That Wild Creature. The West.

There is a bluegrass singer I follow, and during one of her concerts she said she fell in love with the West because, being born and raised in North Carolina, she never knew you can ever see as far as you can see across the Western Desert. And that is true: if you want to take in the idea of infinite spaces, go on a drive between Salt Lake and Vegas, or between Denver and Taos, NM. In the immensity of the land, there is nothing else to feel, see, or think about but your own self – lost, alone, never-ending, eternal.

I am kinda loving my job. For many reasons, but one of them is that it allows me to visit The West once in a while. During the most recent work trip, my husband met me at the end of my week and we took a long weekend to explore Colorado and New Mexico. No, not the entirety of those states – we had to be selective, because time was short. But isn’t time short always?!

I could talk again for a shamefully long time about how much I love Denver (https://wander-world.blogspot.com/2012/11/my-ten-reasons-to-move-to-denver.html). But I did that before, so I will skip that part of the trip altogether in favor of never-seen-(to-me) places.

Since I was in college back in Romania, while watching Dr. Quinn – Medicine Woman (you are allowed to chuckle), I dreamed about going to Colorado Springs and hiking (or driving) up Pikes Peak. There was something of legends in that show: the Natives, the Rockies, the Western tales of fearless women and lawless men – there was an attraction, a lure about it all that drew me in like a drug. Although I have been to Colorado many times, and lived next door to it for seven years, I never made it to Colorado Springs … till now.

It was a cold, late spring day when we arrived, and Pikes Peak and Cheyenne Mountain were clad in a thick, low fog. There was no hint of any peaks. Just the promise of a mighty mountain, but no sight of it, really.

We ventured up to Pikes Peak Highway despite the warnings from our hotel receptionist and the rangers at the gate advising us against it because “you know: we’re having some weather up there”. Now, Pikes Peak rises above the sea level more than 14,000 ft. Because it was starting to snow and because we were told that “up there” it had been probably snowing all day, we did not make it to the top: there was not much to see from up there, anyway, with the thick fog embracing the mountain, but the roads were slick too, not to mention steep and winding. When the temperature dipped to 27F, we decided to turn around. We were barely at 10,000 ft.

Colorado Springs seen through fog from Pikes Peak (cca 8000 ft elevation)

Fog and all, a mighty mountain never disappoints: we stopped for pictures, and there was a deep silence that you could have heard a beast’s heartbeat thump. There was no wind, no echo, no other cars: just a serenity, solitude, and quiet that is hard to capture into words. You could almost hear the gentle swish of each snow flake on the pavement. As we climbed higher towards the 10,000 ft mark, the valley became less and less visible in the fog, until we could see nothing but clouds, like we were on a plane.

We turned around and decided to go to the Garden of the Gods Park – a natural park which has red rock formations on display amongst the bright green prairie vegetation – the contrast is beautiful! It’s a drive-in park, so, with the rain upon us, we looped around and stopped briefly for pictures of the red rocks. Those are what I miss the most out East: the shades of the red rocks in the Western Desert are eerie and their beauty, again, hard to describe. I wish I had the talent to paint them, because those would be more telling than what I tell you about them.

Garden of the Gods formations - Balancing Rock on the right

We ate at Colorado Mountain Brewery, a restaurant in a former railroad roundhouse built in 1880’s.  Sometimes food places are famous for the food. I believe this one should stand out for the venue and its history. The restoration of the place is beautifully done – as old as the walls look, the brick looks almost brand new, and so do the large windows out of which locomotives once peeked …

The next day, we headed down to Taos, NM. I have been craving to finally see New Mexico, and Taos in particular, since I started reading Natalie Goldberg’s books, almost 20 years ago. There is a magic about New Mexico, a je-ne-sais-quios that transpires from all the books, images, memories of anyone who’s ever been there. And hence the attraction to see it for myself.

I said we were there in late spring, but it snowed almost the entire way from Colorado Springs to Taos. The roads were clear, but the desert on either side were loaded with snow. Visibility was very limited and the thick fog of the previous day returned. It was cold. Maybe high 30s – low 40s. Cold. And wet. Which made it even colder.

Our landscape en route from Colorado Springs to Taos. Mid May. 

Taos is a place lost in time. Sometime ago history forgot to advance here. It must have been before the time when they figured side roads and parking lots must also be asphalted. It must have been the time before they told people not to talk to strangers, because everyone in this town is your long-lost friend.

Taos downtown - peaceful, quiet, old

Maybe the first thing that strikes you in Taos is that it seems to be poor: the streets are some of the worst I have seen in America and not all of them are paved. The homes are either patched up or leaning – although newer, more “together” ones do appear on random elevated roads, in the middle of brush or on lush green golf courses. If insecurity is a sign of poverty, most windows and doors have thick bars around them. And yet the whole town is flooded with artists’ studios and art stores, some of them very high-end art stores. A land of contrasts like the rest of this country, but with more poor than rich details …

