Viva Tequila

Tequila, the birthplace of Mexico’s national drink, is located only 38 miles from Guadalajara.

Upon leaving the city, the land became dry and golden, dotted with squat trees and occasional mountains. Our entry into agave land became clear with the first rows of the blue green plant. They grew in rows in the valley, surrounded by low mountains and extinct volcanoes.

We stopped at a roadside stand, where Tres Mujeres (3 Women) tequila was sold. We were able to walk through the fields, touching the sharp thorns on the spindly leaves. We learned how the plants are planted as babies, cut off from the mother plants and sowed elsewhere. They mature for seven to ten years. Then all the spindly leaves are cut of with a coa and the heart of the plant (called a head or pina, pineapple) is dug up. This weighs between 35 and 150 kilos.

The owners gave us pieces of fiber, what’s left after the juices and sugars are pressed out, to try. It was stringy and looked like beef jerky, but tasted like yam. We also sampled the tequila, made from 100% agave. It was very smooth and while it had the typical afterburn of straight tequila, it was good.

From there we continued on to the town of Tequila, population 35,000. On the way, we passed several distilleries, small and larger. We were going to visit the factory that produces Jose Cuervo tequila, called La Rojena. It is said to be the first tequila distillery and is the most touristed in the area.

There we learned more about the tequila production process and got to see it in action. Unfortunately, no photos were allowed. It was really cool. The giant heads rolled out of trucks and onto the ground, where they were loaded into ovens. Steam hissed out from the oven doors and the smell of agave hearts steaming in hot ovens was overpowering. The building, an original from 1795, had the spirit of colonialism, with the arches and columns at the unloading area, the maize color and the wrought-iron lanterns. We saw the fiber being loaded into a truck like so much hay, on its way to be used for furniture, paper, animal feed and fertilizer. We saw the white oak barrels the tequila ages it, stacked up to the ceiling. And we were allowed to sample each stage of the process – the fiber, the mosto juice, tequila after distilling, white tequila, aged tequila, and at the end, a Jose Cuervo margarita (though with very minimal alcohol content).

I learned about the different types of tequila. And during a visit to the Tequila Museum, also in town, I learned about the cultural relevance of tequila in local life.

We topped off the day with a mariachi concert in a central square, under the backdrop of the illuminated 17th century cathedral. It was great to see so many people out in the center of town on a Wednesday evening – families, couples, friends, al having a nice time.

Then we went to check out a restaurant we’d passed earlier that day, La Chata (Av. Ramon Corona No 126; near Juarez; Tel: 3613-1315 and 3613-0588 and Av. Terranova No. 405; Fracc. Providencia; Tel: 3641-3489) While passing by, I noticed the line of patrons that extended out to the street, and the eight short women, dressed in white, who molded and pressed fresh tortillas, fried meat, and scooped beans, rice and guacamole onto plates. We also stood in line, behind a single woman who like us, was attracted to the hubbub. The people in line appeared upper middle class, well dressed, confident, professional.

The line moved quickly, despite the small size of the restaurant, and we had a table within 30 minutes. The servers and bussers, all men, shook off yellow tablecloths, lay down new ones, took orders and brought food efficiently prepared by the upper middle aged women in white within a matter of minutes. I copied the people around me and ordered a white fruit drink, the water from aquachata (I can’t figure out what this is, if anyone knows, please fill me in). The meal was greasy, but tasty. Most fun of all was the atmosphere, watching how an operation could be so fast-paced, so efficient, and generate such enthusiasm.

On to Guadalajara

After spending a day in Morelia working, an interesting chance to see the professional life in the city, early this morning we moved on to Guadalajara. We traveled on the ETN luxury bus line, a route suggested by a colleague of mine. I was very impressed when she sent me a link to their site and I saw I could purchase tickets in advance with a credit card, and even select the seats. The wide seats reclined fully and had a sizeable foot and leg rest. Both shades and curtains covered the windows, helping us to get some sleep after the 6:30 a.m. departure. The staff provided each passenger with a soda, a sandwich and headphones with which to listen to the on-board movies. The driver drove safely and in a little under four hours, we had arrived in the second largest Mexican city.

Approaching Guadalajara, I looked out onto lots of empty land, a sight that always amazes me. There were arid, golden plains filled with short, stubby trees, some bare with twisted branches, others baring green leaves. Hills were striped yellow, brown and rust, like layered cakes. The city appeared suddenly – a gas station, a small enclave of pastel gated residences, and then a vast metropolis.

Guadalajara has a population of 1.6 million in the city and 4.1 million in the metropolitan area. In what I’d read about it before coming, it was said to be the business and technological capital of Mexico, the Mexican Silicon Valley. I read it had many of the positive aspects of Mexico City – the culture, the urbanity, the industry – without the drawbacks of pollution and high crime. In addition, it carried the distinction of being the home of mariachis and tequilas – two things I looked forward to experiencing.

We decided to try to get to our hotel by bus – a decision taken lightly while River was sleeping quietly in his carseat, a decision we later regretted as he began to scream on the crowded bus. During our long ride across the city, I noted the pickup truck with an electric saddle seat in back, a Walmart, a Pizza Hut, a Seven Eleven, narrow, two story houses, usually painted in pastels, with black gates and frequently graffiti sprayed on the walls. I noticed the heavy traffic, the high quality cars and the fact that most people carried their babies and their children simply in their arms, even if they had to lug a backpack and suitcase as well. People were friendly, with both the bus driver and the passengers ensuring that got off at the right place and headed in the right direction for the second bus.

Since River was upset by that point, we took a taxi the remaining distance. Guadalajara is located at 5200 feet, 1300 feet below Morelia. While Morelia is cool in the evenings and warm in the day, Guadalajara is warm in the evenings and hot during the day.

We’d had some trouble finding a hotel at the last minute. We were willing to splurge for our two nights here because we’ve mostly stayed in motels and private homes during this trip and because we were celebrating our anniversary. But all the hotels we called yesterday were booked, apparently due to an expo taking place. We chose a place we found on the internet (Posada San Miguel (Av. Hidalgo 1082; Col. Ladron de Guevara, 2 cuadras de enrique Diaz; tels: 3827-13-27 and 3827-13-17). It’s well located, but seems to have seen better days. While called a bed and breakfast, it doesn’t serve breakfast, the service is unimpressive and the room musty. For $75 it’s overpriced. But the location is good, the beds comfortable, and the cheap chandelier and cherubs painted on the high ceiling are at least amusing.

Everyone was tired from our 5 a.m. wake-up so we took it easy today. Our sole excursion was to visit the Casa Bariachi, a restaurant that hosts regular performances of ballet folklorico and mariachis. I called ahead and was told there would be performances at 3:30 and 4:30. We arrived at four, in time to catch the tail end of the dancers. I wondered who would be there on a weekday afternoon. Then I remembered my colleagues telling me that the Mexicans eat lunch between two and four. Still, there were only four other customers when we arrived, though more had come by the time we left.

The restaurant had a vast seating capacity and I imagined it gets packed on evenings and weekends. The performances were excellent. A twelve member mariachi band came out in purple suits, carrying a collection of instruments. The singers had rich, romantic voices and the musicians played upbeat tunes. Mark and I ordered margaritas, beef stewed in a spicy sauce, and shrimp in a mango sauce. It was our celebratory meal of our one year anniversary. Best of all though, was when the mariachis began to play Time to Say Goodbye by Andrea Bocelli. It was the Mexican version, with a mariachi twang. But the singer delivered the full power and passion of the song. And I was blown away by the coincidence. That was the song we’d walked down the aisle to exactly one year earlier. Our initial wedding plans (which didn’t happen), involved hiring mariachi singers in Nicaragua. So on our anniversary celebration in Mexico, to merge the planned mariachis with the actual opera song we’d chosen was a wonderful celebratory tribute.

