Seattle: the sunniest city with the rainiest rep

Seattle wasn't quite the foggy, dark-walk-on-a-poetic-pier romantic place I thought it would be based on certain movies involving Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. In fact, it was disappointingly sunny and warm and perfect. Its Pike Place Market was a rowdier, messier version of San Francisco's Farmer's Market (with the added benefit of happening every day) and the waterfront--be forewarned--was the spitting image of Fisherman's Wharf, down to the crab stands and blinking lights and overpriced seafood restaurants with plastic outdoor seating. 

Away from the wharf, though, there were so many places worth visiting: there was Bell Town, a hip urban stretch full of the latest in the food scene, Pioneer Square (less a square and more a really, really quaint neighborhood--much to our under-researched confusion), full of precious, little bookstores and paper shops and tours of the city's underground (which didn't seem an appealing way to enjoy the fine weather, though it did look like fun), and of course Alki Beach in West Seattle, which you can access by water taxi and wile away easy hours in the heat...

And on a completely different note...I have taken two different pictures of the same set of cranes using various camera settings, and I'm completely torn as to which is better. Please do to tell me which you prefer:

And just because I like it: tourists on the harbor bay cruise:

It was also lovely catching up with old friends who now live in the 'rainy' city: Ronda, Cosito, and Andy--you made our time there really special. Thank you so much.

Next up: Vancouver and ohhhhhhhhhh my Cinderelli...

My New Blog!

Well, folks, it's time to (temporarily) wrap up Moonpies and Cherry Slurpies until the next time I hit the road*! I may still return here in the next couple of weeks to add more photos** from the trip that never made it up (the Louisiana bayou, Chicago, Milwaukee, Big Sur), but for now life is racing on and I must start my new blog! Please join me in my San Francisco adventures***!!

*Apparently my Grampa wants his car back??

**Yeah, probably not. Let's be honest.

***And by 'adventures,' I mean, 'a whole lot of wonderful nothing.' Which I am going to write ALL ABOUT.

California. Oh, California.

There's nothing sexier than bare feet covered in computer cords. I know, because I just looked down, and my bare feet were covered in computer cords, and I thought, 'That is dang sexy, Rona.'

However, that has nothing to do with anything related to blogging on the road, unless to indicate how I do it.

A lot has happened since my last post: Sedona, Joshua Tree, L.A., Santa Barbara, San Luis Obispo, Big Sur and other such coastal wonders. And I can't decide if I should just post pictures and be done with it, or try to describe the moods and settings, or maybe a combination of the two. I've also found an interesting dilemna with my new-to-me collages (which I love, as I can post oh so many more photos now), and that problem is my inability to caption them individually. Which is usually not a problem, not really. But sometimes I look at a particular photo and I have something to say about it. Or more often than that, the words come when I'm TAKING the photo, like the moment, the place has something to say--and that's why I'm taking the shot, to hear it and give it voice--and then later I sit down and I look at the hundreds and thousands of them on the screen, and the din of their clamor is deafening. And into a collage they go, making a giant commotion all the way.

Alas. So it goes. On to the ruckus.

First, Sedona:

You know, it's funny, but I'd always heard about Sedona in terms of its new-age-spiritual-feel-goodery-crystals-and-detox sorts of activities. But when I was actually there, it felt for all the world like a ski town. Maybe that's because these giant rock mountains were right up on the streets, all 'yo yo look at me not at that bagel and coffee,' and that's the same sort of aggressive mountainous talk you get in ski towns. But either way, it was interesting and unexpected and I liked it. I'd be curious to someday try one of those secluded spa-retreat places, where they starve you all day with chai tea and teach you to meditate, but until that day happens, please to love Sedona's red rock majesty with me.

Then we have Joshua Tree:

Joshua Tree National Park pretty much speaks for itself: it's got trees. Rocks. Brush. Rocks. Trees. More brush. Mountains. It's very rad, very 'mojave desert.' Very, 'you need a jacket and a bottled water, and don't hike too far in or you might die.' Which is all one can ask for out of their national park, really.

And then we have central coast California, the lush and lovely green opposite of all the deserts and hot springs and rocks that have been loved to date. How can these places be so different and yet both so absolutely perfect? 

Someday I want a house with a palm tree. And a lemon tree. And maybe some small rows of grapes, just to check out what all the fuss is about. Someone, tell me you want to do this with me. And we'll do it.

It's breeding and birthing season for Elephant Seals right now. Did you know that? I didn't until hitting Morro Bay, where kazillions of them hang out, lying around like so many giant lumps of blubber on the sand. According to the many informational signs posted, the male elephant seals have this sort of chest armor for all the chest-thumping they do when battling with other elephant seal males. Another sign explained the sounds one would be hearing from the beach--the coo'ing of the pups to their mothers, the roars of the males to each other--and it mentioned that the females snarl when the males come near to ward them off. Which I thought was pretty fantastic. Then another sign that said that all the battling between the young males provided good experience for mating season, although it didn't say exactly why. Hmmmm.

I was going to put some Big Sur pictures up, but I realize now that's too much for one day. Plus Big Sur was so wild and dark and mystical that it really stands alone.

Off to Bodega Bay now, land of barbequed oysters and miles of foggy, rugged coastline...

Until we meet again, hugs and kisses,
ess

Life on the rez

Welcome to my weekend in the Salt River Pima-Maricopa Indian Community, a.k.a., 'the rez.' I was there visiting my Pima cousins, and it was one of the most fantastic experiences I've had on my road trip yet.

