Right after Thanksgiving J-Mo and I went to Bryce Canyon National Park in Southern Utah, and I don’t think I really mentioned it here, let alone wrote about it properly. And by “write” I mean “share some of the most gorgeous pictures I’ve ever taken.” J-Mo and I were only in Bryce for two days, and one of those days I had absolutely debilitating cramps, which meant me curling up in the fetal position at the lovely Stone Canyon Inn (highly recommended!) and taking a lengthy nap. Even with that damper, J-Mo and I managed to see a lot of the canyon, driving the entire length and wandering around on a few short hikes. If you go, I highly recommend the following: stay at Stone Canyon in Tropic, UT, you won’t be disappointed and Dixie, the owner, will make you a fantastic breakfast and give you her best tips on hiking. Don’t shy away from Clarke’s restaurant, also in Tropic. Yes, it is crowded between a grocery store and a motel/hotel of the same name, but the prices are low and the food is surprisingly good. Do NOT eat at Ruby’s Inn, the biggest hotel in Bryce Canyon. Their buffet is basically a pared-down version of Sizzler, and perhaps even less tasty (if Sizzler could ever be defined as “tasty”). Don’t do it. You’re welcome.
I only took about 500 pictures, I’ve picked my favorites to post here.
Scenic Byway 12, my first view of the gorgeous red rock near Bryce and a teensy little taste of what was in store for me the next two days.
Scenic Byway 12 goes through several man-made arches, carved right out of the sandstone. J-Mo took a dozen photos of me here, mostly because I was absolutely freezing–despite the sunny skies–and making all sorts of really awesome faces.
The entrance of Bryce Canyon, goodness, I adore that handsome boy there on the right. (I promise I’ll stop gushing about him–at least for a moment–and gush about the gorgeous scenery instead.)
Our first stop was Sunset Point, one of the more famous lookouts in the park. We arrived at about 4:30 and the sun was dropping in the west, illuminating the hoodoo’s and flooding the canyon in the most gorgeous light. I haven’t edited any of these photos except for a crop here and there, Bryce Canyon is one of those places where photos absolutely cannot do the place justice.
Sunset Point, after hiking west from the parking lot to the canyon rim.
The sun was so low that it actually shone through the red rock, making it look like it was on fire. I took a hundred photos (ok, maybe twenty) trying to capture the effect, I doubt I did, but hey, I tried. For you. Because I’m a good blogger like that. (This is the part where you ignore/forget that I am almost two months late in posting said photos.)
Sigh. I want to go back already. Although, perhaps when it’s not quite so cold, the wind at the canyon rim is absolutely murder.
The rock formations in Bryce Canyon are called hoodoos (or fairy chimneys, which I think is a much better name). They only appear in a few places in the world, and nowhere else in North America. They are the weathered remnants of large finns of sandstone, and in Bryce they are these towering formations with hundreds of alleys and trails weaving in and out of them. Many of the trails were closed for the winter, and many of the trails are never open because it is easy to get lost in such a place where everything looks the same and you cannot see any way out.
Awwwww.
Before the sun was completely gone, J-Mo and I wanted to see Inspiration Point, so off we went, deeper into the canyon.
Inspiration point was absolutely breathtaking. The wind was bitter cold at this point, but J-Mo and I hiked around a little anyway.
There I am, probably the happiest I’ve ever been in my whole life, smiling at my sweetheart. (I know! I said I wouldn’t gush about him anymore! I lied, okay!?)
Getting fancy with the waning light, the more I look at this pic the more I love it.
This pic has already been posted here, but it’s one of my favorites of us and definitely the best from the weekend.
The following questions and answers are part of my “Interview A Blogger”/”Please ask me questions to provide blog fodder” mini-series. I’ve tried to break up the questions into bigger categories and will answer them over the next couple of posts.
Topic: Travel
Question: You’ve traveled a lot, so what is your favorite trip you’ve taken and why? If you could go anywhere you haven’t been yet, where would you pick and why? From Tia.
Answer: My favorite trip I’ve ever taken was actually this last summer when I spent a week in Montana with J-Mo’s family. It was slow-paced, relaxing, and full of sunshiney days that weren’t too hot, a lot of gorgeous, GORGEOUS scenery, awesome people, and hardly any connection with the outside/cyber world. It was bliss. Following it up with a few days on my own in Yellowstone gawking at even MORE amazing scenery was an awesome way to end a wonderful vacation.
