And we're back from Puerto Rico. We actually got back more than a week ago, but November has been busier than usual and I haven't had time to recap the trip in my head yet.
It was a fantastic trip and enjoyable for its own merits and for the differences between it and the last few vacations that we've taken. A few key differences made the trip feel easier than a trip to Europe. First of all, we had no issues with communication. Everyone that we encountered spoke English well and willingly. Second, we paid in dollars and therefore didn't have to think about exchange rates. A corollary to this bonus is that items were cheaper than in Europe (not that we did a lot of shopping--I know, shocking). Third, we had amazing food experiences for not a lot of money. In Europe, you seem to have 2 options for dining--there's the $50 (for 2 people) microwave-special dinner or the $120 maybe-gourmet-maybe-not experience. In Puerto Rico we regularly found delicious meals for bargain prices.
We arrived in PR on a Saturday and stayed for 2 nights at the Sheraton Old San Juan. Next we flew to Vieques for 3 nights and then flew back to Old San Juan to stay at the same Sheraton for the remaining 2 nights of our trip.
About the Sheraton Old San Juan...we had some spotty service experiences with them before we arrived and expected the worst but were happy enough with the hotel, especially the enormous buffet breakfast that was included in our rate. On several days, eating a monster breakfast meant that we could eat a late lunch and skip dinner, thus saving a few more dollars.
Old San Juan feels like it should be pedestrian only, but it isn't, and the constant car traffic on the main streets feels out of place. Streets are narrow, with room for a row of parallel-parked cars and another row of one-way traffic. Sidewalks are narrow (though not as narrow as some in Florence) so you feel a bit on top of the traffic. At night, cars sit in gridlock on the streets, barely moving but sending waves of exhaust at passersby, making the evening feel even hotter. (As a side note, rarely do the drivers honk their horns, even if they move only 10 feet in 10 minutes.)
During the day, the streets are much calmer, and you frequently can walk several blocks without encountering a single running car. Houses are painted gorgeously in tropical rainbow colors. Many houses feature balconies with wrought-iron decorations and impressive potted plants.
Everyone that we spoke to was friendly and helpful. We wanted to buy a traditional mask and went to the post office to investigate our options. The man at the counter was very patient with helping us and even recommended a store that sold masks and would ship them for us. He wrote the name and address of the store--unfortunately, the address was wrong--and while we were wandering the streets (far from the post office), I asked a man who worked for an extermination company for help. This man was walking to a job but stopped to help for 10 minutes. I challenge anyone to find someone in Boston who is (a) willing to help, and (b) willing to help for more than 15 seconds. (Unfortunately, we weren't able to find the store with him, but did find it later on, further down the road).
The weather was, surprisingly enough, pretty cooperative. Early-to-mid November is the end of rainy season, and we experienced a few showers, both in San Juan and on Vieques. However, rain is not necessarily a full-day commitment in the Caribbean as it is in other parts of the country. Most of the time, a rain shower meant that half the sky was covered in gloomy gray clouds and the other half was blue skies and sun. Showers usually lasted no more than a half hour and were followed by brighter skies.
Temperatures were hot, but not the overwhelming summer-in-Orlando heat that I am all-too-familiar with. Daytime temps ranged from 86 to 88, and evenings cooled by no more than 10 degrees. Days felt generally more comfortable on Vieques and nights could be chilly (for some of us, though 74 is "chilly" to me). Nights might have been cooler in Old San Juan, but if you were walking on a congested street, there'd be no way of knowing because the heat and exhaust from the cars made the trek uncomfortable and dizzying.
The food...the food was good. We spent the first couple of days eating traditional Puerto Rican cuisine, but because most traditional foods are fried, we soon started seeking out other options. Traditional PR food has much to recommend it. Mofongo--which is a ball of plantains stuffed with some kind of meat and then deep fried--is fantastic. There are two types of plantains--amarillos, which are fully ripe plantains that are fried and sweet. You can also get immature plantains that are fried and more savory. No matter where we got them, they all tasted just like the boxes of Goya frozen plantains that you can buy from the grocery store. Does Goya do an amazing job, or did all of our side dishes come from the freezer? Who knows.
After I placed a moratorium on fried foods, we branched out and ate at Spanish, French, Italian, and Asian restaurants--all were excellent. We didn't have a single bad meal on either island (though I could have lived without the jalapeno in my veggie sushi that last night--big pain).
Yes, I am avoiding writing about Vieques. Why? Because it was that amazing. Have you ever been to a place and felt like you had discovered something that not many people knew about? That's how Vieques was. I suspect that in 5 to 10 years, the island will be overdeleveloped and overrun with my fellow tourists, but I'll always have my memories of empty white sand beaches and crystal-clear waters.
