I want to get back to writing my book. Let me qualify that: I need to get back to writing my book.
My book starts as a series of journal entries (both personal and travel) and letters in 1996 and ‘97, long before I know I will write a book.
In 2001, I start writing chapters, by hand. The chapters flesh out story snippets and descriptions of people and places. The chapters expound on inner turmoil, extreme loneliness and a budding thirst for a less-ordinary life.
By the end of 2001, I am typing these chapters into a computer, adding more details, more perspective and more poetry to my word count.
I print out what I consider the second draft and edit onto the pages. Like the cliché that I am, I carry dog-eared pages with me everywhere, reading and re-reading the story of me. My book, a travel biography, begins to take shape and I move chapters, fool around with format and finally settle on a 3-part tome.
Part One. Narrative. Documenting the end of life as I know it. My alone-ness. My fear of drowning. My knowledge that doing something, anything, is better than doing nothing. Not knowing what ‘something’ to do.
Part Two. Narrative. A journey in a wide circle. Defeat. Triumph. Forging relationships. Learning that I don’t know everything. Learning that I know a lot. Drinking in facts and places and more people.
Part Three. Episodic. The circles continue, concentric, overlapping, my life a Venn diagram. Hating myself. Loving myself. Losing myself to excess and pretended celebrity. Stillness. Silence. Sleep and a momentum that ultimately forces a new trajectory.
Years pass.
I occasionally dust off a printed copy. What draft is this? Eight? Eleven? I lose track.
“I am in love with this,” says a friend. “But it should be a novel. It should be in the third-person.” I disagree, and re-write chapter one for the fifty-millionth time. Each time I re-write it I love it more.
“It’s wonderful, Sweetie,” says my mother. “She has to say that,” I think. But she actually does love it.
I feed it in cruel increments to willing and select friends. I want critics, not sycophants to read it. Only that will make it better. I write in sporadic and manic phases. I accomplish much, then nothing for months, years.
In 2009, I sit in modest, yet well-decorated apartment in a foreign city, and I read chapter one. “This should be a novel, in the third-person,” I think and I smile. It has taken me years to get to this point. I tell my friend, herself a writer, a successful one. She is pleased.
I dig out the letters and journals from a decade before, all brought from my homeland for this very purpose, and I read. I remember a girl I once knew, one who loved passionately and had her hopes crippled. I think of her fondly as I might think of a distant relative I was once close to. She saddens and angers me, yet I know I will always be protective of her. She is, after all, me.
I return to the keyboard, and I start at the beginning, a very good place to start.
Chapter one.
I write the story of a young woman called Sarah. She has a whole life, most of which I have yet to discover and some of which echoes my own life. I love her, as fiercely as I love the girl in the journals and hand-written lengthy letters collected by loving parents and returned years afterwards.
I feed it to a new friend in meaty chunks. She wants more.
It flows out of me, like a mother’s milk. Chapter one. Two. Three. Six. And then, nothing.
Months later I return to the pages I wrote and do not recognize the words. “Who wrote this?” I wonder and then remind myself that I did. These words are mine. And they are good.
I have a somewhat minor frustration that comes up on a daily basis. Packaging.
I realised the other day when I was unsuccessfully trying to open a cheese stick, that US manufacturers do not seem to discriminate between things that can poison us if ingested, and actual food.
Trying to extricate the highly delicious and somewhat nutritious cheese stick from its extremely excessive packaging (a tough plastic bag that won’t open without scissors, and a shrunk-wrapped plastic ‘easy-to-peel’ tomb) resulted in so much contortion, a coworker thought I was trying on a girdle.
My eye cream comes in an even more ridiculous array of packaging: inside a jar, inside a plastic shell, inside a box, inside shrunk-wrapped plastic. By the time I get the eye-cream out of its packaging, I have three more frown lines on which to put it.
My favorite example of excess packaging is anything that comes in a plastic bottle. From vitamins to ketchup, I must first contend with the shrunk-wrapped hard plastic seal that surrounds the lid. It has perforations so that I can do this easily, but for some reason (perhaps because they suck), these perforations do nothing. I have to get out the scissors.
At this point I can twist off the lid, but underneath the lid will be a foil covering stuck so tightly to the neck of the bottle, I have to dig under its edge with a fingernail. Even the ones with the handy pull tab cannot be pulled off. I invariably resort again to the scissors, which I wield with an agitated stabbing motion. I have missed a few times and stabbed myself, but this only provides another reason for expletives to pour from my mouth.
Once the foil lid is removed, I can usually access what is inside the bottle. If it is vitamins, I have one more gauntlet task: a wad of uncooperative cotton wool. Imagine the clown car at the circus. Pulling the wad of cotton wool out of a 5cm vitamin bottle is like watching the clowns get out of the car in a never-ending stream.
When I can finally reach the vitamins, I check the ‘use by’ date to ensure that they haven’t expired while I was trying to open the bottle.
All of this may seem exaggerated, and as I tend towards the hyperbole, you will be forgiven for thinking so. However, long-suffering boyfriend can attest that these exact enactments are real.
This brings me (the very long way) to our giant clean out a few weeks back.
