Sarah Too

I should be working on my Christmas cards right now, but my thoughts keep drifting back to the Bahamas. Maybe it is because I still feel like I am rocking, ever so slightly, on the deck of Royal Caribbean's Monarch of the Seas. Yep, the day after cornish hens, dessert, and a movie on Turkey Day, I headed over to Port Canaveral to embark on a 3-night cruise to the Bahamas. My first cruise ever, and I'm not sure if it might be my last. In the right application, those evil polluting cruise ships are loads of fun. Unfortunately, my friend and I hit upon a weekend of travel filled with mostly Floridian families and couples. And to my friend's disappointment, the Latin lounge was lacking luster and adequate salsa dancers. She's a horrible lead, and I'm a horrible follower. We did our best, and we made the most of the live salsa band. The first day on the boat, we were given a frozen rum beverage, and directed straight to the lunch buffet. There is no way one could EVER go hungry on one of these ships -- unless you locked yourself to the slot machines or the black jack table in the casino. Even then, I think one of the many wait staff would make sure to bring you some extra garnish in your drink to keep you fed. The wait staff was always around, making sure no man or woman went without alcohol longer than they wanted. Too bad the drinks aren't included!! My most helpful tip -- buy a bottle of wine with dinner. Packs a bigger punch for fewer dollars!

By noon on the second day, we were pulling into our first port-of-call, that glorious monument to tourism -- Nassau. Atlantis is a gleaming pillar of excess on the port side, and Senor Frog's is a hovel of debauchery on the starboard side. The port can handle 4 cruise ships at a time, and our ship was sandwiched between the Carnival Imagination and a Norwegian Cruise Line ship that shall remain nameless (because I can't recall the name).



As soon as we were able, we disembarked to head off on a catamaran snorkel adventure...all two miles away from the dock. The water was...not warm. It was 65 degrees. Like I said, not warm. But I had to get in! There were fish and coral and other oblivious snorkelers. The reef looked OK, but I've seen better with larger fish. This reef has a crap load of snorkelers dropped off at it every day. There were at least three boats there in the time we were there, and the reef is right next to a boat channel. Fortunately, our crew served up some excellent rum punch. Three cups later, and we were wobbling down the dock to the shops for a little perusing before dinner at 6.

Our ship departed Nassau late on the second evening of the cruise, so we could get to CoCo Cay by 8 AM the next morning. The Cay belongs to the cruise line and is completely developed with charming Disney-esque huts with cute names like Blackbeard's Grill and Coconut Willies. The hammocks and lounge chairs were plentiful, though, and we found a place to read. Too bad the sun was not a plentiful as places to sit. The wind and waves deterred us from kayaking, and then the cool air and sprinkles of rain deterred us from lounging in the hammocks. We headed back to the ship where everyone had the same idea -- the hot tub. People were packed in like lobsters in a pot.

As we pulled away from the Cay for the overnight journey home, the wind kicked way up and the waves had us rockin' and rollin' in our stateroom as we packed up our bags and got ready for dinner. I finally felt like I was on a boat!! Which is probably why I STILL feel a bit of the rocking, even 36 hours later. In the end, this trip was relaxing to the max. Other than having to keep an eye on the time so that I didn't miss an excursion, or a meal, or the boat, I didn't have to think about a thing. Too bad that once I got in the car to return home, all those thoughts that went on vacation...started coming back too!

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So my compadres Jaime, Kathryn, and Kathryn's 4-year-old son, Leo, and I headed out to Hillsborough River State Park on Sunday the 12th. It was one helluva a beautiful day, and the car was packed to the hilt with our supplies: tents, cooking equipment, food, drink, clothes, sleeping gear, and toys. Too bad Kathryn and I forgot to eat breakfast. Good thing we are never more than a stone's throw from McDonald's, and the park is only 45 minutes away from St. Pete. The park is a lush oasis just outside of Tampa.


Above is a view of the Hillsborough River, which flows down through the city of Tampa into Tampa Bay. You can follow the river and learn about the watershed here. The section of the river inside the park is home to a whole of host animals, but the flashiest inhabitant is the alligator. Over the 3 hours total that I paddled with Jaime or Kathryn and Leo, I saw no less than 3 gators; the largest of which had to be about 12 feet long, sunning on the riverbank after a meal. Three hours of paddling took it's toll on my shoulders (which despite the shady riverbanks, still got sunburned) and on my booty. The metal seat of the rented canoe was rather unforgiving, but the fun we had was priceless:


Leo's hair is wet in these photos, not because we dumped him in the river in an attempt to use him as gator-bait, but because he went swimming in the campground pool before going paddling with us. Leo managed to collect a whole load of "river money" (a.k.a. leaf litter) on our trip down and up the lazy river.

Once we finished paddling, we headed up to our campsite so we could set up and move towards dinner. Kathryn managed to book the park ranger's favorite site, which included a wooden footbridge and vacant space on one side of us (so we weren't surrounded by other campers). Plus, we were close to the bath house and the sinks, and there was a field for playing across the road. Here is our two-tent campsite:

Kathryn is a veteran camper and had the perfect dinner recipe: chicken, peppers, and onion with sundried tomato dressing, cooked in the fire in foil packets, along with sweet potatoes (also cooked in foil packets in the fire). Using firewood we bought at the campground, Jaime and I started the fire, but man, that puppy took so much special care. The wood must have had just enough moisture to keep it from becoming a rager, but it wasn't so wet that it would only smoke. Regardless, Jaime kept a good watch, and used her exceptional lung capacity to keep the flames stoked so that we could cook dinner and roast marshmellows for s'mores.

