Darkness descended upon the crowd. Throngs of people pushed in on all sides, waiting impatiently for the moment to arrive. Mummers, laughing, hushed conversation swirled around us. The cold air pressed in on our rosy cheeks. Time passed slow like molasses. Then, with a start, the moment we were eagerly awaiting. Beautiful instrumental music filled the air, melody and notes combined to create familiar Christmas carols and songs. And as eyes turned toward the majestic castle, all stood with bated breath gazing at the dazzling explosion that lit the sky. High above Sleeping Beauty’s glistening abode, the fireworks showered the night sky like the opening scene of a Disney film. A dizzying array of brilliant white, red, green and blue light shone brightly on the pleased faces below. Squeals of delight and awe erupted as all who witnessed the sight glowed warm with Christmas delight and wonderment.
Taking our seat in the make-shift taxi, I noticed we were sharing the ride with a sweet family of four; mom and dad in the front seat, two young boys in the second, Jeremy and I bringing up the rear. The car wound its way through the adorable ride. Colorfully decorated scenes with Sulley, Mike Wazowski and Boo appeared as we rounded each turn, masterfully telling the story of "Monsters, Inc." Nearing the end of the ride, a life-size Roz, the dispatcher, stood to our right. With her clipboard in hand and cat eye glasses perched on her nose, she looked straight at our car and barked, “Young man in the second row....” The brothers immediately snapped their heads to exchanged a shocked look. Then the oldest boy turned back toward me, his large brown eyes unblinking and wide. A mixture of puzzlement and anxiety washed across his face as he struggled to understand exactly who Roz was calling to. With a grin on my face I looked down at him and said, “She was talking to you!” He gasped in astonishment and wheeled around in his seat. As we disembarked our vessel, I heard the young boy exclaim to his father in a breathless voice filled with wonder, “She was talking to me!” That, my friends, is the magic of Disneyland.
Zoo Lights at the Fresno Chaffee Zoo was the perfect way to kick off the Christmas season. We met up with family and friends tonight to enjoy the zoo all lit up with Christmas displays and lights. Most of the animals were MIA, but we did visit the ever-stinky flamingos, Sting Ray Bay and the reptile house. The camel was out relaxing with a big red blanket on his back, a la Santa Claus, and we sneaked a peak at the Red wolves. Having a big wolf just 30 feet away from you is a wee bit disconcerting. It’s even creepier in the dark, especially when you’re convinced the wolf can hear the Team Jacob wisecracks circulating as the group passes by (go, Team Edward!)
Zoo Lights runs each weekend through the month of December and was our alternative this year to the over-crowded Christmas Tree Lane. Complete with free hot chocolate and cookies, it was a fun way to support a local attraction and do something Christmasy!
I keep an ongoing list of “things I must do before I die.” The vast majority of items on my list are destinations I’d like to visit someday. High on this list is my dream of spending a sun-drenched holiday on a secluded island in the South Pacific; perhaps a Fijian or Tahitian island, I’m not picky. Staying in an over-water bure would be a must, obviously.
Turquoise water, white sand beaches and tan lines have occupied my day dreams as of late, especially as the sun now quickly disappears in the late afternoon and the temperature starts to drop (and yes, I realize I live in California where the forecast for this week is in the mid-60s, but I’m still cold!).
So as I type this, clad in my warm hoodie and sweat pants with Christmas music playing in the background, I’m holding on to the dream that someday I will be able to cross off that trip to the South Pacific from my wish-list.
My birthday week concluded Saturday with a wonderful evening spent at Campagnia and the Fresno Philharmonic. Jeremy & I were smokin’ hot; Jeremy in his dapper suit, and I in my sexy little dress and heels that absolutely kill my feet! Campagnia never fails to impress, and, as expected, dinner was delicious. Jeremy ordered the filet mignon with spinach and sun-dried tomato ravioli, and I had the braised short ribs with garlic mashed potatoes. Yum.
After dinner we headed downtown to the William Saroyan Theatre for an evening of classical music. We don’t go to the symphony all too often, and every time I attend a performance I wonder why that is. I truly love it.