Our home is spacious for a one bedroom apartment, but it does have its spatial limitations and we were not optimizing the space that we do have.
It did not look like this
but it felt like it did.
I felt tightly bound by too much stuff, too much clutter, too much useless junk, too much excess packaging. I was starting to feel claustrophobic in my own home. I was freaking out.
I mentioned in passing to Ben that we should have a big clean out. He looked a little less than enthused. I tried talking it up.
‘Yeah, it’ll be great. We’ll go through the whole house and open everything up, pull everything out and then throw away what we don’t need. Then we can organize all the cupboards and drawers!’ The Virgo that rose in my Taurean chart when I was born was rising to the challenge. The Scorpio I live with was not.
I tried a different tack. ‘I hate my closet! I hate it. I hate that I can’t find anything and everything falls all over me and I hate it!’ This tantrum went on for another 45 seconds until strong arms went around me, and I calmed down. I looked up at the owner of the arms (Ben). ‘I want to clean out our place and make it feel like home again.’
He responded in the only way a man can when he is faced with big hazel puppy dog eyes, ‘Okay, Babe’.
And that is how it came to pass that one Saturday we opened every cupboard, drawer and box in our apartment. We pulled out everything and only put back what we wanted and needed. The crap was thrown out, recycled, donated and given away. (It is only crap to those who don’t want it). I bought tubs and baskets to organize all our stuff.
We took a trip to the tip and visited Goodwill. We filled 8 bags for the garbage and recycling. It took 6 hours, including the time to thoroughly clean our apartment.
We stripped bare and reconstructed our home, ridding our selves of all the excess packaging. At the end of a long day, we sat sipping a much-deserved glass of wine and admired our handiwork.
Devoid of clutter, our apartment felt like home again I no longer felt suffocated.
I still have my daily battle with actual excess packaging, but I am slowly becoming more skilled with my scissors.
Now, as millions of people world-wide are setting (and already breaking) New Year’s resolutions, I find I have no plausible excuses left. And so I blog.
Since I last wrote, I started working at Groundspeak, the days have turned dark and cold, and I no longer have to give myself pep talks to get out of bed in the morning. These are all big changes for me.
Groundspeak has been all that I thought it would be when I went to the first interview back in July. I walked out knowing that I wanted to work for these people, even if they only wanted me to make coffee and empty trash cans. Fortunately, they want far more from and for me.
There is an incredible atmosphere at Groundspeak and it comes from the people who work there. It is a positive, creative, clever, engaging, and supportive atmosphere which makes working there a pleasure. Every day is different, and my boss, Jenn, frequently asks, “When you signed on to work for us, did you think you’d be doing this?” The truthful answer is frequently, “No”.
Amongst the administrative tasks and responding to emails, I have worked on a project with the Geological Society of America, I am planning a three-day event for 100 in the UK, I am learning German, and I know how to simulate a generously proportioned chest with two stuffed frogs.
I am truly enjoying my work.
The weather on the other hand…
It is winter again. I feel like there wasn’t really a summer, so it is sometimes hard for me to see the light at the end of the Winter tunnel. Summer 2009 consisted of some Spring weather, some Autumn weather, and about a week of Summer when the mercury hit 95+ for 7 days in a row.
Seattle-ites moaned and stores ran out of fans, but I loved it. And then it was gone. Before I knew it the days got shorter and the temperature dropped in increments. I have summer clothes that I never had a chance to wear, and most of them are currently vacationing with a friend in Columbia. I thought I owed it to them.
I should say, though, that the Winter Solstice was marked with as much celebration at work as Christmas was. “Hooray!!! It is the shortest day of the year! Longer, brighter and warmer from this point on!” I had to agree that this is something worth noting, if not celebrating. Especially as Solstice fell during one of the coldest weeks of the year: -8C daily maximums = “Brrrrrrrr”.
The last big change is that I no longer need to have a chat with myself each morning about getting out of bed and facing the day. In August of last year I feared I was dropping into a deep funk. I had landed my dream job, but wasn’t able to start. Red tape was choking me and I feared that my new employers would give up the long wait to secure my work visa. Two months later, the only thing standing between me and a new place of work was a stamp in my passport.
I should have been thrilled that the company was flying me back to Australia to finalize the paper work. I would get to see family and friends (and the sun), and I could start working the day after I arrived back in Seattle.
I should have been ecstatic, but I was too terrified to feel anything but all-consuming fear. “What if they say no and I can’t come back to my home (Seattle)?” became my mantra. Friends were reassuring, the company was reassuring, Ben was reassuring. “It will be fine.” “It is a formality.” “You’ll be back here and working before you know it.”
I wanted to believe them.
Then I talked to my dad. “Darling, what will you do if they don’t give you the visa?” Finally. Someone actually said it aloud: my greatest fear. Once he said it, he immediately dismissed the thought, “Don’t even think about that. It will be fine, Darling.” He was right, and so was everyone else. I flew back to Sydney, had a (worry-filled) weekend with my family, attended the visa interview and walked out 15 minutes later with the visa.
Then I was on vacation in one of my favorite cities in the world.