As always with camping, the fire died out and we ended up going to bed fairly early. Jaime had to get up and leave early so she could get to work, and the rest of us were just tired out by the day. Plus, Jaime would have you believe that I was mourning my earlier loss at ring toss. (I say I was hustled. At least I'm not afraid of the frogs in the campground showers...)

The next day brought oatmeal for breakfast, breakdown of the campsite, packing up the car, and a 10 AM hike through the park. Kathryn, Leo, and I did the 1.1 mile Baynard Trail, which starts at the park's suspension bridge over the river. On our walk, we saw tons of butterflies, some baby tree frogs, and grasshoppers.

After hiking, it was time to cool off in the campground pool, then eat lunch. The pool at the park is huge and pretty shallow. It's 5 feet at it's deepest point in the middle, and about 2 feet at it's shallowest. It's really great for just cooling off and for splashing around with the kids. Leo and I did so much splashing around, that he tired me right out -- just in time for lunch on the pool deck. Leo played in the pool for a little while longer after lunch, while Kathryn and I watched from the sidelines, but then it was time for ice cream and the drive home.

This was my second trip to Hillsborough River State Park. My first trip was last November, when some friends and I hiked into the primitive campsites that the park offers. It's about a mile hike into those sites, and it's very secluded from the rest of the campground. You can hear the wild boars rustling around in the underbrush at night. Hiking in with all our supplies on our backs for one night was a bit tiring, so maybe more than one night for the next trip. This park has so much to do, though, and it's so close to home, which makes it a great weekend escape and in high demand for the winter months. Hopefully, I can squeeze another trip there into this year's camping season.

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TRIP STATS:
Number of Squirrel Attacks: 5 dozen
Number of Marshmellows lost to the fire: 0!
Number of gators spotted: No less than 3
Number of turtles spotted: No less than 6
Number of days my ass hurt after paddling for 3 hours: 2

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Ft. Desoto is a beautiful spit of land at the south end of Pinellas County, Florida, and it is one of my most favorite places in St. Pete. When I first moved to St. Pete, North Beach was a place where I could mentally sort things out, while I walked the shoreline at sunset. It is amazing to watch the clouds move over the land, out towards the Gulf of Mexico.

Because of the beauty of the beaches, and the availability of an extensive bike path, of kayak rentals, and of bicycle rentals, the camping sites at this park are frequently in high demand, especially as the winter approaches. So, when a friend of mine decided to book a campsite for September back in June, I jumped at the chance to go camping again. The last time I went camping was November 2007 (but I guess, technically, I camped last this June when I hiked the Inca Trail).

At Ft. Desoto people clamor for the waterfront tent sites, so booking so far in advance got us a beautiful view at sunset, shade during the day, and some seclusion from the main vehicle thoroughfare of the campground. I arrived at the campsite after work on Friday night -- my car filled with my tent, camp chairs, backpack, groceries, and cooler. (Hike-in backpacking/camping trips are fun, but sometimes, a little car camping, right in your own backyard, is more relaxing.) Ft. Desoto is only 20 minutes from my house, and the 7-11 is only 5 minutes from the camp site, in case desperation truly sets in!

Friday night Heather and I set up camp. Her with her townhome tent (seriously, this thing was a 3-bedroom pop-up apartment), and I with my two- or three-person dome tent. (I would go with calling it a 2-person tent, but I think it's technically a 3-person tent to the manufacturer.) My tent had been rolled up for so long that it had a) moved from Fairfax, VA to San Diego, CA (thereby meaning it had spent 4 years in storage, at least); b) made the flight from San Diego to St. Pete last Christmas; and c) stuck to itself as I went about unrolling it! Poor little tent...I had even forgotten what you looked like, fully-assembled!! Behold, the lil' beauty:

Fortunately, the weekend weather was just perfect for camping! The days were hot and sunny, with a cool breeze, and the nights, thankfully, dipped down in the 60s. It was cool enough that I slept like the dead. It was not cool enough to have the rain-fly over the tent, but the weather cooperated there, too. No rain the whole time!! And my lil' tent had enough screen to keep the breeze coming through all night.

After setting up camp on Friday evening, our friend Ryan joined us, we stoked the grill to make cheese quesadillas and chicken, and from our picnic table we watched the sun set over the water:

I don't think it can get more beautiful than that...(Well, it can if, on the radio, you listen to the Rays win against the Minnesota Twins, which moved them one game closer to the play-offs. Go Rays!)

Saturday, Heather, Ryan, and I woke up not-too-early, considering that the sun rises around 7ish these mornings. It gave us enough time to eat a little breakfast -- banana with peanut butter and a Nutri-Grain bar..no coffee :-( -- before heading off to the International Coastal Clean-Up Day, sponsored by Tampa Bay Watch. Heather and I slogged along the road leading into Ft. Desoto park, and tramped deep within the mangroves, to pick up the trash that people chuck out of their cars, or that washes up on shore (after people chuck trash off their boats). I think I personally picked up a case of empty beer cans. I also picked up a knife. Others found a large rug, or boat carpet, which when you pair that with the knife I found...paints a bit of a CSI-like picture, doesn't it?

That morning adventure took about 2 hours, and quite a bit of sweat, but Keep Pinellas Beautiful rewarded us with a free lunch of hot dogs and cold drinks, as well as some chotchke give aways. Anyone want a neon yellow t-shirt? Anyone??

