tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86047564398430843872024-03-05T13:57:05.995-08:00The Ferry DiariesConfessions of a Commuting JournalistKristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.comBlogger297125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-11975663577381550152010-04-26T08:03:00.000-07:002010-04-26T08:26:57.838-07:00Goodbye Ferry, Goodbye Seattle<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPDSGdevJ0yxxk2WVAJNAHeRb1fE6o3r7UXqrC-ybzoE9jd-3X7IKTAPPdigCt3DbBqNPgeURsPXXSSaqQvAmCjzGBpklhFNaRhMx-BX38RUnlzJqK9NA0t6sRbXmevFtq471UNGtudxU/s1600/Ferry+Ride+12-3-09+030.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464462771845403650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPDSGdevJ0yxxk2WVAJNAHeRb1fE6o3r7UXqrC-ybzoE9jd-3X7IKTAPPdigCt3DbBqNPgeURsPXXSSaqQvAmCjzGBpklhFNaRhMx-BX38RUnlzJqK9NA0t6sRbXmevFtq471UNGtudxU/s400/Ferry+Ride+12-3-09+030.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><div>I believe I've ridden the ferry from Bainbridge Island over 1,000 times. Day in and day out, I embark and disembark 10 times per week, 10 hours of commute time. This gentle steel beast has glided through choppy, white-capped water, through a Sound as smooth as steel. It's been jostled by gales, bumped over waves. It's the place where I rediscovered my love for writing, and a place where I've devoured books and beer. Instead of viewing the ferry as part of an annoying commute, I viewed it as a place where I could relax both before and after work.</div><div></div><div> </div><div>I will only ride the ferry another 10 times. This week will be my last few trips on the Wenatchee, or the Puyallup. It's been so long that I recognize people now - families with kids, a woman who wears the same boots and coat every day, men in neon biking gear. My fellow ferry commuters are like family, and I'll miss them. I'll miss the mirrored grays and blues of sky and sea.</div><div></div><div> </div><div>But the time has come to move on. I'm going back to my hometown of Portland, Oregon, ready to rediscover its quirky neighborhoods, restaurants and bars. It's where my family lives, and many friends from high school and college. My boyfriend David got a great job there, and I'll take my time looking for employment. I'm going to focus on writing, cooking, relaxing. I've been working for 7 years straight, and I've got the itch to take a break. I'm looking forward to having space to think and exercise, to plan out meals and buy veggies from the organic produce stand. I'll miss newsradio and it's excitement, but I'll also enjoy the time off.</div><div></div><div> </div><div>It's been an amazing run in Seattle and on KOMO Newsradio. I've worked as an editor, a desk journalist, an anchor and a reporter. I've interviewed celebrities, politicians, dignitaries, people doing good things in our community. I was in Key Arena when the roar for the campaigning Obama was so loud I could barely hear. I was in downtown Seattle when he won the election, when people closed Pine street with their glee and celebration. I've covered heartbreaking crime, acts of violence so devastating it took my breath away. I've meet some amazing friends and worked with talented people in Seattle who I'll never forget.</div><div></div><div> </div><div>I'm changing the focus of my writing now. Instead of writing news every day, I'll write a blog about everything Portland. I grew up in Beaverton, and hardly ever explored the eccentric neighborhoods of the Rose City. Now I'll be living near Hawthorne street, and there will be plenty of fodder for blogging. I hope you'll join me on my new blog, called <a href="http://www.khanes.wordpress.com/">Portland 360.</a></div><div></div><div><a href="http://www.khanes.wordpress.com/">http://www.khanes.wordpress.com/</a> </div><div></div><div> </div><div>Goodbye ferry, and goodbye Seattle. I know I'll be back! And if you're ever in town, please contact me for a drink or a walk or a bike ride. I'm very happy to be going home. </div>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-72148302220772796692010-02-04T15:01:00.000-08:002010-02-04T15:37:48.881-08:00Whale SongWe woke up with the sun this morning to go on a whale watching tour, after arriving home late the night before from seeing an incredible Hawaiian singer named Willie K. We saw him at an Irish bar called Mulligan's in Wailea, and he blew my mind with his voice, and his guitar and ukelele playing. He can sing anything from old Hawaiian music, to opera, plus he has a wicked sense of humor. I'd suggest anyone who goes to Maui to try to find a Willie K performance.<br /><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>Our Ultimate Whale Watch cruise started at 7am, and 17 of us piled onto a large raft that would take us into the dark blue waters to search for whales. Passengers were groggy, but armed with the latest camera technology. I felt like I was at a press conference, hearing all those camera clicks. We took off fast, skimming the ocean, as soon as our guide saw a couple of spouts.</div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434528761532789186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOE1jXT9qzsrGSkpgr6vphQPQrJHD91MkA5T10me3nxmcMCR_6KTK_1leoKjHgTKv7psEyxmDxZK24rcZh4dPPZXoD2l8PhBQxLJgRcIngUFnRkp4autVoUfWq_wpsi19yFsKbkrOcVH0/s400/Hawaii+Maui+335.jpg" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434529482562461954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAVSnEEIL9YuMXCBh5mmoTSR00S3dgUiClzPjjUcnIS3GpodyvUQZGe5FyuCCblaGh4Xb4Cst88umBeQLQPBcLfGszS4BMueFBTJLuHBpYBabXs_UARZ4w4F5nQGP2V12LoQXAVS8OkUU/s400/Hawaii+Maui+336.jpg" border="0" />Then we saw a Mom and her baby, plus a male whale to watch out for them, their lower backs arching gracefully out of the water.<br /></div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434530702488428066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4wOKG5VjbBfBeAWGN_a27Mw9vaQGMIhFYJkfkrvaYa9n69ozylWhqUfM6JW4_qKADYVnnNei782FfY5OwBdadCuow2BMx_Rzv7M-Vms2z2VSgYngu7-BNiqNUyeEzugrNr4OvCEsXloE/s400/Hawaii+Maui+391.jpg" border="0" />Mom and baby were playing, fin slapping the water. You can see two fins raised up if you look closely enough.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434531188915022658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxcjuKjYNIF9uZsFXOwfCufQdj3IulGw83ECo3AaeYZU98iUKeKeKrycruUSwHrCIPdoYLzf-1QieimMtlWzU7HP4kc4dHr0ZKm7jmp0S0jmcCpTNpPTPN2iLggy95hRZTrghUCV2SMOk/s400/Hawaii+Maui+328.jpg" border="0" />Then we saw a huge chunk of tail push out of the water, and slap the surface. The guide says that tail weighs 70 tons. It was over too quickly for a photo, but you can see the splash.<br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434531817408785058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin4vDuv4X7gJhZ2SWGj4pj03xkt-cHw4CnhO-Qm3fcR1CkKS1Y79C40Hmv_HhJvgy3pw7Anicwm_JX7FjkotF2lf2-fP4AeOgyq2hcurKyUB_oRdVirjiEcc164fic-tuOxAjrbmJWyj8/s400/Hawaii+Maui+377.jpg" border="0" />The whales travel in packs of two or three, and we were so close we could hear them breathe, big exhales that spurted mist high into the air.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434532418933688466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_intDKFNvGTGKhYFNNLz6MS_bX8SNiEBJJ3U-sj5NHdeZYedR8cNVGOGY8M75VUoDC58q0NQe_wmvKTNKQ8zQPslEHBXLzU3MxRNzMqmYsz71tjiJ079ciIqTbWXrPpMICR1jnyYKHKo/s400/Hawaii+Maui+380.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434532918410775282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGEJjfwXrB6YmjOhNny6C6J0svSQ4YJKV4DtGCdt90JOI74fUtXdAGPSZR1TpZBH_8CRjEljEyCyfCw0OQet1Xbk9H4P2xUw4oNQnJMCWXsESc0eRcoc-i1CWfBFmkxK3HPk0yCQsb9cw/s400/Hawaii+Maui+383.jpg" border="0" />We even saw one whale point its face above the surface, the guide says the whale was looking around, seeing what was above water.</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434533378773488546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBpxnNaVmtUCcSP-fGgU478UhDEjh7vd3xHICuAj_bAlFOAF8TE_ubf9eOvf0Co3ojutGo2hUVCiweuTAeRwhNDqWQphTFu4VYq53zs_Vo8zZdCY_d-A98ZBF4XbEBR7_Zf-VkK3WK_4E/s400/Hawaii+Maui+387.jpg" border="0" />One whale got so close to us, that it was only a 20 feet away, and I saw its back curving into the water. We thought for a second it might swim under us, but we didn't see it again.</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434534173442121106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQHQHH6G0MU_sb0dSX0jpjpQNQXGyWJ5k7M4UZ_SnqjXpfC5Gyn1F0IgVnIi5BG5-vicJr_YBVAVzROHhpdTWamxiUgQ6lNVNfJ59MuQ8LK9BWNWahQKWSsGcLXlLFAH7YGrHbWcs-Nc/s400/Hawaii+Maui+436.jpg" border="0" />They say when a whale dives, it leaves a slick on the surface of the water, a window to the depths of the ocean where the whale disappeared. Whalers used to think this was oil from the whale's skin.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434534659375001986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh7ntiaDdC0h3vzOq-afP1uLz0fbJ3r3F2gy8n3-2fuz6tMx0tOU3_XzPVvy2itn6Y3fY98UMTxZoLWkkvB2OmU9yQVLm7452P1kLUIq5uWO08jF8RSi7Fwc_REu0TE-4ruqQk902RpdQ/s400/Hawaii+Maui+437.jpg" border="0" /> The guide also put a hydrophone in the water, and we got to hear the whale song. It was a melodic tune, sung in recognizable refrains. The naturalist says all whales sing the same song, depending on the time of year, no matter where they are in the world. These are such amazing, gentle creatures, and I felt blessed got to see them up close. It's hard to believe there used to only be 1,000 of them left in the world because of whaling, now there are close to 30,000.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434535293541410402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP5wiHivp6FWidn1dPaPO7G0XTTrJUVdHq_1e7f7-cd_vACsulqinaTH4EVZSKzqiqP86J-048_pSPb6ENSZAJEUuk_OsF5Qs7We_u_hyphenhyphenKGM6OVj_CH_pR4k7pq0OOrdNmRLkDE3CKl_k/s400/Hawaii+Maui+447.jpg" border="0" /> I'm so glad people love whales now, and are only armed with cameras, not guns or spears.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434535842535934578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7N49v5TcF3MUHN2Fg8ApJxl4js5x_r7iXxVTWlls7Y3R5mhVpnFrByAqi0Cll8cYWdqQq1qUbdfzAi8RPia7O8P1yWml5tHIchOZuC3LEaPlG3nqv4eQFQbQVAYmAqwohNzmfbmHaA-I/s400/Hawaii+Maui+384.jpg" border="0" /></div></div></div></div></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434536218527643378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgISwXmYE4zk6mRiCNujLuU4JdnwbckhEhR1HMPGSfn5sACWWbEFq0h80iZkbuZk6blFunoeOC_twtYy5eZOI3KVt6O5o0itzzxkSogWGtMwHbEruRyBIQ9U9YM8H2lBWormZOjD6jNdYA/s400/Hawaii+Maui+406.jpg" border="0" />I can't wait to go whale watching again!Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-58476252922233940882010-02-03T09:03:00.000-08:002010-02-03T09:43:44.828-08:00Hangin Loose...in the Hawaiian rain.Hawaii has been misbehavin' lately. I woke up on Tuesday to storm clouds, a gray ocean, then rain falling on Lahaina, painting the road black. Tourists slumped in chairs, muttering, "Is it gonna rain all day?" David and I took it in stride, being from Seattle, and drove all the way to Maui's upcountry to check out the farmland, tropical forests, and a little town called Mokowoa, or something like that. I'm too lazy to check it out. It was interesting, but nothing to write home about. On our way there, we stopped at a lookout, and I saw evidence of humpback whales - white puffs in the deep, gray ocean. We saw their backs curving out of the water as they took a breath, a truly wonderful experience. Tourists yelled and pointed, training their binoculars like a single eye on these magnificent creatures. That's one thing I have to do before I leave - whale watch.<br /><br />David had a little work to do, so I left him at a Starbucks in Kihei and went to explore the beaches in South Maui. I passed the Grand Wailea, Four Seasons, and countless gated communities with pristine palm trees, and short, manicured grass. I'd guess South Maui is where the celebrities vacation, with its rugged hills and hidden, curving roads.