We flew to Vieques on Vieqes Air Link--half the price of Cape Air, and worth consideration if you're staying somewhere in PR for a day or more before you continue on to Vieques, since you depart from the local airport rather than the international airport. Air Flamenco offers similar good rates. Luggage is majorly restricted--25 pounds or less per person--so resist the urge to overpack, or throw clothes out as you go (our technique, which is why you might see me in a dinosaur tee shirt in some of the vacay photos).
Security is light in the local airport. By "light," I mean nonexistent. There are no x-ray machines or any security counter to speak of. They don't ask for ID when you check in. They do, however, ask your weight, which determines where you sit on the plane. For the ride back to PR, I was in the last row (of 5) and B was in the first, but you can't really be upset about being separated for a 22-minute flight.
Though you can be upset about being placed in the back row of the plane, as it was bumpy and scary. I was not a fan. However, the experience was better than riding into a wall of water--a crazy thunderstorm--which occurred on our way to Vieques.
Your other option for getting to Vieques is taking an unreliable, sometimes-running-sometimes-not ferry which leaves out of Fajardo. Plus you have to figure out how to get to Fajardo from San Juan or wherever you're staying. The airplane, however scary and pricey, is your best and most reliable bet.
After we landed safely in Vieques, we took a publico (taxi) to our hotel. I have to say that I experienced some misgivings on that taxi ride. We rode with 3 locals, who were not in possession of all of their teeth. They exited at maybe the most ramshackle house I have ever seen. I think it was being held up with sticks and empty plastic plant pots.
Most houses had a bit of a rundown, tired feeling. Roads were narrow and winding and wild horses were everywhere--walking on the road, grazing by the road, or hanging out in a pack.
And then we got to Hector's by the Sea, our hotel, and our taxi driver had to get out of the car to check on the driveway to see if he could make it down. I unfortunately didn't take any pictures of this driveway, but it was unpaved, steep, narrow, twisty, and scarred from 6 months of heavy rainstorms.
I'm not going to lie; I was a little scared of Vieques at this point. But from the moment we set foot on Hector's, everything got better.
We "checked in," meaning Hector showed us around and showed us our room, and then we walked to Hector's private beach while we waited for our rental car to arrive. There's something about sitting on a beach all by yourselves that makes any vacation better.
After our car arrived, we got lunch at a cafe, Bananas, in Esperanza, one of two towns on the island. Esperanza is the more laid-back and tourist-oriented of the towns. The other town is Isabel II, pronounced Isabel Segundo, and sometimes called simply Segundo, and it is more of a local hangout.
Our next stop was one of Vieques's many beaches. We drove to the Blue Beach and then realized how private our vacation was going to be. There were just 2 other groups on the mile-long, gorgeous, amazing beach. We walked down the beach, feet in the warm water, and were immediately grateful that we had taken a risk on Vieques.
We spent the next few days going to the beach, swimming, relaxing, eating, and appreciating our island paradise. The wild horses became the mascots of our vacation, and we saw the charm in the houses. We appreciated the four-wheel drive on our rental car, a 99 Isuzu Trooper. The Check Engine light was on from the moment we turned on the car until the moment we dropped it off at the airport, and the left mirror was held on with an elastic (after duct tape failed), but we fit in a lot better with the locals than the other tourists who were driving shiny and sparkly Jeeps.
All in all, we enjoyed a fabulous trip. I'll try to get some of the highlight pictures up and will try to resist posting all 20 or so of the sunset pictures I took one evening.
And now on to the next trip...?
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
Epic battle: M vs. the sweet potatoes
This afternoon featured a momentous battle. I went up against 5 pounds of sweet potatoes, and I'm pretty sure I lost.
But I put up a good fight.
I was steaming the cubed sweet potatoes in cream and butter (a delicious start) while poaching some pears. This attempt at multitasking did no good for either vegetable or fruit.
The timer went off for the sweet potatoes, so I turned it off and promptly forgot about them as I continued my pear activity. Many minutes later, I remembered the sweet potatoes, so I grabbed the masher, removed the lid, and began the battle.
The potato masher is plastic and was in no uncertain terms an underperformer. Its design is impractical and not good enough. I mashed and mashed for a long time and was able to mush some of the sweet potatoes, but most remained solid. I did, however, hurt my shoulder.
I was tempted to throw the masher away, but instead, I put it in the dishwasher and turned to plan B.
Out came the food mill. I've used the food mill for mashing regular potatoes, so I figured sweet potatoes were easily mashable, too.
Except the sweet potatoes broke the food mill.