Fortunately, the campground at Ft. Desoto boasts awesome shower facilities. [I gotta tell you -- I had a little residual trauma leftover from the Inca Trail when it came time to climb in the shower. In Peru, you never quite knew the quality of the bathroom facilities that you were stepping into, whether it be a hostel or the one shower stop we had along the Inca trail. Regardless of the situation, you never really wanted to come in contact with the walls, much less the floor, and I always felt the need to get my shower over with quickly, just in case the hot water faltered.] Back in the good ol' over-consuming, bigger-is-better U-S-of-A, though, showers at a campground, especially this campground, are just what you need them to be: clean, hot, and wonderfully refreshing. Sorry if I just gushed a little there, but I love me a good shower, particularly after spending a long morning picking up other people's trash in the hot sun.

After our showers, Heather and I got ready for the beach. And then we sat on the beach, or floated in the ocean, for 5 gloriously long hours. Friends came and went, magazines and books were read, floats were blown up and deflated, and sunscreen was applied and reapplied. When we returned to camp, we cleaned ourselves up once more, and then felt the wonderful exhaustion of a day well-spent on the beach.

As we had the night before, we turned on the Rays game and stoked the grill for dinner. After dinner, we created a campfire in the grill because we didn't have a freestanding metal firepit with us and there are no firepits at any of the campsites. Our ghetto campfire still gave me a great moment of zen:


I'm still learning how to play with my little point-and-shoot camera, and even though the photo is grainy, it still manages to capture a little bit of the fading sunset, and the crackle of the fire. The icing on the cake: the Rays clinched a playoff position by beating the Twins again. YES! I celebrated with a Hunt's chocolate pudding snack pack...

Saturday gave us another gorgeous sleeping night. Again, I slept like a rock. I did not, fortunately enough, sleep ON a rock. YAY! On Sunday morning, we packed up camp after breakfast. I hit the 7-11 on the way off the island, then drove over to St. Pete Beach at Pass-A-Grille for a nice morning walk along the beach before heading home.

Parting notes: Talk about a stay-cation! For $30/night, this campsite rocked. #47 if you ever want to stay. It was such a relaxing weekend, and I didn't have to fly anywhere or drive more than 20 minutes. Plus, I even did some civic duty by cleaning up our beautiful shoreline. If this doesn't entice you to come stay with me for a long weekend, then I'm sorry, you're just a lost cause!

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I haven't stepped foot in an airport, or driven farther than 50 miles from home, since returning home to Florida on July 17th. So why am I posting on my (travel) blog? Well, not all travel is international, or even interstate. Sometimes, the voyage takes place without going anywhere -- not even out your front door. To be honest, it does feel a little strange not to be fervently packing and unpacking my bags for another trip away. In fact, I'm already feeling restless for another trip. Fortunately, Labor Day weekend and my employer have a cure lined up for me...

Back to what I was getting at before -- the domestic voyage. The destinations and scenic vistas of the domestic voyage are the ideas and plans one entertains when given enough time at a routine. My routine consists of listening to the alarm go off, pressing the snooze button for an hour (plus), getting up, making the coffee, going to work, coming home, watching the boob tube in one form or another (DVDs, the Olympics, the CW), going to bed, then starting the whole thing over again. I'm not upset with my routine. It's been a nice reset period following the intense momentum of a few months of pack, travel, unpack, repeat. I reacquainted myself with my apartment, my workplace, my town, my relationships, my grocery store. It gave me time (finally) to achieve the milestone of open water SCUBA certification, to install a dishwasher, to go to the movies. And it gave me time to think and to be bored. That's right. This summer vacation, I got bored. And that's pretty cool. Seriously! Now, I never called Mom to ask for ideas on what to do, because I (or someone I know) invariably came up with SOMETHING amusing (or something broke or needed to be taken care of -- grown-up style); however, the dull hum of routine and boredom was necessary.

Now, I am ready for "the next big thing." ("Big" is a relative term.) In the long term, that means some changes with my job, and some more international and interstate adventures. In the short term, that means ramping up training efforts for the upcoming road race running season, especially since deciding to run both the Phoenix and Atlanta Half-Marathons with my cousin in early 2009. And in the here and now, that means enjoying the domestic voyage to become a wiser, stronger, more tolerant human being.

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After a week of coral research overload and hob-knobbing, I flew towards my most favorite place in the world - The 1000 Islands of the St. Lawrence River in Northern NY. For a few days I was living on River time in my true hometown with good friends and my family. My parents rented a fantastic cottage with a huge screened-in porch overlooking the main U.S. shipping channel on the south side of Wellesley Island.

Our days were filled with reading, relaxing, games, good food, and much laughter. My best friend provided us with brown lake trout and venison sausage as a basis for my brother's culinary masterpieces. The rented house provided us with board games like Trivial Pursuit and Password. And the River provided us with many hours of entertainment and peaceful contemplation.

Even after all these years, the ships moving up and down the channel still give me a thrill. I still wonder what is on board, and I still take note of whether the ship is riding high or low in the water.


Our first day at the cottage was HOT and cause for us all to jump into the "refreshingly cool" River. After floating the 86 degree salty Atlantic Ocean, the 72 degree freshwater River was small shock to the system, but it felt so good! That is of course, if you keep moving when you first jump in (there is no wading)...

