Perú... land of contrasts...

Perú is a land of stark contrasts. There is wealth and poverty, culture and ignorance, safety and danger like in most countries. And perhaps these are easier to see here because there are less degrees of each, making the contrasts more marked, more apparent, and harder to ignore.

I can walk around beautiful South Orange County and see the contrasts if I bother to look for them – there is homelessness, there are children who go without, all hidden behind the shiny veneer of incomprehensible amounts of wealth, sandy beaches, whitened teeth and surgically-altered women.

In Lima the contrast smacks me straight in the face, challenges me to look the other way, and smirks when I can’t ignore it. I can’t pretend it’s not there as I land at Jorge Chávez International Airport and see the result of nineteen years of proliferation of communities built on dirt by people who migrate to the capital because they can’t find a way to subsist in their hometown (incidentally, in Lima they make a killing by bucking the system).

My daughter’s first comment on the land where I come from is, “mommy, Perú is brown!” I smile a sad smile thinking how right she is and how much she doesn’t know. I flash back to the days when my university classmates and I had to conduct surveys in communities just like the ones we see from our window seat, where homes had no floors, roofs and many walls were built with straw, and children died of respiratory infection lacking proper medical treatment. I don’t know what the reality of those communities is now, but I can’t imagine it’s much different.

We land, and the airport has undergone a transformation – nineteen years don’t go in vain, and nobody is waiting for me to come back in order to make improvements. As we drive away, I see more of what I remember that hasn’t really changed much. For better or for worse, communities around major airports don’t seem to fair very well in many places around the world.

One thing quickly becomes evident. Lima has expanded into once unoccupied land, and in land that was occupied it’s grown vertically. Houses have been replaced by apartment buildings in most residential communities (my own childhood home included). Streets have stayed the same. Do the math and what do you get? Congestion beyond what anyone can describe coupled with the most chaotic driving conditions I can think of.

Where three lanes merge into one, I find five lanes of cars trying to beat each other for that leading spot. Lanes and signs are completely disregarded, red light and traffic cops being the one and only exception. There are driving rules, hundreds of them, but one rule prevails: break all other rules. The law of the jungle is king here, where Darwinism can be applied to any street in the city at any time of day – only the fittest survive.

I have forgotten all the roads, only remembering snatches of avenues that we used to drive through when I lived here. Many of them come back quickly, despite the fact that none of them look like anything I remember. And here I find more contrasts. On any given stretch along the main avenues I find restaurants and shops in houses that used to be just that, houses. It all has an air of slow decay, except for spots where investment has led to modern structures, the emergence of international chains – Starbucks leading the charge – and a general feel of order and luxury that turn the whole into an oxymoron.

The pavement is as irregular as ever in some sectors. In others, it is broken at each intersection as several cities undergo modernization of their dated traffic lights with smart versions. There is now a bus line that runs along one of the central expressways. Construction is underway for a train that will connect the Southern part of Lima to downtown, with the hopes that it will ease congestion. Progress has its price, however, and Lima finds itself trapped in utter gridlock during rush hour, which will last from five to eight at night in a city that’s the size of a handkerchief. Everything is close. And it can take forever to get there.

Traffic also brings back something that I miss dearly, as it is a reflection of much of the Peruvian culture. I get past the initial shock, thanks largely to the horror I see reflected in my husband’s face (in all fairness to him, he’s sitting in the back with my mother at the wheel, watching how she and everybody else manage to advance through chaos, horns blaring, brakes squealing, seemingly unaware of the whole while in reality paying very close attention.) I find humor in the situation. I find comfort in what we call “criollismo”, which I can only explain by saying Peruvians take a lot of things in stride, with humor, and by and large like to find the cracks in the system whenever possible.

I also find comfort in the fact that, despite how horrendous traffic is, in the face of the worst driving I have ever seen, in complete opposition to the way we drive in the States, there is no road rage. Nobody gets mad, nobody displays aggressive behavior, and under the lawlessness of the road I find almost a code of ethics – it’s ok to cut off my neighbor, deny passage to the guy trying to get in my lane, get so close to the car in front of me I can almost hear the sound of our bumpers kissing, and I can lean on my horn when another car intrudes too far into my lane so close we can touch each other. It’s ok as long as none of us does it with malice.

