A Southern Journey

I knew I missed The South when we moved back a year or so ago, but I just didn’t know how much. Most days, I miss The West and I don’t even realize how lucky I am to be able to live back here. But there are weekend trips now and again that we take that remind me of precisely this blessing.

If this month would have a nickname, it would be “Food”. Seriously, all we did was spend exorbitant amounts of money on foods pretty much every other day. I am always of the belief that food is not only good or worth exploring only because you pay hundreds of dollars for a bit of it – on the contrary. The most delicious food, I think, is the most primitive, the simplest, cooked in small corners of the world, in the most unexpected, least equipped kitchens. We didn’t seek the extra expensive food. It kind of found us, through chance and some little planning. It is a big month of celebration for personal reasons for us, so I guess it kind of went with the times.

Food is a great excuse to travel. And although food takes us places, we never stop just at that. We try to take the entire place in and experience the most that it has to offer.

A Short Trip to Kinston, NC

First, we spent a day and a night in Kinston, NC. I wrote before that I love taking trips to places that people would ask “Why in the world would you go there?!” about. Kinston might be such a place. I am sure many people have never heard of it, even if they lived in North Carolina for a while. It is in the Eastern part of the state, where rivers run wide and the barbecue sauce has no tomato in it, like God intended!

Some of our friends put together a pilgrimage trip to the Chef and the Farmer restaurant which is featured on a PBS show of some fame, A Chef’s Life. The owner of the restaurant, Vivian Howard, is also the star of that show, giving people a peek into Southern cooking, Eastern Carolina style.

We first stopped at our hotel, a former bank nowadays called The O’Neil, across the street from the restaurant. The hotel is a turn of the (20^th) century former bank. The lobby has antique details, an amazingly ornate plaster ceiling, an enormous vault turned into a bar and luxurious seating behind former teller windows. The hotel only has seven rooms, and each room has a unique personality. We had another couple of friends staying at the hotel who were in a Chinese-motived room, while ours had an English hunting cottage feel.

The Farmers & Merchants Bank in Kinston, NC, now The O'Neil (hotel)

This is how you know this is a small town: we asked the front desk lady if it’s OK to park on the street, on the side of the hotel because we could see no signs for parking. She said, in the most endearing Southern drawl: “Oh, mah goodnesshyeah! You surely can park just about anywear … You see some signs in the street clearly sayin’ ‘No Parking’, but don’t pay them no mind!” She peeked through the window behind her desk and pointed at the cars parked across the street: “You see them cars over there? It saiz ‘No parking’ right there, but they’re parked right under the sign. No one will tow you. Kinston police don’t care. They have bigger fish to fry, I reckon!” – she ended with a shrug. We were wondering about them big fish and what they were. Hmm …

The lobby at The O'Neil - with the ornate plaster ceiling and the giant vault

The place was brimming with hospitality. The front desk lady was nice and helpful, and if you can tell from my retelling the parking story, very welcoming. The vault, like I mentioned, is turned into a giant beer and wine cooler, with a self-serve bar where they invite you to partake of snacks, cookies, fruit, water, beer, wine, or coffee at any hour of the day and night. The cleaning ladies wished us a good weekend when we left, and asked us how our stay had been as if we were old friends. The hotel, like the whole town, really, was quiet. We did feel like maybe we and our friends might have been the only guests that day.

To wait for the rest of our friends to get to town for our planned dinner, we went to Mother Earth Brewing – a brewery, as you might have guessed which was about a block and a half away from our hotel. You really cannot get lost in this downtown. Everything you need to see or do is right there, in a 200 yard square, just about. Some of our friends who had checked into the hotel earlier than us noticed that the lead singer in the band at the brewery was also the front desk person who welcomed them at The O’Neil earlier. It’s all in the family, you see.

After our refreshments at the brewery, we headed towards our destination – Chef and the Farmer.  We were seated in a private room, because of the size of our group – about 16. Between all of us we ordered just about every appetizer on the menu. Because of my weird diet, they had to mash two of their entrees into one – I got the grilled red snapper on top of the sweet potato skins and everything was delicious. The portion sizes were decent, unlike some of the really “fancy” restaurants that skimp on the quantity on the account of presentation and flavor. In this place, each dish had everything: presentation, flavor, uniqueness, and size to please you. The cocktails and the desserts were unique and delicious as well.

The red snapper and sweet potato skins with mushrooms at Chef and The Farmer

The following morning, we headed for brunch at Boiler Room Oyster Bar, a restaurant owned by the same people as Chef and the Farmer. Again – all in the family here. I guess this is not as famous as the fancy restaurant we had dinner in, nor nearly as expensive, but like I said before: it’s not all on the price tag. In fact, the lunch I had at The Boiler Room was in some ways more surprising and more delicious than Chef and the Farmer, especially in its simplicity. I believe half of our group had the butter bean burger, me included. Just as plain as simple as it sounds: a patty made of butter beans and I am not sure what else. But I am sure it had a mix of love, and mystery, a Southern blessing, and a splash of good luck to make it extra special. It was deep fried instead of grilled, and my goodness, was that the best veggie burger my mouth has ever tasted?! It was tasty and as soft as butter melting in your mouth. They did ensure me there won’t be any butter nor mayo, nor eggs, either, in it – and still, it was amazingly delicious: the right measure of savory, salty, crunchy, buttery, melty... You would think people went there for the oysters, but think again – like I said: about 8 people out of our 16 got that burger, vegetarians, vegans, and meat eaters alike and we all loved it.

I hope I’ll travel many a places in my life, but that butter bean burger, I tell you what – won’t leave my memory any time soon.

We strolled the city after our brunch and visited The CSS Neusse – a real-life replica of a Civil War boat -, the local coffee shop, and just walked the streets of downtown Kinston. It’s a sleepy town, with stores open but quiet, and not much foot traffic. One of our friends said “there is nothing in this town but drunk foodies.” We chuckled because we surely recognized all of us in that description.