The second day was a bit more...temperate, with rain showers all through the night and through a good part of the day. We visited the Boldt Yacht House, and Boldt Castle. I saw the Castle last year, and there always seems to be something new to see each time I visit. The skies finally cleared in the late afternoon, so the girls took at walk over to T.I. Park. After a little playtime on the see-saw and the swings, it was time for cocktails and hors d'oeuvres.

My last full day was filled with a lazy morning, then an afternoon jaunt to Cape Vincent and Clayton. Tibbett's Point lighthouse is always a favorite, as is the newish favorite -- the Lyric Coffee House in Clayton. For dinner, we ate out (since we demolished the trout and venison sausage). I had a delicious stuffed-chicken dish at Hacker's at the Thousand Island Country Club. Our table could have been less "plastic fold-out with inconveniently-placed legs," but the food was fantastic, as was the sunset.

In the morning, I had to leave. After two weeks on the road, work and my day-to-day life were beckoning. I didn't want to leave my friends or family, though. It was so nice to spend time with them all, and I didn't want it to end. It was a tough ride to the Syracuse airport, as my best friend and I tried to enjoy remaining time together. It had been a year since we last saw each other and I dreaded that my departure meant another year would go by before our next visit...

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Immediately after a weekend of Key-razy fun with the gals down in the Florida Keys, I headed up to Ft. Lauderdale for the 11th International Coral Reef Symposium (ICRS). This was one of the largest conferences I have ever attended and there were scientists, natural resource managers, and policy-makers from all over the world crawling all over the Ft. Lauderdale Convention Center. About 2,500 of us filled the entire convention center with presentations and posters. There were many good talks given, and it was difficult picking out which ones to attend. I don't know how the organizers coordinated the scheduling of over 10 concurrent topic sessions! I definitely filled my brain with plenty of new knowledge and I felt the squeeze of all that information overload by Friday afternoon...

Not only did the conference enlighten me, I also got to visit with friends from my graduate school days in Miami. And oh, how I missed all you guys!! We had an alumni get-together at Southport Raw Bar, where the beer runneth over and mini key lime pies were delicious. The next night, we had more fun together at the exceptionally tasty vegan restaurant, Sublime. I'm all about the Sublime Picatta, which comes with grilled asparagus, olive oil whipped mashed potatoes, and lemon caper sauce. I'm usually sold on an entree when I see the word "capers." I love those tasty, salty little things!!

Thursday night was the closing banquet for the conference, which is another way of saying "PAAAAAARTY!!!" Charles Darwin even made an appearance, making it an official nerd-fest. No worries, I just got myself another frozen rum runner to make myself feel less nerd-a-rific. Seriously, people....DARWIN??? I would bet that man wasn't even cool when he was alive....

After the plenary session, morning talks, and lunch on Friday, I flew the coop for Syracuse, my entry point to an all-too-short vacation on the St. Lawrence River with family and good friends. Say good-bye to new coral reef science, Darwin (UGH!), and say hello to vegetating...again!
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Trip Stats:
"Free" schwag (= AWESOME): Metal (reusable) water bottle, canvas briefcase, reusable grocery bag, 18 month calendar of coral
Number of times I nodded off during a session: I would NEVER! (....at least 3 times)
Cups of coffee for the week: clearly not enough (see above)
Number of times no one recognized me: At least 5 (I'm still not wearing my name tag around my neck, people)
Number of times I got hit on by a room service waiter: 1 (No, I don't have a saltwater aquarium, Dude)

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If you're going to do the Florida Keys, you might as well make sure that the trip is in your face! Thus, make sure you have matching beverage cups and t-shirts, copious amounts of alcohol, and the appropriate flotation devices. Oh, and also make sure you go with a bunch of fun-loving gals...with no-less-than-perfect nicknames. The Righteous Hottie, The Captain, The Other One, The One, The Task Master, The Voice, and I headed down to Marathon on Wednesday, July 2 with one objective - one hella good time on America's beautiful birthday weekend.

Upon arrival at Ralphie's Place, a tradition began: At least one thing must go wrong upon arrival. Last year, it was the dead rat (a.k.a. Ralphie) found in the hinge of the fold-out sofabed. This year, it was the toilet that decided to flush onto the floor. The Righteous Hottie and The Task Master attempted to correct the problem:


...but alas, the only solution for the night was shutting off the water supply and flushing with a bucket of water. But only in emergencies. Thankfully, there is another full bathroom at Ralphie's place. To mourn the loss of one working toilet with 6 women staying in a 2 bedroom condo, we made drinks.


Day 1 - We awoke, we drank coffee, we grocery shopped, and we went to the beach. What else do you need to do in the Keys? Well, The Righteous Hottie would tell you that you need to supervise the plumber (as he fixed the faulty gasket in the toilet) and you need to talk to the St. Petersburg police, so you can file a report on the attempted break-in to your house. If you can't start a holiday weekend with a bang (a.k.a. a crowbar through a bathroom window), why start the weekend at all?? Fortunately, the Keys has the same solution for every problem that might come your way: sun and alcohol. The Righteous Hottie took advantage of both, as did the rest of us. Sombrero Beach is a darling hideaway in the Keys, with enough sand to soak up the rays and enough of a drop off to float and swim.