We push as far as the car next to us will allow us to push if he had the lane first. We’ll share the lane if we have to. We’ll keep on moving at risk of staying stranded in no-man’s land if we stop. We won’t truly help each other, but we won’t drive attempting to harm anyone either. It’s interesting. And to be honest, it turned out to be quite fun. I’m sure that last part is only true because I don’t have to live with it for the long run. For the faint of heart, there’s always a taxi.

People feel safer now than when I left, and that’s probably true of me as well. The attacks perpetrated by Shining Path are a thing of the past. Muggings still exist, as do kidnappings (mostly of the “day” variety), so I keep an eye on my belongings and hold my children’s hands with a death grip. Vigilance is key, as Peruvian muggers prefer the smart robbery where they walk away with your wallet or your purse and you are none the wiser. Confrontation is not their style as general rule, so staying aware of our surroundings keeps us relatively safe. In fact, Jim and I avoid getting mugged in downtown Lima by keeping our eyes open, much to the disappointment of two men who’d judged us unaware tourists (and much to my relief, as I was concealing our Canon 5D Mark II under my scarf).

Safety comes at a price as well. My mother claims robberies are down, people don’t get assaulted, and Lima is safer than ever. At the same time, she has a super-duper alarm system, electric fence included, as does everyone else; the alarm codes are never shared with the maids, who might be in cahoots with somebody else; there are security guards all around the city; fences and security guards have sprung up in most residential communities, serving as deterrents to crime; and cars can be purchased with bulletproof steel and windows (yeah, there is demand for such thing). Safety is relative, and much of it could be considered an illusion. (Addendum: just found out one of my school friend’s husband had his car completely dismantled at a restaurant on the one night they didn’t have security… case in point!)

On the other hand, we can go anywhere without feeling like we’re being taken advantage of like we feel anytime we go to Mexico. Exchange rates for dollars are fairly consistent from the bank to the grocery store, from the tennis academy to the restaurants in town. And the service is absolutely and unquestionably without reproach. This is not a sign of servitude but of pride in what they do. It’s a sign of hospitality and good will.

We sit down for lunch at an outdoor restaurant next to Kennedy Park in Miraflores, and I realize they don’t have Picarones for dessert (most restaurants don’t, but my hopes are high). Our waitress offers to get them for me for dessert. Finding out I have a nineteen year-old craving, she goes out of her way, walks two blocks from our location, and brings me back three orders of Picarones from a local street vendor. We tip her handsomely, and her manager asks that we redo the charge slip, as she doesn’t trust that it was us who put down the amount on the bill (a sign of the general mistrust of the people in the people. I almost went in to tell her a thing or two, but judged it would cause more trouble than good).

Visiting Miraflores did me a world of good, and not just because of the Picarones. Miraflores has changed some and not at all. Businesses and restaurants have been replaced all along Larco Avenue, except for the Minerva Bookstore that has been in the same corner for longer than I’ve been alive; or Manolo’s restaurant, where they still serve some of the most amazing churros filled with custard, whipped cream or chocolate; and the shoe store where my parents bought me my first pair of loafers.

The City Hall where my grandmother used to work is still there, looking as good as ever, next to the church where my parents got married (same church where they probably should’ve been struck by lightning, but that’s another story). On the other hand, my grandma’s house (property of the city), is no longer there and has been replaced by the city’s cultural institute, fittingly enough if I may say so myself.

At the start of Larco used to be a park and an acoustic shell for outdoor concerts (a miniature version of the Hollywood bowl in my child’s memory recollection). It now is “Larcomar”, where one can find fine shops, numbers of excellent restaurants, and oddly enough for me, TGI Friday’s and Chili’s. A Marriott stands tall along the street there now.

