Icelandia

We spent the next day in a bit of a haze; worried about people back home but trying to lift each other spirits by having fun.

It worked somewhat; we had a lovely meal at a traditional Icelandic restaurant.  Icelandic cuisine is pretty much based of the philosophy that if it moves, you can eat it with dill or béarnaise sauce.  I ordered the Icelandic surprise which contained various bird, hooved and sea creatures in potles and on a lovely pool of mashed potatoes.   

 

Reyjavik is  a lovely little city and extremely walkable.  Helen and I take another trip to the cathedral on the hill to pray for our friends and family in Christchurch.  As we light a candle, the cleaning lady turns on the vacuum cleaner, making it almost impossible to relax and mediate, to find peace and meaning in the earthquake. So we gave up and walked on.

After walking sadly around the city, we settle into our favorite cafe for a cup of coffee.  Looking sadly at each, we heard a brass band in the distance...the road was being closed off.  Suddenly, the streets were filled with dogs and dog owner.  It was, bizarrely enough, a dog parade.  We have no idea why...it...just...is...a...dog...parade!!!

We laughed until we cried.  We realised that life is fuckin weird...earthquake at home and here...a dog parade.  Life goes on in the weirdest ways...

After dinner, we proceed to the Volcano show, run by Villi Knudsen. 

Villi isn’t only the projectionist, receptionist and narrator, he is also the filmmaker, camera man, producer and editor.  He has a dry, Icelandic humour which is delivered in a dark fashion.  He clearly loves his job and enjoys scaring the crap out of visitors about when the next volcano will go.

Villi has been making movies since he was 19.  Before him, it was a family business with his father filming extensively in the 1950s and 1960s.  There are typically volcanic pornography shots; with pools of hot lava spurting high in the air. 

One of the more interesting films he showed was about a little town in the Westmann Islands, just south of the island of Iceland.  In Vestmannaeyjar, a little town of approximately 5,000 woke up one morning in 1973 to a volcanic eruption.  The volcano, thought previously to be extinct, had not erupted in written history.  The footage is astonishing; right behind the town, large lakes and rivers of lava flowed, burning homes. 

But the people fought hard for their town.

For months, they battled with the volcano, using large high powered water hoses to cool the surface of the lava to building large barriers to divert the lava flow.  It worked; after months of struggle, only 200 houses were destroyed and some of the town could be saved.  The volcano stopped one day.  When you look at the footage, you wonder how those people could have survived with a volcano in their backyard; with ash, hot lava, earthquakes, and poisonous gases part of their daily existence.  One of the most compelling scenes is of the church service with the volcano in the background, menacing the town.  This was the last rites for the town; you can almost feel the men break down and almost give up.  But they don't.

Today the town is back to normal.  It begs the question: how far are you willing to fight to preserve your town or home?  I have to confess, I’m not much of a fighter.  I’m not certain I would have the patience they had, to live and fight the volcano and live in substandard conditions for months.  I would do it, but not for a place, more for the people. 

For them, it was never an option to give up on their town and I wonder: do we give up to easily now?  Do things like homes, places, relationships, work…when things get tough, how often do we just say to ourselves: this is too much hard work and I can’t be bothered?  These are the questions I ask myself, often when things get to tough, I just withdraw and find something, someone or someplace new.

I think the variety of choices makes us a much lazier people.  The people of the Westernmann Islands were the first to settle in Iceland, approximately 800 A.D. and they are very proud of this.  They are proud of their homes, lives and industry.  They didn’t feel like they had any other option.  I can’t decide if they were noble or foolish.

I get to thinking about recovery.  I have a lot of experience with recovery; it is a completely painful, awful process and I don't envy anyone who has to go through it.  But I do have some thoughts on it.  When recovering or during disasters, whether a physical or emotional one, you have a couple of options.  You can wallpaper over the cracks and pretend nothing happened, hoping that disaster doesn’t strike twice.  You can rebuild everything the way it was right away and just carry on.  However, disasters strike over and over again, many choose to give up the ghost and build somewhere else. 