Runner up favorite trip would be a lovely 10 day vacation spent in Hawaii approximately 2 weeks after I got divorced. I woke up early, cried a lot, read a pile of books, listened to the waves crashing against the seawall, sat on the beach by myself (with SPF 85 sunscreen and still under an umbrella), dug my toes in the sand, watched the turtles and whales and let myself unwind from a year or two of hell. I remember very distinctly the moment, sitting on a skinny little beach staring at the horizon, when I knew it would all be okay, that I would be okay. There’s no feeling quite like that.
If I could go anywhere? Oh goodness, there are so many options! If time and money weren’t really an issue I’d be perfectly happy bouncing from country to country for a solid year. But, as my boss has already told me he won’t grant me a year sabbatical to do such a thing, let’s say I have a week and a modest budget, where would I go? Or, what are the top three places I’d go. I’d love to go to Iceland, or Turkey and Greece, or Belize. If I am keeping this answer grounded in reality those are probably my top 3 destinations right now (and have been on my top 5 list for ages).
Question: If you could live in another country (not visit, LIVE) for a few years, which one would it be, and of course why? From: One of only 2 or 3 male readers, Sov.
Answer: Oh goodness, I LOVE this question! I have always wanted to live in China. I actually took several years of Mandarin at the University and a half-dozen Chinese culture classes. I love the language, love the culture, love everything about it. Granted, my taller-than-average and platinum blonde self will stick out like, well, a tall blonde, but I am in-love with the idea of moving there. That being said, there are probably two dozen more countries that are on my list of places I would like to live for a few years. Living in another country is something I will do, just not positive of when.
Question: If you move to another country can I have your apartment? From my sister, Erika.
Answer: Yes, you can babysit apartment-sit while I’m abroad, but if I end up moving back to Salt Lake you’ll have to vacate to somewhere else because I LOVE this apartment. Sorry, them’s the breaks. Deal or no deal?
Question: Do you have any travel goals? How far along are you on them?
Answer: Yes, actually, I do! I would like to visit all 50 states before I turn 31 (i.e. the end of my 30th year), and I’d like to visit every continent before I turn 41. So far I have been to 36 of 50 states (14 left! Woot!) and…one continent. But I’ve visited both Canada and Mexico! I’ve got North America COVERED!
Question: How do you get such good deals on airline tickets? From Sarakastic.
Answer: I am always looking for airline tickets, which helps to find the deals. I get email alerts from Delta and Southwest and every so often from Kayak for certain destinations. That all sounds lovely, but that’s not really my secret. I will buy tickets when I see a good price, but I rarely wait for the Lowest Price Ever! I have a set amount that I set aside for travel from each paycheck, and if I get a hankering to go somewhere, or if I see a decent price (again, not necessarily rock bottom price, just affordable for that destination) I buy a ticket. I drive a clunky, paid-off car to be able to travel. I have made sacrifices to pay off my student loan so I have more funds to travel. It’s not nearly as glamorous as being able to give you the name of a travel agent who can always score you $79 flights into JFK or something, but it’s what I do and it’s been working out quite nicely for the last few years.
Question: Can you really pack an entire week’s worth of clothes and shoes and everything into a carry on?
Answer: Yes I can and do quite regularly. The key to this is rolling your clothes in outfits, making sure those outfits are interchangeable and any big pieces (jeans, jackets, shoes) are worn several times. I know many people wear ballet flats or slim shoes on the plane because they are easy to take off during security screenings. Here”s the thing, I’d rather take 2 extra minutes to put my heels back on (or boots, or whatever) and 5 extra minutes not to run through the airport and have that precious space in my carry on for something like scarves or my hair dryer or an extra sweater in case I change my mind one morning. I think my personal packing coup was for a trip to New York City I managed to fit an entire week’s worth of casual “about town” clothes and 6 dressier ensembles and their accompanying heels (for Broadway performances) into a carry on and purse. Yes, that’s right folks. I squeezed 13 outfits into a carry on. I rule!
I loathe checking luggage, and this was before airlines got away with charging two arms and a big toe to bounce your suitcase around, scruff it up and probably lose it in transit. I am always paranoid that I will arrive without my toothbrush and a fresh pair of underwears and something to wear the next day. I started packing an overnight carry-on, but then I lost my bag several times in a row and decided to just pack carry on for the rest of forever. I’ve got my toiletries down to a science and have always managed to squeeze everything I need into the space allotted (and anything that doesn’t fit goes into a giant purse.) With only one or two exceptions (i.e. suitcases packed to the limit with books), I have always travel with only a carry on.