The CSS Neusse
Click the picture to browse through the Kinston, NC album from this trip

 

Continuing the Journey Through Charleston, SC

Following our weekend in Kinston, NC, we had a weekend planned for Charleston, SC. Now, I won't repeat every truism that was ever said about Charleston. I am sure those of you who visited it know all about why it’s amazing, and those of you who have not have read about it too: the gem of The South, the beauty, the Civil War-era historic hub, the home of Rhett Butler, the “civilization gone with the wind” are just some of those things mentioned about it.  

I usually go to Charleston to slow down and sip the past just like you would a hot cup of mint tea. The aroma of the place seeps into your pores and takes over the body and the mind like a mist. There are many the things you can do in Charleston. So many, there is never a good plan for it, because there is no human way to pack everything there is to do in one weekend!

We settled for strolling Meeting and Market Streets downtown, and looking at the street artists in the City Market while hunting for pralines and a place to eat really good seafood. This was the first night.

The next day, because we had a whole day, we drove to Magnolia plantation, a place that has belonged to the same family since 1600’s (started with The Drayton Family). The plantation home has been rebuilt several times since the first foundation was laid down, and today it’s more like three or four houses and multiple additions put together rather than one cohesive building, although it surely does look like one. The grounds of the former plantation were the star of this show, however. After losing all the money they had in the Civil War, like most landowners in The South, the owner of the plantation decided to open the grounds as a garden, and they remain opened this way today.

The home at the Magnolia Plantation

What's a Southern home without a peacock on the front lawn?! 

The gardens are a scrapbook of forests, pastures, marshes, lakes, all along the Ashley River. They are only very subtly human-touched; they are mostly left to the devices of the subtropical Southern vegetation to shape it in the most wild fashion. The trails are graveled, but crooked and winding through overgrown areas. Azaleas, camelias and Spanish moss brush your face as you squeeze yourself through the many narrow pathways and trails. While admiring the beauty of the trees, bushes, and flowers (all in bloom, it seemed just for us, as this was April, one of the most flora-rich times of the year in The South), we were watchfully crossing bridges over ponds and estuaries of the Ashley river on the lookout for alligators. I was watching the trees for snakes, too, but I figured with that many vines, it would be impossible to tell which one was a snake and which was a vine. The alligators did not let themselves waited for for too long. They were shamelessly swimming around, undisturbed, it seemed, by the sizable crowds of visitors.

I love visiting old Southern homes, because you see America’s history rolling right in front of your very eyes in the stories they amount inside those walls, in the pictures, décor, books. All its glories, and shadows, all the ghosts, and belles of the past, all carefully and elegantly tucked inside the grand staircased foyers and plantation shutters …

Alligator at the Magnolia Plantation

For dinner, we found a treat of a place called Hanks, close to our hotel not far from The City Market. The food here was a little too overpriced for what it was, but the cocktail I had (it was a locally inspired one), called Colonial Daiquiri (rum based) was divine! I also loved their special salad which had the most enormous shrimp (sized more like lobster than shrimp), arugula, and roasted potatoes (I kid you not!) in a roasted tomatillo vinaigrette. Holy salad gods! I still don’t think it was worth the almost $20 it cost, but it was memorable. Maybe not quite as amazing as that butter bean burger in Kinston – but still something to definitely remember.

Walking the streets of Charleston is really my favorite thing to do down there: shooting the beautiful doorways, people watching around the Waterfront Park and the Pineapple Fountain, hearing the giggles of college girls taking selfies at The Rainbow Row, watching people line up for food at Blossom, Magnolia’s, or Hyman’s – all color the Charleston experience in its own unique way. This is a town encapsulating so much history within its brick walls and cobblestone streets like a snow globe: you shake it and another memory forms – all real, all old, and yet right in front of your eyes.

Charleston entry way

There is a smell about Charleston that stays with you: it’s a mix of sea and mold, a mixture of uncured antiques and jasmine or some other bloom.

The Pineapple Fountain at Waterfront Park

We picked funky-named places, with hippie or Southern names to have breakfast in both days we were there. We figured how could we go wrong with such choice deliberation?! On the first morning we were there, we went to Another Broken Egg (their crab cakes are so fresh you’d think they reached out into the waterfront for the crabs right then and there), and Page’s Okra Grill in Mount Pleasant, the second day. That place is a zoo. Not sure how the wait staff doesn’t turn postal on people – there is not one revolving door of many people queued up to get in but two of them – one through the front of the store and one through the back patio. With all this apparent commotion, the staff never misses a beat: good ol’ Southern hospitality is at home here. Their breakfast potatoes are to kill for!

Rainbow Row

The last day, we drove across the many bridges around Charleston in look for an islandscape we could shoot. We ended up on Sullivan’s Island for a short hike and a peek at the ocean. Again, we were mindful of alligators and snakes, but luckily found neither one that day. Crossing over the dunes onto the beach was like seeing one of those multi-commercialized prints all the hotels down the beach hang in their bedrooms: water brush swinging in the wind, sand blowing at an angle, with seagulls diving in the horizon, where it meets the water … Idyllic and peaceful comes to mind, if you think the beach is peaceful.