Not only was the music incredible, but so was the company. Seated next to us were a wonderful 85-year-old man and his 80-year-old wife. This older gentleman was one of those people you could sit with for hours, listening to a lifetime of stories and learning from his 85 years rich with experiences. He spoke of his time as a gunner on the B-29 heavy bomber aircraft during World War II, how he returned home to marry his bride, went on to earn his bachelor’s degree from the University of Montana and later went on to receive his PhD in Genetics. To celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary this summer, he and his wife retraced the route they took on their honeymoon, traveling throughout Montana, Idaho and up into the Canadian Rockies. Next year they plan on visiting Alaska. “See, that’s what you get to do when you’re retired,” he said with a grin.
As a season ticket holder, he also imparted to us some knowledge about the Philharmonic. As the beautiful Steinway piano was rolled out to the center of the stage, he leaned over and asked if we had heard about the Philharmonic’s extensive search for the exquisite piano, which cost about $200,000. With unmasked excitement on his face, he eagerly told us that this Steinway had a beautiful “voice” and exclaimed that it was a “wonderful piano.” Indeed he was correct; after listening to the first few notes rise from the keys, I knew we were in for a treat.
This particular performance featured guest pianist, Orli Shaham, playing Frederic Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in F minor. As an amateur piano player (and much unpracticed as of late) I was captivated by the fluidity of her movement and how quickly her fingers danced across the keys. It was beautiful and moving; goose bumps rose along my arms as I listened, and I was swept away. That’s the wonderful thing about sitting in a dark theatre listening to an orchestra play; the music washes over you, and all at once your mind is collectively racing and perfectly still.
My 29th birthday is tomorrow. All I wanted for my birthday was the feeling of fall. It’s been so hot here all month and the thought of a cool evening, a cozy fire, hot drinks, and hearty soup gave me warm fuzzies. My wish was granted Saturday evening thanks to my beloved sister-in-law, Marisa (although she didn’t exactly have any control over the weather, which was still hovering around 87 degrees at 6 p.m.). However, the temperature cooled as the sun began to set, and I was blessed to spend a lovely fall evening with a handful of sweet friends celebrating another year.
We started out at the Historic Cobb Ranch, located minutes from Fresno on Highway 41, where patrons can find the perfect pumpkin in the pumpkin patch, eat treats from the concession, go on hay rides, push kids around on wheel barrows, and get lost in the corn maze. The corn maze was the alluring feature that drew us to Cobb Ranch on this particular night. This year the maze was designed in honor of the 100th anniversary of the Boy Scouts of America. With 2.5 miles of trails carved into five acres of 10-foot corn stalks, it’s no easy task to find ones way through the twists, turns and dead-ends. I’m not exactly sure how long it took us to master the maze, however, with a little help from a nice family who wisely brought along a flashlight, we managed to escape unscathed. I was happy to finally visit Cobb Ranch and experience the quintessential fall festivities I’ve so often heard of for the past eight years living in the Valley. Unfortunately the ranch is closing its doors at the end of this season, so for those in the Fresno area wishing to make a visit this fall, now is the time go.
A very blurry picture of us in front of the corn maze at Cobb Ranch
After conquering the maze, we headed back to Marisa’s house where we ate delicious chili, enjoyed chocolate birthday cake (my favorite), gathered around the outdoor fire pit (FYI: skip the Duraflame and use real firewood!), sipped hot cider and visited into the night. Marisa so thoughtfully contacted some of my friends and family in Canada asking them to write me a birthday note. Each one was printed out and hung with ribbon from the trees in her backyard. The notes were lovely and heartwarming; I felt beyond blessed and am so thankful for my loved ones, both near and far.
It was a perfectly relaxing, cozy fall evening with good company, a local attraction and an inviting home…happy birthday to me!
“Sometimes I wonder if the world’s so small That we can never get away from the sprawl
Living in the sprawl Dead shopping malls rise like mountains beyond mountains And there’s no end in sight I need the darkness, someone please cut the lights”
Arcade Fire singing our theme song, golden light from the setting autumn sun drifting across our faces, the city in the rear view mirror….an overnight getaway was the perfect start to our weekend.