We walked back to our hotel, taking a look at the neighborhood on the way. It appeared to be an upscale neighborhood, with offices of integrated psychology, many banks, and a Berlitz language school on the way. Most prominent of all however were the wedding shops. We must have passed at least ten bridal shops within several blocks. Many of them were housed in ornate buildings, painted pink, gold or white, with arches and elaborate rooftop balconies. Large plated glass windows showcased the stylish dresses – white bridal dresses and colored ballgowns. There were also photographer’s, floral shops and fine fabric stores. We seemed to have stumbled upon wedding central.

Life here seems to be quite modern, well developed, and rather expensive. Our meal was almost $50. Mark was thrilled to find his favorite diapers, Pampers Snugglers. A series of brightly lit convenience stores, filled with colored packaged products, Oxxo, appear every couple of blocks. The foreign presence is substantial. As my colleagues yesterday told me, here it is no big deal for a young person to be offered a job with a foreign institution. There are so many of them that it lacks the prestige it carries in other developing countries.

Of course, what is nice about it is seeing that the quality of life for the locals seems pretty high. “It’s great not having to see really depressing destitution all around you,” my colleague Annika said, who has spent years in Central America. “And unlike a place like Nicaragua, where people will always be poor, here you can see people are given a chance, that they can move up.”

I’m really enjoying being back in the mystery and excitement of a different country, and of course, having the opportunity to speak Spanish. I’m also glad for River to be exposed to Spanish, even if he can’t distinguish languages yet. We have two more days in Guadalajara. Having checked out the mariachis, tomorrow we’ll focus on tequila, taking a tour to the town of Tequila, where the beloved beverage is produced. On Thursday we’ll tour Guadalajara itself and try to get a grasp on this large metropolis.

Morelia, Mexico

Last night we took a direct flight from San Francisco to Morelia, Mexico. Morelia is the most expensive city to fly into Mexico to and our flight on Mexicana Air was only about 1/3 full. The 3.5 hour flight was pleasant though. The flight attendants were courteous, we each had our own row of seats, and we were provided with pillows, blankets, a meal and legroom. Nonetheless, because the flight was in the middle of the night, we arrived at 5 a.m. local time pretty exhausted.

I was impressed at the airport with the modern, clean bathrooms and the presence of a changing table. We made it through immigration and customs with no real hassles, then took a taxi to the homestay where we’d be spending the next two nights. It was a 30-45 minute ride to the city, so I chatted with our driver, Jesus. He was very friendly and polite, framing all of his questions with, “If it’s not an indiscretion,” “If I may ask,” etc. He told us the city is safe and one doesn’t need to fear assaults here. He offered us information on what to see, welcomed us to his city, and told us he’d be happy for us to stay here. I was surprised and pleased to see that he drove carefully and slowly, a sharp contrast from the taxis I’ve taken recently in Central and South America.

We arrived at our host, Renata’s, house, just as the dark sky was lightening. She undid the chains on the three doors leading into her house and welcomed us in. We were given a small but comfortable room with two twin beds and access to a modern bathroom. We slept for several hours, went down for a tasty breakfast, then slept some more.

Renata works at an adult school, which covers post high school material. She doesn’t receive tourists so often, but when she does they come from the U.S. and Canada. She said she usually receives older tourists and young people. She’d never hosted a baby until River showed up though and she really fell for him, even offering to babysit when we went out later in the day.

When we finally got going, around 1 p.m., we walked out to the local bus stop and hopped onto the orange combi (minibus) that would take us into town. We both got seats and it was a pretty easy and comfortable ride. Again, our driver was surprisingly patient and cautious.

As we neared the city center, the streets narrowed and the sounds became more vibrant. Being Sunday, many of the local businesses were shuttered, but many families had still come out for the afternoon.

We arrived at the central square, marked by the city landmark, a cathedral built in 1744. Both the cathedral and the surrounding buildings were built of rose-colored stone, giving it a colonial and Spanish appearance. We walked a few blocks looking for a place to change money. We noted the popularity of ice cream and fruit drinks, with many people either licking a cone or sucking on a straw.

A series of cars drove by with a racket. The occupants waved and shouted out the windows. They held signs that said things like “Live to love,” “treasure the family,” and “Be happy.” We thought it was something political, or maybe a wedding. But when I asked a bystander what was going on, she said they were celebrating The Day of the Family, which is today. I was impressed that among all the activities they could have chosen to do on a Sunday afternoon, they went out to promote love, happiness and family unity.

We took a one hour tour by trolley car of the city, which gave us a nice introduction to the city layout and the truly vast nature of the colonial architecture. After seeing the long stone aqueduct with cupolas that we drove alongside, the numerous fountains, and the stone buildings and churches, many built in the 1500s to 1700s, I understood why Morelia was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1991.

After the tour, we spent the remainder of our afternoon in the Garden of the Roses, a small park with a fountain and stone benches, as well as three cafes with outdoor tables. Enjoying grilled trout and apple crepes, we spent a few hours there, warmed by the nice breeze, enjoying the sound of the tinkling fountain, the low chatter, and the passing guitarists.

The cost of living here seems to be less than in the U.S., but substantially more than in the other countries I’ve worked in recently. Our lunch cost $30 for the two of us and since we barely saw any gringos, the prices seem to be set for locals rather than tourists. We also saw a large selection of consumer goods available, everything from Xboxes to Californian children’s clothing to Allbran cereal bars.

I liked seeing how the families gathered in the parks and squares, especially in the early evening. There, a large crowd surrounded a pair of performing clowns, concerts were underway, and children nudged their parents to buy brightly colored balloons and cotton candy. I had the impression that, in general, people seemed to be content. I certainly enjoyed my first day in central Mexico.

Two Days in San Francisco

On our first day in San Francisco, I took River out for the morning. We walked from our hotel (La Luna Inn, a comfortable and good value place, with easy access to public transport) about a mile down Lombard street, to the cable car stop.

On the way we had lunch at an organic café called Lettus. I overheard one patron say that people come from all over to eat at this café. I thought it was amazing, both healthy and delicious. As I enjoyed my grilled chicken sandwich on a wheat bun, mixed greens with champagne vinaigrette and a mango smoothie, I wished I had more time in San Francisco so that I could sample more of the wide culinary smorgasbord.

While eating, I struck up a conversation with the man next to me. Originally from Germany, he’d owned a bicycle shop in the neighborhood in the 1970’s. He now lives across the bay, where he says it is warmer and a bit cheaper. It surprised me how easy it was to converse with a stranger over lunch and I wished that happened more often out east. I enjoyed listening to his take on life in San Francisco.

After lunch, River and I continued on toward the cable car. A stroller is a handy thing, I learned, when there are two adults available to help out, but it is not an easy thing to handle alone. On the way, River became hungry and upset. I didn’t see any cafes in the area, so I stopped in a hotel lobby to feed him and luckily, no one kicked us out. When he finished, we continued on, and we walked up a very steep hill for about three blocks. It was so steep I feared letting go of the stroller. If I did, it would roll at high speed back down the hill and zip into oncoming traffic. So I held on tight and walked slowly. We reached the top, at the intersection of Hyde and Lombard streets. There began what is called the world’s crookedest street,” a downhill street that curves back and forth without any clear reason. From such a high vantage point there were beautiful views of the bay, of the city, and of the streetcars puffing up the hill.

Our plan was to catch the streetcar and travel on it across town, then continue on to the café where I planned to meet a friend. Only upon seeing several full streetcars approach and leave did I realize it was very unlikely that I’d be able to lift River, the stroller, my backpack, and the carrier onto the streetcar, find a seat and be able to buy a ticket, especially since one had to ascend steps to get on. I was going to try until River started crying again. Then I knew it was impossible. I’d become what I’d swore I’d never be – the person who carries too much baby junk around. I had so much it made me immobile and I learned my lesson.

Unable to get on the cable car, we headed back down hill to go to the nearest bus stop. This hill was equally steep, at least a 60 degree angle. But this time it was downhill, which was even harder. Should the weight of the stroller pull me forward too fall, I could lose my grip and the stroller would roll. I could see the busy street a few blocks down where the runaway stroller would crash into oncoming traffic. I wasn’t reassured to see a sign for parked cars that read “Prevent Runaways.” It told drivers to turn their wheels in and use the emergency brake.