The beach at Sullivan's Island

While we chased all these treasures, and all the history and the tastes of The South, during both trips we got lost on ancient (for America) streets lined with magnolias, live oaks dripping with Spanish moss. There was not even a hint of a breeze in the branches. The trees and the houses with old fences and gates were silent, sleepy, immersed in a slumber of centuries. The thing I missed the most about The South is just The South … The old homes, with wrap-around porches and the big columns in front, the pineapple details on the front staircases, the narrow streets with even narrower, uneven sidewalks. The awkward, cluttered layout of an old city that ran out of room for new homes. The smell of mold and dampness, the humidity in the air that makes my hair feel like it was dipped in molasses. I missed all that, down to the sweaty skin I get when walking around the honey-like air … The buttery taste of food from people who know how to use butter and a fryer. I must have been born in The South at some point in the past. If not that, then I am not sure what ghost lives inside my chest, because for sure it does, as it always understands this song …

Whether food called us out to the road, or  whether we just found it looking for some other treasures is irrelevant. Dipping ourselves into the past and into our surrounds for a spell is always a treasure, no matter the pretense. This weekend, I found out that The South is still here and has waited for me, patiently, unchanged, for the nine years I have been gone. There is something to be said for timelessness and eternity – and The South surely knows a thing or three about those …  

  

Timeless Charleston, SC
Click the picture to browse the entire album from this trip

Family, Spring, and the Call of the Road

Families are interesting sorts. Just when you think you know all the people who make up your family,  met them all, there are a few stragglers that pop up in someone’s memory. Not just because Ancestry.com tells you there are more, but more people that you knew about, but never quite made time to visit with. I have been married for almost 9 years now, but I have not met my husband’s half siblings. Two of them, I am afraid, is too late to meet, as they are gone. But this weekend, I met one of his half brothers, his wife and his only daughter and her family.

It was like Thanksgiving in … March. Just a big ol’ dinner and lots of family stories, laughs, and memories. It felt cozy and warm. You know, when the hugs are meaningful and the warmth you feel is real, not contrived, and you feel like you belong. Or rather, he acted like he found his pack.

I am still to meet lots of extended family within my relatives’ ranks, but I was still happy to witness their reunion and watch their jokes and unraveling of their common memories, and some not as common but always shared, in some ways: by the same places or other relatives or common stories told by people they both knew.

The trip we took for this reunion was around the Norfolk – Chesapeake, VA area. I had been there before, but I obviously was not paying too close attention to it. The cities are like postcards of The Old South, with hundred year old houses, bothered here and there by modern condo buildings.

This is for those folks who think America is the land of sky scrapers: this is the tallest building in Chesapeake, VA - the headquarters of Dollar Tree. In a sandy, salty, flat plane, it does not take much. 

Neighborhood pubs and hangouts are at every corner. The whole area (Norfolk, Suffolk, Chesapeake, VA Beach, Portsmouth, Newport News etc) is so big, and spread out and in square footage it does feel like a  metropolis. Flat and sandy with the ocean invading the land here and there. But the corner pubs, and bike lanes and hippy joints, like Yorgo’s Bageldashery give it an extra cozy and small-town feel.  The container ships in Norfolk offer a skyline like no other city’s. The juxtaposition of old, new, and industrial is what characterizes these parts.

We found a park (Oak Grove Park) to stretch our legs and burn off the beer calories we gained from The Public House in Ghent the night before and that was pretty much the extent of our sightseeing. Spring was peeking shyly through the few popped buds and in the spring in the walking dogs’ step. But it was still windy and chilly. The bright, cloudless, sunny skies did not do much to warm us up.

Buds popping for spring

After the walk and a stroll in the bookstore, we went to lunch with my husband’s niece and her husband. Then, we drove to their horse farm. That was a treat! I had only seen horse farms in movies. The way the land is partitioned and the barn and the place for the horse trailer – everything was like out of a picture film. I loved it and was grateful for the opportunity to experience it.

Sun setting on the farm

It was only a two night trip, but with the roller-coaster of emotions and new-ness, it felt like a lot longer. Neither one of us wants to go back to work tomorrow. We want more time with people who get us, more good food, more story telling, more driving around and finding small, off-the-beaten-path places to eat, walk, or people watch. If only someone could pay us for those activities, too! Life is indeed too short.

On the edge of the Great Dismal Swamp. I could only imagine the snakes in there in the summer. Those, and the mosquitoes! But the peace and the quiet this time of the year were true tonics. 

An ancient tree rotting but still standing massive and stern. I wish they measures trees, not buildings. This one would win my vote.

How You Do Richmond in a Day

It was a quick trip to Richmond this weekend. The most I had seen of the capital of the Commonwealth of Virginia was from the rush of the car, sliding down the spaghetti interstates around it as I have driven back and forth from North Carolina to the DC area, over the years.

This weekend, we bought tickets to The Altria Theater to see The Piano Guys. For those of you who know them, I know, you’re thinking: we lived in Utah for seven years together and never saw this Utah group, and now we are driving three hours away from NC to see them live. What can I say?! Weirdness. And that does not stop here. Not on this trip.

We stayed at Quirk Hotel (that is right, no “the”, and no I am not making up the name) on Broad street, in the heart of the Arts District, as far as we could tell. The hotel is a mixture of unexpected and well, yes, “quirky” with a touch of avant-garde and echoes of Vegas boutique hotels. The accent color is pink and you see it anywhere from the pink shirts of the reception staff to the pink refrigerator in your room.

We were “upgraded for free” to a loft room – no idea why and how that happened, and this was the first loft room we have ever stayed in: the living room part of the room was “downstairs” and the bedroom and bath “upstairs” as you enter. Everything about this hotel was unique in some way, and a little surprising.

Example of art in our room. I still don't know whether those are sleeping animals or shells.

The night we arrived, we ate dinner at Bistro 27, a restaurant we could walk to from our hotel. The food presentation was amazing, whereas the taste was not completely out of the ordinary. It was delicious, just nothing surprising or out of this world in any way. At least in my dish or seabass topped with crab and mussels over roasted garlic potatoes. Quite a strange fact about choosing this place, though: we had many places to choose from on Broad street, where our hotel was, but we chose this one. 27 is the birth day of my husband, and this was his birthday trip. We both only realized this after we got back.

Tiramisu at Bistro 27

The Altria theater is unique in its own right: think Middle Eastern mosque architecture and décor in the middle of a Southern American state. A beautiful building, inside and out, loaded with history, and an equally beautiful and ornate concert hall and stage. Quite a feast for the eyes. The minute details of the mosaic tiles were impressive.

