The city has more independent bookstores than almost anywhere, lots of gallery spaces featuring up-and-coming artists, huge museums with world-class exhibitions, farmers markets and community gardens, sidewalk cafes and inspired restaurants of all shades next to food trucks, endlessly shimmering lights of millions of people spiced with multi-culturalism.  The hills and mountains directly in the center of the metro area are as lush as a tropical jungle with giant walls of plants flowing off of buildings and forests of palms, firs, orange trees and every plant in between swallowing blocks whole while the endless Pacific stretches infinitely, erasing all thoughts of self-importance.

The trips were highlighted by the meeting of lots of inspiring and creative people, massive cookouts of bountiful local foods, day after day of surfing frigid waters with acrobatic dolphin flying, getting lost in urban hikes up and down miles of secret stairways, and feasting at hole-in-the-wall restaurants with no signs – an LA unlike any of my preconceptions and previous experiences.

In Paris we were overwhelmed by the hospitality of our friend Manon, who lent us her top-floor attic apartment within a few blocks of the actual geographic center of the city, La Bourse – wine, bread, and a detailed map set out upon our arrival.

In Budapest I was returned to family and began some things anew, had visions that mixed the eyes of a child with that of an adult, witnessed change and took notes.

Along with the few notes below, I’ve posted some snapshots that help me remember the Old Worlds.

Paris

The Tastes
The warmest of baguettes, falafel at once crispy and melting, lunches in the parks with people who live life slowly, the cafes every 10 steps with strong espresso, snails drenched in pesto whose juice one sips from the shell, the spices of the Middle East and of North Africa, the cheapest great wines every night, the meat that swims in its own blood, midnight dinners followed by the smoke of shisha and fragrant mint teas, the complexity of the art of eating.

The Visions
Winding and shifting of directions, alleys, passages, tree-lined boulevards, schizophrenic light spectacles, preservation of histories, marginalization of some and clashes with others, making one’s own traffic lanes, circumventing tourist pitfalls, the sharpest of sharp dressed, the hunt for street art, canals lowering and raising the water levels, outdoor markets of all types, bookstores filled to the ceilings and spilling to the streets, intelligent transportation options, condensing and minimizing space and living better for it, mesmerizing galleries, one of the greatest metropolises is your living room.

Budapest

The Tastes
The delirium of the richest of cakes, the taste of childhood, the only real paprika, homemade 100 proof Palinka with floating herbs and fruits, being too full to walk, fresh cut spiced salami, the wonders of my grandmother’s spread, vodka on the rocks in dives, international fusions, the history of cultural confluences.

The Visions
Crumbling memories of forced glories of other countries, the constant tide of destroyed and rebuilt, fixing just the tourist-facing side of things, the magnificence of bridges, the handmade details on even the most trivial of things, the stretching inhuman housing blocks, the magnificent spires stretching, the lushness of the island, a city split by the wide Danube, haphazard alley pubs, ruins of even older worlds, pedestrian zones, a desire leaning towards the West, twists and turns and blurs, and a home.

We stayed at The Peninsula first and then The Mandarin Oriental, both considered to be the go-to five-star hotels in Bangkok and primarily booked with Westerners. They glare at each other from across the Chao Phraya River for the Five Star Face-off.

While you can’t go wrong with either hotel, there are certainly some key aspects where one outshines the other. Below, I’ve outlined a few things they both do very well and then a few areas where one beat up on the other.

These things are expected of all five-star hotels and are areas where they both shined:

• The service was exceptional. They had a large staff-to-guest ratio and there was always someone eager to help. Respectful staff escorted us to our rooms, pointed out key features and had our luggage promptly delivered.
• Both had spacious rooms with plush, comfy beds. There was ample room for spreading out luggage, full baths with hand-held shower heads (as well as separate stand-up showers) and full room controls next to each side of the bed.
• They had nice big pools with large amounts of shade. There was pool-side service as well as salas for a comfy, shaded lounge-fest.
• As mentioned, both hotels sit on the Chao Phraya River so they both had river views and provided river shuttles to key location points.
• Perhaps most importantly, the hotels provided a quiet haven from the bustle of Bangkok. Outside their lush landscaping your feet ache, you’re sweating from the heat and chaos that comes with navigating Bangkok and people are constantly trying to sell you something. Inside, the world is a breeze and you just float right along with it.