Day 2 - HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA!! Rise and shine to the dulcet tones of Celine Dion crooning "God Bless America." French-Canadians really do make the best Patriots...Breakfast was one fantastic spread of star-spangled pancakes (banana, strawberries, and blueberries) and a great intro into a day filled with crafts (yes), floating (YES!), sun, floating, beer, and other tasty beverages at Summerland Key. Here was our Independence Day Flotilla of Fun:


After our day in the sun (including circumnavigation of Mega Grande Key), we lovely ladies toddled on back to Ralphie's Place for hot dogs, crescent roll-wrapped lil' smokies, and God knows what other deliciousness. I inhaled it all like there was no tomorrow. Dessert was the explosive display of fireworks on Sombrero Beach where, as the kid behind us said, "The finale is going to be IN. YOUR. FACE!" And no lie, that finale was all up in my grill. I tried to capture the display with the camera, but its all blurry. But heck, take a look and relive your own 4th of July...



Day 3 - I'm getting slower in my late-20s. Recovery is not a quick as it once was...even with an early bedtime. I won't say if it was an early-in-the-morning bedtime or an early-in-the-night bedtime because I don't want to reveal whether I am lame or awesome (I'm either too proud or too humble). Regardless, the morning brought bacon, egg, and cheese bagel sandwiches. Oh, happiness!! No worries, we supplemented some of the grease with fruit, or juice, or...coffee. Lots of coffee.

And then, sweating. We sat on the beach and sweated our lives away. It was a HOT day and the beach entry into the water was an exercise in "step through the seaweed." All the boat traffic from the night before (mooring to watch the fireworks on the beach) churned up a lot of green yuck. Once through, though, we were sitting pretty...as long as we batted away the Sargassum.

After lolling on the beach, we gals cleaned up right nice and drove on down to Key West for a beautiful sunset at Mallory Square, mojitos, and one savory, delicious dinner at Blue Heaven. After tasting The Righteous Hottie's surf and turf filet and scallops, I almost called the waitress back to reconsider my order, but my grouper with mango chutney was delicious in its own right. Our midnight drive back to Marathon was the first hint that we would soon be leaving the Keys altogether...

Day 4 - Time to pack up and go. As The Righteous Hottie's parents had just sold the condo, this was our last stay EVER at Ralphie's Place. This little two-bedroom palace had given us ladies two solid weekends of memories, fun, and laughter. For The Righteous Hottie, Ralphie's Place had been a family getaway for over a decade, and this last goodbye was bittersweet. The Righteous Hottie and I sipped our coffee on the screened-in balcony for one last morning. Ultimately, the Gang split into to two cars - one headed back to home base and the other to Ft. Lauderdale, where The Captain's wonderful parents would host dinner for some weekend-weary ladies. Ft. Lauderdale was my next stop on my two-week work n' play journey up the East Coast...
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Trip Stats:
Number of liters of Fresca consumed: 6 (at least)
Number of pretzels thrown into the ocean: half a bag (an underestimate)
Number of flesh wounds inflicted by the bottom of the pool: 3
Number of Lil' Smokies consumed: 2 packs
Number of times The Righteous Hottie "saved" my life with the pool's life-ring: 3
Number of times I jumped off the diving board into the ocean with my sunglasses on: 1
Number of times someone had to free dive in order to retrieve my sunglasses from the bottom of the ocean: 1
Number of times The Voice sent a text message: I lost count on the first night

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We leisurely awoke on Friday morning (THANK goodness!!) and made our way downstairs to a complimentary breakfast of bread, butter, jam, scrambled eggs with ham, tea, juice, and fresh fruit. And by "we," I mean Amanda, Tami, and me. The boys couldn't be bothered with breakfast. Check out wasn't until 11, so we took our sweet time getting organized, packed, and showered. For me, I wanted to take time to enjoy my last shower for the next two days...

At check-out, we stored our bags and went shopping for a last minute souvenirs. On our way down the hill from the fair trade store, where some of us hit the souvenir payload, we passed by a festival of children (or as some would think, a market where children were for sale)...





The kids were dancing and had no clue as to the steps. They all had that blank stare of "What the hell are these adults making us do?" You had to admit that the traditional dress and their faces were captivating.

Around 2, the taxi for the Juliaca airport picked us all up from the hostal. For Ryan and me, this was the start of our goodbye to Peru. On our way to the airport, we passed another fabulous contributor to the area's impeccable air quality:



Turns out that was my last photo in Peru, but fortunately, not my last impression.

Our flight to Lima lasted all of an hour and a half. Everyone got their bags upon arrival. Ryan and I hugged Amanda, Larry, and Tami goodbye. We wouldn't see them again until they returned to the States. After Ryan and I saw off the others, we did some reconnaissance of the Lima airport. It was 6 PM on Friday and our first of 3 flights home didn't take off until 5:35 AM the next morning. We were in for a long night...Where would we like to set up camp?

There is no carpeting and there are no quiet corners in the Lima airport. It is tile, open spaces, and major thoroughfares. Ryan didn't go for my suggestion of camping out in the chapel. What?? Its a legitimate suggestion in my eyes!! Its quiet, set out of the way, and there is no fluorescent lighting...Its got a soothing ambiance - perfect for sleeping!!

After scoping out some food, which for some reason my stomach wasn't interested in more than crackers, Ryan and I sat down on the bridge leading from the second floor of the airport to the airport hotel. We weren't alone - there were two other travelers already camped out - and the area would gather a crowd as the night went on.