Details of the interior of The Altria Theater

The Piano Guys are another anomaly that matches the oddity of this trip: there is only one “piano guy”. The other ones are a cellist, and some sound and video engineers. They were amazing – their mix of classical and modern and religious music was interestingly unique and their command of their instruments truly amazing.

The following day, we had breakfast at 821 Bakery Café. We were the only ones in the joint without tattoos on our faces, it seemed. A crowd of hippy, artsy youngsters is this joint’s frequenting crowd. Definitely made us feel young. The food was delicious, with lots of vegan options, too. The art on the walls was original and surprising, like everything else we had seen thus far. 

Then, we headed to the Poe Museum, to travel back in the time of the 19^th century writer, father of mystery literature and detective novels. The weather was exactly what you would expect to have when you’re reading Poe or about him: dreary, wet, cold, noisy drops, lots of mud, dripping decrepit brick walls barely holding up, right up against an aged stone home. The museum is made up of several buildings that house artifacts that either belonged to the author (like his bed, his sister’s piano forte, letters he wrote, his traveling trunk, etc.) or first-edition writings. There are a few eerie details you will learn about in this museum, as you probably can imagine. And he still, to this day, will remain a mystery.

The Poe Museum is full of mysterious details such as this

We drove around Richmond next – we could not so much as walk, in the torrential rain at 40F. You can almost taste the history in this city. Every corner of every street reeks with it. You see warped 1800’s brick and stone walls right next to new, steel and glass, modern apartment buildings. Cobble stone streets right under the spaghetti highways. It also seemed to be the city of murals. Almost every building has a story to tell in a beautifully painted wall. If I have one regret is that we didn’t stay longer. I would have loved to stroll the streets, to walk the galleries and museums, visited the islands with their parks in the James river, and try out a few more food places, too. But I think we will be back: we have seen enough to stay curious.

The mural at 821 Bakery Cafe 

All in all, we were gone for 27 hours from home and we packed a feast for the eyes, ears, and stomachs in that short of time. You’re thinking I am making up the 27, but I am not. Feel the quirkiness now?! So do we.

A metal sculpture adorns the walls of the Police Department on Jefferson Street. Click the picture to see the whole album from this trip.

A Strange Year

As years of our lives go, this has been a weird one. Peppered with everything you can think of, good and bad, it leaves a more bitter than sweet taste in my mouth than many others before it.

We have known a lot of trials and pain this year. More than any other years, we have known pain, suffering, and unhealth in our own lives and the the lives of those close to us. Even in the lives of remote relatives and friends, for some reason, we have seen more sickness than health. Our loved ones have been through some close calls, and we have, too.

Our friends and family have lost pets and aunts and uncles, some of them parents and brothers. There should really be no ranking for pain. Pain is pain – however close or remote it is from you. It's been a great year of loss for many of us and around us.

And then, there was our house, a brand new one poorly built, and our efforts to keep it from falling apart. We weathered two hurricanes in one month while fixing leaks everywhere. We think we're OK now, but the stress of all that just about moved us to a rental place. We would have been grateful that we could have done that!

Stressful trips of planes and luggage lost or delayed started off a year of travels.

As we age, we look closely at our friendships. We're more choosy and selective and this year we have felt the bitter-sweet taste of lost friends we once cherished. But you know what they say: “ A friend you lose is not worth keeping, in the first place.” So, we learn, we mourn, and we move on, grateful for the lessons.

All this personal stuff happened on a backdrop of more chaos in the country and in the world. My heart cries every day for the status of things in the world, but especially in this country. A country that so many of us gave up so much for, only to come here and bleed disappointment. We are now the perpetrators, the cruel and heartless inhumane power, we are now the illogical, anti-everything-reason monsters we were trying to fight a while ago. I wish there would be something someone can do drastically. I wish we would stop hiding behind lame and cheesy political excuses and would truly take action that would help people. Hungry, homeless, abused, defenseless people. Children, even.

I wish we would stop speaking in double standards: I wish we would stop saying in this country that 'no man is above the law' in the same sentence with 'you cannot indict a sitting president.' I wish we would stop saying we are the greatest democracy in the world when our simple, most fundamental right as a citizen, the right to vote, is not a democratic one. I wish we would really stop lying to ourselves in false patriotism and truly understand what we see in the mirror.

And I wish we truly remember who we truly are: I wish we would remember that if it were not for the thousands of 'illegals from sh*thole countries' most of us would not be here today. I wish we remembered who we were and how we and ours have started.

The talk of this wall recently is making me double over with stomach sickness. Besides being grossly unreasonable and downright laughable (a stupid dream concoction of an old and sick mind), it is not what the world is and wants today. And let me tell you some reasons why: I have a bowl of oranges in the kitchen; the bowl was given to me by my sister's Romanian mother-in-law who has been living in Germany for close to 20 years; I got a message right before Christmas from a high school (Romanian) friend who is now a doctor who lives in Denmark: she wanted my American recipe of turkey and stuffing so she can cook it for her family this year. I work from home. Before 10 AM every morning I am in anywhere between 1 and 4 meetings with Armenia every day. If you look at my Facebook page, I have friends from four continents and this is the norm for most of us, not the exception. You see, the world is already border-less, in people's minds. No wall, and I don't believe no law, could stop that now. Dreaming of it is dystopian and a huge waste of energy and time to say the very least.

I never started my days with news first, like I have this year. Because I am always very afraid there might not be a world we could go back to any day now … Some days truly feel hopeless. I have read more about hope and gratitude this year than any other year. I think we all could use some of this reading nowadays.

There have been happy times, too. Seeing my ever weakening and feeble elders in Romania this past spring was a bright spot, however painful. Getting to hold them and hug them was a treat that I will savor for many months, possibly years to come. Taking a trip with my sister to New York City and welcoming her into her fourth decade was another blessful gift.