Our room at The Peninsula.

Breakfast, including honey dripping from the comb, at The Peninsula.

The Peninsula beat up The Mandarin Oriental via:

• Price: we booked a junior suite with a balcony for the same price as a king room at The Oriental. The room at The Peninsula was more spacious and included a separate area for luggage and changing.
• Food: we had the breakfast buffet at both and The Peninsula’s was far better for about the same price. The Peninsula offered a wider selection of food but more than that, the food just tasted better. As a testament to this, included in the breakfast buffet was honey dripping from the actual hive. We also had a Thai lunch and dinner at both hotels and those meals were also much better at The Peninsula.
• Guests: The Peninsula felt less “snooty” than The Oriental. The Oriental has a “no shorts after 7:00pm” rule in the lobby. Keep in mind that it is still 85 degrees with 95% humidity after 7:00pm in Bangkok. In my mind, this calls for shorts. Nice shorts, mind you, but shorts nonetheless. How very American of me.
• Internet: it came free with the room.
• Helipad: It had one, if you need that sort of thing.
• Quiet: The Peninsula was less noisy than The Oriental, both in terms of the guests and the hotel itself.
• View: The Peninsula towered over The Oriental. We had an amazing view of the river and the city resulting in a better overall view of Bangkok.
• The little extras: Our Peninsula room included a TV in the bathroom, next to the huge tub.

Our room at The Mandarin Oriental.

The Mandarin Oriental beat up The Peninsula via:

• Convenience: Going to the most famous Wats in Thailand? The public water taxi conveniently picked up tourists right outside of the Oriental. There was no need to cross the river, as we had to do from the Peninsula via their free river shuttle.
• Service: It was a bit better at the Oriental. We never had to wait in line if we needed something, three people were there immediately to help us. They delivered fresh-squeezed orange juice to our room just after check-in and arranged a better (and cheaper) taxi service upon our departure. The hotel’s staff also had really cute Thai uniforms. Not a must, but a little visual perk indeed.
• Going beyond: Our flight to Japan didn’t leave until 11:00pm. The Oriental gave us a free late check-out and also held our luggage in storage while we went out for a few hours of last-minute Thai haggling. I mean shopping.
• Food options: While the food wasn’t as good as The Peninsula, there were more options in terms of restaurants. They had a high-end Thai restaurant serving mainly seafood, a traditional Thai restaurant and an Italian bistro.
• Television: I hate to even mention this as it belies how Justin and I spent much of our last day in Thailand. We were exhausted and resting up for Tokyo in front of the TV in The Oriental. They had a better variety of channels than the Peninsula. This point really doesn’t hold much water unless Bangkok leaves you exhausted like it did us.
• The little extras: The Oriental had better toiletries (dental kits, razor kit, talc, detergent, four bottles of water a day vs. The Peninsula’s two). They also gave us a plate full of bread at breakfast to feed the big fish swimming in the river next to us.

So which hotel wins the Five Star Face-off?
The Peninsula is the best choice if you prefer better food and value over slightly better service. It would be my pick for another stay.

Final Conclusion
We’ve ruined ourselves for all future travel. Now that we’ve been spoiled by huge comfy beds, robes and slippers and someone always at our beck and call, I’m not sure how we’ll adjust back to lowly Hyatts and Hiltons.

There was a bear jam ahead. We stopped to take a look and, sure enough, there she was. It was a big mamma bear and her fuzzy little cub, foraging for berries below the trail. People had their binoculars out and we were even visited by one of the park rangers. He had come to check out a report of a bear sighting in the area.

With bated breath and sweaty palms, I continued following Charlie up the trail to Ptarmigan Tunnel. The crowds thinned out dramatically at this point. It was straight up and you could feel the bears staring at you the entire time. You knew they were there, just hiding.

Getting past the initial incline seemed like forever. Finally, we leveled out a bit for a beautiful view of the Montana Rockies behind us. The park ranger who was scoping out the area caught up to us. I felt so relieved. The rangers in Glacier National Park carry industrial-sized cans of bear spray clipped to their belts. You know, to be ready, just in case. So, my strategy at that point, was to try my hardest to keep up with the fast clip of our new park ranger friend.