Stupid food mill.
It went in the trash.
I began to wonder if the problem was perhaps not my kitchen tools. Perhaps instead I had not cooked the sweet potatoes long enough?
A fork proved that my concern was real. However, my sweet potatoes were in an awkward half-mashed, half-not-cooked-enough state. I wasn't sure if putting them back on heat would help to soften them further.
At this point, I had two options--carry on or cry.
I paused and waited for the tears to come, but they didn't. I sighed and decided that carrying on was my only option.
Years of cooking had prepared me for this moment. I looked around the kitchen to figure out which tool to use next.
The molcajete (like a mortar and pestle) was in front of me, so I grabbed the pestle part (hand-held part), put it in a plastic freezer bag (to keep it from getting gross), and started smushing.
It should be noted that by now small mounds of mashed sweet potatoes were scattered around the kitchen.
The molcajete effort was a failure. The hot sweet potatoes and hot dutch oven nearly burned my hand. The molcajete went into the cabinet.
My last and final hope was my immersion blender. When in doubt, find a tool that plugs in.
My blender was significantly awesomer than the other tools that I had tried to use. It didn't get rid of all of the lumps, and it didn't solve the problem of the potatoes being just slightly undercooked, but... it hid most of the problems...after about 20 minutes of blending.
Thank you, technology.
But I put up a good fight.
I was steaming the cubed sweet potatoes in cream and butter (a delicious start) while poaching some pears. This attempt at multitasking did no good for either vegetable or fruit.
The timer went off for the sweet potatoes, so I turned it off and promptly forgot about them as I continued my pear activity. Many minutes later, I remembered the sweet potatoes, so I grabbed the masher, removed the lid, and began the battle.
The potato masher is plastic and was in no uncertain terms an underperformer. Its design is impractical and not good enough. I mashed and mashed for a long time and was able to mush some of the sweet potatoes, but most remained solid. I did, however, hurt my shoulder.
I was tempted to throw the masher away, but instead, I put it in the dishwasher and turned to plan B.
Out came the food mill. I've used the food mill for mashing regular potatoes, so I figured sweet potatoes were easily mashable, too.
Except the sweet potatoes broke the food mill.
Stupid food mill.
It went in the trash.
I began to wonder if the problem was perhaps not my kitchen tools. Perhaps instead I had not cooked the sweet potatoes long enough?
A fork proved that my concern was real. However, my sweet potatoes were in an awkward half-mashed, half-not-cooked-enough state. I wasn't sure if putting them back on heat would help to soften them further.
At this point, I had two options--carry on or cry.
I paused and waited for the tears to come, but they didn't. I sighed and decided that carrying on was my only option.
Years of cooking had prepared me for this moment. I looked around the kitchen to figure out which tool to use next.
The molcajete (like a mortar and pestle) was in front of me, so I grabbed the pestle part (hand-held part), put it in a plastic freezer bag (to keep it from getting gross), and started smushing.
It should be noted that by now small mounds of mashed sweet potatoes were scattered around the kitchen.
The molcajete effort was a failure. The hot sweet potatoes and hot dutch oven nearly burned my hand. The molcajete went into the cabinet.
My last and final hope was my immersion blender. When in doubt, find a tool that plugs in.
My blender was significantly awesomer than the other tools that I had tried to use. It didn't get rid of all of the lumps, and it didn't solve the problem of the potatoes being just slightly undercooked, but... it hid most of the problems...after about 20 minutes of blending.
Thank you, technology.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Some photos from NYC
Here are some photos from our trip to NYC.
Here's B at the Museum of Natural History, getting his dino on. I highly recommend the planetarium, as well, even though we had some difficulty finding the entrance.
Here's B at the Museum of Natural History, getting his dino on. I highly recommend the planetarium, as well, even though we had some difficulty finding the entrance.
Here are B and me with the Brooklyn Bridge and the New York skyline in the background. It was a cold evening. My scarf made a nice lap blanket when we were on the bus.
Here we are on the tour bus for a daytime tour. The openings at the front and back made for a brisk ride, but the overhead covering was a godsend for when the sprinkles started.
Here are the ladies in from of FAO Schwartz, home of the piano from Big. We were lucky enough to wander into the room just in time for a demonstration and got to watch two girls play a couple of impressive tunes while dancing and even cartwheeling. B said that he wanted to buy the piano, but since it came with a price tag of $250,000, we decided to pass.
I'm a female tourist, so please rip me off
This past weekend, B and I scooted out of town for a long weekend in New York City with my family. Within an hour of landing in the city, I experienced my first I'm a female tourist so please rip me off moment.