And you know what happened then. I flew home home to Seattle, started work, and lived out the rest of the year.
We celebrated Ben’s 30th with a huge party at our place. We had a Thanksgiving dinner with 5 other couples, all close friends of ours, and then took off for a weekend away in a mountain cabin.
We enjoyed my first Seattle Christmas with my mom visiting from Las Vegas, and Ben’s Seattle family, and we saw in the New Year with dear friends, Nicole and Josh.
It was an extraordinary end to 2009, but I am very happy to start 2010.
I am healthy, I have love in my life, I have a great job and even greater friends, and soon we will be traveling to Europe. I have much to be grateful for. I can even spin the weather: how nice it is that I get to wear winter clothes, knee-high boots and my new (extremely cute) earmuffs.
So, here they are, my resolutions (it has to be done).
1. I will blog more frequently than once every three months and five days. In fact, I will spend more time writing for myself than I have in the past few months.
2. I will continue to volunteer my time.
3. I will do flexibility training (yoga, Pilates) once a week.
4. I will learn something new (um, not quite sure what that will be yet).
Happy New Year to you all. May it be prosperous, filled with adventure and spirited pursuits, and peaceful.
I have been home in Sydney for the past week to finalize a work visa for my new job in Seattle. The trip, while being ‘immigrationally necessary’, has been the greatest gift.
When I landed the position at Groundspeak two months ago, I was thrilled – and then a little sad. I realized that it meant I would not see Australia, my home, for at least a year and a half.
Hence, the reason I have treated this week as a gift. The work visa was approved on Monday morning, and while I awaited the return of my passport, I enjoyed every moment of being home.
I have hugged old friends and chatted excitedly on the phone to others. I have swapped stories, gossip, concerns and triumphs, catching up on nearly a year of absense. I have talked at length with my dad, and spent an evening of laughter and tears at my aunt and uncle’s dining table.
I have indulged in many cups of coffee made by top-notch baristas, and stocked up on Jaffas and BONDS undies. I have taken dozens of photos of the most beautiful coastline in the world, filled a ziplock bag with sand from Bronte beach, and raided my storage boxes for much-loved books I want to take back to Seattle. I brought one suitcase, and I am taking two back. I have a tan.
And after just a week on Aussie soil, and my accent is as thick as ever (Ben calls it my Aussie accent ‘reboot’).
In a few hours I will be jetting across the Pacific Ocean on my way home. When I get there it will be one hour after I left, which I love, because it feels like ‘time travel’. I lost a Thursday on the way over, but am happily swapping it for two Saturdays.
On arrival, after hugs and kisses, and unpacking and showering (is there anything that feels better after a long-haul flight?), Ben and I will head over to our friend’s place for their housewarming party.
I will get to hug my new friends, and swap stories about our escapades over the past week, and plans for our upcoming holiday season. I will spend the rest of the weekend trying to get on Seattle time as quickly as possible, for on Monday morning I (finally) start my new job. I cannot wait.
So, I leave home to fly home, just as I did a week ago. When you have two places you call home, you are prone to twinges of homesickness, you will always miss loved ones, and you will sometimes slip into the annoying habit of comparing the two places – even if only to yourself.
But you will also have more love in your life, more joy, more nostalgia, and more hope for the future than you can possibly imagine.
The following recipes have been created in our kitchen, with a little trial and error. We think we have gotten a perfect combination, and I wanted to share these with you.
These are ‘bunless’ burgers, and are so tasty, you won’t miss the bun (or the extra 200 calories).
We eat turkey because Ben doesn’t eat red meat, but you could make these with beef. If you prefer beef, and like it medium or rare, omit the final step of cooking the patties.
Chipotle is a smoked chili, and readily available in the U.S. You can, however, substitute any chili you like – fresh, from a jar, powdered, flaked – whatever your taste is.
Cilantro = Coriander
TURKEY BURGERS
1 package of turkey mince (500g or 1lb)
3/4c polenta (corn meal)
1 egg + 1 egg white
Chipotle chili (powder or canned) to taste
Salt (smoked salt if you have it)
Fresh cliantro
4 green onions chopped
Sprinkle of Cummin
2-3 T tomato paste
1 clove garlic
Make a handful of mixture into a 1/2 inch patty.
Heat a frying pan to med-high, add 1T oil (Vegetable oil is best). Cook patties until brown on both sides.
Add 1/4c to 1/3c of chicken broth (liquid stock), turn heat down to medium and cover – cook another few minutes to ensure the patties are cooked through. The broth steams the meat through and keeps it tender.
Makes 4 large patties. Patties can be frozen in individual ziplock/freezer bags.
FRESH SALSA
De-seeded and peeled cucumber
Ripe tomatoes
Avocado
1/4 red onion
Fresh cilantro
Splashes of white balsamic + olive oil
Lots of lime juice
Salt and pepper
Chili flakes
Dice everything finely, mix together and refrigerate about 3 hours ahead of time. Season to your taste.
CARAMELIZED ONION
Red onion, sliced finely (1 per 2 people)
Olive oil
1 tsp butter
Splash of white balsamic
Cook on medium until onions are caramelized, stirring regularly.