After work on Friday I surprised Jeremy with a night at the Hounds Tooth Inn outside the foothill community of Oakhurst. The quaint, Victorian-style bed and breakfast provides guests with a quiet escape, a peaceful sojourn from life and all its pressures. This was exactly what I was hoping for; to unwind after the work week and enjoy an evening with no interruptions or plans.
Our time at the Inn was short but sweet. We woke at our leisure, without an alarm clock or barking neighbor dogs. Breakfast was a yummy spinach quiche, toast, fruit salad and coffee served in the dining room. Not only was it delicious, but I didn’t have to prepare a thing! After breakfast we found a quiet sitting area under the shade of a tree, complete with the cats that roam the grounds, and basked in the peace and quiet of our surroundings.
It’s amazing what one night away can do. The hour-drive back down the hill was a relaxed one. We were refreshed and ready to enjoy the remainder of our weekend.
Earlier this evening, as I was preparing my new favorite vegetable dish, sautéed Brussels sprouts, a question came to mind: did Brussels sprouts actually originate from Brussels? I imagined these perfect miniature cabbages growing row upon row in a quaint Belgium garden. And then I wondered if perhaps these tasty morsels are nothing more than a weed to the Belgium, a common dandelion or thistle loathed far and wide by gardeners and yard guys alike (although yard services don’t seem very European to me….)
At any rate, as I stood at my stove, stirring the browning sprouts in the hot pan, I decided to add Brussels to my places to visit before I die. Then I could find out once and for all where Brussels sprouts came from.
Okay, I couldn’t stand it any longer. Judging from the lack of upcoming vacation time and the fact that we are saving to put in a back yard, I knew that a trip to Belgium was not in my near future. So I improvised. According to Wikipedia (did I just hear a collective groan from my former professors?) the predecessor of the modern sprout was likely found in ancient Rome. “Brussels sprouts as we now know them were grown possibly as early as the 13th century in what is now Belgium.”
Case closed. Now do as your mother told you, and finish eating your Brussels sprouts.
I know. I know. What good excuse can I offer after a near three-month hiatus from my blog? Three words: Netflix Instant Watch. I blame Netflix for turning my brain into mush, holding me hostage on the couch night after night, feeding my addiction with endless episodes of Dexter, Prison Break and Pushing Daisies. Damn you, high-speed internet and streaming video technology.
I admit, copious amounts of television programs were consumed these past few months, and although this may sound like my summer was wasted away in a state of complete and utter laziness, I’ll have you know that it was not a total right off. July was a flurry of birthday parties (including a totally rad ‘80s-themed party for Jeremy’s 30th!), a visit from my little brother, a few day-trips to the coast, barbeques with friends and a lovely night out with my hubby to celebrate our 8th anniversary.
Jeremy's 30th - celebrating '80s style!
In August, we spent 10 gloriously relaxing days in Canada visiting family and friends. Even though I haven’t lived in Saskatchewan for eight years, slipping back into the quiet country life I grew up in was effortless. Jeremy and I always joke that visiting my parents’ house is like going on a little retreat. It is truly peaceful. I love walking out onto their balcony, looking out toward the rolling hills, the clear horizon stretching as far as the eye can see, and breathing in the silence; complete, enveloping silence. Over the past eight years I have slowly (and often begrudgingly) made Fresno my home. And I love Fresno now, I really do. However, there’s nothing quite like returning to your childhood stomping grounds, so familiar and comfortable, welcoming you right back.
Dining al fresco - what an amazing view of the prairies!
So in two short paragraphs I’ve summed up a sample of highlights from the lazy days of my summer. Now it’s back to business. Autumn arrives this week, and I have no excuses. My no-brainer Netflix pastime is waning. Productivity abounds. Fall decorating projects, new recipes and a stack of books beckon. Forget January 1, autumn is my favorite time of year to make resolutions and set goals. And as I step back into the blogging world, I resolve not to let another three months slip by without a word.