<br /><br /><div><div><div><div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434065401070854898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTR3Hwm7yLXhxE0SjgNtd8ppLj0kHwEmTLhxcX3onQt00_OCe5CDI7q11c90KxsWDN9RUvyjXuEh6DS6rpskHNMkqBTtlmWZXHns8sAVw_Vik9UHST6ydUanqOdYGPA6p4tAa5pFEmzYU/s400/Hawaii+Maui+287.jpg" border="0" />I kept driving past the resorts in Wailea, and the road became narrow, the foliage like desert. I saw cacti with big paddleboard arms, and wiry, black trees. I drove until I saw a sign for "Makena State Park," and turned right onto a dusty road that ended in a huge parking lot. I got out, put on my water shoes, and walked down a trail that was part sand/part rock. When I saw Big Beach, it took my breath away.<br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434068329802299634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNSDGLTjYopPPlW63JtedLTrpxpUjWUVHctLtuxSiU6YaXoKcJQ5zhuc3ykU6ZuPHQ0F3gm5gY41YOTISO1G8ZJF3OqJjunlhRXWDIUV0b0GqC9d6bgs0bol3CIJNDokYfGeJicTaBm_w/s400/Hawaii+Maui+264.jpg" border="0" />A beautiful crescent with thick, golden sand, and turquoise water.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434069105593797138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_IxTkBq-BH5awJwqcPwY7MhxQ3Zj9WUwZrbXNyT41Cexw4QsH5LX__XTWRhA7M9gOYZB5nYo0aUwtZpmc1AH_mBbrSJhOzxWctm6jUSjPYC8Pb6iVG9wJoS_XQfvYQsnXRlgdLs_ekWo/s400/Hawaii+Maui+265.jpg" border="0" /> I walked in the warm water, feeling my feet sink into the sand. Lifeguards sat at their posts, and warning signs talked of undertows an shallow, breaking waves. I could feel it, even as the water rushed around my calves. It was strong, and I could easily fall victim to its grasp.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434069728971214034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwR-zqAW6dtELVEvuL7b1058pSLF9fLkIJ4_yr4JpIIL-cifcbP6V8PA-F6sVuPM5o8f6lkKoldWz124SDmJeGoWpeDubWD3-txSx_KUanAM5q_J3TF2phH9QRdMd5saI7qpi7A_QPN8M/s400/Hawaii+Maui+261.jpg" border="0" />The beach was pretty empty, so I continued walking, talking photos with my small, waterproof camera. Mist hugged the distant hills.</div><br /><div></div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434070443456552578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAbe6_LiuDb-ZL_peCDxYNO8GQU0rBHENcvDxnDNyQV6SaFeVOvtWAn20b9ssHX2fpEYfOv-R5uDildquI5D6w8evEAIvuXx64yqV6yQn-ISc7LDzv3_QdJCU14-0Cvhcx5It6r_ZDMb8/s400/Hawaii+Maui+249.jpg" border="0" />The far end of Big Beach in Makena is punctuated by thick, sharp lava rocks, and I imagined the steaming lava hitting the water thousands of years ago.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434071244620717570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj01oi9_Fw-pw7C-37-fi7qVhY2tldoxcGeL4LRvosehK00gB6vmx3pZNedgn8Jm-ZD87hUDxhtyTmoIV5VSYZa9VR_uOojaj4Hbag_Zo-tKgJZ0HD2coqjchBmr1B4i_SiUS0Cgb2xZco/s400/Hawaii+Maui+286.jpg" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434071572932082210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4CmQagAql5vi58cohStP4dkB3raHv3z9fyIf9Cts1rOAZxBMxninVu1RucHG9VVZvAh8ubn5jBK_Z4D68y0BbCWe1RhUILZ62olPoHf_Km2x-Rp7ham9GCMaFTq9nwyPFdUYslk_cwZQ/s400/Hawaii+Maui+283.jpg" border="0" /><br />For some reason, I was really amazed by this lava rock. It's texture, its shape, the way it dried exactly how it landed on the beach.</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434072115953287362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwCiulB7CX3bM8RApuP3RIbHSc3WqN-pOE7pNxql0RIhLjS9TqoqI6cyNNRJsnC_SXx80YQaiVjaeRosZs1Acszf_DjTYnZ5k9EyR1Slxp_6WEJOhC5TOu1zgywFLXQSuAwbNcYoIJe60/s400/Hawaii+Maui+276.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434072458782409010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcHcuO9i57mxrT3dT06SOTTBH4CHcrMVzlRqrh32SYsYDuDdfIwILaIsuFpk_Fl7hWmdQeenzarGpp5GV4jjzXW2xEToLlOC6EL8g4c7d6NxuqXXKQ9ef9efjqc8Zv_P6JFdtNgKW-ZKY/s400/Hawaii+Maui+275.jpg" border="0" />It was a beautiful beach, and a calming, peaceful experience. I saw islands in the distance, and the beach didn't have many people. I'd definately come back here with a cooler of beer and food, and just watch the waves roll in and out. I might even take a dip, if I was right in front of the lifeguard stand.</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434073040868169586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI43gyh18VPS-f7lPHkjdtRMYhjRKZOoOWt-KEC23bgNBmPDNrpoUNSgICDc19o74tUkvRctCgNxjEX3AHwgyv3ebQcFL76vTrZeuDemwvQi8DLY6QRMYDXLJVRgKProPVf3oLAmYGFg4/s400/Hawaii+Maui+285.jpg" border="0" />It's 730am in Hawaii on Wednesday, and I'm looking out my hotel room window at trees bending in the wind, the flag whipping wildly on my deck. The sky is blue, though, and the sunlight is already hitting boats moored in the ocean. Soon I'll go on a walk and try to find Baby Beach, which I hear is popular with tourists and locals. I don't mind the wind, but hope the rain goes away. For Good. By the way, my birthday flowers are looking mighty happy!</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434074111791089714" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_zPSZo9PuU4vN-WhyphenhyphenEun1AS0y6-Tt8uJIN0rRktsX0ET3Ige_XelPlwR1YfArNcOrUyXrb0xCEmPbNHzmwog_b3pmvGFkJnk7QQkTEWSeRB41XVC7VKJ7Trsryowe_Gg6G8J7P_Hg5o0/s400/Hawaii+Maui+293.jpg" border="0" />Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-73243093682374900082010-02-02T08:43:00.001-08:002010-02-02T09:31:47.706-08:00Hau'oli lā hānau!<div>I couldn't ask for a better place to start my 29th year than on a deck in Lahaina, Maui, overlooking the ocean.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433688082355727826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmoy-WqskHQeMzWRfB-EX6w4u_g3ImWNAnExGX6WqDO0srCqSbrlBqTcnc-VoIj_V-e8_dYuc0-lMcllLkxUBaGbDizuGhskYFWmkMcu8lzv_Hfcx-qVBOeWU7It3Q6EYOlok7JTevbhA/s400/Hawaii+Maui+075.jpg" border="0" />I spent the morning relaxing, shopping, watching the cruise ship passengers through a telescope on my deck. Then David and I ate at the Plantation, and got snorkeling gear from a shop across the street. I'd heard about this beach north of us called Kapalua Beach, which is named as one of the Top 10 beaches in Maui. It's crescent shape, and still, smooth waters are perfect for swimming and snorkeling, which I soon found out for myself.<br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433689167756757410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcNi8oDBCJXWnO13yoHiR8NkoH-H7KlBZHXImiIaRChzXaSfLPFd9xIQvMBkLLk4S_KN1AdVD9_zApSMb1buDcLBwCyzyyLiDZsVip9LaUnY2o_xOhDb3d9xK-YHEFJogetQj5yCZvHvE/s400/Hawaii+Maui+238.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433689603998861266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLVZa-5G5BFz5xqtuvZUhgOpLU5O7gTMz6TZ7XE5zUUlqB7i3L0lkjZsC9iWXUSgexw2mwR2mMRemvV_0SehE6L4RtcLrO6OtDqBzqr3qcDOIrHv7pVlHo17pw3vmNbKJOMYg2sMa9N7s/s400/Hawaii+Maui+232.jpg" border="0" />At first, the water felt cold, but our bodies adjusted quickly, and it was like being in a bathtub. I had no goosebumps, and marveled at the tropical fish, and pink coral that looked like brains. The heavy salt water held my body, and I felt myself rising and falling with the waves, one with the breath of the ocean. It was a relaxing, soothing experience. When we finished with our underwater sightseeing, we crawled back on the beach, tired but happy, and let the sun bake the salt into our skin.</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433690618870784018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib873uanicD__FWBJSRdNnq6NNKVHedr_bFKadYqsCffGwjKhUXAwUNOiEqbDSqTdbKc3X5v_cyyJEOVVZg0d-tvi9C-8_va-kad9QDtwhQa2KsG4spWWq1WteNLPvzOxugDRnIsNB7fw/s400/Hawaii+Maui+225.jpg" border="0" />The water dried quickly, the sun wasn't too hot, and palm trees swayed gently above, their long fronds like fingers carressing the breeze. I couldn't ask for a more relaxing place.</div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433691911982070434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7YdnmbKBSwcWs6GVN4XMMBr70Apb9j8Px4Y78d_L7r46V8BTVtiin20IeZNfGlvgAeSEZb1EqECH9KsxHx3k-PDZbPWSZyw7rspwZp_vW3sfY4IITJan25eaxK5mFtUZ7rSjALY-C7Jk/s400/Hawaii+Maui+228.jpg" border="0" />Then it was on to the Old Lahaina Luau that evening, which is rated as one of the best, most authentic luau's in Hawaii. We were greeted with a fresh lei and a mai tai, and led to our table with a perfect view of the stage.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433692627217248914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4qZS3gSbmKrWZtBtMsoCNoPLdNsNw3Ax_rL4BQBaCbIJi7RoPXo43jFlbmJ6lTkAiIDfWfHcQiSdzsrRWsH32mMHGty6kBGZzWak1rYsjyWuq2s43SVwXZtAbBSUBHOFORdPfYQWyhQ0/s400/Hawaii+Maui+077.jpg" border="0" />The space was large, with palm trees, thatched huts, and the ocean just a few feet away.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433693513030811154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuha4gcWTkhFCtc-j4mhCOAafcBnIQiwwS4vMQHh4-icxnv7T1lq5xTBl4k5VApPFTmKQ2XEhHrZ8X7907_51iMNl35p-_zfzIdqvvmBTTV8YxBY4SmHTC8nMIKPnhP8Al0sF15-b_Hco/s400/Hawaii+Maui+088.jpg" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433694430162531970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZkoSNCxubh78U1E314B9vfs9eHKKccsx9z80Y4xtp6oeFg8yRNJxlooVZtpX2cqrmZKPY9_uN7Gfoy_GDy6UBsX7yGyIyKXMDq483KYpW4b7UCX9YlM73TZUkQNigdFjKgy7BkIzLfGk/s400/Hawaii+Maui+128.jpg" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433694853935185458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9tIDOVFibBE6PfN6bpI6I76IWBbWgzMSMFQPLTjIY64hMRg9zPSY1L4Pco5RQxsGw_KBs4otQ39wytkU2EWJLbNzxffyx0BUTt6QLh_iqyge5XHdV4avjlnqG3Wkf8hfDLfogb2fIBec/s400/Hawaii+Maui+130.jpg" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433695349629834722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglkci1UBpnB1DHMvcTIyQ8q4QhilDm7MYHDwPeqqR0Gzg7J9KswN_TfXAxj5En-dXHL1T6q6G5uxkgkc72UGvfUHpzi9_kmHMUx4n5JTTaQRJPeSd4vLxufFmECbU1pnj5f2Jq1UHhujg/s400/Hawaii+Maui+096.jpg" border="0" />Then it was time for dinner, and our server, a buff Hawaiian surfer wearing a yellow and orange sarang, led us to the buffet, where we had kalua pork, mahi mahi, teriyaki chicken, fresh mango and papaya, rice, bread, and all sorts of things I can't even describe. It was delicious, and the mahi mahi's flowed as the hula dancing presentation began!</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433696796521537458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe9EcKkDIJ8rIuX8P2AIk7MNmxW29w0do_uSyVFiSLq_qW9UXM-VIdXWLxSMNm4eZH71gNa0IEtDO1YGXc9v7vEnKL95QhAgoTTKXUTMVwHzHv2tHX5Q3eAevjALz6GV51_oNfi9kNxNw/s400/Hawaii+Maui+131.jpg" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433697082583609442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg64waxuW-AmHCvq2CPCsSTvugmOBepxWPuQqUhxxg4T2sXtUUYdyyN-5Gwk9ynp7ugFJQlkVHAP11_iUBhq1tkgynylot0fg14zO3ch-ZoPhy5PGflOj8Vfk1t8-aFg1o2eFZJQuqaPho/s400/Hawaii+Maui+141.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433697943611071746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVmfbknve0hoN-y9vv_m3Q8i_ydMEUJNW0uc-QgqWjF_QuzcBN_IHB8DL5Waah0r1tfpo06lhlBBXhwAp3NNdkPxdalEaiXVuxPbxAzCkEChUuhavCasrUuNssLLhdtXz1uTd1xSXzjV8/s400/Hawaii+Maui+153.jpg" border="0" />This was a traditional luau that included the history of Hawaii. The men wore loincloths, and little else.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433698409878408978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ_Rp-O_Zx7dmECi_zXKxf9kLdkd2pdItSeiwRrZX4StSO7GXusdN68L-H9s44WIhjWAti40rq7rS4kuXEy0B2d0RcqiPWfRahL3h-DY4llNpjzNmMGfUzyoEdjRI_gGeC46_9hDszTpE/s400/Hawaii+Maui+164.jpg" border="0" />The dancing was incredible, with the women moving their hips so fast, and it time to the music. It was like belly dancing on crack. I don't know how they do it, but it was amazing to watch.