this is the end

We've been back in Sydney for  just over a week, and are slowly settling back into our lives. Collecting visa paperwork, some wedding planning, searching for a job, and lots and lots of sleep.

While this blog is at an end, it's only temporary. I hope to travel many more places with my husband to-be, and share those experiences here. 

So check in from time-to-time. You never know when I'll be off on the next adventure.

don't fear the reaper

While we were in Baltimore I threw out the idea of visiting the Edgar Allen Poe House. However, after researching the site and conferring with the friends we were staying with, we decided not to. The house is in a bad area of town, and walking there could be potentially dangerous. Instead, we visited the graveyard where Poe was buried, which in many ways was much more exciting for me.

For most people the words "graveyard" and "exciting" never enter the same sentence. They never even enter the same paragraph. But for me, graveyards are exciting.

OK, maybe exciting isn't quite the right word to describe my fascination. I find graveyards beautiful. They are peaceful and quiet. Each is unique, with a personality that can be read the moment you step into them. Whether it's a crooked mishmash of historical cemeteries or the geometric lines of a military site, I can't help but take photos.

My fiance finds this extremely weird.

He understood seeking out Poe's grave. After all, the man is famous, and it seems fitting to visit this particular writer's final resting place. The cemetery and adjoining church are in the heart of downtown Baltimore, but once inside you hardly notice. There are also huge crypts and other unique grave markers that made it a nice photography experience.

He was less thrilled to enter the Copp's Hill burial ground in Boston, but since the Freedom Trail passes right by it, we went in. That proved to be a very interesting stop. We learned about common pre-colonial grave stone motifs and saw a black cat. Yes, an actual black cat was hanging out in the graveyard. Spooky.

He was, again, less than thrilled to visit the cemetery in Salem. But by now he knew I was "kind of into cemeteries" and suggested we go before our tour at the Salem Witch Museum. I was thrilled to recognize some of the motifs I had learned about at Copp's Hill. It's always fun when little pieces of information overlap the places we visit.

By the time I voiced my desire to see Benjamin Franklin's grave in Philadelphia, my fiance was resigned to the fact that this is just another one of my lovable quirks. At least, I hope that's how he sees it. He did navigate me to Franklin, which I doubt he would have done if he was morally opposed to hanging out in a cemetery.

I fully acknowledge that my love of graveyards is strange. Maybe even a little morbid. But it is what it is-- a hobby that I enjoy, even as if creeps the people around me out.

And I'm probably not alone. Our tour of the Mark Twain House was mostly comprised of couples over 55, but there was one family with a daughter no older than 11. At the end of the tour, the guide asked if anyone had any questions. Without hesitation the girl piped up, "I saw in the movie downstairs that one of his [Twain's] daughters died in this house. What room was that in?" This girl posed her question with such earnest reverence that I couldn't help but smile. I half expected her to ask the guide if she could lie down in the bed where it happened. It was so odd, funny, and at the same time adorably cute.

Even my fiance agreed on this.

on the road again

Before taking this vacation I hadn't driven for six months. I really have no need to do so in Sydney. My work is within walking distance. The bus is a more economical and eco-friendly way to visit the city. The few driving lessons my fiance have given me usually end with my heart racing, or worse, with me in tears. So while I will eventually need to learn to drive properly on the left side of the road, for now I'm happy letting someone else drive.

My fiance has a similar driving deficiency when visiting the United States. All of the driving is up to me, while he navigates from the passenger seat (or worse, falls asleep, which I often find very irritating). This arrangement has led to some interesting "adventures."

There was the time I almost turned the wrong way on a one way street in Boston. My fiance gave his famous "turn right when you can" advice, and then suggested I turn at the next light. Thankfully, our hotel was in the financial district and it was a Saturday morning, meaning there was no one coming towards us. The only witness to my stupidity was the lone taxi driver who honked and shook his finger to indicate I was going the wrong way.

Then there was the night when we drove all over upstate New York looking for our hotel. We got into Cooperstown around 5pm, and immediately visited the Baseball HOF thanks to their awesome summer hours (open until 9pm!). Three hours later we finally ate dinner at a local restaurant, and set out for our hotel. I was reasonably sure I had booked something within three miles of downtown, but the Google map directions led us out of town and down a windy, dark country road. Once we passed where the hotel was supposed to be, my fiance discovered I had read the address number to him incorrectly. No problem: he inputed the correct address and we were off. Unfortunately by this time it was dark, and backroads don't have streetlights. The quickest way back to where we needed to be was through more dark, windy roads. The kind that pass creepy farmhouses, go through thick woods, and where deer cross the road (all things we actually saw). After another half hour of driving, losing and regaining cell signal, and general anxiety at being lost-ish, we finally called the hotel for directions. Turns out the hotel was south of town, not north like we had been going. So back to Cooperstown, and what do you know! -- we find the hotel within ten minutes.

Then there was the delightful time we accidentally went to New Jersey. This is actually the second time I have accidentally been to New Jersey. The first time was much nicer, as it involved getting an ice cream at Dairy Queen. This time involved missing a turn in Philadelphia, and getting onto the Ben Franklin Bridge thinking it connected to the I-95 in the direction we were going. Nope: it goes to New Jersey. I got off at the first exit so we could get back onto the bridge, and ended up in a very very bad neighborhood. After several tense minutes of driving down one way streets and obsessively checking that the car doors were locked, we were headed back into Pennsylvania. After paying a $5.00 toll to get back on the Ben Franklin Bridge. Oy vey.

Needless to say, I am very excited to not drive for awhile.

oh brother are you gonna leave me

Number one word during the tour of Independence Hall: compromise. The park ranger telling us about the drafting of the Constitution used it five times in the span of three minutes.