We walk by the street where I was born, and my dad finds a relative of the doctor who brought me into this world. I remember the location of a club where I used to go when they had under-eighteen nights. Miraflores has changed, but it hasn’t. And the people certainly have stayed the same. I finally feel like I’ve come home.

We spent a week in Lima, never enough time to do all the things I wanted to do and show my husband the place where I came from. We managed to do a quick and dirty stop in downtown Lima, which is looking quite beautiful. There are nice restaurants now in a little passage perpendicular to the old central post office. The façades are painted and clean. The balconies are restored. The Cathedral is as beautiful as ever and the relics quite impressive. In an old convent (Santo Domingo Church) lies Santa Rosa de Lima, the first saint of the Americas. San Francisco Church boasts a tour of the old Jesuit monastery, the church and the catacombs, which connect with two other churches through underground tunnels. There is architecture, tradition and history here. We don’t have nearly enough time to do it justice.

One of the nights we went to Las Brisas del Titicaca, where we enjoyed a beautiful show of typical Peruvian dances, including my favorite, the Marinera Norteña. I manage to watch this through tears in my eyes that I am unable to contain, emotion swamping me, a mixture of pride and sadness taking control of my being. Jim gets a taste of our culture, appreciation in every moment we spend there.

We made it to Barranco one afternoon. We visit El Puente de los Suspiros (the bridge of sighs), the central plaza, and go looking for my mom’s childhood home. On the one day I leave the house without a map, I also manage to get completely lost in an area I used to know well enough, and miss the house. We have the girls in the car with us and travel into an area where I’m not positive I would want to get stranded at night. Long story short, I panic, Jim takes the wheel, and we have to ask a taxi to get us to a main road from which to get home. Jim enjoyed driving. A lot.

Lima looks a bit tired. Smog does a number in most areas and a layer of dirt covers the city. In others, dirt accompanies disrepair, and it makes me miss CC&Rs. Luckily for us, the usual grey cover that envelops the city dissipates long enough for the light to cast its glow and give us a better look at the old maid.

There is progress in many areas and in many respects. There is a sense of reward instead of hopelessness. I take comfort in knowing that my friends and family can work hard and build a life for themselves. Priorities are different here. People work not so much for the accumulation of wealth and property, but to sustain a comfortable life that allows them to enjoy their family and friends, that allows them to do the things that are important to them and that build memories. That allows them to have those things we all want but sometimes forget about in the rush of daily life, Blackberries and deadlines.

Perú is a land of contrasts. Perhaps the most striking one is the fact that we have a land rich in resources but no discipline or foresight to develop it. The government invests in infrastructure for the main cities but not on the people who can and will be the engine of progress.

And all in all, some of my greatest memories and a part of me will always be there.

What I did this summer...

...here we go with a traditional way to end the summer, but not your traditional story.

This summer was, by all accounts, an unusual one. June Gloom moved well into July, for the most part depriving us of the sun and the heat we had anticipated, and save for those heat waves in the 90s and beyond, missed. Plans for the beach and pool were sacrificed for more practical activities that didn't involve voluntarily freezing our little patooties - seriously, who wants to freeze in summer? Mid-60s weather was bad enough.

In many ways, the summer resembled my life. There were sunny days, but the months were mostly permeated by gray skies, a lingering fog that didn't allow me to see the horizon, and cold days that didn't warm the spirit. The hope of sunshine and clear skies dwindled as the days and the weeks went by. By and large, one day turned into the next without much break from the familiar gloom of winter. Mostly as an automaton I walked along the same paths, day in and day out, without an end in sight.

Summer was a time of introspection, perhaps because there was no distraction to be had. I traveled far an wide exploring the realities of my life, the voids in my heart, and the depth of the black holes that had started to appear in my soul. It wasn't a fun trip. I kept asking "are we there yet?" but as usual, "no" seemed to be the eternal answer.

Summer was a time of forced exploration. I had lost my map and needed to find my way back to the person I used to be. I was in my mini-version of Hotel California, where you can come in any time you want, but you can never leave.