No matter what people ultimately decide, I think it’s always best to take a step back.  Asking a series of questions to understand fully what went wrong and why.  The decisions we make do effect what happens to us in life and we have to take full responsibility in the role we play in our own lives.  It’s easy to play the victim, hell I’ve done it a lot.  But if we always play the victim, how can we ever hope to make any effective changes?  Only after taking a full and complete stock of what happened, processing it emotionally as well as mentally, can we move on, hopefully not to repeat the same mistakes again.

Okay, enough of that.

After the Volcano show, we get to bed early to go off on a little adventure around the southern part of the island. 

Helen, the most amazing trip planner I know, rented a car and had a pretty tight iternary for the day.  The scenary is astounding; large jagged volcanos and mountains in the background.  We visited the famous volcano, Eyjafjallajökull...below is us, excited geeks.

We visit a series of waterfalls and walk underneath one.  Erosion has made an amazing bowl shaped feature in the rock.  The waterfall drops 50 metres.  There is a small outcropping that I step onto and I’m instantly baptized by Iceland’s glacier waters.  It’s a great feeling.

We finally reach our destination, Skaggafell, and it is unseasonable warm.  The whole area is a river wasteland, with no green bushes.  You can see for miles across the flat, grey landscape.  It feels like we have come to the end of the world.

The icecap here is the largest in Europe and glaciers glide down valleys like fingers.  The landscape is harsh but takes my breath away.  We sit outside in a little café, drinking Viking beer and eating Icelandic hotdogs.  Yum.

We get a move on the next day and drive.  We visit a medieval turf house, which literally is a house with grassy turf stuck between the rocks for insulation.  You can’t help but feel sorry for those people who had to survive in such a bitter environment.  They must have relished the warmth of the fire and sleeping in fur beds.

In the distance, we can see the looming, angry looking Mt. Helka.  This mountain is where the concept of Hell came from and you can see why.  The Vikings believed that this was one of the two mouths of hell (the other one is in Cleveland.  That was for all you Buffy fans, I actually quite liked Cleveland).  The concept of fire and brimstone and sulfur was all formed here and persists today. 

We drive quickly to go to the Blue Lagoon.  The Blue Lagoon is one of Iceland’s premiere tourist areas.  The lagoon water is actually effluent from the local geothermal powerplant…ah swimming in effluent, what a girl always dreams of.  The water is a milky, creamy blue and warm.  There are a series of large pools and smaller little coves.  It isn’t particularly packed with people, which is a surprise because it is so popular with tourists.

At the far end are tubs of Blue Lagoon mud that people slather over their face and bodies.  People float around with whitened faces.  It would make me laugh if I didn’t look just as silly.

Jessica, Helen and I enter into the lava cave steam room.  The room is low, with old looking wooden door and V-shaped.  We sit until we want to pass out and then nip over for a cool shower.  We go over to the heated waterfall and are pounded by the water.

One thing I’ve recently discovered is that my new bathing suit acts like a baleen whale, scooping up water and revealing my er…assets.  Embarrassing, but this is Iceland, people are pretty comfortable with that kind of thing.  The waterfall completely pulls my top down...I’m embarrassed but nobody seems to notice…yay me!

We leave the Blue Lagoon refreshed but our hair is dry like hay.  We go back to the guest house, which is beautifully decorated by our friendly Icelandic host, Daniel.  It is by far the best place we have stayed at. Helen and I stay up late to talk to Daniel about hidden people (I think I had an experience with one and Daniel confirms it), elves, chakras, spirituality, Icelandic politics and all manner of things.  Daniel is a cool guy and I would have loved to stay longer to chat with him.

Daniel bakes us nutty bread for the morning and we wake up, at the exhausting hour of 4:30 a.m., to catch our plane back to England.   We eat lovely smoked trout and pack sandwiches for breakfast.  We are all sad to leave but Helen is keen to get back to N.Z. to check out the earthquake. 

Iceland is an amazing place, with sagas, legends and magic everywhere.  I would love to return for a week, a year or a lifetime…

The Rift

I want to talk about the earthquake in Christchurch.  But I can't.  Not yet.

So instead, I'll let you all know how its going in Iceland so far.

As soon as I got off the plane I could feel the vibe of this country; it is a raw and wild place.  Got picked up by Helen and Jessica at the bus terminal at 2 a.m. (thanks guys!).  The next day we bummed around Reyjavik.  Its a great city and impossibly sprawling considering how there is only about 200,000 in the city.  It seems even more unlikely considering how many apartment buildings there are.