Among the amazing things we saw, like bears and glaciers, we were equally amazed when we had a celebrity sighting on the trail! High above treeline, overlooking Ptarmigan Lake, we find ourselves in a  bowl  carved out from an old glacier. Suddenly, we hear singing. Not just singing, but beautiful singing. The acoustics in this glacial bowl were amazing! Angelic songs from Sound of Music began to reverberate through the  bowl. Our gaze turned toward the hikers, a few switchbacks above us. Who could that be?, we asked each other.

Now with the great Ptarmigan Tunnel in sight at the top of the ridge, we forge ahead, curious to see if we will run into the singing hikers above. With the hot sun beaming down on us, we finally are about to pass each other. It was a family, led by the father in front, 3 or 4 children in the middle, and the mother at the tail end. All of them touching, hand-to-shoulder, single-file, smiling. Immediately, I felt as though I knew the man from somewhere. Was he someone I know from Austin? Then he spoke. I know that voice from somewhere!, I said to Charlie. We pass the family and less than one second later, Charlie whips around and confirms, That was Jack Hanna! Exactly! That is how we knew him. He has made countless appearances on the David Letterman and Jay Leno shows as the zoologist that brings out exotic animals for show-and-tell. As we made our descent back to the trailhead, we could still hear them singing.

Special note: When we got home, Charlie googled Jack Hanna and sure enough, he has a home in Glacier Park. He also found a You Tube video of them and apparently the children were the great-grandchildren of the real Captain Von Trapp, featured in Sound of Music! Amazing!

Regina Kubelka
Austin, Texas

Our tour guide for the Mekong Delta, An, was the best Vietnamese tour guide Ive had so far. He was very knowledgeable and cracked some pretty good jokes. He told us to make sure we didn’t lose him throughout the tour because he wouldn’t recognize us due to the fact we all look the same to him with our round eyes. Hilarious.

Life on the Mekong Delta revolves around rice and the water. Many families live on boats in the river and do their shopping at a floating market. Some of the boat houses even sport a little bonsai garden!

Ladies rowing canoes. They row standing up. Photo by Heather Kennedy

Life on the river looked serene but the poverty was apparent. The boat homes and stilt houses on the edge of the river beds were a bit dilapidated and our guide said “everything is full circle.” Which translates to: the water is used for fishing, washing, drinking water and as a receptacle for all their waste. And I mean all.

In addition to the water, life truly revolves around family. Multiple generations live in one house or on one boat for their entire lives. They take care of one another and the children seem happy as can be. They literally jump up and down and yell “hello! hello! hello!” as the tourist boats pass by. Adorable.

Family on the porch of their floating house Photo by Heather Kennedy

We stopped at a few villages where we saw rice wine and crackers being made. In addition, our guide offered the men some snake wine, which is literally made from fermented snakes and a bird (gross) and improves virility. I believe he referenced “superman” in his description of the snake wine effects!

An pulling a fermented bird out of a vat of snake wine. If you’re man enough to drink alcohol made from fermented snakes and birds, I’m thinking your virility is not in question to begin with. Photo by Heather Kennedy

One of the villages we visited has a large Muslim population of Malaysians that were kicked out of their country at some point in their tumultuous history. They settled on the Mekong and live there in peace.

After our tour of the Mekong Delta we floated toward our final destination of Phnom Penh, stopping off mid-way to go through immigration. As it turns out, both Betsy and I ran out of pages in our passport. We both thought we had 4 pages left but apparently those pages are to remain blank. Great. Luckily, money solves most problems and for $25 plus a note of apology, we got our visa.

In retrospect, I think the $25 might have been “unofficial”, if you will, and we just had to grease the wheels a bit to get into the country. But it all worked out and we went to the US Embassy in Phnom Penh, first thing. It was kind of fun, actually. After a very thorough security check we were ushered into the passport/visa waiting room where I met several Americans. It was like experiencing a little piece of home in the middle of Cambodia! Right down to the bathroom, which was 100% western style, including the brownish colored paper towels and florescent hand soap that always smells the same. Heaven! (Do they import that stuff???)