I hung on for life and moved with baby steps, my quads bent and flexed as though I was skiing. We made it safely to the bottom and I managed to lift the stroller onto the bus.

“You have to take the stroller apart,” the driver told me when I boarded.

“OK,” I said. “I’ll do it as soon as I sit down.”

I plopped down somewhere near the front, next to a woman with silver hair. She was intrigued by the little hands she could see moving under the sunshade and began to ask about River. When I started to take the stroller apart, she told me not to.

“You’ll have two things to carry then,” she said.

“But the bus driver doesn’t like it.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she said. “There is a lot of tension right now between the drivers and the public. There have been a lot of complaints about poor customer services. There are even videos of drivers closing doors on people and racking up all kinds of violations. But because they have a very strong union, they haven’t been able to get rid of anyone yet. But now, with all the pressure, the drivers are on edge. So just tell him you are doing your best,” she said.

I appreciated her friendliness and her support. She went on to tell me about her life in San Francisco. That was the second stranger to have an extended conversation with me in just the few hours I’d been out in the city. I liked the openness and friendliness very much. However, for us at least, it seems more like a nice place to visit than a place to consider living, due to the high cost of real estate and what people said were not very good public schools.

After meeting a friend for coffee, where we learned more about the local lifestyle, we had dinner at a fancy restaurant on the Fisherman’s Wharf, where we had tender sea bass fresh from the ocean.

On our second day, I decided to take a walking tour of Chinatown. My tour guide lived in Chinatown for 22 years, so she was able to offer a personal perspective that helped convey what the local life and culture were like. With River strapped to my chest, I walked through alleyways, into shops and temples and down streets packed with Chinese immigrants, a small little world onto itself.

Hiking the Redwoods

Today was one of my favorite days of our almost two weeks of travel. We spend the day exploring – hiking and driving through – the Redwood National Forest.

In the morning I called the park office and a woman gave us some helpful information about good hiking paths and highlights of the park. She directed us to a loop drive in the north of the park. Our first stop was a 1.25 mile hike on that loop.

Before we even got out to hike, we were already impressed. The giant redwoods loomed over us on either side of the car. We could see only the trunks from the car window, but they were so thick we could just imagine what rose from them.

The hiking path was soft. We walked through an area that seemed prehistoric. Ferns and dense, bright green foliage covered the ground. Thick redwood trunks surrounded us. And the redwoods rose far, far up above us, causing us to crane our necks to try to see the tops. The tall trees and dense foliage blocked out the light, making the forest dark and chill. In the places where light filtered through, it danced against the greenery, like a sprinkler emitting much needed droplets of water.

We learned a bit about the redwoods – how their thick bark protects them from
fire, how they can grow to 350 feet, 20 feet in diameter and over 800 years old. We saw how the trunks hollowed out from fires, creating spaces taller than me. We learned how the fungi break down dead trees. Even the fallen trees were majestic, their roots as wide as our SUV, the trunks looking like a sunken ship, covered with moss instead of seaweed. I could sense the decay and regeneration all around me.

I tried to imagine what it was like before the paths were constructed, when people had to make their way through the forbidding land on their own. When I looked up at the branches covered in moss, as though dripping slime, the carpet of ferns, the endlessly tall trees, I felt like I’d entered some type of fantasy or secret world.

We continued along the loop, crossing over a turquoise rushing river that reminded both Mark and I of Kyrgyzstan. Then we went on a single lane, rough road that was one of the most beautiful drives I’ve ever taken. For eleven miles, the trees pressed in upon us, coming within inches of the car. We drove through a green canopy, the outside world feeling far away indeed. When eventually we did emerge and the thick dark forest turned into bare trees and farmland, it was as though someone had removed a blindfold from our eyes and allowed the light in.

Further south we took a couple more hikes. Our most substantial hike of the day, about three miles, was in the Prairie Creek Area. We took the Cathedral Trees path, a journey through a dark green wonderland, and returned via the Prairie Creek trail, which followed a clear, rippling creek. Several trees had fallen across the path due to bad weather in the past few weeks. So we had to do a bit of scrambling, made more difficult by carrying the baby. But we managed to make it through and even saw two black tailed deer on the way.

Our final activity of the day was to see if we could see some elk. The park employee I’d spoken to that morning told me she almost always saw elk when she came to the Prairie Creek Area. A ranger at the visitor’s center there gave us some tips on spotting them and we turned on an a.m. station dedicated to elk information. When we turned off onto a road where elk are often seen, I spotted a group of them behind a barn. We paused to watch them and saw a male with large curved antler, probably a younger male with less developed antlers and several females.

It was great to see them in the wild. In our few weeks of travel we’d seen a coyote, sea lions and elk, not bad considering we never went too far off-road.

We drove down to Eureka for dinner. With a population of 26,000, it’s the largest town on the northern coast. From what I’d read I expected it to be a quaint Victorian town, something like Cape May on the coast of New Jersey. It did have some giant and wildly gingerbratic Victorians but strip shops, chain restaurants, and down-and-out looking people filled most of the streets we saw, making it a not very attractive place.

Compared to Oregon, coastal California feels much more populated and developed. However, once night fell and we continued south on 101 from Eureka, it felt like we had the dark and winding road to ourselves. We could see that we were driving through more groves of redwoods. The thick trunks stood out even in the darkness. We could also see rock-catching nets at the base of roadside sheer mountain faces. Bolivia could certainly make use of something like that.

One benefit of traveling at this time of year has been the ability to enjoy many of the places we’ve visited without feeling like we have to share them. We can choose lodging at the last minute because almost everywhere has vacancy. Even at the Redwoods today, we passed very few people on the hiking paths. We walked through the massive forests as though we were the only visitors. It was great to be able to focus on the sound of the trilling birds, the tinkling brooks, and the falling leaves, rather than hearing other humans.

In the evening we made our longest drive of the trip, doing the long haul of 200 plus miles to San Francisco. Hard to believe that we’ve almost made it down the Western coast and that 48 hours from now we’ll be heading toward Mexico

River is handling the traveling quite well. It’s giving Mark and I both more quality time than we have with him at home. His needs are basically eating and sleeping. I’ve learned to let him breastfeed while I walk when I carry him on me and he sleeps in there too. So he’s generally fine with hikes, car rides, visits to restaurants, whatever. At home, his need to eat feels to me like it ties me down, preventing me from going to the library to work or to do the other things I’d like to do. But while traveling, I just feed him as we move. Instead of him tying me down, I’m carrying him along. We might slow down a bit because of him, or change our plans slightly. But because I’m always seeing something new, collecting novel experiences, I’m happy to share them with him. As a result, I enjoy the feeding and care of him more and see it as more of a joy than a burden. As he nears 12 weeks of age, he seems to know us, be interested in us and his surroundings, and react to experiences. While we know he’ll never remember any of these, we enjoy sharing the adventures with him, hope the forest and mountain and sea air will be good for his development, and take lots of pictures to show him someday where he’s been.

Cheese and Vistas

River and I started off our day by visiting the Tillamook cheese factory. I carried him through the self-guided tour. Through a series of signs and films, we learned how cheddar cheese is made. Most interesting, we were able to look out over the factory floor, at the automated processes of cutting, weighing, and packing the cheese. We also saw the cheese being stirred early in production.

I enjoyed learning how cheddar cheese is made. I also enjoyed the samples of cheese curds and cheddar available at the end, as well as the shop, where I purchased cheese and Oregon black cherry ice cream.

Mark visited the Tillamook air museum, where an impressive collection of old aircraft is housed in a former blimp hangar.

Continuing south we enjoyed continued spectacular coastal views, as well as farmland, lots of cows, and everpresent forested hills. The entire coast is lined with thick forests, with occasional hillsides depleted from logging.