It was a time of prayer. I searched for answers that didn't seem to come. I prayed for purpose, for an indication of the road to take, for inspiration to find the new me if the old one was never again to be. It was a time of sporadic hope, when the sunlight seemed to be able to break through the fog and give us bright blue skies. It was a time when I forced myself to believe that I would be found - at some point, I would be found.

Answers come in many ways. Interestingly enough, we seldom acknowledge the non-answer as an alternative to our question, quest, exploration. The non-answer is a sign of our prayers falling on deaf ears, when in reality it's an answer itself. It's the "no, we are not there yet." Perhaps specificity in the question yields more non-answers than the prayers we send when we cast a wide net.

My answer - my answers - came. Many times in the way of a non-answer. Other times in the way of a resounding "no." And each step of the way I searched deeper for that place within me that told me the sunshine would come.

The sunshine did come. Toward the very end of the summer, when we had almost given up on finding the heat, seeing the blue of the skies, and the vibrancy of the earth in the hottest time.

What did I do this summer? I found my strength, renewed purpose, my Lara 2.0. I found myself.

Katarina, Katarina...

...what am I going to do with you?

Kati sat on the counter this morning as I rolled cake balls. She likes to just sit there and watch me, and in this case, to grab a little piece of dough when I'm "not looking" and quickly get it in her mouth with a grin that tells the story better than any words ever could. She loves red velvet, and these balls are delicious.

"Mommy, are you making cake eggs?"
"No, I'm making cake balls." I say, as I roll one ball at a time. "See? This is what an egg would look like..." I roll an egg for her to see.
"Oh... that looks just like an egg!"
"Huh..." I say, as an idea hits me. "We could make cake eggs for Easter!" I look at her and smile, feeling so smart. "That's a really good idea..."
"I know. I'm a genius."

And there you have it.

Contemplando...

mi pasado... y me doy cuenta de que ya no escribo en castellano como solía hacer antes. Inglés ha reemplazado a mi idioma materno con una facilidad y totalidad asombrante. Observo también la fluidez con la que me expreso en mi nuevo idioma, la misma fluidez con la que pienso y en la que sueño. Y me da un poco de tristeza saber que mis raíces se pierden poco a poco con el tiempo y las circunstancias. El vocabulario que solía tener no es el mismo - tampoco lo es la facilidad de expresión.

A qué viene ésto? A que me di cuenta de que, por primera vez en 22 años, olvidé el cumpleaños de un amigo muy querido, en su época un gran amor. Y recordé los sueños de la adolescente que fui que de una forma u otra influyeron a la mujer que soy.

Por años agonicé con un amor no correspondido, aunque vivía en una relación platónica bella y muy profunda. La vida nos separó, aunque nuestra relación nunca fue más que una amistad de almas casi gemelas. Por años me siguió el recuerdo de lo que fue y las preguntas que nunca tuvieron respuesta - hasta recientemente, cuando en medio de una crisis (no relacionada) me di cuenta de que la respuesta siempre estuvo frente a mí.

Entonces me dediqué a limpiar mi alma de las dudas y las expectativas de la adolescente que ya no soy. Y decidí seguir el instinto de escribir y purgar mi alma con pensamientos tan antiguos como nuevos. Y mi historia se convirtió en la historia de una chica que pudo encontrar un final distinto mientras a la vez se encontraba a ella misma. Y con esas palabras y páginas de una historia que ya no era mía, salvo por las palabras creadas por mí, purgué lo que quedaba de una historia que nunca pudo tener fin.

Hoy me encuentro acá, escribiendo en mi idioma materno, libre de los sentimientos que ahora no son mas que un recuerdo. Un recuerdo lindo y puro de una época en mi vida que me enseñó mucho y que siempre tendrá un lugar especial en mi memoria, en mi corazón, y en mi alma. Un recuerdo de lo que ha de ser por siempre una de las épocas más lindas de mi vida. Es un amor que vive en el pasado, donde pertenece, y un recuerdo que se revive de vez en cuando en el presente, un recuerdo que me hace sonreir.