"Compromise and barter," was his exact phrase, describing how the delegates of the Continental Congress worked together to draft the document that has shaped America. Not everyone got what they wanted. Some conceded that the Constitution still wasn't perfect. All agreed that it would need to be changed and molded to deal with whatever issues the future held for their fledgling nation.

So how have today's politicians lost site of this? Surely they've taken a history lesson or two? Today they are so quick to jump on any little issue in a bill as a reason for voting against it. They seem to want perfect legislation to hit their desks before they'll approve anything. Compromise is a dirty word; a sign of weakness.

Congress needs a field trip to Philadelphia. Make them pass through security to enter Independence Hall. Stand in the hot sun for their tour to start. Listen as a NPS ranger gives them a refresher course in American history. They surely need a reminder.

the time has come for one and all to play ball

During this trip one thing has become abundantly clear: Most of my knowledge of baseball comes from pop culture.

Seinfeld fills most of my brain; everything from Keith Hernandez's "magic loogie" to the cartoonish exclamations of "George Steinbrenner." To me, Joe Dimaggio was part of a Simon & Garfunkel lyric before he was a Yankee slugger. Ted Williams: the guy in the Nissen Bread commercials. The "Miracle Mets" are a piece of the puzzle Will Smith and Josh Brolin are trying to solve in Men in Black 3.

So while the Baseball Hall of Fame was a quasi-religious pilgrimage for my fiance-- a huge baseball fan-- for me it was another opportunity to quote television and movies.

I gleefully reminded him that "there's no crying in baseball" while viewing the Women in Baseball exhibit (which displays costumes from the movie alongside actual All-American League uniforms). I imitated the Phil Rizzuto "Holy Cow!" key chain George Costanza lost while jumping a pot hole. I did my best impression of Will Ferrel doing an impression of Harry Caray ("It's a simple question. If you were a hotdog, would you eat yourself? I would, and I'd be delicious!").

Thankfully, my fiance finds all of this as hysterical as I do. He laughed at my suggestion that there should be an exhibit dedicated to the many loves of Alex Rodriguez, and agrees that Rob Lowe's rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" from Parks & Recreation should be played on a loop somewhere in the building. While visiting the HOF was serious business, he somehow didn't take it too seriously. It's just a game.

Next time we're in an art museum, I'll try to act a bit more like him and not take it too seriously. I know he's not as into art as I am, and he's just trying to entertain himself. He'd much rather be watching sports, but he's with me instead. I should reward him by laughing at his jokes. (Just not too loudly.)



[My fiance is very proud of the number of baseball stadiums he has visited on this trip. Here's the list: Camden Yards, Citi Field, Yankee Stadium, Fenway Park, Citizens Bank Park, Nationals Stadium.]

my huckleberry friend

And so we come to what is, for me at least, the highlight of this trip: The Mark Twain House & Museum in Hartford, Connecticut. Odd that this would be so high on the list, having visited what most people would agree are much more exciting sites. But for me this is very, very exciting. My fiance is just along for the ride.

Mark Twain has long been my favorite author. I freely admit that when I was much younger (10-early teens), I latched onto this curmudgeonly Missourian because I thought it made me seem smarter. More mature. My friends could read all the Goosebumps and Sweet Valley High they wanted; I was a true literary connoisseur.

A funny thing happened during these years. The more Twain I read (and reread), the more I genuinely liked his work. My appreciation of his novels, short stories, and essays grew as my knowledge of history, politics, and literature grew. I advanced beyond Tom Sawyer, reading A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, Innocents Abroad, and the classic Huckleberry Finn. I reveled in his wit and wisdom, loving how he seemed to have a quote for every situation. I dreamed of traveling the world, and maybe even writing about my journeys, as he did.

But the thing I began to admire the most about Twain (and when my family reads this I'm sure a lightbulb will go off in their heads) is that he wasn't shy about sharing his opinions. He shared his thoughts on what he firmly believed was right and wrong in this world, and didn't seem to give a damn if someone disagreed with him. His works shined a light on the human condition, illuminating the hypocrisy and injustice that is so often ignored. And he did this so well, that even now his works ring true. (Which is sad when you think about it, only because that means the world hasn't changed much in the past 100 years.)

Visiting the home where Mark Twain wrote his most influential work was for me a sort of pilgrimage. A chance to peer into the private life of a personal hero. To see where he worked, where he told stories to his children, where he slept-- at the foot of the bed, so he could admire the intricate carving on the headboard.

this land is your land, this land is my land

Any foreigner who visits America and comes away hating it clearly did not visit any of the country's National Parks. I can completely understand how you could hate this country having only visited a handful of its cities, but how can anyone hate it after marveling at its natural wonders? Yes, most of them are off the beaten path, but I've met people who traveled thousands of miles to shop at Macy's. Surely some of that energy could be channeled into spending some time in the fresh air.

While I strongly encourage overseas tourists to visit the Parks, I also urge Americans to visit them as well. After all, the National Parks were established to set aside land for public enjoyment. Our tax dollars fund their protection and upkeep. They're more affordable than Disneyland or a trip to the movies. And to be perfectly honest, a lot of Americans could use a good walk.

That being said, I admit I was one of those Americans who had never visited a National Park.* It wasn't from lack of desire. I've always wanted to go, but could never get the the timing right between school, work, and family schedules. My exposure to the Parks has mostly been through National Geographic photos and Ken Burn's excellent documentary on the Parks system.

Well, I take that back. Apparently my parents did take me to Acadia National Park once when I was very young. I suspected as much as my fiance and I approached Thunder Hole, a narrow inlet of rock into which waves crash with a boom like thunder. Somewhere in the back of my mind hid a faint memory of walking down the stairs and watching the Atlantic Ocean rush in and out of rocks. But like my mom said, "it doesn't count if you don't remember it." (I'll remember that next time I go out drinking.)