I tried to sleep laying on the floor with my head propped on my bag. I was partially successful. I would sleep for about 45 minutes at a time, despite the flight announcements going off over the loud speaker every 15 minutes. "Ding dong. TACA flight number two, six, five to Bogota is now boarding in departure lounge number 18." I also found moments of sleep through the sounds of pipes dropping, hand saws, and other plumbing construction going on mere feet from where we lay. Other sounds filling the airport: babies crying, crowds yammering, and people walking by. However, by midnight, I was cold and uncomfortable on the tile floor, and hungry. The myriad sounds were hammering into my head and I couldn't shut them out. So, I got up and went to Starbucks. Even in Lima, there is Stabucks. I find that a little nauseating, but man, they make a mean hot chocolate (I did say the floor made me cold). Plus, I was able to get a muffin de manzana with cinnamon. They warmed that up for me without me even having to ask!

As I ate my muffin and drank my hot chocolate, I watched all the people waiting on the bridge (I think they were waiting to pick up passengers arriving on flights). I would also stare down the people walking past that stared at Ryan and me like we were on display. Yeah, we're sleeping in the airport...What of it, foo'?

It was amazing that this airport NEVER quieted down. Flights continued to arrive past midnight, past 1 AM. And the construction on the pipes continued past 1 AM. Ryan was able to sleep through the din a little longer than me - how? I don't know...

I finished my fluff paperpack, which I started on the flight to Peru, but didn't crack open since I arrived. ["The Undomestic Goddess," by Sophie Kinsella. Ladies, I recommend this as a great beach read.] Around 3 AM, Ryan and I noticed a line of people down near the Copa Airlines counter and we figured that was our flight. We scuttled downstairs to hurry up and wait. No less than two Copa Airlines employees asked us if we needed tags for our luggage. I had three tags on my bag. Simple observation would let you know that I'm good to go, but hey, maybe that's just me...

We checked in. Then we paid our departure tax of 100 soles. It makes you slightly glad that the US folds all those fees and taxes into the final cost of your airfare. Notice I only said "slightly" glad...Then, we sat at the terminal. I shopped at duty free and bought the perfume I'd been wanting for years: L'eau d'Issey Miake. Our gate would not open until boarding time. I was slightly confused when I went through customs, then noticed that our gate was on the OTHER side of customs. This airport is weird...

I think I slept on the flight to Panama City. I also remember feeling nauseous. I'm not really sure what my body was trying to tell me. I am going home already!! Panama City airport was warm and muggy. Already I felt happy about returning to a place where I didn't have to figure out how many layers I needed to wear for the day. I felt better on the flight to Miami and for a lack of anything better to do, I watched the in-flight film, "Definitely, Maybe," for the second time. I already watched it on the Panama City flight en route to Lima almost 2 weeks before. Maybe I watched it for nostalgia's sake...or I was bored and not sleepy.

We landed in Miami and my nausea was gone. Maybe my intestines were celebrating my return to my homeland? Regardless, I was so excited to be so close to home. It was 1:45 PM. Lima is an hour behind Eastern Daylight Savings Time. We had been in transit for nearly 24 hours. Ryan and I miraculously breezed through baggage and customs. YAY! I checked into our flight to Tampa, we grabbed some food, and we headed down to our commuter terminal on the ground floor of the Miami airport.

Ryan and I had minor heart attacks when it was announced that our scheduled 4 PM flight was delayed for 2 hours, but the desk agent offered up 2 seats on the flight preceeding that one (Allelujah!! Can I get a witness??? Can I get a witness??...). We would leave almost immediately...at 4 PM. ??? I guess some thunderstorms were mucking up all the works for scheduled small aircraft flights.

I nearly ran onto our puddle jumper. In an hour, through gathering stormclouds, we arrived at my favorite airport - Tampa International. Get me in a cab and get me HOME!! Bags? Check! Cab? Check check. Crossing the bridge from Tampa to St. Pete never felt so good, or so exhausting. My shower and my bed felt closer than ever. What hour of transit were we on? 27??

The cab dropped us off at Ryan's car, which was parked in a friend's driveway. Then Ryan dropped me off at my doorstep. I unlocked my apartment door and gratefully stepped over the threshold. I was home. I just had the adventure of a lifetime and now, I could rest...until the next one.

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Thursday morning, we all awoke early once more. [Honestly, I wonder...Who goes on vacation, only to wake up early a majority of the days?? Don't most people go on vacation to relax and sleep in? I really think I need to re-examine my time-off priorities or get my head examined....] Amanda, Tami, and I faced the ice cold toilet seat of our private bath and struggled into fresh clothes before heading down to the lobby with the boys, where we waited for All Ways Travel to pick us up.

An All Ways Travel van picked us up, but we weren't the last stop on the way down to the docks. The driver picked up some remaining members of our tour group before dropping us at the docks, where we would meet our boat and tour guide. When we exited the van, for the umpteenth time during our time in Peru, we were accosted by local women trying to sell us everything from water, to chullos, to pencils and pens. We were past the point of even saying "No, gracias." We simply continued on toward the docks.

[Another note, too, about all these bloody early mornings....I'm doing all this without any COFFEE!!! Nada!! Not even cafe con leche. There's no little coffee maker in our rooms and I'm not giving up any precious minutes of sleep to go find a cafe. Plus, when I was on the mountain, I wasn't going to mix up any more of the instant crap...Now on with our tour of the islands of Lake Titicaca...(did you SAY it???)]