I heard Phnom Penh was gritty, but I found it to be just lovely. The main part of the city lies on the edge of the Mekong and the architecture reflects a French style due to the many years of occupation. I loved every minute there. However, I will admit we were offered drugs a couple of times, including opium, and our new friend Jason from England was actually offered a Vietnamese woman, which is a little scary. Kids, if you are reading this just say no to drugs! Particularly if they are highly addictive and offered to you on the street in a developing country. Who says “yes” to this stuff???

A surprising moment was seeing an elephant walking down the street. Not sure what he was doing there, but he appeared unnerved by all the traffic!

Elephant just minding his own business Photo by Heather Kennedy

My desire to visit Phnom Penh derived from learning more about the Khmer Rouge and to see the Killing Fields. Not uplifting, but important to know about. It was overwhelming enough to save for a separate blog.

Heather Kennedy
Current location: Cambodia
Visit Heather’s travel blog, The Heather Report

I thought I would share some of the inspiration I found while I was there. Here are some photos that had the most influence on me.

• The rainforest canopy paints a georgeous texture.
• A washed-up tide sculpts a natural piece of art.

• A warning sign needed only in Costa Rica. One word, 4 marks, each leading seamlessly to the other. Is that a sloth in there?
• A variety of fruit is found in abundance as are bright colors from the flora all around.

• Food so simplistic in style that you taste each natural ingredient with every bite. Seafood was ordered for almost every meal.
• Buildings that would otherwise be boring get a facelift. Almost every school has a painted mural on the exterior expressing the style of its own community.

• The native art of the Chorotega Indians is still practiced today. Primitively beautiful.
• Luscious looking mushrooms growing in the musty rainforest tease my taste buds.

There we have it. Tons of culture, food and flora all to take inspiration from. What will I do with all this inspiration? Who knows. For now I just need me some more “Pura Vida!”

- – - – - – - -

*Pura Vida, literally translated means “Pure Life” but means contextually something approximate to “Full of Life”, “Purified life”, “This is living!”, “Going great”, or “Cool!” It can be used as a greeting, as a word of farewell, to express satisfaction, and in some instances to politely express indifference when describing something (1). The phrase has become widely known; this highly flexible statement is used by many Costa Ricans (and expatriates) since 1956 (2). Some foreigners view the phrase as an expression of a leisurely lifestyle, of disregard for time and wanton friendliness. However, Costa Ricans use the phrase to express something akin to a philosophy of strong community, perseverance, resilience in overcoming difficulties with good spirits, and enjoying life slowly and celebrating good fortune of magnitudes small and large alike.

1. Dictionary of Latin American Terms. In Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Retrieved October 15, 2009, from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pura_Vida#Pura_Vida
2. http://www.costarica.com/Home/Culture/National_Symbols/National_Motto In Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Retrieved October 15, 2009, from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pura_Vida#Pura_Vida

I’ve been sleepy most of the trip. We’ve been going to bed at 9:00 every night. We may as well since there isn’t much to miss and the electricity goes out at 10:00 anyway. There was a TV on last night, playing Fiji One, but I refused to watch it as I don’t even watch “The Nanny” at home.

The villages put on a show the first night after dinner. The star was undoubtedly Nikki, a four year old who loves an audience. I think he may have even been impersonating Elvis. At the end of the show, they came into the crowd (I say that lightly as there are less than 25 of us here) and pulled us up to dance with them. There was no way I could keep up with the steps, but I blame it on the jetlag.

Upon arriving, the woman in charge said, “In Fiji, we love to laugh” as hysterics erupted in the kitchen. They laugh all the time. I often hear them in the evening when they are preparing our meal. While they cook the meat, reserved only for dinner, one of them will say something in that language I don’t understand and giggles will start again. I’m tempted to giggle with them.

We are the only Americans here. The rest are English, German and Israeli. They speak in terms of Celsius and kilometers. It’s something we’ll have to get used to.

Another thing to get used to is the menu. The first day we had baked bean sandwiches. I’ve eaten cabbage and watermelon (a huge dietary step for me) for lack of anything else. We are also getting used to not using a mirror. There is one very small mirror glued above the sink but I’m too short to see into it. I suppose its just as well since my hair is stiff and sticky with saltwater and my body is sprinkled in sand.

The salt and sand come from the Blue Lagoon. Yes, THE Blue Lagoon, “the movie that Brooke Shields acted” as they say here. It is a half-hour walk around the island over black rocks and coconuts. The sea is teal and turquoise and there are the most amazing blue starfish. The best part is that we seem to be the only people there.