So I am now a fully fledged visitor to the National Parks. I'm already itching to visit more. Our original trip itinerary was much longer, and included stops at Yellowstone and Yosemite. Those will definitely be future trips. My fiance is thinking of a mini-honeymoon in Hawaii, so I'll be lobbying for Maui (Haleakalā NP) or Hilo (Volcanoes NP). My sister and I are always lamenting the fact that we've lived a mere days drive from the Grand Canyon and never gone, so maybe the next time I'm in San Diego we'll head over.


And of course I'd love to visit Acadia again. We spent only a few hours there, and barely scratched the surface. Next time I'll do some hiking. I'll ride the carriage roads. Maybe I'll even do a kayak tour. There's so much to discover, you just need to know where to look.




*By "National Park" I am referring to the 58 protected areas overseen by the National Parks Service. The NPS also oversees many historical sites and monuments, some of which I have visited on this trip (Gettysburg, The National Mall, Fort McHenry, Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island) and others I have visited on past trips (Cabrillo National Monument, Jefferson National Expansion Memorial). Basically, I'm talking about the wilderness-type parks.

it's oh so quiet

My grandparents' house has always been filled with noise.

First there were the sounds of my uncles growing up. Playing basketball with the neighbors in the driveway. Watching the new television. Probably fighting with each other.

Then came my dad, the "surprise." Just as things had started to settle down and my oldest uncle was headed to college, the house was once again filled with the sounds of childhood. A 45-record of the theme song to Batman played endlessly. Gilligan's Island on the television. Dirt bikes in the back field.

Next were the grandchildren: my cousins first, and a decade later me and my sister. Eventually a great-grandson came (not by me or my sister, thankfully). More kids, more noise, more joy.

In recent years the noise hasn't been supplied by children, but instead by my grandfather. Years of working in a factory ruined his hearing. As a result, he would turn the TV volume up to insanely high decibels. Everyone else in the room was then forced to carry out conversations in a low shout. Not that it was any quieter when the TV was off, since shouting was also necessary to have a conversation with my grandfather himself.

But on my most recent visit the house was remarkably quieter. My grandfather has started to have major health issues, and was hospitalized shortly before we left for Florida. There was hope that he might come home, but that has since disappeared. With him gone, the TV is rarely turned on in the day. (My grandmother has always preferred doing puzzles to watching gameshows.) Conversations can actually be had at normal levels. The house just isn't the same.

As I write this, my grandfather is still alive, but probably not for long. He didn't speak much during our visits in the hospital, and slept most of the time. His body is weakening, though he can still squeeze our hands with surprising strength. He still has his sense of humor, which I hope he retains to the very end.

He's still my Grampy. It's still his house. But something is different, and it will never be quite the same.

more than a feeling

"I remember this city being so much bigger."
"Well, you were so much smaller back then."

It's true. The first time I visited Boston I was 10 years old. I grew up in rural Maine, and at that point in my life it was by far the biggest city I had ever seen. It seemed massive and a bit overwhelming. I couldn't even begin to fathom what a city like Los Angeles or New York was like.

And here I am, back in Boston nearly two decades later. I've lived in the Los Angeles area, and I've visited New York. I've also been to San Diego, Orlando, Tokyo, and Sydney. They are all much bigger than Boston, a city that is much more impressive in my mind than in reality.

Not that Boston isn't a lovely city. At least, I'm sure it can be. The locals were ruder than I expected. The subway a little more confusing than need be. But it does have it's charms: the Freedom Trail is a nice way to spend the day, and see most of the city. Fenway Park may be older than most stadiums, but you get so caught up in the excitement of the game that you hardly notice. Little Italy is a great place to grab lunch.

So cheers to Boston. You might not be the biggest or friendliest, but you are uniquely New England and uniquely yourself.

the best that you can do is fall in love

And so we bid adieu to New York City. Our last few days were not the best, but they wrapped up our extended stay there nicely.

Our second to last day was the most touristy of them all. We booked a bus tour of NY movie and TV locations. It was early, so we decided to get breakfast near the pick up site in Times Square. Knowing how much I hate Times Square, my fiance asked several times if this plan was OK with me. I said yes, figuring we didn't really need to eat in actual Times Square. Unfortunately, this was the only day it actually rained. Cold and miserable and without an umbrella, I agreed to eat at the first place we could find that was either close to the subway station or close to where the bus would pick us up. The bus was picking us up outside Ellen's Stardust Diner. Did you know the wait staff sings between serving up pancakes and chicken strips? Somehow I missed the sign out front announcing this fact. The concept is kind of cool, but the volume on the speakers was way too loud, especially for 10am.

Then on to the tour, which mercifully was in a fully inclosed bus. (Despite the rain there were still many people on the open top double decker bus tours. These people truly understand the YOLO motto.)  Our tour guide was funny, and the tour itself was quite good. We passed famous buildings, parks, and monuments featured in television and film, and watched accompanying clips on the bus' TV screens. The highlights: the apartment exterior from Friends, the firehouse from Ghostbusters, and Washington Square Park featured in everything from When Harry Met Sally to I Am Legend. And speaking of When Harry Met Sally, after the tour we did some extended movie site seeing, and ate lunch at Katz's Delicatessen. The fake orgasm jokes have already started on Facebook...

Then came our final day. My fiance is a huge baseball fan, and couldn't leave without seeing a Yankee game. Literally, he couldn't leave. He added an extra day in New York onto the trip because the Yankee's had been on the road the previous week and a half.