Si lees ésto, y tú sabes quién eres, gracias. Gracias por tu amistad, por tu honestidad, por el cuidado que tuviste conmigo, y por los recuerdos.

Bedtime stories two...

Reading done, I was saying good-night when Jim came in and let me know the laundry was on the bed, which got me groaning. After he clarified he was taking care of most of it (grateful, proud wife here), Katarina asked why I was 'crying.' I told her because I had so much to do and no time to do it. I said "I have to fold laundry and put it away."

Kat: "I'll do it for you..."
Me: "You will? Ok. Go. Fold, and put it all away."
Kat: "Nah... you can do it."
Me: "But I don't want to..."
Kat: (hands holding my face, eyes intently on me) "Mommy, you can do anything you want to do!"
Me: "I don't want to do this. I have to."
Kat: "You don't have to, mommy. Daddy can do it all instead."

Kat: 2, Mommy: 0

Bedtime... or not

Those of us with kids know the importance of routines, and in particular, the importance of the bedtime routine. Especially when our little angels find ways to stay up later than they should. After baths and dinners and reading, it's time for bed. No excuses, no ifs, buts or whens. And so it goes. We say goodnight, we kiss, we hug. We walk away ready to take a moment for ourselves - sometimes.

There I was, a rare moment in my favorite Papasan chair, catching up with my shows, when out of the corner of my eye I saw Katarina, blankets (yes, plural) in hand, thumb in mouth (when is that going to stop?) I looked at her and she walked in the room. She's so big now... my little girl is growing so fast. The chunky cheeks remain, and in a moment of softness I open my arms and let her join me for a minute on the chair. And so it goes...

Me: Nina, it's time to go to bed. You gotta go back.
Kat shakes her head in disagreement.
Me: Nina, do you want me to take you?
Kat: You have chunky cheeks... (pinches my cheeks) kissy (gives me a sloppy kiss)
Me: Nina, it's time for bed now.
Kat: I can't sleep.
Me: It's ok. You can lay in bed and not sleep. I'll tell daddy to come and kiss you when he's back.
Kat: But then I'll fall asleep.
Me: I thought you couldn't sleep...
(silence)
Kat: But there's still a lot to talk about.
Me: (laughing out loud) What do you want to talk about?
Kat: The United States of America.

Kat: 1 Mommy: 0

Katarina Tree-Hugger

We went out to dinner last Friday. The girls got out of the car, and before I knew it, Katarina's attention was on a used and discarded paper coffee cup. Someone had carelessly thrown it on top of the bushes - which really, really gets to me. People!! Don't litter!!

Anyway... Katarina grabbed the cup, which had all my motherly instincts going "No! Cooties!!" She looked at me and said:

"Oh, oh... someone is not saving the Earth!"

My tree-hugger heart was putty in her hands...

My husband... I married a funny guy

Larissa is pretty close to finally, finally losing her first tooth...

She showed the disgustingly wiggly thing to Jim and made him shiver.

Jim: "Ewww!! You know what happens when it comes off, right?"
Larissa:"What?"
Jim:"The tooth fairy comes..."
Larissa: "And she leaves money. One dollar [yay! cheap child!]"
Jim: "Not always. Sometimes she leaves bills..."

That'd be our luck...

Yosemite - Part Three

We went back, as planned!

Now we have more pictures of Tunnel View than you can collectively find on the Internet. We started there, of course. This time the blue sky had a few clouds on it, so that was an obligatory stop.

From there, Jim found a sign to a trail going up the mountain to three different stops. The first and closest one was Inspiration Point. 1.2 miles away. Up the hill. We took it on with the girls, who incidentally seem to have the ability to out-hike us when the whim strikes. This was one of those times. I can't tell you what Inspiration Point is like. What I can tell you is that you need to be pretty inspired to make it there at all. We made it to the half-point mark and decided to turn around as the trail became steeper and snow seemed to be covering most of it at that point.