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433698794296372994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSGEIENnQ2Z4Bob3cL1Q7S_SbRnrxdVAkljS-FJVwIYCI-zmEmq93xvy8-oF9gPD_j2dLodXz6grWAWEzcIkCZidKFauBb49NC_aWPrBUFlbCyQ61FB5DLP9-_ZLB4MyibhxZlVo8fpKI/s400/Hawaii+Maui+180.jpg" border="0" />Then it was time for a couple's slow dance, with the sound of the waves, and a Hawaiian love song.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433699212595306610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUKJwOHsu_KzgOwRuEWRBPH0dkiSK9_x1PKLYVGk-2B-giIYISTcc3Kxg9QEjoI1f6OVq3tKsPNs6Bt2hKedINytaw54lG2K4IhOSinIBWeEWYLlLkjJBN1hytmEqGu_oaDjo22WbM_dE/s400/Hawaii+Maui+187.jpg" border="0" />After the whole thing was through, I got a photo with the performers, a Hawaiian God and Goddess. Amazing dancers, these two!<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433699905677221346" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHQ2rmRH4Az2ow4Rw_FMyXIaBIkIwbj6ZkRuw-cbTUDAVSk7qh3S831J_wCaf2BJ5H9XwztzPKui3Gs9H1AGBY7zY8-EPEXTux3CxGMcDX6oCHdeV9Vt8IsprOha-LQ5g-ZFdULpHWBAU/s400/Hawaii+Maui+213.jpg" border="0" />It was the birthday of my dreams. How am I going to beat this when I turn 30 next year?</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-46434735036222877282010-01-31T19:07:00.000-08:002010-01-31T19:53:27.501-08:00Another Day in ParadiseI woke up at 530am to the sound of the ocean breathing. In and out, it sighed, a living being in the inky blackness of morning. A warm breeze flitted through my open windows, lifting the lace curtains in my vintage hotel room at The Lahaina Inn. The streets were quiet, the lights dim, all vestiges of late night partying wiped clean by salty, sweet air.<br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433107719668292690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg12Ct4nhw8SLBs0K_nMN7ivfLOJYDdohqtyFtgkOb759jkXGlxVa4WqLC6QLjfr6bEleHlw-t9UsR6lgZggSeJV2dKwzblQ_uXHjAK6E2d3g1nQ_8bBMsEhGotvrE-YlGLOaJYAoaHyrU/s400/Hawaii+Maui+035.jpg" border="0" /></div><br /><div>Maui is a gentle place, where tropical flowers pop red and orange, where palm trees dance, and where the sun awakens the ocean with pink brushstrokes of light. (Please pardon the iPhone photo)</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433109773947193154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3t3UmYtgR4O-9BaS1i9JF2ClrisIC0yZWHm6eVhqLydBQ8_gzwP4idYsch2V6vsd16uYs-Z6UeD2c9ydSWm8UQEbIfqYdcQdD-yAWoozJhrTxE9aDJxBdEdkPOiBt2AXFX4ti0fj7ti0/s400/photo%5B1%5D.JPG" border="0" /> Sailboats bob in the azure ocean, just beyond our balcony's white fence railing. The sunlight finds its way onto the warm, burgundy slats, and I sit rocking, enjoying the awakening city. The rumble of cars is scarce here, instead, I listen to birds sing as they hop in the branches, happy it's a new day.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433110776145554210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO3Z4EBp0-0-_rL0yNXStrfx3WK4p3FnhALOlyoeDj_zZ5ZuyXHANhRAquiz2crLGYGCP5KRLarQ4tj1QtqziFN0VhetEGB0KWU3CNaCfVs88f9Ohw1PuAAa0Cbip8I5_slWxV0p3rQkQ/s400/Hawaii+Maui+042.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433111013331725250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjycoIgwBnJHXAU6e5MBssXkj0cWtiaSxgjMNX5zBrnO4_mia05Kt5teqk_zUl1epCwHvpg9pzsW4fR3yepSuuKEXPMJN7JddioD1_okBFxurTefGPVPsddpF5u_CmmV5YObV95nJ-01AU/s400/Hawaii+Maui+045.jpg" border="0" />We had breakfast at Betty's in Lahaina with views of the ocean, then drove up to Ka'anapali and went for a long walk along Maui's tourist trap. Hyatt, Marriott, Westin, you name it, all with sparkling outdoor pools and tiki bars. People sat on chaise lounges and romped on white sand, palm trees grew out of impossibly short grass. Not really my scene, but we had a good, long walk. Then we found the type of beach I love, where waves crash wildly against black lava rocks, and surfers are black dots in an ocean that mirrors the sky.</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433112138068902722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI2aKFR1QMlOZIzkXeiKo-Z-xFHV2pWAA2B85PvsjDIwpdfaZEhexRo99Ll_TXXkrBuOtbEuESrD741eTIRMo8lqqfTsb8IcqkQv2nM2ZphCRQhr6Y2yRLCUs9y3kqWJsNnzXaaXjQhps/s400/Hawaii+Maui+001.jpg" border="0" /> The waves were big and powerful, tumbling tubes of blue that lashed the rocks with long, frothy fingers.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433112523832579442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlBSEosyR16LqXZch8H469kzRqxgZJ1HiRkPPs4jD4PYYoZqZpA-hWbGn4p_j29h9aKRMzDXA8bAX3Ijkx3Ym-A3v61bTBM1Q0hf7Cf9x-8I-c2G1Lext8i5h4wJT9wK5-OJBg15DEBy8/s400/Hawaii+Maui+018.jpg" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433112842832239586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyY8DlapH2C1gB2XwrP1VjcPPht524S-0OWl0VDex8ZqYGJMiNTdbzW89R7ZAHqbmG6dALNMprnzrs6joA8pse03CRy9lBsvxh28fYqaCR8yALD_j9KcLviiTJHcIY4PaRX4sj9pwzqio/s400/Hawaii+Maui+022.jpg" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433114307469962722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS5Tgcd7TXaqidrfyuXLOWdCk3lzqCZ_g6-sknXeJVY-qr9AiaJIJMWAJ4fYcJnYk1BpLjTa79rmjCXOfaRMwCBpPWAcm54tZiVo-Zu7pQUeQab8cTmDhsm1PiDDsbVC9jGuaQTqKDjVU/s400/Hawaii+Maui+013.jpg" border="0" />(Yes, I know I'm about as white as it gets. Blame it on my European roots)<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433113972473542882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixmFLTfGT6AqjCYhxE0uVao1eKmit-OhVzGZagZkS4Vn2js0sbUyihs5dvRQiK0Ucgrs_LdOyOjPlx4mzBmAS372vt0iVHh24p90OrDvwH2LJAmkEgF_bOk3-6C4MwbqexHJCldTNywWU/s400/Hawaii+Maui+019.jpg" border="0" /> Oneloa Bay is much quieter up on the boardwalk, which stretches over 1.5 miles along these beaches near Kapalua. We're going to come back when we have our walking shoes, and explore all this little gems, bays carved by centuries of waves beating the lava rocks into submission.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433115201773077010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW5qq1dwHGgVz80uioLVUBe8NPUxqRn6TLIC9j7ML51SbQm2jcrYdpObriCp3YoSfqKgPL_0gCoR5eTeOgL3-nG9QVsZ6zJDQ9-pFoOxYkkTxsHEywXnPldXxSOZbw1ZCdiIN2Kh1ugIk/s400/Hawaii+Maui+027.jpg" border="0" />It's Sunday evening, and the sun is setting, the ocean is silver outside my hotel window. Soft guitar music plays from Cheeseburger in Paradise, and I think at this moment I could very well be there, in paradise.</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433117092156112338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimpuGiSYVHXDTwuW1YKjT7uZumN9pTtuLcJRoFbwd14jrdvp3dpUIV1hjaQvqemCN0K0Be0a20e2weERJDVLkfuIOE0aj4J-SZizSw_gBhrWhpZhRqtj8VwNnMqOEKshBnVKngwqFvRUU/s400/Hawaii+Maui+040.jpg" border="0" /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-55033635090359017282009-11-25T08:09:00.000-08:002009-11-25T08:27:58.756-08:00An unlikely friend<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmCVu3gLij6Osmp7RLEkOdDkpMrIDyQlAa2olCq2uDBh6pwDCSTmIO5rQNIyVp6w55eOfnas9kx6v4QkzWh0I2rtj6NVWIZREyJmUjBj5ieOxmj4mr8eCWsxRwwqay3PpqxShXKconwGM/s1600/photo.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5408078266357905106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmCVu3gLij6Osmp7RLEkOdDkpMrIDyQlAa2olCq2uDBh6pwDCSTmIO5rQNIyVp6w55eOfnas9kx6v4QkzWh0I2rtj6NVWIZREyJmUjBj5ieOxmj4mr8eCWsxRwwqay3PpqxShXKconwGM/s400/photo.jpg" border="0" /></a> If you had told me a couple years ago I'd be sitting in Pike Place Bar and Grill with an Italian physicist named Andrea Chincarini, who's working on a gravitational wave detector in Eastern Washington, I would have laughed. Where would I have encountered such a person? And how is it that without ever meeting face-to-face, we could get along so well? The miraculous invention of the Internet, that's how.<br /><div></div><br /><div>A year and a half ago, I started visiting a beautiful blog, called <a href="http://thedustylens.blogspot.com/">The Dusty Lens.</a> I found it through my coworker Lisa's sister's blog in New York City, and was immediately enthralled by the stunning photography and poems. The word were so deep, the photos abstract and beautiful, that I began reading the entries whenever they were posted. This mysterious Italian poet/physicist/photographer called "AC" started reading and commenting on my blog as well. We linked to each other's blogs. Thus, through the mist of the Internet, we became distant friends, who knew each other well through words and images.</div><br /><div></div><div>This blogger hasn't been posting as much lately, and I wondered if I'd ever read his stuff again. A couple weeks ago on Facebook, I saw that he'd be in Seattle, so I invited him to grab a drink, or coffee, or food. We met for sushi at Umi's Sake House, and talked about physics, the little that I do know. I found him to be gentle, down to earth, and interesting. We went for a beer with David and brother-in-law Prasad after that, and spent hours talking about how physics and art collide, how the science brain is the artist brain, how physics and poets think the same way: they are in a quest for the unknown, to find beauty in slices of life nobody else sees.</div><br /><div></div><div>I had a beer with Andrea Chincarini again on Wednesday night, and we spoke of more casual things: life in Italy, what he and his wife do for fun, that he has 30 bottles of Italian wine in his apartment, which is just steps from the Mediterranean sea. They have dinner parties every weekend, and eat tiny fish whole. They live in this tiny town of Chiavari, and both work as physicists. Andrea studied Tai Chi in China for a month, and visited Australia for a month to work on more gravitational waves there. This person is so fascinating, so deep, that I was sad to see him go. It's hard to meet a new friend, and then they fly home halfway around the globe.</div><br /><div></div><div>I am thankful for the Internet, in that it can bring friends together. Everyone claims it keeps people apart, and we only interact through the impersonal, glowing white screen. But sometimes, you get lucky, and meet someone in person who you would have never had the chance to interact with. I'm thankful that David and I will now have someone to visit in Italy, who can show us the hidden spots, the truly authentic restaurants, the way of life on the Italian Riviera. And our house will always be open to him. The Internet is magic.</div><div> </div>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-55453787732028474442009-11-16T08:07:00.000-08:002009-11-16T08:19:46.877-08:00Writing a Book is Harder than I thoughtAll weekend long, the inspiration didn't hit. I sat staring at my computer screen, willing the creativity to flow through my brain, allowing me to write long, stunning passages of prose. Instead, the words were forced and erratic, cumbersome and nonsensical. I thought the story was going one direction, but the characters wouldn't budge. <em>MOVE, </em>I shouted at Arturo and Isabelle, <em>DO SOMETHING. </em>Instead, they laughed in my face, and stayed in place on paper. Sometimes, when the characters refuse to do what you want, you have to take a step back, and analyze where the story is going. I was making them move too fast. Isabelle told me to slow the heck down, no way was she ready to meet Arturo's parents. So I rethought where I was taking the story. When you hear fiction authors being interviewed after they write a book, they will often say the characters guide the story, that their fingers are just the vessel to allow these characters to speak. And when I get into the mindframe of my book, it happens like magic. My fingers fly, struggling to keep up with what the characters are saying. The scenery becomes as vivid as the real world around me, and I write with passion and intensity. Unfortunately, this didn't happen this weekend.