Because it was my parents' first trip to the city, we decided that our main activity of the weekend would be riding the red double-decker buses. There are 4 routes: uptown, downtown, Brooklyn, and night tour. The lower-floor of the bus is enclosed, but the upper deck, exposed, is where the action is at. Being able to see the towering skyscrapers is key to feeling connected to the skyline and buildings that you see in movies and TV shows.
We didn't buy tickets ahead of time and were heading to the office to buy them when we encountered on the street a salesperson from what I thought was a rival company--the blue buses. The map in his brochure was different from the map I had printed from the red company's website, but when I expressed hesitation about buying tickets for a different tour company, he assured me that they were the same.
"The same?" I questioned. Yes, he declared. He said that the companies merged, and if you bought tickets for the blue bus, you could get on either the blue bus or the red bus.
Now I am not an expert on mergers and acquisitions, but I would think that having double buses--in different colors, with different names--would not be conducive to a successful merger or acquisition. There was something definitively fishy about his story.
Especially when his coworker came along and he waved him away with an expression that I can't quite define, but if I had to pretend to be on Lie to Me, I'd say it said, "Don't mess up my little scheme by telling this girl the truth."
Our little dialogue on the street, in the rain, went on for some time. As the buyer, you have the advantage of not having to give someone any money unless you're sure it's the right decision. Eventually, the sales person's friend joined the conversation, as did B, and our sales person admitted (while acting as if he had never made his false claims) that a ticket for the blue bus was good for the blue bus only.
In the end, we all bought tickets for the blue buses because their top decks were covered, and rain was predicted for the entire weekend. I think they might have overcharged us for the tickets. Rewarding a man (with an overpriced sale) who deliberately tried to mislead me leaves me with negative emotions, but [insert an appropriate cliche here; there are many options].
We took 3 of the tours, saving Brooklyn for another time. The top was covered but open in the front and back, and the low-40-degree temperatures combined with off-and-on sprinkles from a lingering Nor'easter inspired us to ride a single loop of each tour and then make way toward something warmer, preferably with hot drinks. Perhaps for the next visit, we'll make use of the hop-on, hop-off option.
So I had a somewhat negative experience with the agressive blue-bus salesperson. Transportation continued to be a source of difficulty throughout the trip.
When we weren't bussing (in a transportation sort of way, not in a kissing sort of way), cabs were the chosen mode of transportation, as they were the easiest method for transporting 6 people across wide swaths of the city in a short amount of time for a low cost. The ladies (my mother, sister, and I) rode in the first cab that B hailed, and the gentleman (B, my father, and my sister's bf) rode in the second cab.
One would think that the cab that left first would arrive first at the destination, and sometimes, we did win. However, for the majority of our cab rides, the ladies left first and arrived last, even when we had a significant head start.
Surely we were not unlucky enough to catch the slow cab drivers in town. No, more likely, the cab drivers saw three women and decided to take the leisurely route to our destination.
These experiences are disheartening. I can't say for certain that people thought they could scam us because we are woman, but that's the conclusion that I have come to. Sadly, no matter how confidant, prepared, or intelligent you are, sometimes people see that you're a woman and assume that you will buy what they're selling or not realize that they're trying to steal from you, in either small or larger ways.
Regardless of the negative tone of this post, we all had a fabulous time in New York and enjoyed our time immensely, even the overpriced transportation.
Because it was my parents' first trip to the city, we decided that our main activity of the weekend would be riding the red double-decker buses. There are 4 routes: uptown, downtown, Brooklyn, and night tour. The lower-floor of the bus is enclosed, but the upper deck, exposed, is where the action is at. Being able to see the towering skyscrapers is key to feeling connected to the skyline and buildings that you see in movies and TV shows.
We didn't buy tickets ahead of time and were heading to the office to buy them when we encountered on the street a salesperson from what I thought was a rival company--the blue buses. The map in his brochure was different from the map I had printed from the red company's website, but when I expressed hesitation about buying tickets for a different tour company, he assured me that they were the same.
"The same?" I questioned. Yes, he declared. He said that the companies merged, and if you bought tickets for the blue bus, you could get on either the blue bus or the red bus.
Now I am not an expert on mergers and acquisitions, but I would think that having double buses--in different colors, with different names--would not be conducive to a successful merger or acquisition. There was something definitively fishy about his story.
Especially when his coworker came along and he waved him away with an expression that I can't quite define, but if I had to pretend to be on Lie to Me, I'd say it said, "Don't mess up my little scheme by telling this girl the truth."
Our little dialogue on the street, in the rain, went on for some time. As the buyer, you have the advantage of not having to give someone any money unless you're sure it's the right decision. Eventually, the sales person's friend joined the conversation, as did B, and our sales person admitted (while acting as if he had never made his false claims) that a ticket for the blue bus was good for the blue bus only.