For someone who is not a huge Star Wars fan (I really have nothing against it, I’m just quite indifferent about the whole thing), I found myself entering into an alternate galaxy filled with grown men dressed as Obi-Wan Kenobi and children with plastic light sabers.
Fresno, or at least the Save Mart Center, was swallowed by a black hole on Thursday as local Sith Lords and Luke Skywalker wannabe’s gathered to witness Star Wars in Concert, a live symphony orchestra performing music from all six movies.
When my in-laws first told me that I would be spending $60 to attend a Star Wars concert, I was less than thrilled. However, as Thursday approached my curiosity got the better of me, and I found my excitement building. I pictured a scene straight out of Triumph the Insult Comic Dog, belittling all the freaky nerds in full costume and declaring the event “Return of the Dorks.” To my surprise, we were greeted by a much larger percentage of sweet families with eager children in tow instead of the crazies I had envisioned. My 4-year-old nephew and 3-year-old niece were among the wee Storm Troopers and Leias in attendance, and watching their reactions was priceless.
The crowd hummed with excitement, families crowed for photo ops with Darth Vader (yes, I was among those vying for a Kodak moment with the Dark Lord), memorabilia from the films lined the hallways, a group of Storm Troopers marched through the crowd and inside the orchestra prepared to take center stage.
Aside from the franchise hype and commercialism involved, the performance itself was incredible. The story unfolded through the narrated prose of Anthony Daniels, the voice of C-3PO. Daniels, who came out on stage before each score, did a superb job of introducing the audience to the characters and story. At one point in the show he even impersonated his beloved character, unbuttoning his black tuxedo jacket to reveal a shiny gold vest. With each score, the audience was transported through time and space. The notes filled the building as scenes from the movies played on a large screen above the orchestra and choir. A number of scores were synchronized with green rays of light shooting across the crowd like flashes from a light saber. It really was out of this world!
After the final note was played, Daniels, the maestro and the performers were greeted with wild cheers and glowing light sabers shaking in approval. After a few minutes of clapping and cheering, Daniels came back on stage and exclaimed that we were quite the joyous audience. “Do you wish to return to the dark side?” he asked with sly grin. The crowd, in unison, shouted an emphatic “YES!” and Darth Vader’s famous Imperial March brought the evening to a close.
Needless to say, I am thankful that I married into a nerdy, Star Wars-loving family; otherwise I may never have been “forced” to visit this faraway galaxy!
The LOSTseries finale aired on May 22, 2010, bringing fans to a widely contested close. After six faithful years of diligently following the hour-long drama, LOST fans are now searching to fill that hole (or at least the weekly time slot).
The road was long and winding, not for the faint of heart. Each week LOST dared fans to keep up with the ever-changing plots, extensive character developments, exciting twists and turns and endless amounts of questions, many of which will remain unanswered and continue to torment hardcore Losties for years to come. Over the course of six seasons intertwining flashbacks, flash forwards, flash sideways, and a questionable "reality" gradually merged in a convoluted mess, all tangled up like a tightly wound ball of rubber bands. As the last season approached, lofty promises were made igniting fan's hopes for a resolution, and, most importantly, explanations to the scores of questions that had built up over the years. With the final season underway it became apparent that each new week would leave us, yet again, with those all too familiar feelings of dissatisfaction and disillusionment. The love/hate relationship we fostered over the years would continue to the bitter end, and, like it or not, LOST was not just going to simply hand us a nicely packaged set of answers. There were too many intricacies, too many unexplained situations, too many intermingled story lines to sort through. LOST fans faced a fork in the road: continue on with the disillusioned idea that a sensible conclusion would manage to tie up all the lose ends and deliver a resolution, or accept the fact that there were no answers; an easy resolution simply did not exist. That nagging sense of confusion would remain, and in the end we would find our closure by biding farewell to the beloved characters instead of hopelessly trying to account for every detail of the mysterious island.
My life is rooted in reality and I do understand that LOST was only a make believe story, lacking any real value in the big scheme of things. But LOST was much more than just a television show. It was a weekly event that promoted deep thought, discussion and debate. It allowed friends to bond. It provided endless talk at the water cooler. It created a subculture of Losties, obsessed with the smoke monster and the time-traveling island. With the risk of sounding like one of those crazy obsessed fans, I admit that I cried when it was all over. Not only did it feel like I was saying goodbye to dear friends (the characters), but I would miss the weekly time with our good friends, Josh & Stacy, not to mention all of Josh's smoothies.