I don't particularly like baseball, but visiting Yankee Stadium was actually quite fun. We did the stadium tour, which is surprisingly cheap ($20 per person) and pretty cool. The new stadium has a museum of team memorabilia and a monument garden. Both are open before games, but you have to fight the crowds to get in. Good luck getting decent photos when you do. The tour gives you better access, with a much smaller group. Plus, you get a friendly and knowledgable tour guide to answer all your questions, and lovingly poke fun at other less decorated teams. Then the part you've paid for: sitting in the actual Yankee dugout.

At this point I'd like to apologize to my father. He is a Red Sox fan. He will surely blame my presence at Yankee Stadium for any Sox loses this week. Somehow by entering the House Directly Adjacent to the House That Babe Built, I disrupted the heavens and cursed the Sox. Unless they win, and then I will be strongly advised to attend a home game next year.

And that was New York. We woke this morning to clear skies, but cold temperatures. Getting the rental car out of the city was easier than I anticipated, and I can now check "drive a car in New York city" off my bucket list.

Do I love New York? I think I might. Could I live there? Maybe, but I might be kidding myself. It's fun to imagine myself visiting museums on the weekends, jogging through Central Park, and finding new eateries. But short of winning the lottery, it's just not fiscally possible.

So on to Boston, where I plan on giving the fiance a lesson on the Revolutionary War. Should be interesting.

you can't always get what you want

I feel like parts of our vacation need a do-over.

The Washington Monument is still closed due to the earthquake last year. The Reflecting Pool on the National Mall was drained, and the areas on either side were walled off for construction. The Statue of Liberty was closed for refurbishments. Parts of Ellis Island were  under construction, making it impossible to access some of the walls bearing the names of immigrants. The ramps in the Guggenheim were closed for installation. The Museum of Comic and Cartoon Art is completely closed while they install their summer exhibits.

Disappointing, but I have to look on the bright side. We've seen more in just a few weeks than most people see in their lifetime. The forecast has been for rain in every city we've visited thus far, but we've been blessed with clear skies and warm temperatures. My fiance and I have yet to get into a fight, despite my penchant for becoming "hangry" if I don't eat at least every three hours.

And maybe all the construction and closures are a blessing in disguise. We now have very solid reasons for visiting these places in the future. If we had seen everything we set out to on this trip, we might not be so inclined to visit again. I'm not rooting for more closures and construction on this trip, but if they come I'll take them in stride.

You're never going to get a perfect trip, but so far our's has been pretty darn great.

and i'm gonna go wild, spray paint the walls

I love my fiance. He is hilarious and we have a lot of fun when we're together. I try not to take things too seriously, and he does a great job of bringing me back to earth when I do. For the most part, his inappropriate and off color remarks are a welcome distraction.

But God love him, he can really embarrass me in art museums.

Our visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art started off well enough. After our initial shock at how big the place is (we didn't even see half of its massive collection), we picked a route and started walking through. The Egyptian Wing was met with some enthusiasm, though not much. My fiance admitted he didn't know much about that period of history, but thought everything "looked pretty cool." He did enjoy The Temple of Dendur, though I suspect that had a little more to do with a scene from When Harry Met Sally being filmed there than with the temple itself. But hey, I'll take what I can get.

We quickly passed through the American Wing, and on to the Arms and Armor rooms. This was a big hit. Being the resident photographer of our trip, I was instructed to take photos every five seconds. The scrapbook I eventually make will be very gun and sword heavy. Then on the Greek and Roman Art (another quick stroll, having visited The Getty Villa together last year), and on through Arts of Africa, Oceania, and the Americas.

Then we hit a wall. A chasm in philosophy, between what is art and what isn't.

"This isn't art," my fiance said, louder than I cared for. "It's not art if I can do it!"
"It is art. The point isn't that you could do it. It's that nobody at that time was doing it."
"No, it's not art. It's just squares."

This isn't the first time we've had this discussion, and I know it won't be the last. I was an illustration major. I took more art history classes than I can count. While I may not like some Modern Art, I understand it in the context of art as a whole. It's another step in mankind's creative evolution.

We continued through the Modern Art, which brought more snarky comments from the fiance, until I finally threw in the towel. Today was not going to be the day he had a breakthrough in thinking. (Though he did love the two Chuck Close portraits on display that day.) I quickly shuttled him to the European Paintings. Van Gogh, Monet, Seurat... those he can enjoy. They're more than abstract shapes. And to be fair, I'd rather have any of them hanging on my wall than a Jackson Pollack.

I'll keep trying though. One of these days he might start to like Mark Rothko. You never know.

they're coming to america

"Could you imagine being a kid in this city? You'd go on so many cool field trips."

My fiance isn't wrong. I remember the thrill of field trips when I was in elementary school, but New York area kids seem even more excited. Growing up in Northern Maine was nice, but beyond state history little of significance really happened there. We did go to Boston for three days in the fifth grade, but other than that all I really remember were a visit to the state capital in fourth grade, and a trip to the town bank and post office in kindergarten. Not exactly thrilling stuff.

But New York area kids... I don't think they know how lucky they have it. They live in a city full of history and culture. The teacher's must love it almost as much as the students. It's so much easier to teach subjects like history and art appreciation when your pupils can practically reach out and touch it.

This is especially true of Ellis Island (and to a lesser extent the Statue of Liberty). While immigrants passing through the Registration Room at Ellis Island is a thing of the past, the immigrant experience in New York is very much a part of the city's present. While walking the streets I've probably heard every language on earth being spoken.* New York city classrooms are no doubt a very real representation of "the melting pot" this country is said to be.