Street corner in Taos, NM

There is something foreign and exotic about the New Mexico red architecture – something peeled out of history books and definitely not purely “American”. I said, when I went to  Oahu in Hawaii, that that place has no business calling itself “America”. I feel the same way about New Mexico: think of a seamless cocktail of Spanish and Native Indian with American West merely as a garnish and you have figured out Taos. The Spanish influence is everywhere – you pass through towns named Alamos, Salida, Poncha Springs, and Mosca … The American West is nearby: you cross a street called Wagon Road … And all this unravels in the canvas of pure Native American country: you are in the town of Taos, after all. All in all, Taos is its own mixture of things, roots, and history … What makes Taos today is the confluence of all those trends and yet so much more …

Example of Taos architecture

Baptist church in Taos, NM

Every corner of every street is a work of art – the architecture, the doors, the flags they hang outside the homes, the cobblestone streets, and the interior courts all create this universe of history, old timey-ness, and mystery in which the whole town is enwrapped. It’s not a very big town, with a population of barely 5000 people, but it’s vibrant: art is what flows through its veins, just like what every pole that lines the streets reminds you: “Taos is art.”

  

Very varied New Mexican art

We ate one night at Medley – a wine bar and restaurant off the beaten path (a local hostess told us about it; it was so remote Siri didn’t know about it, nor did Yelp). And we were admiring the paintings in that place (like I said some places are about the food, some about the surrounds; this was definitely about both), and our waitress told us the paintings were the works of their own bartender. They were beautiful and huge portraits of pets, mostly. I asked her if that is a prerequisite to live in Taos: to have some kind of an usual talent in some art, and she answered snarkingly: “Oh, absolutely! I am still trying to figure out my niche, but I better hurry up and find it before they evict me.”

One of the many amazing, one-of-a-kind doors in Taos

Our reception at our resort, El Monte Sagrado (oh, that name!), was unbelievable! We were welcomed at the entrance by an escort, then walked in “the way back” in one of the casitas that together with many others made up the property, to the “front desk”. It was more of a “way back” desk, a cozy office, with dimmed lights, and three desks on huge tree trunks with natural rock tops. As we checked in, we were invited to sit on armchairs and we were offered coffee, tea, or water. To say that everyone was nice is the most unjust understatement: everyone was doting on us: eye contact, hand-shakes, and questions about our well-being, comfort of travel up to now, and every other question you can imagine. We were asked if we would like a private tour of the property so we can assess all that it has to offer. We politely declined, but we did say we would do that on our own.

One of the three "front desks" at our resort

The grounds were hand-cut from a premium, exclusive travel brochure, only better, because this was the real deal: the hotel is a collection of two-story main buildings connected by New Mexican-style casitas, with interior courts. The whole place had a giant interior court of its own, lush green and peppered with blooming trees and aspen. There was a stream and several coy fountains throughout the resort grounds which looked like a carefully manicured Japanese garden. The feeling of peace and silence overwhelmed you … Again, I felt like we were lured into this secret retreat that you hear about in Taos, where people go in for a few days of self-imposed silence, or yoga practice, or a writing boot camp …

El Monte Sagrado resort, in Taos, NM

The rooms were nicely decorated with Western accents and local art, cozy reminders of where you are ... 

The grounds at El Monte Sagrado resort

Taos reminded me why great works of art sprout in the most incredibly penurious and empty environments: in the absence of everything, the soul is liberated and free to create its own reality. This is why, I think, many artists in all media, gravitate to Taos: there is no noise, no distraction, no big city temptations, no richness, no luxury to tire the eye and pollute the mind: there is only sky, mountain and stream and your ears, eyes, and nose are free to make up their own reality with what they sense.

After several days of walking the roads, visiting local museums (The Millicent Rogers Museum is a gem truly hidden in the desert: a beautiful collection of Native art) and many local art shops, after shooting the Rio Grande Gorge in the middle of a sleet storm at below freezing temperatures, and after sampling some of the local food joints (I have never tasted chili hotter than the green chili at Michael’s Kitchen: I agree with my husband that that chili should have come with special instructions!), we headed back towards Colorado.

The Rio Grande Gorge

The drive between Taos and Breckenridge, CO is one of the most beautiful examples of a drive in The Rockies that I have ever been on. Reminds me a lot of the drive in Glacier National Park, up in Montana. Majestic peaks, eternal snow, an immensity of pines bordered elegantly by aspen trees and loads of wildlife or exotic domesticated mountain-only animals, like alpacas, llamas, and yaks. Again, the land is boundary-less and swallows you whole.

The land out there is un-apologetically gorgeous. Like a perfect photo-model that you see on TV that has absolutely nothing wrong with their face or body features, the land is perfect. Purely perfect: not one strand off, not one feature distorted, not one detail astray … You’re rendered speechless, because perfection defies words …

The Rockies and their elk

Breckenridge is a tiny mountain town with big ticket stores and somewhat pretentious visitors – I s’ppose this is what ski resorts attract. I like it, nonetheless, because you feel like the mountain is on top of you! And I am a sucker for a mighty peak!

On the way from Taos to Breckenridge

A day later, we drove sheepishly, silently, begrudgingly, and sad back to the Denver airport to ask the little captain to fly us back home. We jumped back on that plane leaving wilderness behind and being grateful to be back into the great wide world so we can tell the tales that magic land shared with us.

Till we see you again, wild creature. Till then … 

This is what I mean when I say the mountain is on top of you. This is when I feel I am truly getting lost ... Click the picture to see the entire album from this trip. 

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!