<br /><br />So far, I've written 44,171 words, and that's just a couple hundred more than I had last weekend. I woke up this morning, completely ready to write the scene that was playing in my head last night. The problem? I had 5 minutes to write, then had to catch the ferry to participate in my daily life of work, eating, surfing the Internet, etc. When my mind opens to the creative process, it's like a beam of light that shines straight through me, illuminating the way. I know exactly where I want to take the story, and exactly the way to describe it. One thing about being a writer is that each writer has a unique worldview, and unique way of putting words on paper. I want to tap into that uniqueness, instead of forcing the words to come.<br /><br />At 155 pages, I believe my book is a little more than halfway done. That will complete a short fiction novel. I don't mind if its short, I just want the story to be complete. I want Isabelle and Arturo to find their way. I want to know how they plan on achieving their goals, what they will say to each other, what experiences they will have. Right now, my two main characters are suspended in time, waiting for their creator to give them life.Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-62253448183117874492009-11-12T09:06:00.000-08:002009-11-12T09:20:38.095-08:00BotheredLast Friday, I saw Seattle Police Officer Timothy Brenton's family get out of a black SUV with tinted windows. I saw the family walk through a human gate of saluting law enforcement officers, a sea of blues and reds, into the empty hole of Key Arena. I saw Officer Brenton's son carrying the American flag, his daughter in a pretty dress, both tow-headed and solemn. I wondered if these two small children understood the gravity of their father's funeral, a man who died while serving the city of Seattle, a man executed while doing his job. Reporters around me struggled to hold in tears at Officer Brenton's memorial service, as the gigantic video display showed this man as a boy, as a married man, as a father. He was always smiling.<br /><br />Last Friday the newsroom erupted in shouts, ringing phones and live interviews as police zeroed in on the suspect of this horrific crime. We went wall-to-wall with breaking news coverage, the excitement of it all a papable buzz. The man had turned his gun on detectives, and was shot in the head, rushed to Harborview. He's recovering now from his wounds, something the Officer he's accused of murdering will never do.<br /><br />There's a Facebook page dedicated to Officer Timothy Brenton, and 20-thousand people are members. His wife, Lisa, posted pictures of that fatefall Halloween: the kids carving pumpkins, walking down a wooded trail. Underneath the photo is the caption: The Last Walk. I think of that family, loving each other, celebrating this Halloween day, and kissing their father and husband goodbye. None of them knew he'd go out on patrol, and get blasted with fire from an assault rifle, never to come home again.<br /><br />Last night I dreamed of this woman, Lisa, this devastated wife. I went to her house for an interview, no recording devices allowed, and she told me how much she was hurting, how she was trying to rebuild her life. I think about her often and what she must be going through, a feeling I hope I never know.<br /><br />Today I will attend a press conference at the King County Prosecutor's office, to find out what charges they will levy against this Christopher Monfort. He's accused of killing Officer Timothy Brenton, wounding Officer Britt Sweeney, and firebombing several police cars in downtown Seattle. The accused man's motives will never be understood for me, but hopefully through this charging, the family will find some peace.Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-40151850032747131602009-10-18T20:38:00.000-07:002009-10-18T21:29:04.549-07:00Trains in Europe beat the crap out of trains in the US, most of the time.<p><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyMoc5RcJ8MVQpZNlAzlFAWSzGJRRlH9vFKmR7rC6y4vMG1xs6qSKE-voMvMLMsE3UA9I4rdL-KgcnIQasmnA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></p><p>Trains are the veins and arteries of Europe. They crisscross cities, suburbs, and countryside. David and I didn't have to take a taxi, or ride a bus the entire time. We hopped on streetcars, subways, high speed, and low speed trains. I put so much trust in this immense, impressive train system that I made a stupid mistake. We were in Stuttgart, and wanted to take an overnight to Rome. I booked it, or so I thought, and David and I got onboard at 9pm that night.</p><p>The train was raucous and full; high school students crowded the halls. I imagined drunks, stoners, body odor and smelly feet. I imagined laughter into the depths of the night.</p><p>"Good thing we have a reservation," David said, as we warily eyed the packed cattle cars. "Sometimes if you don't, conductors will just throw you off the train at some remote city in the middle of Austria. I've seen passengeres beg to stay onboard."</p><p>"Good thing," I agreed.</p><p>I pushed and picked my way to our couchette to find a couple already sitting on our beds. We compared tickets, each had reservations for that car. Perplexed, David and I went to find a conductor.</p><p>"Someone's in our car," we told the slender, stony faced German. He pursed his lips, furrowed his eyebrows, and read the fine print. The print I should have read to begin with.</p><p>"Wrong date." He pointed, raised his eyebrows, and walked away. David and I spend the next hour and a half hunting down conductors. We found them in the hallways, near the bathrooms, in a cramped office in the front of a car. Each said the same thing in halting English.</p><p>"Train's full. Sorry. You're out of luck."</p><p>The aisles, even the car with bicycles were already full. People slept on the ground with their backpacks as pillows. David and I went to the back of the train and found a spot to sleep. On the ground. Near the restroom. Then we went and bought beer: life's elixir.</p><p><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzqDJpBl1nS7CBIJgamUVLODYYMKoEsF-zjtNUv8kS1YGHcw5WvPxdfLd9s6cv01hvpWNtScvKmb2J3uu9pYg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></p><p>We stayed on that lonely floor for two hours as Germany, Austria, and Italy rushed by. I cracked the large window, and breathed in the cold mountain air. Tiny towns peppered the hillside, mountains were lumbering beasts in the silvery moonlight. I wondered how people here lived, if they could see the Alps during the daytime. David and I almost got off the train in the middle of Austria, but waited it out.</p><p>I was still peeking out that window when Italy rolled into view. David was laying on the ground, listening to his audiobook. I thought about all the grime and dust beneath our clean clothes.</p><p>"David," I whispered. "Welcome to Italy."</p><p>It was then that I saw the conductor, walking briskly down the hall toward us. Images flashed through my head: David and I sleeping on hard, cold cement. David and I wandering around for 6 hours until morning. <em>Shoot, </em>I thought, <em>he's going to kick us off the train.</em></p><p>"I have a room for you," he said. It was the same stony-faced German, but this time, he was smiling.</p><p>I'd never heard such beautiful, pure, luxuriant words. <em>We have a room for you.</em></p><p>We followed the German, dazed, into our tiny couchette. REAL BEDS! REAL SHEETS. It was past midnight, and David and I couldn't stop grinning as we folded our bodies onto the tiny bunks. It was the best sleep of my life, and I woke up in Rome refreshed and happy. </p><p>The moral to the story: read the fine print.</p>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-76144966694424149652009-10-16T07:24:00.001-07:002009-10-16T07:31:51.471-07:00The loss of summer<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEganPK0QzfzCmTbTqQfBVBMQN7nEDc5g4ktQL9OSpydf5NG_a9TGpKj9FlEjIYqnqDZN_lmJ3UY_las1J1P57OYh2bIUPkvrNARhSS8zEYZjOLVCxtJqm1AG4J3BsVH4S4LSH1ndLn4My4/s1600-h/Lake+union+evening.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393203625001254130" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEganPK0QzfzCmTbTqQfBVBMQN7nEDc5g4ktQL9OSpydf5NG_a9TGpKj9FlEjIYqnqDZN_lmJ3UY_las1J1P57OYh2bIUPkvrNARhSS8zEYZjOLVCxtJqm1AG4J3BsVH4S4LSH1ndLn4My4/s400/Lake+union+evening.jpg" border="0" /></a> When the vivid greens and blues burn ito the firey oranges and reds of fall, I always feel a sense of loss. Gone are the long summer days sitting by the barbecue. Gone are the deep earthy smells of freshly cut lawns. Gone is the morning sunlight that makes shapes on the floor. I can feel a touch of sadness during this time, as the geese fly in formation, as trees turn inward to hibernate. I wish I could hibernate as well. A long winter of darkness looms on the horizon. Darkness will swallow days whole, and rain will pittar patter on my roof, turning the sky the same gray as Puget Sound.<br /><br />I think fall this year is hitting me doubly hard because I just got back from vacation. The landscape seemed to morph while I was gone, reminding me of what's to come. I know this is just a phase, that soon I will relish wearing warm sweaters and watching rain draw lines down the ferry windows. I will enjoy the Christmas lights and hot butter rum. I will bundle up in the cold to celebrate New Years Eve.<br /><br />But all that time, I will wait for the renewal of spring, my favorite season. I love when the trees awaken, curling their buds toward the light. I just have to remember that life, and the world, all have seasons, and rolling with these changes is necessary. I will mourn the loss of summer, then move onto the joys and beauty of fall.Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-68458919368879568212009-10-11T08:31:00.001-07:002009-10-12T07:52:37.010-07:00When in Rome....<div><div><div>Do like the Romans do. I spent the entire trip in Italy with this saying bouncing in my head. I didn't know what it meant, or where it came from, only that it seemed to make sense. Rome is unlike any other place in the world, and to survive it, you better do like the Romans do. You dart across traffic, you sit in Piazzas drinking wine, you walk down hidden alleyways to browse in antique stores. You push your way through hordes of tourists. Those poor Romans, dealing with all us tourists every year. </div><br /><div>When I first imagined Rome, I pictured calm city streets, sprawling piazzas, fountains on every corner. I didn't imagine the motorcycles, the noise, the crowds. We started off early in the morning after sleeping on a night train from Munich. The first ruins I saw blew me away, every column a reminder of the ancient empire that dominated this region of the world.<br /></div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391366613652691826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgibvZiiRtBs4_av86B7udd2JQZv1WkkZCzdi0sRw1uIkfCMxBHi-brHxXSIg7xQKEjPCV6iCdnJTMtmwhM5STRi_Nji0cX4qEVI29qJPkZbjRSyBj8NhPWiSu2SLGJ3Iz8pvQDtwDsp-U/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+334.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391366996539727810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim9qKb4qGue9q9IAJmmQ6lRKyJ5RG2Zn_v7H7uN027yDyRe7wJb0yfR5X3yl7XiCqkLKm4vC2gIt0ODKTO1JwlPqsppAvt1AQ1Ff5u_wqZFVlV-qUn1UcSPCnp8FTZttQ6Xv064wmxvhI/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+362.jpg" border="0" />I could have stared at them forever, imagining the bustling Romans going about their day, shopping in the Roman Forum, wandering the gardens and fountains, watching their leaders speak amid white stacked columns. This place was so charged with energy, that I could percieve it. Thousands of people lived and died here. I had a special enchantment with the trees, recognizing them from depictions I'd seen of the Roman empire.