My husband and I took trips to know our new state, and we visited The Grand Canyon for the first time together. Taking my nephews to the Ocean together for the first time and seeing them jump waves was one of the highlights of this year.

We loved, we gave, we spent time with dear and true friends and family whether in our new and not-so-perfect house or their open homes. We have been grateful for jobs, the one we got and the one we kept this year, for the stress of not having them is a true and scary burden.

When I started this year I committed to collecting a picture every day of the year. Just to remind myself how much beauty truly is in the world and to document how much one could travel and grow and enrich oneself even in sad times.

Click the picture below to see the pictures from the last month of the year, as well as all the other 300+ ones. I am grateful for every glimpse of this. Enjoy!

It's been a year with ups and downs, framed by sickness and pain. A social media meme showed this message this morning and this is my only wish for all of us for 2019: “I don't want 2019 to bring me anything. I just don't want it to take anything away.” Amen to that and a happier, more hopeful new year to all!

Good Night, Sweet Princess

I don't remember when she wandered into my parents' yard. Could have been 18 years ago, when they got their first dog, or could have been later. She was a stray, although she never looked like one. Dad always said she belonged to the neighbor, but I am not sure: she spent more time in my parents' yard than in any other place on the street.

She was smart, as cats go, and she was sassy, as they go, too. But less so than any other cat, she was quiet. She was unobtrusively inserting in the life of our family, and mostly in our hearts forever, without as much as a meow. She never begged per se, but she always sat on the outside window sill of the kitchen waiting for food.

More than any other cats, she was gorgeous. I am yet to meet an ugly cat, really, but she was exquisite. She had the markings of a Siamese cat, with piercing blue eyes, but maybe not with the same body style – more short and dense and less athletic, less tall. I truly thing she was a mutt, but not less beautiful for it.

My first ever Instagram picture was that of Bella

Bella was never officially my parents' cat, but they treated her always like she was. Their first dog never barked at a human, but he barked at Bella (and all the other cats of the neighborhood). He, even, knew she did not belong there. But she came there every day, religiously to nibble at food from her bowl which dad put on the kitchen window sill so the dog won't bother it. She spent many winters in my parents' laundry room, because mom would have no pets anywhere else in the house, otherwise.

I did talk about her as “my parents' cat”, but she was really my dad's. He is the animal lover in our midst and he infected both me and my sister with the love for cats. Mom could take pets or leave them, but mostly leave them.

She spent an errant life, really, of a stray cat. She would perch on top of roofs and jump from yard to yard, to avoid the busy street filled with crazy drivers, and naughty kids who would surely torment her. This made her smart.

She hoped from yard to yard, but I think she was fed only at our house. My parents were probably the only ones on the street going to the pet store for Bella. She scavenged what she could off the other neighbors, from trash and dropped food. But she had her designated food and water bowls at our house.

I never heard the neighbor ever looking for her when she was gone from their yard.

When we were there, she came and snuggled and said 'hello' in a quiet, shy voice. She loved to be petted and loved on. She did like humans, to some extent, after all, but never expected anything from you. She purred in content when you paid her any amount of attention. She was tame. She was a stray but definitely never feral.

This fall, she disappeared for a few days. Dad was besides himself with worry. We knew she was old, but I don't think we ever knew exactly how old. Dad thought for sure it was “her time” and she would probably never come back. But she did. Dad said she came back “fatter.” Well, they only found out recently that she was actually sick: her abdomen started swelling up with fluid and this past week she was the “fattest” she had ever been although she all but stopped eating or drinking.

Today, they found her on the floor of the bathroom, motionless. She was breathing, but that's about all. It was time. And she knew it. She had come back home, for the final stop. Like the owner that he acted as all these years, it was dad's “job” (the hardest job in the world) to help her through her final hours.

She was such a big presence in the landscape of my parents' house. She had, like all pets do, the superpower of really inserting themselves deeply into our hearts, right where our softest, most delicate, and most vulnerable spot lives.

She leaves a big hole in our hearts. My heart cries mostly for my dad, but for all of us who knew and loved her, over the years. I hope she is now truly free to roam, without cars, naughty neighborhood kids and dogs to chase her. And I hope she tells all our other furry friends that we miss and love them, too.

Rest, sweet girl. No more worries where to spend the winter. You will always be part of our family.

This is the last picture I took of her, this past May. It looks like she prophetically is waving us 'good bye.' Sweet girl! 

So Much More than Sunsets. Southern Florida in the Winter

I am sitting on my couch under a soft blanket, sipping hot coffee and looking at my Christmas tree, all decked out. As I do this on my last day off this year, I am flipping through my Key West and Miami pictures from our Thanksgiving trip this year and a longing for warm air, blue waters, and fresh seafood overtakes me …

I wanted to take some time to remember this trip and share a few favorites.

I remember looking up Key West on google, and there was a question: “What is Key West famous for?” The answer was surprising to me: “It is famous for sunsets.” Something of a cop-out, I think, and promptly chuckled to myself: “A boat in the middle of the ocean could be famous for that. That answer is unfair as much as it is limiting.” Although I am a nut for beautiful skyscapes of all kinds, Key West should be famous for a lot more things than just sunsets.

Here are my top 10 favorite memories from this trip and they cover Key West as well as Southern Miami:

1. Chase the history. There is so much history in Key West. You can tell from the age of the building, and the condition of the bricks and the cobble stone around the marina – whip-lashed by many of years of rain, salt, and many hurricane winds. I have always been fascinated with island living. Too much of a control freak myself to really let go and be isolated from the world, totally remote and truly disconnected, how people manage to build houses and a life without the comfort of land connections boggles my mind. The Overseas Highway that connects Key West to Miami did not open till the beginning of the 20^th century. The oldest house in Key West touts its foundation in 1829 and I am sure lots of people lived these parts even before then. Stepping back into this old house is like traveling in time – the house still has limited running water to the main house and looks and feels very much like a two hundred year old house. The smell, the creaky floors, the crooked windows, the lack of modern commodities like A/C keep the authenticity of its age intact.
                                    