Assemble burgers on salad greens. Top with a spicy BBQ sauce, onions and fresh salsa. Serve with Sweet potato fries.
SWEET POTATO FRIES
Scrub skins, cut into 1/4 inch rounds, lay on a plate and microwave until nearly cooked through (a few minutes – test with a fork).
Place on a foiled tray, drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with favorite spice combo (Chili-based spices/Cumin is a good accompaniment) and salt and pepper. Turn over and repeat.
Grill (under broiler) on HIGH until brown (about 4-5 minutes), and turn over to grill other side.
This is a really healthy and delicious meal.
Much of the prep can be done ahead of time, and the cooking only takes 10 minutes for the patties and fries. Therefore, this is a terrific meal to make when friends come over, because you won’t have to spend a lot of time in the kitchen.
Our accommodation the first night of our weekend was with a lovely lady called Barbara at her B&B in Port Angeles, Ocean Crest. We arrived just before dinner and she showed us to our room. It was very comfortable, had its own bathroom, and just next door was a little sitting room for us. Barbara was thrilled to hear an Australian accent, as her beau is keen to take her to Australia next year and she was full of questions.
She took us through our dining options for the evening, and made reference to ‘Twilight’ several times. I then noticed the Twilight paraphernalia featured on a bookcase. Apparently, there is a book out there called Twilight, and quite a few people have read it, and many of those people come to the Olympic Peninsula to see where Bella (the heroine) and her vampire lover, Edward ‘live’.
The story is set in Forks, Washington, and we were 60 miles away, but that didn’t mean that the Twilight business is not thriving in Port Angeles too. It was our first taste of how far reaching this phenomena is.
We opted not to go to ‘Bella Italian’ – a favorite amongst Twilight devotees, but instead chose a seafood restaurant on the water. It was a good pick and I had Dungeness crabcakes (Dungeness is just up the road from Port Angeles) and Ben tried razor clams. Both were delicious, especially the unusual razor clam, which is large and meaty and quite a bit sweeter than crab. After dinner we discovered a cozy wine bar, and sat down to taste some California reds. We would have stayed longer, but one of us would have had to play ‘skipper’ and it is just no fun watching your love drink lovely wine while you sip water.
Barbara, a pro in the B&B business for eleven years, not surprisingly made a fabulous breakfast the next morning. While we enjoyed pancakes, eggs and bacon, we heard more of her story – recently divorced, but seemingly happy – and about her son who runs a resort out near Forks – yes, the Forks of the novel, Twilight.
We kept a close eye on the weather through breakfast. That morning we were supposed to be going kayaking on Freshwater Bay. However, I awoke to a very stiff and sore shoulder, so Ben was going it alone. Even though check out time was 11am, Barbara had generously offered for me to stay on and ‘chill out’ until Ben got back around 1pm.
As I ate, I looked out at dark clouds and incessant rain, and a niggling thought popped into my head: ‘It’s still officially summer’. I pushed aside the disheartening thought about the demise of my favorite season. I needn’t be selfish, as I wasn’t the one who would get very wet. Luckily when I called the kayaking place to cancel, they said they only had the two of us booked, and it was probably best to call it off all together. Ben seemed very happy about that.
Instead, we decided to go wine tasting. (Hooray!) We said a fond farewell to Barbara, and as we drove out of the driveway saw this little lady:
Doe a deer...
We then went to Camaraderie Cellars and Harbinger Winery. Both had some lovely wines, which were presented by lovely people. We killed a couple of hours, and made some dents in the plastic, but you have to when you taste good wine that you can only get at the cellar door. Wine tasting at cellar doors is a ‘regret-less endeavor’ only if you buy what you like when you’re there.
We were a chatty pair as we drove again past Lake Crescent, and on towards Forks. We would stay that night at Manitou Lodge, which sits nestled in the coastal rain forest, just west of Forks. A couple of hours before check in, we pulled up outside Three Rivers Resort and Cafe, also just west of Forks. We knew that the cafe (owned by Barbara’s son) had its own ‘vampire menu’, but it was at this time that the whole ‘Twilight’ obsession started to hit home.
Inside the cafe is this sign:
Treaty line
which I am sure people thought I was photographing because I am a fan. I’m not; all I know is that the books – and now a film – exist.
We later learned that next weekend is a huge celebration in Forks to mark Bella’s fictional birthday. Her birthday part is being held in a church, because, as you all know, vampires can’t go into churches.
It is an intriguing pursuit, this whole Twilight obsession. It has me more than a little curious, so I have asked Ben to put the film on our Netflix cue. I am not too keen to read the book, but I will check out the film. At least we can say ‘We’ve been there”. We ate our burgers – which were terrific – and played two games of Yahtzee, both of which Ben won – but only just.
After lunch and a short drive we were at the coast at LaPush, Washington. It was spectacularly beautiful, but the most inhospitable I have ever seen the Pacific.
A storm was raging, waves crashed and the whole scene was of gray debris.
The town itself was not beautiful, rather a lonely, decrepit town I can imagine is only visited because of the views from it shores.