For those kids-- the children of immigrants or immigrants themselves-- Ellis Island must be the easiest  part of American history to relate to. It wouldn't be very hard for them to imagine traveling to a new country. To not know anyone outside your family (if you are lucky enough to have family members living here already). To find yourself thrust into a world where everyone around you speaks a different language. To find yourself torn between your homeland's culture and American culture.

Growing up an immigrant in America is probably still rough, but at least the kids in New York have a very real reminder that they are not alone. They aren't the first to make the journey, and they won't be the last.


*And seen every dog breed imaginable.

love and hope and sex and dreams are still survivin' on the street

Times Square is the worst. It's just the worst. I did not like it. It was crowded and noisy and hot and full of chain restaurants. I now completely understand how some people hate New York.

Traveling around the city I've noticed a lot of international tourists. Their guidebooks in Japanese and Spanish and German give them away. They tend to gather in the most touristy locations, which inevitably at some point in their stay means Times Square. And I do get it: it's where they drop the ball on New Year's Eve. It's the scene of the famous Alfred Eisenstaedt photo, where a sailor kisses a woman in celebration of V-J Day. It's the hub of the theater district. It's "the Crossroads of the World."

The reality will never match up with the glamorized vision created on TV and in the movies. Times Square is quite like Hollywood in this regard. You think it's a beautiful area, filled with movie stars and trendy coffee shops. But it's actually pretty dumpy, full street performers in superhero Halloween costumes and porn shops. New York City may have done away with the porn shops, but it's still not as great as you'd imagine.

So whenever I see foreign (and even some American) tourists on the subway, I want to warn them: DO NOT visit Times Square! Take a long walk through Central Park. Spend a day in the Met. Go to a baseball game. Don't judge New York by those few blocks around Broadway and Seventh Avenue. It's a tiny slice of a city that is somehow vast despite it's lack of acreage.

But maybe I'm being a little too harsh. As a Southern Californian, I've made my peace with Hollywood. I've even come to love it, seediness and all. I would never judge all of Los Angeles by it, but it is still part of the city's character. Maybe Times Square falls into the same category for New Yorkers-- something you must do once, but please don't judge my entire city on it alone.

a cheeseburger in paradise

"I think I like this better than In-N-Out," my fiance said. He was barely three bites into his Shake Shack cheeseburger, and he was already spouting blasphemy.

Australia is lacking in the burger department (unless we make them ourselves; though, our local fish 'n chips shop has a good contender). Five Guys left us a bit disappointed (too much hype; meh fries). We've been advised to avoid White Castle (done). But Shake Shack... sooooo goooood!

I love the burgers. I love the fries-- plain or slathered in cheese. I love the shakes. We've been in New York only three full days and have already gone twice. We've joked about going again this week. At least, I think we were both joking.

Yet I just can't proclaim them to be my favorite burger. Yes, they are excellent, but they don't have In-N-Out's classic spread/special sauce. It's the best food substance in the world. I always dip my fries in it, and have gone so far as to save packets of it for home-burger nights. And speaking of fries, Shake Shack's crinkle fries are excellent, but I'll always be partial to shoe strings.

Sorry, Shake Shack. You are delightful, but In-N-Out is still what a hamburger's all about.

and all i have to do is act naturally

There is something unnatural about the American Museum of Natural History. Don't get me wrong, it's a very cool place. You'd be remiss to visit New York and skip it. But there is something odd and even a little unsettling about the museum. At least that's how it seemed to us.

Walking through the Hall of African Mammals, we got our first look at the famous dioramas. Zebras drink from a watering hole. A lion pride surveys a field, looking for its next meal. Massive elephants dominate the center of the room. It was exactly what I had expected, yet somehow it felt strange.

Living in San Diego means I have visited its zoo more times than I can count. I'm used to seeing animals behind glass, they're just usually moving. But when you really think about it, aren't zoos just as weird, if not more so? Is it better to take a dead animal and pose it for eternal display, or remove a live one from its environment and confine it to a cage for the rest of its life? Neither is a true example of how the animal looks and acts in the wild.

The rest of the museum (save for the fourth floor, where they keep the dinosaurs and other fossils) feels just as strange, almost like stepping back in time or into a Wes Anderson movie. Artifacts are displayed in the most straight forward way; lined up in orderly fashion within glass display cases, or placed on mannequins. No muss, no fuss.

While my 20th/21st century eye sees this as dated, it was actually ahead of its time in the 1920s and 1930s when the museum was really taking shape. Great care and detail were used in creating the taxidermy dioramas, creating displays that sharply contrasted with the rigid stuffing typically used at the time. The display on evolution was the only major American exhibition of its kind in 1921. The AMNH worked closely with cultural anthropologists Franz Boas and Margaret Mead, who both revolutionized the field.

The American Museum of Natural History isn't the flashiest, but it is itself a slice of New York history. When you view the dioramas, you are viewing the same display seen by visitors over 70 years ago. You are walking in the footsteps of New York's rich and poor, old and young, tourists and locals.

i want to wake up in the city that never sleeps

New York City is the longest stop on our trip. Eleven days in the Big Apple. I better like it.

So far it's been a mix. Getting off the train at Madison Square Garden was a bit chaotic. We were weighed down with bags, trying our best to weave through the crowd while not getting separated. Thankfully the city has thought ahead and set up a semi-orderly taxi stand at the exit. If people weren't forced into a queue, trying to catch a cab there would be a nightmare.

Of course, about three minutes into our taxi ride to the hotel I wanted out. The ride was one of those stereotypical New York experiences you hear about in television and movies, but don't quite believe it ever happens. Our cabbie flew through yellow lights and switched lanes at least 1000 times on his way to the Upper West Side. But he did get us there fast and in one piece, so I guess that's a victory.