Question: Any tips for traveling?
Answer: Always eat before you go to the airport. Take an empty water bottle and fill it up for your flight. Always, ALWAYS take a big snuggly scarf or pashmina as airplane A/C is merciless and you never know where those pillows and blankets have been. (Eww!) Wear comfortable clothe, but–unless you have a 14 hour flight–that does not mean “wear pajamas” or “wear leggings as pants.” You can wear real pants, and something not resembling an aerobics outfit circa 1997. Always bring a cardigan or jacket on the plane, and if you can throw in a few snacks as well you will be much happier. (Think apples, cheese and a baguette, or jerky, or trail mix, or whatever else tickles your fancy and won’t make you feel all gross and disgusting.) Pack a book or two. I am a forever fan of paper-and-ink books because I never have to turn them off or worry about the battery dying or freak out if they are stolen or misplaced, but that’s just me.
In early October a pretty wicked cold front hit Utah and as I drove south to Cedar City for the Shakespeare Competition on what would have been a nice, easy drive through gorgeous canyons with changing leaves turned into a white-knuckle blizzard with crawling freeway speeds and white-out conditions.
Because I am a ridiculously dedicated* blogger, I carefully–and safely–documented it for you. (*Ha! Riiiiight, sure I am. Pay no attention to the weeks and weeks of paltry posting.) Don’t worry, this wasn’t the scariest part of the drive, not even close. Imagine this plus two more inches of snow and about 100 feet less visibility…that’s when the white knuckles came out. Timestamp: October 6, 2011, approximately 6:00 pm.
<<Insert weekend of bossing around teenagers in iambic pentameter.>>
After the competition was over, I had planned on staying an extra day in Southern Utah to do a little exploring, and with only a little bit of cajoling, J-Mo met me down there. Immediately following the awards ceremony on Saturday evening, all I wanted to do was find a hotel that was not inhabited by buses full of teenagers and sleep for a week a responsibly healthy, 9-hour, uninterrupted night. Some people say they can’t sleep in hotel beds, I usually sleep just as well, if not better than when I am at home. This weekend was no exception. Besides, there’s nothing like a weekend full of parking lot rehearsals until 1:00 am with a bunch of teenagers in SEVENTEEN DEGREE weather to make you sleep for 13 hours straight. (Cold snap, I shake my fist at you! *Shake, shake*) The next morning after brunch at a fabulous local diner, Dede’s, J-Mo went off to explore some of the gorgeous vistas in the surrounding mountains.
Tiny little problem: the road to Cedar Breaks was closed because of a massive avalanche/landslide due to the storm. I was a little bummed, I’ve always wanted to see that particular view. Instead J-Mo and I took the first turnoff we found with a very vague sign leading to Kolob Reservoir. The road looked like it climbed up the mountain and probably had some good fall foilage, plus perhaps a pretty lake. So off we went.
Excellent choice, we drove for miles and miles, up and down mountains, through canyons and snow fields and cattle ground and forests of aspens. The leaves were beautiful, the snow was much deeper than I had anticipated, up to 8 inches in some places! And this was two or three days after the storm.
October! This is October. Gorgeous with the green and yellow leaves, the snow…it was beautiful. After a lengthy drive on wrecked dirt roads we finally made it to our destination.
Kolob Reservoir (yes, we hie’d), it was full of fishermen and surrounded by campers. The lake was much larger than I had thought it would be and much less snowy.
After meandering around the lake for a while, J-Mo and I decided that instead of heading back the way we came, we’d see where this road went. There were Honda Civic’s in the parking lot, surely it wasn’t going to be as rough as the last two hours of road. So, he hung a left towards what we hoped would be St. George. After a few miles we passed a dirt road turn-off and when I turned around to read the old, wooden sign detailing where the road led to, all I really caught was “West Rim Trail.”
“West Rim Trail? Isn’t that in Zion?“
Who knows, but it was reason enough to check it out. J-Mo immediately flipped around and off we went, bumping down the dirt road. A few miles later we came across Lava Point Look Out, we stopped and walked the 200 foot trail to the edge of the plateau, and were greeted with this:
You should definitely click on these next few landscape shots to get the full effect. You’re welcome.