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391367350523928754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3We3hAMHjI-rQ4KHCLv0TLcZuC5ORQ0igc4RXc9Jmq4joPXXM03UQiUCJoupwrCUadwszDf6AwJNkyb3Gz_BIFTL_fjcfalQSEonv0Ajecqro1z1SLgv45tZCpYFgoImVNU8WIdg5-I/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+369.jpg" border="0" />The most stunning to me was the Coliseum, perched in the distance from the Roman Forum and Palantine Hill.</div></div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391367997118220386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFNOO4u3vKgEQfOo6GoCqkO3jCNSLqKSsnIc1Nb2I8HArMbZmU-J3_trrWOOtke7CjxXi6h4D-s1mEiJqa7jjSZxwz4xFkUN_60yQVONFx44ZHZpT80GW3gGo1xc3AOB-udxGx1AvLpSI/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+371.jpg" border="0" />We waited about 20 minutes to get inside, and then were blown away by its beauty and architecture. People used to fight brutally on this stage, with wild animals, and each other. There were complex elevator systems to lift animals as big as hippos up there. The Romans used to put criminals out with the wild animals so people could see them get ripped apart as punishment.</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391368438726799922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVTPw3gXwDXarxokgoqMR86-ANmZ8HJ-NBGFIkhK2roUIOyywIbYzvmTdtFVXPHgM89YApjJA3mjx60-CoMWuCqzZfe1Ij65-tnFi4tazKOVbPZxmNnfBkPrZPdzda8F0gklqpVlVFym8/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+394.jpg" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391368970129102994" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4SxhgzlMkb0QUrJuysyr_IymtKEssD9ZX82RbJMTUmJCdpi7IE6gCm3PeIyu4eoTTwXOGTAeNuhyphenhyphenFgl29ywgiUaUzmQI5Gz8PyUEPr3pPlhvAKYyhN1jeMoY4Oh5C7ppUxIu9_UjPMBk/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+435.jpg" border="0" /> They installed a stage so tourists could imagine what it was like. 70-thousand people could fill this space. I tried to imagine the bleachers full of screaming and cheering Romans. Everyone had to a place to sit, depending on where they were in the social structure.<br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391370899573016210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLiarePPmCspEBz6LfBmHYPQWS0XrkaitHvQ_D61svss8leNjHHuIljKKVUbbVQy2UvWIhD7BnuhqGe3HxMOuTXcA3DFtRT6kbVn3-CXLDRWWqfIqF0iUL4Y3GYAWkl93rNBcubDF-L88/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+470.jpg" border="0" />The artchitecture in Rome is phenomenal, and huge. We saw a white marble monument towering over the brown buildings, called the Monument to Vittorio Emanuele. While the French go more with romantic buildings, the Romans go with stature. This building was built in the 1800's, which makes it relatively new, compared to the ruins that were built thousands of years ago.<br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391375360209990594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI4BcGUyLGKGBszH4w0HViFHYgrsorbamNY2xEPcsrBo0TAGPb4XrcnMFE-G6tnYENRXv0199gJfto19Ja3Omu8wwcGYfnbDpAI1Nl7iwZ84El0iJOvm1BsaAscg7n17MkgPlpgBEjlBA/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+341.jpg" border="0" /> <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391375833954339010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_I5x-1v4_qAU5_Hb6dhrY1hww8hvre7ezZdSzXULP7-XbSQo9Zr_Si-g-WdAoLJ60atLaSuh_w2B_GCioP1xysELOh9A7zQVssjU3YYlrwy1xIinYAp-Xhj_GKgCr7Yy8jt6_zCzSM-8/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+354.jpg" border="0" /></div><div>Next we went onto the Vatican, which was another large structure in Rome. You can see its dome from a distance, and it's incredible to visualize all the power stemming from this small cluster of buildings. Vatican City is run by it's own team and government separate from Italy.</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391377013703062706" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZXRpwd2G399sPa_xXNZgJ8a-ChE7LyeVnVUhJwtdlJ73jx0zrgT3UX05OCfdIeV5GELxCwQzVt-G-pEDkmIL23OY9jicePc1BiI9hMZu7MNuUB7TImU57unRuJru_eC_1mK4qOvPXayI/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+505.jpg" border="0" />You have to go through a security line to get into the Vatican. The women have to be very mindful of what they wear. No tank tops, no short skirts.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391377410894535522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWDFfGII8A5uCqOgozbQED7QJcV0PgTW0BtbRUoh3TJfAWwhQCKBwU52H7lRSVIaAQpseVDUXhEZ1SEnldFCHEzW0StABqFIkZ4rDl_mO3CyVLU_rcnjmvs28-PwmptQlHfEWYNdxF4BE/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+512.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391377840426345250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS5M-SlBgf0PeGp8mxyW4ijKwqNfkhF-4WCAOKsb4dvdMptj1F8vjKosb6bsKjYnzv5WkipeOg1Ri5GBGR8h2k8df3XMxsADSIlY1WoJdq_vjVZzEGBl9XyY8KmOzneFBuXr5ojYkjrHc/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+526.jpg" border="0" /> My favorite part of Rome was to be Piazza Navona. It's a slender Piazza lined with restaurants, with an obelisk in the center, and a marble fountain. When we went, it was full of art and flowers. We sat at a restaurant and drank wine, and ate.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391396988487023970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip-WzyDpAdllCqWLmYfg98CFIzyCOQQVX931jm0fEyAI1_9BydydUr4YGui7kNddpy2Qm9pipOa__OxK5B8JCOkQkL0gsRqRPEzkYkrpsEEIwKF1C2ONprJZoRF20ybFrhXUhDd6a6274/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+577.jpg" border="0" />There must have been an Egyptian obelisk in every major Piazza in Rome, including at the Vatican. I think this is interesting, because it's not a Christian symbol. The obelisk at the Vatican was created 13-hundred years before Jesus was born. There was also an incredible obelisk in Piazza Popolo.</div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391406566334748802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Qlvs0NE5xdUPswi_pFrKgoTj7JIAdV_cnRa1Nzw6u3XGi3ZBJsLNIU37cce7U6PZiC-UNaEPmKgUNtG-FpclUP_QAX_ByJRgBlfgYsyzkS4kMHHviqrannlFw9nwbsjDzla1Hh85f3o/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+632.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391500710841685202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_cl0hyphenhyphenRH9X9OSp0zgWfpZkHmlumaYFD1zXyGFjcUTJnzQ89wccZysBrRhqKDu34WCIg2gW5WPj2-YG-ERCT82zwssqDHQIvjJh7HUBtfN6OaGqHl7FEe7NhXMO_OfE1YJM6vPn60irc/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+638.jpg" border="0" />The Pantheon is also an amazing sight. This has been around over 2,000 years, and is what the Jefferson Monument in Washington, DC. So much of our architecture we know today was modeled after the Romans and the Greeks.</div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391502464542095154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6PtW4reMHHcfiet3_h6QUdaXY8sNlN86d8aFem7WMc17TL8kQzbpM22xwc-SRVBJUeo0UfQ0JGrnM_5wFv0ZHWdo3vbXonUfyp_Qu8b23wYlCbtKUB2ZHVr1pv7xdVOmcJDUvNPNd0RA/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+650.jpg" border="0" /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391503449560522402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPK5RDoce76SVwkZ_2PS7ZhYI7y09QPXwcwVO5NAuYKVbYLpYbqUR8KvfOjtDcHzwDY9y6QI4Wdu6ah5G8qbW5wU_k4FK9lQY1Y3puIisV4xJBYmNnO95b9sN1f-3_d9X1w2FQtwmLfaI/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+655.jpg" border="0" /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391503442733731122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRXrk0NBQ12h4qPxqrWwDwYbCMDW9YfLWzJl4C0eDXwL1hwlQDR6eFYCV-ZyhBNRN96Y3Uv3npaJCJ8fQ5SwTSi1rfiRik17WJEeoeWt9RrToITJqhOEWSj9JXa1OaIokyAGLERFyTKEk/s400/Europe+Trip+2009+651.jpg" border="0" /> It was quite the rush seeing all these sights in just a day and a half, but David and I had to get out of there. The tourists crammed every major sight like it was a ride at Disneyland, and after awhile, I couldn't handle it. We took an hour and a half high speed train up to Florence, which was equally packed, but calmed down during the course of our trip. Italy was overall incredible, with delicious food, amazing architecture, and so much history. Plus I love listening to the Italian.</div><div> </div><div>And I learned that When in Rome, Do as the Romans Do, is a hundreds year old saying. It referred to religion. I can't wait to go back.</div></div></div></div></div>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-87141543441153230492009-09-29T12:59:00.000-07:002009-09-29T15:47:32.473-07:00Oktoberfest: Party like a German<div><div><div><div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387014983412179778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2V2M95SW46t5wayLfUNm59mCoe0MVtfBu1iCOyCW-9YZ46L1S-0nPAQpwNlUZBkF8Pz4sy9xwSAtXPHns3C3r-G1bWEdsUrUXKp3jIF_5ouIk73wh9mYS0sKp1EwduekUig2EPtQxCyk/s400/IMG_0180.JPG" /> I've never partied with a happier and crazy group of people than the Germans at Oktoberfest in Stuttgart. We took the train about 15 minutes outside the city, to a massive festival. There were all types of rides, and I couldn't imagine how people could drink gigantic steins, and then go propel themselves in these vomit-machines. Each major brewery put together a giant tent, each with it's own personality. The first one was rather tame, with Germans dancing on tables to a rock group comprised of young men. I love how they yodeled during the chorus and played the accordian.</div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387015010247994530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWiVkQOR8oTTr_LG8C66CnbYDu10Lfbnv0aYf1Wt33E4pKsYjbM-iDBkK_1O8oIspSvSQHKWaF1YG0CG-y566lEJ8t1a9xcPR6XSrT5joDB6ryuvKsd_OymIIjlaHDoGQqbhkskRc4zOQ/s400/IMG_0174.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387014991831274738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIUdqo3icNgIm6m68-6_zRDKENt7pgHYP0LEHiyqM_EwghKG1cEjj9TGSF_cAv87chnWS0DMs6fjiIJLvQ5tMYRS4jJ0Tee3jZvUb2NoCBNrffPgMPTpq1uxpwowcw-7R3vqh3e1idWWI/s400/IMG_0170.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 401px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 304px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387014995767441186" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKFEMtmMuriUyccCtg9EMItGuO4yBtheZ3vvL2dIQoJecI50Mo42SMPLz0kixvovVbp99jbeVQTWtthSRdUSolYycMuoDocOsgkJp7MYZu89Fj4bqvxsng-BgQSzhTjLSLJz9HlzRaU10/s400/IMG_0169.JPG" /></div><div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387018841157092482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0I60dNRMTpU-Jp7BKuJZw3uZb4HvtY4okI-o2jFnaxcmRQC2jP-ODkVxjjggQsvD4N3OxlCO5E5KmIaHQN4v5IuE00PXwTlnYKOGfhv4B0_x5KzCSSKcs1d-_FLkQZ33dj8uLEbA8RzE/s400/IMG_0186.JPG" />We then made our way to the hip tent of the evening, with a live band rocking American pop music. David and I ordered a stein to share, and watched the Germans becoming drunker and drunker. Young people and old people alike walked around in traditional garb. I couldn't believe the number of liederhosen parading by. You can't see in the photo, but one of the old men was wearing furry rabbit shoes. I saw tons of young men in hiking boots and tall socks, with mountain climbing shorts. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387018852509445714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ufkSD4bGAepCdGZAINA7_z7A4spfTvLqa3984S9rNvpsT05HADMJI01t2tA5ICpFPFQevE_zuXNXxOSJ5VfvFLv8oHQRaJ4KCPGc3JsZVuELLq9i95CKgC2clVfCBfqrRBx92OuVRJc/s400/IMG_0212.JPG" />David and I shared steins, thank goodness, because they were HUGE. I can't imagine drinking a whole one. We went to another tent playing American rock and roll favorites from the 70's, including Deep Purple and the Rolling Stones. We decided to partake with the Germans and dance on the table benches.</div><div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387018863230421202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyy7uP2K48p2OrMPHlJU-YhlsYqx2jUbWq6B3R2oBSVLqk6C-KLi-BkCri2Az7Z1LqNO6A4g5jad07J6xWn5GbL5LeJD_KSF65ffdI5N2zfSZRCvBYZrObUox-fy7UfBxoPkwkWhoCDvk/s400/IMG_0216.