Josh & Stacy Huggins, Kristin & Jeremy Berquist.....so sad it's over.
It’s crunch time again. When the assignment due dates are fast approaching, group presentations are hurriedly thrown together and papers are churned out one by one. With only four weeks left to go, I am in the midst of what will be my last end-of-semester push. I am infinitely happy about this! I’m hoping that once the dust settles and my cap and gown are tucked away in the closet I will be more diligent with my blog and post on a more regular basis. Until then, I leave you with a great lunch or dinner suggestion: Pete’s Teriyaki House. Tucked away in a strip mall behind the Tahoe Joe’s on Shaw and Marks, Pete’s is a little hole in the wall Japanese fast food joint with chicken bowls to die for. The atmosphere is nothing special, in fact it’s pretty dingy and old, but the food is amazing. The sticky rice is perfectly sticky and the succulent chicken is covered in a mouthwatering teriyaki sauce, with extra sauce to go. It’s the perfect meal for a late dinner after a group project meeting on this rainy April evening.
Today my thoughts are on Europe. Memories drift slowly through my mind’s eye as I recall the journey that began as two friends and I boarded our plane on April 10, 2002. Hazy moments mingle with bright images of a two-month backpacking trip that covered six amazing European countries.
Jen & Jenai on the ferry coming in to Greece
I rarely think of my time spent along the sun-soaked Mediterranean. Young and fresh-faced, we had moments of blissful ignorance and were wonderfully carefree. One particular photograph encapsulates the easy, relaxed period of life we were in. Beyond what is captured in the photograph itself, I vividly recall the sense of utter contentment and peacefulness I felt in that moment. Three girls, sitting on the sea wall in Sorrento, Italy, Nutella and crackers in hand, chatting and laughing as we watched the setting sun throw its glorious pink and orange rays across the calm water lapping at the rocks below. And in the picture, our faces held perfect smiles. Happy. Innocent. Eager for life.
San Francisco. So much to do and see, so many strange and interesting people to observe, so many amazing places to eat, so many hills to climb...
I was fortunate enough to spend a long-weekend with my grandma McNaught, my mom and her friend, Irene, for an amazing girl’s weekend in San Francisco. My 77-year-old grandma's first taste of San Francisco came at 10:30 p.m. as we pulled up in the cab to the front entrance of our hotel. After lugging the suitcases out of the trunk and on to the sidewalk (thanks for being a gentleman and helping a girl out, cab driver), we turned towards the hotel doors and were met with the best greeting ever from the homeless man standing near by. With arms outstretched, he shouted in a loud, boisterous voice, "Hey, you made it!" Even my mom, whom I haven't seen since Christmas, failed to match the stranger's exuberant welcome.
Three days of traversing the steep hills of San Francisco means burning major calories. Friday morning we awoke to the most amazing weather (it reached 78 degrees that day, which is really warm for SF) and took to the streets in search of the highly recommended Mama's restaurant to fuel up for our day. As we rounded the far corner of Washington Square, our gaze settled on the line of breakfast-goers wrapping around the side of a quaint little building, and we knew we were in the right place. Normally I wouldn’t stand in a one-hour line for breakfast, but trust me when I say the French Toast Sampler plate was worth every minute of our wait.
Since our party consisted of two SF newbies (grandma and Irene), we slid right into tourist mode and hit all the main attractions like Coit Tower, the Golden Gate Bridge, Pier 39, Ghirardelli Square and numerous cable car rides (but who ever gets tired of riding the cable cars?). We spent one afternoon across the bay in the sleepy little town of Sausalito. With less than 8,000 residents, Sausalito has a real sense of calm and quietness compared to it's busy neighbor on the opposite end of the bridge. Beautiful homes dot the hillside and a plethora of shops, cafes and restaurants line the street at the water's edge. Dining al fresco at a pier-side cafe for lunch, popping into various boutiques, resting by the fountain in the little park with our afternoon snack of ice cream - life doesn't get much better than that!