We made it to the Valley floor, rented a couple of bikes and attached trailers to them for the girls. We hauled them around across the Valley. I have not been on a bike in... gosh, about sixteen years at least. Needless to say, certain parts of my anatomy are screaming in pain... why can't rental bikes have nice, cushy gel seats?? I'd pay extra for that.

Anyway, back to Yosemite. What an amazing way to see Yosemite Valley! What an amazing way to become a part of it. We drove around, guided by Jim's uncanny sense of direction (great attribute, as I have none) and made it back to some of the same spots. I could spend a year in the Valley alone, and every day would make the sights different again and again. Maybe it's because we haven't been there before that we are so enamoured with it all - but I doubt it.

We walked to lower Yosemite Falls and got a few shots there. We run into yet more deer, who amazingly don't quite mind our intrusive behavior as long as we don't get too close - and we got pretty close. We caught the afternoon light and the golden light of the late-afternoon sun as we left the park and took another stab at yet another popular view of El Capitan.

We'll be back again... and again, and again. I don't think there's a way to avoid it. I don't think there should be.

The way of the Mono

While at Bass Lake, we decided to take on a short easy hike to learn about the way of the Mono Indians. Larissa wanted to explore the trail and learn about the Indians, and we thought that would be a good way to spend the morning.

We took the trail by the lake not sure what to expect. That might have been a good thing. We read about how to tell the different types of pines in the area, and what some of them might have been used for by the Indians. But other than the interpretive signs there was no sight of anything else.

What we did find out was a spectacular view of the lake at the highest point of the trail. So we stood there, on top of this smooth rock, looking out to the water and the serene blue sky. It was beautiful, it was perfect, and it was most definitely worth it.

Yosemite - Part Two

What a difference a blue sky makes...

While getting snowed-in in Yosemite was an experience we won't forget, getting back to the park has been top of our agenda this week. Yes, the snow (piles and piles of it) was beautiful, but it makes it hard to get around the park with two little ones when you're sinking to your knees in the fresh snow that continues to fall relentlessly.

So we went back. We had planned for it by the end of the week, but on a whim decided to also go for half day after visiting the Sugar Pine Steam Railroad. And I'm so glad we did. Tunnel View was stunning the first time. It was even more so the second time around - clear this time, against the backdrop of the bluest sky.

We made it into Wawona and had lunch at the Wawona Hotel, which is a little jewel nestled within the park itself, not far from Tunnel View. Once in Yosemite Valley, we stopped by the charming little chapel and crossed the road to the spectator bridge and a beautiful view of Half Dome on one side and Yosemite Falls on the other. Pictures, pictures, pictures. This is a photographer's paradise.

We parked the car in the Curry Village lot and got in line to wait for the shuttle, which the girls had been looking forward to. We hiked the Happy Isles trail up to the interpretive center, which unfortunately was closed. The trail was in the shade, the snow on the ground was still melting, and it was quite chilly. Still, the sky was blue. We went back to the shuttle stop on our way to Mirror Lake, chasing the afternoon light.

Mirror Lake was a bit more of a hike - very civilized on a paved road accessible by car only to handicapped. It wasn't very long, unless you are four and seven, and then it becomes more like hiking across the world to China. Still, the walk, and the whining, were well worth it. I imagine Mirror Lake will get more water as the snow continues to melt. The view was stunning, and the light was perfect. We spent a good amount of time taking in the views and taking pictures - properly this time.

We returned to Curry Village and tabled the rest of the planned hikes to the end of this week, especially since the girls were tired at this point. On the way back, we stopped again by the side of the road after being struck by a breathtaking view of Half Dome ablaze in the golden light of the setting sun.

Still chasing the light, we managed to get some more pictures in the Valley, and while taking pictures run into two deer grazing in the meadow. We were only feet away from them, and while they did look at us inquisitively, we seem to have found the perfect distance that afforded us the view and allowed them to graze without truly feeling threatened.

Larissa is keeping count at this point - one coyote, one bear, two blue jays and eighteen deer.