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387018861891253122" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOcwzaTKNVdH8p8LMTGrGy2l-YESCzcz6LGTwhNP9xIRIuzZcRk7MMxQOpHNdvJqB4PAhg77sh9mXD0E26XHJDDnpoeV-bMis3TFKvcDnFDUVbT6j17DONuPHWzt4Tzf1yDApbRXrjr7M/s400/IMG_0199.JPG" /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387015003352356082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_2AbuHpZDAt9jwZ2uOoB5gLLxKvuv6j0rIcuFkNc_jgPyxkpZTH_NJ-edtsIcaiOwgY-q1vCK7b2sULJg74Fh5PHLrxWaTUlFuMtw-YUZeqcdlJY0dEl4MVsUroQwm3cy457H9qn7Ebo/s400/IMG_0190.JPG" /> One of the best parts was the train ride home. Germans were crowded in like sardines, singing loudly. They were all smiling, and very drunk. They sang the entire 20 minute ride back to the main station, and David and I were humming by the time we got off the train. All and all, it was very fun, and the most massive beer fest and party I have ever seen. I can't imagine what it must be like in Munich, with tents that hold 10,000 people!! We went to wine country today and visited some of David's family friends. Soon we are going to Italy. It's all been a blast so far.<br /><div> </div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-9816150252255583802009-09-28T02:22:00.000-07:002009-09-28T02:40:16.077-07:00Beautiful AmsterdamI'm sitting in a hotel room in Stuttgart, Germany, getting ready to go outside, so I'm going to throw up a few photos of Amsterdam. We wandered around for several hours yesterday, looking at the people and architecture. It's really a beautiful city, with off-kilter, pushed together buildings, and winding canals. I love watching the boats go by, and the swans.<br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386450009567836338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirOrlYQy-qQ0c5rY6Q2bgTVnhv8XRYNnYYucodK-5VMroqDLkdidWfoWMvzTmOVT_MLPTYaL-vOlrbOqVR8T8iVN-tO4XKDeXO2jiN-2mr56NR2Gjb90HGQSfGug1zLrPwbP0bjcXXvp8/s400/IMG_0125.JPG" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj99siBiXB-bk1bvJnHkzTzlvhMRtoK4dNhHXQ8cskMIoEWKC8eAcTvMl9DgvlP37GBlaxZiHCoXMVI17GDXTFfQ-fCMD8WQskkgrxecRkuMny-YIYypEKEXlpTMlx_5MZ3Pd7IAhNV2ZQ/s1600-h/IMG_0123.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386450000903452994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj99siBiXB-bk1bvJnHkzTzlvhMRtoK4dNhHXQ8cskMIoEWKC8eAcTvMl9DgvlP37GBlaxZiHCoXMVI17GDXTFfQ-fCMD8WQskkgrxecRkuMny-YIYypEKEXlpTMlx_5MZ3Pd7IAhNV2ZQ/s400/IMG_0123.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE52aPxBOpnC7V-lSMuXUf4DqXjpLLlOyxvy3v3-wS1NebTLmEKkFgTkKfewrl_MLhUpSDzmgh8CXfmn1EWn_pM3gt1PScI5a20DK_9CVn3fYtEhvuRSwd4SdT_tlrQqVALUW3gT_iVJc/s1600-h/IMG_0119.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386449991848269570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE52aPxBOpnC7V-lSMuXUf4DqXjpLLlOyxvy3v3-wS1NebTLmEKkFgTkKfewrl_MLhUpSDzmgh8CXfmn1EWn_pM3gt1PScI5a20DK_9CVn3fYtEhvuRSwd4SdT_tlrQqVALUW3gT_iVJc/s400/IMG_0119.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuw4s4ANf2lEnB1479HU9T9OOGFrbcEHgTl5VenJQoaX0A-iClN9pXI88E2uMLwZRgG2mDwlbhkLN8cUXCy13ByPBLVDY4UCvtI9-u-moQOoTP4TrnPSs7NcISBtY0_BQhmynPnxIiRZI/s1600-h/IMG_0120.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386449981869521938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuw4s4ANf2lEnB1479HU9T9OOGFrbcEHgTl5VenJQoaX0A-iClN9pXI88E2uMLwZRgG2mDwlbhkLN8cUXCy13ByPBLVDY4UCvtI9-u-moQOoTP4TrnPSs7NcISBtY0_BQhmynPnxIiRZI/s400/IMG_0120.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WOgLentSv5i4oexYOBXXEk9ywbU6jN1ulMRK80Hky7SRsQY6QsrSHbbJtAlhGZhxT_XudGciptMN7Cjek9KysEf16K54Es9U1nJEOGweGV_4WZU53BqDVZO9Dvv67bOKyOXY_LsIT2w/s1600-h/IMG_0111.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386449006456932210" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WOgLentSv5i4oexYOBXXEk9ywbU6jN1ulMRK80Hky7SRsQY6QsrSHbbJtAlhGZhxT_XudGciptMN7Cjek9KysEf16K54Es9U1nJEOGweGV_4WZU53BqDVZO9Dvv67bOKyOXY_LsIT2w/s400/IMG_0111.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmN0VUdjBac073c5FlU9f5Gi2jZ0_0VDzeRuxqAUDn5oRTgzM0MUreTSrnI0wJd1-CSlWfs7ugvJ3e1Rr1kxIPqMyGEKnum-REagWJZG7Ome7jQ902H5eutrHjkQtza5HytoQyxgE8-w/s1600-h/IMG_0109.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386448866993642034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdmN0VUdjBac073c5FlU9f5Gi2jZ0_0VDzeRuxqAUDn5oRTgzM0MUreTSrnI0wJd1-CSlWfs7ugvJ3e1Rr1kxIPqMyGEKnum-REagWJZG7Ome7jQ902H5eutrHjkQtza5HytoQyxgE8-w/s400/IMG_0109.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdt1iS8WbGAfUk0PQ4xwjCizPZ-ZAz4VrxTAu0BioIzqTMCE9odiVnV8zV-BOCb-fCkjbnH9HS5oBep3rSPVrp8bFi6qLXcvE_0IeQx-3alnMfq9szewiW3ZKA2ZSxI-4jQJB3UOSmrL0/s1600-h/IMG_0104.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386448540365709858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdt1iS8WbGAfUk0PQ4xwjCizPZ-ZAz4VrxTAu0BioIzqTMCE9odiVnV8zV-BOCb-fCkjbnH9HS5oBep3rSPVrp8bFi6qLXcvE_0IeQx-3alnMfq9szewiW3ZKA2ZSxI-4jQJB3UOSmrL0/s400/IMG_0104.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5iFr81nMM8EkDriP0UR-Z6KJnhJZIXfdY4ZVXuKT3xfVpcNMGPIPcVoIWQBow-0DrSZ2L9w_EEJO2smbSsXw-uuJuczxR76fXRlP_7O7EXzAe-h_1gK3C4LRjkqvIyBRx2jTDg8nZbmA/s1600-h/IMG_0108.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386448362461970146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5iFr81nMM8EkDriP0UR-Z6KJnhJZIXfdY4ZVXuKT3xfVpcNMGPIPcVoIWQBow-0DrSZ2L9w_EEJO2smbSsXw-uuJuczxR76fXRlP_7O7EXzAe-h_1gK3C4LRjkqvIyBRx2jTDg8nZbmA/s400/IMG_0108.JPG" /></a><br /><div><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386447999021577762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDfER2xVHWOp0ffQCQMyV5VLvjojrzSaoZL8kFeQe5V0K0BEX4txNWArhb095ca8kOw-0rfTBZ9_jcxUIbAFLE6yVu88HLeEea9oCHDOYGkT5cHjF8wjE4dRMuwWbdt0Lh-seqrssYpo/s400/IMG_0093.JPG" /><br /><div> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386447059309864898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYbtEcjbnd7mUtmnZPP4bCPukjTy9BtMcn0MYcg2j3wnRK-UiTLHFmY14u0oGMs8_rigr_ExHyjsIek8WLB-BZDY3XLw0tljXrM1BQEqjqbD20q1_FtZVBSfiFE8XPXsL9XakP41EhY3k/s400/IMG_0079.JPG" /> Hopefully I'll be able to throw up some pictures of Oktoberfest, and maybe some video too. Wish me luck!</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-54714575838326495872009-09-26T06:56:00.000-07:002009-09-26T07:26:33.978-07:00Amsterdam: It's all about the people<div><div><div><div><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385775748731899090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJp6hAJOcAG-Wyxy-KLiyT6b6XysfMcEqztrLvJiWGuah0IxnkNHyWU8ax_s4Rje-vm2UuSmzurdK7BQTRsW1FXdZpilXO1FjV4RAY6CWI4Aw7lixpOsozgGMWZ8MRWNlbIvuengTO0zI/s400/Europe+Trip+029.JPG" />We met an Australian man last night who told us something along these lines, "Amsterdam isn't the most beautiful city in Europe, but it's one of the richest culturally." We sat outside at an Irish bar in the Heinekenplein, which is a huge square lined with restaurants and bars. Our waitresses were Scottish, and we talked to this Australian, James, for three hours, until lights blinked in the darkness. He and his Scottish wife were married in a castle, complete with kilts and bagpipes. He drank Guinness, we drank Belgian beer. People rode by on bicycles, one guy with a joint between his teeth. James told us about his experiences living around the world, about how the Dutch and the Germans still don't get along, about how socially accepting it is in Amsterdam. We had a great time with James, and I'm sure we'd be friends with he and his wife if we lived in the same city.<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 405px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 295px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385776887773880514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxt7o8OwO-OOKT8ibXbWufheatlXBBpcJQfWN5vap0cngn8qrIZ7Rw8pITZceBgOz7g0OAeFE7ZETtODFreMN37swJi-mgbjrDXJKDJPmWxhrnvqrqBpGGhLDXSo01mqUIcfPiiVYy9C0/s400/Europe+Trip+041.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385777633752412450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9oRhQnjTEg4ob9c2VBKPvsMtJaBldSCl_48lR1ctF_0VNf7nYmGSLCzicQpyjl7hOzE-_PKr9dvup8ZL05vFTwDiwJCdtV77Ok9EQwSqEsAPbSnBpcCF3N5Vl5d5blqhEJ_nIkI03HhE/s400/Europe+Trip+040.JPG" />I think one of the greatest joys of visiting a city is to interact with the people who live there. We haven't really taken any pictures of Amsterdam yet, or done anything touristy. I love that there are fruit stands everywhere, that bikes are more popular than cars, that men sit outside at coffee shops holding their babies and drinking espresso. I love that the coffee is frothy and rich. There is no watery Denny's drip coffee here.<br /><br /><div>Today we've spent time in the outskirts of Amsterdam, hanging out with David's old friend from Texas, who lives in an area that's predominantely foreign, and Moroccan. We had delicious Middle Eastern food for lunch, now we're hanging out with the apartment he shares with his Polish girlfriend (who's not here right now), and two turtles. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385781235007729154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiREoryunAGfz-a4dpl4EmgabeUAm8tn4mZ0XJXwbg4yfv7CswxFxw3Ix3Q3Xd1A88BB3puO1NG5tgbj9MHNZKIbhqHVYE9tnvbKUYANK5Dg9AGIWCNhnYU2oTOHRhkJbjeo_kkzRLN3Xk/s400/Europe+Trip+062.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385778638471495298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBBH3BlSFVfVOQyhvsm5b9A7_Bejucn_soJOXc4Uw1QA6m0TaE64HtNYPonIoeDg-8c87NnPOELi2IQEzSSrnwQb4so9ILmJwDZ59Pavn-Tyq-JHG5A81gKQoReszWPfwbI-ngsX8WOpg/s400/Europe+Trip+043.JPG" /></div></div></div></div></div><br />So far, I've really been having a blast. The weather has been wonderful, and so has the people watching. There is a very high porportion of very good looking people here. It's like walking through an issue of Vogue magazine in Dutch. Last night we ducked our heads into a salsa club, then went somewhere a little calmer for a beer. We'll probably hang out with Nick and his girlfriend tonight, then on to Germany tomorrow. Oktoberfest, here we come!Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-9768964145060235482009-09-25T00:53:00.001-07:002009-09-25T00:53:17.695-07:00The ride to Europe is a long oneRight now, I am sitting in my airplane seat, half awake and groggy. <br>It's about 10pm in Seattle and I just had morning breakfast service, <br>as it's 7am in Europe. A sunrise the color of blood oranges is <br>creeping across the horizon, and I see pinpricks of cities far below. <br>I wonder where I am in Europe , and feel as though I've finally found <br>civilization after a long ride over the black and mysterious Atlantic. <br>We're due to arrive in about an hour, and if my battery holds up I'll <br>publish this in the closest hotspot. The flight seemed short from <br>philedelphia at only 7 hours, and I caught a tiny bit of sleep after <br>dinner and watching the new star trek movie for the third time. It <br>seemed as though last time I came to Europe, it took 9 hours from <br>somewhere on the east coast. The clouds under me are mottled with <br>blue, and have the texture of a down comforter. I wish I could pull it <br>over my head and sleep. There are so many adventures to be had, that I <br>hope I can quell my excitement to take a quick nap before exploring. I <br>love being this high up as he sun greets the earth, and I greet a new <br>continent.<p>Sent from my iPhone.Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-8806209936923146782009-09-20T16:02:00.000-07:002009-09-20T16:03:00.808-07:00I just set up my iPhone for mobile blogging so I can take lots of <br>pictures of Oktoberfest. This short post is a test.<p>Sent from my iPhone.Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-21783135056235125322009-09-17T05:05:00.000-07:002009-09-17T05:12:09.873-07:00Spontaneous is my middle nameMost people spend months, or even years planning a trip to Europe. David and I make the decision to go next week. I love <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">spontaneity, I think it makes life fun and crazy. I know it makes some people nervous, and I'm glad David shares my love of the unexpected. </span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Several days ago, David found out there would be a big AICC conference in Stuttgart, Germany. This is where people from the aviation industry gather to learn about the latest advances in e-learning, which is his specialty. He wrote to the organizer, and immediately got on the docket to present his work. Boeing, the flight division, will be there, which is a client David hopes to snag. Anyway, we looked at airfares, and found with a week notice they were around 700 or 800 bucks. David called a few friends, look at ticket prices, and two days ago booked is into Amsterdam, and out of Paris for 800 dollars roundtrip.</span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">This is so exciting that I can hardly concentrate on anything else. We will be spending time in Amsterdam, Germany, and Paris, and I just found out yesterday that it will be OKTOBERFEST in both Stuttgart and Munich while we are there. Guess where I'll be while David is at his conference? I did some research, and the Stuttgart festival is the second biggest in the world. There are tents that hold 5,000 people. I think I'm going to have to set my blog up for "mobile blogging," and will be posting pics to Facebook on my iPhone when I have a WiFi connection.</span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">I was just telling David last week that we needed a vacation together. He's been working on contract most of the summer, and we haven't really gone anywhere together since Mexico in Januray. I was feeling depressed last weekend cause I felt it was the LAST sunny day EVER, and David had to slam to get his project finished. I guess someone heard my plea, and threw a vacation down in my lap. A vacation to EUROPE. I can't complain.</span>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-41570262814396338342009-09-11T08:58:00.000-07:002009-09-11T09:48:17.791-07:00Machiavelli's, and a Bad BloggerLast night my Mom sent me an email, "You haven't blogged in SO LONG." It's true, I haven't, and I've had an idea in mine for a WEEK. I feel hyper distracted lately, with my mind roaming to the book I'm trying to write. When I don't feel creative, I read books about the craft of novel writing. I'm also sucking in fiction like it's ice cream, and reading a book by Joseph Finder, who was a keynote speaker at the Writer's Conference. The more I read, the better writer I will be.<br /><div><br /><div>But now, I'll write the post that's been waiting to escape for the last week. <em>Disclaimer: Please excuse my photos, as they were taken from a camera phone. </em></div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380242272644706434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB0FXV0lVSPcdYn0fyBgIJq6Y8jL9-L1DK4Oocawr7aDNXIRalsQRCDmwa8F8sjdFiTxdjn-kIWLjs0cwFnlSCevSxbXORSoMfG8nt0nT_OfPXp_S8LY2JVZES3CKPr5aifGo1KhXinDY/s400/machievellie+outside-1.jpg" border="0" />Machiavelli's is on the cusp of downtown Seattle and Capitol Hill, where urban gives way to hip. Preppies in sweaters from Abercrombie mingle with hipsters with low slung jeans and lip-rings on the street out front. The zing of tomato sauce, basil, and spicy Italian sausage seep from open windows, tantalizing the senses.<br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380248921436777986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnNwsD9Zd9zTcf5qJBTQD12ZL1RQspi2uQt6FbJ-hDTOYf0XqRTFD5ifxMRPejNvosilEfTr3hRL3gAPp6d3TuV0s0CNx-g3kEp1eucDjpt1UbXrMic3f2cN46XfW2gVorvJo11Dz4zGY/s400/machievellie+outside-2.jpg" border="0" />David and I are lucky to find a seat in the tiny, crowded bar. The hint of the setting sun turns the bay windows red, and the inside of the bar glows. Frank Sinatra's voice rises from old Bose speakers as the pregnant bartender pours wine, champagne, and martini's. A vintage cash register dares to be touched. I suddenly feel like I'm in New York, Little Italy maybe. I love the intimate setting, and can't wait to go up the stairs into the restaurant.<br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380250050250778418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinN92y9P6TF7PpV6U8Q9HDHDaz-_Sxu4qbo3SAN2zdW-Gj28lLiD8RW_qnrnSvL50lzyebiNJ4asCcD3ubMzHC3hJ0eic40lMIt13fFu2gtPGKBt5fadFPS2mD8rUZ9FdznGCfrksQE8o/s400/kristin+and+wine-1.jpg" border="0" />The tables are covered in red tableclothes, and are placed haphazardly inside the small dining room. I'm only a couple feet away from people to my right, and an open window offers a view inside the small kitchen. I borrowed the below image from their website so you can get a better feel of the place.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380250971573239890" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 270px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7txWZA7YiXRS2s1H0RPZN1kOWI-QHq0q4uvHpV5Y625Xi5PuJxphOGRw0OnfXlGb71NilopLzf2ju6lYIPjj0cLHqJNOirMNRwt9wYwkU-pHKo7GoN2qvxQs7pwW6fiuEYP-ilx5O8kI/s400/dining+room.jpg" border="0" />The waitress brings olive bread and oil for starters, and we order the tuna carpaccio for an appetizer. It was delicious: thin slices of tuna covered in marinara, capers, and parmesan cheese. For dinner, David orders spaghetti with meatballs, I get lasagna. Both entree are cheap, maybe 10 dollars. The photo from my iPhone doesn't do it justice, but I'm putting it up anyway.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380251771803128482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Zgg7IQvauG5-Cs8fg4jdhVnn25890uF2k4L3CISL8igk2uhyKBg0rppD84h10MFmqTdmQQgou87aaOv8fNCSMvbEO9tHQtuRDgJdAXpQWmLZf7py6Fih7P9-SSoYQ0JrKTGtEQji_vQ/s400/lasagna+best.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p></p>I have to say this is my favorite restaurant in Seattle. It's affordable, unpretentious, and romantic. The food is incredible, with subtle flavors and depth. The sauces on our dishes were both red, but tasted different. I would highly recommend Macheavelli's on Capitol Hill, but be prepared to wait.</div>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-5181115056404774762009-08-31T08:04:00.000-07:002009-08-31T08:16:17.260-07:00The Busy BeeThe fog is.<br />The fog is....<br /><br />That's all I seem to be able to write. Similes and metaphors dance just beyond reach of my groggy mind, like there's a wedge stuck between my working brain and my conciousness. The words are there, moving, twirling, but I can't seem to recognize them. It's a frustrating way to wake up, especially when I set the alarm at 5:45am just to get a little fiction writing done. The gears of my brain were slow and rusted, and I watched the fog's wispy fingers wrap the tops of evergreen trees as I sat at my desk drinking coffee. I found myself staring out the window more than I looked at the blank page in front of me. The scene is there, the words or not, so I must sit and wait for them. There's no use rushing when all that comes out of my fingers is crap.<br /><br />I know I have to be patient, that my body and mind will adjust to writing at such an ungodly hour. If I had my choice, I'd sit down to write at 730 or 830am, not 545am, but this is how my life is organized right now. Fiction on the ferry is tough, after work I play tennis, then eat dinner and visit with David. The early morning hours are the only time I have, so I must learn to make good use of them.<br /><br />I also want to get back with blogging again, but the last two weeks have been a whirlwind of visitors. I love having visitors and welcoming them into my home, and I just accepted the fact that I wouldn't be writing during that time. Friends and family are so important to me, that everything else goes by the wayside when they are here, and that's fine.<br /><br />But now I feel the seasons are changing. The air is getting cooler, the trees are rustling with impatience, ready to sleep. Fog is blurring the space between the ferry and Seattle, like tiredness blurs creativity. However, I know the paradigm will shift, until once again magic spreads itself on the blank pages in front of me.Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-62809219328667696012009-08-24T09:38:00.000-07:002009-08-24T09:54:39.160-07:00Kitty Hug<div><br /><br /><div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil05Bo7IvHNxsyViDmWfzYMO6Cm7mOeJ2iB0DsRHUQQQUUHvwJpZ4Vh740oKA11R35rk5geQcjXLy7i7BZ6571ppLk4F1BauFEprz6oVZljkg6gqMQGAGGKYQ7_AbbphyphenhyphenYO-Luj_HXUes/s1600-h/kitty+hug-1.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373571108608216146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil05Bo7IvHNxsyViDmWfzYMO6Cm7mOeJ2iB0DsRHUQQQUUHvwJpZ4Vh740oKA11R35rk5geQcjXLy7i7BZ6571ppLk4F1BauFEprz6oVZljkg6gqMQGAGGKYQ7_AbbphyphenhyphenYO-Luj_HXUes/s400/kitty+hug-1.bmp" border="0" /></a>Whenever I lay on the couch to watch a movie, my kitty comes to cuddle. She curls up in the ring of my arm, then rolls toward me so I can scratch her belly or chest. Her purring is so soothing, and I love holding her tight. I taught her this as a kitten, and she's loved it ever since.<br /></div><br /><div>Both David and I love this little kitty Lexi, so I just wanted to put a few pictures of her on my blog. She's one special girl.<br /></div><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373573427249738642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCaDsH6fiCGLRwe78VrEctw0UqJfYZRaona-H9_Evpi5m7JflsAo1sWdoZf0lnBnVPVnC0fj0x3nWGQsNON0r7nZjBEdK0Imu1H9Lu6wd2Ci_ZPmGR8a79vxHiSQy0Mip1q7oj4LgPuI/s400/kity-1.jpg" border="0" />Every morning when I get up, she jumps out of bed and waits for me in the hall. When I round the bend, she does this little leap (happy dance), gives an excited meow, and hops down the stairs. Shes' such a sweet welcoming presence in the morning.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373573964888093810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmcnJXHwRQzb_eJ6237-gSV2ADqipS2cv4nCZm-3jMpadd1MEuNQcgcYvyIIzQAv8JvIX290-STQJvDVspB6g1NOAXIsH_zjwlm_ZkbbYOZdT3P9p8xJTUBEADpd7GWsjJ-42TueF-xsc/s400/kitty-2.jpg" border="0" /><br /><p>What a good little friend.</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373574625838326482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzZ6V5JaKz-9VRnYRgi9Iki0XIV7JSOBDQSX_H0oxyV0NjKadaI6hlgrR2FzSxGROMbnogV-OR5j_9dGegRuHU3SOWo90dKbfSu9hp8hQuMVva4ySdn0UN8XQS_UuAZCKbEFi1lzG0no/s400/photo.JPG" border="0" /></div></div>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-55253066336518126452009-08-19T08:45:00.000-07:002009-08-19T09:14:02.164-07:00Hah-ah-poos<div>When I breathe deeply here, and let myself be, I feel the sacredness of Hah-ah-poos reverberate throughout my being. Ancient laughter and pain hang in the air here like clouds, and for an instant I can see the wild Duwamish river, raging with burning rapids and the silvery bodies of salmon. I see the Native Americans fishing from the banks, the dwellings, the dances around a glowing fire that shoots sparks into the sky. The imagery is so strong in my head here that I have to sit, and stare at the industry that now crams the river with reds and blues, colors that don't belong.<br /><div><div><br /><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371704679894353266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKI8WTptZjpPpLHbw6cjUHZ7MQGDqFmzFSXLzQEYxmkTRpMFNS_VQ6uXFIk-ODx4Ci51Omo9wRUvl40GeV8mo8rXq1AL-SWsnR5dlJMu4nnVlNBmCmwHPNeZVK29gGqLgGqtMt7cqQeXI/s400/Duwamish+Bench.JPG" border="0" /><br />The water is tame now, it's fight has been gone for almost a century. But the hollow feelings remain in this sacred place at Pier 107, Duwamish land.<br /><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371706055955879506" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtDx5obX13fedx1GJQ_DhX22RHq8-oeTlIqwL4q8AAZZJIhZIgoymyMhdY8EjSfncjaSMAWgoLz5GFwQsQEYOopy94s2aCfRwIYvkOJGOkgN2xHJsxIXfTWIHcp5Bee9aeQcQtvvH2rQw/s400/Duwamish+River+View-1.JPG" border="0" /> I have come here for a news story, and sit in my baking car for hours. A homeless camp now populates these banks, brightly colored tents are spread in the shade of the deciduous trees, where Indians once lived.