That, my friends, is the western edge of Zion National Park and a view I didn’t even know existed. Remember a few months ago when J-Mo and I hiked the crazy-high cliff, Angel’s Landing? Yeah, that precipice is hidden behind the furthest ridge of those white plateaus. This view was spectacular. Actually, spectacular hardly seems to cut it but I seem to be suffering again from the inability to properly describe something that shakes your soul and turns your brain inside out. It’s like the first time you looked at those optical illusion posters that looked like TV fuzz and suddenly, WHAM! Suddenly all you see is a family of hedgehogs having a tea party. Totally didn’t expect that. Kind of don’t have the words to explain it. (Ok, this vista wasn’t exactly a snacking family of miniature rodents, but even so, it was a gorgeous surprise.)
Firstly, on the left side of that photo the canyon that makes up Zion National Park converges into The Narrows. The scope from this look out was incredible, I couldn’t stop staring, wishing my camera could better capture the incredible view.
(Secondly, I swear J-Mo and I are not so cutesy that we purchased and then wore matchy-match hoodies on purpose. They were bought at least 6 months apart, are different brands, from different stores, and I had completely forgotten he had his when I bought mine. Just so we’re clear. The fact that we both wore them the same weekend? Well, that is just how it played out, I suppose.)
After a short while we decided to get back on the road, if we were as far south as Zion National Park we had quite the drive to get back home that evening. We didn’t have a map–and I had sadly left my Zion guidebook at home–so we just got back on the road and hoped for the best. Again, we were not disappointed. The road we took wove in and out of Zion National Park for probably 30 miles. J-Mo was patient with my more and more frequent squeals and picture pit-stops. But, you guys, the views! Like families of tea partying hedgehogs!
This was the first towering red rock cliff we came across, but it definitely was not the last as we wound down the plateau near Kolob Canyon.
I think sometimes I take this kind of gorgeousness for granted, it isn’t until I happen upon it on accident that I can truly recognize the incredible beauty of Utah.
Long before Mormon settlers arrived in this area, Native American tribes held these places sacred. Upon discovering these breathtaking canyons and plateaus, the Mormons named them after the heavens and the place where God resides. Sometimes I forget that minor detail, but this part of the world really is one of the most beautiful places on earth, and I’m lucky enough to have it in my backyard. Note to self: travel south more often. Preferably not in a snowstorm.
See the full Flickr set here.
Ten years ago, if you had told me that I would voluntarily purchase a ticket, board a plane and fly across the country to spend the weekend with a couple of lovely ladies I had met online I would have laughed in your face. Even five years ago I probably would have balked at this concept. But, as Laurel, RA and I sat around talking about books and relationships and life it became very apparent to me that these two women are my kind of people. During my stay, Laurel returned a book she had borrowed from RA, the same book I had finished reading on the plane to Philadelphia. Throughout the weekend we ate some great food, had some wonderful conversations, a lot of laughs and overall a fantastic time. RA has already blogged about it (because, unlike me, she is on top of blogging), and she captured most of the best moments, the funny things that were said, and the great conversations.
On Sunday, Laurel and I drove out to Kennett Square for the much-touted Mushroom Festival. Laurel obliged me with a quick detour through Delaware so I could buy a postcard and check it off my list of states I had visited. After a little winding through the Pennsylvania countryside, Laurel and I arrive in Kennett and the Mushroominess began!
We wandered through the throngs of people, peeked into some standard fair booths and many that were a lot more mushroom-specific. A quick stop at the famous Guapos taco truck for a little Mexican food.
I got some kind of corn soup thing, and it was the right amount of flavor and spice and extra deliciousness.
Laurel and RA both got the taco’s and absolutely raved about them.
Up next was the deep-fried, breaded mushrooms with a ranch-y sauce. These were my favorite from the entire festival (and frankly, rival the deep-fried Oreo’s from the Utah State Fair), they were so hot they burned your tongue and we stood around blowing on them to cool them off.
Inside the mushroom tent there were several crates of mushrooms in various stages of growth. There was a large growing box of white, button mushrooms. Passersby would pick one, they’d trim the end and hand it over, it was the most delicious mushroom I’ve ever tasted. I swear, if all mushrooms tasted like that I’d live on a diet of pure mushroom goodness. A bit more wandering, a bit more tasting, a lot more conversation, and it was time for me to get to the airport.