We stopped in the town of Depoe Bay, which claims to be the world’s smallest harbor. We looked into taking a boat out to watch whales, but not many whales are around this time of year. We were told they’ll start heading north from Baja California in about two weeks. We read that the entire Oregon coast is at risk of tsunamis and has been hit several times in the past. They come after earthquakes from the fault that lies off the coast and runs the entire length of Oregon. The instructions recommended keeping oneself safe during the earthquake itself, then quickly moving up and inland.

At Cape Perpetua Scenic Area we enjoyed some of a series of well-organized scenic hiking trails, seeing the shoreline up close at low tide. We saw the driftwood that collects, the dramatic shoreline, and the pastel colors that wash over the area as dusk falls.

We finished our day just outside of Florence, at the Lakewood Suites Motel, a great motel on the shores of a beautiful forested lake. Another enjoyable and sunny day in Oregon.

Exploring Sand Dunes

We started off our day today at the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area. Mark joined a couple on an exciting high-speed ride up and down some dunes on a dune buggy. I stayed behind with River and Mark said that was a good decision, since the driver caroused over steep sand cliffs. The woman who went with them spent the ride with her eyes closed. Mark enjoyed it though.

We then went to the park, stopping by the visitor’s center for some information, then driving to a viewpoint. On one side, I could walk over small dunes to the beach – a long stretch of sand with waves crashing up onto the sand. On the other side, all-terrain vehicle tracks extended up into the dune hills. I think the best way to explore them would be on a four-wheeler, following a guide who knows the way and with the ability to control one’s own speed.

We then continued on and took a one-mile hike recommended by the visitor’s center. The trail went through a forested area, past water, and led us into an area of vast sandy dunes. I climbed up the tallest one and looked out over a beautiful vista – to the ocean on one side, forested hills on the other, and in between, ripples of sand inclines dotted with coastal grasses.

From there we continued south, heading further down the Oregon coast. I was able to throw off my winter jacket today, replacing it with a light windbreaker. We’ve continued our sunny streak, but as we head south, it’s becoming warmer as well as sunny. My favorite town we went through was Bandon, which had an attractive old town on the bay. It was a nice place to stop for a bite to eat, with several seafood places along the waterfront, as well as shops selling sweets made from the locally produced cranberries.

As we continued toward northern California, we continued to stop at the lookout posts and occasionally took short hikes toward views. We gazed out upon crashing waves, rock outcroppings, mountain promontories, winding roads, rocks formed into arches and natural bridges, rivers entering the ocean, small towns, strip malls and towards the end of the day, the sun falling into the horizon like a half egg yolk.

I love how the ocean is so calm on the Oregon coast, crashing only towards the shore, but extending out toward the horizon in mere ripples. I enjoyed going through one state park after another and how so much of the coast is sparsely populated. I loved the seafood, the friendly people and the lack of sales tax. I liked how large developers hadn’t bought out the coastline, so that there are plenty of motels, modest homes and other small properties with fantastic views. Most of all, I liked the sense of freedom that I felt in Oregon. It’s a great place and one I’d be happy to return to and explore more thoroughly.

We traveled through the first 20 miles or so of northern California. We found lodgings at an oceanside motel on the edge of Crescent City. Crescent City is full of motels, grocery stores and chain restaurants. But it’s also the northern edge of the Redwood National Park, our destination for tomorrow.

Traveling the Oregon Coast

Today we left Portland. I was sad to leave our kind and friendly hosts, Lisa and Greg, but eager to see some new landscapes. We were very lucky during our entire time in Seattle and Portland to see only sunny weather. Our friends joked that we must be carrying the sun with us. I feel like we’re not getting the real picture of the rainy northwest, but I also don’t mind having a three-week sunny vacation.

We drove west from Portland on Route 26, the same road we’d traveled to Timberline yesterday (but in the other direction). It was a pretty drive. We passed through farmland, where people sold salmon jerkey, dried fruits, dried mushrooms, and holiday trees at farmer’s markets. We passed by small, no-name coffee stands, another unique concept to Oregon. We drove in between thick forests. Bright green moss entirely covered some trees, making the branches look like creatures from a fantasy film. On a sadder note, amidst the dense and vast fir forests, we passed by several hillsides razed by logging. Near one of them was a town called Timber. The felled trees and branches fell every which way looked as though a razor had cut through stubble, leaving some forlorn hairs standing. As we emerged from Clatsop state forest, we looked up at an open, golden field and saw a coyote looking down at the road. Behind it, blue mountains covered with thick white grey clouds on the horizon rose up as backdrop.

We arrived at the coast in the town of Cannon Beach, a quaint little community. We drove around looking at the monoliths that emerged from the ocean waters, including one that looked like a haystack (appropriately called Haystack Rock). We drove along the coastal road, looking through tall green firs at the swelling ocean waters a little further out.

Driving down a random road, we traveled through thick, green tropical forest, passed a school tucked away in the natural world, and arrived at a few houses located along the coast. Every so often we passed signs reminding us that we were in a high tsunami risk zone. That was nice to know, but I didn’t know what we were supposed to do should a tsunami suddenly appear.

We stopped at viewpoints along the way to read about the local history and geology and to enjoy the views that appeared one after another. It seemed a little less dramatic to me than the coastline I’d seen south of San Francisco. But instead it appeared to possess a calmer beauty, more self-possessed and soothing.

A bit south of Cannon Beach, at Oswald West State Park, we took a 2.5 mile hike to Cape Falcon. We didn’t make it quite to the end. We were carrying baby and we were afraid of dusk overtaking us. But we did get most of the way through what our Portland friends described to us as their favorite hike. We walked along a path softened by pine needles, the terrain gently sloping, the view of dense forest, creeping moss, fern undergrowth, tinkling streams, a waterfall, and a gorgeous view through the trees of a rounded beach and rocks sticking up near the shore from the ocean waves. The air had the pleasant mixture of fresh forest green with salty ocean scent.

River slept most of the way there, but poopy diapers and hunger caused him to cry for much of the way back. As his cries rang through the woods and a photographer looked at us in silent disapproval, I thought of the biological function of a cry. It’s loud enough not only to alert parents to an infant’s needs, but also to announce to everyone else within earshot – defenseless young human in crisis, please help if you can. The help usually given is disapproving stares at the parents, which guilt them into doing whatever they can to stop the tears. There wasn’t much we could do in this case though, since it was too cold to change his diaper in the woods and stopping to feed him would mean possibly not making it back before dark. So we just had to endure it until we returned and hope that he’d understood.

We returned to the car tired, ravenous, and with headaches. Mark chose a roadside restaurant, The Lighthouse, for dinner. They served great fried halibut and grilled wild salmon in a simple, family friendly interior. Our local waitress told us about her husband who fishes as a hobby and brings back so many crabs fresh from the ocean that she’s sick of them. Each time the neighbors see his boat return, they line up with bags and he hands them out for free. A place where neighbors hand out fresh seafood sounds to me like an attractive place to live.

Our plan was to continue another 26 miles south to Tillamook. We’d look for lodging there and visit the local cheese factories tomorrow morning. Mark commented on how surprisingly empty of traffic the road was. We were tempted by a floating motel we passed along the way, as well as other options with a view of the water. We’ve got a long way to go to San Francisco though and it takes us a while to get going in the morning, so we decided to get as close to the cheese factories as possible.

Perhaps we should have stopped, because we were soon stopped by flashing lights behind us. A cop stopped us for speeding.

“I clocked you going 41 miles in a 30 zone and you passed two 30 mph signs while I had my radar on,” he said. We saw a 40 mph sign about ten feet in front of us, which very shortly thereafter changed to 45. There must have been a short stretch of 30 mph going through a town. The cop drove an unmarked truck and seemed to camp out in that stretch to catch unwary people. I thought it was rather tricky.

“Drive safely and slow down,” he said after giving us a citation. “We need revenue, but not that badly.” Then he turned around and went back to the slow area to trap more people. Funnily, our friend Greg told us we didn’t need to worry about cops in Oregon because the state didn’t have enough money to pay police. I guess they do need the revenue and going after cars with out of state licenses is a good way to collect it.