In the end, we all bought tickets for the blue buses because their top decks were covered, and rain was predicted for the entire weekend. I think they might have overcharged us for the tickets. Rewarding a man (with an overpriced sale) who deliberately tried to mislead me leaves me with negative emotions, but [insert an appropriate cliche here; there are many options].
We took 3 of the tours, saving Brooklyn for another time. The top was covered but open in the front and back, and the low-40-degree temperatures combined with off-and-on sprinkles from a lingering Nor'easter inspired us to ride a single loop of each tour and then make way toward something warmer, preferably with hot drinks. Perhaps for the next visit, we'll make use of the hop-on, hop-off option.
So I had a somewhat negative experience with the agressive blue-bus salesperson. Transportation continued to be a source of difficulty throughout the trip.
When we weren't bussing (in a transportation sort of way, not in a kissing sort of way), cabs were the chosen mode of transportation, as they were the easiest method for transporting 6 people across wide swaths of the city in a short amount of time for a low cost. The ladies (my mother, sister, and I) rode in the first cab that B hailed, and the gentleman (B, my father, and my sister's bf) rode in the second cab.
One would think that the cab that left first would arrive first at the destination, and sometimes, we did win. However, for the majority of our cab rides, the ladies left first and arrived last, even when we had a significant head start.
Surely we were not unlucky enough to catch the slow cab drivers in town. No, more likely, the cab drivers saw three women and decided to take the leisurely route to our destination.
These experiences are disheartening. I can't say for certain that people thought they could scam us because we are woman, but that's the conclusion that I have come to. Sadly, no matter how confidant, prepared, or intelligent you are, sometimes people see that you're a woman and assume that you will buy what they're selling or not realize that they're trying to steal from you, in either small or larger ways.
Regardless of the negative tone of this post, we all had a fabulous time in New York and enjoyed our time immensely, even the overpriced transportation.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Counting my hailstone blessings
You might recall that a mighty hailstorm blew through town many months ago while we were watching Star Trek in the movie theater. The Subie remained undamaged, but the Island Corolla did not fare as well.
I didn't think that I'd repair the body damage, as it was entirely cosmetic, and she's getting up there in years--nearly 8 now--and nobody really cares about a little body damage on an older vehicle. But I called the insurance company to report the damage and get an estimate for the repair.
A week or so later, I received a sizeable check in the mail. I might have even danced a little jig around the living room after I opened the envelope. The best part was that the check was written to me and came with no requirements on how it had to be spent.
There were some caveats, of course. Insurance companies don't give checks like that without getting something in return. My insurance rate didn't go up--hail is considered an act of God, and God can't be billed for it, and I certainly can't be billed on behalf of God--but if I didn't spend the check to repair the damage, the insurance company was going to deduct the check plus my deductible from their valuation of my car. It seemed like a reasonable trade-off to me. I deposited the money into a savings account, sat back, and waited for disaster to strike.
Disaster is supposed to strike, after all, after you've received a windfall--right? I lucked out, I suppose, because no disasters have occurred thus far. However, soon after I received the check, my mechanic pointed out some maintenance that I should consider.
He asked if I planned to keep my car for a while, and I said I planned to keep it for as long as I could. Life without a car payment is fantastic! Plus my roundtrip commute to work is close to 75 miles; there's no point in buying a new car only to start racking up the miles. The Island Corolla is the best mode of transportation for me right now. And I love her.
Back to my mechanic. He praised me for wanting to keep her, and said that she was a great little car and that she's still worth a bit of money, relatively speaking, and that people who drive those Corollas love them and never want to give them up. Amen to that. But he did say that if I plan to keep her for a while, I might consider replacing her struts. He said that struts help keep her balanced and help keep her tires in the right place on the road. I said that I was planning to replace my tires before the upcoming winter, and perhaps I should just have my struts and tires done all at once. He agreed it was a good idea.
And so that's what I had done today, tires and struts and a new serpentine belt and an oil change. There was also a rattle in my exhaust that he took care of.
And what, might you ask, was the grand total of all of this work? Well, it was exactly $19 more than the check that I received for the hail damage. Sometimes windfalls come to you for a reason, and I'm glad that I was able to resist temptation (spending it) long enough to realize that money that comes to you for an item is best spent on the item, even if you spend the money in a different way than originally intended.
Lesson learned: Hail is not so bad after all.
I didn't think that I'd repair the body damage, as it was entirely cosmetic, and she's getting up there in years--nearly 8 now--and nobody really cares about a little body damage on an older vehicle. But I called the insurance company to report the damage and get an estimate for the repair.