On Thursday, we will take the ferry back to Nadi, where we will stay the night before catching our 10am flight to New Zealand. By taking the ferry, we will escape the torture of being weighed on a scale, like luggage, before taking the seaplane we arrived on. At least my weight was measured in kilograms, so I don’t know the difference and can’t be too alarmed. Of course, after a diet of baked bean sandwiches and carrots, I may not mind the result.

Rachel Clemens,
Austin, TX

Caveat #2: Talking about life in Bhuj is not the same thing as talking about life in India. Bhuj is its own unique place in the massive, complex country that is India. If youre looking at a map of Texas, Bhuj is geographically the El Paso of India. It is tucked away in the deserts of the far western state of Gujarat. And Bhuj is as different from Mumbai or New Delhi as El Paso is from Houston or Austin.

Nestled cozily on a dirt road between colorful flats and wandering cows, Shulie (another Fellow) and I share a minimalistic room, kitchen, and bathroom in an area called Nootan Colony. The quaintness, however, is simply a facade for the circus of noise that happens every morning outside our door. Shrieking children, shouting mothers, barking dogs, revving motorcycles, clanking pots and yelling milk men are just a few of the Nootan Colony Circus attractions. The greatest spectacle, however, has just arrived Shulie and I are now very evidently the main attraction. We can tell by all the gazing eyes, gaping mouths and giggling children. We are just sowhite.

From our flat, I can walk almost anywhere I need to (although invariably I will be the only woman walking by herself on the roads*): shops, markets, fruit stands, tailors, and some restaurants – of which our choices are Indian, North Indian or Indian food. Compared to home, everything is inexpensive. To eat Gujarati Thali (famous local cuisine) at the nicest and fanciest restaurant in Bhuj costs 100 to 150 Rupees, or about $2 to $3.

I live in a corner of the world that has escaped the grasp of McDonalds and Starbucks. Off of the major tourist routes, there are few westerners in Bhuj. Its part of the reason that Shulie and I get so much attention. I don’t particularly enjoy being stared at, but I find satisfaction in knowing that Im not just a tourist that Im rooted here for almost a year. And soon enough I will be a familiar face in the Bhuj community. Already the gregarious man that sells us vegetables from his stand (who we like because he doesnt rip us off) knows us and chuckles at my Gujarati, the local language. Im trying to pick it up as quickly as I can because a little goes a long way on the lengthy road of cross-cultural communication. And until I can get the pronunciation down, Im quite comfortable with people laughing at my expense. At least theres laughing.

Overall, each day here at the circus has been an intense roller coaster of highs and lows, but the ride usually leaves me smiling. Because despite the staring, people have been incredibly warm, welcoming and generous. And when it comes down to it, its exciting albeit exhausting, often hilarious and at least educational to live in a place thats so different from home.

*Dont worry, Mom Im not always walking by myself. Its a very safe, small town. I walk in daylight hours and I always looking out for my own safety.

Jamie Lippman,
Bhuj, Kachchh, Gujarat, India
For more, view her blog here.

If you have the time and money, there’s no better way to see a country than renting a car and driving yourself. If this means driving on the left, it takes some adapting, but nothing a few hours and a couple of jumped curbs won’t cure. Mom and I were the proud renters of a Nissan Micra. We toured Ireland with a blinking seatbelt light, even though we are diligent seatbelt wearers. A rubber piece kept popping out of the trunk when we removed our bags. We never found the door locks despite sending out search parties. At least Ireland isn’t known for its carjackings and who would want the purple Micra anyway? Possibly a couple of escaped Americans from a hackneyed tour bus, but certainly not a self-respecting Irishman.

Knowing this, we decided to pick up hitchhikers outside the small town of Killimer. They were a teenaged couple who lazily threw up their thumbs indicating, “We may or may not need a ride.” Having ample room and a hurried discussion, Mom and I turned the car around to collect them, although we were turning off only two miles down the road. I told them how far we were going, but couldn’t understand what they said in response. I guess we sat there translating long enough that they figured they might as well jump in.