I learned how to make Indian frybread and red chile stew (top left), helped decorate the tree in the yard for Christmas (only in Arizona would it be warm enough), and pin-curled my hair for the first time. And you see those sunsets above? THOSE ARE THEIR VIEWS.

This is Zakira. She's three quarters Pima and one quarter Black.

This is Zakira's stepsister Alyssa. She's half Navajo, one quarter Pima, and one quarter Mexican.

Random Pima facts: historically, their rival tribe was the Apache. While the Pimas were agricultural in nature and also sharers of their bounty, the warrior Apaches survived by looting and pillaging. The round-faced Pimas apparently snapped one day after years of being ransacked, blew into an Apache tribe, and wiped them all out in one go. Awesome.

And what is turning into a regular feature: Road Pics. Meet Arizona, as seen from the highway: 

Oh, good morning, Desert. I love you, too.

I woke up this morning to the above view outside of the double glass doors of my room at A Lodge on the Desert. I didn't know I had this view when I drove up at eleven o'clock last night; all I knew was that it was very, very dark, and I was very, very sleepy, and I needed to climb into the rich, soft, red four-poster bed awaiting me and close my eyes. And then I woke, after the warmest and softest night's sleep of any room yet, and there it was. The view of a lifetime. This is all the more remarkable considering this place (complete with a kitchen) cost the same price as this place.

And then I went outside to take photos, and SERIOUSLY. Do you see the eagle in that second photo? THAT'S A MOTHER EFFING EAGLE WAKING ME TO THE DAWN. I swear the desert is trying to steal my soul with all of its scrubs and birds and mountains. It's TOO MUCH.

And now I'm off to the Pima Reservation in Arizona to rediscover my tan side! After stopping at a farm for some famous Hatch green chiles, that is...mmmm...

Oh, and more random photos from the road:

No Man's Land

Today was a lovely, lovely day on the road. It was also longer than my average run, with more tourist-related stops and more swerving-onto-the-shoulder-I-have-to-take-a-picture stops. I am now both exhausted and exhilarated and absolutely in love with the panhandles of Oklahoma and Texas. Oklahoma's panhandle is rightly called No Man's Land, and it is a dark, desolate, and lonely place (the bottom right picture and top left were taken there). I expected the Texas panhandle to be much of the same, but as I came around a bend between two hills, a canyon opened before me that was so huge and so unexpected and so utterly, utterly stunning that my heart felt like it was ripped from my chest and flung into the rolling, plateaued vastness stretched below me. I hope hope hope that there's more of the same on my way to Roswell, New Mexico, tomorrow morning, although I don't know that my heart could take much more.

I have formal shots of the day, ones related to my actual activities (a tour of Boot Hill, a visit to Dorothy's house and the yellow brick road, Beaver Dunes State Park and Shaman's Portal in Oklahoma, and an early dinner at Ned & Darlene's Cafe--the best roadfood experience I've had yet), but for now I need to lie my head down and sleep...so in their place, I just want to share with you a couple of the aforementioned roadside snapshots. I hope you like them.

And I thought Milwaukee packed a punch.

See that bright red spot on my cheek there? Where it looks like I've been hit across the face? Well, THAT'S BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN. BY THE MOTHER EFFING WIND. The wind that is responsible for the current wind chill of TEN BELOW ZERO. That's a NEGATIVE, people. THAT'S A NEGATIVE TEMPERATURE.

I spent eight hours on a six hour journey today, crawling through the arctic tundra that some call 'Kansas.' The country highways I had to take from Kansas City to Dodge City were so iced over that the only hope of movement without skidding was to keep one's vehicle in the tread marks created by the other crawling vehicles. If, say, a gust of wind at 33 mph--oh yes, the same wind that slapped me across the face--were to buffet your car and push it out of the tread marks, your vehicle would scuttle sideways like a crab across the ice until you could realign it, hands white-gripping the wheel. There were no formal lanes today; the highways were snowed over beyond recognition. There were hours in which I was the only vehicle in sight on either bleak horizon. It was lonely, dangerous, and by far the most entertaining drive I've had yet. I think this was the first day I didn't contemplate closing my eyes for a few minutes and letting cruise control take over while I napped.

There were a load of photos I wanted to take--a black windmill against a white field and a white sky, a graveyard of red stones--but because the entire road was covered was ice, I couldn't brake or pull over. I was immeasurably disappointed by this, but I hope you can at least imagine the gorgeous starkness of such a forbidding landscape.

And--just when I thought it couldn't get any better, I got to my Dodge City lodging. I picked it out based on its name (and price) alone. Look how fantastic it is:

This place is exactly what I dreamed the American road motel to be. Please note that every car in the parking lot with the exception of mine is a pickup. Please also note that my room cost me, with tax, a mere $35. And I've got a fridge and a microwave in my ROOM. And free wifi! And cable television! And coarse tuscan-themed bedcovers! I know. It's like a dream come true. I think I made it happen with the power of my mind.

Tomorrow morning I'm going to actually try and * see * Dodge City. Boot Hill sounds absolutely fantastic--the American Old West preserved, from the apothecary to the general store to the old doctor's office and saloon, complete with all the appropriate antiques on display. In the summer they have gun fights in the street and a troup of candy girls doing a cabaret-style dance, but in the winter they just have an arse-kicking wind.

Speaking of the weather I have to look forward to: tomorrow morning is supposed to be a wopping zero degrees, with a wind chill of -18. So, you know, ideal for a pleasant stroll around town. By the time I start heading south, the day's high will be peaking at 10/-3. Just in time for me to get the heck out of Dodge.