In the morning of the first day, we visit the church of Leif Erikson.  The church is stark inside; there is no ornamentation, just simplicity and light.  I light a candle for those I have left behind, wishing them all peace and love.

Its moody here; cool and cloudy since I arrived.  We have been hanging out at the hot pools (there are lots of thermal pools here) and yesterday, we completed the Golden Circle tour.

The tour started out at a geothermal powerstation that provides the city with 90 percent of its power.  The plant is amazing from the parking lot to the large, stainless steel pipes.  Design is a huge part of life here; everything seems to be touched with the Scandinavian brush of simplicity and ingenuity.  Everything has beautiful, simple lines.

We leave the power station to our next stop...the falls.  These Gullfloss falls are roaring with water and are spectacular to witness (which i almost got literally blown away doing).  The falls almost got dammed up by a german fellow but a local Icelandic girl stopped him from destroying the falls.  The Icelandic people and the gazillion tourists that have followed have her to thank for preserving these beautiful falls.

The next place we visited was the Geysir.  The Geysir, which towered some 50 metres above ground when geysiring, gave its name to all other geysirs on earth.  The Big Geysir no longer geyses....now a smaller geysir has taken over.  It truly is a wonder; a pool about 2 metres by 2 metres across, filled with clear, hot water steaming and bubbling away.  Tourists surround it waiting for their moment to see it gush into the air.  Digital cameras at the ready, waiting for the moment.  The centre of the pool bubbles like a big bowl of jello and then GUSH 20 metres into the air, with much oooo and ahhhhh...and the occasional stupid tourist who stood downwind, scrambling to get out of the way of steam and water.

Its a beautiful place.  We sit and eat traditional icelandic meat soup.  Its delicious, I have to admit.

The last place we visit is the Rift...the place between the American and Eurasian plate boundary.  The two plates are slowly seperating from each other, leaving a wide stretch of land that is sinking. The Rift is the name for this land in the betwee; a place where the hidden people, trolls and elves live (if you believe the Icelanders).  Its a place where lost souls roam.  You can feel the sadness of the land here; a place owned by no plates, nothing to support it, gradually sinking back into the earth.

We are standing on the American plate boundary and sometimes you can see the other plate boundary but not today.  Today it is foggy and rainy; the other side is hidden from sight.  There are only two places where you can see a rift like this, where plates are splitting apart: here and in Africa.

In the Rift, there are magical creatures.  Here is where the hidden people are.  Apparently, the hidden people are the children of Adam and Eve.  The story goes that one day, God came to visit the Garden of Eden but Eve hadn't washed all her children.  Instead, she hid the dirty ones from God but God knew and so he cursed them to roam the earth.  Hidden people look like us BUT can only be seen when they choose to be seen.

There are also lovely stories about the troll (you can clearly see where the story comes from, as faces stare out from the rocks) and elves who live in the rocks.  The tour guide was a bit cagey about whether the elves were separate to the hidden people.

We come back home to news of the earthquake.  Helen, Jessica and I are all distraught; helpless to do anything constructive for our damaged city.  This is our jobs and here we are, in Iceland, unable to help.  The feeling is horrible.  All three of us feel like we are in the Rift; between two places at once and not held up by anything.

Times like these we want to find meaning to the disaster or see a greater purpose.  I don't subscribe to that theory; shit just happens.  Good people suffer.  Tragedy happens.  There is no silver lining or reason why sometimes; it just does.  But the one thing I think we can all appreciate about disasters is that it focuses you to what is really important.  Love. Family.  Home.  The essential, connective tissue of life.

I wish all those who are in Canterbury safety, love and peace during this time.  I've heard from almost everyone now, with the exception of one person.  Oi! Scott! Email me already!

I wish I could help but I know the people in charge are doing an amazing job.  But I can't help wishing I was there; not to help because what can one person do but to help myself knowing that I worked on behalf of the region I love.  I know its selfish, but hey its hard having a good time here when you know the people you care about are going through a rough time.

Instead, I feel stuck in the Rift: in between two large segments of my life, thinking about those I love.