They clamored into the backseat and I said, “You realize you’re risking your lives riding with an American on the wrong side of the road.” The boy’s response was, “HaHaHa. Blah blah gurgle right blah County Kerry blah.” We responded with a laugh, unsure if this was the correct response, as we had no idea what he’d just said. This short conversation took us right up to our turnoff, and we were saved from another incorrect response, as I’m sure they thought they were saved from vehicular death.

We continued along the Southwest coast through the Dingle Peninsula and the Ring of Kerry. The towns and villages dotting the countryside were everything one imagines Ireland to be: quaint, friendly, colorful and quirky. We saw a goat guarding a house, sheep sleeping in the road and signs reading nothing but Gaelic, but most puzzling of all was the white pudding. We greeted each morning with a traditional Irish breakfast consisting of orange juice, tea or coffee, cornflakes, a fried tomato, mushrooms, eggs, bacon (looks and tastes like ham), sausages, toast and jam and black and white pudding. For those of you unfamiliar, black pudding looks like a hockey puck and is made up primarily of lamb’s blood. Thankfully, I knew this going in and wouldn’t touch the stuff. So what was white pudding? I had no idea and apparently neither do the Irish. I asked three different people, all serving food, and no one knew. The first conversation went like this:

Me: “So I know what black pudding is, but what is white pudding?”
Lady behind counter: “You know, I have no idea! HaHaHa!”

Another conversation:

Me: “Mike, what is this?” (Mike owned the B&B in Cobh)
Mike: “That’s white pudding.”
Me: “What’s white pudding?”

Here he thought a bit, grinned and maybe even scratched his head. Then he said, “Well, black pudding is blood so maybe white pudding is meat?”

I smiled. He smiled. It remained a mystery to both of us. Mom, who surprised me with her bravery, took a small bite and claimed it to be quite tasty, but then left the remainder untouched.

As a last ditch effort and in the spirit of travel boldness, which is really only applicable on vacation, I’ve just asked the Irish family behind me on the plane what white pudding is made of. The son quickly said, “We’re not from the farm,” implying that only farmers and brave tourists eat the stuff. The mom looked perplexed. “I don’t know,” she said, “sausage and meat, I think.” Again, she didn’t really know. An American seated next to her piped up to say, “[The people at the B&B] wouldn’t tell us what it was.” I wonder if the Irish aren’t gathered in some conspiracy to keep the ingredients of white pudding hidden from the rest of us, which, honestly, might be in our best interest.

The weather was surprisingly cooperative for mid-October, usually sunny despite the cold, making the Coast glow. It’s possible that I saw more rainbows in one week than I’ve seen my whole life. And not just your average rainbows, but rainbows that shined with all seven colors, rainbows that spanned the entire horizon and even double rainbows layered on top of one another. They made me believe in leprechauns and pots of gold and all those other surprises found in a Lucky Charms box.

We ventured to Cobh (pronounced “Cove”; in English), the port where we believe our ancestors left Ireland for America. It was sobering as we read of the famine and Irish pilgrimage to America, but it was also heartening. The Irish have endured a hard lot and are deserving of the fortune they’re experiencing today. Ireland currently has the strongest economy in Europe, but they pay for it. Small houses in the country cost well over 200,000 (about $250,000). I can only imagine what a place in Dublin might cost. It hit us hard paying $4 for a fountain serving of Coke and $12 for an average lunch in a pub. Financial observers speculate that Ireland is due for a bust, although like before, I’m sure she will endure.

I learned this previous information by listening to the radio. That’s how Mom and I got our head around present-day Ireland. We also watched some TV, saw a movie (Man About Dog – very Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels), and eavesdropped on conversations around us. These may sound trivial, as they’re things we do back home, but begrudgingly or not, they’re the lifelines to culture. One of the hot topics in Irish media right now is our upcoming presidential election. I don’t know if Ireland has a president or a prime minister, yet they’re watching our debates. Without doubt, most of the Irish are for Kerry, as was demonstrated through the campaign button on our Trinity College tour guide’s jacket and in national Irish polls. First debates, then polls, soon they’ll be voting!

Mostly the Irish appreciate Kerry’s stance on the issues, but as one drunken Irishman put it, “Massachusetts – Boston – Ireland! HaHaHa! Bush is an English [jerk]!” While he said this, I glanced at the picture of JFK hanging next to an American flag on the wall of the pub. Irishmen have often teased me for claiming to be Irish. “You’re no more Irish than I am American,” they say. I know there’s truth to that, but if they can claim Kerry, then surely I can claim Ireland?