We found a bed for the night at a Best Western, located near the cheese factory we planned to visit the next morning. With two beds, a large, warm, comfortable space, and the opportunity to dip into a warm whirlpool before sleep, I got some of the best sleep I’ve had in nights, even despite getting up several times to feed River.

Skiing Mount Hood

Less than an hour in one direction from Portland, one reaches great hiking and waterfalls, less than two hours in another direction is the coast, and less than two hours in another direction still, one reaches fantastic mountain skiing.

We tried it out at the Timberline lodge on Mount Hood. The beautiful lodge was built by hand by unemployed craftspeople in 1936 as a Federal Works Progress Administration project. When we arrived, it was half-covered with snow. From the inside, we looked out windows covered with snow at a bluish-white haze. The skiing was very fun – with a lot of lower intermediate slopes, plenty of space (I was often skiing alone, with no one else around), and good powder. It made me miss my regular weekend ski trips in Kyrgyzstan.

Colombia River Valley

Whenever I asked people what to see in Portland, I was unanimously told Multnomah Falls. So our friends Lisa and Greg offered to accompany us there.

We spent the entire day in the Colombia River Valley, just about an hour away from Portland. It took only about a half hour to reach the limits of the city, beyond which further development is not permitted. Then we drove through forest and farmland until we reached the Colombia River.

We climbed up a road to a bluff that overlooked the valley. Wind rips through the gorge, especially in winter, making the river a popular place for windsurfing. They described it as a board attached to your feet and a sail above you. The sail gets caught by the wind, lifting people up to 20 feet in the air. Sounds pretty fun.

We visited a series of fantastic waterfalls. The largest and most famous is the Multnomah falls, where crowds of people lined up to see it, even off-season.

We finished the day in Hood River, a small town filled with coffee shops, sport and art stores. Then we had dinner at our friend’s favorite Portland pizza joint, A Pizza Scholls. “We can’t eat pizza anywhere else,” Lisa complained of the thin crust pizza with truffle oil, “because it just doesn’t compare.” We followed it with cupcakes and truffles from a chocolate shop next door. A nice day full of exercise, nature, exploration and good food in Oregon.

More Portland

On Friday afternoon we met Frederick, a good friend from Siberia who now lives in Portland with his wife. We met for lunch at the Red and Black Café, a vegan café where all the decisions are made as a collective. I had soy yogurt with nuts and granola and an insubstantial Oregonian salad – greens with hazelnuts and apples. At the counter, behind the jars of teas, was a collection cup for the medical expenses of one of the employees. The clientele were young and arty. There was a play area with toys in a corner.

When we needed to change River, we asked about a changing table. They did have one, but if they hadn’t, Frederick said it wouldn’t have been a problem to change River on the table. I told him how the patrons of a Seattle café protested when we changed him (on top of his snowsuit) on our table, after unsuccessfully looking for a changing table. “It’s different here,” he said “People would understand.”

My friend Lisa told me that the attitude in Portland is “live and let live.” Libertarian values are common. People want freedom to do as they please and one doesn’t pay attention to what their neighbors do unless it is causing real harm.

We finished lunch still feeling hungry, so we went to a bakery in a nearby warehouse to get some carbohydrates. That place was vegan as well though. While I like meat, I can do without it if necessary. But I really don’t like going without eggs, milk, cheese and butter. It feels too restrictive and I feel denied.

Frederick was kind enough to show us around Portland. We drove to the northwest, where we saw attractive homes lining a green park area and a vibrant commercial area, filled with art and coffee shops. Frederick told us that many people in Portland have a craft. Whether it’s gardening or bookbinding or ceramics, artisan crafts are a popular way to spend time. It was certainly true of my friends. Lisa and her husband garden, make music, produce silkscreen t-shirts, write, build and create things for the home, and draw. Frederick writes and his wife bakes, binds books, photographs and knits.

We stopped at the Japanese gardens, a quiet area near the rose garden, within a forest of tall, majestic, stately trees. I didn’t like it as much as the Chinese gardens because the China garden was such a pleasant surprise within the urban center. The Japanese garden seemed naturally located within the hilltop wilderness. Nevertheless, it was a pretty and peaceful place, with a rock garden, many Japanese plants and trees, a rock sculpture exhibit, and Japanese architecture and artisanry.

We went to Frederick’s for a cup of tea. He lives in the warehouse district, in a small apartment with windows offering a view in all four directions. Their bed pushes back into the wall and pulls out like a drawer, maximizing space.

Everyone we spoke to said that Portland has been changing and modernizing significantly in the last few years. They said the Pearl district, a wealthy area near downtown, was the first to build up. Then the northwest area that surrounded it followed suit. Frederick thinks the area where he is living will be the next to gentrify, as old warehouses are converted into cafes, shops and apartments.

He and his wife Melody took us to one of the new neighborhood arrivals, a Japanese place called Biwa. The portions were tiny, so I thought we might again leave hungry. But we ordered enough small platters – of chicken, lamb, beef (ah, meat!), shitake mushrooms, eggplant, rice and pork dumplings – that we all left satiated.

From there they took us to a local movie theater. Admission was six dollars, less than I can find in my neighborhood. But my friend Lisa said that was too much, especially if it didn’t include beer or pizza. She said many local theaters include beer and/or pizza in the admission price. Another nice Portland tradition.

We took River to the movie, crossing our fingers he’d behave. He ate and/or slept the entire time, allowing us to watch Persepolis and not disturbing others. The movie, a cartoon film about an Iranian girl, was good, but not as fast-paced as I’d been led to believe by the previews, nor quite as engaging as I’d hoped.

Portland

We didn’t see or do all that much today, but somehow finished up the day tired anyway. My first impressions of Portland are a little vague. I don’t feel like I got a good sense of it. I see it as working class, affordable, with quite a few unique characters and people that are friendly, but don’t come across as quite as happy as those we met in Seattle. Nevertheless, everyone I spoke to so far loves living here.

I started out my day meeting a couple of former classmates for lunch and hearing about their experiences living and working in the city. Neither is from Portland, both seem to be happy living here. Then we drove into the downtown area, where we first stopped at Powell’s books. It’s a city landmark and giant bookstore, with shelves upon shelves of new and used books on every conceivable topic. I walked through the store and was consumed by a desire to read. Seeing so many books just reminded me of how many of them I haven’t read. I longed for long, empty afternoons during which I could read. I’ve had very little time to read since River arrived. The small patches of time I get to myself go quickly to exercise, writing, working, or getting things done. Powells also had an amazing collection of audiobooks and that reminded me that I can listen to books on CD, even if I can’t read the paper versions as much as I’d like.

We strolled through the Chinatown/Old Town area. Apparently, it’s not one of the best areas of town. But for a not-so-good neighborhood, it was much less threatening than the bad parts of other cities. We walked through with a baby stroller. While we did come across some odd characters, we never felt really uncomfortable.

We happened across a Chinese garden and decided to take a look. After paying the $7 per person admission and being instructed to turn off our cell phone, we walked into a surprising oasis of calm and tranquility in the middle of the city. The roar of a waterfall drowned out the sound of traffic. The sweet smell fresh plants pleasantly perfumed the air. The architecture and the furniture seemed genuine, as though we’d entered a small town and quiet secluded garden in China. A small tea shop at the back of the garden sold tea flights, samples of some of the many varieties on offer.

We walked briefly along the waterfront, where a path runs alongside the river, offering views of a giant steel bridge and of the city. It was busy with bikers and joggers, even in the early evening. We saw two women and a young girl there who appeared to be homeless. I felt so sorry for the ragged young girl, that as a child she was denied the security and warmth of a home and stable family.

In the evening, we ate a delicious, healthy, homemade dinner and chatted some more with our friends. So far, I’ve enjoyed the time spent in my friends’ coy and funky house than I have the city itself. But tomorrow we’ll have a local friend in the car with us who can hopefully guide us to the main attractions. So far, I find it a nice enough place, but haven’t fallen in love with it.