It was time to go to our accommodation, so we headed away from the coast and deeper into the forest. Manitou Lodge is the sort of place that actually looks like its name. It is big and rustic, with stone and timber walls. On entry we were faced with a giant staircase and a grand room with a long dining table, four leather couches and bookshelves lined with old books and games.
It is a place that could be either the scene of a horror movie, or the backdrop for a mini adventure. I was hoping for the latter. We were shown to our room, the Lady of Guadalupe:
Both of us were keen for some indoor R&R, because the rain outside was unrelenting. After I nested for a few minutes, much to Ben’s amusement, I chose to have a hot bath, and he chose to read about Seattle a hundred years ago. Both of us enjoyed these solitary pursuits, and then we came back together, and headed downstairs to see what we could see.
We scoured the bookshelves for games or interesting books, all while maintaining our library voices. There were 4 other people in the grand room, and all were reading, so we whispered. We then hit the jackpot with a 600 piece Star Trek puzzle.
I looked at Ben as though asking, ‘Are you game?’ and he looked at me as though replying, “Okay.” We cleared some space on the table top, and began our task. Five hours, one and a half bottles of wine, two cheese croissants, and a bag of popcorn later we called it a night.
There were many pieces missing – we guessed about 50 – and it was too dark in the grand room to discern between dark blue and black, so we left a few patches unfinished, but overall it was a hugely successful and fun endeavor. Whenever either of us found the place for a tricky black piece with a sliver of color on the side, we earned a ‘well done’ and a kiss from the other.
We grew new-found respect and appreciation for just how clever the other is (keep in mind that we already had heaps of both, so this is saying a lot). The hours flew by. I can highly recommend puzzling as a good bonding experience for couples who are rained in on an adventure holiday.
This is how we left the puzzle for anyone keen to finish it:
Puzzled
The rain was still with us the next morning as we bid farewell to Vampire Country. We had survived!
We were driving the long way home, south, then east, then north up into Seattle. It would take about 4 hours if we didn’t stop, but of course, we wanted to stop. We chose Ruby Beach. It was a fluke, because there are a dozen places to stop and see the ocean on the drive, but we’re both glad we got to see this:
And these examples of natural graffiti art:
We ‘souvenired’ some of these pebbles, and they now sit proudly in our home. My favorite is the perfectly round stone Ben found. It is 6 inches across and now sits next to the television. I should also mention that we got very wet on this excursion. We both had waterproof jackets, but the rain and wind were in full force – it was wild and woolly – and we spent the next hour of driving, drying off. (Well worth it though!)
The rest of our drive went by quickly, although we did realize about 2 hours down the road that I had left my perfect pillow in the Lady of Guadalupe (they’re sending it to me). Lunch was breakfast at Denny’s. It is kind of a cheesy place to stop, but is always clean, and the breakfast is great. Good ol’ Denny’s didn’t disappoint, and gave us the energy we needed to get home.
We packed a lot in, but as I said before, the success of the weekend was as much about what we skipped as what we saw. Wine tasting is a much better way to spend a rainy day than kayaking.
As always, thank you to my darling Ben. He is the best travel companion (and life’s companion) this girl could ever hope for.
And the boys want to know where we’re all going next…
What makes a perfect weekend? What are the essential elements that must come together to create a weekend of ‘Kismet’?
Well, this past Labor Day long weekend we discovered that the perfect weekend can be as much about what is omitted as what is included.
The night before our departure I suffered a night of insomnia. They come up from time to time, and usually at inopportune moments like this one. I awoke to a rainy morning, an achy neck, a recurrence of a niggling sore throat I have been fighting for weeks, and a bad mood.
Ben was a trooper. I was a trooper. We managed our morning like seasoned travelers and were showered, fed and packed without too many snippy words. We loaded the car in the rain, and made the early ferry (7:55am) with several minutes to spare. We would ferry from Seattle to Bainbridge Island, then drive across the island and over a bridge onto the Olympic Peninsula.
The boys were excited.
Anticipation
I wanted either coffee or sleep. I opted for sleep and soon discovered that the fully reclined passenger seat of Ben’s car combined with my awesome pillow (which I take with me everywhere) is the PERFECT way to travel long distances. I was out like a light.
When I emerged from my coma, we were in Port Townsend, a pretty town on the north-eastern tip of the peninsula. My friend, Todd, had tipped us off that it is was a great spot, so we detoured off course to fit it in.
Driving in we saw this:
Oops
The weather in Port Townsend was what my dad would call ‘wild and woolly’. [It is an expression I have grown up with, so I know that it means ‘really windy and a lot wet’, but now that I have written it into this post, I am wondering how the ‘woolly’ part comes into play.] It had stranded these two boats on the shoreline, and when we got out of the car, it threatened to blow us out straight back of town.
We opted for a safe haven in the form of the nearest coffee shop, where we drank tea, and ate American-style scones. Ben asked for soy milk, but we were informed that they didn’t use soy milk, because it is VERY bad for you. Sure. Okay. Whatever you say.