Our hotel is nicely located. A short walk from Central Park, with lots of local eateries and bars up and down Broadway and Amsterdam. We even got upgraded to the Penthouse because my fiance told the front desk we had just gotten engaged. The elevator is slow, but the room is comfy and quiet.

All in all, it's been a good start.

waitin' for the soldier to come back again

Looking back through my photos from Washington D.C., you'd think my favorite stop was the Washington Monument. It dominates the D.C. skyline, and sneaks itself into images of other memorials. There are photos of it alone, as seen from the Lincoln Memorial, reflected in ponds... You can't escape it. 

Yet, it's probably one of the most unremarkable sites to see in the capital. It's just a tall tower, really. It's cold and impersonal. There are no lofty quotes from our first president. It sits there, towering over the National Mall, failing to inspire.

Of all the monuments and memorials in Washington D.C., the Vietnam Veterans Memorial is my favorite. Much has been made of the controversy surrounding the war itself and the design of its memorial. All this arguing misses the true point: War is always tragic. It doesn't matter if a war is just or in vain; no family should know the grief of losing a loved one through violence.

Our visit happened to be the Friday before Memorial Day. The base of the wall was covered with flowers, some photos of deceased soldiers, and papers printed by family members telling the story of their lost loved one. A group of high school students arrived as we walked through. They were given a specific serviceman's name to find, and then took rubbings of that name from the wall. Volunteers, some Vietnam vets themselves, were helping them locate the names.

No doubt that today the Vietnam Memorial, as well as those for Korean and WWII veterans, are covered in even more flowers and tributes. They may not be the most prominent or the most flashy, but these are the most important places in the capital-- the places where we remember what we have lost as a country, not what we have gained. Where we can bow our heads and contemplate the sacrifice of brave men and women.

there's only you and me and we just disagree

Inside the museum at Gettysburg National Military Park, I make the innocent mistake of answering my fiancé's history question:

"So, Lincoln was a Republican? That seems strange."
"Well the party names of 'Republican' and 'Democrat' are fluid. 'Conservative' and 'Liberal' are more accurate ways of describing a person's political beliefs. At the time, the Republican Party was the more liberal party. But if Lincoln were alive today he'd probably have more in common with the Democrats."
My friend pipes in, "Yeah, now it's more about picking one or two issues, like abortion, and if you feel a certain way about it you're automatically stuck in one party or the other."

Our conversation was brief, and fairly quiet. However, a nearby woman overhears us, gives us an evil glare, and hurriedly shuffles away. In a museum dedicated to the country divided, I was reminded that we are still very much a country at war with itself.

I actually do wonder sometimes what our previous presidents would think if they were alive today. I'm sure they would all have an opinion, but none more so than old Honest Abe. What would he think of how divided this nation has become? Would he even think that the most divisive issues of today-- abortion, gay marriage, tax reform-- are worth fighting over? Would he be discouraged that a mere 150 years after the Civil War, we are once again at each other's throats?

Maybe America's legacy is that of fighting. Devoid of a common enemy, we turn to our neighbors. We fight because it's what we were bred to do from the start.

you're a grand old flag

If you hate American patriotism, do not visit Fort McHenry. Here you will see one of the most patriotic displays I have ever seen outside of the Fourth of July.

Upon entering the visitor's center, you are invited to watch a short film explaining the history of the fort. For those not in the know, Fort McHenry is the site of the events which inspired Francis Scott Key to write "The Star Spangled Banner" during the War of 1812. OK, now that we're all caught up...

The film includes reenactments of the battle, interspersed with informative maps to illustrate the movement of American and British troops. The story reaches it's conclusion, with F.S. Key finding inspiration after a long night of battle. The national anthem begins to swell. Then the screen on which the movie is playing dramatically lifts to reveal a view of the real life Fort McHenry, flag proudly waving in the wind.

Not being at a sporting event and having been expressly instructed to stand, I remain seated. There is movement to my left. Other visitors have stood. Unsure of what to do, I remain seated. Are you supposed to stand every time you hear the national anthem? I can't remember my high school government lessons. Did we even learn that in high school? My Australian fiance also remains seated, but not being American he has a legitimate excuse.* I slyly look to my right. Other visitors have also remained seated, but they are old and also have a legitimate excuse not to stand. The anthem ends, and the screen lowers to set itself for the next viewing.

I feel like a real dick. Clearly I should have stood. My only option now is to let my fiance do all the talking so everyone thinks I'm Australian. But then he starts asking me question which I must answer, so people hear my non-Aussie accent. I secretly hope they think I'm Canadian.

After walking through the small museum inside, we head outdoors and start to walk the park surrounding the fort. As we pass the visitor's center, you can see the window blocked by the movie screen.

"We should just stand right in front of the window with our mouths open," my fiance jokes.
I laugh, "No, we should stand further up on the hill and moon the next group."

I know I should respect my history a little more, but the movie screen is a bit much. And perhaps I feel that way because I was lucky enough to be born in the USA in the first place, and take for granted how easy my life has been because of this. My friend we are staying with told us how her mother, a newly minted American citizen, burst into tears when the movie screen was raised. She's English, but has lived in the US for over two decades now. Her life has been easier than others, but being an American still means something to her. She's genuinely excited to vote for the first time. Her husband is ready to buy a gun just because he can. They are ready to take on all the rights and responsibilities that come with owning this country.

That I can definitely respect.

*He was wearing a Captain America shirt at the time, so some people may have thought he was a dick as well.

fly me to the moon

It's noon on Sunday, and my fiancé and I are having lunch at Kennedy Space Center. We are sitting at a cafe located in a large, warehouse-type building which houses a Saturn V rocket. The place is eerily quite. Even as bus groups arrive, the volume never lifts above a low conversation. After the constant roar of Universal and Disney, it's a little unsettling.