This weekend was one I won’t shortly forget. I loved seeing RA and Laurel again. I’d met Laurel a few years ago while she was living in New York City, and a month earlier I’d forced RA up the side of a mountain in Salt Lake City. The thing is, these ladies are real friends, the kind I feel lucky to have. Thank heavens for bloggy-land and her wonderful citizens. I cheered for Laurel as she launched a giant project last week, and I cried when I read about RA losing Mimi.
My “invisible friends”, the ones who live mostly inside my computer have become dear to me, they–you–are a huge part of my life, the weight-bearing columns of my support system, and the people who cheer me on. You, dear people, are amazing and I feel lucky to count you as friends.
Now, who else either a) needs a visit or b) would like to come to Salt Lake? We tout the best snow on earth (and it is already piling up at the ski resorts), anyone fancy a ski trip?
Filed under: There and Back Again
Laurel and I wandered around downtown Philly for a little while, I fell in-love with the City Hall building. It is just so imposing and fancy and, well, gorgeous. I wished it had been open (we visited on Saturday) so I could wander around the inside as well.
While I was in Phoenix last February, HRH and I visited the LOVE sculpture in Scottsdale. I actually didn’t know that the original–and much smaller sculpture–was in Philadelphia. The one in Arizona is probably 20 feet tall, so big you can crawl around on it and be, literally, in love. The original is much smaller, elevated and cased in green instead of turquoise. Did I still love it? Of course! I’m a sucker for such things!
That fountain is not usually green, it was dyed for a football game. I promise it’s safe to to drink water in Philly.
As much as I loved Philly, and how much it loves Diet Dr. Pepper, I am not a fan of humidity. At all. I am a desert girl, I love the dry heat of the American west. I really just don’t function well with the wet and the soggy and the feeling of just having gotten out of the shower the second you walk out the door. That being said, I love how the moss grows on everything. We don’t have moss out West, and it is still so romantic to me. I’m sure it gets old, and I’m sure you East Coasters get sick of the moss and the ivy covering everything, but lawsy, it is gorgeous.
In my wanderings around Philly, I took several hundred photos (I pinky promise I won’t post them all here) and was constantly amazed at all the enormous trees, the cobblestones, and the narrow streets. In Salt Lake 7 city blocks are one mile, that means our streets are really wide and our blocks are enormous. The idea of crossing a street in seven steps, and a block in 25 just blows my mind (and yes, these are actual numbers, I counted, in several different parts of the city).
This is perhaps my favorite photo from my traipsing around the city. For the rest of the photos, check out my Flickr set.
Filed under: There and Back Again
In September I spent a lovely, girly weekend in Philadelphia with Laurel and RA. I’ll get to the lovely time I had with both of them in a post or two, first I want to talk about my visit to historic Philadelphia, the part that feels like you have walked onto the set of National Treasure. You know, without the spontaneous plot to steal the Declaration of Independence or the bad guys trying to kill you.
Independence Hall–the site of the founding of the United States, the signing of the Declaration of Independence and creation of the Constitution–was under a bit of construction, but the inside was still fascinating, even though much smaller than I had anticipated.
There it is, folks, under thick, darkly tinted, bullet proof glass and heavily guarded. I was in Philly the weekend of September 11th, and there was quite a bit of seemingly extra security around Independence Hall, Constitution Hall and the Liberty Bell.
George Washington, in front of Independence Hall.
One of the upper rooms of Independence Hall, I love all the gray-blue trim throughout the whole building.
I don’t know why I love this so much, but the curly-q stair rail was one of my favorite parts of the building.
The Liberty Bell, I’m not sure why I was so excited to see the bell either, but the crack, the history, the nostalgia. Don’t know, but it was cool to stand and people-watch as dozens of tourists filed past the bell and all the surrounding displays.
Ben Franklin’s grave, I found this small cemetery quite by accident and wished I had a penny in my pocket to contribute. As it was, I took pictures of his grave and the really old, slightly creepy cemetery.
Just around the corner was a firehouse with a fantastic sculpture of Ben Franklin himself.
The outside was completely covered in keys. Hello, awesome! After a bit more wandering I stumbled upon Elfreth’s Alley, the longest inhabited street in the United States.
