indian paintbrush, wild sunflowers, and snow-white dogwood blanketed the hillside. Thanks to our extra cold and rainy spring, everything’s blooming late. Lovely!

Hood River Mountain Trail

It was about 3:00 by the time we settled in for lunch at Good News Gardening Cafe. It was off the beaten path and we would not have found it without a local’s insight. I’ve never been to any place quite like it. A restored farmhouse that’s been converted to an open air café, that’s connected to a nursery, it’s a whimsical mix of eye candy and yum. We noshed on fresh sandwiches and salads (they grow lots of vegetables on site) in the breezy “living room.”

At the water station I looked through a large glassless window to a forest of brilliant hanging baskets, so distracted I almost overflowed my glass! And a larger dining area in the “greenhouse” segued from the café to the nursery. Any gardener has to see this place to fully appreciate how innovative it is!

Okay, onto #2: the shopping. What gem that downtown area is! My mom, sisters, and I love to stroll and window shop (we’re not too fond of malls) and Hood River fit the bill perfectly. A multitude of boutique shops line the main drag, even more shops than McMinnville’s (my hometown!) bucolic 3rd Street. We marveled how such a small population (under 10,000) could support so many upscale shops, but according to a store owner, it’s a tourist hub in the summer time. There are too many to list, but I have to mention Mystic Mud Studio (http://www.mysticmudstudio.net). It showcased handmade pottery by Hood River area artists in all kinds of splashy, cheerful hues.

Another store we fell in love with was Melika (www.melika.com), that features women’s waterwear and activewear. The sales associates were helpful and in talking to them we learned that all of the Melika line is designed and cut in their basement with American-manufactured fabric (mostly leftover pieces from larger brands.) It’s then sewed by seamstresses within a 50 mile radius. I had to pinch myself…not made in China? And I can actually afford it?! Trust me, I will find a reason to return to Melika sooner than later.

Mike's Ice Cream - Mom bought ice cream here and then took it to happy hour!

A Hood River cafe

Amidst all the eating, shopping, and walking, the Mattecheck girls never stop talking. We’re never at a loss for questions to ask or opinions to give and luckily we also like to listen to each other. One of our traditions is that we write in a journal bought especially for our annual getaway. It’s fun to look back and read about our life moments and past getaways. The reminiscing scaled to new heights this year, however.

Molly baked this decadent hazlenut cake for me!

They surprised me with a 40th birthday commemoration (since I was sailing on the Indian ocean on the actual day) and Mom’s gift to me was a box of childhood memorabilia. We waded through newspaper clippings, cards, artwork, and more, all by yours truly. Laughter and tears flowed freely, especially as I read some of the cards I’d written to my mom. As the mother of a strong-willed tween girl (who doesn’t resemble me in the least –ha!), they hit close to home. Here’s a sampling:

Dear Mom, Have an excellent Mother’s Day. You’re the best mom in the world! I’m sorry we were so loud during your nap. I hope you had a good rest anyways. I love you heaps! Your loving daughter, Jenny (1982)

….I know that alot of the time lately we argue a lot about things, but don’t worry, we’re normal! Pretty soon this time will pass though. You’re mellowing out and I’ll still keep trying. Mom, now don’t start crying, you can handle this. And remember, whenever you feel like killing me, just read this! Don’t forget: I think you’re the best mom in the world! Thanks for everything. I LOVE YOU THIS MUCH! (circa 1984/85…and I sketched a picture of the universe.)

So, regardless if you make it to Hood River anytime soon (and I hope you do), I do recommend a girls’ getaway weekend sooner than later. Grab the amazing women in your life and get out of dodge. Even though that sense of rejuvenation may evaporate the minute you walk in your front door, it’s still worthwhile in ways that can’t be measured.