Our tour guide informs us, when we are underway, that our tour group is called, "Cusi," which means "spider" in the native language (not Spanish). When he calls for Cusi group, we know to follow him. (This is a slightly better version of the umbrella that most of my elementary teachers had me follow when we went on field trips.) In about 25 minutes, we land on the floating reed mat islands of Uros. Seriously, people constructed the islands not out of dredge spoil, but out of reeds. They chopped the roots of the reed plants out of the lake bed to form the base. Picture floating blocks of peet, if you will. They lash these blocks together with rope, then lay reeds down on top in a criss-cross pattern. Then, they anchor the floating mass to the lake bed. On top of the reeds, they build their homes. Up to 15 or so families could live on one reed island. It takes about a year of dedicated work to build the island. Without regular maintenance (i.e., removing rotted reeds), the island would fall apart within a year. With maintenance, though, the island can last up to 50 years!!

When you step on the reed island, your feet squish down, but it is dry. It is like stepping on a mat of extremely squishy foam. And its sturdy. You won't punch a whole through the bottom or something. And again, people live here!! But their whole existence is based on tourism now. I didn't take any photos of the people or the island structures because I felt weird. Like a voyeur. Yet, tourism has brought many good things to these people. The profits from tourism have built a school. Have afforded them access to clean water. Have allowed them to sustain their traditional way of life. It is still strange and the people go through the motions of shepherding turistas through their homes and around their islands. We paid 5 soles each for a ride in the reed boat that took us across to another of the 32 or so reed islands within the sheltered bay of Puno.



After spending some time fending off the women selling local handicrafts (e.g., mobiles made from reeds, embroidered pillowcases and wallhangings, etc.), it was time to board our tour boat and head towards Taquile.

Taquile is 3 hours, by boat, from Puno. We were up so early in the morning that most of us neglected breakfast. There comes a point, for me, where I am so hungry I am sick. Thus, I slept most of the way to Taquile and when I awoke, I felt nauseous. It's that feeling you get when you've been in a moving vehicle for too long. You want fresh air and a walk.

Well, we got fresh air and a walk. We got to walk UP a steep hill....AGAIN. Peru, I'm sorry, but I am OVER the following: (a) altitude, (b) headaches, (c) beggars, (d) ROCKS, and (e) STEEP HILLS. Eff you and your hellacious topography!!! I now know there is a reason I live at sea level...

Anywho, the walk up to lunch was beautiful. The island is rather large and there are no vehicles (no DIESEL!!), other than the tour boats. The houses are made of mud bricks and rock-lined footpaths are definitely gentler than the Inca Trail.







We even took time to stop and smell the roses:



Lunch was a delicious spread of quinwa soup and fresh pan-fried trucha with rice and papas fritas (french fries). After eating and a rest, I felt a million times better than I did on the boat. Tami, however, was fighting off a new ailment, despite beating the effects of altitude while at Machu Picchu. Tami's intestinal tract was rebelling and, how you say? Exploding? Pepto was no longer an efficient remedy and she skipped lunch to rest on a sunny rock wall...The good news? Larry moved down the pain scale to a 3 or 4 (with 10 being the worst he felt while battling altitude on the Inca Trail) and he ate lunch. If Simon were here, he wouldn't be getting seconds...Hey, baby steps, right?

After lunch, our group made our way down 533 rock steps to our waiting tour boat.



ARRRRGGH!!!! MORE steps!!! I do wonder if I cracked my head without knowing it -- why else would I PAY for this kind of activity....In the end, the way down to the docks was enjoyable, scenic, and easy. The boat ride home offered a little time to sleep, and by the time we got back to port, time to wonder if we had gotten carbon monoxide poisoning. The cabin air was stale and tinged with diesel, but outside was no better because the engine door was open in order to keep it cool. We were towing another tour boat behind us and the engine belched out exhaust, leaving fresh air in low slow supply. By the time we disembarked, we all had headaches and were tired from the 8 hour journey. Good thing we were returning to our favorite restaurant in Puno, Balcones de Puno, for a second night of music, dancing, and delicious food.

The next day we would be packing, purchasing last minute souvenirs, then riding off to the Juliaca airport to catch our afternoon flight to Lima. It would be the start of the journey home for Ryan and me....

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Amanda asked the agent at All Ways Travel which place, if she left this country having to see only one thing in or around Puno, to see, which would it be...He replied, of course, the islands of Lake TI-TI-CA-CA (I hope you said it with me, just for fun) and the Inca fertility temple of Chucuito (Chew-kwee-toe). So, on Wednesday afternoon, after a leisurely wake-up (FINALLY) and a lunch of chocolate panqueques (for me), Amanda, Larry, Ryan, and I leave Tami in Puno (so she can take it easy) and take a taxi 11 miles southwest of Puno to Chucuito.



Again, the open windows of the Toyota Corolla wagon (without shocks) let in the fantanstically scented air of Puno. Diesel really does smell delicious at any hour of the day...at altitude...when you already aren't getting enough oxygen...[As a side note, Amanda does look like one of the prettiest and most friendly of all terrorists, doesn't she?]

We arrived in the main square of Chucuito and there should have been crickets chirping and perhaps a tumbleweed rolling through. It was one sleepy little town and blessedly devoid of turistas. It was such a relief to be away from the madding crowds. And I felt like we were a little closer to seeing how the residents of this area really live.

Off the main square is a beautiful church.



Inside there are some seriously scary and gaudy statues depicting the stations of the cross. I declined photographing them. Within minutes of arriving, too, schoolchildren began following us.