A week or so later, I received a sizeable check in the mail. I might have even danced a little jig around the living room after I opened the envelope. The best part was that the check was written to me and came with no requirements on how it had to be spent.
There were some caveats, of course. Insurance companies don't give checks like that without getting something in return. My insurance rate didn't go up--hail is considered an act of God, and God can't be billed for it, and I certainly can't be billed on behalf of God--but if I didn't spend the check to repair the damage, the insurance company was going to deduct the check plus my deductible from their valuation of my car. It seemed like a reasonable trade-off to me. I deposited the money into a savings account, sat back, and waited for disaster to strike.
Disaster is supposed to strike, after all, after you've received a windfall--right? I lucked out, I suppose, because no disasters have occurred thus far. However, soon after I received the check, my mechanic pointed out some maintenance that I should consider.
He asked if I planned to keep my car for a while, and I said I planned to keep it for as long as I could. Life without a car payment is fantastic! Plus my roundtrip commute to work is close to 75 miles; there's no point in buying a new car only to start racking up the miles. The Island Corolla is the best mode of transportation for me right now. And I love her.
Back to my mechanic. He praised me for wanting to keep her, and said that she was a great little car and that she's still worth a bit of money, relatively speaking, and that people who drive those Corollas love them and never want to give them up. Amen to that. But he did say that if I plan to keep her for a while, I might consider replacing her struts. He said that struts help keep her balanced and help keep her tires in the right place on the road. I said that I was planning to replace my tires before the upcoming winter, and perhaps I should just have my struts and tires done all at once. He agreed it was a good idea.
And so that's what I had done today, tires and struts and a new serpentine belt and an oil change. There was also a rattle in my exhaust that he took care of.
And what, might you ask, was the grand total of all of this work? Well, it was exactly $19 more than the check that I received for the hail damage. Sometimes windfalls come to you for a reason, and I'm glad that I was able to resist temptation (spending it) long enough to realize that money that comes to you for an item is best spent on the item, even if you spend the money in a different way than originally intended.
Lesson learned: Hail is not so bad after all.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Nola 2010?
Our next vacation, Puerto Rico, is coming up, so naturally I have started looking ahead to the vacation that we'll take after that.
If you're wondering if I spend too much time planning and not enough time living in the moment, you have a reasonable concern. However, I don't think that the ability and tendency to plan (for the short-term, long-term, and unforeseen) is necessarily exclusive of the ability to live in the moment. The moment I'm living in now is fine enough; I'm eating pizza crusts at the kitchen table, listening to the dueling sounds of a running dishwasher that sounds as if it has trapped a mouse (squeak squeak) and New Orleans jazz on the radio (public radio, of course). The house is a bit on the cool side but not quite cold enough to justify turning on the heat for the first time this year or even flipping the switch on the gas fireplace.
If you think this moment is sounding peaceful and a tad on the dull side, I'm not offended because that's exactly the point I'm trying to make. Living in the moment is great, but what if not much is going on in the moment and you can make it more exciting by working toward creating better moments for the future?
I have convinced myself. It's easy to win an argument when there's no one to offer a counter argument. But let's get back to my favorite topic, vacation.
I had been feeling a tad distraught lately because no city's siren call was loud enough to catch my attention. "Where, oh where will we go for our next vacation?" I shouted out my window into the darkness each night. Well, perhaps it wasn't as dramatic as that, but there might have been a little moping and the occasional, "I don't know where I want to go on vacation next!" whine to B, who takes a much more laid-back approach to travel and doesn't understand the agony that such a situation brings to me. It's ok. He falls a whole lot closer to "Normal" than I do on this scale.
Jackson Hole has not fallen off my radar. However, B told me recently that the summer months could be difficult for travel because of work so we might have to go away in the spring. Jackson would be cold but doable in March or April, but the nearby national parks would likely be difficult to visit due to road closures from snow and/or melt. Summer and fall are much better months for that area. So Jackson is not off the list but it's probably not going to be the next destination, not if we want to go away in March or April.
I decided to try the old sit-back-and-wait approach. We weren't going to book anything until after we got back from PR anyway, so why torture myself with the once-daily flight check (has it gone up?? has it gone down??) until we're actually ready to buy flights?
My strategy paid off. A city has popped into my head and won't go away. I saw a little of the city when So You Think You Can Dance visited last week (or rather, aired the episode last week from when they visited this past summer) and thought it looked nice but didn't think any more of it.
Until earlier this week, that is, when I thought, "What would be a good place to go for a long weekend?" And there it was--New Orleans--strutting through my head with cajun music, wrought iron, Mardi Gras beads, jazz brunches, and beignets.