Get Lost

I am a horrible tourist.  I don't say this lightly, but its true.  I hardly saw any of the famous sites of New York.  Skipped the Statue of Liberty, MoMA, the Empire State Building, etc...because what I like to do when I get in a city is get lost.

I mean really, really lost.  Maybe its an excuse that I tell myself, because I get lost so often but I think the best way to see a place is to stumble onto things.  My first day out alone I wandered the streets of Chinatown and Little Italy.  I sat down in one of the lovely little italian resturants eating a bowl of linguine.  The next day I got lost in the Village and in Chelsea.  Saw Gossip Girl getting filmed.  Walked through a store called Shoegasm (really?  could there be a better name for a shoe shop, I ask you???)  Went to the American Museaum of Natural History.

These aren't the sort of things tourists tend to like to do.  But I like to just walk along and soak up the energy of a place.  And I did it that way to challenge myself as well.  I think travel is all about making yourself uncomfortable, putting yourself out there and going off the well worn path.  I think by doing that, you discover something not only about the place you are at but also about yourself.  For instance, the subway scares the crap out of me and the first day I took it alone without Katie, I was scared to death.  But as the days wore on, I felt more and more comfortable to go off the main lines. One day I just got on the subway randomly and got to Chelsea and a lovely meal at a little swedish cafe. 

As I ate the cold shrimp in dill cream sauce I felt this rightness of not being a tourist in your own life, to focus solely on ensureing we hit the big marks in life. Get married. Have kids. Buy a house. Get a career. Become president or at least president of the rotary club.  Sometimes we get so focused on achieving the big big dreams that we forget the joy of simplicity, to simply allow ourselves to expierence.  Of course goals are important but sometimes I feel that we don't tailor our goals to our own desires in life but about what others expect us to want.  And from my personal expierence, that leads to unhappiness. 

One such follower of her heart is Katie...the other reason I came here. Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I am a big advocate for choas and not planning things.  However, I planned the places I visited very carefully; not based on the sites I wished to see but on the people I needed to reconnect with.  Each person I chose to visit has something to teach me.  Sometimes its about reconnecting with my past but mostly its about being with people who have a unique perpective on life; people who inspire me.

Katie is one such lady.  Katie used to live in Hawai'i and she moved out here about four years ago.  She certainly has had her ups and downs but what I love about her is that she doesn't take shit from anyone.  She knows her value in life and she won't be taken advantage of.  Now don't get me wrong, Katie still has a heart of gold BUT she has boundaries now and she enforces them.  Katie has spent the last four years working herself, her body, her attitude and her soul. And its time that has clearly paid off; I am in awe of her strength and power.  Katie walks alone along the streets of this huge city at night; unafraid and powerful.  She's like a superhero or something...

She lives in Brooklyn in a place called Bedford (which is odd because I just came from Bedford, Ohio.  What can I say, I'm a Bedford-hopper! Hahahahaha ha....he....hmmm... ahem...).  Its a kind of rough neighbourhood but she likes it there.  Katie works at a furniture store in Soho, where pretty boys get paid to stand outside the Hollister store wearing nothing but tiny swim shorts and zinc oxide on their noses.  Hilarious! People judge quickly here and they tell you what they think.  I've seen men openly veto women's outfits...one exciting moment for me was when two gay boys said behind me "I LOVE that red handbag".  They were talking about my handbag!  Woot!

So, Katie and I went to see Abraham Lincoln's Big Gay Dance Party.  I know we could have seen other shows but they were pricey and the title alone cracked us up.  And it was good to go.  The play was split into three acts but the audience could democratically decide which acts went in which order.  The play was about a little town in Illinios where Abraham Lincoln lived with a man for several years.  Some 160 years later, a school put on a play about it and mentioned this fact about old Abe.  Choas insues, politics enter into the fray and what you get is a pretty interesting commentary on the political situation of today.

The play was so funny but also made some good points about the politics of today in America and how divided we are.  The politics in this country scare me; everyone seems so passionate that their point there seems to be very little attempt on either side to empathise or understand each other's view points.  One point that struck with me was the concept of dancing and how if you don't at least try to agree on what way to go, then you just can't dance with that partner.  And I worry that in America, we are heading down that path.