We left the park as nighttime came. We were happy, if a bit tired. The girls? Fast asleep.

Yosemite

Finally!

After years of yearning to visit Yosemite, we are on our way, and we're spending one measly night in the park. Call it our orientation journey, as we are under no illusion that we can do it all in two days, or do real justice to the little we will see.

I've been joking that, unless I get attacked by a bear, this trip should be fun. I've also been reading a lot on bear awareness, just in case... bear sightings are not uncommon, but I'm really not expecting to see one, let alone get attacked by one. But just in case, I'll keep the camera close-by. In my bear awareness book, the picture comes first, the defensive moves second. I know it's stupid. It's also honest... ever wonder how photographers get those amazing shots of lions and bears, and all sorts of crazy wild animals? Yes, it's called a telephoto lens - it's also called the camera barrier that transports the photographer into another world, where reality is what's on the screen and everything else is secondary. Trust me. It happens.

Anyway. Back to Yosemite. We started our journey into Yosemite Valley wanting to stop at every turn on the road. The landscape is simply breathtaking and changes dramatically the farther you drive into the park. There was snow on the ground - in patches, protected by the many pines that abound on the hills. Before we even made it to Tunnel View, we came across a coyote and a few deer. Not a bad way to spend half an hour in the car. The girls were ecstatic.

As we drove into Yosemite Valley, we stopped at Bridalveil Falls, despite the cold weather and overcast skies. Did I say overcast? I should say foggy, hazy, overcast skies. Still, the falls are a sight to see. I can only imagine what they'd be like on a sunny day, in the early light of dawn, or as the day comes to an end. It's good a have an active imagination. It helps me enjoy things through a different filter.

We made it to Curry Village, where we'd reserved a cabin (with a bath!) to spend the night. We ran into a family from Katarina's daycare classroom. They were in Curry Village too, only in the tents and freezing their butts off. No freezing for me, thank you very much. I'm just pretending to be outdoorsy, and that's all well and good as long as it's warm and there's a shower nearby - preferably within my own four walls. I'm not ashamed of that.

From there, we took the road to the Ahwahnee Hotel - a must see if you're in the Valley. It's magnificent. It's huge. It was Sunday, so we succumbed to their Easter Grand Brunch (the price was also grand!) and were lucky enough to get seated without reservations. And here is where the sugar fast was broken, over a decadent dessert I'd call death in a chafing dish. Dark, moist chocolate cake topped with melting mini marshmallows and drizzled with caramel and chocolate sauce. Served warm... give me a moment, I'm having a flashback...

We hiked some before getting back in the car to continue our orientation and on our way to the visitor's center. We found out about the spots to hit on our short stay, the best places to take in the vistas, and about bike rentals. All part of the tentative plan for our visit.

On our way out of the visitor's center, and after another short hike and a 23 minute movie about Yosemite, Jim started yelling "bear, bear, bear!!" I thought, "yeah, funny guy," until I saw a whole bunch of cars piled on the side of the road. Ours ended up being one of them, as there was indeed a black bear grazing in the middle of the meadow. Out came the camera and the telephoto lens (I could've killed for a 400 mm at this point, but the 200 mm had to do.)

And remember what I said about the camera v. bear awareness?? True. Especially when the bear seems to be surrounded by on-the-spot paparazzi. There's always a good chance the guy next to you will be the one attacked, so there's safety in numbers (I know, horrible thing to say, but hey, being honest.) Turns out we all eager photographers were a bit too close for the comfort of one of the park rangers (not close enough for me, but not getting closer either), so she got us all to back up a few feet. OK, more than a few, but who's counting. Jim estimated the bear to be about 250 pounds. He looked at all of us. We all looked at him. We got along just fine a few hundred feet away. And that worked for us.

That's when it started raining. Remember the weather forecast? It went from sunny to snow to cloudy to rain to snow again. The weather channel had one forecast. Yosemite Park had another. Trust the Park's mostly. They called for snow. Shortly after it started raining and temperatures dropped to 41 degrees, the snowflakes followed. The temperature dropped to 34 degrees. We drove around some more taking note of spots to come back for, and then finally made our way back to Curry Village.