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371706468029274354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR4murbcA9DJFixzoQrNFvHMw5yNwdldzd59k56q4xoUhv21d0xYM5WSBTLTeltbjYC9BbGxjxxuS9UpBUKw8tYdHvR-aR2h31lo04RSG6amgCbHzRTpOYTyna5ZSSpEXt51tVrF-00Oo/s400/Duwamish+Trail-2.JPG" border="0" /> It is somehow ironic that those in control are trying to push yet another group from this place. Not that long ago, a people who lived here for 1400 years was gathered and grouped on reservations, so white people could build power plants. <img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371707301188420338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZNVRUHFEYKBgQAP5iVMRjg9WelW8R7Lrf4sz_COizKW9NSQWbMj_hvQT5KhyphenhyphenWaRiGh4CSZlb4hGx6xRiWxCiWYZKJEfSYb8NH8PfIOLMeirb_kyeBOQODK4SsH2xT3uR2dmI1i9E2Vw0/s400/Duwamish+Sign.JPG" border="0" /><br /><div>I am not sure why I feel so strongly here, but the sense of loss is overwhelming. I'm glad the Duwamish have kept this place full of trees and brambles and dirt. If I close my eyes, and breathe the rustling breeze deeply, I can imagine I'm there. I can hear the river, the eagles, and the silvery buildings of downtown Seattle disappear from view.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371708077019319666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0slXu2F0MwGkp5xnuaddCbYNzUMS00omdhRI9wEXkIhkMBke5TeW2Aa2VfeXDWmFlKCL14opmSDr0YSmyM0qTxvnkvJzqwhfukQ_6v7q0u6ObZyypZ_BeuG3JcAglu33WuhZ6NAr6RhI/s400/Duwamish+Trail.JPG" border="0" /></div></div></div></div>Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-47546312614622082252009-08-12T08:03:00.000-07:002009-08-12T08:14:02.727-07:00The words become meI haven't dug this deep into fiction since I was 14-16 years old, and wrote my first 100 page "book." I'd lock myself into the office with the doors closed and the lights down, sometimes listening to quiet music. I'd emerge myself in the story and become the main character, a young Native American girl living in the Great Plains as the white people encroached.<br /><br />Now, I'm falling into my love story that takes place in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. I talk about my characters, Isabelle and Arturo, like they are real people. I live their conversations and their experiences. I find myself thinking about them all day long, and while I fall asleep. What adventuree, what misfortune will I put them through next time? How will they fall in love? What will they say to each other next? I'm having a hard time focusing on anything else.<br /><br />Since the writer's conference I have written about 8,000 words, and am now close to 20,000. When a passage or scene works, I feel high. I emerge from the dark bedroom where I've locked myself, positively glowing. I feel like I've just been in San Miguel, on horseback, interacting with Arturo. On Sunday, I came out onto the deck to join David, where he was BBQ-ing dinner so I could write.<br /><br />"So, if I have a crush on the man I am creating, does that mean I have a crush on myself?" I asked him, laughing.<br /><br />"No, because he's probably your ideal man."<br /><br />Interesting. The more I think about Arturo and traits I've given him, the more he reminds me of David. He is different though, with a different past, and passions. Different enough to be fiction.<br /><br />I'm having the time of my life right now writing this book. I don't care if its published, I'm just enjoying the journey. When my 30-40 minutes of writing time runs out in the morning, I feel like I've just lost a piece of myself. I hope someday in my life I am fortunate enough to do this full time. Until then, many early mornings await.Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-15100726314925245172009-08-07T11:47:00.000-07:002009-08-07T12:41:35.368-07:00ParanoiaI had a very hard time falling asleep last night. I lay in bed, tense, waiting for the next strange noise. Normal creaking sounds became a man inching up the stairs. The muffled slam of car doors became gangsters surrounding our house. People working outside far away became someone trying to pry open and climb through our living room window. Even my cat was tense, her ears swiveling like antennae. I woke David up.<br /><br />"I keep hearing noises, and I can't sleep," I told him.<br /><br /><br />"Point out the next noise."<br /><br />So I did, and he explained it. I pointed out the next one. He explained it.<br /><br />"This is why I can sleep, because I know what those noises are. You are just too close to the news." Soon he began to breathe deeply again, and I tried to relax.<br /><br />It's true, I am too close to the news. The recent home invasion, rape, and murder of a woman in South Seattle, just one block away from my friend's house, has affected me deeply. He used to see these women smiling and laughing on evening walks. I almost cried when I read the court documents telling how this man picked a home at random, pried open the bathroom door, tortured two women. One fought back and died, the other escaped. I keep picturing their fear and desperation, and I put myself in their situation. How would I act if a man came into my bedroom with a knife? Would I fight back? Should I learn how to shoot a .22 and keep it in my bedstand?<br /><br />I never used to have thoughts like this before I was in the news. I felt safe most of the time, and why shouldn't I - I live on Bainbridge Island next door to two cops. But as I lay there in bed, headlines dashed through my brain.<br /><br />"Bainbridge Island rocked by random murders."<br /><br />I can see the news reporters interviewing people, reading court documents, and its all too vivid. Maybe I need a vacation, or I need to take a deep breath, and remember, these random, frightening attacks are very rare. I just feel so sorry for that woman who died, and her partner who loved her. Maybe this story is all too real for me because I interviweed the murderer's mother, only a week or so prior. Monsters do exist.Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-15911878947064573372009-08-05T09:54:00.000-07:002009-08-05T10:07:00.811-07:00A desk for a writerI have a beautiful, wooden desk in the living room of my house which I absolutely love, tucked into a corner with windows all around. I can sit and write at that desk, if David is gone or asleep. His office is in a loft directly above the living room, and each chair creak or click of his mouse takes me away from the story I'm creating. So, I told him I wanted a card table in another room, where I can just go hide, stare at a wall, and be within my thoughts and the minds of my characters.<br /><div></div><br /><div>Immediately, David started looking on Craiglist for a desk. He showed me pictures of antiques and rolltops, and I would always answer, "a card table is fine." I felt bad he was spending so much time searching for the perfect desk for me. Even I wasn't looking.</div><br /><div>Then, while out searching garage sales one Saturday morning, he found a desk for only 10 bucks. The woman had bought it at an antique store on Capitol Hill back in the 1960's, so the desk must be really old. It has waterstains on its oak top, and the drawers often get stuck. I absolutely loved it just the way it was. Then David decided to fix it up.</div><div> </div><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366525661235391442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPhsfElSeWxNs5kEpgaz88tJJT9klyERHZyikiqPdK7E3kcu3YemLTXlSX6730W6_AQRspj6MShNmIk6uq5V1Q51Mm6v2uH-qgixsRQdf8aPgZwbN53PSdqH65NflZLXHv3IfGGqs8ffU/s400/Desk+003.jpg" border="0" />So he dragged the desk out on the porch, bought a sanding kit, and started with the top. He sanded for an hour before I got home, and then sanded some more. I could start to see the beautiful grain of the oak (and no, that is not a bald spot, its a spot on the camera lens).</p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366526016806072818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM4ODCjPXqSaWk6dYgwtYg80PKgDa0coRe9OMfgRgWm2Z7xk3vZFN1vwYIatQ0vr18fdh3KPbuhseGYZuqu-_qfylCa9CwoK-RxWBQ78iDNgPZuCcyE6C1y8UJpZ2K5afcmS9twJfSrXQ/s400/Desk+004.jpg" border="0" />He then started on the drawers, sweating with exertion. Sanding is hard work, especially without power tools.<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366526528328702002" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmDODmhg3cTUcsTmwTOGWSxh2y2277YwtQTqlNYvxK5HRvJ8G9TkKZQBzU2WZOFcqmoY8ecklKTeEj3z8x4oPXfQUGMvTg1dDbMEWsBCEwWfY1p96S5zPByUVWLzgEPHIuMAjMjL-2ycI/s400/Desk+002.jpg" border="0" />When he's done with the sanding, he will stain the desk so it looks brand new, and says he's doing all of this to enable my writing, because he believes in my talent and creativity.This is another reason why David just ROCKS. I couldn't feel more loved.Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8604756439843084387.post-51653102545335212292009-08-03T08:06:00.000-07:002009-08-03T08:19:08.795-07:00Whew!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4rL9l8IHjNd8tKtSI_dOFE4PzRxUrOIs2mODjvHKZ0m04z31Kul05WundFr3afMunrGDRKTBhHmQqDBkQsv0gZG_bm7KISIJLRbg7NFzaiiFuAwKzd_v9QLIcuyegO0n-NUZQ0gfuLro/s1600-h/writing.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365754165733904546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4rL9l8IHjNd8tKtSI_dOFE4PzRxUrOIs2mODjvHKZ0m04z31Kul05WundFr3afMunrGDRKTBhHmQqDBkQsv0gZG_bm7KISIJLRbg7NFzaiiFuAwKzd_v9QLIcuyegO0n-NUZQ0gfuLro/s320/writing.gif" border="0" /></a><br />"Writers are strange people," said famous author Terry Brooks as spoke at a dessert reception at the SeaTac Hilton,"which means I'm standing in front of a roomfull of 500 really strange people." We all laughed and tittered in our chairs knowingly. Writers are strange people, and I've never felt so connected as I did at the Pacific Northwest Writers Conference.<br /><br />The conversations were anything but normal. I sat next to an author Saturday night as we listened to speaker Jospeh Finder, a master of thrillers.<br /><br />"Let's try to think of ways we can torture our main character," I said to her.<br /><br />"Yeah! You have to think of the worst thing that can happen to your character, do it once, do it twice, and just when you think she's recovered, do it again! We play God."<br /><br />"You guys are sick," another writer said, but smiled. She knew.<br /><br />Another writer at the conference walked around carrying a giant demon skull. He's Royce Buckinhgham, the author of DemonKeeper, a movie that will soon be filmed in Seattle.<br /><br />We'd make up characters on the fly, talk about how to write convincing dialogue, try to invent reasons why a pole was hanging down in the middle of a classroom window. Everywhere I went - in the elevator, in the seat beside me, drinking coffee, people would say:<br /><br />"What are you working on?"<br /><br />It was at this conference that I got inspired to write every day. I learned how to think about the storyline of my book, the characters, and reaching my goals. Sometimes I think the only reason why some people are published is the fact that they sit down to write every day. I think I could be published.<br /><br />I have 15,000 words in my book, and I'm going to try to write 700 per day. I've reached my mark both yesterday and today, and surprisingly easily. Oops. Two adverbs. I'm going to throw myself over the deck. My goal is 75 to 80,000 words, and if I reach my writing goal every day, that should take me several months to finish a book. Then it's time for the rewrites. The months and months of rewrites.<br /><br />Sorry if this post doesn't make a lot of sense. I'm a little bit entranced by my fictional world. Back to San Miguel!Kristinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02298637732325273200noreply@blogger.com3