My time here has gone by faster than I would have liked but New York is a fast paced place.  Its a place that I want to come back, for sure.  And maybe next time I'll walk the streets unafraid and confident...maybe next time I'll be a superhero, like Katie. 

Abraham Lincoln's Big Gay Dance Party Time!

Greetings, gentle readers.  This is Katie, Sara's gracious and often described as "stunning yet humble" friend with whom she is staying in NYC.  Sara is currently in the shower and I have commandeered the mic, so to speak.  Won't this be a pleasant surprise for her? hehe  I was going to post detailed accounts of our wacky hijinx, but I'll let Sara tell those tales.  Instead, I'm going to compose a little ode to my homegirl.  Ahem....

I hope when she (and the world of bloggerdom) reads this she'll know I am sincere and earnest.  It's been a few years since my Sar-Bear and I have hung out and our time together now is bittersweet.  I know tomorrow she'll be heading off to new adventures and who knows when our paths will again cross? During her brief time here Sara's reminded me that old friends are the best kind.  She's FUN and sweet and likes to have a good time.  She's sensitive and caring and supportive- qualities that make her a good person and a great friend.  After I'd had a particularly long, draining day at work she made me dinner and we watched TV and she asked "who's taking care of you?!"  After a long hard year and her own crap to wade through, Sara is still the one asking ME what I need.  I'm not sure how her huge heart fits into that little body.  Thanks, sweet friend....

Of course, there's also the side of Sara that starts fights in bars ("I'll take your eye out with a shiv!") and lets her friends try on her new underwear over their clothes in public (alcohol may have been a contributing factor to that event. Pics to come...) and is spontaneous and independent with a killer sense of humor... which is why we are on our way now to see Abraham Lincoln's Big Gay Dance Party, a show off Broadway that promises to be ridiculous and fun- just like us!  For those of you who are unfamiliar with the show, google it.  I doubt my description would do it the justice I'm sure it deserves.
xoxo
Katie

"Welcome to New York. We do crazy shit..."

In February, I was going through a particularly hard time.  I remember I was working on the annual marine oil spill exercise.  It was an awful day; the rain was cold and unrelenting and I had a week of particularly bad news. I was sitting in one of the work trucks just staring out the window.  Evan, a wise (well he would probably laugh at that!) workmate was in the truck with me, sort of uncertain about how to help me through what was going on.

"Evan, look, I have no husband anymore, no family here and my career is just...well...yeah not going the way I had planned.  In every area of my life, everything seems like its turned to shit and I just don't know what to do. I have nothing."  In that moment, I wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear forever.

He looked at me with sad eyes and said, "Sara, sometimes all you have is your life."

His words pump through my brain as rain and wet confetti pour over me, Brazilian music thumps loudly.  People are screaming and dancing. My heart pounds, I'm soaked to the bone and suddenly a bell goes off in my head.   He is right, sometimes all you have is your life.

New York.  What can I say about this place that hasn't already been written?  Its a crazy place.  There are 12 million people in the city; three times the population size of New Zealand, in such a small space.

Katie and I slept in and headed out in the city midday to soak up the city.  We head to Time Square, which is packed with tourists.  The streets are lined with walls of glass and steel; a testament to man's ambition, greed and innovation.  Its warm and the sights start to all meld together.

The Plaza Hotel, Central Park...it was all a bit of a blur and rather overwhelming.  We witness what can only be described as a mob wedding at St. Patrick's Cathedral, complete with men dressed in renaissance costumes and trumpets.  We head off to find a little hole in the wall to eat and we find Prime Burger.

The place is like an old 1950s dinner, with booth like chairs.  Let me break this place down for you.  The seats are comfortable with tray tables that swivel in and out.  The food is good, basic dinner food and we eat burgers, of course.

After walking the city, it was time to go to a show.  Katie had purchased tickets to see Fuerza Bruta; a Brazilian performance art thingy.

The show was in a theatre without any seats, just a large black room.  As we are herded into the room, the lights go dark.  Loud bangs, lights and wind machines start the show.  A gigantic treadmill appears at the centre of the room with a man in a suit walking alone.  He starts running.  The show progressing to adding more people who fall off the treadmill repeatedly.  Suddenly, a wall of boxes appear and the man crashes through them; a cloud of confetti and dust fly into the air.

Katie leans over and says "Welcome to New York.  We do crazy shit."