                                            The Oldest House in Key West (1820's)
   There are other historic landmarks to visit: Hemingway's house, of course, famous not only for the polidactyl cats, but also for chronicling the life of one of the most famous, loved, intriguing authors of the modern era; president Truman's Little White House – the working vacation home that president Truman kept; the Audubon House, named after the famous ornithologist John Audubon, but with a dark and obscure past that only partially and very obscurely connects it to him. These are just the few historic landmarks we visited, but there are many others. You will hear stories about how the houses were built and how the gardens were put together, stories about their founders, either well-to-do, rich land folk, or wreckers, an occupation partial to these parts – folks who salvaged goods from wrecked ships and got a good penny from reselling them.
                                  
                       A rooster asleep on a fence at The Audubon House
                                                      in Key West
   Just walk the streets of Key West and the history will call your name like a mermaid. Skip the cheesy stores and visit one of these homes instead, and learn something about American history, as it was written in these parts.
2. Take a trolley tour of the city. There are various routes you can sign up for, but get the one that covers the most ground. I believe all of them are narrated and the driver will share things that you cannot find in any brochure. They will also have tips for what restaurant to go to for the best breakfast or a frozen treat, and where Jimmy Buffett's recording studio is located.
3. Walk Duval Street. Everything that you need is on this street. It runs clear across the island, East to West, and at 1.25 miles-length total you can walk from one end to another in a very short time. It has over 100 restaurants and many museums and other attractions to visit. If you are there for the shopping, many gift stores are stringed along this street as well. This street reminded me a lot of New Orleans: some restaurants have live music non-stop, mostly island, or cajun music. All the restaurants are open to the streets and you almost always sit under huge fans. It's the open air living that is very common to island living. The street is a good example of the heart of Key West. You can feel the heart of this city beating with each live music venue you encounter.
4. Even if you don't visit Harry Truman's Little White House, make some time to walk the Truman Annex neighborhood in which it is located. I always thought that beach living means either white washed houses raised on stilts, creaking under the rotting foundations, or huge 20+ bedroom mansions with thick gates and not ever affordable to the common person. The Truman Annex homes are neither. Still on the high end of the spectrum as far as affordability goes (as a quick search for this address shows on Zillow), they are beautifully architected, Old South homes, with thick pillars and plantation shutters. Each one of them is wrapped in a thick garden of palm trees with orchids growing on their trunks, exotic fruit trees and grasses. The homes are jewels hiding within the bountiful greenery around them, behind short, mostly metal fences. More like roadhomes than standalone homes, but separate buildings nonetheless. The neighborhood is lush and quiet, coquette and well groomed. An iguana might be perched here and there on a fence or on a hibiscus bush. You forget for a minute you are in Key West, feet away from the cheese of the t-shirt stores and frozen key lime pie on a stick covered in chocolate.
                               
                  An iguana perched on a house fence in The Truman Annex
                                           neighborhood in Key West
5. Eat some conch chowder. I know, this may sound like a cliché: we're in The Conch Republic, as Key West names itself, do we really have to fall for it?! And the answer is yes, absolutely. Please do! Several places make it and they were all good, but my favorite was the Manhattan style conch chowder at Caroline's Cafe on Duval Street. That tomato soup was probably stewed for hours on end to squeeze every little bit of sweetness from the tomatoes. The conch bits were generous in size and very filling, I mistook them for beef, they were so hearty. Conch by itself, I decided, has a mild flavor, not very impressive, but this chowder was something else! Also, if you want fried conch, get the conch strips, and not the fritters. I found that if the conch meat is mixed with bread and other things (like in the fritters) you end up with a mouthful of fried bread bites with no trace of seafood. So, the simple conch strips, battered and fried are more illustrative of actually eating the seafood than the fritters are.
                                            
                                 The conch chowder and the shrimp po' boy
                                                  at Caroline's Cafe 
6. Go up to The Southernmost Point, but skip the insanely long one-hour line. There is a line of tourists wanting to get their picture taken with the infamous landmark that marks this point in the American landscape. Rather, cross the street and take a picture from across it – you will have some crowds in the background, but you will have them being up close anyway. The buoy is very visible from across the street too, and you save an hour of standing on the hot pavement to take the same picture. With the time you gain back, turn your gaze towards the beach behind and around the buoy and watch the pelicans diving for fish and the iguanas basking on the rocks.
7. Stop by a less traveled, less advertised, random key and take in the landscape. We took a side road on Big Pine Key and drove through neighborhoods and into the natural preserves around them. We drove among the mangrove forests at the edge of the water until we reached a “Road Ends” sign. We spotted key deer which are the smallest deer in North America, and known for being hard to find. They were by the side of this very desert road and super friendly. They posed for a while for us, smiling, it seemed. We were actually looking for the No Name Pub - which was recommended to us – the oldest bar in The Keys, apparently (although I think they might compete with Sloppy Joe's of Key West for this title). This pub is famous for having dollar bills stuck all over the interior, about $60k worth, I believe some sites document. The bar itself, although quirky, was not that impressive, but the trip to get to it revealed another layer of beauty of these parts: crystal clear waters, reefs that stretch on forever, forests growing from The Atlantic, and deer …
                                   
                                                      Key deer on Big Pine Key
                                            
                                       The many dollar bills at No Name Pub
8. While in Miami, definitely go all the way to South Beach. I recommend the Art Deco Museum, just to understand a few things about this architecture and its place in America. Then, walk outside and take in the buildings. Each one is unique. Try to identify the architectural elements you learned about in the museum in each one. Makes for fun sightseeing. Feeling the beat of the street is magical – even if you have not seen the entire city of Miami, you sense that South Beach is one of those destinations where the soul of the city really vibrates and where you can really feel it pulsate. Just the heart of a place, distilled to its essence. The constant music and noise, the carefree tourists here to reinvent themselves and to be someone else than they are at home, the drifters in expensive convertibles, here just for the next thrill, the welcomeness of the locals is all part of the Miami vibe. Definitely make time for it.
                                