Unfortunately, it was garbage day. It took quite a bit of maneuvering to get a picture that wasn’t littered with boxes and piles and bags of trash and recycling. But, I got to spend a good 30 minutes wandering up and down the street taking pictures of all the doors. I have a thing with doors, apparently.
Yep, again, I loved everything about it.
I think this is one of the first bank buildings, maybe the first? Not sure, but I was totally crushing on the columns, and, as my feet were getting tired and the afternoon was waning and it was time for dinner with Laurel and RA.
I got to spend a day geeking out about history and America and old buildings, and then I got to spend the evening hanging out with two lovely ladies. Quite a fabulous weekend, I’d say! For more photos, check out my Flickr set.
At the top of Glacier National Park is Logan Pass and a fairly short hike to Hidden Lake. After a glorious motorcycle ride on the Going-to-the-Sun Road, I stripped down in the parking lot to change from biking clothes (jeans) to hiking clothes (running skirt). What, don’t judge! The only other option was taking my chances in one of the scary, smelly, cramped port-a-potty’s. Not. Happening. (Also, there is no photographic evidence of said scandalousness, so as far as anyone else is concerned, it probably didn’t happen and I’m just making stuff up for a better story.)
I’ve never experienced the kind of winter where it lasts for 9 months, so when we arrived at the visitor’s center and there were still patches of snow on the peaks I just thought “Cool, high elevation!” Um, no. Not really. Well, yes, it’s a high elevation, but not so long prior to my arrival the entire building was still covered in snow. May I remind you, the photo above was taken towards the end of August.
Yeah, this was the end of June. Hello, winter, nice you’ve made it past the equinox. The summer equinox, not the spring one.
At any rate, J-Mo and I shed our biking gear, strapped on hiking stuff and headed up the trail. It was beautiful, the weather was perfectly cool and breezy to counteract the up-hill hiking and sunshine.
I think roundtrip the Hidden Lake hike is only about 3 miles, but I was surprised and delighted at how much snow was still on the trail. I mean, I would have been had I not packed only watershoes. My Teva’s are sturdy and perfect for tramping through rivers, like the Hidden Canyon of Secrets in Southern Utah. But snow? Well, my toesies got a bit cold a time or two. Nothing frostbitten or anything, just slushy.
J-Mo and I happened across a small family of mountain goats.
The first glimpse of Hidden Lake. This sizable body of water is all glacier melt and the clear, blue color is amazing. I think I audibly gasped when the lake appeared through the trees.
Sitting on the rocks rehydrating and having a little mid-hike snack and laughing with J-Mo was probably the highlight of this trip. I couldn’t have been more content. My stresses (which I promise I’ll fill you in on soon) receded and the high mountain air really began to work it’s magic.
J-Mo and I.
As we made our way back to the visitors center I was more and more fascinated with how much snow was still on the ground. Let it be known that I threw a snowball on August 20, 2011. And then I threw another one. And then J-Mo and I got in an epic snow/slush ball fight.
See? There’s still a LOT of snow to throw at people, er, I mean, to hike through.
Gorgeous, just gorgeous. Even though they aren’t splashed around the Interwebs in these last few posts, J-Mo’s parents came with us on their Harley’s and as charming and hilarious as ever. It was awesome to spend the weekend with them on another Harley adventure.
A few weeks ago J-Mo and I went on a much needed break to Glacier National Park in northern Montana. Glacier is known for amazing hiking and a very short summer season. One of the most gorgeous stretches of road in the country, the Going-to-the-Sun Road, goes through the park and in mid-June it was still buried under several feet of snow. Opening in July and already closed for the year, the window to experience this drive is pretty narrow.
The Going-to-the-Sun Road was built as part of FDR’s New Deal social spending, it is 50 miles long and quite narrow, the winding road hugs the side of the cliff with a thousand plus foot drop-off on one side and views that take your breath away.
Luckily, J-Mo and I were on a motorcycle, so we got to drink up as much of the gorgeous views as were there to enjoy.
The Going-to-the-Sun Road snakes to about the center of this photo, see that skinny little line heading up the side of the mountain? Yeah, that’s the road. And it is incredible.
Even though it was late August, the green in the park was so vibrant because, well, it was technically still “spring” in Glacier.