The show is... indescribable.  There is no singing, just dancing.  Different set pieces come out including a  movable stage, gigantic sheets of shiny fabric, and an overhead swimming pool.  The pool is used to good effect; we all look up at the four women who are dashed about by the water, which is almost tidal.  The pool comes down to just above our heads and we can touch its plastic; at times almost able to touch the performers.  I relate to the woman's experience in the water...I feel like I am being tossed to and fro right now by the tides of my life, without anything grounding me.  But it feels wonderfully freeing...like nothing can stop me from floating through life right now.

The real stars of the show are the technical crew, who move at lightning speed to move sets, herd people away from the set pieces and manage the wires.  Its an amazing feat.

The show ends with a gigantic dance party.  In the centre, water pours out of the ceiling like rain.  I look at Katie and we both know we will get soaked if we go in the centre.  We do anyway, dancing in the rain like mad women.

Nicole (one of Katie's friends from Chicago), Katie and I proceed to the Blind Pig for a platter of fried food.  Nicole leaves us to the night and we end up in a place called the Beauty Bar.  Someone was really thinking when they created this bar; we sipped on Cosmopolitans while getting a manicure.  This is, quite possibly, the best concept for a bar ever.  Katie and I rock our new green sparkly and purple nails (I'm sparkly green, Katie purple...you know, the Joker colours!)

We wandered home but stopped at a palm reader, who was somewhat accurate but tried to swindle three hundred dollars from me to get a cursed removed.  I politely declined.

The night ends with a conversation with Katie's neighbours on their doorstep. The night is warm and people just hang out on their porches talking with neighbours.

The city so far has been a lesson on survival and enjoying the moment, living in the now.  Sometimes, all you have is your life...and what a life it is.

The Church of Mike

I spent the next two days really just hangin out at the shop, listening to music, organizing Mike's files (his filing system is only slightly better than mine) and just generally chillaxing.  Our constant companions were his blue heeler, Zoe and Vern, a cat named after our contracts teacher in law school.  Vern Davidson was OLD SCHOOL, hard core Socratic method type guy, who also like to through blackboard erasers as students and once told me that my writing resembled a "non native speaker".  Thanks.

Mike is sort of my hero in a lot ways.  After years of being a lawyer, he worked nights for 3 years as a waiter (whilst still working full time as a lawyer during the day) in order to save enough to buy his own bike shop.  And Mike isn't a stranger to personal loss or set backs, so we understand each, although Mike is further along than I am in a lot of ways.  But the coolest thing about Mike is that he worked for his dream and lives it every day.  I would be hard pressed to find anyone else who is as alive and happy as Mike is.  Its a good reminder that even if the road is rough, if you keep your eyes on the dream it is worth it.

One night I make Mike my classic "spaghetti ala sara" which is pretty much me improvising with garlic, olive oil and whatever I can scrounge at the local supermarket (in this case, capsicum, capers, basil, parsley, lemon and Parmesan cheese).  Its my favorite summer pasta because its light and fresh and I can just improvise the whole thing. Later that evening, we drive out to Shaker Heights to meet Mike's brother Jeff.  Shaker Heights is an incredibly wealthy neighbourhood; large colonial houses and ancient oaks abound.  For so many people, this place represents the american dream but for me, I would rather live in Mike's church, a place of character, than live in a huge place in Shaker Heights.

Mike's brother is a really nice guy and he has a lovely home.  We sit around, chat over beers for a bit and then go back to the Church of Mike.  I've been a restless sleeper and wake up, looking at the gilded dome in the middle of the night, with the moonlight streaming into the old church.  It's an almost magical feeling to watch the light change through the windows throughout the night; from the moonlight to sunrise.  I feel calm and at peace.

 

Being with Mike is great; it reminds me of a much more innocent and kinder Sara, who hosted murder mystery parties, cooked soup for sick friends and once dobbed in a school mate because he resembled a local serial killer (true story; sadly the class mate turned out not to be a serial killer, that would have made the story a lot more interesting).  
I walked around the neighborhood of Bedford, where Mike lives, and saw a deer and her fawn munching on an apple tree in the front yard of a house.  The whole area feels like a mix between western openness and eastern architecture.  I sort of fall in love a little bit with the area (Cleveland, who knew?  For the kiwis, its like falling in love with Waimate...the SHAME!).