No matter how many times you visit San Francisco, it never gets old. As my grandma aptly said, "It sure is an interesting city!"
It's March. Spring is almost (officially) here. And as the air quality reports clue you in to the skyrocketing pollen count, you'll more than likely find yourself saying “God bless you” to an increasing number of sneezing allergy sufferers. For those of us who live in the Central Valley, the familiar sounds of sneezing and runny noses are evidence that spring is fast approaching. The culprit: all those orchards blooming absolutely everywhere.
One of the best ways to experience the beauty of the orchards is the Fresno County Blossom Trail. This self-guided motor or biking tour stretches for over 60 miles and winds along the countryside east of the city, showcasing the vast array of almond, peach, plum, apricot and nectarine trees in full bloom. These crops typically bloom from February through March, so now is the perfect time to hit the trail. And that's just what we did. With the sun shining bright, near-70 degree temperatures, white clouds gently dotting the blue sky and a puff of allergy nasal spray, Jeremy & I took off for a Sunday drive along the trail to see the local orchards in bloom.
Bright white, light pink and red-flowered trees lined the roads. Some of the orchard blossoms were already starting to fade, but in its place a faint hint of green appeared. We took the drive at a leisurely pace, stopping now and then to snap a few pictures and admire the sun-drenched scenery. Blossom Trail road signs helped us navigate and after a couple of hours we had finished the entire loop, managing to miss only one stretch of trail (there was never a sign telling us to make a left turn, I swear.)
Despite the sneezing, the orchards are absolutely beautiful this time of year and give Fresno a vibrantly colored backdrop to enjoy. Not only that, we can now wait in eager anticipation for the harvest! It really is amazing to see the beautiful flowering trees now and know that in a couple of months we will be savoring the sweet, juicy fruit produced from those very blossoms. God is good. And so are fresh peaches.
"Travel pushes my boundaries. When you travel, you become invisible, if you want. I do want. I like to be the observer. What makes people who they are? Could I feel at home here? No one expects you to have the stack of papers back by Tuesday, or to check messages, or to fertilize the geraniums. When traveling, you have the delectable possibility of not understanding a word of what is said to you. Language becomes simply a musical background for watching bicycles zoom alongside a canal, calling for nothing from you. Travel releases spontaneity. You become a godlike creature full of choice, free to visit the stately pleasure domes, make love in the morning, sketch a bell tower. You open, as in childhood, and - for a time - receive this world. There's the visceral aspect, too - the huntress who is free. Free to go, free to return home bringing memories to lay on the hearth."
Where do our passions come from? How are they developed and nurtured? Are they lifelong or just for a season? These are the questions I ponder as I think about my long-time passion for all things travel.
I love to travel and I come by it honestly. My family is a bunch of travelling fools. In fact, my mom and dad are heading to Mexico on Friday for a little sand, surf and sunburn! Lucky.
I grew up in a home that loved to take holidays and see the sites. I remember one time when my mom told me, in the context of family vacations, that she and dad chose to spend their resources on making memories rather than material possessions. At the time, my 12-year-old self had a difficult time accepting this idea, especially when that coveted Esprit t-shirt was at the top of my wish list. But even when I had to sacrifice those "must-haves" I always enjoyed our family holidays, knowing that a memory would last much longer than a silly shirt. When I say I grew up with a family that loved to travel I don't mean to imply that we were doing any serious world travelling. But every summer, without fail, we would pack up the car and head off for a week-long camping trip. We were expert tenters, setting up camp at Cypress Hills in southern Saskatchewan, Waskesiu in northern Saskatchewan, and shivering through a few chilly nights in the Rocky Mountains of Banff National Park. British Columbia, Toronto, Montana, Arizona, and Mexico all made it on the list of "big” family holidays.