Mount St. Helens

Today’s adventure was a drive from Seattle to Portland, stopping along the way at Mount St. Helens. I was only a child when Mount St. Helens blew in 1980, but I remember it happening, as well as how excited I was when someone gave me a vial of volcanic ash from the mountain. So it was great to see the majestic peak decades later, when the growth has reappeared and it is only the before and after photos in the visitor’s center that really capture the horror and magnitude.

We took I-5 south from Seattle. I expected a dull, wide grey freeway. But the scenery was surprisingly beautiful, often lined with trees, with views of farmland, cows, forested hills and mountains. True to what John told us, the traffic moved slowly, going 65 miles per hour, even in the fast lane. We saw several bumper stickers of people with unique characters, such as “I don’t have an attitude problem, you’re just an asshole.” Or “It’s your hell – burn in it,” from a Wiccan driver with a young boy in a carseat.

When we reached Mount St. Helens, about two hours from Seattle, we stopped in the nearby town of Castle Rock. We thought we might find something to eat there. But instead we found a sad, dilapidated little community. We later found out that several of the houses there were carried away by the river flush with volcanic debris. One woman described seeing her house picked up by the river, carried upright, then crushed as it went under a bridge and came out the other side in pieces. It makes me wonder what keeps people there. One young woman told me, “It’s because we love this place.”

The visitor’s center showed a short film about the volcano as well as a helpful display. Nearby was a one mile trail along a lake created by the eruption and we walked that, enjoying beautiful views of the snowy peak across the water.

We then drove up toward the volcano, receiving increasingly beautiful views as we became closer. Much of the land is owned by either the National Park or by Weyehauser logging company. Entire hillsides had been stripped of trees and Weyerhauser replanted them with Douglas and noble firs, resulting in whole swathes of green trees of exactly the same size. At the viewpoints, we looked down at rivers with banks still coated with grey volcanic silt. We could only go up so far because the road was closed partway up due to snow. It would be nice to return in summer and climb the mountain itself. But we enjoyed the beautiful drive.

In the evening we arrived in Portland, where we are staying with an old and dear friend, Lisa. She and her husband live in a small, cozy house. The walls are painted mustard, rust, green and brown comfortingly warm and bright at the same time. We chatted about life in Portland, a city they have “fallen in love with,” to such an extent they would not leave to pursue professional opportunities elsewhere.

They told us about the strong bicycle culture, about the incredible recreational activities nearby, about the affordability and the niceness of the local people. The downsides seem to be below average schools (they described this as a result of the low tax, low government services culture) and not a lot of higher education opportunities. They themselves lead a quality of life that I admire and envy. They are home every day by five, grow vegetables in their garden, eat farm fresh eggs, use all natural products, and eat very healthy foods. They have a balance and evidence a contentment with life that I think is ideal.

Tomorrow we’ll explore this place for ourselves.

Seattle Neighborhoods

We were told by some friends that the life in Seattle is concentrated in the neighborhoods, a series of urban villages. So today we used our rental car to drive around and explore them.

We started out in the Ballard area, a former shipyard and worker area with a Scandinavian heritage that is now becoming more gentrified. The narrow streets were lined with Craftsman bungalows, modest and attractive little houses in a variety of colors. We saw these small homes throughout the city and I liked them a lot.

We then spent some time exploring Green Lake, a beautiful lake surrounded by a walking/biking path. Looking out over the calm waters lined with the bare yellow branches of willow trees, I immediately loved that area. It reminded me so much of the lakes in Minneapolis. Even the street was the same – Woodlawn Avenue instead of Woodlawn Boulevard. And there was a Baskin Robbins nearby, just as there was in Minnesota.

After lunch we walked the 2.8 mile loop around the lake. The path was packed with people strolling, biking, skateboarding, skating, walking dogs, pushing strollers, carrying babies in pouches and sacks. This was in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon. I imagined it must really get packed on weekends.

While walking around the lake, I noticed there wasn’t much diversity, with the overwhelming majority Caucasian. I thought it was just the neighborhood, but a friend who had us over for dinner that evening said the city as a whole is not very diverse. The main immigrants were Asians and they have been here a long time already. Another person I met today told me that the demand for childcare is much higher than the supply. So I wonder why this city doesn’t attract more Hispanics or other immigrants.

We then drove through the bohemian neighborhood of Fremont and the upscale neighborhood of Queen Anne before joining a friend and his partner for dinner in their Eastlake townhouse, on the east side of Union Lake.

Bob and Eric have been living in Seattle for a few years and they were able to tell us about the local culture. They told us how the slower pace of life extends even to the freeways, where people will always let others in and the speed rarely exceeds 65 miles per hour, even in the fast lane. They told us about the opinionated, liberal population, how “hell would freeze over” before a Republican would be elected mayor, how all the city council members were elected at large. They told us how this made for lively debate, but in difficulty making decisions. How when a water tower was planned to be constructed in one neighborhood, everyone had an opinion about the size, color, and style. Since all were at large, it wasn’t possible to just defer to the person representing that neighborhood, but instead consensus had to be achieved on all the minor issues.

The film Sicko made the observation that Americans are a passive electorate because they are too afraid of losing their jobs, security, etc. to speak up. It seems that Seattle is an exception, an example of a community where people speak up, debate, and seek compromise. It may take longer and be messier, but maybe knowing their voice is heard contributes to the fact that they seem happier and friendlier than people in many other areas of this country.

Kitsap Peninsula and Bainbridge Island

Curious to see the nature that surrounds Seattle, today we took a trip to the outskirts, to Kitsap Peninsula and to Bainbridge Island. We drove south, past Tacoma, and then onto the Kitsap Peninsula. Several trucks passed us, laden with giant reddish-brown tree trunks stacked in the long cab. We hadn’t gone more than 15 minutes outside of the city when a spooky and romantic mist covered the land, the trees grew thick and the ground was covered in dense and bright greenery – moss, ferns and undergrowth. We’d see much of that throughout the day, trees that grew in spindly shapes covered with moss, forests so green and thick they looked like rainforests. And of course there were the beautiful and frequent views of water – of bays, estuaries, inlets, harbors.

We stopped for lunch in the little town of Poulsbo. It’s nicknamed “Little Norway” for it’s resemblance to the Norwegian fjords. It also had a Sons of Norway clubhouse along the waterfront, Scandinavian shops and streets with names like King Olav 5thVei and NE Jacobson Road W.

We stopped for lunch in a wonderful little café, Magnolia, where we had a view of the fireplace. I enjoyed a fantastic salad, with spinach, sweet potatoes, goat cheese, candied walnuts and dried cranberries. As with many of the restaurants here, the menu is not fixed in stone. It changes based upon the ingredients that are fresh and available.

We saw many homes today in beautiful locations, overlooking calm blue waters, surrounded by dense green forest or privy to both foliage and water views. I think it would be a nice place to have a cabin. But it was hard to imagine living in a place like that. I’m too used to being able to walk to the local shops. It’s hard to imagine getting into a car anytime I’d need something.

We tried to visit some museums, including a Native American museum. They were closed due to President’s Day. But cars filled the parking lot and garage of the nearby casino.

We visited the tiny Fay Bainbridge State Park, where we scampered over pale draftwood and walked along the black sand and pebble beach, looking at the crab and scallop shells that lined the shore. I learned that the Puget Sound has the largest octopuses in the world, as well as the biggest and fastest sea stars. We looked out across the water at Seattle, a beautiful city view framed by a full moon overhead and a sky turning pink.

Poor little River had a tough day. Every time he’d fall asleep, we’d be on the move again. So we returned home by ferry in the early evening, enjoying the view of the sun setting over Seattle. Back at our hotel, River could get some interrupted rest, as could we.

Except for the fabulous lunch, I wasn’t wowed by anything I saw today. But it was pleasant and beautiful. I liked how the water and forests and the Scandanavian people reminded me of Minnesota. I appreciated the bounty of the vegetation and the fresh and delicious food of this region.