After tea Ben suggested we walk through the town a bit. For me the day was only just coming in to focus, so I said yes, despite the weather. I needed to wake up fully.
In Port Townsend
We discovered some gorgeous architecture that has been lovingly restored, and many galleries. I bought a few little trinkets – gifts mostly – including a giant sand dollar from the curio shop. It now sits with our African Goddess and our Indian Elephant – three continents represented in one corner of our living room. The people we met were lovely and chatty, and I know this is a place I would like to go back to sometime soon.
Moving on from the windy town, we made our way south and then west towards Port Angeles. We would be staying at a B&B there later in the day, but it wasn’t even lunch time yet, so we pressed on towards the Sol Duc Hot Springs.
Lunch was an impromptu stop at Granny’s Cafe, an old school diner on the main highway.
Catsup and Creamer
I believe it is solely for this reason that people stop there to eat, and has nothing to do with Granny, the food, or the collections of ‘things’ that fill every horizontal surface.
Intriguing
Moooo
The food was, at best, passable.
Fed, we hopped back in the car, still on course for Sol Duc Springs, and took a detour to Lake Crescent, where we saw our first glimpse of sun that day.
Driving to Lake Crescent
The Lake is in the Olympic National Park, but holiday homes pepper its shore. From one angle I could have sworn I saw how it must be at the height of summer, even though the true temperature was closer to 58F (15C).
Lake Crescent
As we left, the rain came again. After winding around the south side of the lake – a beautiful drive – we turned off the highway and into the central part of the national forest. We overshot the hot springs and drove instead to a trail head for, among other destinations, Sol Duc Falls. It was only sprinkling lightly, but had clearly rained heavily at some point, because the trails were dense with mud.
Just as I pointed out a beetle for Ben to avoid stepping on, there was a sharp pain in my hand. I quickly pulled off my glove, thinking that maybe a spider had nestled in there over the summer, but no. A yellow jacket hornet had stung me through my glove and it hurt like hell. A quick detour back to the car to dress my wound, and we retraced our steps back towards the falls. We were rewarded for our efforts – and my pain – with this spectacular sight.
Ben at Sol Duc Falls
And looking further down river:
So lush
We made our way back to the car while I watched carefully for attack hornets. Back at the car we met a lovely group of middle aged people who had been stranded by a dead car battery. Fortuitously for them we happened to be parked right next to them, and could give them a jump start. “Thank goodness,” said one of the women. “We were so worried that the people on either side of us were off trekking for days on end.” She had no way of knowing that trekking for days in the rain is my closest idea to hell, but we all agreed that our car’s proximity to theirs was ‘great luck indeed’. Sometimes you meet the nicest people.
Feeling good about our small act of kindness, we drove a short distance, grabbed our swimsuits and paid admission to the Sol Duc Springs Resort.
I kind of knew when I saw first the ‘hot springs’ – essentially giant hot tubs stuffed with tourists and their splashing children – and then the filthy change rooms, that it would be a short visit. I was disappointed for many reasons. Mostly, I had looked forward to the hot springs because my neck, shoulders and upper back had been chronically sore for days. It was becoming hard to sit, sleep, stand and move – which pretty much didn’t leave much time when it didn’t hurt.
I had also been to the hot springs in Aguas Calientes, Peru, which were beautiful, exceptionally clean, and set into the side of a mountain, so my expectations for the Sol Duc Springs were high.
The stench of sulfur did nothing to ease my aches, and I wished it was a better experience all around – especially for Ben, who was experiencing a hot springs for the first time. I stayed in as long as I could, but when I saw the 30th strand of hair float by, and then a band-aid, I got out, quickly showered and dressed. Ben was not too far behind me. Before leaving I filled in a comment card, and as this post goes to press, I received a lovely email from the management apologizing for the state of the facilities and offering a free pass for us both on our next visit. Hmm. Thanks, but we’ll think about it.
It was time to head to our accommodation for the night and I looked forward to getting clean and dry and out of the outdoors. Sometimes, Adventure Chick. Sometimes, Princess. Princess was ready for a bath!
As soon as my work visa is sorted, I will be working for Groundspeak, who run Geocaching.com among many other things.
Geocaching, as a recreation, was new to me when I applied for the job. I researched it, and decided that not only did I want to work with the people at Groundspeak, but that I wanted to become a geocacher. And so I have.
Ben and I signed up right away – when I was mid interviews. He has one of the fancy schmancy phones that does everything – including answer the phone – so we were all geared up with GPS technology. We created an online profile, and searched for caches based on our zip code.
Voila! Over 500 caches popped up within a 5 miles radius. Um, yeah, let’s narrow that down a bit.
We chose one and headed out from our apartment towards the Seattle Center. Unbeknown to us, we had picked the day of a huge festival to find our first cache. Our first task was to navigate our way through the throngs of people all desperate to get their hands on freebies, corn on the cob, or beer in plastic cups.
We rounded a corner and headed down a ramp, finally easing away from the crowd. You see, when you participate in geocaching, you want to keep a low profile. No one wants their cache raided or stolen by ‘muggles’ (they have appropriated the term from the Harry Potter series), so you have to ensure that you are discreet.