The view from the church is amazing, too. It overlooks the main square and (say it with me!) Lake Titicaca:



After perusing the church and the cemetery, we all began wandering the streets. The quiet streets, with only school children following us or staring at us as we went by. Over the next half hour or so, every now and again some animals would look up to check out the turistas walking by:





The sheep could not care less, though:



After feeling as if we had seen all there was to see in sleepy Chucuito,we started wondering where this infamous Inca fertility temple resided. Fortunately, the 10-year-old that duped Amanda into buying some knitted finger puppets...



...knew EXACTLY where to find the fertility temple. In fact, she and her friend had a whole schpeal memorized. So, for 2 soles each, these two girls showed us around the small garden of stone penises that is the Chucuito fertility temple.



Cocoa leaves are offered and placed at the base of the statue and chicha (a local juice-like drink) is poured on the top of the statue. That's most of what I gleaned from the girls' Spanish monologue about the offering ceremony. Good thing the girls speak slowly and I speak....English.

But the wonders of the Inca temple do NOT stop there!! No no, there is also the stone of positive energy:



and (not pictured) the stone with 8 angles; and, the curved cornerstone (also not pictured) that protects the temple from crumbling when there is a sismo (earthquake). Again, snippets gleaned from a tour spoken in Spanish. I was duely impressed by the two little girls, though. They had memorized the tour and didn't miss a beat (not that I would really know if they had...).

Visting Chuciuto was one of my favorite parts of the entire trip. I didn't feel like we were somewhere that EVERY turista went. It was fun to feel like the locals thought WE were the curiosity, instead of us walking around looking at the locals that way. This was just a town where folks took the collectivo into Puno for supplies. Tourism wasn't necessarily their main source of economic gain. And the escape from all that was a nice reprieve....

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Puno is at 12,421 feet - about 2,000 feet higher than Cusco and about 1,300 feet lower than Dead Woman's Pass on the Inca Trail. This is the highest that we'll spend any significant amount of time. Puno has far fewer
turistas than bustling Cusco, but it is much louder. The drivers here honk at ANYTHING that moves. The diesel in the air makes me cough.

Our first order of business upon arrival is checking into the hostal, then we must find food and book our tour of Lake Titicaca. People don't really come all this way to see Puno. They come to see Lake Titicaca. Now everyone, say it with me (because you know you LOVE it): LAKE TI-TI-CA-CA!!

We all decide upon a sleepy cafe called something related to "tulip." Seriously, I need to write these things down and I did try, but I guess not hard enough. Anyway, I think the altitude suppressed all of our appetites as most of us ordered light. I had tomato soup and potato puree. Those potatoes - you could drink them they were so pureed!! Look at all of us at the lunch table:



After lunch, Amanda, Tami, Ryan, and I head over to All Ways Travel to book our tour of Lake Titicaca. There are options to stay overnight on a couple of the islands with local host families, but I can tell you that I wasn't feeling like spending a cold night out an island after 4 days on the mountain. Ryan wasn't much in the mood for a home stay, and before Larry left for more sleep at the hostal, he stated is preference for no overnights. Tami was on the fence and Amanda definitely wanted the full cultural experience. In the end, we decided for the US$15 full day tour of both Uros and Taquile islands, the day after next. We wanted a full day in Puno to relax, recuperate, and explore, before jumping on a boat.

Hotel El Buho ("The Owl") doesn't block out all the noise of this city, but we ladies have our own room with our own beds and our own PRIVATE bathroom with 24/7 HOT water. Now, access to hot water wasn't a serious problem on this trip, but after days on the trail and a somewhat inconsistent level of preferred hotness at Pirwa, this place is the bees knees in comparison. I spend about 20 minutes in the shower, which gives me enough time to chop down the forest growing on my legs. Smooth legs are a wonderful reward for making it this far....

For dinner, we head over to El Buho Pizzeria. There are pizzerias EVERYWHERE in this town. Everywhere. All wood fired. Because this place is COLD when the sun goes down and the warmth of a wood stove feels fantastic. The wood stove nicely adds to already fantastic air quality of Puno, too. Amanda, Tami, and I order a nice gooey pizza with veggies on top, and its a nice cap to the end of long day of travel.

At night, I don't even pull out the sleeping bag with all the wool blankets piled on top of our beds. Our room is much colder than the boys' room (see Amanda's sleeping attire below), but at least we girls each have our own bed. The boys refuse to share the one full-sized bed in their room. Ryan opts to sleep on the floor while Larry continues to recuperate from the trail in the bed.

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A morning sleep-in after the Inca Trail WOULD have been nice; however, we busy people have places to go and people to see. We hailed a taxi to take us to one of the many Cusco bus stations at 7 AM. Six soles and 15 minutes later, ta dah! We're there. Check us all out as we hang at the bus station:




The Tour Peru bus that took us to Puno had to be the nicest bus I have ever been on in my life. The seat nearly fully reclined and there was a pull down leg rest, in addition to a foot rest. The windows were huge and when our showing of "The Motocycle Diaries" was over, I was able to snap a few shots of the scenery passing us by as we hurtled down the somewhat mottled highway.









Passing through Juliaca, out of where we would fly at the end of our stay in Puno, was like passing through a half-assed constructed shithole. Rebar stuck out of the half-finished concrete walls of nearly every building in view. The streets were dusty and littered. Diesel hung thick in the air. Drivers fluidly drive in both lanes and honked their horns at pedestrians. Good thing Puno, which is only slightly cleaner and less degraded, offers you a welcoming view like this:

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