The noise level isn't the only thing that's different. Throughout the day I've noticed that the average KSC visitor is easily over 50. There are a few younger people, mostly foreigners, and families with small children. But I can't help but notice that gray hair and Hawaiian shirts dominate the facility.

As a kid, my family vacations always included something educational. We never visited Disney World, but I did see the St. Louis Arch, Laura Ingalls Wilder's Mansfield home, local state parks, and many state capitals. Museums and art galleries are still some of our favorite places to visit, thanks to my mom's insistence on taking us from a young age.

Part of this was out of necessity-- theme parks are expensive; historical sites are cheap, often free. But even if my parents had had a bigger budget to work with, I know they still would have favored history over pure amusement. Historical sites, campgrounds, museums, etc. are often more fun. They're certainly less crowded, the food is usually better (and reasonably priced), and the quality time spent together is more meaningful when it doesn't take place in the hour long line for Mr. Toad's Wild Ride.

And aren't historical sites and museums the places children should be visiting anyway? It's one thing to learn about American history in the classroom, but it's much more meaningful seeing it in person. You can be told that the Saturn V rocket (the one that got us to the moon) is longer than a football field, but to actually see it... well, it's really amazing.

But maybe kids don't find that amazing anymore. Landing on the moon is old news. Going into space is just another thing we do. Or rather, another thing we did. With the grounding of the space shuttle fleet, NASA's space program is slipping further into the past. Further from our grasp. Further from our imaginations.

when you wish upon a star

One of mom's favorite stories about her grandmother is from their family trip to DisneyWorld.

It was the first year the park opened, and there wasn't much there. Just DisneyWorld, surrounded by dozens of acres of orange groves. At one point, they rode the monorail out to an a-frame building, which contained renderings for future park development.

"Mmmmm-hmmm. That Walt Disney sure is a big dreamer!" My great-grandmother said in a loud southern drawl.

My great grandmother was very much a child of the Great Depression. The stories told to me by my mother and her siblings depict a frugal, no nonsense sort of woman. She packed picnic baskets with fruit and sandwich fixings on cross country road trips, rather than pay for expensive processed snack foods and restaurant meals. She took home half-squeezed lemon wedges from restaurants to rub on her skin, because they were still good and shouldn't go to waste. Bananas were a cure-all wonder drug, and aspirin was saved for true emergencies.

This is exactly the sort of woman who would look at an orange grove in Florida and think that it would always be just an orange grove in Florida.

As we drove to Disney's Hollywood Studios (we skipped The Magic Kingdom, having visited Disneyland many times already), I couldn't help but wonder what my mom's grandmother would think of Walt Disney's big dreams if she could see the area some forty years on. The parks are still fairly secluded, set back in the trees and visible only once you enter the parking lot. But there are so many more of them now: The Magic Kingdom, Epcot, Hollywood Studios, Animal Kingdom, Blizzard Beach, Typhoon Lagoon. There are also hotspots for shopping and nightlife, and endless resorts catering to every type of visitor.

I think my great grandmother would be appalled at the audaciousness and extravagance of it all. How wasteful to spend hundreds of dollars to ride roller coasters and take home cheap toys. What self-respecting adult would dress up in long robes in the hot Florida sun just for Star Wars Weekend. Why is there a giant golf ball in the middle of this park?

But maybe a little part of her would be impressed. One man's dream transformed the wilderness into a tourist mecca. A vision that captured the imagination of her great granddaughter, who made it one of her goals in life to visit that place, ride those rides, and see what exactly was inside that golf ball. (An increasingly dated looking journey through time, currently narrated by Judi Dench.)

In any case, I'm sure she's giving Walt an earful up in heaven. Nobody should have to pay $14 just to park their car.

i've got the magic in me

The first time I read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone I was forced into doing it. My sister, then in middle school, was reading the series and couldn't stop talking about them. I, being the sophisticated and mature high schooler I was, dismissed them as kid's books:

"No Sally, they're really cool."

"Whatever, Sister. Magic is for babies."

"Just read them! I promise you'll like them!"

After several weeks of badgering, I agreed to read the first one-- but only the first one!-- just to shut her up. The joke was on me, though. I was instantly hooked, and haven't shut up about the books since.

In college I continued my Potter obsession. I attended midnight book releases, midnight movie releases, and even started a private Potter-themed sorority with my dorm mates. Every situation could be brought back to the books somehow, whether it was shouting "Alohamora!" when unlocking the front door, or wishing each other "Happy Christmas Ron/Happy Christmas Harry" via Facebook.

So naturally, upon hearing that a Harry Potter theme park would be opening at Universal Studios, we literally jumped for joy.

We planned on visiting the Wizarding World of Harry Potter together, but life got in the way. We've gotten married, bought homes, lost our jobs, started new ones. Still, our love of all things Potter is great enough that when I announced that my fiance was taking me to the park, they were genuinely excited for me. Jealous, but excited.

I am happy to report that the Wizarding World is just as cool as we all imagined. It could be bigger, but then I think the only way Potter fans could truly be satisfied is if Hogwarts were suddenly revealed to be a real life school and we all received our owl post acceptance letters. The rides are fun, the Hogsmeade shops are amazingly detailed, and the perpetual winter landscaping is a nice touch.

My favorite moment was sitting in the cool dark Hog's Head pub, sipping a butter beer. For a moment I could almost believe I wasn't in sunny Florida, but instead in cloudy England. I was having fun with my classmates, putting off our History of Magic and Care of Magical Creatures homework until the last moment as usual. Later we would pop into Zonko's for some trick wands, and then head back to the castle just in time for dinner.