Down the end of the ramp, and around the corner, the GPS assessed that we were ‘there’. Now it was our job to find the cache within a 15-25 foot radius, not knowing exactly what we were looking for, and all the while trying to appear like we weren’t looking for anything at all.
It didn’t take long. Ben took a chance on venturing a little way into the garden bed and it paid off. The cache was a sealed Tupperware container, and enclosed was a log book, which we signed, and a few trinkets. We took nothing, but left a coupon for free yogurt.
Success.
We were quite pleased with ourselves, despite the fact that the ratings for difficulty and terrain were both 1/5. Still, we were no longer non-geocachers. We went to a film that afternoon, and when we got home, logged onto our profile and shared our success.
Since then we have sought three other caches, two of which were successful. The third is located in a small nature reserve in West Seattle. We chose it because we had yet to get out to West Seattle, and it was deemed a 2.5/5 for both difficulty and terrain. We wanted to kick it up a notch.
We discovered a few things that day.
Firstly, geocaching gets you out of the house, which is a particularly good thing when you realize that you are still in your pajamas at noon on a Sunday.
Secondly, if you choose caches in places you haven’t been to before, then you get to go somewhere new! This may seem obvious, but it is delightful, nevertheless, to go somewhere you haven’t been before.
West Seattle gave us this view of our neighborhood.
Queen Anne from West Seattle
We also discovered the joy of finding a cache that someone else cannot find. While we were looking for a Rating 1/1 cache close to where I took this photo, we saw other people looking for the same cache. They were following the readings on their GPS, trying to be surreptitious, and left after they had looked in all the same places we had. Only we decided to keep trying after they left.
At that moment I looked down and saw a small piece of paper next to my foot. I picked it up; it was a fortune from a cookie. It said “Your short-term goal will be realized soon.” I showed it to Ben, just as he put his hand on the cache. Cool!
The last thing we discovered that day was that you can try too hard.
We went in search of the 2.5/2.5 cache (that is 2.5/5 for difficulty and terrain). We had some notes from the previous finders, and we had the location in our GPS, but under the dense canopy of trees, the GPS was rendered next to useless.
It got us in the general vicinity, but we could never seem to get close to the cache, no matter how deep we went into the woods.
At one point I had climbed down a steep incline, fought my way through giant ferns, knocked down about 5o spider webs, and traversed a fallen log that was 8 feet off the ground on its far side. Nothing. And the only way out was to repeat all of that in reverse.
After more than an hour we were both dirty, sweaty and a little baffled. We went back to the main path, and even tried a couple of other small paths. None of them could get us any closer to the location marked by the GPS.
Ben emerging from a path
We called it a day.
We walked back to the car, drove back across town and when we got home looked up the cache. One note said, “The position of the cache is visible from the main path.” We had tried too hard. We had been searching for a cache that would have been rated much higher than 2.5/5 for either terrain or difficulty. We had dug holes, looked in trees, and gone WAAAYYYYY off the path.
But we’ll go back. I want that cache!
So, as I wait for the visa thing to be sorted, I am learning many wonderful and interesting things about all aspects of the geocaching world.
I have learned that in Western Australia there are 1818 caches. I have learned that most people I know in North America are geocachers themselves, or know someone who is.
I have also activated the Geocoin given to me by one of the founders of Groundspeak during my final interview. (Thank you Brian). I have set its course for the UK, and then Australia in the hopes that it will find its way back to me here. Isn’t that cool?
And, courtesy of my new boss, Jenn, I have my own geocaching profile now under the profile name, Sandy (for those who have accounts too – they’re FREE!) . At the moment I share all my caching information with Ben and our joint profile. Perhaps we will always cache together, as we are loving our mini adventures, but this gives us the chance to broaden our individual horizons too.
So, this is a little insight into my new world. I hope to see you out in it.
The thermometer in the northwest of the U.S. has nudged (and sometimes tipped over) the 100F mark for the past few days now.
As an Aussie girl yearning for a ‘real’ summer’s day, I was equally thrilled (It’s hot!) and amused (Will the people here please stop freaking out?) when I saw the forecast.
But you see, Seattle is equipped for the cold, not the heat. Our apartment, with its two tiny windows in the living room, has central heating, but no air-conditioning.
We are on the bottom floor and face north, so our place cooler than most other apartments in this building, but there is no air movement. If I cook for more than a few minutes, it gets very hot in here.
“We are eating only raw food for the next few days,” I informed Ben. He rarely complains about anything, and this revelation was no exception. I think he is just thrilled that I am willing to prepare dinner at all – cooked or raw.
Sleeping has presented its own problems. Two nights ago was the hottest night on record in Seattle – 71F/21C, which is very warm when you’re trying to sleep.
In my last apartment in Sydney, I had many windows. On a night like that I would have thrown them all open, and enjoyed a cooling sea breeze throughout the night. Not here.
Here we sleep under only a sheet, with a giant fan blowing on us. We sleep perfectly still to avoid the chance of touching or generating any superfluous body heat.
And you cannot buy a fan or air-conditioner in the entire north-west at the moment. Sold out!