                                                    South Beach at night
9. Although South Beach is a must see, I do not recommend eating there. Although the food is good, the tripled and quadrupled prices are not worth it. Don't fall into the trap of the hosts luring you in for “Happy Hour.” The Happy Hour prices are huge in South Beach and the options are very limited. You'll end up buying something from the regular menu and they will be mad at you (they want you to get the oversized drinks so they can make their tips) and pay triple what you should be paying for a skewer of five shrimp. Instead, go to South Beach for the atmosphere and a nice walk, and go inland, on Biscayne Bay (where all the cruise ships take off) to any one of the five star hotels that have gourmet restaurants without the hassle and probably just as delicious and unique. It's Miami and they are all competing for the most and the best and the finest.
                                   
                                  The giant drinks at a South Beach restaurant
                           (notice the scale between the Corona bottles
                                                                             and the glasses)
10. Definitely try to get a non-stop flight to Miami from wherever you're coming. You want to spend the least amount of time on a plane and the most amount of time on the ground visiting, eating and taking in the sights. I also strongly recommend the drive from Miami to Key West, instead of flying directly into Key West. The drive on the Overseas Highway, across all of the Florida keys is an experience all in itself. Marvel at the amount of water all around you, stretching up to where it flows off the edge of the earth, it seems. Driving it down at sunset increases the sense of wanderlust. And pick your favorite key and stop for a little. You'll be surprised what it hides.

And as a bonus, yes, when in Key West, wander over to Mallory Square, on the West side of the island, to watch the sunset. For maximum visibility, go early and find a table right next to the railings at Margaritaville in Mallory Square. Sip a beer with a lime in it, and have a snack, then sit comfortably in your chair and wait for the sky show to start. This way, you ensure no crowds between you and the water. It is the perfect ending to a day filled of adventure.

I happen to think that every sunset is special. Every sunset is a reminder that the world still moves and things are still in balance. I also think there are no two sunsets alike. Ever. The light is different with every one, the clouds are different, and even the color of the water is different every day. There is something extra special about sunsets in Key West, though: after driving to what seems like the end of the planet, watching the world saying “good night” to light is magical in its intrinsic closure. You do have a stronger sense of ending and complete and irreversible finish, than in no other place. What is there to see beyond the last spot on the planet?! Nothing but a complete surrender to the water and to the skies. Key West gives you this feeling like no other place. But the rest of the reasons to go visit are worth this trip, too. I hope you go and I hope you agree. Here's to having a nice trip and making your own “top 10” list soon!

The famous Key West sunset. Click the picture to see the album of this trip. 

A Picture a Day. November 2018. On Romania's Birthday

Today, my original home country of Romania turns 100. For a small country in the middle of a Sea of Slaves, it did a good job during these 100 years: won two wars, threw out a regime, shot its dictator in cold blood, became a member of NATO and the EU, gave the world many amazing people, like Nadia Comaneci and Mircea Eliade. Those are the good things. It messed things up plenty, as well ... but we don't want to get into those ... It's a special day. 

It's a little bit unfair: when I think of Romania, I always see a country much older, with much deeper and thicker history than the United States. And, in truth, it is. But Romania as you know it today, mostly, has been around only since 1918. Before then, we were a bunch of provinces, all belonging to different powers, although all one deep-inside. 

Although I think of where I come from with true love and appreciation most days, although Romania is where my roots still are, very firmly, implanted, I feel more deeply connected with the people there than with the country itself. I feel like the country, or the place I am from is the country or the place I am in at-this-moment most times. 

Even back in the day when I was growing up, I figured I had this fluid soul, that kind of belonged to where it was at the moment ... The cities of Romania, the isolated mountains, a train in the middle of the farmland, a beach on the Black Sea Coast, and everywhere in between. 

This fluidity has kept me moving to this day. Just this month I have wandered between the mid-mountains of North Carolina all the way to the bottom of the American land, in Key West, Florida. 

My wanderings this month are documented in this album:

Click the picture to see the month of November 2018 ...

For better or worse, Romania is where I saw the light of day for the first time on the first day of my life. The place where I learned how to write, and read, how to write in this English language. The country where I loved first. Where I hurt first and cried first. It's my alpha point ... It will always be. No matter where I am, there will always be only one beginning of all beginnings ... 

Happy Birthday, Romania! You did well for yourself. Here's for the next 100! May you have peace, stability, and grace. 

The Grand Canyon: The Yin and the Yang of The American West

All blogs have been past due this year. It's no one's fault but my own. I seem to find little time just to chill and write anymore, much to my heart's discontent and desperation. But delay no longer …

We returned to the Southwestern desert about a month ago. Lucky as I have always been, I have reasons to go back for work, and because work would be no fun without play, I plan to see a lot more of the desert when I embark on these mandatory trips. Although I love the trees of North Carolina, the rivers, lakes, and ocean, too, my soul craves the desert every so often. Just like you crave a sunburn in the dead of winter.

We drove down from Utah into Arizona, to see The Grand Canyon for the first time together. We made Page, AZ our base-camp, and we traveled from there to The South Rim the first day and to the North Rim the second day.

I have said this before numberless times: anyone should experience driving through the desert at least once in their lifetime. The open space, the desolation, the solitary confinement between you and God, the hopelessness of hitting nothing but red and dust and rock and short and spikey prairie grasses does things to your brain and your heart that you can only feel; I cannot put into words well enough to tell you what that feeling is like. Not to mention that it is probably different for each one of us. One thing that I know for sure is that the desert will never leave you untouched, unstirred to your core, and unmoved... It's one of those experiences that I guarantee will change your life, or at the very least your perspective.