My interest in travel started very early. As a small girl, my mom would lay with me at night, "tickle" (aka rub) my back and entertain me with countless stories about her three-month backpacking trip to Europe the year before she married my dad. My mom and a girlfriend went with a Contiki tour group, comprised of Americans, Australians, Canadians, and a handful of other nationalities, for a two-month bus trip through various European countries. Her and her friend spent an additional month in the U.K. on their own. I don't know if it was the stacks of photographs or the baby-blue souvenir t-shirt with the phrase "43 Wanderers 1979 - I Busted Europe's Borders Aboard a Bus" that fascinated me more, but I knew one thing: I was going to Europe someday.
Years later, I would follow in my mom's footsteps and embark on my own European journey (more on that in a later entry). My mom is definitely the number one influence when it comes to my desire to see the world. Her stories and experiences took my young mind to an enchanted world of unknowns that I was dying to see for myself. I loved how strangely different and foreign it all was. I loved how it was a part of her, how the memories lit her face and bubbled out of her as she reminisced.
I don't know if my mom shared her travel stories with my little brother too, but he also inherited the travel gene. Jay is a free spirit and has taken advantage of his youthful, carefree years to do some extensive travelling of his own. He spent a winter in Australia and New Zealand where he first learned how to surf, took a shorter trip to Spain, and left behind a second Canadian winter for the beaches of Costa Rica.He absolutely fell in love with Costa Rica and has dreams of owning property there someday. So far he hasn't quite talked us into the family-run surf camp he envisions, but he did help us choose the most perfect spot for our own Costa Rica trip two years ago.
My dad’s idea of travelling is hitting the open road.With those glorious 1970s ‘staches and shoulder-length hair, dad and his buddies saw much of North America from behind the handles of their motorbikes.Dad was (and still is) king of road trips, covering miles and miles of pavement with nothing but the wind at his back.And 30 years later, he’s still pursuing his own passion for travel and motor biking.Last year he and a friend from his younger, biker gang days hit the road to visit us in Fresno.
Not only was I raised with travel nuts, I am equally blessed to have found a partner who also shares this desire and who has joined me on some pretty amazing trips! It might not be so obvious, but I’m convinced that Jeremy has a little gypsy in him. He claims that his joy of travelling is all my doing.I beg to differ.I met Jeremy when he was living in Canada after spending five months in Bolivia on a mission trip and another three months travelling through Canada and the U.S. I don't think you can deny that this boy is an adventurous traveler.
I know that a passion can originate in a myriad of ways. Every passion has a different story. Some are carved out over a lifetime. Others are instantaneous, born from a single experience. For me, travel has been a lifelong love. Influenced and shared by the people I love most.
On the corner of Olive and Wishon avenues, the iconic tower and lighted marquee of the Tower Theatre welcomes patrons to the Tower District, an older part of Fresno that is home to dozens of eclectic shops, cafes and eateries.Although I had visited the Tower District on occasion, I admit that in my seven years as a Fresnan I had never once set foot inside the Tower Theatre.Well, that was about to change…
On Friday, I attended a Fresno Filmworks presentation of the independent film “The Messenger.” Fresno Filmworks is a non-profit organization that brings alternative films to the Fresno area and provides a viewing experience that encourages dialogue, awareness and education.Every second Friday of the month it showcases international and American independent feature films at the Tower Theatre.
As I waited for my friends to arrive, I stood under the covered outdoor foyer and watched as a steady stream of people passed through the glass doors into the theater.Much like the surrounding area, the crowd was a picture of diversity.College students from a film class checked in with the professor while an older woman, smartly dressed in a bright red coat repeatedly checked her cell phone as she apparently waited for an acquaintance.Near the box office a woman in her mid-20s held a 2-for-1 ticket, also appearing to wait for an expected friend.On the sidewalk an older man with a friendly smile stopped passersby to hand out small yellow flyers for the upcoming Peace and Justice Festival.Those in line to purchase tickets were a mix of young and old, all eager to find a seat for the 5:30 show.