Looking at a map, Seattle is surrounded by greenery to explore – Vancouver to the north, the Cascade mountains, numerous islands and waterways, Mt. Rainier to the southeast. It would definitely be nice to come back with more time for outdoor adventures.

Seattle

Twenty four hours after arriving in Seattle we are liking our first impressions. We took a bus from our hotel in the university district to the downtown area. The bus was clean and arrived on schedule. Unlike at home, where it seems it’s mostly the down-and-out that use the buses, here the bus attracted a variety of people – a pair of elderly women, a man reading a newspaper, a young, professional-looking woman, the heavyset women in baggy clothes who carried a radio and told us “I can’t help what songs they play on the radio.”

We immediately noticed the solar power traffic meters and the electric buses, signs of environmental consciousness. A large black billboard announced “babies are born to be breastfed” and baby slings appeared to be just as popular as strollers, indicating a propensity toward attachment parenting. Looking out the window I saw the blue of water, as well as boats and ships with their rigging. There was the maritime aspect. And looking out across the water I saw the snow-capped peaks of the Olympia mountains. I don’t think I’ve ever seen snow-capped peaks in the US and I loved it. It brought me back to Bishkek, where the views of the peaks on my way to work raised my spirits. Only here there are beautiful views of water as well.

We got off the bus downtown and headed to Pike’s market, the busy, roiling farmer’s market near the waterfront. It was gorgeous. Stands of fruits and vegetables glistened in all colors of the rainbow. Fresh seafood – scallops as large as hockey pucks, crab legs as long as my lower arm, white fish cheeks, and other items recently pulled from the ocean – sat piled under chunks of ice, waiting to be enjoyed on dinner plates. There were bunches of tulips in bright spring colors, bouquets of dried flowers, tart and sweet dried cherries (I didn’t know Washington was the world’s leading cherry producer), gourmet pastas (think dark chocolate pasta, or porcini mushroom, or sweet potato orzo) and dipping oils (white truffle – yum!), jams, honeys, blueberry syrup and vinegar, homemade goat cheese, artisan baked goods, and even a shop that made cheese on the premises in a giant vat surrounded by curious onlookers.

Unlike the Trenton farmers market, where I once heard a vendor respond to a customer’s inquiry asking what the yellow melon was by saying curtly “yellow watermelon,” here friendliness rang through the air. Musicians played Andean music or upbeat tunes, vendors handed out samples or described their goods with a smile. People stopped to admire our baby, to ask his name or his age.

We noticed the friendliness of the people here immediately upon arrival. Our first stop out of the airport was the Thrifty car rental office. The two employees behind the counter were so kind – giving us an upgrade, offering us a map, suggesting places to see along the Oregon coast, answering our questions, helping us put in the car seat. Even the woman in the booth, spending her Saturday evening in a chilly parking lot, greeted us with a smile as she collected our papers.

We ate lunch at a seafood diner on the waterfront. We were seated at the bar, where we watched the cooks at work. The waitstaff worked as a team, helping each other out. And the cooks worked quickly, efficiently, and seemed both happy and professional, I had the feeling that people seem content to be in their positions. I later heard that people have pretty balanced lives here, that it’s uncommon to work extremely long hours, that most people enjoy themselves on their days off. So perhaps their job is just one part of an overall fulfilling life. Since it doesn’t consume them, they can enjoy it more.

After lunch we walked along the shoreline, past a sculpture garden and to the space needle. We ascended to the top in a 41 second elevator ride, traveling at ten miles per hour. With the wonderful weather, we had an excellent view of the city. Walking in a circle along the observation deck, we looked out over the Olympic peaks, Mt. Baker, and the imposing Mt. Rainier. We watched boats traveling over water and seaplanes taking off and landing.

From there, we took a short and pleasant ride on the Monorail, constructed for the World’s Fair, back to the downtown area. We met some local friends for dinner at a trendy fish restaurant, where the fish surprisingly came from everywhere other than Washington.

They told us that in Seattle, much of the life is in the neighborhoods outside of downtown and suggested we explore those areas. The downtown area did clear out by the time we walked to dinner at shortly before six, and almost felt uncomfortable. So we have lots to see and do in our remaining two days.

The city itself isn’t the most beautiful one I’ve seen (for example, I think downtown Minneapolis is a prettier place) however the life and culture are very attractive here at first glance. I overhead one man on his cellphone calling to tell someone he’d arrived here safely and is having a good time. “Washington DC and Baltimore are looking worse every minute I’m here,” he said. Seattle cast its spell on another visitor besides us.

Arrival in Seattle

We arrived in Seattle late last night after a pleasant direct flight on Continental. The middle seat in between us was open, so we were able to put River’s carseat there and had sufficient room.

Our first stop was the rental car agency. They wanted to upgrade us to a minivan or SUV. Initially I wasn’t interested, but then we figured that the four wheel drive would be useful on the mountain roads. I’m trying to think of that to ameliorate my guilt at using such a low mileage vehicle on the city and coastal roads. It’s very spacious though, which will be comfortable for us during our two week trip down to San Francisco.

We used Mark’s new GPS to get from the airport to our hotel and it took us reliably there. We drive right through the city, a beautiful glomeration of yellow lights with a bright blue dome and flashes of red and green. It looked to me like a toy city, or a cake topping. I thought it was beautiful.

The freeway was a dull grey four-laner, but the rises and falls were surprising to me. I guess I’ve never been in a mountainous highly developed city. That reminded me of the new landscape to explore and made me excited about the adventures to come in the upcoming days and weeks.

Our hotel, the University Motel, is located near the University of Washington, in a neighborhood that seemed a little sketchy at night. Our room brings back college days, ancient furniture, flimsy cabinets, cheap construction. But it’s a suite, with plenty of space (and 3 beds, as well as a kitchen) so it meets our needs well.

Almost on the Road

Tomorrow we leave for a 3.5 week trip. Our itinerary includes Seattle, a drive down the West Coast through Portland and San Francisco, Morelia and Guadalajara Mexico, and Chicago. It’s my first big trip since returning from Bolivia last September. And it’s our first experience flying with River. We’re attempting to inaugurate him into world adventures and are crossing our fingers that he accepts it with enthusiasm.

I’m so excited to get on the airplane, to see the new scenery, to sleep in various hotels, to try new restaurants and cuisine every day, to reunite with old friends and to meet new people, to speak Spanish and to learn. Nine weeks and six days after childbirth, I’m ready to hit the road and to resume my travels.

Recent Stuff

Lessons I’m learning about parenthood:

-The Fisher-Price Papasan swing is the single most useful item we bought.

-Cloth diapering is not as bad as it’s made out to be. We just started about a week ago, using BumGenuiuses. They come in Easter colors, fasten in the same simple method as a disposable, and wash easily in the washing machine. Only drawback is that at River’s size, they make his butt look rather large. But he doesn’t seem to mind.

-Thrush is evil

-Pumping milk is a whole job unto itself

-It’s incredibly rewarding to watch one’s own child develop and interact more and more each day.

-Despite having the wonderful luxury of help, it is still extremely difficult to get anything done, especially when in the house.


Other things happening:

-The Presidential election race is on in full mode here in the United States and I’m heartened to see the level of interest and participation. It seems likely that the next President will be either McCain, Clinton or Obama, any of whom would be likely to reverse some of the horrible policies of the past several years. I myself was unable to vote since I called to register one day after the deadline. Luckily, my chosen candidate won in my state, so I didn’t feel too bad.

-We are preparing to take a long trip down the West Coast and to Mexico and I’m busy packing and preparing for that. It’s going to be a whole different ballgame with a two-month old in tow. But I’m very excited to get on the road, to see friends I haven’t met in a while and to explore new places. The fact that the climates should be nicer is just an added bonus.

-With baby and his added equipment, we need to try harder to pack light. So I bought myself a new little mini-computer, the Fujitsu Lifebook u810. It weighs only 1.5 pounds and functions both as a laptop and a notebook. I love it.