Every time when I drive through the desert and I take it in through my eyes, and nostrils, and ears, my mind brims with its vastness and never-endingness. There is some similarity, in my head, between the vastness of the ocean and that of the desert. No wonder that they tell us that the desert was once an ocean … I don't find that impossible one bit.

Page is a little bedroom community, it seems, for folks vising the Lake Powell and Glen Canyon areas, or The Grand Canyon. I know one person who grew up there, but even he says “it was only temporary.” This is the land of The Southwest, where adobe houses and Mexican food are good friends, where Navajo Indians hail from, and where peachy-pink sunsets are born. If you're quiet enough, you can hear the many centuries of history this land endured, from the territorial wars with Mexico, to those of The White Men submitting The Indians. The thousand years of traditions that the Colorado washed by, most of them unknown and undocumented, but only undug and guessed at by curious, lonely, university savants.

As many millions or billions of people in the world, I had seen The Grand Canyon in many pictures, magazines, movies, commercials and the like. I had some idea of what it would look like. But of course being on the edge of this big gaping hole, seen even from Space, is different than looking at a postcard. The one thing that shocked me was the incredible difference between the South and the North Rims. They are truly as different as the Yin and the Yang of a Chinese symbol.

Grand Canyon -  South Rim 

The South Rim is what we saw first. This is the Yang, full of light, screaming bright red and orange hues, and flooded in sunlight. This is the poster child of Arizona, as we all imagine it. It was also the most crowded and busiest. As gorgeous as the landscape was, I would not be fair to not tell you, it was also the most touristy and somewhat cheesiest. If you looked past the human factor, it was as saintly and majestic of a cathedral as all the other God given beauties of the world!

Grand Canyon -  South Rim 

Our world got darker the second day, and not just because it started raining pretty much as you left our hotel in Page. Driving to the North Rim was incredibly similar to driving towards Yellowstone National Park or maybe Glacier National in Montana. We could tell we were much higher than when we were at the top of the South Rim, the day before: the pine forests and the ashes never seem to grow lavishly and freely under 8000 or so feet. Once we stopped at the Visitors' Center for the North Rim, it all seemed dead. Deserted and locked away for the winter. No facilities were open, and the handful of visitors were pretty quiet and reserved. Not the cackling crowd of the day before, on the Yang Rim. It was also cold. Bitter windy and cold.

Grand Canyon -  North Rim at Bright Angel Point

You cannot park right next to the rim in The North, like we could the day before. After you park you have to hike a ways through the parking lot, and then through trails to actually arrive at the end of Bright Angel Point and see the canyon below. The canyon walls here are closer to each other, and much, much darker: the landscape turns from the brilliant red and orange into dark greens and blacks in The North. It is as if you are not even looking at the same formation anymore. The Colorado is down there, you think, for you cannot see it, and the terraces slope down towards it, just like you would expect. Yet, the closeness of the two cliffs and the dark colors make you wonder if you are standing at the top of the Going to the Sun road in Glacier National, or truly at the top of The Grand Canyon.

On the North Rim you are in the midst of the Yin of The American Grand Canyon: dark, secretive, hidden, obscure and remote. If you ever saw The North Rim out of the context of its state, and were asked to place it in any American State, Arizona would never come to mind. There was a bluish – grayish haze in the air, maybe the earlier rain that day, or maybe the cold breath of the canyon vegetation. Who knows?! If the South Rim looked like a Florida naked body, scorched in the sun and ready for the next fruity drink, the North looked like an old, grumpy bear, heavy and dark, wanting to be left alone, back turned towards the world while entering its caverns.

There was a strange mystery about The North Rim, a secrecy that one could not decipher. There was an eerie silence and no sound except the breeze through the trees around us echoing into the deep, dark valley below. You could stand unmoved and think the world is dead around you. And then, a baby snake crossed our path reminding us the world is still very much alive, yet.

One thing you cannot help but wonder about when you oversee such ancient, wild, and untouched beauty is the passing of time. I always wonder what such land looked like millions of years ago – I am sure it was different, but I am also sure it was just as gorgeous as it is today. What I hope for the world is that we are smart enough to keep this incomparable beauty untouched, keep its secrets hidden, its trails crooked and trees afresh for the millions of people that will come after us.

What I felt at the top of this huge gap was lucky: to be alive, to be able to move and get there, to be able to see, and smell, and taste the cold, dry air of the desert. I also felt grateful and moved that I am equipped with the right emotional package to understand the depth of the world in front of me, literal, or otherwise.

I could write volumes about how I felt and what I saw and not a word of it would help you understand the same that I understood when I was there. All I can advise you to do is make time from your busy life and go experience it: drive through the desert, search for the spots the most hidden and let your heart listen; let your eye watch. And come back transformed.

My sister and I have talked for years about how we must go away for a while, periodically, remove ourselves from our routines and recharge our batteries. If we don't do this a couple of times a year, just go, hide, and listen to the wind in the trees or a river, or the sound of the ocean waves, or the sound of deep, unshattered silence under the starry skies, whatever … we would never be able to get out of bed and do our daily routines ever again. We would never be able to face this crazy world with all the bad, disappointing news in it. This was one of those purging trips! Recharged and life counter is now back to 0.

I will close with some wiser and more talented words than mine, just to give you a better description than I could put together of this wide-open, universe-famous, all American gem:

“It seems like a gigantic statement for even Nature to make all in one mighty stone word. Wildness so Godful, cosmic, primeval, bestows a new sense of earth's beauty and size. . . . But the colors, the living, rejoicing colors, chanting morning and evening in chorus to heaven! Whose brush or pencil, however lovingly inspired, can give us these? In the supreme flaming glory of sunset the whole canyon is transfigured, as if the life and light of centuries of sunshine stored up in the rocks was now being poured forth as from one glorious fountain, flooding both earth and Sky." (John Muir)

Grand Canyon -  North Rim
Click the picture to view the entire album from this trip