Inside the theater, it was as if I had entered a bygone era with its rich art deco interior and velvety seating.As our little trio settled into our plush red seats, all three Filmworks virgins, we really didn’t know what to expect of the film.I had read the synopsis and knew it would be a hard film to watch.When U.S. Army Officer Will Montgomery (Ben Foster) returns home from Iraq, he is assigned to the Army’s Casualty Notification service.As he and fellow officer Tony Stone (Woody Harrelson) bear the horrible news to loved ones of fallen soldiers, Will struggles with the pain and grief he is witness to and deals with his own emotions of loss and regret from his tour of duty in Iraq.I thought that the raw emotion and relationships were portrayed in a very realistic way, and although the film ended on a hopeful note it was an intense and often painful two hours.Thankfully Harrelson’s comic relief was tastefully sprinkled throughout the film, allowing for any of those pesky tears to dry before actually having to dig out my Kleenex.
It’s funny how being in a certain place or taking in a particular event can make you feel more “cultured.”That’s sort of how I felt when the final credits rolled and we made our exit from the historic theater.And after this first trip, I am confident that I will be back to catch more Fresno Filmworks shows and to enjoy the classic beauty of the Tower Theatre.
Make Lomo Saltado. Or Escabeche de pescado. Limon, an amazing restaurant that opened its doors in Fresno just over a year ago, serves up Peruvian dishes with various international influences. Last night we opted for a little taste of Peru and enjoyed every bite. My husband, Jeremy, brother-in-law, Kevin, sister-in-law, Marisa, and I sampled an appetizer of Yuca Frita, crispy Peruvian Yuca (much like a potato) with huancaina sauce (no idea what this was, but it was goooood!) For the main course we tried the Lomo Saltado, a traditional Peruvian dish of top sirloin, sautéed with onions, tomatoes, and french fries (yes, fries!), served with rice. It was perfection. The gravy/sauce in this dish was to die for. It reminded me of gravy and fries, something that I miss terribly about Canada. Who knew it would be so hard to find fries served with gravy in the U.S.? The Escabeche de pescado was a lighter dish that consisted of pan-seared petrol sole marinated in aji Amarillo esabeche sauce, served over roasted potatoes and sautéed spinach. Spices in the sauce provided a nice flavor with low heat. Both dishes received two (or eight) thumbs up.
Over dinner, Jeremy told us stories about the five months he spent in Bolivia in 1999 with Venture Teams International, a Canadian missions organization. While there his team made a short trip across the border to Peru to renew their Bolivian visas. I absolutely love listening to travel stories. I truly believe that one individual’s experience in a foreign country cannot be compared to another's, and as I listen I always find myself wondering what my experience would be like. So after washing our entrees down with cocktails and Peruvian beer, we finished with the Bandido for dessert, a chocolate flourless cake oozing with molten chocolate inside, and a good cup of coffee. With full bellies we managed to roll out of the restaurant, happy to have discovered a new dining spot and a fun taste of South America.
This is a blog about travel. Even though I am certainly not a seasoned professional, travel is, and has always been, a passion of mine. In my 28 years I have had the privilege of living in two countries (okay, I admit that Canada and the U.S. aren’t exactly the epitome of exotic), I have visited 11 countries, set foot on three continents, and dipped my toes in two oceans and two seas. I have a long list of destinations I dream of visiting, but, due to time and money constraints, I have come to terms with the fact that my passion will be realized over the course of my lifetime and not all within the next five years!
In the meantime, as I save up and talk my husband into the latest travel idea, I am content with "traveling" right here at home. The idea of travel is not merely limited to international airports or knowing how to ask where the bathroom is in a different language. Every time I wander down an unfamiliar street or try a new restaurant or take a day trip to the coast, I am traveling. Not only that, but each day presents us with a journey. Our most mundane, routine tasks take us somewhere. It might not be overly exciting or fresh and new, but it is a journey nonetheless. As I muse about those seemingly insignificant travels and the occasional thrilling excursion, I hope you find inspiration to do some traveling of your own, both near and far.
A Canadian girl living in California, I love hanging out with my husband of 9 years, traveling, writing, drawing, chocolate, rainy days, and making lists. The idea of travel is not merely associated with foreign countries and faraway places. As I "travel" right here in my own city and state, as well as dream of exotic locales, I hope my musings will inspire someone to discover new destinations, at home and abroad.