I broached the subject with B, who was interested, so I visited the local B&N to pick up a guidebook. Pickins were slim but I found an acceptable guidebook that I have since read cover to cover, growing more and more excited by the page. Similar to PR, New Orleans feels like another country, from its architecture to food to music to language/accents. However, just like PR, it isn't another country, so you can pay with the dollar (a nice perk; the dollar is weak weak weeeeeak these days) and get there in a reasonable amount of time (flying, of course).
The trip has grown from a long weekend to a five- or six-night adventure, in my mind anyway. I haven't booked anything so I can make all of the plans that I want to. But there are so many activities that I think we could easily fill five or six days. Here are a few good options that I've found so far:
If you're wondering if I spend too much time planning and not enough time living in the moment, you have a reasonable concern. However, I don't think that the ability and tendency to plan (for the short-term, long-term, and unforeseen) is necessarily exclusive of the ability to live in the moment. The moment I'm living in now is fine enough; I'm eating pizza crusts at the kitchen table, listening to the dueling sounds of a running dishwasher that sounds as if it has trapped a mouse (squeak squeak) and New Orleans jazz on the radio (public radio, of course). The house is a bit on the cool side but not quite cold enough to justify turning on the heat for the first time this year or even flipping the switch on the gas fireplace.
If you think this moment is sounding peaceful and a tad on the dull side, I'm not offended because that's exactly the point I'm trying to make. Living in the moment is great, but what if not much is going on in the moment and you can make it more exciting by working toward creating better moments for the future?
I have convinced myself. It's easy to win an argument when there's no one to offer a counter argument. But let's get back to my favorite topic, vacation.
I had been feeling a tad distraught lately because no city's siren call was loud enough to catch my attention. "Where, oh where will we go for our next vacation?" I shouted out my window into the darkness each night. Well, perhaps it wasn't as dramatic as that, but there might have been a little moping and the occasional, "I don't know where I want to go on vacation next!" whine to B, who takes a much more laid-back approach to travel and doesn't understand the agony that such a situation brings to me. It's ok. He falls a whole lot closer to "Normal" than I do on this scale.
Jackson Hole has not fallen off my radar. However, B told me recently that the summer months could be difficult for travel because of work so we might have to go away in the spring. Jackson would be cold but doable in March or April, but the nearby national parks would likely be difficult to visit due to road closures from snow and/or melt. Summer and fall are much better months for that area. So Jackson is not off the list but it's probably not going to be the next destination, not if we want to go away in March or April.
I decided to try the old sit-back-and-wait approach. We weren't going to book anything until after we got back from PR anyway, so why torture myself with the once-daily flight check (has it gone up?? has it gone down??) until we're actually ready to buy flights?
My strategy paid off. A city has popped into my head and won't go away. I saw a little of the city when So You Think You Can Dance visited last week (or rather, aired the episode last week from when they visited this past summer) and thought it looked nice but didn't think any more of it.
Until earlier this week, that is, when I thought, "What would be a good place to go for a long weekend?" And there it was--New Orleans--strutting through my head with cajun music, wrought iron, Mardi Gras beads, jazz brunches, and beignets.
I broached the subject with B, who was interested, so I visited the local B&N to pick up a guidebook. Pickins were slim but I found an acceptable guidebook that I have since read cover to cover, growing more and more excited by the page. Similar to PR, New Orleans feels like another country, from its architecture to food to music to language/accents. However, just like PR, it isn't another country, so you can pay with the dollar (a nice perk; the dollar is weak weak weeeeeak these days) and get there in a reasonable amount of time (flying, of course).
The trip has grown from a long weekend to a five- or six-night adventure, in my mind anyway. I haven't booked anything so I can make all of the plans that I want to. But there are so many activities that I think we could easily fill five or six days. Here are a few good options that I've found so far:
- Visiting the zoo.
- Taking a ride on the Natchez riverboat.
- Taking a Katrina tour.
- Riding the streetcar (named Desire?) through the Garden District. Brangelina sighting optional.
- Kicking it in the French Quarter.
- Taking a boat ride through a swamp.
- Visiting a plantation.
- Listening to live jazz, cajun, and zydeco music.
- Eating beignets, muffaletta sandwiches, po'boys, and other quintessential Nola foods (though I must confess, I am a little concerned that seafood plays such a significant role in the diet - I will have to stock up on Larabars if we go).
- Shouting "Stella!" at random balconies while clutching my head. Overdone, perhaps, but amusing to me.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Ten months of hair neglect followed by a blowout
Last week I had my first haircut since last December. December! Almost ten months. When you chop off a foot of hair, some time has to pass before you're comfortable going back to the hair salon.