In the shop next door to Mike's is an old grand piano.  I ask the shop keepers if I can play it and they say sure.  Poor guys, I played it for about an hour each day, writing new music and playing with old tunes too.  Some of the yellowed ivory keys stick a bit but she plays beautifully.

My time goes by too quickly and before I know it, Mike is dropping me off at the airport.  I am sad to go but as always, excited about the adventure that awaits...what awaits is NYC and Katie!!!  The flights are easy as and I spend them in silence. One thing I notice is that everyone here is distracted with I-Phones, I-pods or mp3s or talking to someone.  No one just sits and thinks while waiting.  I do.  I don't read a book or distract myself; I just sit and think.  It is a wonderful feeling to be at peace with your own thoughts.

Anyway, Katie was my maid of honour when I got married and has generally been my rock for years.  I love the girl like a sister (shhhh don't tell her!  I don't want that cow thinking too much of herself).  Katie left the island of Oahu for New York about three years ago.  She lives in Brooklyn, a very charming place although less so at 1 a.m., which is about the time my taxi pulls up.

We catch up briefly, make plans for then next day...adventure and the city call... 

Every trip around the world must include Cleveland...

Leaving the Tri-Cities was a bit of mixed bag.  I was ready to go but I felt sad to say goodbye to my family.

My brother Christopher came to the airport with my family and he stood in line waiting with me to get checked in.  He put his arm around me and whispered that no matter what, my family would always love me and be there for me if I needed them and that blood was thicker than water.  What a wonderful gift, to know that no matter how imperfect you are or what mistakes you make, there are people out there who will support you and love you no matter what and come to rescue you if needed.

For a long time, I felt that I had no safety net and that I had to shoulder the responsiblity and pain alone, which is stupid because I know I have people there for me.  But now I know that my family, all of my family, are there for me.

After the emotional exchange came the humour (as usual).  Chris told me the story of how my mother came to own a pot plant.  She was given a pot plant by two teenagers who were patients of hers and she didn't realise it for about six months, until one observant doctor pointed it out to her.  Hilarious!

Then it was time to say goodbye to the family.  Afterwards I boarded the plane, which had propellers as opposed to jets.  We flew low and we were able to get very close to Mt. Rainer towering above Seattle.  The sun was setting and the pinkish light was reflecting off the glaciers.  In that moment, I felt like the luckiest girl on earth; i have fallen madly, completely in love with my life.

I landed and was greeted by my cousin Amy.  Strange loops, detours and other such shenanigans took place as we tried to find Jeff and Meaghan.  Jeff and Meaghan have been friends for years and I have literally known Meaghan since she was born.  We caught up on good times over a good meal.

Amy and I returned to the hotel and tucked in for the night.  The flight to Cleveland was fairly quiet and easy; after you have been on 15 hour flights, a four hour flight is a piece of piss.

Now, planning isn't always my strong point.  I came off the flight, realising that I didn't have Mike's cellphone number or address or actually any way to contact him.  We hadn't even made arrangements about where to meet up.  i took a chance and took my heavy suitcase outside, where Mike just happened to be driving past.

As we caught up in the car, Cleveland was flashing past.  It is very green, lots of trees and big old houses.

I went to law school with Mike and even though we hadn't seen each other in about 9 years it didn't feel like that much time had past.

Mike has walked away from the profession to open up a bike shop.  He is a trained bike mechanic and a generally friendly guy to pretty much everyone.  The change clearly suits him; the shop is a happy place with wonderful quotes about bikes painted on the walls.

He lives in a converted old Russian orthodox church, which is pretty much the coolest house I have ever had the pleasure of spending the night in.  There are three large gold gilded domes, a spiral staircase, a lovely library and a vintage Elton John Captain Fantastic pinball machine.

Its been a relaxing time just hanging out at the bike shop, catching up with Mike and walking down tree lined streets.  It is a very friendly place, everyone you pass on the street says hello.  There is a definite lightness around here, despite heavy economic times.

The only disturbing thing is my accent.  Despite my best efforts to keep my non regional dialect in tact, I have apparently been slightly "kiwi-ised".  Bugger.