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.