I usually wait until I hate my hair or can no longer brush it and then make an appointment, and this time was no exception. Luckily I can still brush it (it is only down to my shoulders, after all) but had started wearing my hair in a bun almost exclusively--never a good sign. I booked a cut and color a few weeks ago but had to wait longer than expected because my stylist was on maternity leave (something I didn't realize since I hadn't seen her since last year).
My stylist offered light scolding for waiting so long to return. She says that if you cut your hair frequently, even just a little bit, it grows faster. How does the root know what's going on at the other end? It's a mystery that someone else will have to solve. I asked the absolute longest that I could wait between cuts, expecting her to say 4 months or so. She said 8 weeks.
Does anyone who doesn't color regularly make such frequent appointments? Aside from the lengthy time commitment (last week's visit was a 3+-hour activity), the cost adds up very quickly. When I started going to my stylist, she was a junior stylist, so cuts were cheaper. However, a cut and color is more and more expensive every time I visit.
Perhaps I can aspire to visit every 4 months--that seems like a reasonable commitment (both in time and finances), though I bet I could stretch it out to 6 months without much of a difference. To return in February or April? Stay tuned, eager reader; suspense like this is difficult to handle.
Before I left the salon, I asked for a shampoo recommendation. I knew it would be pricier than the hair products that I buy at Target, but I was willing to gamble on the $15 bottle of shampoo. I left the salon with $60 worth of shampoo, conditioner, and hair oil (to be applied before and after blowdrying--I was unsure about this one but am easily persuaded when cosmetics are involved). The brand is Moroccanoil, which is screaming out for an extra space, but that's how they spell it.
I've used my new hair products twice and am sad to say that my hair-care budget is likely going to have to go up. These bottles are half the size of most drugstore brands and about four times as expensive, but after I shampoo, my hair feels the way it does after I condition it with the drugstore stuff. After I condition it, my hair is happier than it has been in a while. I'm still undecided on the hair oil, but I'll keep using it and assume it's doing what it's supposed to (whatever that is).
Of course, these new products don't mean that I can style my hair any better than I could before. If miracles like that can be bought, I suspect they cost more than $60. However, I am nothing but pleased with my new hair. Here's a pic. It looked better after I returned from the salon, so use your imagination and pretend I look like a cover model.
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I usually wait until I hate my hair or can no longer brush it and then make an appointment, and this time was no exception. Luckily I can still brush it (it is only down to my shoulders, after all) but had started wearing my hair in a bun almost exclusively--never a good sign. I booked a cut and color a few weeks ago but had to wait longer than expected because my stylist was on maternity leave (something I didn't realize since I hadn't seen her since last year).
My stylist offered light scolding for waiting so long to return. She says that if you cut your hair frequently, even just a little bit, it grows faster. How does the root know what's going on at the other end? It's a mystery that someone else will have to solve. I asked the absolute longest that I could wait between cuts, expecting her to say 4 months or so. She said 8 weeks.
Does anyone who doesn't color regularly make such frequent appointments? Aside from the lengthy time commitment (last week's visit was a 3+-hour activity), the cost adds up very quickly. When I started going to my stylist, she was a junior stylist, so cuts were cheaper. However, a cut and color is more and more expensive every time I visit.
Perhaps I can aspire to visit every 4 months--that seems like a reasonable commitment (both in time and finances), though I bet I could stretch it out to 6 months without much of a difference. To return in February or April? Stay tuned, eager reader; suspense like this is difficult to handle.
Before I left the salon, I asked for a shampoo recommendation. I knew it would be pricier than the hair products that I buy at Target, but I was willing to gamble on the $15 bottle of shampoo. I left the salon with $60 worth of shampoo, conditioner, and hair oil (to be applied before and after blowdrying--I was unsure about this one but am easily persuaded when cosmetics are involved). The brand is Moroccanoil, which is screaming out for an extra space, but that's how they spell it.
I've used my new hair products twice and am sad to say that my hair-care budget is likely going to have to go up. These bottles are half the size of most drugstore brands and about four times as expensive, but after I shampoo, my hair feels the way it does after I condition it with the drugstore stuff. After I condition it, my hair is happier than it has been in a while. I'm still undecided on the hair oil, but I'll keep using it and assume it's doing what it's supposed to (whatever that is).
Of course, these new products don't mean that I can style my hair any better than I could before. If miracles like that can be bought, I suspect they cost more than $60. However, I am nothing but pleased with my new hair. Here's a pic. It looked better after I returned from the salon, so use your imagination and pretend I look like a cover model.
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