I can’t get enough of this view. This Glacier trip came on the heels of one of the more emotional weeks I’ve ever had (which is saying a lot as the last week of my life reduced me to tears at least a half-dozen times. See: midterms, college is hard, PMS, palpable loneliness, etc.) Spending six or seven hundred miles on the back of a motorcycle, the wind in my hair and clothes, sun on my face and my arms wrapped around J-Mo was the best possible thing I could have done at the time. Come to think of it, perhaps I need some more of this therapy? I’ll look into it.
Taken near the summit of the Going-to-the-Sun Road, looking down into the park.
J-Mo and I, in all my Harley glory. Jacket? Check. Biker headband? Check. Real biker? Ehhhh…probably not, the Mo family are hardcore Harley people, I am an excellent weekend warrior.
Stopped for construction traffic just shy of Logan Pass, looking down the canyon with the road on the right.
In our two days in the park, J-Mo and I went up and down the Going-to-the-Sun Road twice, once in the early evening when the setting sun turns the world into a jewel box of gorgeous light, and once in the morning when, despite the chilly temperatures, the morning light made everything sparkle. Yes, the mountains sparkled. Don’t try and contradict me on this one. I took hundreds of photos from my perch on the back of the Harley, but I also want you to see more of Glacier than this one road, despite it’s gorgeousness.
Lake McDonald, view from the pier at the lodge. The reflection on the lake was absolutely beautiful, the lodge was calm and reminiscent of the enormous grand lodges of last century, not quite as big as the one in Yellowstone, but still very impressive.
This is the opposite side of the park from Lake McDonald. This small glacier-melt lake is in West Glacier at the European-chalet style lodge and you can see 5 remaining glaciers from the expansive deck looking over the water. Can I point them out here? No. (Evidence that I really should blog about things as they happen instead of wait for two months when I no longer remember names and details. Noted.) The thing I really recall about this particular lodge is the huckleberry soft-serve ice cream that changed my life, and staring at the mountain side for what seemed like hours trying to locate the bears. Yes, bears. Bears wandering around the trails, preventing hiking. Bears that dozens of people claimed to have seen. Bears which, according to me and my perfect vision were completely non-existent. I feel like I should have been upset about the wildlife messing with my hiking plans, but by this point J-Mo and I had been on a motorcycle for a couple of hundred miles and the idea of relaxing on the wide, sunny deck at the lodge eating ice cream sounded much better than sweating my way up the side of a mountain.
Yes. This. Love.
Filed under: There and Back Again
Sra and I decided to hit-up the Portland Art Museum and while I am yet again reminded that I don’t understand or appreciate most modern art (as in, the last 20 years, Picasso is awesome), the museum had an absolutely fantastic exhibit of old cars.
It looked like The Great Gatsby’s parking lot with Bentley’s and Rolls Royce’s standing in all their V8 glory. Goodness, they were shiny.
I’m not really big into cars, but you can’t help but be bowled over by a hunk of machinery that weighs 5,500 pounds and has the engine of a hot rod.
These dozen or so beauties were my favorite part of the museum, hands down.
Gazing and drooling over these automobiles (they are so much more than “cars”) made me want to throw a flapper-era party with fancy drinks and costumes required.
Eventually, Sra had to go back to work and I had a day of my own to explore the city. Left to my own devices there is really only one place I will end up: book store.
Oh. My. Gaaaah! Powell’s isn’t just a “bookstore”, it’s book heaven.
There are rooms and rooms full of books, but I found it fairly easy to navigate due to their excellent organization. I browsed the economics aisles, the feminism aisles, the fashion section, the cook books, the novels and poetry, the classics and travel sections. After several hours of happy browsing I walked away with a dozen new-to-me books to love.
After all that book-hunting, it was time for lunch. I had heard rumors of Portland’s famous food carts and set off to find them.
After some excellent Mexican food and the most delicious rhubarb frozen yogurt, I was off to do some more shopping and wandering. I found a few vintage stores, hit a funky-shopping jackpot at Tender Loving Empire, and found a long-sought after turquoise necklace at Ray’s Ragtime thrift store.
Satiated with my finds, I hopped on the train up to Washington Park to visit the Japanese Tea Gardens.
While the Chinese Gardens were very relaxing and peaceful, the Japanese gardens were traditional and had layers and layers of green.
Honestly, it was surreal how green this little corner of the world was, it was absolutely gorgeous.
I still can’t get over the moss that covers everything in Portland. Utah doesn’t have moss, a little lichen in the mountains, but no moss.
After wandering around for a while, I decided to head down the hill to the International Rose Test Garden, also in Washington Park.