Mom has stayed behind to see more of our Irish heritage. She’ll be traveling the Antrim Coast in the most Northern tip, where we believe our ancestors lived. Like them, she’s striking off on a new adventure. She’s traveling solo for the first time on a big trip and I’m so proud of her. She’s naturally shy, but friendly, and if there’s people who will make it easy for her to open up, its the Irish. So Mom, if you’re reading this in the Emerald Isle, smile, remember you’re in Ireland, have a pint for me, know that I love you, and please find out once and for all, what is in the bloody white pudding!

Rachel Clemens
Austin, TX

We set sail in an aluminum clad vessel that looked more like a miniature warship than a touring boat and after a short trip past lovely downtown Victoria and across the strait of Juan de Fuca (how many times this unknown explorer’s name is mispronounced I dare not wonder) we arrived at a popular whale-watching spot just off San Juan island. The air was crisp but pleasant as we drifted, all 30 of us, quiet as stones, struck dumb by the suddenly momentous job of inspecting the waves for signs of orca.

Sure enough, there in the distance, we saw a fin. Just a hint of a fin, really, but enough to ignite a chorus of squeals from the group. The younger kids rushed to the railing, where the grownups among us reluctantly relinquished their (not our) spots. We oohed and awed for a good while longer, and saw several fins of various shapes and sizes. They were bona fide sightings our guides had given these orcas names and identified them as all belonging to the same pod, and it was fabulous just knowing they swam among us. But still we wanted more. We wanted to see the Big Fish (er, mammal). We wanted our Discovery Channel moment.

Our guide was busy setting expectations *really, that’s a good number of sightings for a typical trip,* and the camera doesn t really capture the moment, he said, and just as he was advising us to put away our cameras and enjoy the scenery a commotion began stirring off the starboard side…

Now here’s where fact and fiction often collide in fish tails, but believe me when I say that this was not just one orca, not two, but three, who were now engaged in some kind of ritualistic feeding frenzy or mating dance not more than 20 feet away. (Really.) They tumbled in the water, they plunged, they swirled, and just when we thought we’d seen all we could expect to see for our tourist fee one of the males shot out of the water in a spectacular breech that we learned was the whale s way of seeing what s up in the waters around him (a spot walk, I think it was called). This was better than Discovery Channel, better than the whale shananigans at SeaWorld, because it was right in front of us, with no glass filter and no dramatic voiceover. The only sound in fact was the group s collective ahhh as the whales continued to tumble, until they finally disappeared beneath the boat, swimming RIGHT UNDER US as (no joke) a rainbow hovered over their shadows in the water.

Some of the group rushed to the other side (what IS the opposite of starboard anyway? My nautical knowledge fails me again) but I stayed put, knowing I had just seen more than I could possibly hope for in one afternoon of my life. For once I had my camera on and operational, and I actually managed to click a few shots, but for me nothing would do the moment justice but my own remembered emotion and it was a powerful emotion caused by the animal world in utter juxtaposition with the human.

The competitive among the group (there are several in my family) decided that this occurrence WAS just for us no other boat in the area had seen it as they were on the other side of the whales from us and our boat was blocking their view. The environmentalists decided it was a message from the gods, a sign that we needed to protect these waters and its progeny. But the true animal lovers among us knew the truth: it was a random event, brought on by who knows what in this who knows why You Tube age. I found the fact that the one video camera on board did not capture the moment proof that this event was not meant to be downsized by the act of uploading. And while I captured the whale s breech I did not manage to get the rainbow on the water. That rainbow has now become for me the piece de resistance, my moment of realization that God is always there, present in all things.

But I will not resort to nature philosophy plenty of others do a much better job of that. Suffice it to say that the competitive subgroup in our clan were happy to know that our guide decided this event rated #4 in more than 1,000 whale-watching trips. Of course we d have loved to be #1, but that spot is held by the group who saw two whales play catch with a young seal before one of them devoured him whole. I don t know what #2 and #3 were, but if I d seen much more I might ve quit my day job and moved to B.C. Besides, We re #4! has such a nice ring to it, you know?

Nancy Edwards
Austin, TX