It would be the perfect end to a perfect day.

time may change me

My good friends, Amy & Johnny, on their wedding day. 5/5/2012

If you had told me five years ago that I would be voluntarily thinking of incorporating Star Wars details into my wedding, I'd have thought you were crazy. Not that my boyfriend at the time wasn't into such "geekery" (which he totally was), but because I didn't think fun and whimsy of the sort had any place in a wedding.

Yet, here I am, newly engaged and designing save the date cards themed after some of our favorite movies, including Star Wars.

My fiance is a different man than I was dating five years ago, but the two share many of the same personality traits, one of which is being a self-described geek. In fact, all of my ex-boyfriends could be described as geeks. I definitely have a type.

And though I can now freely admit to this, I tried for many years to fight it. Geeks were not cool when I was in school. Having been mercilessly teased throughout elementary school and junior high for being smart, I wanted desperately to be cool in high school. My one long term boyfriend during this time was a huge comic book fan, with a soft spot for Captain America. I'm sure he told me Steve Roger's origin story, but I can't remember. At the time I thought comic books were exclusively for children and middle aged men still living with their parents. There was no way I was going to encourage his reading material. Now I'm a huge fan of the Cap thanks to his movie and The Avengers. I also love Iron Man and Thor, and have discovered the artistic genius of Watchmen and V for Vendetta.

The world is now full of celebrated geeks. It's hip to be square thanks to the likes of Steve Jobs and the cast of The Big Bang Theory. All the geeky things I grew up loving are now considered cool: Star Wars, crafting, environmentalism. For the first time in my life I feel completely comfortable in my own skin, and happy to be with someone who understands my obsessions with Harry Potter and Disney. I'm sure some of this just comes with age, but it helps to know I'm not alone.

So the "classy," traditional nuptials I dreamed about in my early twenties have been thrown out the window. Red roses are not mandatory, and neither are formal length bridesmaid gowns, an evening reception, and a multi-tiered cake. I'm a fan of tropical blooms, so orange and purple are definitely in. Wedding cakes never taste as good as I expect them to, so why not serve cupcakes or strawberry shortcake or doughnuts? Short, stylish dresses are now my bridesmaid preference, worn with flats if they choose (You can thank me later, ladies).

All I want is to stand in front of a crowd and marry my best friend, knowing the force will be with us... always. I also hope the odds are ever in our favor, which is not a riddikulus wish.

i wanna sink to the bottom with you

When I saw Titanic years ago, I cried. Before you start to scoff, let me state that I was only 12 years old, and due to receive my first period within a couple months. Also, those the old people curling up on the bed are adorably sad, and if that doesn't at least tug at your heart strings then you are clearly a robot/android/jerk-face.

 I managed to avoid seeing the 3-D re-release of the film, but I couldn't pass up Titanic: The Artifact Exhibition (currently showing at the San Diego Natural History Museum).

The exhibition features objects raised from the sea floor, set among recreations of cabins and period dressed actors for effect. There's even an iceberg. It's very cold.

While I liked the exhibit, it left me with mixed feelings. The Titanic itself is very much a grave site, which is now essentially being plundered for profit. Yet, how many other exhibits have I attended are also filled with plundered loot from the graves of the deceased? Do I feel differently because only 100 years has passed since the Titanic's sinking? Or maybe it's because these are rich white folks?*

Maybe I'm just over-thinking things, as I'm prone to do. The exhibit is educational, and really well done. The bulk of artifacts are personal possessions, making it easy to relate to individual passengers. And maybe that's the point of the whole thing: to remind us that we are not infallible. Our lives are random, and could cease at any moment.


*I haven't seen the movie since the early 2000s, but apparently third class was not as squalid as it appeared on the big screen. You had to be pretty well off to afford even the cheapest cabins. Their menus didn't seem to shabby either.

qué será, será

About five years ago I visited Tokyo, Japan for a week. It was an amazing experience. It also left me feeling incredibly homesick after only a few days. The language barrier was mentally exhausting, and all I wanted was to speak to someone who was fluent in English.

Then one night, while waiting by the statue of Hachikō near Shibuya Station, I overheard a small group of British tourists. Sure, they had different accents and occasionally used unfamiliar slang, but they were speaking my language. It was music to my ears. I didn't introduce myself or attempt to strike up a conversation. I just continued my innocent eavesdropping until my friend arrived. Turns out the simple act of hearing a familiar language was enough of a reminder of home, even if San Diego is a world away from London.

Since moving to Australia I haven't felt this same longing. While their English is different, I have access to enough American television, films, and podcasts to sate my appetite for American accents. So when my boyfriend asked if the aircrew's American accents reminded me of home, I replied, "No. Not really." I hear English every day. The accents have become somewhat irrelevant over the past nine months.

Then the gentleman sitting next to me asked a flight attendant if she spoke Spanish. She did, and they proceeded to have a short conversation about where they were from, where they lived, and which custom forms he would need upon landing. After relating their conversation to my boyfriend, he smiled and asked, "Does that remind you of home?"

Yes, it absolutely does.

leaving on a jet plane

Hello, my name is Sally and I'm a blogaholic. I already have two slightly neglected blogs, so it seems natural that I'd create another, no?

Ah, but this one will be different. I swear.

After some consideration, I've decided to start this little site as a travel journal. In a few days I will be (briefly) returning to the USA, and traveling the East Coast. The goal is to actually document this trip in a way I've never done during my previous travels, despite receiving two real life travel journals as gifts. Sorry, peeps.

So here we go... just one slightly miserable 14 hour plane ride and I'll be home. Back in San Diego, the greatest city in the world. No exaggeration. Any place with both authentic Mexican food restaurants and In-N-Out Burgers is surely heaven.