Yesterday Ben and I were out in search of a salad spinner (so my life would be complete). We got our salad spinner (and my life IS complete), but as we left the store, a man pulled up in a car, leaned out the window and asked a staff member, “Do you have any fans?” “Nope,” was the heart-breaking reply.
“Really?” an incredulous Ben asked me. “I know this is unusually hot weather, but it gets warm here. Don’t people have fans anyway?” It’s a good point. We have been sleeping with a fan on all summer.
“You know, we have two fans,” he continued. “I bet we could sell one for $100 right now.” When we got back to the car, the thermometer read ‘104’. “I think we should keep the fan,” I countered.
Forecasters predicted that yesterday would be the hottest day in Seattle’s recorded history. They were right. While we were buying a salad spinner, the city of Seattle was suffering. It is not used to the heat, it is not built for heat, and it is ill-equipped when a wave of it hits.
Malls, cinemas, and parks with wading pools are bursting at the seams. Restaurant takings have gone through the roof in recent days. People are showing up to work early and staying late, because most people here do not have air-conditioning at home.
Having said all that, I write this from the coolness of our apartment while outside it is 91F/33C. If we keep the blinds closed, the fans on, and the cooking to a minimum, we can keep it cool in here so sleep comes easier. A salad for dinner tonight, methinks.
So, the cynic is silenced.
Yes, it is hot, even for an Aussie girl.
Finally, I am reminded of a favorite poem by Shel Silverstein. Enjoy.
It’s Hot!
It’s hot!
I can’t get cool,
I’ve drunk a quart of lemonade,
I think I’ll take my shoes off
And sit around in the shade.
It’s hot!
My back is sticky,
The sweat rolls down my chin.
I think I’ll take my clothes off
And sit around in my skin.
It’s hot!
I’ve tried with ‘lectric fans,
And pools and ice cream cones.
I think I’ll take my skin off
And sit around in my bones.
Gershwin had it right. When the days are hot and the breezes are cool, when lakes are glassy and the loons call out at dusk, when you’re sipping beer and reading on the deck, life is easy.
A few days ago, Ben and I got back from a week at Crosslake, Minnesota. It is about a 3-hour drive from the twin cities, and is a heavenly part of the world.
Ben’s grandmother, Ellie, owns a cabin on Rush Lake, and we headed up there for some time away from the city bustle. Ben’s parents joined us half way through our stay and friends, Jake and Arielle, brought their baby Gus to visit.
Snippets from our stay:
Getting grubby
We both spend too much of our day to day lives indoors sitting at desks. That is why we gladly donned gloves and work clothes and got a little grubby doing yard work.
We raked and cleared, and I ushered a fist-sized frog down to the water when he (she?) emerged a little shell-shocked from a pile of leaves. I unearthed an old wheel barrow
and mended a small outdoor table. It feels really good to hit wood with a hammer!
When cleaning the speed boat I discovered at least 50 different kinds of spiders. In fact, there seem to be more spiders in the state of Minnesota than there are in the entire of Australia. One even thought that wiggling around inside my bra (while it was on) would be fun. Perhaps it was, but only for the spider.
Even Little Gus took time out of his visit to pitch in. Here he is getting vital instruction from Uncle Ben.
Seeing and being seen
My biggest question of the week was: “Are we in Minnesota or Miami?” The 4th of July long weekend on the lakes of Minnesota is the scene to see and be seen.
On one of our first jaunts out and about, I said to Ben, “I didn’t realize that I should be in a bikini and artfully arranged across the back of the boat.” He replied that he was all for supporting local cultural practices, so I adjusted my attire and seating arrangements on subsequent days, just to fit in…you know.
Getting into the Minnesota groove
Lazy days
So much of our time was just lazing about. Reading on the deck, walking to the shore and watching the sunset, playing with Remy, (Kevin and Ellen’s dog), getting ice-cream from the parlor in town, enjoying the fresh air, and having encounters with the wildlife (chipmunks, squirrels, frogs, crawfish, turtles, loons, geese and ‘lake’gulls).
Taken by Ben
Even our boys, Squirt and Tahoe, spent some time just watching the world go by. It was a truly relaxing time.
Water works
Of course, spending time up at the lakes means being on and in the water.
View of lagoon from dock
We swam, floated about on sun loungers, boated on the pontoon, sped about in the speed boat and even water skied on our last day up there. While the speed boat wasn’t powerful enough to slalom ski, I got up easily on two (despite the 16 years since I have done that) and took full advantage of the glassy water. There are few things that feel as exhilarating being ‘out on the whip’ as the boat turns.
4th of July Celebrations
And of course, our visit coincided with a festive time of the year. We attended the 4th of July parade, and watched as children lining the streets hauled more candy thrown from floats than they would ever get while trick or treating.
There were patriots young,
and old.
A highlight for us was seeing a family friend, Carl, driving his restored 1910s firetruck in the parade.
We were lucky enough to be taken for a ride on his firetruck a few days later.
As always, a warm thank you to my best friend and traveling companion, Ben, and to his lovely family who were wonderful to us.
Sandy Barker | Author 
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