I forgot to mention the bear warnings we received. Turned out there was a bear lose in Curry Village who'd been testing car door latches overnight. In fact, the night before a car had been broken into by said bear. Lovely. I had visions of my Volvo getting ripped by a hungry bear. Except I took the precautions of not allowing any food in the car for a few days prior to our visit - no need to test how keen those noses are, is there? We took everything out. Food and "food-related" items include all your toiletries, chapstick, creams, anything with an odor. Who knew?

In the end, we probably had nothing to worry about, as we got snowed-in overnight. I kept waking up in this new environment and watched the sheets of snow come down. We woke up to 18 inches of snow on the ground, and more snow coming down. Lots and lots of snow. The Valley, which had been meadows of greening grass and green trees, was now a winter wonderland. We were treated to two very different views of the Valley in less than 24 hours.

Visibility wasn't great, so the pictures we took show the ghost of El Capitan. Half Dome was nowhere to be found. Still, it was truly beautiful, but left us with little to do. I expected we wouldn't be able to see much of the park. I didn't expect it to be this literally! Temperatures in the low 30s and snow coming down in sheets, we made our way slowly out of the park after lunch, and after putting on the chains.

Yosemite, we will be back again. We're not done with you, not after this tiny taste.

Spring Break on our way to Bass Lake

We finally took off on our Spring Break vacation. Expectations were high, starting with my much anticipated break from the sugar fast that had been driving me batty - I thought of sugar, I craved sugar, I dreamed of sugar... in short, I was obsessed with sugar, or the lack thereof.

The destination: Bass Lake and Yosemite. The plan: uncharted, for the first time ever. Other than a night in Yosemite, there was no plan. Probably because Bass Lake didn't seem to need a lot of planning. It was evident fairly early in the planning process that we were too late for winter activities and too early for everything else. We fell on that cusp. The weather seemed uncertain, but mostly on the sunny side.

I have now finally truly learned not to rely on the weather forecast.

As we got closer to our destination, we decided to take a side road, which turned out to be a short scenic byway. And it was scenic indeed! The landscape continued to turn into green rolling hills sprinkled with rocks, trees, and flowers. And before I knew it, I was on the lookout for the ever-elusive Poppy.

I am obsessed with Poppies, and Poppies like to taunt me. They show up in clumps on the side of the road - every road where I can't stop to take a picture or twenty or one hundred. So I spend many days driving by, looking on the side of the road, and itching for my camera - and a parking spot.

Jim and his eagle eyes finally found me a Poppy (well, there were more like four). We stopped and took a few pictures, with my brother's super wide-angle lens. I have now fallen in love with that lens. We have a 17 - 55 that does a great job. The 10 - 22 is even more fun... and boy, have I been having fun with it!! Pictures to follow, all on flickr.

That's it. We made it into Bass Lake. Our unit is awesome - two-level two bedroom, 2.5 bath, full kitchen and living room with a Murphy bed, just in case. It's like being home.

Next on the unplanned agenda: Yosemite. Although now it looks like rain is looming. Or snow. I'll take the snow given a choice - better pictures.

More tales from the dinner table...

Katarina: (burp!)

Katarina: (burp! again)

Me: "Katita!!"

Katarina: "What...? It's necessary!"

...

Katarina: "What does necessary mean?"

Katarina at it again

Here's Katarina's latest, so that I have a record of it and thus can remind myself of my now 4 year-old's wit. An apology to those who already saw it on Facebook. Here it goes again.

Imagine our breakfast table: Katarina, Jim, Larissa and I. We all sit together every morning, since it's the only meal for which we can guarantee we'll all be there.

Katarina stopped to look at me and tell me: "mommy, when I brush my teeth, it chokes me."
Me: "Does it choke you when I brush your teeth?"
Katarina, nodding: "Yes. It just chokes me all the time. I don't know why... (pause) we have a mystery here..."