My great-grandmother loved roses, and she taught my mom how to take care of them. While I was growing up the entire east side of our house was a rose garden with probably two dozen different bushes. My mom picked roses for their scent, not their look, and during the summer she’d cut a hundred blooms from that garden every few days. Our house always smelled like fresh roses, which is a completley different smell than the roses that come from the florist.
I loved walking through the rows and rows of roses, inhaling the sweet smell of “real” roses.
I only took a hundred pictures of flowers while in Portland, but hey, I couldn’t help it! They were everywhere!
Before heading home, I met up with Rhi for breakfast and Lindz for some Starbucks, and was again reminded how the people in The Internet are so awesome. A millions thanks again to Sra for a wonderful weekend! See the rest of the Flickr set here.
Filed under: There and Back Again
Portland, Oregon. City of Roses, home of Powell’s Books and famous for treehuggers and food carts. A few years ago an old roommate of mine, Sra, got accepted to law school in Portland and a few weeks ago I decided to take advantage of a long weekend and her generous hospitality and spend a few days in the Northwest.
First up was the Portland Saturday Market, a giant craft market where you can buy everything from handmade clothing or soap to a hand-carved sculpture of your face as a garden gnome. I wish I was kidding about that, but no. Garden gnomes are rampant at the Saturday market. I wish I had the room in my suitcase to bring a few home as white elephant gifts. After stopping for an extra-delicious pita sandwich from the Beirut Cafe stand (seriously, recommended), Sra and I, with her boyfriend in tow, headed out to see the rest of the market. My favorite stand was the stand that sold carnivorous plants, Venus Flytraps and this tube thingies that would trap insects and gobble them up. I don’t know why I’m so fascinated by these, but I have had this twisted love for insect-eating plants since I first learned about them in grade school. If there was any chance of a Flytrap surviving in the harsh Salt Lake winter I would have bought one in a minute. As is, I simply oooh’d and aaaah’d over them and headed to the next booth.
Temporary Tattoo-ing. Everyone is doing it.
After watching several people get spray-on tats, I decided that hey, why not. For only $3 dollars and a few days commitment I decided that a prancing pink and purple pony would be perfect. (And I swear that’s the last time I will use that much alliteration in one sentence.)
Mr. Tattoo Face (probably not his real name) didn’t even crack a smile when I told him what I wanted, in fact, he very seriously asked me specifics on what kind of shading and coloring I wanted on the pony mane and tail. I think everyone should respond that way when I tell them I want a pony.
Cute, right? Granted, it only lasted for a day and not the 3-5 that was promised, but I’m not complaining. I loved seeing that prancy cuteness peeking out from my wrist all day long.
What is that voodoo that you do for donu…okay, that doesn’t rhyme. Whatever.
We wandered through Chinatown to Voodoo Doughnut’s, but one look at the line that zig-zagged back and forth across the sidewalk, and we opted to go to Sesame Donuts instead. With absolutely no line and delicious donuts, no harm no foul! (I did go back to Voodoo later on my trip, and frankly, while they win on funky decor and charm, their donuts were no more delicious than Sesame. And now you know. You’re welcome.)
Our next stop was Uwajimaya, an Asian market and grocery store that has absolutely everything you can imagine. They have hundreds of types of mystery food, with labels in Japanese, Korean or Chinese I had trouble identifying what they were, exactly, but I did come away with some fantastic kitchen accessories and a package of lavender noodles. I’ll let you know how they taste.
Sra and I decided to check out the Chinese Gardens in Portland. I wasn’t expecting much, and was kind of blown away by how tranquil and peaceful this little block felt.
There were pathways and ponds and bridges and terraces and little pavilions tucked away in half-hidden corners. I wish I a) had a block of ground to translate into a Chinese garden and b) the funds to hire a little Chinese man to make it as beautiful as these gardens.
I loved all the intricate, dark trim on white buildings and cool tile.
Sra and I settled into the Tea House for a little refreshment after a long day of walking. Jasmine flower tea for her, and a red bean Mooncake for me.
Sigh. Gorgeous.
You know, before you think Portland is all tranquility and mushy gooshing about gardens, there are also plenty of crazies, lots of funky-colored hair, and Portland has learned to embrace their, well, weirdness.
Portlanders: Just keepin’ it real, yo. See the rest of the Flickr set here.