-River and I went to our first post-natal yoga class today. At almost 9 weeks old, he was the youngest one there. The others ranged in age from 3-10 months. It was fascinating to look at the other babies and see what lies ahead for us. Those that sat up and crawled looked so large and developed to me, though I suppose to most people they still look like little babies. I could feel how much each of the mothers in the room loved their babies. I thought about the little boy in foster care one of my relatives is trying to adopt and wished that all children could start off life with such love and devotion. They deserve it.

-I saw a couple good movies lately. The Italian is about a 6-year-old Russian boy, about to be adopted by a loving Italian couple. But he’s determined to try to find his birth mother first. The story is line with the Russian nationalist desire that children not be sent overseas (this belief gained credence after stories of American parents abusing the Russian children they adopted reached the mainstream) but rather retained as part of the narod. But it’s also just a good story about a very determined little boy.

Sicko has already received plenty of media attention. As an employee of a European company, I already know and understand the differences between the American and European social systems. I already benefit from the long vacations and the humane maternity policies. But to see that the United States is surrounded by countries doing so much better in meeting the needs of their citizens – Europe, Canada and Cuba – was very disheartening. I especially found the free childcare and free university education amazing. Right now, in my family, we are spending close to 20% of our take home pay on childcare and savings for college education for just one child. Should we drop from two to one incomes, it would be a third of our income. Should we have more children, even more. So while yes, those countries (esp. Europe and Canada) may have higher taxes, they also have so much more freedom. They don’t have to make decisions at any point in their lives just because they are desperate to retain the insurance or the benefits they need for their children. They are free to make choices of where to live and where to work because it is the right decision for them or their families. They may have reduced incomes throughout their lifecycles (due to the extra taxes) but they still live at a comfortable level and they don’t encounter the serious resource shortages that occur while attending college, while having and raising children, or while entering old age. That income smoothing seems likely to reduce stress, which would improve health and happiness, and yes, they do live longer.

Russian Dancers

I recently attended a spectacular performance by the Moiseyev Dance Company. It’s a group from Russia that was founded by Igor Moiseyev in 1938. Anna Kisselgoff of The New York Times described him as “one of the greatest choreographers in 20th-century dance.”

Moiseyev, as Ballet Master at the Bolshoi Theater, arranged a successful festival of national dance in 1936. The dance troupe grew out of that. Since its first performance, it has traveled to over 60 countries.

At the beginning of the performance, a short, silent film was shown highlighting Moiseyev’s life. It was amazing to see black and white video of two rapidly twirling circles of dancers in Moscow, identical to what we’d be seeing on a brightly lit stage 70 years later. It was amazing that he could begin his career during the height of Stalinism, yet escape the terror and continue to successfully produce his works. Most impressive was his evident vitality. The video of Moiseyev dancing over moving bars on his 80th birthday made the elderly viewers around me gasp in awe. He looked more pale and fragile at his 90th and 100th birthday celebrations, but he was still out in the public. “He lived a full life,” an old man near me whispered to his wife when it was announced Moiseyev died in November 2007 at the age of 101.

What a legacy to leave behind, a group of 65 strong, vibrant and talented dancers, dressed in colorful national costumes and bringing joy to the packed auditorium. The first half of the performance, which consisted of dances from various areas of the former Soviet Union was amazing. The precision of their movements was stunning, the difficult moves impressive, and the costumes gorgeous. I liked less the international parts of the performance. I just didn’t think the Russian women had the Middle Eastern exoticness to jut their hips out in an Egyptian dance, nor did the pairs have the Latin American verve needed for the Venezuelan dance. When they stuck to who they are and where they came from, they were stunning.

Watching the dancers of course made me recall my time living in Russia. I realized that living in Russia was like living in a bipolar society. Encounters with bureaucracy, depression, callousness and rudeness alternate with encounters of kindness, hospitality, genuine friendship and innocence. Both types were of an extreme I rarely experienced in other countries. The dances, switching between pulsing music, bright colors and rapid movements and simple tones and elegant, thoughtful movements, reminded me of that.

Baby Passport

We received River’s passport today – just over a week after submitting the application. We used the express service, but I was still amazed, based on the long delays I’ve heard about recently. Kudos to the Passport office for getting its act together.

The passport is quite beautiful now. Every page has an etched drawing of an American landmark – much more impressive than when I got my passport.

The funniest thing about it is River’s photo. It took us three days to get a picture of our one-month old that complied with all the rules – face forward, white background, no adult body parts showing. I don’t think the people who came up with these rules ever tried to take such a picture of an infant.

I took him in one day and the clerk said his eyes also needed to be open. It was impossible to do that, plus all the above. When we had no success after an hour or so, she suggested coming back the next day. Mark returned the next day after River had been fed and napped. He got him to open his eyes but he had to hold him to keep his face forward. The tip of Mark’s finger appeared in the picture and the passport office rejected it. They told us it would be OK if his eyes are closed, but no adult body parts can be visible, even if they don’t obscure the face.

So I went back again. The CVS employee put River on a piece of white cardboard paper on top of the counter. Of course his head fell to the side and he began to wail. He only cries with his eyes closed. We walked out with a picture of his eyes scrunched shut and his mouth in a wide, open O. It looks nothing like him on a day-to-day basis.

Now it’s embedded in a beautiful passport, under an elegant eagle, and will serve as his identification for the next five years. Just imagining him as a four year old showing that photo to a border control agent as his photo ID cracks me up. Even now, it’s hard to see how it will be used as identification. But in any case, he’s officially prepared to begin his world travels and I’m excited on his behalf.

He made it to Bolivia, Ecuador and Germany while still in the womb. His first trip on an independent passport will be to Mexico this March at age 3 months.

The Berkshires

We took our first trip with three-week old River over New Year’s. Before the birth, we’d been contemplating a trip to a Vermont cabin. More experienced friends recommended we choose a place closer by, within a four-hour radius. I think that was good advice and I’m glad we followed it.

River did a great job in the car, at restaurants, and at the museums, generally sleeping whenever we were out and about. So that gave us more confidence about the three-week upcoming trip we are planning.

We based ourselves in the town of Lenox. The area was rather hoity-toity and expensive, not my usual getaway type of place. But I was so eager for a change of scenery I would have gone almost anywhere.

Freecycle

Yesterday the first snow that stuck on the ground fell in New Jersey, just days after the bulk of the trees fell from the leaves. Today violent winds blew, throwing the excess leaves across the road in a frenzy of activity. We will now officially have a winter baby.

I recently discovered a great new resource called Freecycle. Mark’s co-worker recommended it to us as a way to get rid of unneeded things and made sure they go to someone who needs them. It’s also a way to get used stuff you need for free.

In preparation for the baby, we moved the TV to the living room. I figured I’ll be spending quite a few hours at home, and wanted the option of entertainment via DVDs borrowed from the library. But we didn’t have a DVD player.

I first looked at the classifieds and at Craig’s List to see if I could find a used one for sale nearby. Nothing. Then we figured we’d buy a new one, though neither of us were eager to do so since we didn’t need anything special. Then I remembered the Freecycle recommendation and decided to check it out. I didn’t see any DVD players available. So I posted an ad saying we could use one. Within 24 hours, I’d received two responses. Today, we drove eight miles and picked up an Emerson VHS/DVD player that meets our needs perfectly. The prior owner says it eats VHS tapes but that the DVD portion works fine. The cost - $0.

I was so impressed, and grateful, that I posted another ad today offering a brand new portable desk that we never got around to using for free. At least 15 people responded wanting this item. I told the first person to respond that I’d leave it outside for him to pick up. Cool. Less unneeded junk around the house for us, no need to transport it to charity and no need to add to landfills. And someone who wants this thing and can put it to use gets it for free.

It’s a wonderful way to mediate supply and demand, to circulate items to the places they are needed with a minimum of transaction costs. I’m grateful to whoever got it off the ground.